casualcharacter - Tumblr blog

casualcharacter · 3 months

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synopsis: Kaveh reluctantly takes on a project for a demanding client, (Y/N). Initially irritated by her criticisms and requests for changes, Kaveh's perspective shifts as he discovers a hidden depth within her.

pairing: Kaveh x f!reader

tags: alcohol, mentions of death, angst, fluff, kissing, arguments,

Kaveh slouched in his chair at Lambad's Tavern, his fingers idly swirling the deep crimson liquid in his glass. The rich aroma of Lambad's specialty wine filled his senses, momentarily distracting him from his frustrating day. It had been one of those days where nothing seemed to go right, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth, both figuratively and literally. He had just lost a project, and the sting of rejection clung to him like a persistent shadow. His vision, his artistic sensibilities, had clashed with the client's limited budget, and Kaveh had refused to compromise. He prided himself on his unwavering commitment to aesthetic integrity, but lately, he wondered if he was being too rigid, too stubborn in his pursuit of perfection.

"What's the point of being an artist if I can't bring my visions to life?" he grumbled to himself, the words escaping his lips in a hushed murmur. His brow furrowed, deep in thought, as he pondered the state of his career. The patrons around him chattered and laughed, their voices merging into a dull hum that only served to amplify his solitude.

Lost in his contemplation, Kaveh's mind wandered to his monthly financials, a source of constant worry. The weight of his debts and the lack of new projects had forced him to continue living with Al Haitham, an arrangement born out of desperation. While Al Haitham was a good person, their ideologies clashed far too often, leading to heated debates and a tense living environment. Kaveh yearned for a place of his own, a sanctuary where he could fully immerse himself in his art, but it seemed like an unattainable dream for now. As he stared at the swirling wine in his glass, its ruby hues mesmerizing, a voice called his name, pulling him out of his reverie. He looked up to find a woman standing before him, radiating confidence. Her eyes sparkled with an infectious energy, and her smile seemed to light up the room.

“Kaveh, I presume?” she asked with excitement. “Do you have some time to speak with me, if not could we arrange a meeting in the coming days? I really would like to talk to you.”

Kaveh nodded, acknowledging that he had some time to spare. "Please, take a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. As she settled into the chair opposite him, she ordered the same wine he was drinking, indicating a shared appreciation for Lambad's specialty. Resting her elbows on the table, she fixed her gaze on Kaveh, as if scrutinizing him. He couldn't help but feel slightly unnerved by her intense focus. Was she studying him? Did she see something in him that others didn't? These thoughts swirled in his mind as he waited for her to introduce herself.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Kaveh," she began. "My name is [Y/N] [L/N]. I've heard of your remarkable work, and I believe I have a project that would be a perfect fit for someone of your caliber."

Kaveh observed her closely. She exuded an air of confidence that he couldn't deny, but there was also a simplicity to her, as if she found beauty in the minimalist approach to life. Her attire was elegant yet understated, and her posture reflected an unpretentious charm. Although skeptical about the compatibility of their artistic visions, Kaveh found himself intrigued by the woman sitting before him. He leaned forward, his curiosity overcoming his initial skepticism. "Tell me more about this project you have in mind." He wondered if her simplistic approach might hinder the depth and complexity he sought in his creations.

She spoke eloquently, her words painting a vivid picture in his mind. She envisioned a place on the outskirts of Sumeru city, a sanctuary for a small community of 20 to 25 people. A recreational living space where people could stay, a place that would motivate individuals and would inspire them. She spoke of open spaces that would invite nature to intertwine with the architecture, creating a harmonious blend of tranquility and functionality. Her desire for sustainable practices and a deep appreciation for the surrounding environment resonated with Kaveh, stirring a flicker of interest within him. Kaveh found himself drawn to [Y/N]'s genuine passion for her project. She possessed a clarity of purpose that both fascinated and challenged him.

Kaveh's skepticism began to waver as [Y/N]'s words painted a vivid picture of her idea. The project she described appealed to his sensibilities, merging nature with architecture in a way that would inspire and motivate those who inhabited the space. It spoke to his belief in the transformative power of design. Unable to resist the pull of inspiration, Kaveh grabbed a pen from his pocket and seized a nearby paper napkin. With practiced precision, he began to doodle, his hand moving effortlessly across the surface. The lines took shape, forming the picture of the building, reflecting the location [Y/N] had described. Silence enveloped them as [Y/N] watched Kaveh masterfully bring his vision to life on the napkin. As he pushed it towards her, he met her gaze, awaiting her reaction.

"This is how I envision the outer facade of the building," Kaveh explained. "Of course, it's just a rough sketch for now, but it captures the essence of what we discussed."

[Y/N]'s eyes studied the doodle intently, and a smile spread across her face. "Kaveh, your reputation as Kshahrewar's light is well founded. The picture in my mind was more or less similar to this."

Kaveh couldn't help but feel flustered at her words. He masked the heat creeping up to his face by a cough as he looked away from her. Kaveh's heart swelled with pride, yet he couldn't help but feel a pang of hesitation. He couldn't ignore the financial implications that such a project would entail. He leaned back in his chair, contemplating the costs involved. "Building something of this magnitude and bringing this building to life will require substantial resources," Kaveh stated with a touch of concern. "Even if I were to slash my fee and profit margins, it won't come cheap."

[Y/N] shook her head, her expression resolute. "Kaveh, I don't want you to compromise on your worth. Quote me the full price, without any reductions. I believe in the value of your expertise, and I'm willing to invest in this."

Surprise and a sense of appreciation flooded Kaveh's features. Here was someone who truly understood the value of his work, who recognized the immense effort and talent that went into creating a masterpiece. "Thank you, [Y/N]. I will visit the location in the coming days, immerse myself in its surroundings, and then create the first draft. We can discuss the pricing further then."

[Y/N] rose from her seat, a sense of purpose radiating from her. She approached the bar, gracefully settling the bill for their drinks. Turning back to Kaveh, she smiled and said, "I look forward to seeing you soon, Kaveh. Thank you for considering this project.”

With those parting words, she made her way towards the exit, leaving Kaveh sitting at the table, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. As he watched [Y/N] leave, he couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose and anticipation. The weight of his previous disappointment had lifted, replaced by the opportunity to embark on a project that held the promise of artistic fulfillment. Kaveh sat there for a moment, basking in the warmth of this newfound possibility. His mind teemed with ideas and aspirations, eager to bring [Y/N]'s vision to life. With renewed vigor, he picked up the napkin, carefully folding it and tucking it into his pocket —a symbol of the journey that lay ahead.

In the days that followed, Kaveh's life became a whirlwind of activity. He found himself immersed in the project, devoting every waking moment to design the building. Armed with his trusty Mehrak and a stack of meticulously drawn plans, he ventured out to the site, meticulously surveying every inch of the land. With every step, he could feel the energy of the place, envisioning how the architecture would seamlessly blend with its surroundings. Back in his studio, Kaveh delved into the process of drafting the design. He spent countless late nights hunched over his desk, pouring his heart and soul into the project. His hands flew across the drafting table, sketching and refining, constantly seeking the perfect balance between form and function. He considered every aspect of the building—the interiors, the materials, the facade, the floor plans—each decision made with careful consideration and artistic flair. Mehrak became Kaveh's constant companion, assisting him in mapping and surveying tasks, capturing and projecting his building designs onto the screen with precision and clarity. The tool allowed him to explore every angle, to scrutinize the tiniest of details, ensuring that every aspect of the design met [Y/N]'s expectations.

Finally, after days of meticulous planning and sleepless nights, Kaveh completed the first draft of the design. It was a moment of triumph and relief, a realization of his artistic vision and the embodiment of [Y/N]'s dreams. The building stood proudly on the blueprint, its lines and curves a testament to the careful balance of aesthetic beauty and functional purpose.

Kaveh and [Y/N] had agreed to meet at Puspa Cafe, a charming little establishment nestled in the heart of Sumeru city. As he walked into the cafe, he spotted [Y/N] sitting at a corner table, her eyes lighting up with anticipation as she saw him approach.

“Kaveh!” [Y/N] waved at him, her face lighting up with giddy excitement as he took a seat opposite her at the corner table in Puspa Cafe. Kaveh couldn't help but feel a warm surge of happiness at the sight of her genuine joy.

Before Kaveh could show his plans, [Y/N] gently interrupted him, a playful smile dancing on her lips. "Let's not rush, Kaveh. First, let's order something." Her words were accompanied by a slight tilt of her head, and Kaveh couldn't help but chuckle at his own eagerness. "You're right, [Y/N]. My apologies," he said sheepishly, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

They called the waiter and ordered their coffee, deciding to indulge in a plate of baklava to share. As they waited for their order, [Y/N] took the opportunity to get to know Kaveh better. She asked about his interests, his hobbies, and the stories behind his architectural projects. The conversation flowed effortlessly between them, as if they were old friends catching up after a long separation. Kaveh shared his passion for the arts, his love for music and literature, and the inspiration he found in the world around him. He spoke of his favorite architects, the ones who had shaped his own artistic journey, and the ideas and philosophies that guided his work.

As their coffee arrived, accompanied by the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed beans, [Y/N] asked Kaveh about his family. Kaveh's expression softened, and he took a moment to gather his thoughts before answering. "My father passed away when I was young, and my mother now lives in Fontaine with her new husband," he explained.

A flicker of sympathy crossed [Y/N]'s eyes. “I am sorry Kaveh, I shouldn’t have brought up such a sensitive topic.”

Kaveh, however, reassured her with a gentle smile. "Please don't feel bad for me, [Y/N]. Life has its ups and downs, and I've learned to accept that. But now, let me show you what I’ve come up with for your little project.” Kaveh said with a warm smile, reaching into his bag to retrieve the carefully prepared plans. Kaveh set up Mehrak, projecting the design plans, and laid out a set of detailed sheets on the table. Kaveh began his explanation, using Mehrak to navigate through the various sections of the design.

"The central idea behind the design is to create spaces that seamlessly integrate with the natural surroundings," Kaveh began with enthusiasm. "I've utilized large windows and skylights to maximize natural light, bringing warmth and brightness into the common areas. Residents will be able to enjoy the beauty of the surrounding nature from every corner of the building."

As he spoke, Kaveh pulled out sheets of paper with detailed floor plans and interior designs. He pointed out the purposefully designed rooms for different activities, emphasizing the functionality and flexibility of the spaces.

"The ground floor houses the communal areas, such as the library, art studio, and shared kitchen, providing opportunities for interaction and collaboration among the residents," Kaveh continued. "The second and third floors consist of private living spaces, each uniquely designed to cater to the needs and preferences of the inhabitants. The fourth floor features a rooftop garden, where residents can immerse themselves in the serenity of nature."

As Kaveh explained the intricate details of his design, he couldn't help but notice [Y/N]'s intense focus. Her brows furrowed in concentration as she poured over the plans, her eyes tracing every line and curve. Occasionally, she would bite her lip, lost in thought as she studied the interior layouts. Kaveh found himself captivated by her genuine interest and the subtle beauty that radiated from her in that moment.

When [Y/N] finally looked up, she nodded, her expression filled with satisfaction. "Kaveh, I'm truly impressed with what you've created. You've managed to capture the essence of my vision while infusing it with your unique artistic touch. "Kaveh's face brightened at her words, but before he could fully bask in the praise, [Y/N] continued. "However, I do have a few suggestions and changes that I'd like you to incorporate," she added with a thoughtful look.

A flash of annoyance momentarily passed over Kaveh's face, but he quickly caught himself, reminding himself of the collaborative nature of their project. "Of course, [Y/N]. I'm open to your input. Please, go ahead," he responded, his voice laced with trepidation.

“For instance, I think we could optimize the use of space on the second floor, perhaps by reconfiguring the rooms to create a more harmonious flow. I’d like the private living spaces to be similar to one another.”

Kaveh listened attentively as [Y/N] shared her suggestions for the design, but when she mentioned wanting the private living spaces to be similar, he couldn't help but react with surprise. "Having the private living spaces be similar would reduce the artistic value of the building," Kaveh exclaimed. "Each resident deserves a unique and personalized living space that reflects their individuality. It's what adds character and charm to the building."

[Y/N] let out a sigh, her expression understanding yet determined. "I understand your perspective, Kaveh, and I appreciate your commitment to artistic integrity. However, for the intended purpose of this project, uniformity in the private living spaces is essential," she explained, her voice steady.

Kaveh felt a sense of frustration bubbling within him, conflicted between his artistic ideals and [Y/N]'s vision for the project. He had always strived to create unique, one-of-a-kind spaces that reflected the individuality of each resident. However, he also recognized the importance of compromise and understanding the purpose behind [Y/N]'s request.

After a moment of contemplation, Kaveh reluctantly conceded reluctantly. "I understand the intent behind your suggestion, [Y/N]. This project is yours, and I'll respect that. If uniformity is what you desire, then I will find a way to create a cohesive design that still allows for personal touches within each living space."

A glimmer of satisfaction crossed [Y/N]'s eyes as she nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Kaveh. I appreciate your willingness to accommodate my request. I know it may not align with your usual approach, but I believe it's necessary for this particular project. I want you to know that I trust your creativity and expertise, and I want you to have the freedom to experiment with other aspects of the building design." Leaning forward, [Y/N] directed her gaze towards Kaveh, her eyes unwavering. "Now, let's talk about the financials. I need a detailed breakdown of the estimated costs, including your price and margin, as well as the projected costs for vendors and labor. I want to have a clear understanding of the financial aspects before we proceed."

Kaveh reached for a notebook and a pen, ready to jot down the figures. He appreciated [Y/N]'s straightforwardness, even though the topic of finances always stirred a hint of discomfort within him. As he carefully calculated the estimated costs, he provided [Y/N] with a detailed breakdown, ensuring transparency in his pricing. "The total estimated cost, including my fee and margin, along with the projected costs for vendors and labor, would amount to 18 million Mora," Kaveh explained, his voice steady and composed. "This figure takes into account the quality of materials and the level of craftsmanship necessary to bring your vision to life."

As Kaveh presented the estimated cost to [Y/N], he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety in the pit of his stomach. The amount he quoted was significant, reflecting the scale and ambition of the project [Y/N] had in mind. He anxiously waited for her response, hoping that she would understand the financial implications.

A flash of uncertainty flickered across [Y/N]'s face, but after a moment of contemplation, she nodded. "Kaveh, I trust your math and expertise in this matter. Let's proceed with drafting a contract based on the estimated costs."

Relief washed over Kaveh as he realized that [Y/N] was willing to move forward despite the substantial investment required. He acknowledged her trust with a nod, appreciating her willingness to take this project to the next stage.

"There is one thing we should consider," Kaveh interjected, his voice measured. "While the majority of the costs can be fixed, a part of it will have to be variable. It depends on the availability of materials, any unforeseen circumstances, and the choices of vendors we select. I propose that we set aside a portion of the budget as a variable cost, ensuring that we have flexibility to adapt to any changes." [Y/N] nodded in understanding, her eyes focused on Kaveh as he continued. "I suggest allocating no more than 1 million Mora as the variable cost, to account for any fluctuations in pricing or unforeseen circumstances. This way, we can manage the budget effectively while still allowing for adjustments if needed."

