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fettuccinealfred0 · 4 months

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Til Death Do Us Part | Part 3

Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 8.4k

(CW: general vampirism, period typical sexism, forced marriage)

Summary:

“How dare you?” You shoot back at him, stepping to the side to move around him. He mirrors you, stepping to the side as well, and continuing to block you. Growing frustrated with his antics, you narrow your eyes, “I have been nothing but polite and civilized since-”

“Ah yes, polite and civilized, the first two adjectives anyone would use to describe you.” Astarion interrupts. “Certainly not obstinate and combative.”

His face is stern as he looks down at you and while the words themselves are a bit insulting, he says them with a hint of fondness that makes you think he might enjoy ‘obstinate and combative.’

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For as desperately as you tried to escape your room when you were first locked in, you spend most of your first week as Lady Ancunin holed up in your room (sans locked door). The estate was just too big and too foreign and your room felt like the only place that was exclusively yours, the only place where you could sort through all your confusing thoughts about Astarion without constant reminders of him that only served to muddle your mind further.

Early on in your life, you had decided that you would only bind yourself in marriage to someone you could love, someone who you could trust to understand you. You were unwilling to compromise your morals for just anyone- to trade the servitude of a daughter for the servitude of a wife. As skeptical and strong-willed as you may be, you were not completely immune to the charms of love. A young, romantic heart raised and nourished on happily ever afters had led you to believe that it was possible for you, too- for the idea of a life forever trapped under your father’s influence seemed unbearable.

And at the ball, you had grown careless, had been so charmed by Astarion’s shiny veneer that you didn’t think to dig into the rot hidden underneath. No, Astarion had offered you the hope of love and laughed as he tore it away from you.

You let yourself be mad at Astarion- he was everything you wanted, everything you could see yourself growing to love in a person. Of course his good looks and charms endeared him to you instantly, but that was all decoration which held no real substance. No, you had liked him because he had listened to you, he had respected you, and most of all, he had matched you. In a world where women were always looked down upon, you thought you had found someone who viewed you as an equal.

But, you remind yourself, a vampire could never truly view a human as an equal. There was a predatory dynamic inherent to that relationship which could never be escaped. For as much as Astarion might claim to respect you, he still sees you as something beneath him, something to be devoured. And for as much as you might have initially admired Astarion, you would never be able to forget the danger that surrounds him.

With your trust already broken by him, you were unwilling to believe he could be entrusted with something as sacred as your life. Already, so much of your life has been controlled by men- you deserve to be in charge of your own fate for once. And hadn’t Astarion been the first to offer you that choice?

With a sigh, you force yourself to clear your mind and focus on the task at hand. Shadowheart, the miracle worker that she is, managed to convince your father to send over all of your belongings. Since the chests had arrived this morning, you were spending the day sorting through everything and organizing your books on a bookshelf that Shadowheart had somehow procured for you.

Nestled carefully in the middle of a hollowed out book is the entire reason you had asked for your belongings- the necklace from your mother. Your idiot of a father must have been so pleased to be rid of you that he hadn’t even bothered to go through your things before he shipped them off.

The dark green gem shines as it catches the sunlight that streams through your windows and reminds you of sunshine filtered through the canopy of the forest. As you look at the gem, you think of the happy afternoons as a young girl where your mother had taken you and your brothers out to play in the lake, how you used to chase after the older boys on your much shorter legs before they grew tired of your whining and took turns carrying you on their backs. Your mother used to tease you that you would always be chasing after your brothers, for better or worse, and your brothers had laughed at that, back before your father’s displeasure at having to raise a daughter had poisoned their minds, too.

You clasp the necklace around your neck and press your hand to where the gem sits over your heart. For a moment, you can almost feel your mother’s heartbeat alongside your own- a lovely, warm flutter deep beneath the aching of your chest.

But it feels wrong. Like some hidden weakness was on display for the world to judge. And of course Astarion would be the type to judge. Pretentious asshole.

As you glance around the room, your gaze catches on the golden wedding band that had been sitting on your bedside since you had pulled it off after the wedding. It felt too tight where it had wrapped around your finger- a noose that threatened to strangle you. But you felt too naked without it, as if this momentous upheaval in your life needed to be marked on your body by a silly gold band.

Finally, it seems as if you have found a compromise. Carefully, you slide the green gem off the chain of the necklace and place the gemstone back inside the hollowed out book. Taking great care, you arrange the book on the shelf as inconspicuously as possible, hoping that no one else will find your little hiding spot.

You slip the wedding ring through the necklace chain, letting the cold circle of metal settle over your heart.

—-------

It doesn’t take long for you to get bored of your room- your curiosity urging you to explore the rest of the manner and overriding the dread of running into Astarion.

You last about three hours exploring before you catch sight of Astarion walking toward you in a hallway. When you see him, you debate turning around or ducking into a room to avoid him, but he’s already locked eyes with you, grinning like a cat that just found a new mouse to play with.

“What? No vicious insults to hurl at me this morning? I was almost looking forward to it,” he mocks as he blocks your path.

“Ah yes, polite and civilized, the first two adjectives anyone would use to describe you.” Astarion interrupts. “Certainly not obstinate and combative.”

His face is stern as he looks down at you and while the words themselves are a bit insulting, he says them with a hint of fondness that makes you think he might enjoy ‘obstinate and combative.’

“Well, you’re manipulative and arrogant!” You retort, crossing your arms over your chest. Admittedly, you are maybe not making the best argument against being called combative.

“So creative, darling. I’m sure no one else has ever dreamed of calling a vampire manipulative or arrogant,” Astarion says, arrogantly.

There’s an excited thrum in your veins, like when you had talked and danced with him at the ball. Apparently, it didn’t matter if you were competing with Astarion to see who could charm the other better or who could insult the other better- the battle of wits set your insides aflame.

“My lack of creativity has more to do with you being a garish caricature of your kind than any lack of vocabulary on my part.”

“Garish? That’s a new one. I’ve been accused of being many things, but my taste has never been in question before,” his voice has that low, suggestive quality and the way his eyes rake up and down your body implies that his tastes most certainly include you.

“Really?” you look around for dramatic effect, squinting to inspect the heavy curtains that block the sun, “Because I actually think what you need is some more cobwebs and skulls around here. Maybe some bats? I think that would really add to the macabre, haunted aura that an evil vampire lair needs.”

Astarion’s lip twitches up at the side, just a flash before he’s glowering down at you again, but it’s enough to know that you’d bested him.

Current score: 0-1, in your favor.

Except, okay, maybe Astarion did get a point because he managed to trick you into marrying him… You weren’t willing to give him more points for the whole butter knife debacle that it could probably be argued that you lost.

So, you’re now tied at 1. That gave you plenty of time to win whatever little game it was that Astarion was insisting on playing with you.

Astarion lets out a bored sigh, as if you had been the one blocking him and wasting his time in the hallway and not the reverse.

“As much as I would love to stand around all day and discuss your interior design visions, I have better things to do. Have a good day, dearest.”

You continue on with your exploration with a bit of a pep in your step at getting Astarion to almost crack a real smile. And when you realize that your run in with Astarion, of all people, might actually be the highlight of your day, you are plunged into a despair so great you feel as though you are drowning. How dare he be a bright spot in your life? Not when you had resolved to hate him forever.

But, you’re determined to make the best of a bad situation- especially now that you aren’t locked in your room anymore. Astarion is still manages to leave your head and your heart spinning every time you talk to him.

You must constantly remind yourself that his beauty is a trap- meant to take you off guard, meant for you to offer up your neck to him for a kiss, only to be surprised by the fangs that sink in instead. It is part of his game to repeat the act over and over, to charm you and beguile you as he did at the ball so that you forget the monster hiding underneath. You are not immune to this trap, but you are determined to outsmart it. Better to believe he is constantly tricking you than to foolishly succumb to his enchantments again.

You might be a bit fuzzy on remembering all the rules about vampires, but you’re pretty sure that they’re unable to go out into the sun. And based on the thick curtains that cover the windows during the day and the time that you saw Astarion nearly run away when a stray beam of sunlight had made its way through a crack in said curtains, you’re fairly certain that bit of lore is true.

To avoid him and the perplexing thoughts that inevitably follow interacting with him, you spend a lot of time in the gardens. It’s easier that way, separated from Astarion- where his beautiful face and sweet, insincere words can’t leave your mind spinning.

And because you’re still mad at him, some days you hope that he is able to look down on you and watch how the gentle warmth of the sun caresses your skin. You hope he’s seething with jealousy, pouting and stomping around like an angry child that the sun will get to touch you in a way he never will.

The servants don’t really bother you in the gardens. Shadowheart does stop by every couple hours to check in on you or bring you tea or food. Gale stops by sometimes, too, for a bit of conversation. Or rather, he talks at you for a bit. He seems to really like the sound of his own voice but he’s friendly enough, so you humor him.

Your favorite companion is Gale’s cat, Tara, who likes to curl up in the sunlight next to you or press her head into your hand when she would like to be pet.

It takes you a couple weeks to work up enough courage to finally squeak out anything more than a ‘hello’ when you pass the gardener, Halsin. At first, you were a bit scared of the giant, imposing man. But, it only took one or two short conversations before you realize that he’s a total sweetheart, incapable of insincerity or cruelty. The exact opposite of your husband.

A part of you wishes that perhaps you were married to Halsin, a man who is filled only with kindness down to his very soul. A man who wouldn’t leave his wife doubting where she stood, doubting the truth in every word he says.

You ask Halsin to teach you how to work in the gardens and you start joining him on his tasks some mornings.

Today, the sun sits high in the sky and the ribbon of your sunhat tickles your skin where it is tied under your chin. Alongside Halsin, you work on pruning the expansive collection of rose bushes. Every color you can imagine must be present in the garden and as you admire the blush pinks, sky blues, and variegated white that leads to lavender purple, Halsin points out the varieties with the silliest names.

“You have an uncanny talent for avoiding the thorns,” Halsin points out. His own careful hands are littered with little scratches and yours remain unmarked.

You scoff, remembering your first conversation with Astarion. “A rather unfortunate and useless talent of mine. Around here, I find it would be more useful to be adept at avoiding a vampire’s fangs.”

Halsin gives a deep chuckle at that and damn it if his mood isn’t infectious. In seemingly no time at all, he managed to erase the scowl from your face that was brought up at the thought of Astarion and had you giggling next to him.

“I believe we have eyes on us,” Halsin observes, an easy smile on his face as he looks up to a darkened window in the corner of the manor.

You only spare a quick glance. The window is dark and impossible to see through, surely coated with some special paint that allows Astarion to look outside without being burnt to a crisp by the sun. Although you cannot see him, you’re sure he is watching. Halsin gives a big wave that you imagine makes Astarion fume.

“My husband,” you hiss the word, so full of vitriol and anger, “has no say over how I choose to spend my time.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s very aware that you can’t be tamed,” Halsin laughs again, deep and with his whole chest. You were jealous of how easy laughter came to him, how he was able to find joy in everything when there was this angry bubble that had been nestled in your chest for so long, ready to explode at any moment.

“I’m sure you remind him at every opportunity. I bet he has his hands full with a wild thing like you.” Halsin continues.

“Wild?” You ask, with faux indignation. “I’ll have you know I’m a very polite, very civilized lady.”

“I highly doubt that many polite, civilized ladies would spend their day with their hands in the dirt,” Halsin teases, with his signature wide, friendly smile lighting up his face.

“It’s refreshing, being connected to the earth,” you drop the joking tone and speak honestly, letting your fingers brush against soft petals of the peach pink rose in front of you.

“I think the same,” Halsin agrees, continuing to snip away at the bush next to you.

“My father never would have approved of me doing this. It’s wonderful to finally spend my days doing the things I want to do.”

You hear your words as you say them. The realization sends you reeling that evening- that for the first time in your life, you might actually feel free.

But no, you rationalize to yourself, it’s not because of Astarion that you’re living this life. It’s in spite of him.

—------------

In between reading and working in the garden with Halsin, you continue to explore.

One day, you duck into a large room at the end of the western wing, shocked to discover the portrait gallery. The room is filled with dozens of portraits that all seem just a bit too old, with nearly all the paintings dating back centuries. How long had it been since the mighty House of Ancunins had thrived?

Walking through the room, you study the Ancunins represented on the canvases, looking for any hint of resemblance to Astarion. You tell yourself this is because you are trying to determine if he’s a true ‘Ancunin’ and not simply because you cannot help but compare everything in the world to Astarion’s beauty.

Since he was so secretive, you still hadn’t been able to discern if the rumors surrounding him were true- if he really was a bastard, or some rich man from a far off land who had bought the Ancunin name for himself, or simply the last remaining child of a dying legacy. If you could just figure out this little detail, it would do wonders to cracking the puzzle that was Astarion’s mind.

Some of the paintings do bear a faint resemblance to Astarion in their features- high cheekbones and sharp jawlines. But you remind yourself that those are common features and not convincing enough evidence to prove any of your theories.

Toward the back of the room, there’s a large painting that has been covered and it draws your attention. After you pull the tapestry aside, you discover a portrait of a family- with wide, happy smiles on all of their faces. The overwhelming sense of love that radiates from the painting takes you off guard for a moment. You were used to the portraits in your family home- all stern, cold faces staring back at you.

In the painting before you, the man stands tall and proud in the background, his light blonde hair curling around familiar high cheekbones. One of his hands rests on a woman’s shoulder, presumably his wife. She was stunning, perhaps the most beautiful woman you had ever seen with her long, pale hair and shimmering blue eyes that almost seemed to dance with life.

In the middle is a son, a boy no older than seven or eight, with gentle hands from both his parents resting on his shoulders. The boy seemed to inherit the best features from both of his parents- rich blue eyes and wild, curly white hair with a cherubic smile offset by youthful, plump cheeks.

It’s unmistakably Astarion.

It’s strange to think of him like that- as a boy and not the monster that you were forced to marry. What possible could have happened to this happy little boy to turn him into the man you know?

It’s undeniable that Astarion is truly an Ancunin, but this revelation just leaves you with even more questions. How did he become a vampire? How long had he been a vampire? What caused him to suddenly come home and reclaim his title?

You wander around the gallery a bit more. There’s more old portraits of nobles and families, Ancunins long since deceased, but you’ve grown bored of them after your discovery of young Astarion.

When you make your way back to the front, you find there’s also a new addition of Astarion, the version you were familiar with. He must have had it recently commissioned because the paint looks fresh, not cracked and faded by time.

And oh, how wonderfully the artist had managed to capture him- the diligently arranged curls, the danger that simmered beneath the surface of his blood red eyes, the familiar smirk on his lips. The breath is pulled from your lungs. It was as if he was sculpted by the gods themselves as a present for humanity. Surely, this man was the universe’s magnum opus.

As you inspect the painting, tracing the curve of Astarion’s pretty nose and the soft arch of his brow with your eyes, you recall how Astarion’s reflection had been missing in the mirror when he had pursued you the night of the ball. It dawns on you that this portrait is the only way that Astarion can see himself. The realization leaves you a profound melancholy.

“It’s quite a remarkable likeness, isn’t it?” Gale’s voice interrupts your thoughts as he comes to stand next to you. You try to make it seem like you weren’t so obviously gawking at Astarion’s painting but, as usual, Gale is already busy talking again. “I don’t think the Lord was quite as impressed with it as we are. I believe he said that he looked too old but I think he just doesn’t know how to appreciate fine art like you and I.”

Gale’s insight is rather humorous because out of everyone here, Astarion seems like the kind of pretentious snob who would love art.

“I can talk to him about organizing for you to have one done,” Gale offers.

“I’ve never sat for a portrait before,” you nervously admit aloud, continuing to stare ahead and trace the painted curls that frame Astarion’s portrait like a halo.

“But your family-” Gale starts but you raise a hand to cut him off. But your family is rich and cares about status so you must have sat for a portrait at some point. Gale, like many, didn’t understand the depth of your father’s apathy toward you.

“My father was rather eager to be rid of me. I don’t think he’d want a giant portrait to remind him of his failures in raising me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale’s mouth hanging open a bit and for the first time ever, he seems unsure how to respond. Nevertheless, he persists.

“Well, you’ll do wonderfully. It’s just a lot of sitting around and doing nothing,” Gale takes a moment to think. “Or- er- actually you might not do very well at that. You’re the type to get restless easily.”

You laugh. “I can sit just about anywhere if I’m given a book.”

“We can tie her down if we need to,” Astarion’s voice lilts in from over your shoulder, all deep and rich and making your bones turn mushy.

When you turn your head, you see him casually leaning against the doorway, as if he had just happened to run across you and Gale. Based on how hard he is trying to appear nonchalant, you doubt this is the case. More likely, he overheard your and Gale’s voices from his study down the hallway and couldn’t resist injecting himself into the conversation. Nosy vampire.

Pushing himself off the wall, Astarion comes to stand between you and Gale, who is now staring sheepishly down at his feet. There’s a sharp glint in Astarion’s eye that reminds you of a hound that’s tracking a scent. Singularly focused, solely devoted.

“And no books.” Astarion’s voice is still rich with flirtation as he reaches out a finger to trace it softly along your cheek. “The painter needs to be able to see that darling face of yours if he hopes to match even a fraction of your beauty.”

At this point, you know his words are meaningless, so why do they still leave your silly heart fluttering inside your chest?

“So, you aren’t opposed to the idea?” You ask, staring intently into Astarion’s eyes to truly gauge his reaction. He stares back, challenging you to be the one to back down first.

“Quite the opposite. A beauty like yours should be remembered forever,” he says, with that devilish grin you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. “And think of how good we’ll look up there next to one another.”

“I heard you don’t like your portrait,” you tease.

“Alas, my beauty cannot be captured on canvas alone.” Astarion finally turns away from your gaze to look at his own portrait. He sighs, forlornly, as if his beauty is some massive gift to the world (it is). After a few seconds, he wrinkles his nose, “Besides, I look much too old. There’s no way I have that many wrinkles.”

Gale shoots you an eye roll over Astarion’s shoulder and you hold back a smile. Honestly, you had forgotten he was there- too consumed in your own little world of bergamot and flaming red eyes and Astarion.

