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lilian-writes-sins · 5 months

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𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝑩𝒖𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝑻𝒐𝒘𝒏 Ch. 2

“𝐵𝑎𝑏𝑦’𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑓(𝑙)𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.”

★ pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir x Reader

★ p.o.v: 3ʳᵈ person

★ ch. 2 summary: The news that they were next in line to hold the Miraculous of the Ladybug and defeat Hawkmoth alongside Chat Noir would affect everyone differently. For [Y/N], it came in the form of ignoring the issue all together, if they didn’t think about it, it doesn’t exist, right? But after weeks of lying low and ignoring Tikki’s pleas to take on the mantle of the Ladybug, the teenager finally, after what feels like an eternity, weakens their resolve (and, maybe, definitely, fights their first Akuma).

★ tags: swearing; weird magic headcanons; sorta making fun of Master Fu’s methods of picking heroes; reader is in denial; terribly written fight scenes (i’m sorry); tried writing a panic attack, dont know if its good or not

★ word count: 5,188

MASTERLIST | previous chapter

⟡ ⁺ ₊ ⊹ ࣪ ━━ ⊱⋆ flashback ⋆⊰ ━━ ࣪ ⊹ ₊ ⁺ ⟡

“… Are you sure that is possible?”

“Yes, if I can harness the souls and memories of the past Ladybug Miraculous wielders, I can conjure up an image of the next holder. That means, no more trusting strangers blindly!”

“Hmm... well, alright, if you believe this will work, let's at least try.”

With that, Tikki took a deep breath, closed her eyes and began to hum. It was unlike anything Master Fu has ever heard — something ancient and not of this world. Wayzz, Fu’s kwami, himself has only heard his friend utter it once before — back when they were young and their powers weren’t contained — and to say it was catastrophic would be undermining it. But that was then, now they're a lot wiser, and their unlimited powers are under control — for the most part — so what could go wrong?

Tikki’s little hands glowed brighter and brighter until the energy was released with a flash. The sphere of light rose into the air, growing in size. Master Fu, Wayzz and Tikki all gazed in wonder at the face of the next Ladybug Miraculous wielder.

“Is- is that really them?” Fu asked, amazement evident in his voice.

“Yes,” the red kwami answered, eyes gleaming with conviction, “I’m certain it is.”

⟡ ⁺ ₊ ⊹ ࣪ ━━ ⊱⋆ flashback ⋆⊰ ━━ ࣪ ⊹ ₊ ⁺ ⟡

“What. The. Fuck.”

[Y/N]’s eyebrows in bewilderment as they gazed upon the red, bug-like creature in front of them. Tikki, as it called itself, stated that the teen was chosen to be whatever a ‘wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous’ is.

Their face scrunched up as they tried to process the information.

“… Okay… what?”

“Are you alright? You’re reacting much more calmly about this whole situation — especially compared to my previous holder,” Tikki asked, her high-pitched voice tinged with concern.

The teen snorted, blinking owlishly as they surveyed their surroundings. “Oh, yeah, I’m perfectly fine! It’s not like a flying, comically large insect just told me I was the fucking chosen one. Nothing weird about that, no,” they shot back with a sarcastic edge to their voice.

A brief moment of silence stretched through [Y/N]’s room. They let out a deep sigh, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over them.

“… I’m dreaming, right? This is all in my head, and- and you’re just a figment of my imagination, right?” they asked, their voice tinged with desperation.

“I’m afraid not, [Y/N]. This is all real,” said the thing, Tikki, who looked almost… apologetic.

“… Okay, well then, can you at least clear some things up for me?” they prompted, slightly curious but still skeptical.

“Of course! What would you like to know?” Tikki flew a bit closer to the teen’s face.

“Well, for starters, the fuck is a ‘Miraculous’?” they asked, brows furrowed.

Tikki released a deep sigh, bracing herself from this point onward: ‘Oh boy… this is going to be a long evening…’

[Y/N] shook their head in disbelief, trying to process what Tikki was saying. She seemed really eager to explain things, but the longer she babbled, the more the teen felt their thoughts disconnecting from their body. They didn’t hear what the flying bug was saying until she was quite literally in front of them, a worried expression on her face, “... [Y/N]?” she whispered, not wanting to scare them.

That seemed to bring them back, with the teen bringing a hand up, trying to put some distance between the two. [Y/N] wasn’t sure what to even think. They were just a teen, not some hero with superpowers.

“Look, this is nice, flattering even, but I really don’t think I’m the one for this job, sorry,” they finally uttered, turning away from Tikki. They’ve just escaped to Paris, and they didn’t want to get into any messes so soon.

Frustration couldn’t even begin to describe what the kwami was feeling, she tried getting more words in, but all of it fell on deaf ears as the teen got ready for the night. “Please, just listen to me, [Y/N] — you are meant for this, you are meant to be Ladybug — my vision showed you, not anyone else, please,” nothing she said would cause any reaction from them.

Though the conversation went nowhere, the kwami was even more determined to make the teen see reason, no matter how long it took. Hopefully, she wouldn’t cause an Akuma in the process.

Every day since then has been a massive headache, at least for [Y/N]. An entire week of being hounded by Tikki’s constant whining and begging was driving the teen up the wall. If she were completely honest, the kwami was surprised that they lasted so long, she could be quite persuasive when she wanted to be.

One day in particular, though ordinary in every other regard, all of that pleading made [Y/N] reach their breaking point. ‘Kwami of Creation, huh, yeah, right,’ has been a primary thought of theirs. Though, truth be told, the teen found themselves enjoying Tikki’s company, if only a little. Unless she was nagging them, like right now…

“Please. Please. Please. Please. Please,” the bug floated around their head, relentless in her attempts to coerce them into transforming. She came out every day when Astrid would leave for work, like clockwork.

And just like clockwork, [Y/N] refused again. Suddenly, Tikki was floating in front of their face, the quiet buzzing sound her wings emit growing louder. She then proceeded to use her secret weapon, the puppy-dog eyes, in a sort of desperate attempt to persuade the teen.

To their credit, the teen really tried resisting the blue, alien-like eyes being thrown at them, but some things are inevitable. A few seconds pass before they relent, throwing their head back against the couch and saying, “Ugh! Fine! Okay, okay, I’ll fucking do it.”

“Yay! I knew I could change your mind! Come on! Come on! Let’s go right now!” Before she could get carried away, the teen put their foot down because they couldn’t just transform right then and there, for the sake of staying covert.

Thankfully, Tikki regains some sense, “Hehe, sorry,” she smiles sheepishly.

Shivers ran down [Y/N]’s back, mind and heart racing at the thought of them running along the ornate roofs of Paris.

The day ran its course, and the human-kwami duo were the only ones home for the day, spending their time scrolling through YouTube and eating snacks. As the sun was setting, Astrid came home from a long day at work. She spared the teen a glance and a smile, before making her way to her bedroom down the hall.

When the pair heard snores coming from her room, they decided it was finally time. Tikki’s excitement was clearly visible on her face as she flew straight through the door to [Y/N]’s own bedroom. The teen followed her, closing the door silently behind them.

Taking a deep breath, the teen closed their eyes, not wanting to waste any more time than needed. “Okay, Tikki, spots on,” they whispered. A bright light surrounded them, it faded as soon as it came, leaving the teen covered in a skin-tight, almost uncomfortable, material. ‘Fuck,’ [Y/N] stealthily made their way to the bathroom, ‘I don’t have a mirror... Their heart felt like it was going to jump out of their throat any time soon. And then, they caught their reflection.

The teen almost didn’t recognize themselves in the reflection. Staring back at them was a person covered head-to-toe in a red and black armor-like suit. As they looked themselves over, [Y/N] felt a grin form on their covered face. The most striking detail that the teen noticed was on their face. It was their eyes. They resembled Tikki’s eyes — striking blue hues with dark blue sclerae.

Right beneath their eyes, the teen noticed a dark gray mask covering the bottom half of their face. A pair of goggles were hanging around their neck, the blue lenses connected by a thick black strap. The suit looks like it came from a sci-fi novel: a dark gray bodice, resembling a ladybug’s underbelly, was tight-fitting, with a red chest piece, shoulder pads, forearm braces and knee-length boots. All the red pieces have black spots on them.