A thoughtful expression crossed [Y/N]'s face, contemplating Kaveh's suggestion. After a brief pause, she replied, "I understand the need for flexibility, Kaveh. Let's include the provision for the variable cost in the contract, but I trust you to exercise prudence in managing it and ensure that it doesn't exceed the agreed limit."

Kaveh couldn't help but admire [Y/N]'s attention to detail and her commitment to maintaining a balance between financial responsibility and creative freedom. As they delved into the terms of the contract, discussing milestones, timelines, and deliverables, Kaveh realized that [Y/N] wanted to be involved in every step of the process. While he appreciated her meticulousness, he also worried that such close involvement might restrict his artistic freedom. Throughout the discussion, Kaveh found himself occasionally pushing back on [Y/N]'s suggestions, stubbornly defending his artistic choices. However, [Y/N] remained unrelenting, presenting her own perspective and challenging Kaveh to reconsider his stance. Their conversations occasionally grew heated, fueled by their shared passion and determination. Kaveh marveled at [Y/N]'s unwavering commitment to the project, even as their discussions verged on argumentative. He admired her ability to stand her ground, pushing him to excel and refining his ideas. It was a delicate balance between collaboration and asserting their individual idealogies, but he couldn't deny the underlying respect and shared purpose that fueled their spirited debates.

After the contract was drafted, [Y/N] handed Kaveh her address, a gesture that implied their increased interaction. "You'll be seeing more of me now," she said with a smile. "If you ever need to reach me, you can find me here."

And so, the project for the building began. [Y/N] and Kaveh would often meet at the site location, where conversations flowed more informally between them. Kaveh found himself at ease around [Y/N], their interactions becoming a blend of work and personal connection. She greeted him with a warm smile, and they seamlessly dived into their tasks. While Kaveh oversaw the construction and ensured the design was being executed as planned, [Y/N] would monitor the progress, occasionally lending a helping hand to the laborers.

Lunchtime became a cherished ritual for Kaveh and [Y/N]. She would bring lunch not only for herself but also for Kaveh, as they sat on a cozy blanket, enjoying the delicious meals she had prepared. These moments provided an opportunity for them to relax and share more about their lives, the events happening in Sumeru, and their personal interests. Through these lunches, Kaveh discovered more about [Y/N]'s tastes and preferences. He learned about her favorite books, her hobbies, and even her culinary skills. They engaged in discussions about art, culture, and their shared love for the natural beauty that surrounded them.

Over the course of the project, Kaveh and [Y/N] found themselves engaged in numerous arguments and debates, each representing their strong-willed personalities and their unwavering dedication to their respective opinions. These disagreements spanned across different aspects of the building design, reflecting their differing opinions and perspectives.

Over the course of the project, Kaveh and [Y/N] found themselves engaged in numerous passionate debates and arguments, reflecting their divergent opinions and stubbornness. These disagreements spanned a wide range of topics, from materials and interior design pieces to the selection of plants. The arguments were not isolated incidents but occurred intermittently over a span of weeks and months, as the project progressed.

One day, while discussing the choice of wood for the building's structure, Kaveh and [Y/N] found themselves embroiled in a spirited disagreement. Kaveh with conviction, stated, "Cedar wood is the superior choice, [Y/N]. Its natural oils make it resistant to decay and insect damage. Moreover, its rich, warm hues add a touch of elegance to the structure. We should prioritize quality and longevity over cost."

But [Y/N], equally determined, responded, "I understand the benefits of cedar wood, Kaveh, but we must consider the project's budget as well. Fir wood provides a more cost-effective solution without compromising on strength. We can allocate the saved funds to other essential aspects of the building."

Their disagreement continued, each passionately defending their viewpoint. Kaveh, frustrated by what he perceived as compromising his artistic vision, would often storm off from the site in a fit of exasperation. However, the unwavering determination of [Y/N] would eventually bring him back, reminding him of the shared purpose and the need to find a middle ground.

On another occasion, the topic of interior design pieces sparked a fiery discussion between them. [Y/N] advocated for the use of natural vines inside the building, believing that it would enhance the connection between the residents and nature. Kaveh, however, had reservations about the practicality and maintenance challenges posed by vines. Their conversation unfolded as follows:

"[Y/N], I understand your desire to incorporate nature into the interior, but we must consider the long-term impact. Vines require meticulous care and can cause damage to the building if not properly maintained. Perhaps we can explore alternative ways of incorporating natural elements? Tall plants are a better choice. They add greenery to the ambience but will also highlight the high ceilings and openness of the main area."

But [Y/N], unyielding in her stance, replied, "Kaveh, I appreciate your concern, but the presence of vines will create a harmonious and organic atmosphere within the building. We can work with horticulturists to ensure proper maintenance and minimize any potential damage."

The arguments persisted, with Kaveh expressing his concerns and [Y/N] presenting counterarguments to defend her suggestion. The clash of their viewpoints added tension to their working relationship, but it also fueled their creative energy, pushing them to refine their ideas and find innovative solutions. Amidst these passionate debates, Kaveh witnessed [Y/N]'s unwavering commitment and determination to see her vision come to life. He admired her resilience and willingness to challenge his perspectives, even as it occasionally tested his patience. And while their arguments sometimes grew heated, they never lost sight of the shared purpose that brought them together.

However, there came a day when a particularly heated argument left Kaveh and [Y/N] at odds. It centered around [Y/N]'s insistence on neutral colors for the private living spaces, while Kaveh believed it would clash with the overall ambiance of the building. The disagreement escalated rapidly, with emotions running high and tempers flaring:

"I can't believe you're being so stubborn about this, [Y/N]! White or beige would be jarring and bland within the context of the entire building," Kaveh exclaimed, frustration seeping into his voice.

[Y/N], hurt by his dismissive tone, took a deep breath, her eyes welling up with tears. "You're being stubborn, Kaveh not me. I've respected your creative freedom throughout this project, and now you refuse to consider my perspective.

Kaveh, momentarily caught off guard by [Y/N]'s tears, softened his tone. "I... I didn't mean to hurt you. But I've always envisioned a vibrant and diverse color palette that reflects the spirit of the building."

[Y/N], her voice trembling, responded, "I understand your intentions, Kaveh, but we must find a balance. The private living spaces need to provide a sense of calm and tranquility. Please, let's reconsider."

In the heat of the moment, Kaveh's frustration got the best of him. "Maybe I should have trusted my first impression," he blurted out. "Your minimalistic view clashes with my own, and perhaps I made a mistake by taking on this project."

The hurt flashed across [Y/N]'s face, her tears now streaming down her cheeks. She took a deep breath, visibly gathering her composure. "You're being unfair, Kaveh," she finally managed to say.

Fueled by anger and frustration, Kaveh shook his head in disbelief as he glared at [Y/N]. "I need to go," he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice laced with exasperation. Without another word, he turned and stormed away, his footsteps echoing through the building site.

His anger propelled him through the bustling streets of Sumeru city, his mind consumed by the argument that had just taken place. His legs carried him almost instinctively towards Lambad's, a nearby tavern known for its soothing ambience and fine selection of wines. Kaveh sought solace in the bottom of a wine bottle, hoping to drown out the turmoil within him. As he sipped his first glass, memories of [Y/N]'s hurt face and tear-stained cheeks flooded his mind. A pang of guilt twisted his stomach, marring the initial satisfaction he had felt in venting his frustration. The wine did little to numb the ache in his heart.

Why did it affect him so deeply? He pondered this question, the noise of the tavern fading into the background. He considered their relationship, the camaraderie they had developed over the course of the project. [Y/N] was more than just a client; she was a friend who had seen his highs and lows, his artistic triumphs and financial struggles. He remembered the moments they had shared, the casual conversations during their lunches, the way she greeted him with a smile that radiated warmth. He had been so consumed by the project, by their differences, that he hadn't recognized the growing bond between them. It was a realization tinged with romantic angst, a revelation he hadn't expected.

As he finished one bottle of wine and reached for another, the wine serving as a temporary salve for his wounded pride, Kaveh couldn't escape the memory of [Y/N]'s quivering lips and tear-stained cheeks. It cut through his defenses, piercing his heart with an unfamiliar ache.

As Kaveh sat at the table, nursing his second bottle of wine, his friends Cyno, Tighnari, and Al Haitham joined him. They settled in, the familiar banter of their camaraderie filling the air. Tighnari, always perceptive, glanced at Kaveh and mused, "Another rough day at the building site, Kaveh?"

Kaveh nodded, his gaze fixed on the wineglass in front of him. "Something like that," he muttered, his voice tinged with exhaustion and frustration. Cyno poured wine for everyone, the deep red liquid filling their glasses, before leaning in with a mischievous grin. "So, what was the argument with the client this time that has got you all worked up more than usual?"

Kaveh let out a sigh. "It was about the color schemes for the private quarters," he replied betraying a hint of exasperation. "She insisted on neutral colors, while I believed it would clash with the overall ambiance of the building."

Al Haitham, often the silent observer, fixed his gaze on Kaveh. "And what is the intended purpose of this building, Kaveh?" he asked calmly. Kaveh paused, taken aback by the question. "It's meant to be a communal space for living, for about 20-25 people," he answered, his tone uncertain.

Al Haitham nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that much was clear from your constant whining about the project these past months," he remarked with a hint of amusement. "But what I meant was, who are these people? Where do they come from?"

Kaveh's brow furrowed as he contemplated the question. He had been so consumed by the design and the clashes with [Y/N] that he had never taken the time to delve into the deeper purpose of the project. "I... I'm not sure," he admitted, a tinge of embarrassment coloring his voice. "I assumed it was for creative collaboration and such." He had been so consumed by his own frustrations and artistic ideals that he had neglected to understand the true purpose behind [Y/N]'s vision. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding, "I... I never asked. I assumed I knew.”

Al Haitham blinked at Kaveh a few times, his expression a mixture of amusement and bemusement. "Kaveh," he said, his tone sly. “Your intelligence may be superior to most, but it seems to pale in comparison to even Mehrak. Perhaps it's time to acknowledge that emotional intelligence is not your strong suit as you often claim it to be."

Kaveh bristled at Al Haitham's remark, his stubborn nature itching to engage in a verbal sparring match. But as he opened his mouth to respond, he found himself at a loss for words. Al Haitham's observation struck a chord.

Tighnari, sensing Kaveh's turmoil, reached out to console him. "Hey, Kaveh, don't be too hard on yourself. You can talk to [Y/N] tomorrow when you go back to the site. You two always work things out, don't you?"

Kaveh's head hung low with remorse and frustration. "No, Tighnari, this time... I really fucked up," he muttered, his words laced with regret. He recounted the argument self-reproach. "For all the months I've known her, she's always exuded confidence. No matter how challenging things got on the site, she stood strong and unwavering. Whether it was dealing with fussy vendors or unfavorable circumstances, she always was ready for it. But today... today, I saw her cry, and it was because of what I said."

He had always been quick to defend his artistic choices, to push back against any perceived compromise. But in doing so, he had failed to recognize the impact his words could have on [Y/N]. It was a humbling moment, a reminder that beneath the artistic clashes and disagreements, a deeper connection had formed. The realization of his own shortcomings in understanding [Y/N], both as a client and as a person, washed over him with a wave of regret.

As the weight of his regret settled upon Kaveh's shoulders, he mustered the resolve to make amends. With a sigh, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag of Mora, placing it on the table. Cyno glanced at him quizzically and asked, "What are you doing, Kaveh?"

Kaveh looked at his friends with resignation. "This should cover the wine," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of urgency. "I need to make things right."

Without waiting for further questions or objections, Kaveh hurriedly rose from his seat, leaving the tavern behind. The Sumeru city, now immersed in the night, enveloped him with its cool breeze and the soft glow of street lamps. The bustling sounds of the day were replaced by a tranquil hush as Kaveh's feet carried him swiftly through the winding streets. As he reached into his pocket to pull out the slip of paper containing [Y/N]'s address, Kaveh's heart raced with anticipation. He had never been to her place before, never had the need to venture beyond the site where they had worked together so closely. The slip of paper felt foreign in his hands.

Running through the streets, Kaveh found himself apologizing to passersby as he accidentally collided with them in his haste. The city, adorned with twinkling lights and the occasional glimpse of starlit sky, served as a backdrop to his determined journey. Each step carried him closer to [Y/N], his mind consumed with thoughts of reconciliation and the desire to mend the fracture that had formed between them.

As he arrived at the address, Kaveh's heart pounded in his chest. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, the sound reverberating through the silence of the night. Moments passed, and when the door finally opened, Kaveh was met with the gaze of a grumpy, middle-aged man who appeared to be [Y/N]'s father.

"What do you want?" the man grumbled, his tone laced with irritation. Kaveh, somewhat taken aback by the man's demeanor, managed to find his voice. "Does [Y/N] live here?" he asked, hoping for a positive response.

The man's expression softened slightly, and he nodded. "Yes, she does," he replied curtly. "But she's not here." Kaveh's heart sank at the news, but he wasn't ready to give up just yet. "Do you happen to know where she might be?" he inquired with urgency and desperation.

The man shrugged dismissively, clearly uninterested. He pointed toward a set of stairs at the side of the house. "I don’t make it a habit to keep a tab on my tenants’ whereabouts. Next time you want to meet [Y/N], use those stairs. They lead up to her room," he said before closing the door, leaving Kaveh standing outside with a swirl of emotions and unanswered questions.

Confusion swirled within Kaveh's mind. Tenant? Was she living in a rental property? He assumed she was wealthy given the amount she was investing in her project. The realization that [Y/N] had not disclosed the nature of her living situation to him hit him like a wave of revelation. His assumptions about her life and background crumbled, leaving him with a newfound curiosity and a burning desire to understand her more deeply.

With one last wistful glance toward [Y/N]'s room, Kaveh left the place, the weight of his unspoken apology lingering in the air. He made a mental note of the room number, committing it to memory as he walked away, his steps leading him back toward the building site. As he approached the outskirts of Sumeru city, the urban landscape slowly gave way to the serene beauty of nature, the night sky sprinkled with stars that danced in the velvety darkness.

The half-constructed building stood before him, a beacon of potential and dreams yet to be realized. Kaveh's gaze swept across the structure, envisioning the final result and the impact it would have on those who would call it home. He stepped inside, his voice echoing through the open space as he called out for [Y/N], hope and concern mingling in his tone.

" [Y/N], are you here?" he called out, his words hanging in the air. Silence greeted him, amplifying his growing sense of anxiety. He called out again, the urgency in his voice rising with each repetition. " [Y/N]!" But the building remained still, its walls holding the secrets of her whereabouts. Uncertainty gnawed at him, and a sense of unease settled deep within his chest.