—--------------

The next day, you ask Shadowheart how she came to work for Astarion, hoping her insight will reveal even more pieces of the puzzle that is Astarion. Today’s snooping has given you an intimate peek into his mind and that you are familiar with bookends, Astarion the boy and Astarion the vampire, you just need to discover the story in between.

“The Lord has a habit of taking in strays,” she says with a grin that tells you she knows how unsatisfied you will be with her response. Of course, her answer had to be a riddle that leaves you with more questions than answers, like everything involving Astarion.

“Is no one here capable of giving me a straight answer?” you groan and Shadowheart laughs at you.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She playfully tugs on a strand of your hair that she’s pinning up for you. “I much prefer trying to watch you work it all out on your own.”

And even if Shadowheart won’t help you, you’re determined to figure Astarion out. And the best way to do that was to go straight to the source and investigate his study. Best case scenario, you find some secret diary that reveals all of Astarion’s secrets. Worst case scenario, you find out what kind of ink he prefers using.

When you hear Astarion’s soft footsteps move down the hallway, you spring into action. The door to the room is locked, which you had anticipated. Earlier, you had asked Shadowheart to pin your hair up this morning especially for this purpose. After a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure the coast is still clear, you slip a pin out of your hair and insert it into the lock, wiggling it around until you feel the satisfying click of the door.

You had only seen the room on your wedding night, when you had come to confront Astarion. It seems so much bigger without him. His presence always seems to take up so much space.

Knowing his desk will hold the most valuable information, you start there. It is filled with papers and books, but your eyes are immediately drawn to the maps. Picking one up, you feel the worn paper in your hands. The title in the top corner claims it is of the distant city, Baldur’s Gate. While you had never visited the city,, you had been raised on stories of the city as a child by your mother, who came from the Upper City to marry your father. Across the map, weird ‘X’s drawn on seemingly random locations in the city.

After you set the map back down, you pilfer through the other items on the desk, looking for some clue to decipher the markings on the maps. But, the rest of the loose pages on the desk are filled with legal jargon and cryptic notes about mysterious artifacts in looping, cursive handwriting. You should have guessed that Astarion would have beautiful, nearly calligraphic handwriting- he was meticulous about every aspect of his appearance and how others perceived him and it clearly extended to even little details like handwriting.

Apparently, Astarion was also a secret bookworm based on the piles of books on the edge of the desk. You skim the spines of the numerous books, which range from contract law to Balduran history to famous historical artifacts.

And underneath all the papers and books, there’s a single scrap of paper with an intricate drawing on it- a complicated series of circles and lines, with little patterns that look almost like letters, but not any that you would recognize. Captivated by the drawing, you hold it up to the candlelight, twisting and turning it in the hopes that it may decode the pattern’s secret meaning.

“What are you doing here?” Astarion asks, voice hard and tinted with anger.

You lower the paper to reveal his face, looking at you from the opposite side of the desk. You hadn’t even noticed him enter the room- perhaps a testament to his stealth or perhaps your senses were diminished while you were distracted by the strange drawing.

Oh, he’s mad. Almost as mad as you had seen him at the ball. His pretty brows are all pinched together and red eyes a blazing inferno.

Unsure how to explain yourself, you opt for silence. Astarion tuts in disapproval, practically ripping the drawing from your hand. As he moves to your side of the desk, he pushes you out of the way so he can sort the books back into neat little piles and tuck the papers away into the drawers of the desk. You catch sight of a leatherbound book in the top drawer before Astarion quickly locks it with a little gold key that is immediately slipped back into his pocket.

“The door was locked,” Astarion turns around to face you, sitting back against the desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

There’s only a foot or so of space between you but it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“Was that supposed to stop me?”

Your response seems to amuse Astarion, who lets out a huff of laughter before he resumes studying you with narrowed, critical eyes, “And where did a little thing like you learn how to pick locks?”

“A bored little rich girl learns to do a lot of things to fill her time,” you shoot back at him.

“Oh, I bet you taught yourself how to do all sorts of things,” the smile he gives you is lecherous and your face heats at the implications. When you don’t rise to his taunts, Astarion rolls his eyes and drops the smile. “But sometimes, doors are locked for a reason.”

That was a low blow. You can feel your blood boiling beneath your skin. Though you had resolved yourself to hate Astarion forever, you had felt the two of you could grow to be civil with one another as of late. But, of course, he always had to nettle you and take it too far by bringing up the days he had kept you locked in your room like a prisoner. You still haven't forgiven him for that.

“Oh, I know all about your thoughts on locked doors,” you say, hoping the Astarion can feel your angry, burning gaze like sunlight against his skin.

“Well, if you would cooperate-” Astarion starts. Like you are the issue here.

“You mean, if I just did whatever you said regardless of my own thoughts and feelings,” you interrupt. “I will not let you break me and turn me into some little wife that obeys your every command. That is not who I am.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth again, darling.” Astarion sighs, before the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. “And I’d so rather it be occupied with something else.”

He’s deflecting, you realize. Reverting back to flirtation and sexual innuendo in an attempt to either distract you or knock you off balance. This is his way of trying to gain control of the situation again. And based on the way his hands are gripping the edge of the desk he’s leaned against, white knuckled and nearly tight enough to crush the wood, he’s barely restraining himself.

You’ve hit a nerve. But why?

Astarion probably just didn’t like that you made a good point. Deciding to ignore Astarion’s comment, you continue on with your point.

“And what will you do if I don’t listen to you? Torture me? Kill me?” You retort and his lips curl up, baring his fangs slightly.

For a moment, you almost hope you’ve sent him over the edge and this time, he will rip your throat open. You would be dead, but for one glorious moment, you would feel his lips against your neck.

Or perhaps you could reach your hand out and prick the tip of your finger on his fang. Watch his pretty mouth close around your finger as he sucks at the drop of blood. No. You lock that image very far into the back of your mind. You didn’t need to be thinking silly thoughts like that.

“At the moment, death would be preferable to this miserable existence,” you say. Which isn’t totally true. You’ve actually really enjoyed your time here so far (with the exception of being imprisoned the first couple days). But Astarion just makes you so mad and you get to a point where you can’t control your anger, where hurtful words involuntarily spill their way out of you- a wonderful trait you inherited from your father.

“There are fates a lot worse than death,” Astarion looks unimpressed with your answer, something akin to melancholy clouding his crimson eyes.

His response surprises you, completely knocking the wind out of your sails. You’re so confused that you can’t even manage to be angry anymore.

Fates worse than death. What could he possibly mean by that?

“Yes, and being married to you is one of them,” you hiss at him, trying to get this argument back on track.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He takes a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking in a deep breath. Gone is the confidant Astarion you are used to. The man in front of you just seems tired and deflated.

But his words fester deep within you, sounding entirely too much like your father and the anger is bubbling in your chest again.

“Don’t condescend to me!”

“It’s not condescension if I’m simply speaking the truth, pet,” Astarion says, looking at you as if you are an ill-behaved child. It makes you want to stomp on his foot and storm out of the room.

“If anyone told me what was going on around here, I wouldn’t have resorted to breaking into your office in the first place! I’m the Lady of the manor, it’s disrespectful to keep things from me!”

“There is nothing going on here!” Astarion lies. He’s too quick with his response, too loud in his exclamation. You know when someone is deflecting. This argument was just going to continue to go in circles.

“I’m leaving,” you finally huff after staring Astarion down for a few seconds. You are sure to knock his shoulder with your own as you leave to let him know how displeased you are.

As you walk back to your room, you catch yourself absent-mindedly reaching out to touch your shoulder that had brushed Astarion. Foolish girl.

You spend the rest of your day in your room, trying to think what Astarion could be up to. It didn’t seem like he was involved in any rituals or sacrifices. Maybe shady business dealings? It’s not unheard of for nobles to be corrupt, paid off by wealthy criminals to ignore blatant lawlessness. Though, it seems weird that he cares so much about Baldur’s Gate…

“Lord Ancunin would like you to join him for dinner tonight,” Shadowheart interrupts your musings that evening when she pokes her head into your room.

You gape at her. After your spat earlier today, you wonder if perhaps this is his attempt at extending an olive branch or if dinner was simply an opportunity to extend the argument. Either way, the thought of sitting at the table with him causes your stomach to turn. And you hate that you aren’t sure whether it turns with delight or disgust.

“I decline,” you respond, moving to close the door, but Shadowheart’s hand whips out and forces it open. She’s so strong that it won’t close, even as you push your full body against it.

“Your refusal was anticipated and won’t be accepted. I’m here to help you get dressed.”

You know Shadowheart to be as stubborn as you and unwavering in her loyalty. While she was your lady’s maid, your friend, first and foremost, she still respected Astarion enough to listen to silly demands like this. At this point, you know her well enough to know that you’re going to end up at that dinner table no matter what you say.

It’s fairly reminiscent of your wedding day, how Shadowheart dresses you up and has to practically drag you to your seat.

“Wife,” Astarion greets you with a sweet, rehearsed smile. He looks stunning, his fair hair and skin practically glowing against the dark velvet of his suit coat. The rubies that serve as the buttons pale in comparison to his bright, sparkling red eyes. The thought faintly crosses your mind that Astarion is dressed in such finery as a way to impress you.

“Husband,” you nearly snarl back at him as you sit down in the chair that’s been pulled out for you. The dinner table is outrageously long, something used for large dinner parties, and Astarion sits at the head. You’ve been guided to the seat at his right. It must be some sort of power play that he’s chosen these as your seats for the night- a subtle reminder that he’s the one in control after you had dared to defy him earlier today.

“This is ridiculous, you don’t even eat dinner!” You cry out, noticing that Astarion didn’t even bother to have a place setting laid out for himself.

“I have plenty to drink,” Astarion points out, lifting his goblet. “It’s about spending time together as husband and wife, dearest.”

When you look down at your own place setting, you notice that the butter knife is missing.

“Very funny,” you say, unamused by Astarion’s antics.

“Well, given your history, I thought it best for my safety to remove any potential knives from the equation tonight,” Astarion grins at you from over the top of his goblet and you can tell he’s very pleased with himself at this little stunt.

“And I assume you mean to further disrespect me by not placing me at the other head of the table.”

“Hardly,” Astarion rolls his eyes. “I just thought it would be easier for us to talk if we weren’t shouting at each other from opposite ends of the room.”

“Perhaps I like to eat in silence,” you counter and he lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Always an argument. Must it always be a fight?” He sighs, but you think you detect a hint of amusement in his voice. “Has it ever occurred to you that I am trying to make your stay here more comfortable?”

You blink at him because no, you had never considered that. That doesn’t fit the Astarion you’ve concocted in your head- the cruel vampire lord who is controlling and manipulative.

He takes a moment to think, his mouth opening and closing a couple times before he finally says, “I know that you hold no affection for me, but I hope we can at least learn to coexist with one another.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, mind still reeling from this sudden confession that has completely shifted your entire view of Astarion, yet again. First, a handsome suitor, then a heartless monster and now… some combination of the two, a beautiful monster? A heartless suitor?

“You seem fond of the gardens,” he comments and it pulls you back to the night at the ball, when he had seen you gazing at them longingly over his shoulder while you danced.

He’s right, of course, you do love the gardens. Love checking for new blooms every day and plucking bouquets to bring up to your room. But, you hesitate to say another reason you love them is because Astarion can’t follow you out there. That there’s a false sense of freedom and safety in the light of day. A part of you is sure that Astarion already knows this. He somehow seems to know what you’re thinking before you even do.

When you don’t speak, he continues, his eyes flashing with something akin to jealousy, “You spend a lot of time with Halsin out there. “

Something like pride or satisfaction that he’s noticed and seems to care blooms within you. Though, you do feel the need to defend Halsin, who has been the consummate gentleman and one of the few people you consider a friend here beside Shadowheart.

And Tara, who is a cat.

And maybe Gale… though, you’re reluctant to admit that to yourself.

“Halsin has been nice to me. Which is more than I can say about you,” you shoot back at Astarion.

“Am I not being nice now?” He asks in a mocky, overly astonished voice, hands spreading wide in a dramatic flourish.

“Not at this exact moment, no.”

This back and forth feels more normal, more right. Not like the melancholy that had consumed Astarion earlier today.

No, you won’t let Astarion win this night by acting as the more mature person. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and eat a bite of the creamy soup that had been placed in front of you. Evidently, Astarion was committed to the knife bit and wasn’t planning to serve food that required you to use one. Which you do have to admit is at least marginally nicer than if he had served you with some meat that required lots of cutting.

While you continue to eat, you debate whether you should share a piece of information with him and see how he reacts, see if he’s willing to offer up a piece of information about himself in return. Astarion is the type to use everything you say against you, so you start small.

“I’m rather fond of walking. And I’ve always loved to read outside.” You say, catching how his face softens a bit at your revelation. “Though, I haven’t found any new books here, so I’ve been stuck rereading the ones I brought with me.”

“You like to read?” Astarion smiles lightly at you and you think that perhaps he might be trying to find common ground. Based on the number of books on his desk and packed into the bookshelves in his study, Astarion seemed to be a voracious reader, like yourself.

“Very much so,” you give him your own little smile in response.

“What kind of books do you like?” Astarion leans his chin in his hand as he looks at you, as if you’re the most fascinating person he’s ever met.

It seems ridiculous that you should be sitting at dinner with an evil vampire lord, talking about your favorite books. You still don’t feel like you know him well enough to admit to him your penchant for romance novels- that felt like the kind of detail he would tease you mercilessly about.

“Anything,” you say. It’s too overwhelming to have all Astarion’s attention focused on you, so you give Astarion a playful smile, “Though, I haven’t ever taken a crack at those legal books you seem to love so much.”

Astarion stiffens a bit at the mention of what you saw earlier in his office, but you are ultimately rewarded for your earlier attempt at civility because Astarion tells you, “I studied law when I was in school. But that was a long time ago… I have lots of catching up to do.”

While it’s a reasonable explanation, you don’t buy it. He did seem like the type to be a haughty, arrogant lawyer or magistrate, but you certainly don’t believe that he’s reading legal books just as a means to catch up. No, Astarion only did things that served his own interests- either he was in a bad contract and wanted out or he wanted to write a confusing contract to trap someone else.

Though his answer was vague, you do appreciate his willingness to open up to you a little bit. You’d have to keep giving bits of information about yourself to Astarion if it meant you found out more about him, in return. You spend the rest of the night asking each other questions, discovering likes and dislikes, finding things in common, and trading anecdotes.

Or, more accurately, Astarion tells grandiose tales that you’re certain are mostly exaggerated, but every now and then he drops the hint of truth.

And okay, yeah, some people might call that friendship- but for you, it’s a strategic interrogation of your enemy. Right?

—---------------

Early the next morning, just as the sun is beginning to rise, there’s a soft knock on your door.

You’re not sure who could be on the other side of the door. Shadowheart had already stopped by to help you dress this morning. Maybe Halsin was visiting to tell you he was going to town for the day and didn’t need help in the gardens? Or Gale had stopped by with a message from Astarion?

The last person you expected to see was Astarion himself, who seemed to be nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for you to open the door.

“I wanted to catch you before you went out to the gardens for the day,” Astarion explains.

“Okay,” you narrow your eyes at him, suspicious of his motives. You had just reached some sort of… compromise with him last night, would he really betray you again so swiftly? You were inclined to think yes based on previous interactions.

“Come with me,” Astarion holds out his hand for you to take. “I have something I want to show you.”

Despite your suspicion, you take Astarion’s hand with your own and his skin where your palms touch, the normal human warmth missing. The whole thing feels strangely intimate. Astarion guides you to a wing of the manor you hadn’t yet explored and stops outside a set of twin doors. He doesn’t drop your hand as he turns to face you.

“If you’re so bored that you feel the need to break into empty rooms, I figured it’d be better to keep you busy,” Astarion says with a mischievous grin as he opens a door for you and guides you inside the room.

Inside is the largest, most extravagant library you’ve ever seen. You had feared that you’d grown used to opulence in your short time as Lady Ancunin, but you’re still stunned to silence at the sight. It would take lifetimes to read all the books in front of you. The bookshelves stretch to the ceiling and there’s even a second story beyond that. Beside you, you can feel Astarion’s eyes carefully studying your reaction as you stand with your mouth hanging open in shock.

“Last night, you mentioned that you had run out of books,” Astarion’s voice is so gentle when he speaks and your hand is holding onto his like a lifeline, as if he’s the only thing tethering you back to reality. You can feel tears brimming at the corners of your eyes.

“Thank you. I- ” you trail off, unsure of what to say. That this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you? That you’re overwhelmed by this emotion bubbling up inside you that you can’t name, or maybe are too scared of what it will mean if you do give it a name?

“I don’t even know where to start!” You say with an incredulous laugh, already overwhelmed with the prospect of finding a book in this maze.

Astarion gives a gentle tug on your hand and you follow after him to a bookshelf, where he reaches up to pluck a book off the shelf. You follow the long line of his arm as he reaches up, transfixed by the way he moves- always so graceful, as if every motion he makes is part of some dance that only he can hear the music to.

“Here, little flower,” he says, finally dropping your hand to pass the book to you. “One of my favorites.”

Little flower. Your heart skips happily in your chest.

And oh, he had offered up that piece of information so willingly, too. You hadn’t even had to give him anything in return except a watery smile. Surely, Astarion can hear the singing of your heart in your chest.

“I’ll never find the right words to thank you for this gift,” you tell him.

“Finally, then, I’ve figured out how to get you to stop talking.” Astarion teases, his hand reaching out to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen down your cheek. And oh, words are said with that soft smile on his face that makes you think that he means the exact opposite of what he’s saying. That suggests that maybe he likes how much you talk, how much you challenge him.

There’s a spark of either bravery or madness inside you as you lean up to press a kiss to Astarion’s cheek. His flawless skin is soft and cold underneath your lips.

“Thank you, husband. Truly.”

Astute as he is, you know he will notice that this is the first time you’ve called him husband without a layer of disgust or anger twisting the word. That this is the first time you’ve used it in earnest and not as an insult meant to wound him.

And truly, this is the first time that you could perhaps see him filling that role in your life someday. Even if whatever’s growing inside you right now doesn’t stick around, perhaps Astarion could grow to be… a friend? Perhaps this marriage truly was the first step in achieving freedom in your life, and not the prison you first saw it as.