They turned around to inspect their back, and saw a big, red, black-spotted lump that rested between their shoulder blades. ‘What is that supposed to be?’ confusion riddled their face. Suddenly, the lump opened up, and a set of large, bug-like, transparent wings unfurled from its confines. [Y/N] brought their gaze back up after they felt something twitch on top of their head. And there they noticed it — a pair of antennae sprouting out from their forehead. The teen reached up to touch one of the ends, feeling it twitch.

The teen smiled, striking a few poses and quietly admiring their reflection from different angles. Taking a closer look at all the details of their attire, [Y/N] notices something red attached to their waist. They took the object into their hands, quickly realizing it was a yo-yo, it also had five little spots on it. ‘Of course this is my weapon,’ the teen sighed, a bit disappointed.

[Y/N] turned to exit the bathroom, turning off the lights before opening the door very slowly. Before the hinges started squeaking, the masked teen slipped through the gap, quickly making their way across the hallway back to their bedroom. They went over to the window connected to the side of the balcony, opening it and stepping through, trying not to bump or knock over the plant in the corner.

The teen stood crouched on the ledge, looking down at the street below. They grabbed the goggles around their neck, putting them around their eyes. [Y/N] stood up, grabbing their yo-yo from their hip and swinging it back and forth, feeling the weight and movement of the seemingly indestructible string in their hand.

Time seemed to slow down as they took a deep breath. [Y/N] swung their red tool out, linking it to a chimney on the other side of the street, and tugged on it a few times to test it. ‘Well, no time like the present.’ With that thought, they jumped, soaring through the air.

After what felt like forever but, in reality, was only a few seconds, the masked teen crash-landed across the street from Astrid’s apartment with a loud thud and a shout.

“OW, FUCK!”

Immediately covering their mouth to quiet any cries, [Y/N] looked around to see if anyone had noticed them. Feeling safe, they swung their yo-yo again with a bit more confidence than before. Unfurling the suit’s transparent wings once more, the masked teen glided through the night sky, enjoying the wind hitting their face.

Not wanting to be spotted, [Y/N] made their way directly to the Eiffel Tower, climbing up its structure quickly with their newfound strength and agility. When they finally reached the top of the monument, they felt their breath get caught in their throat, stolen away by an incredible view of the vast city bathing under the full moon.

“Whoa...” the teen muttered, removing their goggles and resting them on their forehead — right below the long antennae — so they could see a clear view of the skyline with ease.

The moment of awe was cut short when [Y/N] heard a figure land across them. The teen quickly hid behind the tower, holding their breath and not looking back. They were ready to jump off and head back home when they heard another thud, followed by a sigh.

Out of curiosity, they peeked around the corner and spotted a black figure sitting on the edge. Fortunately, the figure seemed unaware of the alien-like blue eyes peering at it from the shadows. Recognizing the potential dangers of being caught, [Y/N] decided to turn around and go back home.

The sound of something soaring through the air caught the ears of the dark figure. It turned its head back, not finding a source for the noise. It let out a defeated sigh after not seeing anything, its shoulders dropping in sadness.

“I’m even starting to hear things in your absence, m’lady. Sigh, this tomcat misses you…”

[Y/N] couldn’t hear the desperate pleas of the figure, they were too preoccupied trying to find their way back home. When they stopped on a roof to gather their bearings, a group of people caught sight of them, taking out their phones and shouting in unison.

“OH. MY. GOD! LADYBUG?” the group shouted, taking multiple pictures.

‘Shit!’ The teen panicked and swung away as fast as they could, eventually making it back to the apartment — almost tripping over the balcony railing. Climbing through the open window, they de-transformed and collapsed on their bed, exhausted.

“So? Did you like it?” Tikki asked, eager to hear what [Y/N] was thinking.

The teen just smiled and said, “That was so cool! Though, I’m not too sure about the yo-yo. Anyway, come on, let’s get some rest.” Tikki buzzes with excitement, snuggling next to [Y/N]’s cheek on the pillow. The pair drift off into a peaceful slumber.

Another week passed before anything notable happened. [Y/N] spent their days bonding with their loving aunt, Astrid, who helped furnish and decorate the teen’s room to their liking. The relationship between them grew stronger, and the teen felt more comfortable and safe in her home, though some habits were difficult to break.

However, when the sun set and everyone was fast asleep, [Y/N] and Tikki would sit on the teen’s bed, having fun and growing closer. The kwami would explain various Miraculous-related topics, like the history of the Miraculous, her own powers, and the rules the teen had to follow.

Together, they enjoyed a sense of peace and security that was lacking in their daytime routine. [Y/N] even let Tikki have a strand of their hair, which the kwami claimed was for ‘secret purposes’ with a sneaky giggle.

Now it’s Thursday, a regular day in the middle of a regular week. And it was, at least until a deafening roar shook the ground the Parisians were walking on. [Y/N] was out running errands — they really enjoyed helping Astrid out whenever they could — when it happened.

The deafening roar made everyone begin to panic and fall to the ground. Only seconds after the bellowing stopped, the grounds trembled once more as heavy stomps took over. The city was in utter chaos. [Y/N] could hear children crying, scared out of their minds.

As the teen’s heart raced and adrenaline soared through their blood, they desperately tried to make sense of the situation. Suddenly, a massive shadow loomed over them on top of the buildings.

Some civilians, including [Y/N], looked up to see what the source of all this commotion was, while others panicked and ran for cover. Some hid in stores, some fled to their homes, and some huddled together in groups, too overtaken by fear to act.

Before they even noticed, the monster came into full view, revealing a stark white reptilian beast towering over everyone.

The teen looked around, looking for a hiding spot to get to, before they heard something. A few feet in front of them, a mother and daughter were hugging as they were about to be crushed under the massive foot of the reptile. [Y/N]’s body moved without a second thought — almost instinctively — running towards the pair as fast as they could. When they were close enough, the teen jumped for them, pushing the woman and her child out of the way.

The older woman looked back at the teen, holding her wailing child close to her. She mouthed a silent thank-you to them before running away. [Y/N] almost forgot where they were before they turned back to look at the clawed, scaly foot coming down on them this time.

They covered their head, preparing for the worst, but it never came. Instead, the giant monster yelled and moved its foot away from them. Peeking their eyes out from behind their forearms, the crouching teen noticed a black, leather-clad figure right in front of them. ‘This must be Chat Noir...’ [Y/N] thought as they brought their hands down.

Chat Noir looked back, looking at you with a concerned expression. His silver staff retracts back into its original size and is placed behind the cat-themed hero’s back. [Y/N] stared at him, even as he extended his hand out to them, before they took it and got up. The two gazed into each other’s eyes, both under a strange haze; the two teens felt a tightness in their chests. It went away quickly, and the leather-clad hero straightened his back and spoke.

“Are you alright?” Chat asked, voice brimming with concern, green slitted eyes fleeting over them, looking for any injuries.

“I- I’m fine. Just shaken up,” the teen’s trembly hands were proof of that.

“Well, do you think you can get back home on your own? I’m kind of preoccupied with a lizard infestation,” he said, pointing behind him, where more destruction could be seen.

Instead of answering verbally, [Y/N] nodded. That was all the hero needed, apparently, as he gave them a smile — it made the weird tightness in their chest come back — before he turned, grabbing his staff and extending it again, jumping away.

[Y/N] stood in place for a second before they felt something jabbing into their side. Glancing down, the teen noticed Tikki already looking up at them.

“C’mon! Let’s go hide!”

They scrambled to get somewhere hidden, finding an alleyway and crouching behind one of the dumpsters. Tikki flew out of [Y/N]’s bag.

“I- What the fuck was that thing?” The teen held their chest — their heart beating faster than normal — trying to control their breathing.

“[Y/N]? Are you sure you're okay?” The kwami flew closer to the teen’s face, touching their cheek with her small limb.