His footsteps quickened as he made his way to the makeshift camp that the construction workers had established nearby. Confusion clouded his mind as he approached the camp, the dimly lit area dotted with tents and the sounds of weary laborers seeking respite. Kaveh's eyes darted around, searching for any sign of [Y/N]. He approached a group of workers huddled together, their faces etched with exhaustion and the glow of a crackling fire.

"Excuse me," Kaveh called out, his voice tinged with urgency. "Have any of you seen [Y/N]? I've been looking for her."

One of the workers, a burly man with dirt-streaked clothing, shook his head. "Nah, Habibi, haven't seen her around," he replied weary from a day of hard labor. "She was here earlier, but she left a while ago. Said something about needing to clear her head. She should be home by now, not here.”

Dread tightened its grip on Kaveh's heart. "She wasn’t at home, I checked. Do you know where she went?" he asked with genuine worry.

The laborer shook his head. "Sorry, mate. She didn't mention where she was going. But she seemed troubled. Maybe she needed some time alone."

Confusion mingled with concern as Kaveh surveyed the area, his eyes scanning the surroundings in search of any trace of [Y/N]. He couldn't shake off the worry that gnawed at his insides. It was dangerous for anyone, especially a woman, to be wandering alone at night. He hadn't encountered her on his way from the city to the building site, leaving him with a sinking feeling that she was somewhere out there, lost in her thoughts. As he moved through the outskirts of Sumeru city, Kaveh's footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night. The cool breeze rustled through the leaves, creating a symphony of nature's whispers that intermingled with his anxious thoughts. He scoured the surroundings, hoping for a glimpse of [Y/N], a flicker of her presence that would assure him of her safety.

The logical part of Kaveh's mind knew that waiting at her home or the building site would be the rational course of action, as Al Haitham would likely suggest. But Kaveh couldn't bring himself to adhere to reason alone. His heart yearned to find [Y/N], to ensure she was okay, regardless of the path's logicality.

He continued his search, the shadows cast by the moonlight and street lamps playing tricks on his weary eyes. He called out her name once again, the desperation in his voice lacing the air. " [Y/N]! Where are you?" Each plea hung in the silence, lingering like an unanswered prayer.

As Kaveh's desperate search led him closer to the riverbank, a figure caught his attention. It was just a silhouette against the moonlit backdrop, but his heart recognized it instantly—it was [Y/N]. Without hesitation, he rushed toward her, his footsteps quickening with worry. As he drew nearer, the features of [Y/N]'s huddled form became clearer. She sat by the riverbank, her knees pressed tightly against her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and her head resting on the back of a rock. She appeared lost in slumber, her tear-stained face illuminated by the soft moonlight. Kaveh's heart broke at the sight of her vulnerability.

Kneeling down beside her, Kaveh spoke her name in a gentle whisper, hoping to rouse her from her sleep. But there was no response, only the serenity of her rest. He reached out, his touch light as a feather, to gently wake her from her troubled dreams. As his fingers brushed against her cheek, he flinched at the icy chill that clung to her skin. The realization hit him like a wave—she had been alone by the riverbank on this chilly night, her body left to bear the brunt of the elements.

Without hesitation, Kaveh quickly removed his winged cape and draped it over her, covering her shivering form with the warmth it offered. The cape, once a symbol of validation for his appreciation of the fine arts, now served as a shield against the cold that threatened to pierce her fragile frame. He hoped it would bring her a modicum of comfort, a small gesture to show that he cared.

As his hand lingered near her cheek, Kaveh couldn't help but marvel at the delicate features that had captured his attention from the moment they met. Kaveh's heart swelled with tenderness and concern as he watched over her. How was she affording all of this? Not once had Kaveh seen her flaunt her wealth and now he was even more befuddled after visiting her address. She had paid for all the materials up front and there hadn’t been a single payment delay yet. But when it came to herself, she wore simple fabrics and barely any jewelry.

Lost in his thoughts, Kaveh found himself contemplating the enigma of [Y/N]'s modest lifestyle juxtaposed against her extravagant project. He couldn't comprehend how she managed to finance it all without displaying any signs of wealth in her personal life. The mysteries of her choices and priorities swirled through his mind, a puzzle he longed to unravel. His musings were interrupted abruptly as a loud thrashing noise echoed from the water—a spinocrocodile, its presence a jolt to his senses. Startled, Kaveh jumped back, his heart racing with a mix of fear and surprise.

The commotion broke [Y/N]'s slumber, and she stirred, her eyes fluttering open with a sense of disorientation. As her gaze settled upon Kaveh, she quickly wiped away the slight drool trailing from the corner of her mouth, a tinge of embarrassment coloring her features. Kaveh couldn't help but find the sight endearing, a subtle smile gracing his lips.

"What are you doing here?" [Y/N] asked in surprise and confusion.

Kaveh's grip tightened around her hand, a warm touch that brought a sense of comfort. "I was looking for you," he replied, his tone sincere. "I was worried when I couldn't find you at the site or at your home. And," he continued, his gaze softening, "you looked so cold that I couldn't leave you alone by the riverbank."

A mix of surprise and gratitude flickered across [Y/N]'s face as she glanced down at the cape draped around her shoulders. She moved to remove the cape he had draped over her, her intention to return it evident in her actions. However, before she could complete the motion, Kaveh gently gripped her hand, stopping her mid-action.

"No, don't," Kaveh spoke softly with genuine concern. "You're cold, [Y/N], and you could fall sick. Keep it on until we return to Sumeru." His grip on her hand tightened slightly.

As [Y/N] nodded in acknowledgment, she tightened the cape around her, seeking its warmth to stave off the lingering chill. Kaveh, standing up from the riverbank, extended his hand toward her. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes meeting his, before she finally reached out and grasped his hand. With a gentle pull, Kaveh helped her to her feet, their fingers entwined, their touch conveying a silent understanding.

"Let's just go back," Kaveh suggested softly, his voice filled with relief.

Silently, [Y/N] followed his lead, her footsteps matching his as they retraced their path toward Sumeru. The night surrounded them, a tapestry of stars overhead casting a shimmering glow upon their journey. [Y/N] remained silent, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, while Kaveh's mind buzzed with words he longed to express.

As they walked, Kaveh's grip on her hand subtly tightened, his heart yearning to break the silence that enveloped them. But before he could find the right words, [Y/N] spoke, her voice soft yet determined. "Starting tomorrow, I'll stay away from the site," [Y/N] began, her words laced with a sense of realization. "I've been too involved in this project, too consumed by my own ideals. I need to trust your choices, Kaveh. It's your expertise that will bring my vision to life, not the other way around."

Kaveh paused in his steps, turning to face [Y/N], his gaze locked with hers. What was she saying? She wouldn’t be coming to the site anymore? Before [Y/N] could continue, he gently pressed his forefinger against her lips, shushing her softly.

"Stop," Kaveh interrupted. "I was looking for you to apologize because I've been an ass. You have been one of the best people I've worked with in recent times, [Y/N]. I should have been more open-minded and receptive to your ideas. It's your project, your dream, and as an architect, it's my responsibility to bring that vision to life, rather than imposing my own onto yours."

(Y/N) blinked, taken aback by his unexpected admission. Her lips parted, but Kaveh continued speaking, his voice filled with sincerity. “I was rude to you today and said some things that I can’t take back. I really feel awful for saying that to you. I hope you can forgive me for it someday.”

"I appreciate your words, Kaveh," she finally spoke softly. "And I'm sorry too, for not communicating my needs clearly. We can work together, and I trust that we can create something truly remarkable."

Kaveh hesitated for a moment, his curiosity gnawing at him. He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in his mind. "Can I ask you something?" he stammered, his voice tinged with nervousness.

(Y/N) looked at him, her eyes filled with curiosity. "Of course," she replied softly, encouraging him to continue.

"I... I went to the address you gave me," Kaveh began, his words tumbling out in a rush. "And I found out that you live in a rental. I mean, how... how have you been affording all this?" He paused, his gaze searching hers, hoping to unravel the mystery that had baffled him.

A faint, sad smile tugged at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips. She seemed to anticipate the question, her eyes holding a profound depth. "The building... it's not just for me," she explained gently. "It's a place I envision for the homeless, for academically burnt-out students, for anyone who needs an affordable place to stay. A place that can provide them shelter and, more importantly, help them find the motivation to rediscover their dreams and passions."

Kaveh's eyes widened in awe, his heart stirring with admiration for her philanthropy. "But... how are you paying for all of it?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"It was my dream, a shared dream between me and my father," (Y/N) continued with a hint of nostalgia. "He passed away a few years ago, and this project is not only my inheritance but also the culmination of our hopes and dreams. The money comes from his savings, my inheritance, a loan, and my own savings. While we were working together, I've been working tirelessly to gather more funds to pay off the loan and invest in this project."

Kaveh felt a mixture of awe and respect wash over him. [Y/N]'s dedication and selflessness struck a chord within him. She had poured her heart, her financial resources, and her energy into a project that aimed to uplift others, to create a sanctuary for those in need.

"That's incredible," Kaveh finally spoke, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "To have such a noble purpose behind this project, to give back to those who have fallen on hard times... it's truly remarkable."

"You've been carrying this burden all alone," Kaveh murmured in both wonder and empathy.

(Y/N) nodded, her gaze meeting his. "It hasn't been easy, but I believe in this project, in the impact it can have on people's lives. And now, with your expertise and understanding, I believe we can make it a reality." As the moonlight bathed them in its soft glow, (Y/N) continued to share her intentions behind the design of the living spaces within the building. "I want the rooms to be impersonal, almost blank," she explained, her voice filled with conviction. "It's not because I want them to feel uncomfortable, but rather to remind them that this is a temporary space. I want them to know that this is a stepping stone, a place where they can gather themselves, regain their strength, and eventually move on to create a better future."

Kaveh listened intently, captivated by her determination and the depth of her compassion. He couldn't help but interject, expressing a concern that had crossed his mind. "But won't some people get too comfortable and take advantage of the housing?" he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

(Y/N) nodded, acknowledging the risk inherent in her approach. "Yes, that's a possibility," she admitted. "But I believe it's a risk worth taking. By providing this opportunity, we can uplift the lives of many, even if a few take advantage. The majority who truly need it will find solace and a chance to rebuild their lives."

A sense of alignment washed over Kaveh, his heart feeling full as he realized how closely their values aligned. (Y/N) wasn't simply seeking a profitable venture; she genuinely cared about making a difference in the lives of others. It was a puzzle piece that fit perfectly with his own beliefs and aspirations.

"It was never about profits for me," Kaveh confessed, his voice laced with sincerity. "I wanted to create something meaningful, something that could positively impact people's lives. And now, seeing your dedication and selflessness, I feel like we're on the same wavelength. Our visions, our values—they align so beautifully."

A subtle warmth filled the air between them as they exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the shared passion that burned within. The walk back to Sumeru was a transformative journey for Kaveh and (Y/N). With each step, their communication deepened, and the barriers that once stood between them seemed to dissolve. (Y/N) spoke openly about her life, her experiences, and the challenges she had faced. She revealed that as a child, her family had once been homeless, but her father had worked tirelessly to rebuild their lives. Unfortunately, he had later succumbed to a terminal illness, leaving (Y/N) with a profound appreciation for the value of shelter and the impact it could have on a person's well-being. Kaveh listened attentively, his heart aching with empathy as he learned about the hardships (Y/N) had endured. The simplicity that he had mistaken for choice earlier now resonated as a testament to her resilience and determination. The words he had used against her during their disagreement stung him deeper, igniting a desire within him to make amends and to support her in any way he could.

As they reached (Y/N)'s house, Kaveh bid her goodnight, a newfound tenderness evident in his voice. "I'll see you tomorrow at the construction site," he said, his words carrying a touch of anticipation. “You better be there!”

(Y/N) called out after him, her voice carrying a playful tone. “Oh I will. Who else will I experiment my new roti roll recipe on?”

His heart fluttered at the thought, cherishing the connection they had forged. With a small smile playing on his lips, he took his leave, feeling a sense of longing and hope intertwine within him.

In the following months, Kaveh immersed himself fully in the project. Without (Y/N)'s knowledge, he quietly began reducing his profit margin, seeking to ease her financial burden. Behind the scenes, he haggled with vendors, persuading them to lower prices on materials, items, and decorative pieces. Every decision he made was driven by his growing admiration and affection for (Y/N), a desire to support her dream in every way he could.

Throughout the process, (Y/N) faithfully visited the construction site, their lunch routines continuing as they bonded over their shared vision. Unbeknownst to her, Kaveh's gestures of generosity were fueled by an emerging realization—their connection surpassed professionalism and friendship. He found himself drawn to (Y/N) in ways he hadn't experienced before, a magnetic pull that went beyond the confines of their project. Being around (Y/N) proved to be both a joy and a challenge for Kaveh. Her presence had a way of unraveling his carefully guarded emotions, making it difficult for him to keep his feelings in check. It was as if she possessed a sixth sense, effortlessly finding ways to surprise him and leave him flustered, teetering on the edge of revealing his true affections. Every moment spent together only solidified Kaveh's growing affection, his heart whispering the words he longed to say.

One day, as Kaveh sat sketching the intricate interiors for the building, (Y/N) approached him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Without warning, she placed a vibrant red rose in his hair, delicately tucking it behind his ear. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest as her fingers grazed his hair. "You look so pretty," she murmured, her innocent words causing his cheeks to flush with warmth. In that moment, Kaveh found himself at a loss for words, his mind racing with the desire to express the depth of his feelings. He excused himself, hastily conjuring up a reason to meet with a contractor, needing to regain his composure in private.

Yet, Kaveh knew that he had to exercise caution. The building needed to be completed before he could openly express his romantic intentions. He maintained a sense of decorum, treating their interactions with professionalism, while his heart yearned for the day he could court (Y/N) in a way that honored their journey.

On yet another occasion, Kaveh accidentally bumped his head against a low-hanging beam, his vision momentarily blurred by the impact. (Y/N) rushed to his side, her worry evident in her eyes as she examined him for any signs of injury. She stood so close to him that he could hear her soft breaths, feel the warmth of her presence. (Y/N) didn't release him until she was certain he was unharmed, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. He found himself captivated by her close presence, his senses overwhelmed by the scent of her and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. The desire to pull her close, to press his lips against hers, surged within him, but he fought to suppress it. Once satisfied with her thorough examination, she released him, leaving Kaveh in a state of flustered longing. He excused himself for the rest of the day, seeking solace in solitude as he wrestled with his emotions.

Each encounter fueled Kaveh's desire to confess his love to (Y/N), but he knew that the timing had to be right. He yearned for the day when he could bare his heart to her, to share his poetic declarations of affection. But for now, he cherished these stolen moments of intimacy, weaving them into the fabric of their connection, knowing that one day soon, the time would be perfect for him to express his feelings.

The project they had poured their hearts into was nearing its final stage, with just a few minor details left to be added. Kaveh's architectural skills shone throughout the building, every space reflecting his expertise and dedication. The opening of the building had been announced, just a few days away, and a sense of pride swelled within both Kaveh and (Y/N). Their hard work, dedication, and shared vision had brought them to this point.