For the first time, you wonder if Astarion doesn’t have some evil, hidden plot like you had first assumed. Perhaps you were so hurt by his initial trickery that you have misjudged him, have mistaken his kindness for manipulation.

Because, yes, Astarion might not have been the most gracious host at first, (i.e. locking you in a room and forcing you to marry him) but maybe he simply was a lonely man who ached for company, longed for someone to understand him and see the real person beneath his carefully constructed facade. You had felt so sure you knew him down to his very core, but perhaps you didn’t really know him at all.

No. You had been wrong about Astarion. You had been beguiled by his charms at the ball and had felt betrayed when you realized that you weren’t as special to him as he was to you and you had been lashing out at him ever since.

You aren’t sure if you can trust him yet, but maybe that will come with time.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Notes:

Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments and likes! It's so wonderful to know people are actually enjoying this story and I'm not just sending words out into the void every week lol.

Somehow, these chapters just keep getting longer and longer… The rough draft I have for chapter 5 is already 10k words and I'm nowhere near finished. Oops! Anyway, I'm not super in love with how this chapter shaped up, but I needed to transition us from point A (enemies) to point B (friendly-ish?) while also dropping some details that help set up the larger plot for the later chapters. Stick around and next Sunday we will be back to our regularly scheduled yearning!

As always, thanks to AliensNSuch on ao3 for beta-reading. She also posted some pretty cool art inspired by Chapter 1 of this story over on her tumlbr @vanillagorilala.

I'm also starting a taglist so please let me know if you'd like to be added to it!

Taglist: @ayselluna

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfiction #baldurs gate 3 fanfic #x reader #til death do us part

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blippymilk · 4 months

Text

Big Brother Veneer x Little Sister Reader

❥ Definitely your biggest supporter and hater at the same time (normal brother behavior)

❥ Although you wouldn’t consider having Veneer as a sibling a “normal” experience

❥ At all.

❥ He had very mixed feelings about you for the first few months of your life

❥ He knew he wasn’t the baby of the family anymore according to Velvet (and dude loves attention soooo)

❥ He thinks your cute but thinks he’s cuter

❥ May or may not have tried to plot with Velvet on how to get a stork to come by and take you back to where you came from (he was pure ok)

❥ For the record Velvet did not agree (she wants Veneer to experience what happened to her too)

❥ The second he learned to love you, you were his favorite person ever.

❥ Your parents stopped worrying about you when they couldn’t find you because they knew Veneer always had you

❥ When he first tried singing he would take you to his room, grab his microphone, and sing to you. And when you clapped for him with your little hands he felt so pleased

❥ As you became a bit older Veneer turned into your biggest cheerleader

❥ He always woke up before anyone else in the house to feed you or warm your milk when you were fussy

❥ He was there when you took your first step

❥ He was there cheering you on when you said your first word

❥ He was there when you took a bite of your first solid food

❥ Whatever the occasion you name it

❥ As you got a little older your parents tended to notice you had a lot more personality than they expected

❥ And it was sort of like Veneer’s (and a little of Velvet)

❥ Veneer loved that for you

❥ You were a pretty stand your ground kid, with a little sass

❥ Veneer risked being late on his first day back at school to see your first day in kindergarten

❥ Gave you as many words of advice as he could

“You go in there and show them who’s boss. And let me know if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll deal with them.”

❥ Veneer got smacked a little by his mom for the last sentence but he still stood by his word

❥ He was so happy for you later on when you came home excited

❥ Getting a little older and mature (around 5th grade) Veneer was basically your partner in crime

❥ Something was always happening under your household and it always landed back on you two

❥ Veneer’s the type of brother to know his parents will say no so he’ll send his younger sibling to ask

❥ One time Veneer encouraged you to watch a scary movie with him while the adults were away. You agreed and Velvet did not want to be apart of it.

❥ So by time your parents got back and it was lights out, you were shaking in your bed

❥ You ended up running to your parents to tell and you thought Veneer would be mad at you just for them to find him shaking in his bed too

❥ You both got grounded for a week

❥ When you made it to middle school Veneer noticed your energy shifting a little bit

❥ He knew there was a lot that could be happening to you in middle school because he hated middle school

❥ It could be teachers, students, homework, guys/girl problems, bullies, etc.

❥ So he convinced you to come to him whenever you needed to spill

❥ And you did

❥ Veneer definitely helped you with your fashion sense

❥ …Veneer when you get into your first relationship…😟

❥ Not exactly smooth sailing

❥ That’s why you tried to hide it at first

❥ Just so you know it did not work out and Veneer felt almost offended 😭

❥ Ends up getting along with them really well (if he likes their persona)

❥ But when it’s time for your first breakup he’s along with you every step of the way

“I never liked them anyways to be honest. You deserve way better.”

❥ Will definitely go with you to a school dance if no one else wants to

❥ And if you’re not into school dances yall are going somewhere fun like a movie, or a trampoline park

❥ Your brother Veneer who supports you reguardless of what you want to do in the future (he won’t ever let you be a lazy bum though)

❥ He cried when you started highschool

❥ If you both are in highschool together he’s your “bodyguard”

❥ Please don’t let him find out anybody is messing with you

❥ Likes to see what outfits you come up with on your own and he adores the way you dress

❥ His love for you never changes

❥ Veneer is overall just the best brother you could ask for

#trolls #trolls band together #trolls veneer #veneer x reader #veneer x sister reader #velvet and veneer #sister reader #big brother #fanfic #fandom

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alcides · 5 months

Note

I SEE THAT REQUESTS R OPEN !

would it be ok if i asked..

Velvet x Reader ? :33

maybe smth like , velvet LOVES reader a lot , , like overprotective + soft spot for reader ?1!1! :3

sorry ajshdhaj i just love velvet 😭

Omgosh yes!! There’s not enough Velvet fics 😔

Her and her “friend”

❥ pairing- Velvet X reader

❥ Romantic or platonic- Romantic

❥ Genre- Romance

❥ Reader- Gender Neutral

“Ugh! Poppet, did you see the way they were grabbing at you?!” Velvet wasn’t In a particularly good mood after watching your last show. People were very touchy with you today and Velvet wasn’t having any of it.

“Vel’s, you know how people are. They’re touchy at your shows too.” She huffed at your answer still beings a little ticked off. “Yeah but still, I don’t like random people’s grubby, dirty, and weird hands all over you. It weirds me out, you don’t know where they’ve been.”

She took a step back before looking at the time. “I- can we please talk about this when I get back from my interview? I just need time to cool off and I swear I’ll be in a better mood.” Velvet quickly kissed your cheek and ran off to get Veneer for their interview.

Ten minutes later you found the big screen in your house playing the interview. As normal the interviewer was asking questions, mostly to velvet. “So there’s rumors that you and famous singer, (Y/n), have been getting close lately?”

You watched your girlfriend’s eyes widen in fear. “Y-yes, of course! As most say, “Everything is better with friends!” And I stick to that saying everyday!” The interviewer grins at the thought of being able to be the first time hear this. “Well, what about the images of you and (Y/n) sneaking into town together? Anything you would like to tell us?”

Velvet wiggled in her seat uncomfortably at the questions. Veneer took notice and made sure to try and get her out of there as quickly as possible. “Well this interview was supposed to end a few minutes ago, me and my sister must be leaving now.”

“Very well.” the interviewer gives them a glare that could kill. You turned the TV off with a quick flick and waited impatiently for the siblings to get back.

“(Y/n)?” You heard the voice of Velvet as she and Veneer heaved through your house. “Vel’s! I saw the interview…I am so sorry I have gotten you into all of this. I mean-“ Velvet quickly cut you off.

“Poppet, it’s okay. Actually I’m sorry too, I’ve gotten you and me into trouble and I get mad when fans touch you and I just don’t want to lose you.” Your heart melted a little at her confession. It was one of the first times she actually talked to you, heart to heart style.

“It’s okay.” You opened your arms up and few seconds later. “Hugs?” You soon felt a warm feeling on your upper torso and she engulfed you in a hug.

“Hugs.”

#stan writes 🦇#trolls band together x reader #trolls band together #velvet x reader #trolls x reader #troll velvet

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 2 months

Text

Faint of Heart | One Shot

Pairing: Astarion x The Dark Urge

Chapter Count: One Shot | Read on AO3

Word Count: 7,816

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 during Act 2. Explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge as Astarion struggles with a confession. Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Confession of Feelings, Mentions of Violence, Soft Astarion, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature

Author's Note: Back on my bullshit with these two. This is a one-shot based on the same Durge MC, Eli, as my other fics. I took some liberties with Astarion's confession scene, taking into account the background of the Dark Urge. It's all somewhat self-indulgent, and I wanted an excuse to write sassy Jaheira and practice writing from Astarion's POV. It's angsty, it's fluffy, it's soft and Karlach is the greatest wingman of them all! Thank you for reading my nonsense.

She stood, looking to everyone else in the Inn like a conquering hero ready to head out once more and face the darkness. She smiled with Rolan, laughed with Cal, chatted with Lia, and no one was the wiser.

Except him.

In their time together, Astarion had picked up on some of Eli’s tells. Behaviors that slipped past her mask of composure and enthusiasm, exposing the truth beneath her carefully constructed veneer.

She was exhausted. He could see it in the slight sag of her shoulders, in the way she kept having to blink and refocus on whoever she was conversing with, in her tired yet reassuring smile…the one she always had at the ready for anyone who came to her with yet another ordeal to hang around her shoulders.

A sudden and fierce burn of irrational anger flared in his chest as he continued to watch people flit around her. It brought to his mind an image of bees sucking the nectar dry from a gorgeous wildflower. They would use her until there was nothing left because that was their nature. They were desperate, all of them. The tieflings, Jaheira, Barcus, Counsellor Florrick…they were all starving for a savior, and Eli was that succor. They’d use her up until nothing was left. They’d watch her kill herself in the name of their ambitions, then hail her as a hero rather than the kind fool she was, always taking on other people’s burdens in some mad, desperate attempt to redeem whatever darkness lay coiled in her past.

Nevermind the fact that Eli’s kindness was exactly what he’d set out to manipulate from the start.

He was just as bad as the rest of them, looking to use Eli for her protection and capabilities. He was just as guilty. He’d seen her compassion as weakness and immediately dug his claws in, hooking into her like a parasite. Seducing her into his bed, stoking affection and twisting feelings – both hers and his – until he couldn’t tell truth from fiction.

And that was the problem.

Somewhere along the way, more and more truth began to slip into the words he used to charm her. He wasn’t sure when it started, but sometime between their passionate nights and hard fought days, genuine feelings began to stir every time he thought of her.

And, gods, he’d hated it.

On that first day after the nautiloid, when he’d discovered he could walk in sunlight and was out of reach of Cazador, he’d swore to never allow anyone control over him again. He’d rather drive a stake through his own heart than be a puppet tethered to someone else’s strings. And yet…here he was, allowing the very first person he’d met after making that oath to have sway over him. And he was utterly terrified he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

And so he sat at a far table in the bustling lounge of Last Light Inn, watching Eli and growing more and more perturbed as people buzzed around her.

Couldn’t they see how tired she was? She’d done enough for them today, breaking Wulbren and his compatriots out of Moonrise alongside the tieflings…well, those tieflings who’d survived the assault in the Shadowlands. Eli had been battered, bloodied and in desperate need of a healer, and yet the moment they’d come upon the prison, nothing else had mattered except freeing those being held captive.

She hadn’t said as much, but Astarion knew her well enough by now to recognize the shadow of devastation that drifted across her expression when Dammon described the attack that had scattered the refugees while on the road. She’d grown close to many of them, back at the Grove, often allowing conversations to drag on far past their welcome as some poor sod carried on about their insignificant struggles. It had frustrated Astarion to no end. They didn’t need to hear all about Bex’s absurd dream of owning a little orange cat with a bell on its neck! That knowledge did nothing to aid the process of driving steel through goblin guts.

It had all come to a head when she’d given Mol gold in exchange for absolutely nothing, spouting off some bullshit about wanting to back the next great thieves guild of Baldur’s Gate. Astarion had pulled Eli aside then, hissing about futile charity and asking her if she intended to bankroll every guttersnipe with a sob story.

She hadn’t missed a beat with her retort.

“Don’t worry, you’re still my favorite of all the guttersnipes I’ve come across. Thank the gods you only ask for blood and not gold. Otherwise, we’d be deadass broke.”

She’d leveled a stare at him that spoke volumes. He’d rolled his eyes and tried to hide the smirk threatening at the corners of his lips. Of course he was her favorite.

Still, it was mind-numbingly infuriating, how far Eli would go to help someone she cared for. What was worse was that Astarion knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she’d do the same for him. That she’d throw herself thoughtlessly into pain, torment and suffering for his sake. At one point, he could not have cared less whether she destroyed herself for his gain.

But those days were gone, and he was now forced to reckon with the fact that he’d grown attached…that he cared. That he’d slit the throat of anyone in this room who tried to take advantage of her. That he’d once been the person trying to take advantage...

The thought now stirred something uneasy and almost nauseous within his stomach. He hated thinking about how he’d treated her, and yet it seemed to be something he was incapable of forgetting. Whatever was between them now, it was founded on something rotten. It had grown out of a lie, and regardless of how he felt now, a part of him knew that in order for anything to continue he would need to confess the vile intentions that had started all of this.

He owed her that, and she deserved it. She’d likely hate him, and all of this would come crashing to a disastrous end…but she deserved the truth, Astarion’s feelings be damned. She deserved to be with someone who would treat her with the same honesty and respect that she showed to everyone else. She deserved to be with someone who would protect her, not lie and manipulate her. She had so many burdens of her own, and yet she kept piling the burdens of others atop them. She deserved someone who would help steady her, not someone who would only get in her way and cause her to stumble.

She was going to hate him. He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would not cut through the gloom over the Shadowlands tomorrow morning. But he couldn’t keep living this farce. He couldn’t keep bedding her and enduring all those feelings of guilt and self-hatred as they mixed with the longing and ecstasy of bringing her to the brink and watching her come undone. It was too overwhelming. He wanted to be with her honestly and openly and not have their time together tainted by his wretched memories.

He wanted something real with her, built on the foundation of what he felt now rather than the putrid intentions that had started all of this.

It wouldn’t happen, he knew. Astarion wouldn’t want himself, either, all things considered. And that was okay. She deserved the opportunity to hate him for how he’d treated her. Gods knew he hated himself for it, it was only fair she hate him, too.

The fact that she didn’t already was astounding. He was a wretched thing, ugly in all ways except for appearance and so useless that he had to manipulate others into fighting his battles. He had ruined so many lives over the past two centuries. He’d been used up until there was nothing left of him to offer. And yet she was always near, never shying away and never overbearing…just always there, always at his back. She didn’t flinch away from him, didn’t pity him, and she made him feel things he’d forgotten how to feel.

The first night they’d spent together had been unexpectedly enthralling and pleasurable, something he had not experienced in he didn’t know how long. And he’d wanted more, despite his confusion and the messiness of his feelings, he wanted more of that connection. And so they’d spent more nights finding comfort and pleasure in each other. Those nights were little moments of solace in a world gone mad.

Those nights had been about more than sex; they were nights where she told him beautiful words that weren’t made for people like him.

“Seldom do I find so little fault with someone. I hope it lasts.” A cool voice caught Astarion by surprise as he sat lost in his darkening thoughts.

His head snapped around, hand instinctively twitching towards a hidden blade at his hip.

Jaheira stood beside him, arms crossed and face unreadable and she pinned him in her stare. Her eyes flitted momentarily to the hand at his waist, and Astarion brought it back to rest on the table he sat at, dagger still fastened to his belt.

The ghost of a self-satisfied smirk flashed across her face as Jaheira glanced away from him and back towards the subject of her comment. He followed her gaze towards Eli and hummed thoughtfully, settling into a more relaxed posture that he hoped did not betray the swirling mess that currently haunted his mind.

“You should tell her as much,” he mused, watching Eli as she pushed a strand of her silver-white hair behind an ear.

The sight caused his mind to pull a memory forth, unbidden. It was tactile and soft, the feel of his fingers tangling in that hair…of his lips caressing the shell of her ear as he whispered ravishing praise for only her to hear.

He took a grounding breath and dashed those thoughts from his mind.

“She thrives on pretty words and compliments,” he quipped.

Astarion wouldn’t elaborate that the reason for it was because Eli had a desperate desire to escape whatever monster dogged her broken memories. She thought of herself as something tainted and corrupt. Something unworthy. He’d got a glimpse of that darkness on the night she’d woken him, panicked and breathlessly ranting about how she feared she would harm him.

At first, he’d thought she was still in the throes of one of her many night terrors, perhaps sleepwalking. The truth had been far more grim, and Astarion was still haunted by images from that night. Images of Eli struggling against the bindings Astarion had put her in, for the protection of them both. Eyes feral as her nails dug into the flesh of her palms, mouth snarling as she spat all manner of vile insults at him. She had lost herself to whatever thing she was keeping at bay inside herself, and Astarion had come to realize that the fear which hounded Eli on both sleepless nights and in nightmares was well founded.

That fear had spread to him, too. Fear of losing her, of watching her be overtaken by this madness. He understood the depravity he saw in her eyes, the mania that was a loss of self when hunger took hold and choked all other sensibility from your mind. He hadn’t felt empathy for another soul in nearly two hundred years, and suddenly there it was, raw and wounding and utterly terrifying. His thoughts screamed back to that year of starvation and darkness, locked in a tomb as he slowly went mad with hunger. Those recollections were an undertow, threatening to pull him down and drown him.

But she’d needed him, and so he’d wrenched himself free of his clawing subconscious and watched over her until morning when she returned to herself. A lot of things changed that night. They’d been changing already, but the lies he’d been telling himself about how he felt simply could not survive the blistering reality of the situation at hand.

There was still some life left in his cold dead heart, and he had no idea how to reconcile with that knowledge.

The sound of Jaheira clearing her throat brought him out of his brooding and he turned his head to find the druid eyeing him curiously, a hand outstretched towards him. A key was held between her fingers and Astarion glanced at it before meeting her gaze, perplexed. Jaheira sighed and took a seat opposite to Astarion at the table, setting the key down on the worn wooden surface of the hightop and pushing it over to him.