They slid down the brick wall, hand still clutching their chest, as their breath became shaky and ragged, as if they’d run a marathon. Their eyes were looking straight past Tikki, not really focused on anything.

Loud ringing could be heard, though it only seemed to bother [Y/N]; they suddenly brought both their hands to cover their ears harshly, tears welling in the corners of the distraught teen’s shut eyes. Quiet, strained whimpers kept escaping their lips.

Tikki thought they looked like a wounded baby deer — scared and vulnerable. She flew down, perched on the teen’s shoulder, and rested a hand on their neck — that was really all she could do.

The kwami continued to reassure [Y/N], and a little while later, they finally stopped shaking. The teen looked at their little red companion with a determined look as they stood up, rolling their shoulders back.

“Okay, let's do this.”

All Chat Noir could think of right now was not letting his lunch come back out the wrong side. He was being swung around by ginormous, scaly reptile paws and thrown through the air. You’d think that after half a year of working alone, he’d be more efficient at this whole thing. And you’d be right; today was just... not his day, to say the least.

The terrified screams and reassuring words from the Parisians below all mixed into a disorienting white noise that Chat couldn’t do anything about. As he was being lifted to the Draken’s face, rows upon rows of sharp, yellowy teeth could be seen. The feline hero shut his bright green eyes tight, silently preparing for his doom. ‘This really is it... I’m so sorry, m’Lady.’

“HEY, UGLY!” A voice cut through the air, loud enough to get the attention of everyone, “Let the cat-boy go!”

There, on the roof of a tall building — eye-level with the scaly, white beast — stood a figure, shadowed by the warm afternoon sun hitting its back.

Murmurs ran through the crowd like wildfire. The figure grabs something from its hip and spins it fast, a familiar pink glow appears from the whizzing of the object.

“Whoa, who is that?”

“Is that Ladybug?”

“HA! I told you she would come back!”

The figure paid no mind to the crowd, keeping their gaze on the giant in front of them — more specifically, the bright purple butterfly outside that suddenly appeared over its face. It seemed to make the large beast stop in its tracks, like it was under a spell. But there was no time to think about that; there were civilians and a stray cat in danger.

“Oj, scale-face! I’m talking to you!” The red figure took a running start and jumped off the roof, spreading large, transparent wings out from their back.

That seemed to bring the creature out of its trance-like state — the glowing outline had disappeared by now — letting out a deafening roar, black smoke pouring out of its unhinged mouth.

Now that the sun wasn't blocking their view, everyone could see someone akin to the iconic red and black-spotted heroine Paris has come to love and mourn the loss of. Though, the voice and mannerisms should’ve given them away sooner, this was definitely not Ladybug, at least not the Ladybug people know.

The spotted figure zipped straight for the overgrown lizard, effectively — if only a bit clumsily, as if this were their first time — dodging its flailing limbs. They flew straight towards its open mouth, quickly grabbing the black-leather-clad hero before he could become lizard food.

The two escaped narrowly, [Y/N] setting Chat Noir down on one of the flat roofed buildings, behind the roof access room, hiding them from the beast’s line of sight.

“Are you alright?” the teen asked, unknowingly repeating his first words to their civilian self.

Wherever his mind went, it came back to his body right at that moment. He glanced at the face of his savior, covered with a black face mask and goggles, hiding every part of their face apart from their eyebrows. The short hairs were furrowed, and no doubt a concerned expression decorated the face beneath the disguise.

“I- Yes… Who are you?” His gaze held so many emotions, like confusion but mostly distrust.

“Y’know, I never gave it much thought before, ask me again when we take Godzilla over there down, ‘kay?” Apparently, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, [Y/N] could almost imagine a giant question mark floating on top of his head.

“So... you have a plan?” He was still staring, the fight clearly not on the forefront of his mind. His lack of answer perpetuated the awkward silence: “... Right, so, ahem, do you know where the Akumatized object is?”

He finally got over it, if only for the time being, “Yeah, there’s a gem lodged into the back of his neck, I tried getting it, but I got caught.”

“Well then, how about we try that again? C'mon, I’ll go and distract it while you destroy the thing!”

[Y/N] raised their goggles slightly over their eyes, winking at Chat Noir, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the alien-esque blue eyes that were hiding underneath the lenses. They prepared to take another running start, spreading their wings, before remembering something.

“OH! Before I forget, sorry, this is my first time doing this,” they took their yo-yo from its resting place on their hip and throwing it in the air, “Lucky Charm!”

The red polka-dotted sides spun around as it glowed before it came back down, leaving a small object where it was. The item dropped into the gloved hands; it was a red ice pick with a black dot pattern all over it, quite on brand with the ladybug theme. [Y/N] turned it around, looking it over closely, then grasped it tightly and returned to their previous position.

“Okay, are you ready? ‘Cause I’m not,” the teen chuckled, pulling their goggles back over their eyes, running and jumping off the roof, heading straight for the scaly monster.

The cat-eyed hero stood in place for a second, his mind still lagging behind. He shook his head, getting out of his stupor, and hardened his gaze, focusing on completing the mission. He would ask questions later.

He stood still for a while, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike the Draken. He kept his gaze mostly on the spotted hero, distracting the beast by zipping around with their large wings, evading its grasp. Maybe he was watching them because he was worried they would get caught and hurt, or maybe he was judging them because ‘Ladybug wouldn't have come up with such a primitive plan’.

By now, the Draken's back is turned away from Chat, letting him get a clear view of the icy blue gem, the same color as its eyes, embedded into the back of the beast's neck, surrounded by glistening white scales.

Taking the opportunity to strike, Chat Noir extended his staff, letting it carry him to land on the lizard’s back. He landed a bit below where the gem was, so he gripped onto whatever space he could and began to climb. However, the beast’s thrashing and flailing around made it quite hard to do. The green-eyed hero inched his way towards the glittering jewel, hanging on to a few looser scales to not fall off.

He raised his hand, preparing to strike, “Cataclysm!” A black, void-like mass bubbled around his right hand. Chat pressed his hand onto the gem, watching as it began to crack and turn a deathly gray.

Soon it stopped, and a glowing purple butterfly squeezed its way out of the cracks, trying to fly away. But before it could, Chat caught it in a strange, dark metal canister, not giving the insect a chance to escape.

As the butterfly no longer powered it, the large lizard became covered in a dark, almost black, purple, tar-like liquid. And then it disappeared, leaving a man, who looked to be about mid 20’s, to fall to his death.

Of course, seeing this, both heroes couldn’t let that happen, jumping into action to catch the young adult, before he could become one with the cracked concrete.

[Y/N] made it first, their wings gave them a stark advantage in situations like this, grabbing the man midair and gently landing him on the ground. The teen removed their goggles, letting them rest around their neck, and looked over the hunched person for any injuries. Thankfully, they found none, so they awkwardly patted his shoulder, making him look up.

He looked frazzled, as if his mind was a couple of minutes behind, trying to catch up to the rest of his body. He looked at the gloved hand on his shoulder and moved his gaze up to his savior’s face. The man was met with dark blues, glazed with concern.

He paid no mind to it, rushing into the hero’s arms and burying his head in the crook of their neck. It was a bit uncomfortable, both because their armor is very rigid and not soft at all and because they weren’t expecting it, obviously. Nevertheless, the teen hugged back, if only a bit stiffly.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” The man cried out, tightening his hold around them. He hiccuped, “I’m so sorry, for all of this. I- I just- my emotions got- got the best of me.”

He pulled away after a while, the teen now looking behind him to see Chat Noir staring them both down. Freezing under his gaze, the teen felt the third tightness in their chest return, all because of his eyes. But his gaze didn’t hold that same feeling — it was cold for some reason.

Not wanting to dwell on it, [Y/N] turned their unusual eyes back down at the man. Finally, they took a closer look at him; he was quite short — though that didn’t mean much, as the teen noticed they towered over most of the crowd, apart from Chat Noir, in this form — and gaunt, with heavy bags under his brown eyes. He was clearly dressed for work — unless business casual was his regular style — with a white collared shirt underneath a blue plaid sweater vest, paired with light brown slacks and matching loafers. His wavy brown hair was styled professionally — now a bit mussed from falling in the air.