With happiness reflecting in her eyes, (Y/N) walked alongside Kaveh, exploring the building they had poured their hearts into. They traversed the hallways, admiring the library with its shelves waiting to be filled with books, the communal kitchen that would soon witness laughter and shared meals, and the muted living spaces that exuded a sense of tranquility. The recreational areas beckoned, promising moments of respite and connection for those who would soon call this place home.

Their footsteps echoed through the building until they reached the rooftop garden. The wind danced around them, playfully tugging at (Y/N)'s hair, causing her to giggle. Kaveh's heart quickened at the sight—the joy radiating from her was a sight to behold. It was as if a painting had come to life, vibrant and full of life, and he knew that no brushstroke could capture the essence of this moment as beautifully as the real thing. (Y/N) turned her gaze back to Kaveh, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. Her eyes sparkled with a childlike innocence, drawing him in further. Kaveh found himself captivated by her presence, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought against the realization that he was falling deeply, irreversibly, in love with her.

Unable to contain her gratitude any longer, she took a step closer to Kaveh, her eyes shimmering with appreciation. Without hesitation, she pulled him into a tight embrace, her arms enveloping him in a warmth that felt like home. Kaveh's face flushed, his heart pounding in his chest as he instinctively wrapped his arms around her, savoring the sensation of her softness and warmth. In that moment, time seemed to stand still, their connection intensifying with each passing second.

"Kaveh, I... I can't thank you enough," (Y/N) rambled. "Thank you for accepting this project, for understanding my aspirations, and for everything you've done to make it a reality. I couldn't have done it without you."

Kaveh's voice caught in his throat, his arms instinctively tightened around her. Kaveh's mind whirled with disbelief, his senses intoxicated by her proximity and the sweet scent that emanated from her. He relished the feeling of her in his arms, reveling in the delicate dance of their embrace.

He cleared his throat, his voice a little raspy as he attempted to mask his flustered reaction. "Thank you, (Y/N)," he managed to ay sincerly. "It has been an honor to work with you. Seeing your vision come to life has been one of the most fulfilling experiences of my career." He tried to compose himself, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he shifted the topic, hoping to distract himself from the intensity of his feelings. "By the way, what do you plan to wear for the opening?" Kaveh asked.

(Y/N) appeared confused, her brow furrowing slightly. "I didn't think I needed to dress up for it," she replied honestly, her tone tinged with surprise.

Kaveh rolled his eyes playfully, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Of course, you need to dress up," he exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You're the visionary behind this building, the heart and soul of it. You need to look the part, (Y/N)."

Without waiting for a response, Kaveh took hold of her arm, a playful determination in his eyes. "Come on," he declared, a touch of excitement lacing his words. "We're going shopping."

(Y/N) blinked in surprise, her confusion evident as she asked, "Shopping? But where are we going?"

“Treasures street.” Kaveh continues to walk towards Sumeru city with (Y/N) in tow. “I know a very good tailor. I am sure he can make you look the part. Trust me, it'll be fun. And I won't take no for an answer.”

As Kaveh and (Y/N) entered Treasures Street, a sense of anticipation filled the air. (Y/N) seemed slightly anxious, uncertain of what lay ahead. Kaveh led her confidently towards a small tailor shop, its entrance adorned with vibrant fabrics and elegant dress designs. The tailor, a seasoned artisan, took one look at (Y/N) and nodded at Kaveh, acknowledging their presence. Kaveh wasted no time in explaining his idea, his words flowing effortlessly as he described the dress he envisioned for (Y/N).

"I want the dress to be simple, yet elegant," Kaveh began, his eyes alight with passion. "Intricate details on the fabric, perhaps a touch of embroidery or delicate patterns. I want it to reflect her beauty and grace, to make her feel like the extraordinary woman she is."

The tailor listened intently, nodding in understanding as Kaveh's words painted a vivid picture of his desired design. With a skilled eye, the tailor presented Kaveh with various fabrics, each more exquisite than the last. Kaveh's gaze settled on a fabric that resembled the color of his cape.

"This one," Kaveh said with certainty as he pointed to the fabric. "This is perfect. It captures her essence."

The tailor, well-versed in his craft, nodded in agreement. He took precise measurements of (Y/N), her compliance evident as she understood the significance of the occasion. "The dress will be ready in three days," the tailor said, his voice conveying a sense of importance. "It is a special request made by you, Kaveh, and I assure you, we will work on it together."

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment she turned to the tailor with a sense of unease. "How much will it cost?”

Kaveh shook his head, his eyes filled with sincerity as he reached out to gently touch her arm. "Consider it a present from me," he replied softly. "A small token of gratitude for all those free lunches.”

A mixture of surprise and gratitude washed over (Y/N)'s face, her eyes sparkling with appreciation. "Thank you, Kaveh," she murmured. "You've already done so much for this project, and now this... It means a lot to me."

Kaveh met her gaze, a tinge of shyness creeping into his eyes. "You mean a lot to me," he whispered, the words slipping out before he could catch them. He quickly masked his vulnerability with a playful smile, extending his arm to (Y/N). “Now, on to footwear.” He took her hand in his again and led the way to the shoemaker.

On the day of the grand opening, Kaveh was a flurry of activity at the construction site, ensuring that everything was in perfect order. He meticulously checked every detail, making sure that each corner of the building exuded the same excellence they had strived for throughout the project. Yet, his mind couldn't help but wander to (Y/N), knowing that she was preparing for the evening ahead. After all, she had to dress up for the occasion. His hands found solace in his pant pockets, feeling the weight of the small box he carried—a necklace he had carefully chosen for her.

As the evening approached, Kaveh made the final arrangements, his anticipation growing with each passing moment. He had asked (Y/N) to prepare, not revealing the surprise that awaited her. He knew she wouldn't accessorize for the evening, considering her humble nature, and he thought the necklace would be the perfect opening ceremony gift—a symbol of his appreciation and the blossoming emotions he held for her.

Finally, the time came, and Kaveh found himself waiting for (Y/N) at the entrance of the building. His heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and nervousness; his mind consumed by thoughts of her. He took a deep breath, composing himself, as he glanced at his surroundings, ensuring that everything was in place. Then, he caught a glimpse of movement—a figure descending the stairs from the second floor. As (Y/N) walked towards him, Kaveh couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. Time seemed to slow, and his breath caught in his throat as he took in her appearance. She was wearing the dress he had chosen, and it suited her perfectly. The fabric gracefully draped over her figure, accentuating her natural beauty. Her hair, intricately styled, framed her face, adding to her radiant aura. She looked fidgety, her nerves palpable in the way she adjusted her attire.

"(Y/N)," Kaveh whispered, his voice barely audible as he stood there, momentarily speechless. She called out his name, breaking him from his trance. Composing himself, he cleared his throat, his eyes gleamed with adoration. "You look absolutely beautiful," he finally managed to say, his voice filled with genuine awe.

A hint of blush spread across (Y/N)'s cheeks as she looked down, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Do you think it's too much?" she asked.

Kaveh's eyes never wavered from her, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "No, not at all," he assured her. "It's perfect.”

She unexpectedly hugged him, and Kaveh's body tensed for a moment, taken aback by the warmth and closeness she initiated. Did she realize the effect she had on him? His mind raced, his heart pounding in his chest, as he carefully reciprocated the embrace, his trembling hands finding their place around her. She stayed nestled against him, her head resting against his chest, blissfully unaware of the profound effect she had on him.

They stood there for a moment, Kaveh's heart raced, his mind swimming with a whirlwind of emotions. He prayed silently that (Y/N) couldn't hear the rapid beats, hoping to conceal the depth of his affection.

Finally, (Y/N) broke the silence, her voice soft and filled with gratitude. "Kaveh, I'm so glad it was you who decided to work on this project," she confessed, her words resonating with sincerity. "I never told you this, but I admired how you rejuvenated the lighthouse at Port Ormos. I used to work there, and I witnessed the transformation firsthand. The way you breathed new life into the port city was remarkable."

Kaveh's eyes widened in surprise, his grip on her tightening ever so slightly.

"But that's not the sole reason I sought you out for this project," (Y/N) continued, her voice growing softer. "There's something else that drew me to you. You see, I used to visit Lambad's Tavern whenever I was in Sumeru. It was a lively place with good food and drinks, but when I came back after a long absence, I found that the second floor had been completely transformed. It felt warmer and more welcoming, adding a new layer to the ambiance of the tavern. It felt... cozy, like a home away from home. I couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort whenever I was there, regardless of the occasion.” She looks up at him as she was still in his embrace. “They told me it was redesigned by you. And that's when I knew I wanted you to work on this project."

Kaveh's breath hitched at her confession, his heart pounding louder than ever. Her words resonated deep within him, a testament to the connection they shared. He pulled back slightly, his gaze meeting hers. "You have no idea how much your words mean to me," he whispered.

A tender smile played on (Y/N)'s lips, her eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and something he couldn't quite decipher. "It's true," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You have a gift, Kaveh. And I'm grateful that you've shared it with me."

As (Y/N) stood in Kaveh's embrace, she could sense the subtle shift in his demeanor. Something seemed to have changed in the atmosphere, as if an unspoken tension hung in the air. In a moment of spontaneity, she stood on her tiptoes, her lips grazing his cheek in a soft, lingering kiss. Kaveh gasped in surprise, his cheeks turning a shade of pink that matched the blush on hers. His heart skipped a beat, his mind reeling with the realization that the boundaries of their friendship had been blurred.

As she slowly pulled away, Kaveh's trembling hands instinctively moved to cup her cheek, his touch gentle and full of affection. "You have no idea how much I appreciate your openness," he murmured. "From the beginning of this project, you've allowed me to be my true self, to wear my emotions on my sleeve. With you, I can be open and vulnerable, and it's a gift I cherish."

He paused for a moment, his eyes locked with hers, the weight of his confession hanging in the air. "But there's something I've been hiding from you," he continued. "Something I've been waiting for this opening ceremony to end to tell you." His voice trembled slightly. "I constantly crave your presence, (Y/N)," Kaveh confessed, his words flowing like a gentle melody. "To see your smile light up a room, to witness the realization of your dreams, and to savor every delicious meal you prepare. You ground me, (Y/N), in ways I never thought possible. I want to support your burdens as if they were my own, to whine about my own troubles as you comfort me with your wisdom. I want a connection that transcends business partners, one that goes beyond mere friendship.”

Kaveh's hands moved from her cheek to his pocket, pulling out a small box. His fingers trembled as he opened it, revealing a delicate necklace—a thin, elegant chain adorned with an intricate small key pendant. He took a deep breath, his eyes failing to meet hers. "I was going to give you this necklace as a symbol that you are the key to this sanctuary," Kaveh confessed. "But as I stand here, as I gaze into your eyes, I realize that you are more than just a key. You are my sanctuary, (Y/N). In a world filled with chaos and uncertainty, you bring me peace. You give me a refuge from the storm that consumes my mind."

He gently took the necklace from the box and held it out to her, his hands finally steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. As (Y/N) traced her trembling fingers over the intricate pendant of the necklace, Kaveh couldn't help but observe her closely. His heart skipped a beat, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts. He couldn't ignore the tears that glistened in her eyes, mistaking them for tears of sadness. Panic welled up within him, and he began to apologize. "I'm sorry, (Y/N), I didn't mean to upset you..."

Before he could finish his sentence, (Y/N) cut him off, her voice firm yet gentle. "Don't," she whispered, her voice laced with emotion. "Please, don't apologize for telling me the truth. It's a beautiful truth, Kaveh.”

Kaveh's eyes widened in surprise, his gaze locked with (Y/N)'s sparkling eyes. He could see the tears more clearly now, but they were not tears of sadness; they were tears of overwhelming happiness. A single tear escaped her eye, rolling down her cheek, and he instinctively reached out, brushing it away.

"This is the second time I've made you cry," Kaveh murmured.

(Y/N) smiled through her tears, her hand holding his that had brushed away the tear. She brought it to her cheek, pressing it against her skin. "This time," she whispered. "These are tears of happiness, Kaveh. My heart feels so full and overjoyed because of you."

The words had barely left (Y/N)'s mouth before Kaveh, overcome with an overwhelming surge of emotions, yanked her toward him. In an instant, their lips collided, igniting a fire that burned with fierce intensity. It wasn't a gentle, leisurely kiss. It was raw, passionate, and filled with all the unspoken desires he had kept hidden for so long. It was a kiss that conveyed a sense of urgency, of a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface.

As their lips moved in perfect sync, a shudder of relief rippled through Kaveh's body. He hadn't realized how tense he had been, how his longing for (Y/N) had consumed him until this moment. With each stolen breath, he reveled in the taste of her, in the intoxicating scent that surrounded them. It was everything he had yearned for and more.

Breaking the kiss, their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling in the hushed silence. Kaveh's voice was a husky whisper, "You know there's no getting rid of me now," he warned, his voice laced with playful affection.

(Y/N) smiled, her voice barely above a whisper as she replied, "I wouldn't even dream of it." Her fingers gently traced the contours of his face, cherishing the moment of connection. “Will you help me put the necklace on?”

As the words escaped (Y/N)'s lips, a surge of warmth filled Kaveh's heart, and he nodded in response to her request. Taking a step back, (Y/N) turned around, her hair cascading down her back, exposing the delicate nape of her neck. It was an intimate moment, one that made Kaveh's breath catch in his throat. With gentle hands, Kaveh carefully placed the necklace around (Y/N)'s neck, the cool metal gliding against her warm skin. His fingertips brushed against the nape of her neck as he worked to secure the clasp, his touch sending a shiver down her spine.

As Kaveh fastened the old-fashioned clasp at the back of her neck with his teeth, goosebumps rose on her skin. He burned this image into his memory, savoring the intimacy of the moment. Unable to contain his desire any longer, Kaveh pressed a soft kiss to the exposed skin of (Y/N)'s shoulder, a silent promise of the love and affection he held for her. With a deep breath, he looked into (Y/N)'s eyes with anticipation. "Let's open the doors to this place, shall we?" he suggested, his hand reaching out to intertwine with hers. As their fingers laced together, they took their first steps toward the door.

They stood before the grand double doors, a threshold between two worlds. (Y/N) turned her head, taking in the sight of the beautifully designed interior that Kaveh had poured his heart and soul into. The anticipation in the air was palpable, as their guests and the world beyond eagerly awaited the unveiling of Kaveh's masterpiece. A smile graced her lips as she looked at Kaveh, her eyes shining with excitement. "This is it," she said.