“Seems Karlach was speaking truth when she said the two of you were a pair of emotionally-stunted lovesick fools,” Jaheira said, leaning back in her chair and pointing from Eli to Astarion. “You completely tuned me out, staring at her like a wolfhound salivating over a piece of raw steak.”

Astarion tensed at the remark, frowning before he slipped back into his casual and roguish demeanor.

“Yes, yes, make your jokes about the monstrous vampire. How dare he pursue the charming and morally upstanding hero.” Astarion snorted, eyeing Eli ruefully. “I’ve heard it before. Wyll likes to especially harp on the subject.”

He made a mental note to tell Karlach not to be such a gossip.

Jaheira huffed, a noise that could possibly be construed as a laugh, except Astarion wasn’t sure he could picture the stern woman laughing.

“Please,” she said, almost dismissively. “I am not familiar enough with your little band of hedonists to form an opinion on your social dramas. And even if I were, I doubt I’d care.”

The druid turned her head to gaze back towards the bar.

Bex and Danis had joined the group situated around Eli, and Astarion noted that another bottle of wine had recently been opened. Eli was turning down offers to refill her glass and Astarion felt a sudden urge to grab her and whisk her away to the quiet sanctuary of his tent back at camp. And not even to do anything sexual, though if that’s where the night took them, he’d happily oblige.

He just wanted to give her a space of reprieve, somewhere she could rest and escape all this chaos.

“What I do care about,” Jaheira continued, drawing Astarion’s attention back to her. “Is that one’s wellbeing.” She tilted her chin towards Eli. “She is our way into the cult. Our way to get close to Ketheric. She is our key to putting an end to this blight of the Absolute.”

Astarion didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to open his mouth in that moment. Jaheira was loading more burdens onto Eli’s shoulders, and his desire to hide her away – to protect her – was only growing.

He knew the druid spoke truth. Eli had a connection to all of this that none of them, including her, understood. What they did know was that Ketheric Thorm recognized her when they showed up at Moonrise. He’d addressed her as a comrade, and it deeply unsettled her. What secrets were lying locked away behind Eli’s fractured psyche? A part of him honestly didn’t care…he just wanted her safe…

“So,” Jaheira said after the silence between them lingered for a moment. She tapped the key still lying on the tabletop in front of Astarion. “That is a key to a room upstairs. As well-meaning as the rabble down here is, what Eli needs is rest. The days and weeks ahead will not be easy, and opportunities for respite will be few. Make her take this one.”

Astarion opened his mouth, intending to ask why the hell Jaheira didn’t just go over there and say these things to Eli. But she was well ahead of him and held her hand up in a motion to silence him.

“I have no sway over her. I will only come off as overbearing and fussy, even if I do speak truth.” Her tone took on a hint of amusement, that of an elder and learned lioness affectionately chiding a cub. “I have been informed by Karlach that the two of you are together, yes?”

Astarion stiffened, his mind swirling around all the complications involved with his and Eli’s relationship. Guilt rose up in his throat and he swallowed it down uneasily as Jaheira eyed him curiously. She bullied past the question, not waiting for his affirmation.

“Take Eli upstairs and away from all of this,” Jaheira said, rising from her chair in a motion to leave, her piece said.

She then paused, considering something, before turning back to Astarion.

“It is not my place to say this, but I will, anyway. You seem conflicted about something concerning her. And I don’t want details,” she added hastily, noting Astarion’s discomfort at being called out. “However, I know all too painfully the grief of leaving things unsaid. This life you currently lead, it is one lived day-to-day, and those days will run out. Sometimes, much sooner than expected. Don’t wait until you have nothing left but regret.”

Once again not waiting for a response, Jaheira turned and made her way towards a group of Harpers who were chatting near the Inn’s central firepit. Astarion was left alone with the echo of her words and the key she had provided.

Something squirmed uncomfortably in Astarion’s chest as he rolled what she said over and over in his mind.

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

She was right, of course. He needed to talk to Eli about them. About whatever this was. About how he’d manipulated her.

Used her.

Astarion groaned softly and ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly - a nervous habit.

Enough! Enough thinking, you wretched pathetic cowardly moron!

Rising from his chair, Astarion grabbed the key and made his way towards the bar, stepping up behind Eli who was currently providing Rolan with a play-by-play of their Moonrise prison break. Gently, he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought his other hand up to rest on her shoulder, pressing a light kiss to the side of her neck as he did so.

Astarion felt Eli’s pulse quicken beneath his lips and smiled as she leaned back into him. He felt a smug sense of satisfaction as he caught Rolan frowning at him, indignant as Eli’s attention shifted away from him and to the vampire.

“Hello, my dear,” he whispered softly into her ear, ignoring the tiefling wizard who looked as if he wanted to set Astarion on fire. “I’m sorry to interrupt you and your adoring fans, but I have some adoring of my own that I need you for.”

It was so easy for Astarion to slip back into his charmingly seductive mannerisms, so much so that he felt a pang of guilt twist in his stomach.

Truth be told, Astarion wasn’t exactly sure how to approach the type of conversation he wanted to have. He’d never done this before, asking to talk about a relationship, so he was winging it and using what tactics he knew to get her away from the crowd and to a more private location.

Eli turned her head to meet his gaze and grinned, placing a hand on the one Astarion had at her waist and intertwining her fingers with his.

“Really, now?” she said playfully. “And what does this adoring entail? Because if a hot bath and a massage are not included, I’m not going.”

Eli’s eyes shined with mischief as her expression settled into a teasing smirk. She kissed him lightly near the underside of his jaw – a reassuring gesture. Eli would go with him, regardless, but she always did enjoy a bit of banter.

“Arrangements can be made,” Astarion quipped as he turned her in his arms and began leading her towards the staircase to the upper floor.

Apprehension was beginning to roil in his gut, but he forced the alluring façade to stay in place.

Eli allowed him to direct her towards the stairs, tossing a wave to Rolan and calling over her shoulder.

“Sorry, Rolan! We’ll chat more later, as I’m currently being commandeered.”

Astarion couldn’t help the smug expression that crossed his face when he heard the tiefling’s miffed response.

“Mmhm, you seem like a very unwilling captive,” Rolan grunted.

Eli laughed.

“What can I say? I’ve got a weakness for pretty words, great sex and a man I don’t have to share snacks with,” she said.

Astarion tried to hold back the surprised bark of a laugh that bubbled up from his throat and failed miserably. He felt eyes on them, some scandalized and others amused - and heard Rolan’s agitated groan - as he led Eli up the stairs.

They reached the second-floor landing and he pressed a hand to the small of Eli’s back, guiding her towards the room.

“Where are we going, anyway?” she asked, trying to stifle a yawn as she spoke.

Safe from the greedy, peering eyes of the mob below, the shift in Eli’s demeanor was almost instinctual. She sagged a bit, weary and leaning into his touch. Hey eyelids fluttered closed for a moment and she drew in a deep, steadying breath.

She truly was exhausted and Astarion began to second guess himself. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to broach such a sensitive topic. She needed rest, not more burdens. Was he being selfish? Trying to offload his guilt just so he could feel better?

But the way she pressed into him, slightly leaning on him in her fatigue and suddenly so disarmed and at ease the moment they were away from the crowd…it caused a gnawing self-hatred to burn deep in his bones.

She trusted him. She felt safe with him. She shouldn’t…he didn’t deserve her affection.

“Jaheira, like the meddlesome elder she is, secured us a room away from all the nagging unwashed masses so you can finally get some peace and quiet,” Astarion said, stopping in front of a door which had the same designation as the key he had been given.

“Astarion, we are the unwashed masses,” Eli chuckled, glancing down at the battered scale mail she wore which was currently spattered with grime, blood and who knows what other less-than-savory substances.

Astarion expression pinched into one of mild disgust as he considered his own leathers which were equally smeared and foul.

“Yes, well, perhaps whatever contemptuous god is overseeing our day-to-day lives has seen fit to grace us with a private washroom? You know, as a way to apologize for all the horror and trauma that surrounds us every second of every day,” he bemoaned in that haughty, vain manner that only Astarion could pull off.

Unlocking the door, Astarion held it open and motioned with a gentlemanly flourish for Eli to enter. She did so, and the pale elf had to suppress a snort of laughter when she called out to him not five seconds later.

“Holy shit! I’ve never had such an emotional reaction to seeing a bar soap before!”

“I would hope we have not become such heathens that soap merits this much enthusiasm.”

“It smells like eucalyptus, Astarion! Eucalyptus!”

-------------------------------------------

There was, indeed, a private washroom.

Eli and Astarion took turns getting cleaned up. Soaking in a tub of warm, soapy water was a scarce luxury. Most days, their motley group was resigned to bathing in cold river water with minnows nipping at their toes as they tried to cleanse themselves with whatever natural herbs and ointments Halsin was able to scrounge up into a paste.

In truth, Astarion couldn’t recall the last time he’d been afforded the opportunity to simply enjoy a bath. Cazador certainly didn’t allow his spawn such niceties, and while he’d visited his fair share of taverns and hotels with rentable rooms while prowling for victims to bring back to his master, he was never able to just…be. To relish in the comfort of it all.

The warm water was soothing, banishing the endless chill of death sunk deep in his bones that was his constant state of being since the night he turned. Eli had washed before him and was now situated on the large plush bed across the room from the tub. A privacy screen blocked their view of one another, but they’d been chatting idly throughout the evening about nothing in particular.

Now, in a lull of silence between them, Astarion’s mind was wandering as he rested with his arms and head propped against the sides of the tub, eyes closed in a moment of calm that was all too fleeting these days. He lazily imagined having Eli in the water with him, her warm body pressed up against his which, for once, wouldn’t be cold and pallid to her touch…wouldn’t be greedily stealing the heat of her skin to warm his corpse.

But, he’d still be stealing her trust to warm his dead heart…

He sighed, feeling the ease of the moment slip away like the tendrils of steam coming off his bath water. He needed to own up to his manipulative intentions. Now. He couldn’t stomach the thought of holding Eli in his arms that night while she slept, peaceful and trusting. Holding onto him like he were something to be cared for, to be cherished. Unsuspecting of the truth…that he was deceitful and lowly.

That they never would have been here, in this room, had he not set out to use her for his selfish gain.

If he didn’t approach the subject now, he may not get another chance for some time. Their days were so overwrought with hardships and schemes that finding a moment of quiet was nearly as difficult as figuring out how to subdue the shadow curse.

Resigned to what he needed to do, and with an icy weight of dread sinking into his gut, Astarion rose from the tub and towled dry. He dressed in his typical casual outfit, a black ruffled shirt and dark trousers, and rounded the privacy screen to see Eli sitting on the bed, legs crisscrossed as she drew in a small leatherbound journal. She’d picked it up in the Emerald Grove, exchanging a dagger with Mattis for it that she’d picked up off some decrepit corpse or another.

Eli had taken to writing rather extensive notes in it about anything and everything; from information about the cult to descriptions of acquaintances and even hand drawn maps of the various areas they trekked through. She’d confided in Astarion that she feared what memories she’d made since the nataloid could one day be lost to her, just as her past was lost. And so she wanted to ensure, should that happen, she had a record she could refer to in order to hopefully reclaim some of what was gone.

Eli had even showed him several pages full of details about him. She’d written down all manner of notes, from little preferences he had – such as the style of embroidery needle he liked to use – to reminders such as: “You’ll figure out he’s a vampire pretty damn quick, Astarion is absurdly terrible at keeping secrets. Don’t be weird about it, he’s cool. He can get a bit whiny and obnoxious when he’s hungry, so make sure to keep him fed, especially if there isn’t much wildlife around. The wrist is for everyday use and the neck is for sexy times. Don’t believe him when he tells you that the inner thigh provides the best tasting blood. This is a kink and he is a liar! RATION ACCESS!”

That had made him smirk.

She’d also shown him two pages of detailed notes describing his appearance, from hair to foot. Eli wasn’t much for artistic talent, but she had a flair for the written word despite the copious amounts of vulgarity that shot from her mouth like dragon fire. The attention with which she’d described him and the complimentary nature of it all had caused his breath to catch at the back of his throat. He’d read the words over and over, actually able to picture his face in his mind’s eye as described. A strange sort of familiarity settled over him as he pictured the details on the page, and when he finally found his voice he’d stuttered a bewildered thank you, unused to the kindness she’d shown.

Now, as he sat on the edge of the bed, he felt a desperate fear burn to life inside himself. What if he never got to experience something like that again? What if their time together over the past weeks was all he ever got? Just a few brief flashes of respite among centuries of misery…

“Feeling better?” Eli asked, jolting Astarion out of his thoughts.

He blinked at her for a moment before clearing his throat and running a hand habitually through his hair.

“Yes…yes, I always feel better when I’m not covered in other people’s bodily fluids,” he said with a halfhearted chuckle that caused Eli to frown curiously and set down her journal.

She could sense something was off. And so with one last internal curse to himself, Astarion launched into one of the most anxiety-inducing things he’d ever done.

“I’ve…been meaning to talk to you. About us,” he said, tone soft and hesitant.

Eli shifted her weight on the bed, turning her body to face him. Her brows had furrowed only slightly, unsure whether she should be concerned about Astarion’s sudden shift in demeanor, yet fully open to listening attentively. Trusting. It made his gut twist.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course!” Astarion responded reflexively, instinctively jumping to make light of any tension. He bit back anymore reassurances before he could spit them out and cleared his throat, voice taking on a more serious tone.

“Except…not really,” he backpedaled.

Eli’s expression grew more worried and Astarion could see her already beginning to play through scenarios in her mind, trying to sort through what she may have done. What wrongs her broken mind may have committed. He sped forward, wanting to absolve her of any notion that she was at cause for anything.

“Look, I had a plan,” he began, turning towards her on the bed. “A nice simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you’d never turn on me,” he chuckled nervously, swallowing down the bile threatening to rise in his throat.

“It was easy…instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it…” His eyes dropped, unable to hold Eli’s stare as her own eyes searched his face, taken aback and confused by the sudden confession.

“And all I had to do was not fall for you,” he continued, glancing back up to her. Desperate for her to hear this next part. “Which is where my nice, simple plan…fell apart.”

Astarion paused, gazing at Eli with a mixture of trepidation and guilt as she watched him silently, stunned and not without a little hurt bleeding into her eyes as his words caught up with her brain.

“You’re…” he started, unsure how to put a voice to the storm wheeling inside of him. He wasn’t as eloquent as Eli, and never had he felt so incapable and inadequate at translating what he felt into words than he did right now. So he said what had been tearing him up from the inside out for days, and braced for the inevitable fallout.

“You’re incredible.” He couldn’t help the touch of a sad smile that came to his lips, or the nearly awed tone of his voice as he said the word like it could encase inside of it everything Eli had come to mean to him.

It wasn’t enough, he knew. No word would be enough. Nor would a thousand words. Because he didn’t understand how to express the way his heart seemed to flutter when she looked at him, despite it being cold and useless in his chest. He didn’t know how to explain the way her smile made him feel like someone worthwhile. Or how when he held her in his arms he thought that maybe…maybe some god somewhere had finally heard his desperate pleas.

“You deserve something real,” he admitted, with no small amount of shame, before adding, “I want us to be something real.”

Confessing to something he wanted, out loud and to someone else, was an experience he was woefully unfamiliar with. It was an experience he fully expected he’d come to regret, but he said it anyway and waited for the pain that was sure to follow.

Eli was quiet for a long moment, peering at Astarion with an expression he couldn’t quite read. He saw confusion and sadness, but there was something else, too. A flicker of something not unlike…understanding?

No, he was surely mistaken…

“So…” Eli said softly, working through her words before she spoke them out loud. Trying to parse through the influx of information coming at her.

“So, this hasn’t been real? Us? Everything we’ve been through. Our nights together…they didn’t mean anything to you…” she trailed off, almost as if she were talking to herself rather than asking it of him.

“Of course they did!” Astarion was quick to correct the assumption.

Gods, he didn’t want her to think that. Of course they had meant something to him, more than he’d thought they could. He’d chosen to be with her, even if it had initially been out of less than innocent desires, he’d chosen it. He hadn’t been forced to seek her out and lure her somewhere. She wasn’t a mark or some wretched experience he wanted to forget. He’d acted of his own free will, and even if the reasons hadn’t been as genuine as he’d made them out to be at the start, it was still the first decision he had made in nearly two centuries that wasn’t directed or forced.

That meant something to him. Those nights meant something to him. And, gods, so did she. That was part of the problem…

And so he explained as much, describing how he was used to twisting intimacy into something to be used rather than felt. How his past experiences with sex were bleeding over into the nights spent with her and that he didn’t have the faintest idea how to fix it. How he had trained himself to be numb, to wall himself off. And how, when Eli had finally, gently dismantled those walls he didn’t know what to do next…

“I don’t know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I’d like to…” Astarion concluded, feeling about as small and insignificant as he’d ever felt.

The silence that followed his confession made his skin crawl with ill ease. He stared at the bedding, terrified to look up and see the fury Eli surely felt. This was it; this was when she’d tell him to leave. And he would, quietly and without fuss. It was the last kindness he was capable of giving her.

“Astarion.” The calm softness of Eli’s voice nearly made the elf flinch. “Please look at me.”

Not a demand, but a request, spoken with care.

Confused, Astarion looked to her and instead of anger or hate or rage, he only found…her. Just Eli, looking back at him with thoughtful consideration. She should have been furious, but instead she simply took a steadying breath, scooting a bit closer on the bed so she could place a hand lightly on his knee.

He didn’t move, didn’t breathe as Eli looked at him and carefully began to speak.

“I care about you, Astarion.” She said it as if she were trying to convince him of the truth of her words, and he was stunned.

“Really?” he asked, breathless and unsure. But hopeful, too. Hopeful that maybe, just once, something in his miserable life might not end in disaster and pain.

“Yes, you beautiful fool!” she nearly laughed, squeezing at his knee.