“Hey, you’re okay. What’s your name?” The teen asked awkwardly, smiling more with their eyes, as their mask covered the bottom of their face.

“A- Arthur Gallo,” he spoke, still clearly in shock from his situation. [Y/N] patted his back lightly and reassured him, “Well, Arthur, whatever happened that caused this, it isn’t your fault, you were just pushed to your limit, and that's okay.”

The teen turned to fly away before stopping suddenly, “OH! Before I forget,” they grabbed the ice pick from its resting place on their hip — it was quite useless in their plan, but Tikki did say to have it on hand, just in case — throwing it up in the air, shouting, “Miraculous Ladybug!”

The spotted pick disappeared in a bright, pink flash of light, and thousands of ladybugs flew around the area, fixing and rebuilding all the destruction caused under the butterflies influence. The little insects surrounded the two heroes and Arthur before shooting up into the sky and dispersing out of sight.

Civilians around the area cheered loudly, and reporters popped up in front of the trio, asking questions upon questions and shoving cameras in their faces. [Y/N] ignored them, turning to face Chat Noir, whose gaze never left them. Suddenly, he spoke.

“Ladybug would’ve come up with a much better plan.”

The teen’s expression quickly fell in confusion; you didn’t even need to see the bottom half of their face to see it. Their brows furrowed, and they spoke cautiously, “Yeah, well, I’m not good with plans in general, and I’m not Ladybug.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he huffed, turning around and extending his staff, jumping away, probably to detransform.

‘What the fuck is his problem,’ [Y/N] thought to themselves bitterly, their mood dampened by their ‘partner’s’ cold behavior. They turned back to Arthur, who was still standing next to them, looking awkwardly to the side.

“You can make it back home on your own, right? I kind of have to go,” [Y/N] said, pointing to their beeping earrings, only 3 of the 5 spots were left. He nodded, and the teen went to walk away before the man suddenly grabbed their hand, “WAIT!”

“Yes?”

“Please, what’s your name?”

“I- hmm,” [Y/N] thought for a second.

They knew they weren’t Ladybug, and they didn’t want to take on her name out of respect — and something in their head told them that if they did, a certain feline would dislike them even more. All they knew was that they were up for the task; to help Paris and the rest of the world from Hawkmoth, they knew that they had to have a strong, powerful name that would make people feel safe. [Y/N] took a breath, pushing their shoulders back with a more confident expression in their eyes.

“Red Beetle, my name is Red Beetle.”

Arthur let go of their hand — a grateful expression on his face — and thanked them. The newly named hero turned away from him, grabbed their yo-yo and swung away.

MASTERLIST | next chapter

★ author's note: I’ve written and rewritten this so many times, I feel like I’m losing my mind, anyways hope you enjoy! Also so sorry for the long wait, I really wanted to post this back in September, but school started and killed my motivation. I have chapter 3 as bulletpoints, but I’m not making any promises to post it any time soon :(

★ taglist: @leafanonsforest; @ok-boke; @they2luv1naia; @mytaiyakeylover;

#★.lilian writes #adrien agreste x reader #chat noir x reader #miraculous ladybug x reader #cat noir x reader #mlb x reader #gn!reader

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brabblesblog · 30 days

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𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 9: No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban host her parents for dinner.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art from @emy-san

“My mother will pry into everything,” Ban mumbled quietly, “including why we haven’t had any children yet. My father will probably ask about our assets - income, investments, connections, all that drivel.” She wasn’t looking forward to seeing them at all, tonight looming large in her mind, but she knew this would be it - one last time, for closure, and then never again.

They were roaming the grounds; Ban needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the palace as the staff readied it for guests. It was nowhere near as involved as even their smallest ball - a very small soirée, by comparison; she wasn’t sure if it could even be considered a soirée with only five people in attendance. Regardless, it didn’t require much in the way of preparation, and she knew their staff were capable and well practiced. This was the most nervous she’d been for any event they’d held, however, quadruple-checking every single thing until Astarion had finally dragged her out.

“Gods. Don’t they sound delightful,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Connections? Is it not enough to have the artisan guilds, including his own, in our pocket? Under our very roof?” He paused, rubbing his chin. “On second thought, Roderich would not necessarily be aware of that. He seemed to have rather woefully failed to keep abreast of current events.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The shop.” He looked at her, thoughtful. “It was worn, dusty and quite unlike how I’d expect someone of his proclivities to treat their ‘pride and joy’.”

This much was true. She’d seen the dilapidated exterior, the dinginess inside, neither of which would’ve been tolerated before she’d left.

“And what of your brother? Any snide remarks I should expect from him?” Astarion huffed a little, glancing up at the sky; it looked rather dull for midday, an unfortunate sign of possible rain.

“He’s likely to hate me for leaving the family,” Ban remarked, “more accurately, he’ll be jealous that I left and he didn’t, but you won’t hear him say that in front of Roderich and Arlette. He’s never had the strength to defy them.”

There would be little snark from her brother; he’d always been the least horrible member of their family. Adrien, her parents’ favorite, who could do no wrong, who was fated for more, to inherit and marry and pass down the most esteemed Glasscraft name. But he’d also been her only friend in the family, the only one compassionate enough to help her treat her wounds, to comfort her, whenever her father was done with whatever method of punishment he’d chosen that day. She wished he could have done more, could have stood up to their parents alongside her, but that was where their paths had diverged.

Astarion snorted. “I will do my utmost to be the picture-perfect rich, powerful, aristocratic husband they so desired you to have. However, if my patience fails me, and their necks come a little too close…”

“Try not to, will you?” Ban said, a sigh escaping her lips. “Be good - for me. I just need tonight to go well and then… with any luck we’ll never have to see them ever again.”

“Seeing as I’m the one who instigated all this in the first place…” Astarion exhaled, “I’m inclined to let you have it your way.” He held his hands up, playful. “No biting, I promise. Well, maybe a little, but…”

“Fangs to yourself, handsome.”

A dramatic, long-suffering sigh preceded the playful smirk on his face. “Of course, love.”

Ban couldn’t help the small smile that crept up at the sight of that. “Look. We cleared today for this. No meetings with the patriars, no haggling with Nine-Fingers - wouldn’t you consider that a win?”

“It would be, were I able to…” His hands rose, resting on either side of her waist, pulling her close for a quick, heated kiss. “… do certain things; alas we both know you are too preoccupied.” When they separated his eyes were tender, but the heat in them was unmistakable.

“Astarion,” she began, a little guiltily, “I’m sorry. My mind just isn’t on-”

“But of course! Besides, the staff are still at work. They’ve insisted on cleaning every room - there’s little privacy to be had today.” A mock sigh, and he let her go.

“And whose fault is that? I seem to remember it being your idea to host them.”

He snorted, but didn’t deign to answer.

“It’ll rain soon,” Astarion mused awhile later, glancing up at the sky again. “We ought to head inside. I’m aware it’s not the most comfortable place for you to be right now, but…” he shrugged. They were both dressed comfortably, but he’d very much rather not get his new loafers dirty on rain-wet soil.

She faced him, dark circles under her eyes prominent in the dull sunlight, nodding. “I mean, of course. I can get back to work with the caterers, pick out plating for tonight and the table napkins and-”

“Ban,” He tangled his fingers in hers, leading her back into the house. “A suggestion from your husband, if you’ll indulge me. Let’s head to bed - I can hold you, knead out all those knots in your back - nothing more, of course.” It would be good for her to unwind, he knew; the looming dinner had caused her no small amount of stress. She’d barely slept in days.

She followed him to their bedroom and Astarion sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, patting the spot beside him. The moment she was there he pushed away her ponytail, pressing a kiss to her neck, wrapping an arm around her. He laid down, pulling her down with him.

He purposefully shifted his tone lower, softer, seeking to soothe. “You’re alright; it will all be fine, and if it isn’t, say the word and I will make it fine. I’ve got you.”

She was silent for a few moments, then leaned on him, her head tucked in his warm neck, nuzzling between jaw and collarbone. She mumbled something against his skin; it was spoken so softly that it took him a few moments to completely understand it.