Kaveh met her gaze, his own eyes reflecting her joy. "Ready when you are," he replied, his voice a gentle caress of encouragement. With a nod, (Y/N) took a deep breath. With synchronized movements, (Y/N) and Kaveh pushed the door open, revealing the expanse of light that spilled into the room. As they stepped forward, Kaveh's hand found its place on the small of her back, offering support and comfort. In that moment, he realized that while he might have been the architect of this sanctuary, this was (Y/N)'s moment, her dream, her stage to claim. Gently guiding her forward, Kaveh marveled at the way she radiated with a sense of purpose and grace, just as she had when she approached him at the Tavern. He watched as the light danced in her eyes, mirroring the glow that emanated from within her. As they crossed the threshold and embraced the fading sunlight, Kaveh couldn't help but muse to himself that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of shared dreams.

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casualcharacter · 3 months

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＃LOVE AND DEEPSPACE !! ♡ — HOW I CRAVE YOU IN THE MORNIN' (RAFAYEL X READER).

#. synopsis! — rafayel doesn't really like mornings, but heaven knows he likes you .

#. characters! — rafayel.

#. warnings! — none .

#. word count! — 1.3k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

Rafayel has never been a morning person. He likes to watch the occasional sunrise if he wakes naturally to catch it, but heaven knows he’s loath to pull himself out of bed before he feels good and ready. You, on the other hand, don’t tend to have the luxury of sleeping in until whenever you please. The life of a Deepspace Hunter often requires early starts, and now that you’ve woven your life so tightly between the threads of Rafayel’s, he’s seldom excluded from the harsh ring of your alarm coercing you out of bed, out of your dreams of sweet nothings, and into the real world (which is often much less pretty.)

You don’t even have to open your eyes to know that Rafayel is already pouting at the mere thought of your departure, and your suspicions are confirmed when he snakes his arms around your waist, groaning.

“Baby,” he mutters, “don’t go, the bed gets so cold when you leave.”

You sigh.

“Have to,” you murmur, still half asleep. “Work.”

“Call in sick.”

“I’m not sick,” you answer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You know my work is important for more reasons than one, Rafayel.”

“I do know,” he sighs, though it’s clear he’s less than happy about agreeing.

In fairness, you’re not particularly happy about this either. You love your job, worked hard to get it and climb the ranks within it, but man, sometimes you wish it were possible to pay the bills with currency earned cuddling in bed with the man nuzzling into your neck like a kitten.

“Then don’t ask me to call in sick,” you laugh, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his warm temple.

He groans again, though you know he appreciates the affection.

Gently and with great reluctance, you pull yourself from Rafayel’s embrace, though you can’t help but take a moment to marvel at the way early morning rays of light filter through the curtains, playing on his delicate features. His eyes like marbled sunsets lazily find their way to you, still heavy with sleep, peering up at you in a mixture of love and discontent.

“You’re a menace to my sleeping schedule,” he grumbles playfully.

“Consider it payback for all the nights you’ve kept me up too late,” you answer jokingly, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’ll have you know, keeping you up at night is a vital part of our relationship,” he pouts, but there’s an unmistakable glint of mischeviousness in his tired gaze.

You giggle, knowing he’s joking (at least in part.)

“I’ll make it up to you,” you move closer, cupping his cheeks in your hands and leaning down to peck his lips. “Promise.”

“You better,” he mutters.

“Don’t I always?” You inquire, fingers feathering through his soft hair.

“Yeah,” he acknowledges in a semi-rare moment of complete sincerity from the man who often goes through the world half-wittingly. “You do.”

You smile, soft and warm, leaning in for another lingering kiss, savoring the warmth and familiarity of Rafayel’s touch. His arms reach up, wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he’s hesitant to let go.

“Be safe, okay?” He says.

“Always,” you nod.

Before, you might have mistaken his concern for a lack of trust in your abilities, but you’re well past the point of pointless misunderstandings. Rafayel may be an artist, and he might spin his words like golden threads from time to time, making you read between the lines, but your sincerest assessment of the moment tells you he’s said exactly what he means. He wants you to be safe, wants you to come home in one piece, and you let him steal another quick kiss before standing upright.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you add, hoping it might soften the blow of your departure.

His playful pout returns.

“You seem to doubt the depth of my ability to lament over your absence,” he states.

“I don’t doubt it at all, but I’d rather you find more enjoyable ways to spend your day,” you laugh.

He sighs dramatically.

“Bring back something interesting from your adventure,” he suggests, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Maybe something I can crush up, turn into paint.”

“Need I remind you what happened the last time you used an oddly sourced item for pigment?” You ask incredilously.

Rafayel rolls his eyes.

“Need I remind you that that’s precisely how we met?” He counters.

“Still,” you sigh, “I’d much prefer you not be endangered by your paint. Stick with oils and acrylics for a while. For my peace of mind.”

“Is that concern I detect from you, my little hunter?” Rafayel grins.

“Of course it is,” you reply honestly. “You might be pretentious and obnoxious, but I love you. I’d never want you in harm’s way.”

His teasing smirk softens to a genuine smile at your sincerity, and he stands, taking a moment to stretch before reaching out to caress the curve of your jaw with the top of his index finger.

“Obnoxious and pretentious, huh?” He chuckles lightly. “Thank you for the glowing evaluation of my character, darling. But, because I do happen to love you as well, I’ll let that little dig slide, —and I’ll do my very best to stick to safe and traditional mediums, at least for the time being, just for you.”

You can’t help but smile at Rafayel’s good-natured reply. His gentle touch lingers on your jaw, and you lean into it, relishing in the softness of his affection.

“Very much so appreciated,” you answer amusedly. “I’ll consider it a personal victory if we can avoid any and all paint-related Wanderer incidents for the forseeable future.”

Rafayel gives a curt nod.

“A noble goal, my dearest hunter,” he says. “Now go forth and fell any pesky Wanderers intent on disturbing the peace of our humble city of high-class electronic developments, bringing back tales of wonder and triumph.”

Heaven knows he has to be the most dramatic man you’ve ever met, but you couldn’t imagine him being any other way.

You play along and give him a mock salute.

“Yes sir, at once.”

Rafayel stifles a laugh, clearly pleased by your participation in his theatrics. He thinks for a moment that this life he lives with you is nothing short of fantastical, —the kind of comfort he only dreamed of just years ago, and now here you are before him, like some kind of angel he’s terrified he might wake up to find was a figment of his deepest desires all along. But his worries are quenched by the way your lips slot so perfectly against his own as he leans in, kissing you sweetly.

“May the cosmic forces be ever in your favor, my love. Return not only with tales of triumph, but also interstellar souvenirs for my viewing pleasure and artistic inspirations if you happen to stumble across any. Preferably ones that will not curse our modest seaside home.”

You laugh, and it makes his heart stutter.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for cosmic trinkets,” you assure.

You’re thrumming by the time Rafayel pulls you in again, pressing you closer to his chest. There’s nothing he has to say to fill the silence, and you let your eyes close for a moment, awash in the silent exchange of understanding so deep it could rival the cosmos. Beyond all the playful banter and the theatrical mannerisms, there’s love here, and that’s really all you could ask for. Worries about your safety, concern over Rafayel’s tendency to attract bad omens, —they dissipate in the face of this connection that buzzes like a live wire.

As you finally pull away, you meet his gaze and find nothing but softness there, replacing all the prior amusement and tiredness from before.

“Return safely, my angel. Our oceanside abode awaits your triumphant arrival,” he takes your hand, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “And so do I.”

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casualcharacter · 3 months

Text

guess what i watched on new years (a redraw kind of)

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casualcharacter · 3 months

Note

Wrio the slay calling reading clingy so reader sleeps on couch …😊 thx

x : DISTANCE :*+ﾟ

in which: you overhear wriothesley calling your affection too much, so you respect his wishes and give him some space. yet, why does he not seem like it?

warnings: 5.6k words (why did it get so long), hurt/comfort, gn!reader and wriothesley are married, pet names, no spoilers but set in canon, misunderstandings and miscommunication af, slowburn??, you might tug your hair out at some parts lol sorry, fluff with angst but happy ending, it gets emotional.

a/n: okay this was definitely not my favourite piece, i was experimenting with writing styles and writing in an omnipresent pov... so sorry if it feels clunky at some bits. overall, i'm pretty happy! also sorry for not sticking to the original prompt

Perhaps today was a bad time, you think as you leave the Fortress of Meropide, anxiety churning in your stomach and doubt weighing on your mind. Despite Fontaine’s sunrays shining brightly upon you, you feel anything but warm.

What started as a visit to your husband with kind, wholesome intentions of delivering some lunch to him on your day off ended with a visit that left you riddled with questions. Coming at a time when he was in a meeting nearing its end, you didn’t even get the chance to speak to him, yet his words rattled around your head, replaying like a broken disc.

“How are you and your spouse?” A rich voice echoes from his office, door slightly ajar signifying that whatever discussion was happening within was coming to an end.

“Y/n and I? We’re amazing, thank you,” Wriothesley answers. “I’m always happiest whenever I’m with Y/n.”

The company, who you have realised is Monsieur Neuvillette, responds. “That’s good to hear.”

“Although, Y/n has been quite… affectionate recently, to the point that it’s borderlining too much-”

The conversation is drowned out by a ring of an alarm on Wriothesley’s desk and the atmosphere from his office suddenly grows in tension. The voice of the two men turn from relaxed to alarmed in a matter of seconds, and that is when you decide it is probably time to take your leave, lest you intrude on whatever emergency has happened.

Dropping the lunch you brought for Wriothesley at reception, even the receptionist was confused by how quick your visit was since they typically lasted for an hour- even longer since Wriothesley likes to push the amount of time he gets with you. They don’t question it, though, merely nodding in understanding when you tell them to drop it off for him on your behalf.

Has Wriothesley always thought of your affection as too much? If it was overwhelming him, why didn’t he tell you? And why Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, of all people? You understood the nature of their relationship- how they both tend to confine in each other with whatever they are troubled by, but why couldn’t your husband come to you about this directly? You made an oath on your wedding day to be fully honest with each other and to never hide anything. Where did that promise go?

Arriving home with a heavy heart, you immediately flop onto the couch, arm covering your eyes as tears sting the corners of your eyes. Perhaps it’s time you lessen your displays of physical affection before you drive the love of your life away.

Wriothesley, looking down at the contents of your boxed lunch, feels his heart warm in his chest at your display of care. How fortunate he is to have someone like you, he thinks before eating, satisfying his hungry stomach that has been aching for food since half an hour ago. He wonders why you didn’t see him personally and dropped it off instead, he would have liked to eat with you beside him.

Whatever the reason, he’ll make sure to drop by your favourite bakery to purchase some conch madeleines as a thank you.

When he returns home later in the evening, you’re asleep on the couch, curled up with only a book on your chest to protect you from the chilly air seeping into the house. Wriothesley quickly lays his coat over you, bookmarking the page you were at before retreating to change into more relaxing clothes. You still have not roused when he returns and as much as it pains him to disturb you, he doesn’t want you napping too late lest it disturbs your sleep schedule.

“Y/n?” He gently shakes you. Slowly, you come to wakefulness, eyes fluttering open as you gaze up at your husband.

“Wriothesley? You’re home?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes whilst slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Nearing six in the evening.”

“Oh my! I didn’t mean to sleep that long! I’ll go get dinner ready, you should rest, you must have had a long day-”

Silencing you with a warm kiss to your forehead, you don’t melt into it like you usually would, his words from earlier slamming back into you like a brick. He doesn’t notice the way you tense, merely brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll cook,” Wriothesley offers, grabbing something he left on the table behind him. ��Have some madeleines I bought for you whilst you wait.”

He places a bag of the baked goods in your hands and you smile at him, lips chapped and eyes still drowsy, yet Wriothesley thinks you’re the most beautiful being to ever exist.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.” The dark-haired leaves you with another kiss to your temple before turning around to go into the kitchen. However, you stop him with a tug on his wrist which you drop almost immediately when he turns around, acting as if his skin was an open flame that licked you.

“Darling, you have a sticker on your arm.” You reach up to grab the piece of adhesive, ripping it off him in one smooth motion.

“Those melusines,” he murmurs, rolling his eyes with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. For how much Wriothesley scolds them, he cannot bring himself to actually get mad at them, letting the little creatures play pranks instead of reprimanding them.

“I’m surprised they keep getting by you. Maybe you need to sharpen your instincts.”

“Quiet, you,” there’s no bite to his words.

“They put a little crab on you,” you giggle. “Must be going through an ocean-themed sticker book. You had a little shell on you yesterday.”

“I did? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I find it funny.”

He sits down beside you, dinner momentarily forgotten. “Do you now?” The dark-haired murmurs. “Turns out my own spouse is against me also.”

“If it brings me amusement, why not let the melusines play their pranks a little longer?”

“You are an awful influence,” Wriothesley winds his arms around your torso, pushing you down into the pillows of the couch. There, you almost sink into him, lured by the warmth of his embrace, but the memory of what you overheard sinks into your gut like an icicle, and your smile fades.

You pat his shoulders in surrender. “Shouldn’t you be working on dinner, dear? It’s already quite late.” You pray he doesn’t notice the way you have suddenly altered the mood, drying the playful atmosphere.

If he does notice, he doesn’t comment on it, getting up with a groan before retreating into the kitchen.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

There’s a whistle from the doorway to your bedroom, low and appreciative, and the culprit is no one other than Wriothesley. He walks towards you, draping himself over your figure sat in front of the mirror. “Where are you going tonight?”

“Clorinde and I are going to dinner together,” you tell him nonchalantly, as if all of his weight wasn’t on your shoulders right now.

He pouts. “When will you be home?”

“Not too late, that’s for sure. We’re meeting at the other side of the Court of Fontaine, though.”

“An evening without my love, whatever shall I do?”

“You’ll live,” you smile before raising a necklace up to him. “Help me put this on?”

With a huff, he raises himself off your back and gently takes the jewellery from your hands, careful with the jewels that adorn it. His cold touch grazes against your exposed skin, sending shivers down your spine as he successfully clasps it together. When you meet his gaze in the mirror, it’s full of adoration and admiration, and you have to busy yourself with your hair lest it flusters you too much.

Standing up, you swiftly walk out of the bedroom and towards the front door. Wriothesley trails behind you without much thought. “I’ll get going now before I’m too late.”

“Do you need me to accompany you there?”

“It’s alright, thank you for offering.” Disappointment floods him like an ocean as he watches you put on your shoes. With one final fidget of your clothes, you deem yourself presentable and turn to him. “See you tonight, darling-”

“-Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?” Your eyes widen in alarm as you begin frantically patting yourself down. “I brought my wallet, keys? They’re here, what am I forgetting?”

Wriothesley pretends like your cluelessness doesn’t hurt more than it actually does. He taps his cheek. “A kiss.”

“Oh, of course. How could I be so careless?” you laugh, the corners of your eyes scrunching with delight. Wriothesley has a remark resting on the tip of his tongue but it quickly dies when you step forward, anchoring your hand on his chin before you press a kiss to his cheek; to both cheeks for good measure.

“Love you,” you murmur when parting.

The desire to keep you home is a burning one, and pleads of ‘stay’ threaten to spill from his mouth. There is nothing more he wants than to be in your arms, to cling to you until the weekend is over in the blink of an eye, but you are your own person, and no matter how needy he is, Wriothesley should not stand in the way of your fun.