Eli smiled at him and…gods above, it was the most dazzling and gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

“Neither of us was looking for anything more than a night of comfort, and maybe some fun, when all of this started. We both had our own self-serving reasons,” she explained, before chuckling lightly. “Hells, I barely had more than a few weeks' worth of memories in my head at that point. Trying to rope anyone into a meaningful relationship was so low on my list of priorities I would have burst into flames on the spot had anyone mentioned the idea to me.”

Astarion couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face as Eli looked at him with an adoration that made him dizzy.

“But, things change. We changed. And, I’m glad that we did. I came to care about you in a way I don’t remember caring about anyone ever. And while that may not be saying much, considering…” Eli laughed and Astarion’s dead heart soared. “You’re special to me, right now. Regardless of how this started.”

This was certainly not how Astarion had expected this conversation to go, and he had never been so overjoyed to have his expectations usurped. He was entirely out of his depth, and so far outside his comfort zone that he was reeling. Words kept building up in the back of his throat and yet when he opened his mouth, he was struck dumb. He was overwhelmed, in the best way possible, but he hadn’t the slightest notion of what he was supposed to say or do next. And so he defaulted to what he knew.

“Well, I mean, of course I am, darling,” Astarion’s voice slipped into a silky tone. Anxiety was roiling inside of him and he tried to claw his way out, using the tools he knew best.

“The unyielding praise I am able to coax from your lips during our nights of passion has made it more than apparent,” he leaned in towards Eli, the tone of his words easing back into sultry familiarity.

Eli just shook her head with a breathy chuckle, meeting his gaze with a genuine affection in her eyes that made Astarion feel known in a way that was comforting.

“That’s not what I meant,” Eli chided with a tenderness that caught Astarion off-guard. “I mean you, Astarion. The person that you are. The person who cares about me enough to watch over me all night while I go mad. The person who is forgiving enough to not hate me the next morning. The person who makes me laugh after a long and painful day.”

Carefully, Eli raises a hand and gently presses it against Astarion’s cheek. He leans into the touch, expression softening and relaxing as his red eyes stay locked in to her own.

“The person who is being honest with me, right now. Who I appreciate more than I can say.”

Astarion was quite certain his brain had seized. He sat frozen, frantically searching her face for any hint of a lie and finding none, to his utter astonishment.

“That’s…” he started, then faltered. He knew he should say something, but his chest currently felt as if it was being wrenched open and no words would suffice to express his amazement.

“I don’t know what to say,” Astarion admitted after his stunned silence wore off. “Which is quite the accomplishment on your part, my dear.”

Eli smiled, warm and without expectations. It was beautiful.

“Thank you,” he breathed, closing the small gap between them and resting his forehead against her own. “For trusting me, and listening. For everything.”

His words were woefully inadequate, and he feared they always would be. But, Eli didn’t seem to mind and that brought him immeasurable relief.

“I’ll always listen,” Eli reassured him as she stroked the side of his face with her thumb. “Considering who you are, it’s kind of hard not to,” she teased.

His expression took on a somewhat sheepish hint as he took her hand from his cheek and held it reverently between both of his. He sat up a bit straighter as Eli pulled away, silently watching him run his fingers across her palm with a light touch.

“What do we do now?” he asked, hesitant and unsure.

Astarion looked to Eli for some sort of direction. He hadn’t thought this far ahead and honestly figured the conversation would have ended in tears or bloodshed or both by now. He didn’t know what a way forward with Eli looked like, but he knew he wanted her with him. Maybe he could ignore the confused and unsavory feelings that intruded upon their nights together? He wanted to enjoy her, to satisfy her without the shadows of past hurts creeping in. Perhaps he could figure out how…

“What do you want to do?” Eli responded, turning the question back onto him and taking him by surprise.

Astarion looked back to Eli, brows raised at the unexpected question. He considered her for a moment, thinking through how to answer. What did he want?

“I’m not sure…” he said honestly. “No one’s ever asked me that before. About anything, really.”

Eli waited, smiling reassuringly, though with a hint of sadness at Astarion’s words. It was freeing, somewhat, to be given the space to think about what he wanted and a chance to put a voice to it. But, it was also a little overwhelming, and truth be told he wasn’t quite sure how to figure it out.

“I know I don’t want to lose you,” he affirmed, squeezing her hand in his.

He did want something real with Eli. The problem was, he didn’t know what real looked like. This was unfamiliar territory for him, and he didn’t even know how in the hells he was supposed to get his bearings.

“I don’t want that, either. You know, we could be together without sex. For however long we need,” Eli suggested, a small smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t think I have the best associations with it, either, considering the…things that sometimes pop into my head. Maybe we both could use time to work through those things.”

Astarion considered the idea, a cool rush of relief overcoming him as it truly began to sink in that Eli wasn’t only interested in him for his body and the way it roused it her own. They were good together, really fucking good. But it was becoming more and more difficult to reconcile what he had done in his past, under the subjugation of Cazador, with what he did with Eli now. He didn’t want to treat her like a mark or just another one of his conquests. She deserved better than that from him – to be cherished and worshiped, even ravished, fully and completely and without the haunting presence of ghosts that lurked in the corners of his mind.

“Why that almost sounds like a challenge,” Astarion said, trying to slip back into his sultry mannerisms yet failing to hide the appreciation he felt.

His tone then shifted into something quieter and more tentative as Astarion asked, “Can we…still share a bed? I think I’d miss sleeping in your arms.”

He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the side. The vulnerability behind his question was uncomfortable for him, but he thought maybe he could manage if it kept them from spending their nights apart. He’d grown fond of drifting off to sleep with her near, lulled by the low beat of her heart and the soft sighs of her breathing. It was a comfort he had never imagined himself longing for, and yet with Eli he’d quickly come to miss her warmth on the nights they slept in their own tents. Her absence at his side becoming a chill he’d rather not endure.

“I’d like that,” Eli agreed, giving his own hand a soft and appreciative squeeze.

“Well,” Astarion sighed, tension easing out of him as he leaned forward suddenly and wrapped Eli in an embrace that quickly had them tumbling back onto the bed. “No time like the present!”

Eli laughed and Astarion pulled her close, reveling in the easy solace of having everything between them out in the open rather than eating away at his insides. He rolled onto his back, tugging her up onto him so that her head was resting on his chest, just below his chin. His fingers idly stroked through her hair, eyelids drooping as the stress of the day finally caught up to him.

“This is nice,” he mumbled a bit more sleepily than intended.

A contented hum was the only response he heard from Eli before sleep took him completely.

___________________________________

In the morning Karlach gave them a knowing smirk as they descended the stairs and Eli began rummaging through the Inn’s cabinets for something that could pass as breakfast.

“You two look happy,” she remarked as Astarion took a seat across from her at one of the low tables near the central firepit. “Seems a night on your own did the both of you some good.”

The tiefling eyed Astarion pointedly as she raised a mug of coffee and sipped, eyes twinkling with more than a bit of self-satisfied mischief.

Astarion clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair, feigning disinterest as he began to study his nails.

“You know, Karlach,” he began, flicking a speck of dirt from the tip of a finger. “For someone without a heart, you sure do seem to get invested in the romantic affairs of others.”

Karlach nearly spit coffee across the table as a boisterous laugh leapt up from her chest. She managed to contain herself, half choking and half coughing into her mug before she set it aside.

“That’s rich, fangs, coming from the likes of you,” Karlach giggled with good nature. “Honestly, I was just getting tired of the constant pining and lovesick angst between the both of you. For a pair of bloodthirsty murderhobos, you two are adorably dense when it comes to interactions that don’t involve stabbing something.”

“And for a professional killing machine from the hells, you are a hopeless gossip,” Astarion replied, shooting Karlach a sidelong glare before he glanced across the room to where Jaheira was consulting with a pair of Harpers as they studied a map.

He cleared his throat and pointedly did not look at the tiefling, speaking low for only the two of them to hear.

“Anyway…thank you. For meddling,” he said somewhat stiffly, though there was a timid genuineness to his words that made Karlach beam.

“Always happy to meddle, fangs.”

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alldoll3dup · 4 months

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Hiii! So this is my first time ever making a request. But if you have the time, can you write a Velvet x Reader angst? Like they get into this big argument and one of them ends up apologizing first (up to you) take all the time you need to write this! Tysm <3

▐ Hello of course I can, this is my first time writing angst I hope you like it!

໑୧﹒★﹒Velvet x FEM!Reader - one-shot ᰍ﹒∿

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - You and Velvet had a really bad argument

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 - Trolls

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Swearing, angst, fluff

- The argument started because Velvet found out that you were going to other singers' shows hidden from her

- You alredy knew that Velvet would NEVER let you go to a concert with anyone other than her and Veneer

- So you started going alone using lame excuses

- Until one day she found out because while looking at you cell phone gallery, she saw photos of you at a show that you were last night

- Velvet was very angry, not because you went to the show, but because you didn't say ANYTHING to her

- She was starting to trust you more and you were going to shows in secret? She was furious

“Y/N what the fuck??” - she says showing you the photos at your phone

"Velvet! Why are you using my phone without asking me?!" - you say trying to take the phone away from her hand

"I am who suppose ask you! Fuck, Y/N, I trusted you and you’re sneaking to shows?”

"You would never let me go if I asked you"

"I don't give a fuck, you should have asked me anyway"

- You continued arguing and Velvet came out irritated, pushing you

- You just crossed your arms saying you wouldn't apologize and Velvet left irritated

- The next few days she would just ignore you and you started doing the same

- You were in the dead silent treatment and you knew that if you didn't apologize, Velvet would remain silent for eternity

- While Velvet was distracted you arrived hugging her from behind

"Hey Vel.." - she remained silent and you gave her kisses on her neck

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I promise not to do anything else without asking you first" - you hear a long sigh coming from Velvet

"There's no way I can stay mad when you're so cute like that."

- You would spend the rest of the day cuddling and talking about the shows you wanted to go to

- Velvet gave in and will only let you go to one show per month

"Better one than none, thank you Vel!" - you said excitedly

- Velvet was definitely going to start looking at your phone

▐ Okay maybe a little too sappy, I hope y'all liked it

▐ Sorry if there are any grammatical errors love you guys ♡

★ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ★

#trolls band together #trolls #trolls velvet #velvet and veneer #velvet trolls #oneshot #velvet x reader #angst #i love velvet #fem reader #one shot

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baileypie-writes · 5 months

Note

Would yyou pllleeeeeaaaseee do velvet x male reader?? (any scenario) thx

A/N ~ Sure! Hope you like the scenario I picked out!

~How Dare You Say That!~

Velvet x Male!Reader

Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together

Reader: Male

Relationship: Romantic

Synopsis: An interviewer says something about you that makes Velvet very upset.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, Velvet getting really mad, crying(Velvet), cringe

Sitting in the back of the studio, you couldn’t help but smile. Your girlfriend, Velvet, and her brother were having an interview. The camera crew were busily scrambling behind the scenes, but your attention was only on her.

She looked stunning. Her fashion sense was always the best, way better than yours, and the outfit she picked out today made her look like a star. Not that she didn’t always look like one.

“So where did your guys’s talent come from? Is it genetics? Are your parents good at singing too?” Asked the interviewer.

“Oh, goodness no!” Veneer answered. “Our parents were dentists!” The crowd erupted in laughter, making Veneer look proud of himself.

The interviewer laughed as well. “Well, I’m sure they’re proud of you!” Velvet and Veneer looked at each other, smiling.

“And I’m also sure that your boyfriend is proud of you too!” He said, looking at Velvet. She smiled, looking at you. You nodded, giving her a thumbs up, confirming the interviewer’s statement.

“He is.” Said Velvet, proudly.

The interviewer continued. “Speaking of your boyfriend, how long have you two been together?”

“A few months.” Velvet seemed happy to be talking about you. She looked back at you, giving you a big smile.

“Really? Well congratulations to him. Must be nice to be dating a famous pop-star!” Velvet’s smile dropped a bit. So did yours. Was that comment really necessary? She took a quick glance at you, letting you know that it also made her uncomfortable.

“He seems to really love you!” He continued. Velvet nodded. “It’s great, considering so many people date stars for the money and fame. Honestly, you can barely tell which relationships are real these days! Glad to see that this guy’s different. At least I hope so! Only time will tell, am I right?” He winked, and the crowd laughed. But neither you nor Velvet thought it was funny.

You were very uncomfortable at this point. Many people were looking at you, and one guy even patted your back in a joking manner. Velvet’s expression changed from awkward, to just plain mad.

“What are you implying?” She asked, glaring directly at the man. “Are you saying that my boyfriend could only want me because I’m famous?” The crowd went silent. The interviewer opened his mouth to speak, but Velvet cut him off. “How dare you say that! He loved me before anyone knew who I was! He could never be that shallow!” She stood up, grabbing her brother’s hand. “Come on, Veneer, we’re done here!”