“It’s not just that I didn’t trust you,” she said.

His hand paused and he peered down at her. “Are you saying there’s more you’ve yet to tell me, or…”

She shook her head. “What I’ve said is about the sum of it. There were specific instances, of course, which I will tell you when we have time, but what I mean is… not telling you wasn’t only because of our issues.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m surprised,” Astarion mused; Ban’s eyes snapped up to his, evidently not expecting this response. He huffed out a sad laugh. “Love. I ate whatever little pride I had left to tell you all of what I am, where I came from. What I went through.” He saw shame in her eyes and aimed to soothe. “No need to be ashamed, love. It merely slipped your mind.”

“It shouldn’t have,” she countered, “I should have known; of course you’d understand. But it isn’t the only thing, or even the main thing. I…” she hesitated a moment, then continued. “I did not relish you knowing I’m weak. That I could, and did, allow those things to happen to me. That I gave in and let it happen, when I’d always been the one to help you, the one helping everyone. I want to be your rock, not your burden.”

A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead; Astarion huffed out a small, exasperated laugh. “I don’t think myself capable of seeing you or loving you any less, no matter the circumstances, and neither is your strength the reason for that love.” He turned somber, holding her tighter, as if doing so would fully convey the depth of his affection. “Grant me the privilege of being where your heart finds peace, Ban. I would love nothing more.”

Tears filled her eyes and she gave him a small nod. “That I can do. Will do.” She looked away, huddling against his chest. “But then… they made me what I am, for better or for worse. Talking about it also feels like acknowledging they did do something right, at some point.”

“No.” That he wouldn’t abide. He placed an elegant finger under her chin, tilting it so she’d meet his eyes again. “Do not ever say that, because it isn’t true, and by no means will it ever be.”

“But they-”

“They what? Shaped you? You are you in spite of what they’ve done to you, not because of it.” His voice had risen, insistent on driving the thought away from her mind. He saw her open her mouth, about to argue, and he immediately interrupted her again.

“Before you say anything else, do you think what Cazador did made me who I am?”

“In some ways,” Ban said, and he found a measure of joy in the fact that she did so seemingly without fear of his anger.

Astarion nodded. “I don’t disagree. But I am also more than that - more than what he made me. And so are you. You, Ban…” He took a breath, trying to find the words to fully express himself and falling utterly short.

“You are strong. You are kind, compassionate. You tried, when trying was only for the foolish and the brave. You gave me a chance. You loved me when that was - and is - an objectively stupid thing to do. You held onto yourself and onto me when I was unable to, chose our love and-”

He heard her whimper as she hid herself against his chest yet again. He gently rocked her, wanting nothing more than to hold her close and shield her from everything. Her trust was intoxicating, so new and yet so achingly familiar; a haunting reminder of what he had almost lost forever. She kept her head tucked against his heart, her breathing slowly matching his as she melted against his body.

“Are you listening?” he asked, and at her nod he made it a point to take slower breaths, slowing his pulse down so that it soothed her further. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Only for you,” he reminded her, staring up at the ceiling.

There wasn’t any reply, but there needn’t be. The silence stretched, and Astarion closed his eyes.

“This is really nice,” Ban eventually murmured, her eyes half-closed. It occurred to Astarion that she was utterly exhausted; the fact that she hadn’t complained about them wearing their clothes to bed should have clued him in immediately. He decided not to remind her about the massage and stayed mostly unmoving, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He considered speaking, to say candy-sweet words, but he knew they were unnecessary; they’d long moved past those early days, when his voice was all he could offer her. Instead he closed his own eyes, fingers idly tracing patterns on her head.

Sleep, love.

When she finally stirred, Astarion was still in trance. Soft, light snores wafted down to her from somewhere above her head. Ban gingerly moved his hand from her head, then carefully sat up. The sun told her it was almost sunset. A small wince crossed her features at the realization; she was a little surprised the noise of the preparations hadn’t interrupted their rest. They’d have to prepare themselves soon, but she didn’t want to wake him just yet, figuring she could bathe before he awakened.

She turned to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed - unneeded, but habitual, comforting. His hand closed, then opened again, as if searching for something; his eyes moved beneath closed lids. Dreaming. She planted a soft kiss against his brow, received a soft mm of contentment in reply, then left the bed, steps as silent as possible so as not to disturb him.

The bath was warm and fragrant and Ban sank into it, eyes closing despite her rising anxiety. Seeing her father was one thing, but her mother was different; there was little doubt she would pry into every aspect of their lives and ask Ban about everything that had transpired since the last time they’d seen her. She wondered what they’d heard of the group who’d fought the Netherbrain, but her parents rarely bothered with events that did not concern the business, and the fight had left the area around the shop mostly unscathed. It was unlikely they knew anything more than what the broadsheets had reported in the days after the city was saved.

Then there were also Astarion’s remarks about Roderich, and the state of the shop. What could have caused her father to let it fall into such disrepair?

“Love.”

Her eyes flew open to see Astarion standing by the tub, nude, a small smile ghosting across his lips. He stepped over the rim of the tub to sink into the water opposite her. The moment he was in he reached for the scented soap and the sponge. “You didn’t wake me,” he complained impishly, working the soap into a lather and starting to scrub himself. “Worse, I wasn’t invited to this bath. I’m hurt.”

She sighed. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, and I figured you’d need the rest.”

A wry chuckle answered her as he took her arm, bathing her as well. “I’m not the one waking up in the middle of the night.” He didn’t shy from her sharp glare, meeting it head-on. “And what of it? You can’t sleep. You think of them and dream of them - I can hear it.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ban.”

Astarion paused his ministrations, the sponge stilling against her collarbone. “You have to let me in,” he finally said, the sponge pressed down against her as the hand emphasized his point. “You are trying and making great strides, but you have to realize this isn’t… embarrassing, or weak. And even if it is, what of it?”

“I don’t think it’s…” she began, the lie forming automatically; Astarion merely fixed her with a pointed look and she sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I understand what you’ve said, but it isn’t that easy to overcome years of thinking that way. My mother prided herself on being a strong, stoic woman. She insisted that being emotional, needing comfort was… frivolous, unneeded, and for the weak; that she did not need anyone else other than herself.”

“An obvious lie, considering she wasn’t even strong enough to stand up for her own children.” The sponge resumed its path, scrubbing Ban’s chest and neck, traveling to the other arm.

She scooted closer, allowing him better reach. “She thought the strong thing to do was to let her husband do what he pleased, to require nothing of him.” She paused briefly to rinse off some of the soap. “They were betrothed at a young age, as is the custom. She loved him, at least at first. He… saw her as a broodmare, to birth his heirs. They had trouble getting pregnant, and she prayed to all the gods for a child, to give him what he so wished for. To give him what he’d begun looking for outside the marriage; without her permission, of course.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Pathetic,” he sneered, gesturing for Ban to turn around so he could scrub her back, “to step outside the marriage for heirs is one of the oldest and least imaginative excuses I could think of.”

“I doubt he cared.” The feel of the sponge against her skin, of Astarion’s hand grasping her shoulder, was soothing. Facing away from him provided her with a little more privacy, allowing her more ease in opening up. “My mother knew, much as he tried to hide it, yet she wouldn’t leave because she thought herself stronger than that. Because that’s what good wives do - listen to their husbands and give them children.”

Astarion’s hand stilled yet again and she heard a pinched, aborted grunt. “Again. Like I did you,” he said, tone acerbic. “And you stayed, like your mother did.”

“I left,” Ban reminded, and to her surprise she heard a relieved exhale.

“I am ever so glad you did, Ban,” he murmured.

Her head whipped around to look at him. Her hair splattered water everywhere, Astarion blinked away the droplets that landed on his eyelashes. He draped her hair over her shoulder to continue soaping the smooth expanse of her back, meeting her gaze.

“You thought I was incapable of reflection?” he teased, “Had you not left, we wouldn’t be here, I think.” The silence stretched as he continued working down her back. “I needed that push, and push you did. I can only be grateful.”