“I love you more,” he sighs, holding open the front door for you. “Be back soon.”

“I’ll try. Bye dear!” You blow him a kiss before walking out of your garden.

He watches you leave with a heart heavy with longing, closing the front door once you’re out of sight and tries to sigh the feeling of emptiness away.

Later that night, Wriothesley greets you the second he hears the front door being unlocked, urgent strides allowing him to turn the corner just as you open the door, looking as pristine as you did when you left. There’s a small, tired smile on your face, but you look happy, blissful expression brightening when you see him.

“Hello, love,” you say, slipping your shoes off.

“Welcome back,” he says, embracing you with one, muscular arm whilst pulling you in for a kiss. Your hands unusually fly up to hold his shoulders and Wriothesley thinks he’s imagining the way you push him slightly, as if trying to get him out of your personal space. Yet your grasp on him was so tight, creating temporary divots in his skin that he doesn’t really know what you’re trying to do.

Why are you trying to push him away in the first place? The thought of you not wanting him near is upsetting enough to make him unknowingly tighten his grip around you, causing you to stumble into him from the momentum.

You look up at him, shocked whilst he gazes down at you with a storm of terror gathering in his eyes. For the first time since the two of you got married all those years ago, a rift forms.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Whatever occurred that night isn’t a topic of conversation, ever. The two of you retreated to bed after a quick conversation of how your evenings were before devolving into other topics, like what the week ahead had in store, restaurants you two should visit sometime, new boutiques and bakeries you’ve been hoping to explore- little chats that hold more meaning as the days roll by.

During it all, there was an undeniable heaviness to the conversation that made it slightly uncomfortable. Wriothesley cannot remove the memory of how you tried to push him away and you cannot forget the shocked look in his eyes. The more you picture it, the guiltier you feel, heart sinking in your chest.

You thought that it was what Wriothesley wanted: more space from you, an opportunity to breathe without you overwhelming his space.

So why do you feel so bad about respecting his wishes?

“What a lovely view!” You exclaim excitedly, running toward a patch on the grass that sits a few metres away from a nearby beach, the sound of waves meeting shore a soothing lullaby and a testament to how calm the day is. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and you’re out on a picnic with the love of your life.

“Here’s a nice spot to set up, what do you think, Wriothesley?” You ask.

“Sounds amazing, darling,” he responds, setting down the picnic basket when you’ve laid out the blanket. You sit down with an unglamorous huff, leaning back onto your hands to let the morning sun soak into your features.

Morning picnics were one of yours and Wriothesley’s favourite date ideas. The best time to be together was before the sun would rise to its highest peak, bearing hot sunrays that make everything uncomfortable for everyone. Fontaine’s sun is never merciful either, which is why the nation is perfect for diving and all other water-related activities, but when you are simply walking around, it becomes rather suffocating.

The Fortress of Meropide’s administrator takes a seat beside you and you indulge by resting your head on his shoulder, hoping that he isn’t uncomfortable under your touch. The dark-haired hasn’t shaken you off yet, so you keep resting against him.

“How did you discover this place?” You ask.

“Siora told me of it, said that a passenger on the aquabus was talking to her about it. She thought that it sounded like a delightful place to take you to,” he answers and you can’t help but smile, fiddling with your fingers.

Melusines and their wholesome ways. You’ll find a way to thank Siora later. “How kind of her and how fortunate for us.”

“I take it you like it here then?”

“I love it,” you tuck your legs closer to your chest and Wriothesley leans back on his arms as well, letting your hands rest beside each other as the sea continues to crash on the shore before you. There are seals resting nearby too, ships pass by here and there, and seagulls stop near the two of you before flying away, but the only thing that matters to Wriothesley is you leaning on his shoulder.

Sharing with him the breakfast sandwiches you packed, no words are exchanged, merely the sound of waves crashing against the shore occupy the tranquil silence. It’s not until a few minutes later that Wriothesley speaks.

“Will you be visiting me at the office today?” He asks.

You tear your gaze away from the horizon. “Perhaps. Do you want me to?”

“Would I really be asking if I didn’t?”

“Please, forego the sass, your grace,” you snort and he rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile pulling on his lips.

“Seriously though, I would like you to. You know how dreary and boring weekends at the prison get, would be much better having you there.”

“Are you trying to butter me up?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe,” you mutter, grinning. “Would you like me to bring lunch with me or shall we go find a place to eat?”

“How about takeout? Hey wait, now that I think about it, why didn’t you stay the other day when you brought lunch for me? I would have much rather seen your pretty face than the receptionist’s.”

You ignore the butterflies blooming in your stomach because of his compliment. “An emergency happened just as I reached there. I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it, so I left.”

Confusion shines in his eyes, his expression giving away the cogwork ticking in his brain as he tries to pinpoint what emergency you could be referring to. When the pieces click, his eyes widen a little. “I see. You did the right thing, my love,” he presses a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll visit you today,” you whisper, toying with the hem of your clothes as you wait for his response.

“Amazing. I’m looking forward to it, then”

You stay true to your word, walking down the path you recognise like the back of your hand. The guards need not think twice about welcoming you in, guiding you straight in the direction of Wriothesley’s office.

Since being with him, you’ve grown less and less afraid of how daunting the Fortress can feel, adapting to the chill knowing that there is someone in there who will set himself ablaze to keep you warm. Yet, today you walk in with apprehension clasped around your ankles, threatening to pull you under with each step.

It’s ridiculous, you know Wriothesley would never turn you away or shun you, but the mind is the worst enemy and yours can’t stop replaying the conversation you overheard weeks ago. You know Wriothesley could open those heavy doors of his and greet you with something more grim than loving and cast you aside, and you have to hold your breath when the guards knock on your behalf.

Your heart skips a beat when they push open the doors, revealing your husband crouched over his desk, hands mussed in his hair to keep them out of his eyes. He looks up at you and the way a smile manifests on his features is akin to that of fire melting ice, fatigue dissipating as you step inside his office.

“Hello, dear,” you greet, tone soft and controlled, unlike the thrashing of your gut.

“Hi,” he stands up and takes great strides towards you. Naturally, you open your arms for him; unnaturally, you merely hug him instead of greeting him with a kiss. Wriothesley keeps you locked in his arms as he digs his nose into your neck and you feel the way his eyes flutter close against your skin.

“Long day?”

“Draining too,” he murmurs.

“Oh dear, we cannot have your grace tired, whatever shall we do!” You gasp overdramatically, clearly poking fun at him because you are perhaps one of the only people who could do so in this entire building.

The dark-haired accepts it and doesn’t bother to correct your use of formalities. Instead, he retracts his head out of your neck to look at you with hopeful eyes instead. “You could give me a kiss.”

“Did you do anything today to earn it?”

“I need to earn my kisses now?”

“You should shut up sometimes,” you murmur before placing your hands along his jaw, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He smiles against you, biting back a quip when his hand comes to the base of your neck, holding you against him. You can tell he needed the proximity, judging by his little exhale and the way his shoulders slouch, so you let him take his time and ignore the nagging in your heart.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Wriothesley is losing his mind. He has been since you left the Fortress of Meropide, and was left to freeze in the ache of your lack of affection. A goodbye kiss is customary between you two and when you didn’t give him one before leaving, it felt like a slap to the face. He would have much rather you just slapped him, actually, so what gives?

You’re not rejecting his advances, but you’re not explicitly initiating anything either. Does that mean he should back off, too? Did he do something to upset you, and if so, when? All this thinking and speculating is making him feel like a pathetic headless chicken who can’t even talk to his spouse-

“-Wait!” You exclaim, just as he was about to grab the knob to the front entrance and step out. Instead, Wriothesley turns around to be greeted by the sigh of you frantically scrambling to him, and his heart can’t help but come alive, silencing his thoughts.

Stopping to a slide before him, he can’t hold back a soft grin. Despite just wrangling out of the claws of sleep, you’re so breathtaking, delicate in the mornings when no one else is around but him. The dark-haired is grateful that only he is able to witness you like this, that you trust him with this vulnerable side of you.

You don’t meet his gaze, eyes pinned to his chest instead. “Your tie is crooked,” you murmur hands reaching out before he even gets a chance to look down. “Let me help you.”

How can he deny such a kind request of yours? You’re gentle with him, undoing his knot and weaving it together until it looks proper, but Wriothesley couldn’t care what his tie looks like. You could be making a total fool of him and he wouldn’t care, too entranced by your glow to tear his eyes away from you. There’s a little scrunch in your forehead as you concentrate, mouth slightly parted and you’re not oblivious to his gaze either, too familiar with the intensity of it to get shy.

Finally satisfied with your work, you let go, patting his shoulders and smoothing out any wrinkles in his garment. “There. All done.”

“Thank you, dear,” he murmurs.

Wriothesley is expecting a kiss from you, waits for the moment that you’ll rise onto your toes and place a peck on his lips to fill him with some energy for the day. He waits for the familiar feeling of your lips pressing against his, and waits for the rush of adrenaline that your touch always manages to ignite.

Except it never comes, and it hurts most to confess that some part of him preempted this. You step away from him without another word, or kiss, and his heart burns at your retraction, unease fluttering the lining of his stomach when you turn around to retreat into the living room. Wriothesley moves without thinking, a hand coming up to your waist to stop your steps as he forcefully pulls you back to him, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, one far more intense than the ones you usually give this early in the morning.

You notice the desperation that bleeds from him; a certain fervour uncharacteristic in situations of morning domesticity.

There’s a bright glimmer of surprise in your eyes when he pulls away, as if he had kissed away all your fatigue and shocked wakefulness into you.

“Have a good day at work,” you murmur, barely able to choke the words out.

“I will,” he replies, opening the door. You stay and watch him go, still trying to recover your breath over his passionate display of affection.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day his racing thoughts get to him is the eighth day of this strange treatment of yours. At this point, he’s become insatiable, barely able to hold it together as you remain in the centre of his world. He wants your affection again, he wants your displays of love, he wants you near him so badly that it’s driving him up the walls of the Fortress.

It’s irrational for him, a grown man, to skirt around his problems as if he was a teenager. For some reason, Wriothesley has no issue locking up and containing some of Fontaine’s most dangerous criminals, yet when it comes to you, he becomes a lovesick fool who craves everything his partner can give.

You still are not initiating any displays of affection, keeping to yourself unless it is him acting first.

But after being locked in his own study for hours, unable to distract himself from you when he was really meant to be reading some new court documents from Neuvillette, he snaps. Pushing his chair out with more force than necessary, he searches for you in the living room, where you are curled up in the corner, reading.

“Is everything alright?” Wriothesley’s interruption shocks you, and you jolt your head up to meet his gaze.

You are met with the sight of him leaned against the wall, muscular arms crossed over his chest. “Why wouldn’t they be?” You ask, not letting your gaze linger for too long on his arms before sitting up just a little straighter.

“Dunno. Just double checking.”

“Okay,” you hum softly, nodding. “Are you alright?”

“Me?” How could you switch this up on him so quickly?

“Yeah.”

“Fine, amazing, just dandy.”

You raise an eyebrow at your husband, not truly believing him but you decide it’s best not to press on. “Alright… but if anything is wrong, don’t be afraid to tell me.” You go back to your book and your hair falls perfectly in front of your face to hide it from him.

Wriothesley shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to find the words to speak up and ask why you were acting so weird. It’d been two hours and twenty-four minutes (and counting) since you last saw him when he disappeared into his study, were you not concerned for him in the slightest? Sure you dropped off a plate of fruit and refilled his teapot with hot water, but normally your check-ins would be a little more frequent, and a little more encouraging than just a morale boost through food.

Where was the cheek kiss you always gave him before you left?

Deciding not to press on any further, your husband sighs before leaving, his arms and heart feeling emptier than usual. You are only in the next room, but why do you feel like you’re on the other side of Teyvat?

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day Wriothesley snaps is the day Sigewinne asks him to be nicer to the guards of the Fortress because his foul mood is darkening the already glum prison. His subordinates must have sent her knowing that he couldn’t possibly lash out at her, and they were right, but she really didn’t need to comment on the way his veins have been more prominent recently, or how creases are forming on his forehead from how hard he’s been scowling. To top it off, she said that he should delay the appearance of wrinkles for as long as necessary, because there’s a good chance they’ll come earlier than he wants.

He’s not even a day over thirty, and yet, he is being reprimanded for ‘ageing’. But he knows the problem, and he’ll be damned if he lets it drag out for another day.

“Welcome home, baby-” your greeting is cut off unceremoniously by your husband, who practically drags you into his embrace, closing you in with no space for you to breathe or move. Your cries of alarm are muffled against his chest, and he easily picks you up before striding the path to your shared bedroom. There, he all but throws you onto the bed, your neck resting on the pillows as he climbs on after you. “Wriothesley?”

He shushes you.

“What-”

“-I need this,” he wraps around you like a vine and breathes you in with the fervour of a man starved.

When you try to shuffle away from under him, or at the very least sit up, Wriothesley groans, borderlining a growl as he tightens his arms around your middle. You don’t question or disobey his wants, merely sinking your head into the pillows in understanding that he must have had a particularly rough day.

So instead of repelling his touch, you give in and let a hand snake up to his hair, playing with it as you let Wriothesley lay atop you. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melts away, and the way you’re scratching his scalp is enticing him to rest, except there is a barrier keeping him from reaching a haven of dreams and he won’t rest peacefully until he’s broken through it.

“Why have you been so distant lately?” He garbles, voice a lot shakier from the usual stoic Wriothesley that you are used to.

You heard him loud and clear, but a pathetic ‘pardon?’ slips past your lips.

“I said, why have you been so distant lately?” This time, he’s firm, determination seeping into his tone as a hand of his sneaks out from underneath you to search for your hand. After patting around, he finds it and holds it gently, raising it to press a long kiss to your knuckles.

It’s silent. You don’t have anything to say in response and it’s past the grace period where you can give an excuse and make it sound like the truth, and Wriothesley looks up at you with expectant eyes. There’s hurt in them but as much as you’d like to mend the heartbroken expression of his, admitting the truth is difficult, because it has eaten you alive, gnawing at your heart for days on end.

“I…I don’t have it in me to tell you,” you murmur quietly, looking away and slipping your hand out of his, but Wriothesley is tired of this dance of yours and chases after your touch, this time roughly grasping your wrists. Not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you rooted.

“I didn’t do anything, did I?” He asks, raising your hand to his cheek.

Your voice is quiet when you confess. “If I said you didn’t, I’d be lying.”

The dark-haired stiffens. “What?”

“Nothing,” you cough.

“No, Y/n, be honest with me here.”

“You’re going to laugh at me, or find me ridiculous.” Wriothesley’s heart clenches at your admittance, frowning at the fractures of insecurity piercing you like glass, but most of all, he hates that he can’t stop you from feeling this way. “I thought what I did was what you wanted.”

“Which was?”