The crowd was filled with gasps and murmurs as they walked off stage. You got up from your seat, and followed the camera crew, who were trying to get to Velvet and Veneer.

~~~~

You eventually got to the dressing room. The door was being guarded by two big men, blocking it from the various camera crew people, as well as the interviewer.

He was giving Velvet a half-assed apology. He was also calling her sensitive, saying that it was “just a joke”. You walked up to the man, placing a hand on his shoulder to move him out of the way. You scowled at him, causing him to back away. You looked at the two guards.

“Let me in.” You demanded. They stepped aside, obviously knowing who you were. You opened the door, and your heart sank.

Your girlfriend was sitting at the vanity, Veneer comforting her. She was shaking, and quiet sobs could be heard. You felt awful for her.

“Hey Velvet.” You said in a calm, comforting tone. She jolted up, and spun around. Tears were running down her face, as well as her mascara. It was honestly shocking for you to see her like this. Sure, you’ve seen her said before, but this is the first time you’ve seen her cry.

You walked over to her, and gave her the biggest hug you possibly could. “I’m so sorry sweetie.”

“You’re sorry?! It’s that stupid man’s fault! What was he even thinking, saying something like that?! And people had the audacity to laugh! How is implying that you’re a greedy liar funny?” You were sure that the people on the other side of the door could hear her. You specifically hoped that the interviewer did. You rubbed her back, letting her vent.

“I mean, is that what people really think of you?” She said. You pulled away from the hug to look at her face. Her mascara was even more runny than before.

“Velvet, I don’t care what people think of me. They can think whatever they want, but that doesn’t make it true. I love you, famous or not. And I didn’t get to say this verbally before, but I am very proud of you.” Velvet was still crying after you spoke, but now, they were happy tears. She was so happy finally hearing someone say they were proud of her. You hugged again, not caring one bit about the group of people outside.

(Bonus Content)

Veneer had just finished writing a lengthy post shaming the interviewer. Seconds after it was posted, the likes were already rolling in.

People were giving tons of support to you and Velvet, and absolutely none for the that shitty man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#trolls 3 band together #trolls 3 #trolls 3 velvet #velvet x reader #trolls 3 x reader

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mccall-muffin · 2 months

Text

The Lady and the Major - Part 2/3 // John "Bucky" Egan x OC

Summary: Bucky quickly realizes that Liz is not like any woman he has ever met before. But there is still a war to win, and Bucky has his duties. So, every letter that arrives is a prized possession now.

Warnings: Language, teasing, kissing, sex (not too detailed)

A/N: So, here is part 2 for you. And yes, by now I've seen all the Episodes that are out as of now - so I'm up to date ;)

Here is my Masterlist

Tags: @liebgotts-lovergirl, @softly-writes, @mads-weasley, @brassknucklespeirs, @softguarnere, @shesgonna

As the band transitions smoothly into a slow, captivating melody, the atmosphere of the gala shifts, becoming charged with a different kind of energy. Bucky, seizing the moment, sets aside the formalities with the ease of a man used to taking the lead. He gently takes Liz's champagne flute, placing it on a nearby table with a confident grin. "Care to dance, Lady Cavendish?" he asks, extending his hand, his eyes sparkling with an invitation to step into a moment just for the two of them.

On the dance floor, Bucky guides Liz with a practiced ease, pulling her close enough that their conversation remains private, a bubble amidst the sea of dancing couples. His hands are respectfully placed, yet the occasional, deliberate brush of his fingers along her back suggests a familiarity that goes beyond mere dance partners.

As they move to the rhythm of the music, Bucky can't resist the opportunity to delve deeper into the intriguing paradox that is Liz. "You know, I've been told quite a few tales about the elusive Lady Cavendish," he teases, his voice low and playful. "Word around is that beneath that veneer of the perfect highborn lady lies a spirit too wild to be tamed by society's chains."

Liz, unphased and quick to respond, tilts her head slightly, a challenge in her bright blue eyes. "And just what exactly have you heard, Major Egan?" she inquires, her voice a mix of curiosity and daring. "I'm quite intrigued to know what stories have made their way to your ears."

Their dance becomes a metaphor for their conversation—each step and turn a delicate balance between revealing too much and not enough. Bucky, navigating this dance of words as skillfully as he does the physical one, leans in, his breath a whisper against her ear. "I've heard that you're no stranger to bending the rules, that you find the conventional life of aristocracy stifling. That you've been known to disappear into the night on adventures that would make your family's esteemed guests blush," he whispers, each word carefully chosen to entice and probe.

Liz's reaction is a soft, genuine laugh, a sound that seems to momentarily lighten the weight of her title and societal expectations. "My, my, Major, such scandalous rumors," she retorts, her tone laced with amusement and a hint of defiance. "Let's just say I believe life is too short to be lived within the confines of what others deem acceptable. And perhaps, I do enjoy the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the unknown."

Their eyes lock, and in that moment, a silent understanding passes between them. Here, in the middle of the dance floor, they've managed to peel back another layer of the intrigue that surrounds their budding relationship. Bucky, drawn to the fire he sees burning behind Liz's poised exterior, finds himself more captivated than ever, eager to discover what other secrets lie hidden beneath her aristocratic facade.

As the song comes to an end, they remain momentarily in each other's arms, the last notes fading into the background. This dance, both literal and metaphorical, has drawn them closer, weaving their stories together in a way that neither had anticipated. And as they step back, rejoining the world around them, it's clear that this evening has only served to deepen the intrigue and attraction that pulses between them.

Liz's invitation to step outside carries an undertone of challenge, a silent test of Bucky's willingness to navigate the complexities of her world. He accepts with a nod, the unspoken communication between them sparking with anticipation. However, as they make their way toward the grand doors leading to the estate's gardens, they are intercepted by none other than the Duke and Duchess of Wellington themselves.

With hardly a moment to prepare, Liz leans in, her voice a hurried whisper, instructing Bucky on the proper etiquette for addressing her parents. "Remember, it's 'Your Grace' for both of them," she murmurs, her tone urgent yet composed. Bucky, despite the sudden shift in situation, nods his understanding, a quick study in the art of aristocratic manners.

The Duke, a figure of imposing stature and dignity, eyes Bucky with a mix of curiosity and the guarded warmth of a father protective of his daughter. "And who might this be, Elizabeth?" he inquires, his voice carrying the weight of authority and expectation.

Liz, ever the adept navigator of her family's expectations, steps in smoothly. "Father, Mother, this is Major John Egan of the US Air Force. We met recently at a charity event where Major Egan was sharing some of his experiences from the war. His stories were quite enlightening," she explains, echoing the innocent tale she'd spun for her brother.

The Duchess offers Bucky a polite smile, but it's the Duke's reaction that holds the room in suspense. After a moment's evaluation, his expression softens, a nod of approval directed at Bucky. "A pilot, you say? Well, that's commendable. Our Edward has told us much about the bravery required in such a role," he says, his voice revealing a hint of the pride he holds for his son's achievements.

Bucky, sensing the importance of this moment, responds with the respect and humility befitting the situation. "Your Grace, it's an honor to serve. And it's been a privilege to share some of my experiences with those who understand the sacrifices made in the skies," he replies, his tone sincere.

The Duke nods, seemingly impressed by Bucky's demeanor and the shared bond of aerial combat. "Well, Major Egan, it's a pleasure to have you among us tonight. The bravery of you and your comrades in the Air Force is something we hold in high regard," he states, extending a hand in a gesture of respect and acceptance.

With the formal introductions made and the Duke's approval subtly given, Liz and Bucky are allowed to continue on their way, stepping out into the cool evening air. The brief encounter with her parents was a test, one that Bucky passed with the grace of a man who, despite his unorthodox entry into their world, understands the value of respect and common ground.

As they move away from the light and music spilling out from the mansion, the night around them feels charged with a new energy. Liz's challenge, Bucky's acceptance, and the unexpected approval of her father have all conspired to deepen the connection between them, setting the stage for whatever comes next under the starlit sky.

As they stand together on the balcony, the cool night air mingling with the tension of their conversation, Bucky watches Liz closely.

"You know why I turned them all down? All those ass-kissers of earls, viscounts, and so on who threw themselves at me?"

Her confession hangs between them, a raw and honest revelation that strips away the layers of aristocracy and high society, revealing the woman beneath. He's moved by her vulnerability, by the glimpse she's offered into the gilded cage that is her life.

"Why turn them all down, Liz?" Bucky prompts gently, already suspecting the answer but needing to hear it in her own words.

Liz's gaze meets his, steady and resolute. "Because marrying one of them would seal my fate. I'd be trapped in this world, expected to play the perfect wife, the dutiful daughter, forever," she confesses, her voice laced with a mixture of defiance and resignation. "I want more than what's expected of me, more than this life can offer."

Bucky's respect for her deepens in this moment, his initial attraction evolving into something more profound. He sees her not just as a challenge or a conquest but as a fellow soul seeking freedom from the confines of their respective worlds.

"And inviting me here tonight?" Bucky asks, the pieces falling into place. "Was that your way of rebelling against all this?" There's a note of understanding in his voice, a recognition of her courage in the face of stifling expectations.

Liz nods a small but significant gesture. "You're... different, Bucky. You don't belong to this world, and yet, you stood your ground. That confidence, that defiance—I wanted that for myself, even if just for a night," she admits, her eyes not leaving his.

Bucky steps closer, closing the distance between them, moved by her honesty. "Liz, I may not know all the rules of your world, but I do know about feeling trapped," he shares, his voice soft but firm. "If you're looking for a bit of freedom, even for just one night, then I say we take it. No expectations, no strings. Just two people enjoying the moment for what it is."

Liz's response is a smile, one that reaches her eyes and lights up the night. It's a smile of relief, of gratitude, of a burden momentarily lifted. "I'd like that, Bucky. More than you know," she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they stand there, two figures against the backdrop of a world that demands so much from them, they find solace in each other's company. For Liz, Bucky represents a breath of fresh air, a chance to experience life unfiltered by the expectations of her status. And for Bucky, Liz is no longer just the enigmatic aristocrat but a woman of depth and courage, fighting for her own identity.

In the moment their lips meet, the world around them—the chatter of the gala, the soft rustle of the night breeze, the distant melodies spilling out from the ballroom—fades into insignificance. Bucky, taken aback by the intensity of the kiss, finds himself caught in the current of Liz's boldness and expertise. Her playful bite, the confident dance of her tongue, signals a depth of experience that both surprises and entices him.

As Liz wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the connection deepens, their bodies speaking a language of their own making. Bucky's hands, resting initially at her waist, venture slightly lower, his touch light but daring over the fabric of her dress, a silent exploration of the territory between propriety and desire.

When they finally part, the look Liz gives Bucky is one of playful challenge, a silent dare that speaks volumes. Her wink, a spark of mischief and promise, leaves him momentarily stunned, a statue on the balcony as she turns to make her way back inside. Yet, the invitation in her glance, the unspoken command to follow, ignites a fire within him.

Liz's graceful navigation through the gala's attendees, each step a tantalizing lure, leads Bucky on a path he knows is fraught with both risk and exhilaration. As she ascends the staircase, her silhouette a beacon in the sea of guests, Bucky's decision to follow feels not like a choice but a necessity, a call to adventure too compelling to resist.

The journey to her quarters, a silent procession through the dimly lit corridors of Wellington House, is charged with anticipation. Bucky, aware of the boldness of this pursuit, understands the unspoken rules of the game they're playing. This isn't just a physical attraction; it's a mutual rebellion against the confines of their respective worlds, a shared quest for authenticity and freedom.

As he follows, maintaining a discreet distance to avoid drawing attention, Bucky realizes that this night, this moment, could redefine the course of their acquaintance. Liz, with her daring and defiance, has challenged him to step beyond the bounds of his own experience, to engage in a dance as risky as it is irresistible.

The decision to pursue Liz, to accept her silent invitation, marks a turning point. It's a step into the unknown, a gamble on the promise of something profound. In this game of hearts and wills, where every gesture is laden with meaning, Bucky and Liz find themselves on the brink of a discovery that could either shatter the world they know or forge a new path forward, together.

As the door closes behind Bucky, marking their entry into a realm removed from the eyes of the world, the air between him and Liz becomes charged with an undeniable intensity. What unfolds is a dance of two souls, a private exchange of affection and connection that transcends the physical space they occupy.

In the seclusion of Liz's quarters, away from the rigid expectations of their external lives, they find a freedom and a fervor that is as much about rebellion as it is about attraction. The room, with its soft lighting and the distant sound of the gala continuing below, serves as a backdrop to a moment of vulnerability and honesty.

The exchange of kisses and the exploration of touch speaks to a deep-seated desire for authenticity and understanding. It's a conversation without words, a dialogue where every gesture, every breath, carries the weight of unspoken dreams and desires.

As garments become mere whispers on the floor, the world outside, with its rules and roles, fades into insignificance. What matters in this secluded space is the connection that thrives in the absence of pretense, a bond forged not just in the heat of the moment but in the shared recognition of each other's true selves.

The rustling of bedding, the soft sighs, and the gentle caresses are chapters in a story that is theirs alone—a tale of discovery, of the courage to seek out the spaces where they can be unapologetically themselves. In the quiet aftermath, as they lie entwined, the significance of this encounter is palpable. It's a promise of possibility, a testament to the power of finding someone who sees beyond the facade to the person beneath.

This night, in the privacy of Liz's quarters, is a declaration of their mutual defiance against the constraints of their worlds. It's an acknowledgment that, despite the challenges that lie ahead, they have found in each other a rare and precious solace, a sanctuary where they can explore the depths of their connection away from prying eyes.

As dawn threatens to reclaim the night, the reality of their respective lives looms large. Yet, in this moment, they are grounded in the profound realization that what they have discovered in each other is a strength, a partnership that might just have the power to redefine their destinies.

Two weeks have passed since Bucky's return from London to the base, and the changes in him haven't gone unnoticed by those closest to him. Gone is the relentless flirt, replaced by a man who seems preoccupied, his attention drawn inward. Buck Cleven, ever the observant friend, can't help but notice the shift, especially in light of the increasing pile of correspondence that seems to capture Bucky's focus each morning.

This particular morning, Bucky is more animated than usual, a smile playing on his lips as he carefully unfolds a letter. Buck, curious and a bit concerned, nudges him. "Who's got you smiling like that, huh? Someone special?" he teases, trying to catch a glimpse of the sender.

Bucky hesitates, a brief struggle visible in his demeanor before he decides to share the letter with Buck. It reads:

Dear Major Egan,

I hope this letter finds you wallowing in the misery of our separation, desperately missing my company. I regret to inform you that I've taken up with a prince, a real one this time, who showers me with the adoration and luxuries befitting a lady of my stature. So, it seems our little dalliance must come to an end.

Please, don't despair too much. I'm sure you'll find a way to mend your broken heart, perhaps with one of those American heiresses desperate for a title, or maybe with a nice farm girl? Someone who can appreciate your... what was it you do again? Oh, right, flying planes.

Do not fret, dear Major. You will always hold a special place in my heart, somewhere between my love for my horse and my tolerance for my brother's tedious war stories.

With all the affection I can muster (which, as you know, is quite limited),

Liz

P.S. I've included a photograph, as you so tiresomely begged for one. Please try not to wear it out with your ogling. I expect it back in pristine condition, or you shall owe me a new one.

Tucked within the letter is a photograph of Liz. The image captures her essence perfectly—beautiful, aristocratic, and brimming with the sly humor that Bucky has grown so fond of.

Buck, reading over Bucky's shoulder, lets out a laugh. "She's got you on a string, hasn't she?" he chuckles, handing back the letter. "You've got good taste, I'll give you that."

Bucky, looking at the photo once more, can't help but laugh as well. He can almost hear Liz's voice as she penned the letter, her teasing tone, the twinkle in her eye as she crafted each sarcastic remark. It's a comfort, a tangible connection to the woman who's managed to upend his world and settle under his skin.

"She's one of a kind," Bucky admits, a warmth in his voice that speaks volumes. Folding the letter and slipping the photo into his pocket, he feels a renewed sense of determination. Whatever it takes, he knows he has to see her again, to bridge the distance the war has placed between them. Liz might tease, might play her games, but beneath the sarcasm and jests lies a connection neither can deny, a story far from over.

Buck watches Bucky with an incredulous look. "Alright, spill it, Egan. Who's the dame that's got you all twisted up? I never thought I'd see the day when John Egan, the lady-killer, would be mooning over some broad," he teases, the smoke curling up into the air between them.

Bucky, feeling a mix of defensiveness and pride, takes a moment before he responds, choosing his words with care. "Her name's Liz," he starts, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile at the mere mention of her name. "Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, if you want to get all formal about it. Met her in London. She's... different, Buck. Not like anyone I've ever met before."

Buck raises an eyebrow, taking a long drag from his cigarette before flicking the ash off to the side. "Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, huh? Sounds like a real high-class bird. Got you good and proper, didn't she?" he chuckles, the humor not quite masking the genuine curiosity in his tone.

Bucky can't help but laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, she did. But it's not like that. She's sharp, Buck. Got a wit that could cut glass and a spirit that's just... infectious. And she doesn't give a damn about all that high-society bullshit. She's trapped in it, sure, but she's fighting it every step of the way."

The more Bucky talks about Liz, the more animated he becomes, his usual reserve giving way to a barely contained enthusiasm. It's clear to Buck that this isn't just some fling or a passing fancy. Liz has managed to break through Bucky's well-guarded exterior, touching a part of him that perhaps even he hadn't realized was there.

Buck, sensing the depth of Bucky's feelings, nods slowly, a new respect in his gaze. "Sounds like a real peach, John. A dame like that, yeah, I can see why you'd be hung up on her." He takes another puff of his cigarette, his expression thoughtful. "Just be careful, alright? These broads from the other side of the pond, they play a different game. But if she's got you willing to jump through hoops, she must be something special."

Bucky's response is a simple nod, his mind already drifting back to Liz, to the memories of their time together and the anticipation of what might come next. The conversation shifts as they move on to other topics, but for Bucky, Liz remains a constant presence, her image, her words, a steady pulse beneath the surface of his thoughts.

In the barracks filled with the coarse banter of soldiers, the smoke of cigarettes hanging heavy in the air, Bucky finds himself in a world apart, his heart anchored across the ocean, tethered to the enigmatic Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, who's managed to do the unthinkable—capture the heart of Major John Egan.

As the morning light spills into Liz's room, illuminating the delicate furnishings and the soft, luxurious bedding she's entangled in, her initial irritation at being awakened fades the moment Mrs. Baxter mentions the letter. Liz's eyes, still heavy with sleep, light up with anticipation, a rare show of eagerness that Mrs. Baxter notes with a soft, knowing smile.

"Seems like your American soldier can't quite keep you off his mind, my lady," Mrs. Baxter says, her tone playful yet respectful, as she hands over the letter to Liz.

Grasping the letter, Liz's usual morning grumpiness is replaced by a flutter of excitement. She carefully opens the envelope, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. The letter reads:

My Dearest Liz,

Hoping this note finds you shining bright over there. I gotta say, even the best days in Thorpe Abbotts don’t hold a candle to you. Your last letter? A real knockout. It was like a splash of color on a dreary English day, and let me tell you, that’s saying something.

You teasing about ditching this budding thing we got for some high-and-mighty life with the blue bloods almost had me. But behind all that sass, I know there’s a warmth that keeps me going, has me lying awake thinking about you.