“I thought I broke your heart.”

He finished scrubbing and she leaned against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, fingers interlacing on her belly. He exhaled, thinking, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I prefer to think I broke my own heart.” Astarion wondered if he should say more, if more apologies would be required; loath as he was to do it, he would willingly prostrate himself before her if she required it.

“That time, perhaps; however I do feel like I’ve been breaking it again recently,” she admitted.

Astarion stiffened, realizing what she meant. “You have. You give a little, luring me in with a baited hook, and when I’ve bitten, you simply…” Dexterous fingers moved, miming a yanking motion, inspecting a fish, and discarding it. “...pull me in, only to push me away the moment I do something unpleasant or something that reminds you of Roderich or of my past behavior.” It’s not fair, he thought.

“I punish and reward, is what you’re saying,” she clarified, looking up at him. He could see guilt swimming in those eyes.

“Yes and no - I can appreciate that a lot of it comes from your family, and some of it comes from me,” Astarion began; he could feel her tensing and his hands slid to her shoulders to massage them. “However at times you make me feel like your feelings for me are contingent on how well I behave, and it’s…”

…just like Cazador. A comparison that he was loath to make, but one that was true nevertheless. He recognized the way her wavering affection made him feel - the shame, the fear, the pain - and he couldn’t continue shying away from it. Acknowledging it himself, however, was nowhere near the same as articulating it to her, and the idea of doing so filled him with dread.

He searched instead for the right word, and settled on “...painful.”

“I know you need time, and you deserve time,” Astarion finally said, “But please don’t withhold affection from me. Don’t leave me out in the cold, with silence my only company.”

Gods. She rubbed her face, frustrated. Of course she’d been hurting him; in her focus on not risking herself again she’d been too unwilling to trust his progress, too cautious - to the extent that he thought her love conditional.

“I’m so sorry,” Ban choked out, fighting back tears, “I’ve been doing to you what my parents did to me. I know. I… I’ll do better, I swear. This isn’t an excuse, love, but it’s hard; after having all this drilled in by them, and then… well, shielding myself from you - it’s not easy to unlearn.”

“Don’t you think that I, of all people, would know that, my love?” Astarion sighed, but he was mostly filled with relief and elation. That she acknowledged it, recognized it for what it was - unkind, unfair - and swore to change… it was enough for now, especially in light of the past tenday.

“Apology accepted,” he allowed, adding a little pompousness to color his voice, hoping it would lighten the mood, “I’m nothing if not gracious, after all.” But he also reached to her with his mind, suffusing her with his feelings - his gratitude, acceptance, and understanding.

She laughed a little; it came out broken, an odd mix of sadness and relief. “Too gracious,” she choked out.

“No such thing,” came his answer, quick and reassuring. “Just as you’ve forgiven me, so have I you. There’s little need to measure who did what, as long as we both…” he gestured, unsure of the specific verbiage he needed, “as long as we’re both happy, I suppose.”

She couldn’t contest that, turning to kiss a trail from his jawbone down his neck. Her lips ghosted over the old bite marks, setting off a wave of pleasant shivers throughout his body.

“Then we are in agreement?” he asked, simply to ensure the air was clear.

Ban made a small mhm of assent but didn’t say more. He was relieved, but found himself wanting to introduce more levity. He shifted, untangling his fingers to playfully cup a breast. “Much as forgiveness has been dispensed, darling, my heart still feels broken,” he drawled, “A kiss would be most welcome in soothing it.”

“You’re sure you only want a kiss?” she said, and he huffed out a small laugh.

“Most definitely not. Still, a kiss would be very welcome.” He played with her breast, pinching the nipple between index finger and thumb. Scooting back, she pressed against his cock. He bit his lip, appreciating her teasing, but forced his hips to keep still.

Tilting her head back, Astarion met her lips with his own, a soft caress without urgency. He nibbled at her lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan. Hands reached for his head, grasping still-dry curls to pull him closer. He allowed it, but he felt her fingers begin to move towards his ear; he quickly pulled her hand away.

“There isn’t enough time, you’re preoccupied, and as much as I’d like to take the edge off,” he scolded, “there are far more pressing matters we ought to attend to. I would prefer to make love when you’re wholly here, and not plagued by the spectre of your family.”

“So you’re saying you’re not hard right now? What do I feel back there, then?” she teased, hand sinking beneath the water.

Astarion tried to snatch the hand before it reached him, but she wasn’t really making a play for his cock; he was easily able to wrap his fingers around her wrist. He brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss before sinking his fangs in, drinking languidly.

“That’s for being a tease and for being too godsdamned attractive for your own good,” he murmured, licking the last rivulets of blood before they fell.

Ban laughed, rolling her hips back, rubbing against him lightly. “You are hard.”

“Painfully so,” came the reply, huffed in exasperation.

“I doubt drinking helped you any,” she added, very much amused.

He groaned as she rubbed her ass on him again. “No,” he admitted, “but I needed something.” Astarion was mere seconds away from lifting her and sitting her on his cock, but she thankfully - regretfully, if he was being honest - pulled away.

He grumbled, glaring at her; he felt around the tub for the sponge he’d dropped when he’d reached for her hand. Instead he found a muscled thigh and pinched, just enough to elicit a yelp and a little jump; she splashed his face.

“Ass!”

Astarion chuckled, “And yet you love me.” He’d never said it with such lightness of heart, he thought; it was far too fraught, too sensitive a topic for him until recently. There was a certainty there now, of her love for him, that he was grateful for. However he couldn’t fully suppress the lingering question, the question that plagued him even in these calm, happy moments:

Will she ever love me as deeply and completely as I do her?

A question that shouldn’t haunt him; there was no tangible way to measure love, after all. To attempt to do so would likely only end in heartache, but he couldn’t seem to prevent it from cropping up each time.

His silence as he contemplated this train of thought did not go unnoticed.

“Astarion?”

Her hand touched his cheek, and he blinked twice as he refocused on her. She’d turned to face him while he was lost in his reverie. He saw concern writ large on her features.

“I didn’t mean to taunt you; I wasn’t actually going to grab you, if that’s…” she trailed off, “I’m sorry.”

Realization dawned on him and he vehemently shook his head. “Ban, no. It was perfectly fine; welcomed, even. I was merely lost in some tangent of thought - one of little import.”

True - not the whole of it, but now was not the right time for it.

“Then do you want to…?” Ban ventured; he quickly shook his head.

“Tempting, as you always are, but no. I’d rather focus on tonight’s events; there’s little doubt that it will be complicated, at the very least. You will need all your energy for it.”

Ban nodded. “A very good point.” She turned to face away again, leaning forwards in a silent request; Astarion wistfully raked his eyes over her back before he began to soap it again.

Astarion watched Ban fidget in front of him, tugging at the skirt of her dress.

“This does fit well, right?” Her voice was tentative, anxious as she spun around for his assessment. He’d been her mirror since she’d lost the ability to see her reflection. Sometimes he helped her see herself with the mental link, but right now he merely pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin.

“I think it fits perfectly,” he managed to say. The way it clung to her ass was delightfully distracting and he considered saying so, but he could tell she was nervous. Instead he walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder to still her movements. “You look beautiful; you always do, but especially so tonight.”

“Thank you, but are you sure the hem’s not too short? Fath- I mean, Roderich would no doubt comment on it, he would complain and say ‘have you no modesty?’ and-”

He tightened his grip on her shoulder and placed himself in front of her. “Look at me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks; if he so much as utters one word that offends you - that even irritates you - you merely have to say the word and he’s out.” His throat tightened as he spoke. How much had Roderich hurt her, in the small span of years a human child had, for her to be such a stuttering mess right now?

Ban took a few gulping breaths, nodding at him. “Yes, of course. You… thank you.” Another sharp breath took her and she rushed him, burying her face against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, rocking her gently in his embrace.

“I shall go ahead to greet them,” he offered, “You can meet us in the dining room whenever you wish.” He slowly began to pull away, but she gripped the lapels of his suit coat.