“Some distance, just- not me crowding your personal space all the time.”

“Why would I ever want that?”

“I can get overbearing sometimes, and I don’t know, just assumed that would annoy you.”

“You’re not telling me everything, I can tell something happened to make you feel this way. Please, darling, just tell me the truth. I promise you I won’t judge or think differently of you.”

You sigh. “I… I overheard you and Monsieur Neuvillette the other day- when I dropped off lunch. You said that my affection was sometimes too much, and that I was making you uncomfortable, so I thought that you wouldn’t want me to be around you anymore. I didn’t want to drive you away so I, y’know…”

Confusion fills him stomach like water and it takes a few moments before it hits him, the memory coming back to him. You heard his conversation out of context- he wasn’t complaining about you, no, quite the opposite, but it just seems that you weren’t there for the parts that mattered most, and now you can’t even bear to look him in the eye.

“Honey, please look at me,” his voice thins into a vulnerable whisper that pleads for you to glance his way so you can see how he is head over heels in love with you.

When your gaze finally meets his, he almost cracks under the weight of your sadness, and it dawns upon him that you can’t feel the adoration he holds for you, dripping from his heart into your hands. You can’t see the mountains he’d overcome just to end the day resting in your arms. You don’t know the extent he would go just to win your love.

It’s a fact that kicks at his knees, shuns him down and bruises his heart. If the Fortress of Meropide has taught him anything, it’s that there is no point holding your feelings back from living fully. There is no point to contain the human heart that has every desire to live with others, he has seen the sorrow of prisoners saying goodbye to loved ones, and how they dwell over words they should have said. Even his own time as a prisoner taught him so, because everytime he sat behind those bars, the faces of people he should have been more open to kept him awake at night.

Wriothesley would rather drown in primordial water than see you, the most important person in his life, hurting over his own negligence. You have been feeling half-loved because of him and he doesn’t know how he can make it up to you.

“You misunderstand. I wasn’t talking about you negatively, I was talking to Neuvillette about how loved you made me feel that way, and how grateful I am to have someone like you as my partner,” he confesses earnestly, eyes pleading for you to believe him.

You blink at him, comprehending his words carefully. “Really?” You ask.

“I would never think otherwise,” he whispers.

As if a weight was lifted from your shoulders, a smile pulls at your lips and suddenly, a laugh spills from them, causing your expression to scrunch up with joy, looking the most lively Wriothesley has seen you in a while. He laughs with you too, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” you confess through dying fits of laughter. “I shouldn’t have assumed like that, how stupid.”

He shakes his head, “you have nothing to apologise for, you’re not at fault. But I beg you, never hide things like this from me again and tell me whenever something bothers you.”

You nod, “I will.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

“Never ever think that I want to be away from you,” Wriothesley grumbles, hiding himself in the crook of your neck. “That was the worst week of my life.”

“Sorry for putting you through all that.”

“Stop apologising.” He demands. “Just, no more secrets.”

“I love you, Wriothesley.”

He sighs shakily, relief tangible in his tone. “I love you more.”

A damp patch forms on your collar bone right where his tears would fall, and you place a kiss on his forehead for each drop you feel on your skin. There is still much to discuss, much to mend between the two of you, but his hands run along your skin like he’s trying to memorise and mark you, so you never doubt his devotion again.

*sighs and puts hands on hips* i don't really like that ending either so don't judge lol

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casualcharacter · 4 months

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Wet Dream in your lap pt. 2 - Genshin Impact

Pairings: Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet x reader (separately)

Warnings: GN!reader, Male!reader (Freminet), dom!reader, sub characters, bottom!Freminet, somnophilia, clothed humping/grinding (Lyney, Lynette)

Genre/Format: Smut; Scenarios

Author's Note: As usual, characters are 20+. Can you tell that I'm obsessed with these three? I got a bit carried away with Freminet's part aha...

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

The two of you had spent all day exploring the aquatic region of Fontaine, traversing hills and diving underwater, fighting countless monsters along the way. It was nighttime now, and time for some much needed rest

You found a secluded spot in the woods, tucked away near a cliff and sheltered from any sudden rain. You built a small campfire and cooked dinner before chatting about your day, the pleasant conversation and full stomachs causing you both to grow drowsy. Your partner cozied up against you, eventually settling down in your lap, drifting off peacefully in your arms

Sometime later, they began to stir...

The small magician groaned in his sleep, digging his fingers into your arm. His breathing increased as he began rolling his hips, as if he was trying to grind against something. You were worried for a second, but when you whispered a Darling, are you alright? into his ear, Lyney moaned and bucked his hips

A mischievous grin spread across your face. Oh, you understood what was happening, and so badly wanted to tease him when he was all vulnerable like this. Lyney continued to writhe in your grasp, hips jerking when his unconscious mind realized your hand was in between his legs, rubbing his bulge and coaxing more sweet moans out of him

He panted as you teased him, rubbing him quickly then suddenly stopping, repeating the motions over and over. You cooed all sorts of filth to your little sweetheart, letting your hot breath fan against the shell of his ear and blow down his neck. Which only made him squirm and whine more

Lyney humped your hand vigorously, seemingly chasing after his orgasm in his sleep. You squeezed the small section of his thigh that peeked out from his attire, if you could, you'd mark the soft flesh. Leaving bruises and bite marks all over his pretty skin

His movements became erratic, signaling his incoming climax. The hand cupping his dick squeezed him a bit, your other hand moving up to his clothed chest and resting over his heart. His heartbeat was going crazy, you could feel the pounding rhythm inside of him, all thanks to your ministrations

“A-ah...y/n—!! Aaahh—!! ” Lyney's eyes snapped open as he cried out your name. Feeling a warm, wet sensation growing in his pants. He gripped at your hands on him, looking up and back at you confused. You only smiled at him, rubbing over his sensitive cock again, sending a jolt of electricity through his body. He slowly figured out what had happened... embarrassed at being caught acting so desperate in his sleep...

She looks so cute like this, you thought to yourself. Curled up in your lap, her cheek pressed against your chest, your arms wrapped around her sleeping form, and a calm expression on her face. Lynette looked so comfy right now, and you were nearly falling asleep yourself. That is, until she made a noise

A soft whine rumbled out of the young lady, followed by her shifting around. You watched her closely, wanting to make sure that she wasn't having a bad dream or suddenly uncomfortable in her current position. Lynette whined again, this time squeezing her thighs together, her eyes scrunching up as well

Oh. Ok... interesting. Sooo, probably not a nightmare. You were more convinced that she was actually having a wet dream... Testing your theory, you slid one hand down to her thigh, rubbing it gently. “Aah...” Lynette's soft moan beckoned you to continue, moving your hand upwards to brush against her clothed pussy. Her body jerked forward at the contact, gasping from your touch

“Ohhh– Mmm...” Little moans fell from her lips, fluffy ears twitching as you continued to rub between her legs. You applied a little pressure to where her clit should be, rubbing in little circles, and Lynette squeaked. Clutching your shirt in her hands as you worked her up. Resting your chin on her head and whispering soft praises to soothe her

She swallowed, beginning to pant the longer your hands played with her sensitive pussy, already soaking through her clothes without even cumming yet. Lynette's hips rolled against your hand, grinding the wet fabric onto your skin, searching for any kind of friction she could to bring her closer to the edge

Finally, relief would find her in the form of your hand speeding up. Rubbing her faster and applying more pressure so that she could actually cum. Her tail swished rapidly behind her, a sign that she was so close...if you just keep touching her like that...

“Nyaa—!! Ooohh...aaaahh~ ” Lynette squealed as she came, white hot pleasure searing through her body, cheeks flushed and nails digging into whatever part of you that she could reach in her hazy state. Her chest heaved with every breath, muscles starting to relax as her high subsided

It was a little surprising to see Freminet voluntarily cuddle up to you like this. He's always so shy and reserved, so you weren't expecting it...but you also weren't complaining either. As long as he was comfortable, that was all that mattered

You held him closely, enveloping his small frame in your warmth. Your eyes grew heavier and heavier, being lulled to sleep by the ambiance of the forest, beginning to drift away until your ears picked up on something... A tiny breath. Did it come from Freminet? It was probably nothing, just an exhale or something small like that

Again, another little breathy noise. Freminet was now squirming around in your arms, the noises that he had been making only increasing in volume and frequency. His hips now humped at the air, desperately chasing anything that would bring him pleasure. How precious, your soft-spoken angel moaning like a whore and humping at nothing in his sleep. How precious, indeed

Hooking one arm under his knees, you picked him up, moving over to your sleeping bag and gently laying him down with his head resting on the soft cloth. You pulled his shorts down, revealing his half hard cock and making him shiver from the cold, night air. Your eyes practically sparkled as you wrapped your fingers around his small length, rubbing him softly while moans continued to slip out

Precum slid down his length, covering your digits and making it easier to jerk him off. Freminet whined when your hand left him, tasting him on yourself, mixing his precum with your saliva so that you could stretch him open safely. Sliding into his hole and prepping him so that you could help him with this dream of his

When you felt like he was ready to take you, you lubed yourself up, lining your cock up with his hole next and pushing the tip in. “A-Aaah! Ngh–! ” Freminet cried out, stirring awake to find you already buried inside of him, slowly thrusting in and out

“Shh, baby you're ok.” You cupped his cheek and rubbed your thumb across his skin soothingly. “You were– Mmph fuck... H-having a wet dream. Just wanted to...help you out.” In between groans, you managed to explain what was happening. Freminet threw his head back as you continued fucking him, his freckled cheeks burning as blood rushed to the surface

“Pl-please...want to...” He mumbled, nuzzling his cheek into your palm. You picked up the pace, skin slapping against skin as you jerked him off once more

“Wanna cum, my love? ” Freminet squeezed his eyes shut, nodding shyly. You leaned down to kiss his other cheek before gripping his hips and pounding into him, lewd squelching noises filling the air from both your hand working his wet dick, and you fucking his wet hole

Wanton moans rang out as you painted Freminet's insides, thrusting your hips a few more times before resting, still inside of him. His dick shooting cum all over your fingers just a minute later, thrashing about before slumping against the ground. You made sure to praise him plenty as you both relaxed

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

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casualcharacter · 4 months

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[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6]

More Astarion and Amaryllis doodles!!

The first takes place immediately after part 6 fjgfjgf

I just wanted to draw some cute fluff between them bc im a sucker for it

Amaryllis keeps hugging Astarion until he lets go, about 10 minutes later fhgghf she wasn't expecting a hug that long, but she likes hugs so she didn't mind

Amaryllis continues to confuse and baffle Astarion, but that somehow works to her advantage 💕

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casualcharacter · 4 months

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picture scaramouche bent over, hands tied behind his back, face pressed to a coffee table with you holding him from behind

tw: cursing, cnc, praise, humiliation, dom reader, unhealthy use of ellipses; (amab reader), 18+

you rub your glistening cock between scaramouche's spread asscheeks, almost moaning from the view alone. your precum is already leaking into the cracks, moistening them prettily.

"fuck, scara… what did i tell you, huh?" a sharp slap resounds, and scaramouche's right cheek immediately starts turning pinkish. the boy grits his teeth.

"go to hell you fucking psycho."

"mhhh…" your thumbs leave little indents in the supple skin of his ass. between them, a throbbing hole clenches nervously. "a psycho, am i."

scaramouche moans as you push the tip past the rim. you're sure he didn't mean to, but it still escaped his lips. slowly, you push just the tip in and out, watching intently as the skin spreads around the gland, swallowing it greedily.

"you stretch so beautifully, scara," you coo, a soft blush on your face. "so incredibly beautiful"

"stop— stop looking!" scaramouche growls. "it's—" he gasps loudly when the tip enters him yet again, face already red from all the blood gathering in his head.

"it's what, scara..."

"it's— ugly…"

at this, you click your tongue and stop. "ugly?"

scaramouche becomes angry, deflecting from his quickly rising shame. "yes, ugly. seriously, stop with this stupid game you're playing, i don't need you to act like you're into th—"

you thrust into him, deep and hard. scaramouche's words are lost in a strangled gurgle as his eyes roll back.

"it seems i need to fuck that thought out of you."

with one roll of your hands, you shorten the rope connected to his tied wrists, tugging them upwards. slowly, you start to roll your hips back, watching as the rim catches and slides over your cock. you moan. "aah, scara… you look so, so pretty like this"

"fuck… you… ngh— a-aahn…"

you breathe heavily. "fuck. fuck, scara. you take me so well. look at you, moaning like a slut..."

"shut— shut up. fuck. i'll kill you. i swear i'll fucking kill y— MGH!" you slam back into him. any further protest is drowned by the sound of thighs hitting flesh in sharp slaps as you start pounding into him. harder and harder you thrust back inside, needing to reach deeper, faster, harder.

it doesn't take long for scaramouche to lose his composure. on the surface of the coffee table, he rolls his head almost limply to the side. his eyes are blurry with pleasure, but still he tries to look at you out of the corner of his eye - to make you see exactly what you are doing to him.

you breathe a laugh, panting hard. under scaramouche's mouth, a steadily growing puddle of drool forms. he twitches, legs giving in.

you grab his hips so hard his skin will certainly bruise. scaramouche is not yet allowed to stop taking you. you stare and stare, fucking him until the world starts to tilt, until your cock feels numb from sheer pleasure, until you start twitching so hard that it's visible on the front of scaramouche's stomach—

you cum hard, gasping for air. white stars form in your vision, and you can feel your hands tremble on his soft skin.

"haha…" you laugh, out of breath. under you, scaramouche whimpers quietly.

after a moment, you pull out slowly. a thick line of cum connects the tip of your still slightly twitching cock with scaramouche's warm, fluttering hole. "ahh… fuck. my cum… hahaha… deep… deep inside you…"

scaramouche lets out another whine. his hole clenches before releasing a white drop of liquid. he whimpers, trying to say something.

"mh?" you ask, using your thumb to smear the droplet around the throbbing hole. "speak up, scara…"

amidst his wordless whimpers, you push your thumb inside and laugh again, feeling scaramouche milking it powerlessly.

"i wonder when you came…"

"mmglh…" scaramouche answers. when something warm touches his freely leaking cock, he flinches lightly. a moan tumbles over his lips. with the palm of your hand, you rub the tip of his soft erection.

"or rather… how many times." scaramouche's eyes slowly roll backwards. with a grin, you raise your hand back up and glide your tongue over the palm, humming appreciatively at the taste. "yum ~"

"no…more…" scaramouche finally breathes. "can't…" your arm slings around his belly. with ease, you lift him up. "ahn—"

"no more? no more, scara?"

"no... more..."

"but baby..." you place a soft kiss on his temple.

"we were just getting started."

[formatting shamelessly stolen from scara smut writer @hanxku]

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casualcharacter · 5 months

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Leona who is pining after you...