That picture you sent is my new prized possession. Seriously, it’s with me everywhere. Every time I look at it, I see that spark in your eyes, that smile of yours, and it hits me hard—how much you’ve come to mean to me.

Even though we’re worlds apart, you’re always on my mind. The thought of seeing you again is the light at the end of this tunnel. I’m holding onto the hope that this mess of a war gives us a break soon, so I can be back by your side, soaking in your glow.

Till then, just know I’m here, waiting and hoping.

Always yours, Bucky

Liz reads the letter, a smile playing on her lips, touched by Bucky's words that manage to be both teasing and heartfelt. The sincerity in his tone, the open declaration of his affection, strikes a chord deep within her, warming her more than the morning sun ever could.

Mrs. Baxter, observing Liz's softened expression, can't help but comment, "Seems like the Major has a way with words, my lady."

Liz, looking up from the letter, meets Mrs. Baxter's gaze, her smile widening. "Indeed, he does, Mrs. Baxter. Indeed, he does," she replies, her mind already racing with thoughts of how to respond, how to match Bucky's blend of humor and sincerity in her next letter.

For a moment, the challenges and restrictions of her world seem distant, as Liz allows herself to be carried away by the promise of what's to come, buoyed by the words of a man who, despite the chaos of war, has become an anchor in her tumultuous life.

What she doesn't know is that soon everything will change.

Next part >>

#Masters of the Air #MoaT #John Egan x OC #Bucky Egan x OC #John Egan x reader #Bucky Egan x reader #John Bucky Egan #BoB #Callum Turner #Sorry not sorry

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mamaspeckles · 3 months

Text

You’re no good for me, baby, you’re no good for me. You’re no good for me, but, baby I want you, I want you.

(THIS ISNT VELVET AND VENEER THIS IS ME X VENEER(I copied the bad art and fixed it with VENMADS because I said so))

ACK I KNOW THIS LOOKS SO BAD! BUT ITS AN E FOR EFFORT IG. If you want to see the process of me drawing of making up stories join my discord server! Just add mamaspeckles or click the link

Invite link:

✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞✞

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miralunawritez · 2 months

Note

Hiii could i request velvet x bitchy fem reader. Doo what you want witj that

Velvet with a fem s/o thats an asshole

warnings: cussing (reader), mention of weight, insults

It pisses her off at first, she doesnt like the constant attitude, back talk, or the arguments

After a little while she starts to think its funny, she gets used to it

100% tags you when she's arguing with someone online in a comment section because you gag the person everytime

Thinks its the funniest thing ever when you insult Veneer, she loves him but she also love its when he gets humbled

"Veneer shut up you look easy to draw" is Velvet's favorite

You guy are snappy with each other but y'all never really argue, y'all bicker but it never usually gets horrible

You are always arguing with other people though and Velvet is by your side the whole time, also arguing

You got into a physical fight once, Velvet wasnt super happy about it because you got hurt, but she was glad that you won

"I dont know why you're talking bitch, you weigh 120 pounds but look like you weigh 340, how is that even possible?" is another one of Velvet's favorites

She can put up with your attitude most of the time but sometimes it goes too far and she gets mad at you, not talking to you until you apologize

But not only are you bitchy, you're also petty. You and Velvet have went 3 weeks without talking once because you refused to apologize. She eventually came back first but she wasnt happy about it.

You guys argue online as a joke and Velvet's fans think it's hilarious, they sometimes cant tell if its a joke though.

You're like her little firecracker and she loves you with everything in her. Deep deep down she actually likes how spicy you are.

BONUS SINCE VELVETS WAS SHORT 😍

Veneer with a fem s/o thats an asshole

Thought it was funny at first but then he starts to take things to heart

He knows you act like that with everyone but it still kinda hurt

Even though you're petty you apologize to him, squeezing him to death and giving him a bunch of kisses because you cant help but want to squeeze him.

You guys don't really argue over it, sometimes you guys do when it goes a little too far

Obviously if we watched the same movie, he is not a sweet little uwu boy he is also a satan spawn like his sister, but he seems to have trouble standing up for himself, thats where you step in!

He thinks its hot when you argue with other people, your insults are creative as fuck, they got him chuckling

What got him was when someone asked you to look over a paper for them and you hit them with, "What the fuck am I looking at? You write like your hand got a lisp"

You guys play fight a lot, you initiate it obviously

"Yo ass look like a curse word" is another one of his favorites

You and velvet's girlfriend argue 24/7 but y'all are bestfriends (the one from the velvet version)

He argues alongside you sometimes but usually he never knows what to say so he just hypes you up

He hates it when you get snappy with him, it pisses him off and makes him sad

He's lowkey the type of guy to be like "I deserved that.." when you yell at him

#trolls 3 #trolls veneer #velvet and veneer #velvet trolls #trolls band together #veneer x reader #imagines #fanfics #velvet x reader #fanfic #miralunawritez

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after-witch · 2 years

Text

Treat You Better [Homelander x Reader]

Title: Treat You Better [Homelander x Reader]

Synopsis: Homelander catches you talking to another man before your next session, and he doesn’t like it. Milky White Follow up.

Word count: 4094

notes: yandere & possessive behavior, reader is an escort, adult breastfeeding and breastplay, unhealthy relationship

“Shit!”

Ashley practically spits onto her phone as she thumbs the screen, rapidly texting whoever-it-was that was on the receiving end of her furrowed brow and pursed lips. She turns to you, smile tight and prim, and her voice raises an octave in faux pleasantry.

“Sorry about that. Emergency. You know how it is. This’ll just take as sec… wait here for me, ‘kay? ‘Kay.”

She’s gone before you can even answer, but it’s not like she was genuinely giving you a choice. You’re standing in one of what you’re sure are many elevator lobbies at Vought, waiting to be taken up to Homelander’s penthouse for your… services.

Services that you’ve rendered for some time now. It’s strange how as the meetings piled up, it got easier to do; easier to not think about how strange it was to have the strongest hero in the world sucking at your nipples, eager for the milk inside. And eager for something else, too… but you’ve never been brave enough to vocalize it, even to yourself. Warmth, maybe. Affection.

There’s nowhere to sit properly in the lobby, so you find yourself leaning against one of the tall pillars and hoping Ashley doesn’t take too long. You don’t want to be late. Homelander is many things--to the public, and to you--but he’s not the most patient of men. You were late a few weeks ago, thanks to a nasty traffic jam, and you swear he was practically pouting like a child when you finally made it up to his suite.

His attitude for that particular session wasn’t the best, and you convinced Ashley to have the driver pick you up half an hour early every time, just in case. Whenever you gave the slightest hint that Homelander wasn’t happy with something, all you had to do was mention it to Ashley and she usually fixed it right up. This was no exception. Besides, you could always wait in the car if you got there early, which is exactly what you did today.

Except now… well. You fight the urge to glance down at your phone and check the time. But maybe you should just go up yourself? Would Ashley be mad? Would Homelander be mad? Did you even remember what floor he was on?

”Are you lost?”

Your thoughts are broken up by a voice you’ve never heard, and you jump reflexively at the sudden intrusion into your space.

You get your bearings and let out a shaky laugh. It’s a man in a casual suit, no name tag. His soft brown hair is combed in a side part, and he’s carrying a tablet of his own. A Vought employee, maybe a bit lower on the ladder than Ashley, but an employee nonetheless.

“No,” you say, offering a thin smile. “Just waiting for someone.”

The man leans back a little on his heels. “Ah,” he says. “I was hoping you were lost. Then I could help you find your way.” He flashes you a smile, white and charming, so bright they are probably veneers.

And then it hits you.

Oh, he’s flirting. You can’t help the little laugh-scoff that escapes your lips, or the way you break into your own grin. You’re flattered, in a way. It’s not like you got a lot of opportunity to meet new men, what with a newborn and your current job taking up much of your free time. Both were exhausting, and exhaustion left no room for flings or nights out at restaurants or clubs, hoping to catch someone’s eye.

“Who are you waiting for?” He asks, looking you up and down in a way that he probably thinks is subtle--but really isn’t.

You don’t know if you’re supposed to say; Ashley did tell you that everything you did here was under a very strict NDA. Would telling this man that you’re waiting for Ashley violate that agreement, somehow? It might, and you err on the side of caution.

“I’m not sure, I was just told to wait here until they came to get me.” You pause.. Maybe you should throw him a false bone, just in case he decides to remember your face later on. “It’s for an interview.”

At your words, the man smiles wider. The elevator door behind you dings and opens, and you internally curse when the sound is not followed by Ashley’s clicking heels. If only she would hurry up--or if only this guy would be on his way. ”Interviewing for Vought? Congratulations.” He leans in closer, and the subtle musk of his cologne tickles your nose. “I hope you get the job. I’d like to see you around--”

“Well, this is a surprise.”

All the muscles in your body tense for one terrible moment, and then you turn towards the sound of the voice--Homelander.

Fuck.

The man immediately swerves, just as jumpy as you—and you wonder if, being an apparent long term employee for Vought, he has more to worry about if Homelander catches him slacking off on the job. Because when you glance at his face, you see, for just a moment, a split second of fear before it smooths over into a pleasant, strained smile.

“Homelander, sir,” the man says, smoothing out his hair. “It’s a pleasure—an honor.” He extends his hand and Homelander looks down at it for a few moments too long not to be awkward before taking it. You see the man’s muscles strain under the apparent weight of Homelander’s grip, before the moment is over.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Homelander turns to you, and you catch on in an instant that you’re not supposed to know him.

“Ah, well,” the man says, offering you a tight smile. “I actually didn’t catch her name. Miss…?”

You give it, feeling breathless, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble.

“She’s here for an interview,” the man offers, sensing awkwardness and anxiety in your tone, though he completely misunderstands the reasons for it. “I was just—”

“An interview!” Homelander’s smile is big and plastic and his voice matches it completely. You’ve never seen this side of Homelander up close, the side that’s full of fake pleasantries and falsehoods. It’s a sight you’ve only caught in front of the cameras, though you’ve only dared to question his publicly chipper attitude recently, being privy to something softer and more intimate and raw in your sessions with him. After all, how many people watching news clips of Homelander can say he’s been at their breast?

“You know what?” Homelander turns his smile towards you, and isn’t there something in his eyes, something you’re not quite catching? “I’d love to do the honors and take you up. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

It takes you a moment to realize that you should be shocked and grateful and happy, and the words spill out of your shaking lips.

“Thank you—thank you, Homelander, sir. It’s, um, an honor, really, I—”

His arm is around your shoulder, steering you away from the man without another word.

“Don’t mention it. Happy to help! And hey, buddy?” He turns his head back towards the man, who is standing, looking slightly stupefied, by the pillar. “Remember—you’re the real hero.”

It’s the most unpleasant elevator ride of your life, and you’ve ridden the elevator countless times with Ashley. Even after Homelander pulls his arm from around your shoulder, you can feel the weight of it on you.

Tension fills the small space so heavily that you swear you can taste it. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, but you’re unable to make the right words come out.

Then you finally splutter, “I’m sorry for being late, but Ashley—”

Homelander’s look cuts you off before you finish.

“You think I’m mad because you’re 5 minutes late?”

Well, you did. Not so much anymore.

“I don’t… know,” you admit, offering up a shrug, a pathetic smile. What else did you do? A mental checklist pops up in your head, trying to go over the ways you might have offended him, but nothing comes to mind. The elevator opens and he ushers you out.

He talks as he walks, not looking behind him.

“Who was that guy?”

“Guy?” You say, then feel stupid immediately after when he glances back at you. “He was just—I mean, Ashley went—”

Homelander finally turns to face you, and there’s something deep and impatient in his tone. Like you should know what your transgression was, and be apologizing for it already, but instead he’s having to explain it to you like a child.

“I’m not asking about Ashley. I’m asking about the guy you were talking to. The guy who looked like he wanted to fuck you right in the elevator lobby.” He practically spits out the last words, looking disgusted, looking…

Oh.

Homelander isn’t mad because you were late or because you were wasting his time.

Homelander is pissed because he’s jealous.

“I don’t know him,” you say slowly, thinking over every word. “He just came up to me while I was waiting, so I…”

It’s only a few steps between you and Homelander, and he strides through them in no time. He doesn’t grab you, but he’s close, as close as the man in the lobby was. But the two of you are alone, and there’s something new between you that you didn’t see before. Something that Homelander must be feeling, to act like this.

“I don’t want you talking to him.” It’s not a request, nor a demand—but a fact. One he expects you to accept, as if his word is law. And considering that he pays your bills, maybe it is. “You’re not here for him. Who are you here for? Say it.”

Your chest feels tight. There’s an uncomfortable feeling blooming there, and not the type of uncomfortable you feel when Homelander cuddles up to your breasts. A different kind, one more prickly, one more tinged with anxiety.

“I said,” he repeats, and for a moment you think he will grab you, but he doesn’t. “Who are you here for?’

“You,” you blurt, not sure how to say it, not sure how to take any of this.

He takes a short breath to steady himself. “Then say it. So I know you understand. Say, ‘I’m here to see Homelander.’”

You swallow, thick. You think about your nice apartment and the way you don’t skip meals to pay for diapers anymore.

“I’m here to see Homelander.” Your voice is almost a whisper. The anxiety bubbling in your chest gets pushed down, firm, insistently. You’re not afraid. You can’t be. He hasn’t hurt you. He’s just… jealous. He was preparing for a session and saw you with some guy. It would be weird if he wasn’t attached to you in some way after all this time, after the intimacy you’ve shared—paid intimacy, but still. Wouldn’t it?

The tight tension in his face seems to melt at your words, as he mulls them over, takes them in.

“Okay,” he says, half-sighing. “Okay. Good.” He smiles, and it’s not the tight smile from before; it’s the smile you’re usually greeted with when you enter his suite. Something between relief and pleasantry.

You smile, too, and if he notices the strained edges of it, it doesn’t bother him.

And just like that, everything is back to normal. Or as normal as it gets when he gestures towards the plush sofas in his living area and your hands automatically begin peeling off your shirt and undoing the clasp of your bra. You’ve taken to buying nicer maternity bras now; maybe he appreciates them, maybe he doesn’t. There’s no denying that you feel far less self-conscious in something with a bit of lace and style to it.

Sometimes you swear that the couch fits your grooves now. Maybe it does. Because it feels right—it feels comfortable—to sit down and snuggle yourself in. It doesn’t feel as awkward when Homelander shakes his wrists and sighs, forcing his body to relax, before he lays down with his head in your lap.

Today, he doesn’t go right for your breasts, though they’re waiting and primed. You’ve taken to timing your feedings and pumpings just right; it makes it easier. Otherwise, it tends to hurt, feeling forced and strained.

But now, he simply stares up at you. He’s not mad anymore. But he’s thinking. You can tell, even before he opens his mouth, that he’s not going to drop things entirely.

“You really didn’t know that guy?”

You tilt your head just a little as you look down at him. Somehow, when he’s in your lap, you don’t feel as much tension and fear as you might otherwise. Your hands stroke the side of his head, smoothing down his hair. It feels like a natural gesture at this point.

“I really didn’t know him.” And it’s the truth.

He smiles, a little childish smile, as if he was doubting you up until that moment.

“Good,” he says. “Because I… well.” He’s eyeing your breasts now, your rigid nipples, which move slightly as your chest rises and falls with your breath. “We’ll get to that later, okay? Later…”

He sighs and you take a breath, preparing yourself for the sensations that you can never entirely steel yourself to take. His mouth on your nipple, insistent, sucking. The motions are too strong, too controlled, especially now that he’s had weeks of practice. It’s better that you can’t get completely used to it, though, because it keeps your mind occupied. You don’t want to freely think about what just transpired; about what it means, or could mean. Hopefully, Homelander will be satiated with your session—with your breasts and milk and the way your hands gingerly stroke his head—and forget all about it.

“Mine.” The word is murmured around your leaking nipple so softly that you almost don’t hear it. But your mind jolts when it registers.

“Mine,” he says again, insistent, almost moaning it around your breast. “Right?”

You don’t want to think about that word, or what he’s saying, or the way his mouth movements have become more lurid. Something closer to what he’d be doing if he had fucked you the way you assumed he wanted that first day. You think about anything else. The tacky decor on the wall across from you. The cologne of the man from before. Homelander himself. His hair is soft. His skin is soft. He probably gets professional facial treatments, and God knows how much his haircare costs.

Then there’s a sharp low pain around your breast, and you gasp, jerking away just enough that his arm snakes around your back and holds you there. When you look down, you see a slight ring of red around your skin. He nipped you, he actually nipped you—

“Right?” He says again, eyes holding your own, breath panting shallow on your wet, sore nipple.

“Right,” you repeat, voice hoarse. “Of course.” You go back to petting him. Your voice is strained. “But remember? No biting.”

“Mm,” he mutters, before licking the skin he bit with surprising tenderness. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t seem all that sorry, but you’re too focused on the man, his grip around your shoulder as he led you into the elevator, his insistence on you saying you’re only here for him; the way he claimed you and bit you, and you have no recourse but to take it, admonishing him without any real authority.

It’s a lot to take in. Is it so bad that Homelander apparently wants you? You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. But you were an escort. One that didn’t actually have sex with him—he hasn’t touched you in any way except your breasts, and it’s always been within the context of him nursing from you.

And yet.. You’d been seeing each other for months now. If he was growing attached to you, it wasn’t surprising, sure--and maybe it was even a good thing?

Before you know it, his alarm goes off. He doesn’t groan childishly like he normally does. Instead, he gives your breasts one last gentle suckle. It feels like an apology for his earlier harshness, and the softness of his mouth does feel soothing--both to your breast and your ego.

He gets up, like always.

You redress, like always.

But instead of waiting by the elevator, Homelander is standing close to you. Watching. Waiting. Patiently, which is rather unlike him, and it sets the first nervous sparks off in your mind.

When you’re dressed, he smiles--a bit too thinly, a bit too forced--and gestures for you to come closer. You do. Because he has given you no reason to avoid doing so. And he is paying you, after all, for your time.

You don’t know what you expect him to do.

But you don’t expect him to suddenly press both hands gently on either side of your face, stroking, almost a mimicry of what you do to him when he’s in your lap.

“Sir?” You ask, feeling your feet shuffle in place, feeling heat rise in your cheeks, feeling something nervous prickle in your chest.

He lets his hands fall away, and something feels like it’s stuck in your throat as you look up at him.

“You’re pretty, you know that? No--I meant to say, you’re beautiful.” He corrects himself, and you almost get the sense that he’s practiced what he’s about to say. “That’s what they say, isn’t it? It gives you a…” He gestures towards you, all of you, head to toe. “Glow.”

The rug underneath the coffee table is suddenly very interesting, because it’s all you want to look at .

“I think that’s for when you’re actually pregnant,” you correct. Then you realize that you’ve just rebuffed his compliment, and you add, swiftly. “But um, thank you.”

He snorts a little out of his nose. It’s a surprisingly natural gesture, one that is far more welcome than rehearsed speeches or prim smiles.

“So.” He clicks his tongue, and takes a breath. He steps closer to you, reaches out, and for a moment you think he’ll touch your face again. But instead he puts his arm around the small of your back. It’s intimate, far more intimate, somehow, than anything he’s done before.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, haven’t we?”

You have. But you get the feeling he isn’t talking about your booked-and-paid-for-sessions, exactly. At least not in the same way that you view them.

“Mmhm,” you hum, trying to keep your voice light. Being this close to him in a new situation is strange. Is it bad? You can’t deny the feelings of anxiety in your chest, but it’s not because you’re afraid of him. It’s because you don’t know what’s going to happen, don’t know if saying or doing the wrong thing will end with you losing the best source of income you’ve ever had in your life. “It’s been nice,” you add, when you’ve paused for too long.

“Nice,” he repeats, softer than you said it. And now one of his hands does come back up to your face, gently holding your chin.

“It’s coming up on our… I guess you could call it our six month anniversary, isn’t it?”

You nod, though you didn’t know that nor did you ever view it as an anniversary, and he tilts your head slightly. He’s looking at you so carefully, but you don’t know why--or what he’s searching for. His fingers spread until one of them rests on your pulse.