“Stay with me,” she begged, unwilling to lift her head from where it was pressed against him. “Please. A little longer.”

Wordlessly he nodded, enveloping her in his arms yet again.

He could only hope it helped.

Astarion lounged on the throne as he waited. He heard the front doors opening, the thump of footsteps, the muffled voice of their chamberlain wafting through to him. He stayed in place, watching as the ballroom doors opened and figures began to enter. He’d carefully arranged himself, legs crossed and head resting on his hand, the picture of insolence and lordly power, exuding what he hoped was an aura of indifference.

He let them approach, making no move to rise or greet them; he counted four - no, three - figures. Their chamberlain, Roderich, and a woman.

Where’s the brother?

“My lord,” the chamberlain began, “Master Glasscraft and his missus are here.” Astarion didn’t deign to rise, eyes raking coldly over Ban’s mother. He could sense her deference to her husband; she hadn’t even looked up yet. A short, plump woman, she all but hid behind Roderich as the man prepared to greet Astarion.

Roderich cleared his throat and at that, Arlette’s eyes rose, raking over Astarion, traveling from the top of his curls to the bottom of his shoes. Her eyes widened and her lips parted a fraction of an inch. He knew that look all too well, remembered seeing it on countless faces, every single time Cazador loaned him out. It made his lip curl in disgust.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich began, hesitating for a moment. “Astarion.” The Glasscrafts bowed, obviously rather nervous and unsure.

Astarion fought the urge to snap; that he dared address him so informally without permission rankled. He let it pass, however, sitting up, elbows on his knees. “Roderich,” he nodded. He then turned to Arlette, and also gave her a small nod. “You must be Arlette. Ban has told me so much about you both.”

He finally stood, hands casually smoothening his trousers as he did, relishing the look of discomfort on their faces at his words. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he still towered over the pair, something he found immensely satisfying. “Pleased to have you here. How did you find the grounds, Arlette?”

She tittered. “It’s nice, I suppose. Roses were never something I desired for our garden; they’re thorny.”

“They require care and loving attention. Not things everyone is capable of giving.”

Satisfied with the raised eyebrows his comment caused, he decided to take them to the dining room; at least then he could have some wine to take the edge off their blathering. He descended the dais, gesturing for them to follow him. Before he could summon the chamberlain, however, Ban’s mother decided to get started on her prying.

“If you don’t mind me asking - how long have you and Ban been together?” Arlette’s voice made him turn and he crossed his arms, considering the question.

“A year and a half, if not slightly more,” he answered, mind flicking back to the day they first met. He noticed her frown; she opened her mouth as if to ask something more, but her husband gave her a curt shake of the head, ending her interrogation.

Interesting, Astarion thought to himself. He waved a hand at the chamberlain. “Please tell my wife that her family has arrived. She is free to join us at her leisure.” As he did, he led Ban’s parents out of the ballroom.

Roderich cleared his throat. “Astarion-” he began, wincing when Astarion fixed him with a glare over his shoulder. “You would really let Ban… your wife… hole up in her room while you have guests?”

The moment the words were out, Astarion rounded on him, rage written all over his face. His crimson eyes glittered dangerously, lip curling in a sneer. “I do not presume to tell Ban what to do, Roderich. Do you truly have the gall to attempt to command my wife under our roof?”

The smaller man spluttered, a sound Astarion relished. “I- my lord- I do not! I merely say it as fatherly advice. Ban is-”

“Is what?” he interjected, crossing his arms. He saw Arlette open her mouth as if to speak, but she first looked to her husband for permission. As Roderich nodded, she began.

“My lord, forgive me. In fact, may I call you Astarion? You are, after all, my daughter’s… husband… although I notice you do not wear rings.” Arlette straightened up, bracing herself. “What Roderich means to say is that our daughter can be willful. She is prone to behaviors that are unbecoming of a wife, behaviors especially unbecoming of her stature as your spouse, of a lady.”

“Unbecoming-” Astarion bit back the curse forming on his lips, scoffing instead. “For one, no. I am to be addressed as Lord Ancunín, not Astarion. If I hear that one more time from either of your lips’…” The pair before him recoiled, his words obviously effective.

He let the threat hang, satisfied at their reaction, and pushed on. “Ban is willful. She does things that are unbecoming of your idea of a lady, yes.” Those were in fact the things that made him love her so, but he considered that truth something Roderich and Arlette did not deserve to know. “Those are the things that make her her, and you will not disparage my wife in front of me. Is that understood?”

Small, hurried murmurs of assent answered him. Satisfied, he turned away from them. “Let’s head to the dining room before we all reconsider this reunion, shall we?”

The doors were held open for Ban as she entered the dining room. She did not see Adrien, only Roderich and Arlette, seated in stony, awkward silence across from Astarion. She noticed her mother’s eyes, the way they drifted down to her belly, as expected. Sorry mother, no grandchildren here. She quickly scanned the rest of the room - there was no sign of her brother - then landed on her husband. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, but he placed them flat on the table as he turned to her. His eyes flicked to her and for a moment she saw the steely anger in them, but it quickly melted into tenderness. He rose, crossing the room to take her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, low enough that her parents did not hear. He kept her hand in his as he led her to her seat, only releasing her to pull her chair out. As she sat, so too did he, shooting one last warning glare at Roderich and Arlette before he waved a servant over to request dinner be served.

Ban looked Astarion over, noting the furrowed brows and tense shoulders, feeling a surge of relief that he was here. She reached out, snaking her hand around his, holding it in a tight grip. He made no outward sign he’d registered her touch, but his hand squeezed hers back. Satisfied, she turned to her parents.

Arlette was the first to speak, evidently unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. “Ban!” she exclaimed, “I know the last time we saw each other wasn’t… the best, but your father and I are so glad to see you again. You seem to have done well enough, haven’t you?” she asked, shooting Astarion an appreciative glance, “And I’m very proud. We taught you everything you needed to know, and look how far you’ve gone!”

Ban sighed. “I… I have done well for myself.”

She glanced over at her husband and saw his face harden further. Concerned, she reached into his mind. Not yet, love. I need to talk to them. He visibly swallowed down his pique, jaw reluctantly unclenching.

That they’re alive at all, Ban, is merely because you wish it.

She couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped her. Keeping their bond open, she continued addressing her mother. “Done well, but not because of you, or what you two have taught me. Where’s Adrien?”

Arlette took this in stride, smiling to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth that still occasionally haunted Ban’s nightmares. “We shouldn’t argue about that. Have you forgotten? It’s uncouth to be arguing at the table.” She paused, and her gaze slipped away from Ban, settling on the empty plate before her. “Your brother had a prior commitment, and we thought it rude to ask your husband to postpone.”

Ban watched her mother rake her eyes over her belly yet again. “Any plans for children, Ban? You’re not getting any younger. I’m sure your husband wants an heir,” Arlette pressed.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her father interjected. “A little darling boy, Ban, would be a wonderful gift. For you two, and for us as well. He would be a treasure to us all.” He nodded at Arlette.

Ban sighed. “Do you harass Adrien for grandchildren as well, or is this reserved solely for your female child…?”

“Besides,” Astarion chimed in, a devilish grin on his face, “I must confess we have been trying as often and as enthusiastically as possible, but alas…”

Before he could continue, the servant returned with soup, halting any further prying for a few moments. Astarion automatically opened his mind further, sharing his sense of taste with her.

As they began to eat, Roderich spoke up. “As your mother mentioned little beauty, it is indeed uncouth to argue, or discuss such… marital activities, at the table, just as it is uncouth to leave your guests waiting.”

Ban could feel Astarion bristle, a vision flitting to her unwittingly: fangs, glittering in the light of the chandelier, sinking into that repulsive neck so that he’d never call her that again.

“It’s also uncouth to beat your children, as I understand it,” she snipped, and was rewarded by the blush that crept up her father’s face. Astarion barked out a laugh beside her but said nothing, his thoughts conveying amusement and warm affection.

“That, I did for your wellbeing,” Roderich protested, although his voice was weak. “So you’d end up somewhere in life. Successful. As you indeed became.” Ban saw her mother nod vehemently at these words.

Astarion could no longer help himself. “She is not successful because of your frankly atrocious parenting, she is successful in spite of you,” he growled, “And did I not warn you not to disparage my wife?”

Ban saw his lip curling again and hurried to interject before fangs were bared. To Astarion she sent a small plea, asking him to wait and let her get what she needed before he did anything rash. He blinked at her, the curled lip trembling in fury before it lowered.

“Be glad she bids me to be merciful and stay my hand,” he drawled, turning to them, “Else you would be in far more unpleasant circumstances than this.”

Ban cleared her throat. “Mother. Father. It… doesn’t matter what you think. What you did to me and Adrien is unforgivable, and if you think this success was because of you, you’re wrong.”

“How could it not be?” Arlette interjected. “You married someone so attractive. Someone rich. Someone powerful. All these things I taught you how to navigate. How to be a good wife. A good woman. How to know your place, to be strong and to honor your husband. Don’t you see? You married a hero, from wh-”

Her words died off as Astarion slammed a fist down onto the table, absolutely livid. “A hero?”

Roderich attempted to explain, “We asked around, my lord. We heard of your rise to power, of your efforts in saving the city from the Netherbrain.”

“Me. You think I’m the hero of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion laughed, a deep, full laugh filled with levity - but also incredulity. Ban sampled the flavor of his emotions as they flooded through their connection; there was genuine amusement, but there were also much heavier emotions - his profound admiration for her, and his love. More than anything else, that.

It took him a long moment to recover, his features shifting from mirth to a deep, seething rage. He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table, leering at them. “Ban is the hero of Baldur’s Gate. She was the best of us - and nowhere were any of those insipid ‘lessons’ you subjected her to of any use. She picked us up, one by one, led us through the wilderness, all the way to the city. She burdened herself with every decision and every sacrifice that had to be made. She helped each and every one of us wretched fools,” he growled, his hands tightening on the table until it creaked, “and somehow still managed to save your sorry hides along with everyone else in this godsforsaken city.” He glanced at her, his expression softened briefly, the last part of his tirade saved for her and her alone.

You gave me everything, saved me from slavery and death alike. Loved me.

She offered him a soft smile before he turned back to Roderich and Arlette, the anger firmly back in his features. “You have pushed my patience far beyond the point I’d normally tolerate. The only thing keeping you alive is her - I strongly encourage you to quit while you’re ahead.”

This final warning, with Astarion looming angrily towards them, sufficed to convince the pair to back off. His tirade may have inadvertently revealed his fangs, Ban realized; she was tempted to ask him to back off again, worried.

The thought passed to him and he turned to her, wanting to tell her to let him handle it, when he realized. He leveled his gaze back onto her parents, brushing at his suit coat before sitting back down.

“What prior commitment was so important that Adrien would choose it over being reunited with his long-lost sister?” The cold tone had crept back into his voice, his wrath receding behind an icy veneer. Astarion fingered the stem of his wineglass, the other hand idly tapping the table. “Rather rude, when I invited everyone. Does he not miss his sister?”

That is what you wanted to know, is it not?

He’d read the thought as soon as it came into her mind. She’d felt Adrien would be guaranteed to show up; for one he would have wanted to see Ban. The other reason was purely pragmatic - Roderich would have wanted to introduce him to his powerful brother-in-law, establish connections early. His absence was perplexing.

“How is he, anyway?” Ban interjected before Astarion felt compelled to push further. Adrien was the only one she had a smidgen of concern about, the only one she thought she’d have an honest conversation with tonight; and yet he wasn’t here. Did he resent her? Had he run away, just as she had done?

She noticed Roderich’s jaw clench at the mention of her brother. Curious.

“Adrien, well… he had other commitments, as your mother said,'' Roderich stammered out, eyes darting from Ban to Astarion nervously. It was a lie, Ban was sure, but she couldn’t exactly place why. In her mind Astarion whispered his agreement.

She shook her head. “He didn’t, father. Don’t lie. You never were good at it. Does he not want to see me?”

Arlette let out a loud tch of disdain. “Of course he doesn’t want to see his ungrateful sister. I birthed you. We raised you. Loved you. And what do you do, the first moment we need you to do something in return? You run. You selfish, ungrateful child. After you left, your brother’s betrothal became much more difficult for us to secure. ‘Little beauty’,” she scoffed, “You aren’t even beautiful. All you have is what I taught you, no matter what your poncey husband here says. You know that.”

Ban tried not to let those words seep into her heart, but they hit their mark anyway. She felt herself tremble, felt tears threatening to form. No. Don’t. She’s just riling you up, Ban. Don’t.

It didn’t work. Her eyes blurred as her tears welled up, her breathing became fast and began to hitch. She gripped the edges of her chair, trying to ground herself because no, they can’t see me cry again, they can’t win-

“OUT!”

Astarion’s thunderous voice broke through to her, strong and brave and so, so needed. Her home and her salvation. She watched as he stood, index finger pointed towards the door.

“Out. Before I end your miserable, worthless lives. Get. Out.”

Ban wanted to tell him she hadn’t gotten the truth yet, but she was in no condition to. Astarion snapped a finger, summoning the chamberlain.

“Get them out of my palace, and they are not to be allowed back in under any circumstances.”

The chamberlain hurried to Roderich’s side and gestured politely towards the door. Roderich shot out of his chair and shoved the chamberlain away, glaring at Astarion.

“You may be the man of the house here, but mark my words: you are nothing. I do not know what you are, but I know enough to know you are unholy. A monster,” he spat out.

Astarion laughed at this, gleefully baring his fangs. They glinted in the candlelight; Roderich and Arlette flinched and went pale.

“Then you know how easily I can kill you, drain all your putrid blood and bathe in your innards,” he hissed. “And who would believe you? I walk in the sun. My heart beats. I am warm. I am a patron of the arts. I am well-respected throughout the entire city. I am a lord. And you? A sniveling, washed-out guildsman, bitter over some argument over a commissioned mirror. Any more attempts to approach my wife, to even speak to her without her express permission, and I will crush your reputation.” Astarion smiled, all teeth and danger, the predator on full display. “And if I ever hear any whispers about what lives in this palace, I will assume it has come from you. I will find you where you sleep and I will kill you - and I need no invitation to enter your home, trust me.”

Arlette, finally making the connection, took in her daughter’s features. “No. You…”

Ban smiled with feigned shyness, a smile she’d been taught to perform in polite company. But she let her lips stretch further, baring her own fangs. There was a low thrum of satisfaction in her belly as she watched her parents recoil in horror.

“Go on,” Ban said. “My husband has told you to get out. Be polite and do as my lord bids, hm?”

They seemed to hesitate, and Astarion released another hiss for good measure. Roderich finally conceded, his shoulders sagging slightly. He fixed Astarion with one last, terrified glare, then led Arlette out, the chamberlain guiding them out of the palace.

“That didn’t quite go the way I’d hoped,” she said, turning to Astarion. To her surprise he was right next to her, arms already halfway encircling her. He gave her a long, tight embrace, his nose pressed tightly against her temple, breathing in her scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The rancor was gone, and so was the smooth veneer in his voice. All that remained were his worry and his concern, her wellbeing his primary focus.

Ban held him just as tightly, hands fisting into his suit coat. It crumpled within her grasp, the smooth silk and the embroidery providing a texture she found comforting.

“I’m fine, I think. Perhaps I won’t be in a little bit, but right now I’m more concerned about Adrien.”

Astarion peered at her, studying her for a moment. Seemingly satisfied she wasn’t lying, he nodded.

“We’ll have to reconsider our approach, but I agree with you.”

“So you saw it too.” She stood, but her husband was always a step ahead; the chair was pulled out, his hands wrapping around hers before she could even reach for him.

It’s as if you can read my mind, she jested.

There was tender amusement there, mixed in with the clouds of still-roiling anger and worry. He tugged at her arm.

We can discuss everything another time. For now I would like you to rest.

She acquiesced, allowing him to lead her to their room.

That night she fell asleep, body enveloped in his arms, her mind embraced by his.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

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