“You’re so nervous,” he murmurs. “Your heart is pounding. Why?”

“I don’t know,” you breathe out, and it’s the truth. It feels strange to talk with his hand on your throat, on your chin, holding your face so delicately. “I’m not sure we… I don’t know if this is…”

You don’t know what to say or how to say it. None of your chats with the other women in the agency prepared you for this type of dynamic shift, and Ashley certainly didn’t, either.

“C’mon,” he chides, and his face gets just a little closer. “Don’t tell me you don’t like me.”

“Of course I like you,” you say, quick, and you don’t mean it to sound defensive but it probably does. “I’m just confused?” And it’s the truth again. You don’t know why but you’ve always sensed that he prefers the truth above all.

“Well, let me clear up some of the confusion.” There’s humor in his clipped tone, and at least your heart calms down a little. You haven’t stepped on any hidden mines so far, and maybe you wouldn’t ever, as long as you kept yourself clear-headed about things.

“I like you…” He emphasizes the words by removing his hand from your face and gesturing from his chest to yours. “And you like me…” And then back again. “And what do two people who like each other do?” His lips quirk up in a smile, expectant, even a little charming. When you don’t answer, he starts for you. “They…” He spins his wrist, laying his palm flat in front of you, enticing you to finish his thought.

“They kiss?” You suggest. Because what else might you suggest, given his proximity, given the way he was holding your face, given the way his body is close in a way so different than all the times you’ve seen him before?

“Right,” he says, half-laughing, and his hand grips your chin as he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips.

Your heart thuds inside your chest as your mind catches up to your body--to his body, and his mouth, and his hands on you. You murmur something against his lips, but you don’t know if it’s dissenting or not.

The kiss is warm and chaste, at first. Tentative and soft. And then his mouth opens against yours, enveloping your lips, and you don’t really think as you return the gesture, as the kiss deepens. There’s a buzzing underneath your skin, and you can’t decide if it’s good or bad. You feel electric. You feel naughty. You feel conflicted.

Should you be doing this? It was what you expected all this months ago, wasn’t it? How far will this go? Will he take you into the bedroom before you leave and--

He suddenly pulls away and his eyebrows furrow in annoyance, and there’s the brief fear that you did something wrong, before you hear the elevator door ding harsh and loud.

His face scrunches up in pure irritation.

“Hello, Ashley,” he says, voice biting, hard.

Ashley, for her part, is wearing a painted on smile.

“Hello, Homelander, sir.” She waves to you with painted nails waggling. “I’ve just come to collect--”

“I know why you’re here, Ashley. I’m not a moron. Christ.”

The electrical tension that was in the air has all but evaporated, replaced with an uncomfortable irritation that makes you feel slightly ill. You snatch your discarded jacket from the sofa and begin to fully button it up, offering an apologetic smile to Homelander as you whisk yourself towards Ashley.

Homelander starts to say something, but stops himself.

Ashley looks at you, then back at Homelander, then back to you. She looks like she might say something too, but her lips close and she taps the parking garage floor and simply stares ahead, eyes slightly widened, as they shut on Homelander.

Before they do, you offer a wave. It feels dumb. But in the split second before the door closes, you see him return it, and maybe that means things will be okay.

Ashley’s phone is dinging before the elevator reaches the bottom floor.

“Oh, okay,” she says, confusion clear in her voice.

Your stomach twists. You blew it, didn’t you? He’s telling her to have you fuck off and never come back, or telling her that he wants someone else from the agency, someone who won’t scamper out of his sight like a mouse the moment she gets kissed.

You finally can’t take it anymore, and you force yourself to ask: “Is everything okay?”

Ashley nods a little too quickly for you liking.

“Oh, of course. It’s just--well.” She gives a sly grin in your direction. “Homelander just told me to book you two reservations at the nicest restaurant in town for tomorrow night. Exciting, huh?”

You wish you could blame the drop in your stomach on the elevator thudding to a stop.

“Yeah,” you reply, thinking about his lips against your own. “Exciting.”

#yandere homelander #homelander x reader #yandere the boys #yandere #afterwitch writes #I'd say it's in between yandere and not #but gonna tag it cause.. kinda!

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vendoramachine · 4 months

Text

open robe pt. 1

velvet x fem pop star reader

i think we were absolutely robbed from seeing vel in a robe, so eat up 💜

notes : fluff, mild/light cussing

the mornings after shows are always the worst. your throat is always sore from singing all night, your muscles are tired from the intense choreographies, and overall, you just feel like crap. in the moment, everything is great. you hit that high note, you landed that backflip, and your fans love you. post-concert exhaustion is a musician’s equivalent to a hangover.

i groaned as i tossed around in my bed, staring up at my ceiling like i could see the heavens. last night was insane. i was the opening act for velvet and veneer, my two favorite people on the face of this planet. weakly, i picked up my phone from my nightstand. the screen lit up, it’s brightness burning my retina.

veneer and i were best friends during our childhood, so when the two announced that their plans to start their careers in music, i was a tad doubtful. those two couldn’t hold a note if a gun was being held to their foreheads. i admit, their success was a little suspicious, but i just figured that their voices had matured and gotten better over time. in fact, they inspired me to become an artist as well, and they helped promote me and my music.

opening up my messages app, i texted the person who was on my mind 24/7; velvet.

“hey vel 🤗 we did so good last night!!!! i had so much fun, thanks for letting me open up for u and veneer 💟” my thumb clicked the send button. it was 8 a.m. and i didn’t expect velvet nor veneer to be awake, especially not after that hell of a night. i sat up in my bed, attempting to stretch the exhaustion from my muscles and rub the tiredness from my eyelids.

every fiber of my being told me to take it easy today, but where’s the fun in that if i’m not with my girlfriend? resting in bed all day without her just makes me feel like a lonely person. i forced myself out of bed to brush my teeth, take a shower, and eat breakfast.

as i finished chewing the last bite of my waffles with damp hair and a soft, velvety robe wrapped around me, it was now 11 a.m. i checked my phone, and still no response.

“wow, that girl must be knocked out.” i chuckled to myself, opening veneer’s contact and calling him. it took a few rings for him to pick up, but something about his hoarse voice and dim room told me that i had accidentally woken him up.

“what do you want?” he huffed, sass in his strained voice.

“good morning to you too, veneer.” i scoffed, making him roll his eyes and smirk playfully.

“okay, okay, sorry. good morning, y/n, what could you possibly need that was worth waking me up?”

“rude, but i was wondering if vel-“

“can’t you just call her instead?” veneer cut me off. jeez, where are this guy’s manners?

“i don’t want to wake her up. also, if i did wake her up, she’d be mad at me all day; don’t you know anything about your sister?”

“oh, whatever. come over, otherwise velvet and i will literally sleep all day. we need your motivation to get up.” say less. i hung up before he could speak another word.

time skip cause i’m lazy lmfao 💁‍♀️

i rang the doorbell to their giant house, and veneer talked to me through the doorbell.

“the door’s open, girl.” i shrugged and walked right in. wandering through the halls, i saw my girlfriend’s brother sitting at the kitchen table with his robe.

“hey, i’m on the phone with ritz.” veneer perked up, blushing angrily once he noticed that i was joking. hilarious. i sat down on the chair beside him, noticing the absence of my girlfriend’s presence.

“i don’t understand why you don’t just ask him out already.” i stole a grape from his breakfast plate.

“easy for you to say, my sister made the first move on you. i’m just waiting for him to do the same. if he wants to, he will.”

“please, that’s only because velvet is way too prideful to let someone make the first move on her. she would literally rather die. in your case, however, both you and ritz are shy, embarrassing messes. you just lack your sister’s confidence, ven.” i teased, veneer hit my arm with the back of his hand. his pathetic attempts to hide his smile just made the situation funnier.

“you’re so annoying. i don’t get how vel tolerates you.” he forcefully refused to let the muscles on his cheeks upturn into a smile.

“you couldn’t even bother to change before coming over here?” veneer attempted to switch the subject, no longer wanting to talk about his pretty-much boyfriend.

“hey, you can’t come at my robe when you’re wearing one too.” the sound of a door opening behind us made my face light up.

“hanging out without me? how rude.” velvet commented. my head whipped around. her hair was messy, and her robe was wide open, the strings hanging loosely by her sides. she wore nothing underneath her robe besides her shorts and a bra. oh. my. god.

#fanfic #fanfiction #trolls 3 #trolls band together #velvet trolls #velvet and veneer #fem reader #x female reader #wlw #lesbian #lgbtq

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fossilbotisweeping · 3 months

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Velvet X Reader Headcanons

First real post on the blog.

Character/Fandom: Velvet/Trolls Band Together

Requested by: Nobody/Blog Owner

Fandom Masterlist

•Velvet can be clingy sometimes, even when she doesn’t mean to be.

She enjoys your touch, and it’s obvious even if she doesn’t admit it.

•She especially likes holding your hand.

•Can be a bit protective, but she has good intent.

•Despite her usual pride and ill-behavior, when she loves somebody, she really loves them.

•Always prefers when you hang out at her and Veneer’s mansion as opposed to your house.

•She has nothing against your house or anything, she just prefers when the two of you are at her place.

•Velvet, as mentioned, is fond of your touch, and that extends to cuddling. If you’re staying at her house, and at night the two of you are cuddling, she’ll get upset if you get up, even if you’re only gone for a moment.

•Loves covering your skin in kisses, but that can causes issues, as she’s almost always wearing her lovely, deep purple lipstick, which can make a mess on you.

•You can walk into her house normal and leave with your body almost entirely purple.

•Rarely calls you by your name, usually calling you nicknames and petnames.

•Her favorites are “Darling”, “Dear”, and “Princess”/“Prince”

•When she’s mad at you she calls you by your first AND last name.

•She’s used to being called compliments on the daily, but when you call her “beautiful” or “gorgeous” or even just “pretty” she gets butterflies.

•She loves when you compliment her, she could listen to it for hours.

•Loves to gossip to you.

•She’s about 5’2, and if she’s taller than you, she’ll try to pick you up in a bridal carry. Even if it’s an inch difference, she’ll try. If you’re taller, again, even if it’s only by an inch, she’ll want you to try and pick her up in a bridal carry.

•Loves seeing you in purple, but that probably because she also adores seeing you in her clothes, and most of her favorite clothes are, you guessed it, purple.

•If she just so happens to stumble upon you listening to her and Veneer’s music, she’ll be happy all day.

#headcannons #velvet trolls #velvet #trolls velvet #velvet x reader #trolls band together #dreamworks trolls #romance #fluff #fluff headcanons #im so gay for her

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blippymilk · 4 months

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Do You Have Something to Tell Me?

(Chapter 2)

Veneer x GN! Reader

Read chapter 1 here!

Summary: You’re a normal teen in Mount Rageous, and the biggest Veneer fan known to man. Everybody that knows you knows it too. Unfortunately it’s highly unlikely to date the celebrity of your dreams…unintentionally.

Warnings: Slight cursing, mentions of cheating

“Come on (____)…” Lili said as you readjusted your face in your pillow. “(____) still mad that they missed Velvet?” Romar said standing at your doorstep, bowl of cereal in hand. “What do you think?” Lili replied patting your back. Romar sat his bowl down on your desk and walked over to you. You could feel his shadow over you before he snatched the pillow from under your face. “Stopppp!” You said grabbing another pillow and putting it on top of your face now. “You don’t need to suffocate yourself though.” He said struggling to pull it off of you again.

Eventually he gave up when you weren’t budging and you all three sat in silence. “Is it true that Veneer wasn’t there?” You asked, you voice muffled through the pillow. “I promise Veneer was nowhere in sight, if he was we would’ve come to get you a long time ago.” Lili said. A couple seconds later you pulled the pillow off of you. “Besides I’m pretty sure she was only there because of her brother.” Romar said as you sat up straight. He ate from his bowl again as you shot him daggers. “What?” He said eating as your eye contact got more intense. “Oh uh yeah apparently he snuck away or something and she was trying to track him down.” “She said that?” You asked. “Well that’s what we could make out through her distressed screams.” Lili chuckled.

“She’s such a bratty diva, I bet Veneer is just the same.” Lili said but she was serious.

“Exactly that’s what makes her amazing. Aren’t all the best divas extremely talented?” Romar added on.

“It doesn’t make you anymore talented or attractive.”

“Not exactly true but ok.”

“That’s my opinion though so.”

“And that’s fine, you’re entitled to your wrong opinion.”

“Guys stop bickering,” you interrupted, “It’s a stupid argument we’re about to start here. And Veneer is definitely not a brat.” You made sure Lili heard that last comment.

________________________________________________________

After Lilli and Romar left your house the next day, you couldn’t find anything to do. I mean you had invitations to go places with some of your “friends”, but you weren’t really interested to be honest. You scrolled across the media, then Veneer’s page, then had a little dance break, then viewed Veneer’s page, then got a snack, then…you get the gist.

Finally you put your phone down and searched across your room with your eyes. There was litteraly nothing to do except maybe a couple chores. Why not? You got up an grabbed your jacket that had been laying on the floor for a day. You planned to wash, but before you did you had to check the pockets. One was empty, one contained a piece of paper. That’s when it struck you that you had Victor’s number in your possession. You quickly grabbed the note and threw your jacket back to the floor.

You dialed the number in your phone and quickly hesitated before texting him instead. You sent a simple ‘hi’ and waited for him to respond. Not even 10 seconds later the status changed from delivered to read. ‘Heyyy wsp?’ He responded.

You texted back, ‘Nothing much just a little bored yk.’

Typing… ‘Yeah I feel that. I’m surprised you actually texted me’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. But I’m happy tho :)’

That made you smile a little. Was he actually wanting your time?

The conversation with him lasted all night. You were actually quite entertained by him. You guys played mini games and asked so many questions about each other. You actually got to learn quite a lot of about Victor and that he really was cool. You guys had even moved from talking over text to talking over the phone after not too long.

“Ok ok so any celebrity crushes?” You asked him as he thought. “I mean no not really, I never really thought about having one. I prefer my relationships to be 100% real and thoughtful.” He replied. “How do you know celebrities aren’t real and thoughtful?” You asked. “Umm I don’t? It was really just a guess. Anyways who’s your celebrity crush?” He asked as you started getting excited. “Veneer 100% he’s the hottest guy in Mount Rageous. Ever!” You said. Victor’s line had went silent and after you calmed down you had asked him why he was quiet so suddenly. “Uh no reason.” You were curious now, “Oh come on, I can basically here the smile in your voice,” you stated before your smile dropped, “You better not be crushing on my man Victor! I’ll find your location right now!” He chuckled, “Nope you can keep your man.”

It went quiet for a moment before you yawned. Victor chuckled a little, “Getting tired eh?” You yawned again, “Yeah I’m about to go to sleep soon.” You replied turning off the lights in your room. “Yeah me too. Um- is there like anyway at all we could meet up tomorrow? Possibly? If not it’s fine.” He said catching you by surprise. “I mean sure why not, like to do what?” Veneer hesitated, “Well what do you like to do?” You thought before smiling a bit, “Hmm I like…trampoline parks. Annnndddd I like eating?” You said. “Great! How about I pick you up at 1:00 pm tomorrow?” You agreed and ended the call, immediately climbing into your bed and falling asleep.

________________________________________________________

The next morning you woke up and checked your phone. 11:47. You yawned and suddenly remembered you that you had planned to hang out with Victor today. You turned on some music and began to get ready for your day. You went to your bathroom and began to shower. Maybe it was the hot water that woke you up when it hit you, but you suddenly thought about how Victor had technically asked you on a date. Which wouldn’t be a problem but, you did have a boyfriend (that hasn’t called you in a week). ‘Eh he’dunderstand’ you thought as you continued bathing.

You decided to dress casual since Victor would be taking you to a trampoline park.

(You can choose one of these or choose your own)

Eventually Victor picked you up and you both were headed to the trampoline park. To your surprise Victor’s car was nice, like really really nice. It was the closest you could get to a luxury car without it actually being a luxury car. It was a black vehicle with green rims.

You were left in awe as soon as you hopped in his car. As Victor drove he smiled at you still gaping, “What?” He laughed. “This car is amazing! And so expensive! How did you even afford this? You’re litteraly a teenager!!” You said piling on questions.

“Woah woah,” Victor said interrupting you, “I guess you just have to work hard.” He shrugged. It didn’t really answer you question, and Victor almost seemed unsure but you sat back and enjoyed the ride.

About 3 minutes in and Victor was offering you the aux cord. “Wanna play something?” He asked as your eyes lit up. You quickly hooked it up to your phone and played “Watch me Work”, one of Velvet and Veneer’s hottest songs. “I should’ve known.” Victor smirked. “Shh! Veneer’s part is coming up.” Victor quickly shut his mouth as …Veneer sang his quick line. “Ugh. I swear his sister doesn’t give him enough time on the microphone. I need a song with him leading and Velvet singing, or better yet just Veneer singing.” You said. “You think so?” Victor asked as you nodded, turning up the radio. Maybe if you weren’t so into the song you would’ve noticed how incredibly red Victor’s face was.

You had fun with Victor at the trampoline park and he honestly impressed you. He was very flexible and (you were too but like this man’s insane). He knew how to all sorts of flips. You’d seen him do tricks that you’d also seen Veneer attempt and succeed at on stage before.

After a couple hours at the trampoline park, Victor took you to a pizza restaurant. You both figured it’d be a great way to sit down and get to know each other better.

“So Victor, I don’t know if you recall me asking last time but I was wondering if you’d take your shades off?” You asked before sipping your drink. “Why do you wanna see my eyes so bad huh?” He asked smiling a bit. You shrugged, “I dunno, I mean we’re getting to know each other and I don’t even know the color of your eyes yet, please?” You asked giving him fake puppy eyes. Victor took his glasses off and you were met with…brown eyes. Brown eyes that seemed so familiar but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Almost like you’d seen them before, but something was off about them, as if the wrong color or something. “Happy now?” Victor asked. “Pleased.” You replied before opening your menu.

After going back and forth getting to know each other, you decided you really liked Victor’s company. You figured he liked you too, but in a more romantic type of way. You didn’t want to shoot him down, especially if you didn’t even know if he really liked you or not. After all you did have a…

“Jalen!” You said as you watched your boyfriend walk through the restaurant doors. “Who?” Victor asked you. “My boyfriend.” You replied as Victor cocked his eyebrow, “Your…boyfriend?” he almost sounded defeated, but your eyes were glued to your boyfriend who was standing at the door, looking around the restaurant. Was he here looking for you? Your location wasn’t even on. Was it a coincidence? Out of all the restaurants in the world and he just happened to end up here? However your fear quickly turned to confusion when a girl walked up to him and gave him a hug. The anger when she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Jalen!” You shouted loud enough for him to hear this time. You got up and walked over to your boyfriend who’s eyes widened. “Who is this woman and why is she kissing you?” You asked as he stuttered a bit. “She’s my c-cousin” he stammered. “Don’t hit me with that cousin sh*t Jalen. You’re a liar!” You pushed him a bit. That’s when Victor came up running behind you. “And who’s this?” Jalen’s worry quickly dropped and turned to almost a smug face. “A friend.” You replied crossing your arms. “How do I know you’re not lying to me.” Jalen said. “Stop trying to turn this around.” “Answer the question.”

“She’s not lying man, we’re cool. We’re literally just friends.” Victor spoked up. “No one was talking to you ‘man’” Jalen brushed past you, and met face to face with Victor. “He’s being honest.” You replied. “I don’t know that for sure or not.” Jalen said still glaring at Victor who stood his ground.

“You do this too often! You literally thought I was cheating on you with Romar!” You said. “And I still don’t know if you are or not.” He replied turning back around. “Romar is gay, stupid!” You shouted.

Jalen kept trying to bicker with you and eventually you were over it. “Victor can we just go? I don’t want to be here anymore.” You asked him. “Yeah let me unlock my car you can go wait.” Victor said as you walked out the restaurant. Jalen watched as Victor ran back to the table, and put the leftover pizza in a to-go box.

Once finished, Victor headed back over to the door of the restaurant, glaring at Jalen and the girl before leaving.

“As*holes.” And with that he was out the door.

Taglist: @cookiemunches @crowleysthings (for some reason I couldn’t tag some of you so I’ll just alert you that I posted a part 2)

(I alr have ideas for the next part 😋)

#veneer x reader #trolls #trolls band together #trolls veneer #velvet and veneer #veneer trolls #veneer trolls band together #trolls 3 band together #fanfic #fandom #request

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