💛 summary: Cohesive blurbs about things Leona would do and what he would be like if he were pining after you. ༶༶༶ 💛 warnings: gender neutral reader, unedited, pretty much just a stream of my thoughts. There is cursing. Very angsty but also has romance. Mentions of depressive thoughts. A very raw look into Leona's mind. There is smut (wet dream) in the middle, marked with 🔞 if you want to skip to the next bullet. ༶༶༶ 💛 word count: 4.7k because I'm delulu

💛 Leona who is pining after you... tries to gaslight himself and cling to any sort of logical explanation he can come up with to try to convince himself that he definitely does not have feelings for you. It was probably just a one-time thing, and he just needs to find a way to get you out of his head. He's never thought about anyone this way before, so it's definitely just an error in his brain chemistry or something. It was only a coincidence that he happened to be thinking about you at that particular time, and if you had never been on his mind at all, his heart wouldn't be beating so fast every time he interacts with you. He would never allow himself to develop feelings for anyone, especially you, so he must not actually have any. It's really that simple. It couldn't possibly be that he's fallen for some weird, magicless human, right? Right?! There has to be something medically wrong with him! He must be crazy to have these kinds of thoughts about a stranger who just randomly poofed into existence at the beginning of the semester. Why did you invade his dreams? It doesn't matter! What the hell is wrong with him?!

It has to be a mistake, because there is no way he would EVER fall for someone as annoying and boring as you are, even if you do seem to have a better understanding of him than the people who have known him his whole life, and you treat him like he actually matters instead of seeing him as the scumbag you probably should have gotten to know better before giving him your time and attention. It's not like he genuinely cares what you think of him, anyway – he’s just grateful that he doesn't have to deal with another person treating him like a failure or a lazy, worthless piece of shit.

The way you look at him like he could be someone worth loving despite his constant tirade of anger is definitely not a key factor in him caring for you. Your smile and laugh makes his chest feel funny, and the fact that he is suddenly hyper-aware of his body when he's around you is probably just a symptom of mental or physical illness. Maybe he’s finally eaten too much red meat and he’s about to succumb to heart disease at the ripe age of 20. Perhaps he simply hasn't rubbed one out in a while and he’s thinking with his dick and not his head? He's definitely not attracted to you, and he's absolutely not thinking about what it would be like to kiss you right now. That would just be insane, and he can't believe he even let himself entertain the thought! He’d rather die than think about what it would be like to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as you sit on his lap, looking down at him with that beautiful smile and those cunning eyes of yours, gently stroking his face as you lean down to press your lips against his… oh, god dammit!

💛 Leona who is pining after you… finally lays down in surrender to the fact that, alright, maybe he does have feelings for your dumb ass – against all odds. He convinces himself that he’s only humoring this pathetic little crush because it makes his monotonous, tiresome days a little more riveting. Lions are predators, and the thrill of the hunt is a key part of their nature, after all. Before you, all he had to look forward to was staring at the ceiling in his dark room for most of the day until the stars showed up in the sky, or until he got roped into housewarden drama and became too frustrated to do anything other than restlessly pace around Savanaclaw before eventually confining himself back to the comforting solitude of his room. He tells himself he might as well allow himself the small luxury of thinking about someone who doesn’t entirely annoy the shit out of him, because he could sure as hell use the emotional relief. At least this way, he isn’t actively thinking about how much he hates his life, and how much he hates himself for letting it become this way. Besides, what would be the harm in letting himself entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe – if he was lucky enough – you could be the first person to ever break down the walls he built to keep himself from getting hurt by other people? Plus, if nothing else, you make for such a pretty daydream.

Every moment he spends with you makes him want you to keep sticking around even after everything is said and done. You can actually keep up with his banter, which is probably why he can actually stand being around you in the first place. No one else is capable of keeping up with his quick wit, or of providing him with a good challenge. You aren't scared off by his harsh demeanor, and you're able to stand up to him when he gets a little too overbearing. You don't take his bullshit, but you still care about his well being and treat him with respect. Despite his public struggles, you don’t see him as some sort of charity case. He's never met anyone else who is able to be so firm with him, but gentle at the same time. He didn't know someone could have such a strong presence without even having magic, but you're somehow always able to pull the rug out from under him, showing him that you're much more powerful than he initially gave you credit for. You're a real pain in his ass sometimes, but you're also the only person in years who's made him feel like life might actually be worth living. Maybe these feelings aren't so bad after all…

💛 Leona who is pining after you… starts leaving his room more often and even attending classes again, hoping he'll run into you on campus. If he doesn't see you, that would suck, but he knows if he stays in his room all day, then he'd risk losing the chance to spend the day with you completely. Besides, if there's even the slightest possibility, seeing you could be the highlight of his day and make even his shittiest days seem almost bearable. When you finally show up, he throws a casual greeting and a nonchalant raise of a single brow, pretending like he coincidentally ran into you in the crowd and totally didn't memorize your class schedule. When your face lights up, telling him you were glad to run into him, his pulse races and for a split second, a goofy grin flashes on his face and he desperately starts fighting his tail from swishing eagerly behind him. All he does is mumble in agreement, then shove his hands in his pockets, rolling his eyes like this isn't what he's been waiting for since he woke up. He says he might as well join you in the cafeteria, because he's starving and it's that time anyway, so whatever.

As you enter the lunch line, your face falls in disappointment when you realize your favorite sandwich is sold out. Leona expected something like this would happen, so he asked Ruggie to grab him one of that type of sandwich along with his usual order, on the chance that he would get to spend lunch with you. He looks to his right, glancing at your slumped shoulders as your mood seems to deflate a little as a frown forms on your face. He steps forward and grumbles an off-hand comment that he snagged one earlier for himself, but since you look so pitiful, he'll let you have it, only because he doesn't want to deal with your incessant whining the whole lunch. When you gape up at him, shocked by his thoughtful gesture, his face starts burning red as he quickly turns away, aggressively stuffing a bite of food in his face to make himself look distracted. When he happens to catch your thankful eyes glistening at him, it feels like the air has been punched right out of his lungs, and the small smile and sincere gratitude tugging on the corner of your lips causes his stomach to do backflips. How annoying that his usually stoic demeanor always falls apart in front of you.

💛 Leona who is pining after you... constantly teases you and tries to embarrass you, attempting to make it sound like you're the one pining for him (even if you're not!) just to try to distract you from the truth. He teases you relentlessly, hoping it’ll make it so you won't feel confident calling him out on the little ways he treats you differently than everyone else. He loves seeing you get flustered trying to deny it, but he also uses it as an opportunity to study your reactions, trying to deduce your real feelings for him by the color in your cheeks, the wavering of your voice, how often you avert your eyes, and how quickly you fire back with an argument. The smirk that emerges on his face tells you exactly that he's not convinced, even if you deny everything. He may be subtle about it, but he uses every opportunity he can find to feel you out, to see if there's even the slightest possibility you might feel something for him. He'll never let you know how badly he wants it to be true with every fiber of his being. He’d be absolutely thrilled if you confessed to him, but he’ll never show it, because it's far more comfortable hiding behind sarcasm. His prideful, guarded heart prevents him from expressing genuine positive emotions and potentially opening himself up to any type of mockery.

💛 Leona who is pining after you... slowly becoming more attached to the idea of you falling for him. As the weeks go by and he hears you giggle as you argue with him, his thoughts linger a bit more when they try to calculate why he's not actually feeling burnt out from spending so much time with you. His patience with the rest of the world starts waning, not really bothering to deal with anyone or anything that could distract him from basking in your aura for as long as possible. He even takes a more active role in interacting with you, whether you two are chatting as he sits on a bench in the botanical gardens, or hanging out after-hours in his room, hoping that this could eventually become a common routine. He loves learning about you and the world you come from. When you open up about your background, he enjoys getting a glimpse into your mind. His brain starts rapidly filing away little details about you, creating a catalog of thoughts for each of his favorite things about you, or the little quirks you have that he secretly finds endearing. The memories of conversations where you both held each other's gaze for a fraction of a second longer than normal or the accidental touches that cause his heart to skip a beat come to life with a vibrance never seen in other parts of his memory bank. The time you grabbed his hand because the tree branches kept making “spooky” noises around you and the time you playfully messed up his hair (even daring to cop a feel of his ear in the process!), are some of his favorite memories to revisit.

As you two grow closer and more comfortable with each other, he pretends to be annoyed at you more often, only because he wants to test how well you can read him, and also how far he can push you. He revels in the way he feels a spark in his chest and a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips whenever your eyes meet. He tries hard to remind himself that the growing heat rising to his face every time you grin at him is all because of the temperature. His playful touches start to become more sensual, his voice dips deeper and more seductive as his hands linger on your skin, his breath fanning against your face and neck with every taunting word spoken. He hates himself for loving the way you bite your lip and blush under his gaze as he continues to run his hand up your arm, causing your eyelids to flutter. He loves the feeling of power your vulnerable, affectionate expression grants him, the rush of endorphins so great he thinks his entire body might collapse. When he pulls his hand back, the stinging absence leaves him in a state of panic, terrified that this might have been the moment you'd realize how he feels about you and finally flee. In an effort to swallow his vulnerability and save face, he'll cover up his aroused desire with aggression. With a bite in his tone, he'll lash out at you, mocking the way you acted so touch-starved and desperate in the heat of the moment, even though the only one truly desperate here is him. He has to force himself to maintain eye contact and an air of dominance with you while he snaps at you, even as he feels his throat tighten, heart slamming against his ribs. He metaphorically shoves you away and leaves before he loses control, before his raw affection for you spills from his lips like a confession.

💛 🔞 Leona who is pining after you... fast asleep as he lies alone in bed, your figure haunting his dreams. Right before he fell asleep, he was having a particularly bad day and he found himself clinging to a fantasy of holding you in his arms, using you as an anchor to help him process the dread of reality. On a typical night, all he has are his regrets and unanswered questions swirling around in his subconscious, but tonight is different – he falls asleep dreaming about being curled up against your warmth, wondering what it would be like for you to stroke his hair, gently reminding him that there's at least one good thing to wake up for, no matter how empty the day may feel.

As he falls deeper into his slumber, his eyelids begin to twitch and his long eyelashes tickle his flushed cheekbones. He finds himself lost within a dreamy state that feels so very real to him as your face fades into focus. You're kneeling beside him in the bed, and his body is covered in the sheets, with your arms wrapped underneath his shoulder. He can barely tell whether or not this is really a dream at this point as you rest your head against his. He can feel his body stirring and his tail twitching, roused by the comforting and blissful affection. The way you smile at him as you run your thumb along the curvature of his sharp jawline stirs a dormant ache in his soul as you lean forward and leave featherlight kisses in the crook of his neck, causing him to whimper under his breath. He buries his nose in the locks of your hair, desperately wrapping his arms around your waist, pushing your face deeper into the space between his neck and shoulder, craving the coziness and comfort of being physically close to the source of his yearning. In his dreams, your lips are able to be as soft and gentle as they are fierce and demanding, as the grip he has on reality grows weaker the longer he lets himself be trapped under the intoxicating spell you cast upon him, rendering him at the mercy of his deepest desires.

His breath becomes more labored and hitched, his temperature rising as a flush spreads across his face. His body starts moving involuntarily and he buries his hips further into his mattress, his aching cock desperate to be touched, throbbing as his precum smears against the sheets. He begins humping the bed, whining from the friction against his bare skin as he pulls you closer in his dream, shamelessly chasing after the erotic thoughts racing through his mind, fueled by the illusion of having you in his possession – ready to be ravished and worshiped by him and him alone. His full lips part as he moans your name. He thrashes around in his bed, a tingling, aching need radiates throughout his groin as his back arches off of the sheets, grinding his cock against the fabric of his blanket. He can almost feel the warmth of your body as he bucks his hips upwards once more, desperate for your heat. His fingers twitch as they clutch tighter onto the fabric, desperately trying to grab onto the illusion of you instead, wishing he could feel the texture of your skin underneath his fingertips. In his hazy state, he bites his lips and runs his fingers down his sculpted abdomen, his hand with a mind of its own, aching to reach lower. With a sigh of pleasure, he teases the tip of his leaking, throbbing erection as the muscles in his legs quiver with anticipation. He pushes his thumb against the slit of his tip, already wet with his excitement. He slowly rubs circles around his cockhead, causing his breath to hitch and his cock jerk at the sensation. In his unconscious mind, it's not his hand gripping his shaft – it's yours.

He wraps his large hand around the length of his dick, letting out a moan of pleasure as he starts to stroke, his pace increasing steadily with each pump, imagining what it would be like to have you kneeling between his spread legs, looking up at him as you jerk him off, begging to be fucked by him. His cock twitches and aches to be inside of you, to see your lewd expression as his dick fills you, his senses overwhelmed by the sight of you under him, sprawled out, sweaty and splayed wide open for the taking, gasping for air in between broken moans. His hips buck into his hand and he lets out a low growl as he feels the pressure building within him, feeling himself getting closer to the edge. He quickens the pace as he squeezes the base of his cock, stroking faster and faster, trying to keep up with the intensity of his dream. He wants to feel your velvety walls squeezing around him, milking every drop of cum from his throbbing cock. He pants heavily as the sensation of ecstasy courses through his body, moaning your name as he orgasms, his back arching off of the bed as he cums all over his hand, shooting thick ropes of hot cum onto his abs. He slows his pace, riding out his orgasm, lazily stroking his cock as it pulsates through his veins, feeling the aftershocks of pleasure tingling down his spine. With a final moan of satisfaction, he collapses on his bed, utterly spent from his activities. The euphoria of his orgasm fades away as he comes back to reality, slowly finding himself coming into consciousness. As he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is the mess he made. He groans as he rolls out of bed, annoyed that he has to clean up after his wet dream before he can go back to sleep.

💛 Leona who is pining after you... falls into despair when he realizes his stupid feelings for you aren't going away – they're actually getting stronger by the day. You’ve made him feel like the world's not actually so cruel anymore, but he knows that his tiny, fragile castle is sure to crumble at any moment. Nothing good ever stays his way, does it? He's been telling himself that this was all some game. It's not like he actually wanted to be in a relationship with you, right? That would be far too much work. But what if you were actually worth the time? What if he could have someone who knew every aspect of his being and still loved and accepted him? What if he could be the person who's worthy of your beautiful, unrelenting love? Even as he chastises himself for entertaining the possibility of a relationship with anyone – especially a herbivore like you – a desperate, longing ache burrows into his bones, overpowering the cold, empty hollowness within him that had haunted him his whole life. This can't be love that he's feeling, and if it is... he knows now that love is the only strategy game in existence he's terrible at playing. There's no doubt in his mind he'll make the worst decisions imaginable because his entire being is clouded with insecurity. He is painfully aware that if he were to ever open himself up to the possibility of being with you, then his first thought would be of a thousand ways you would hurt him. He tortures himself with worries and fear, letting himself be consumed by anxiety.

The thing that frightens him most is becoming reliant on someone else for his happiness. Having someone whose opinion he actually values not thinking he is good enough for them is his worst nightmare. If there's one thing life has taught him, it's better to not have anyone at all. Besides, he doesn't even deserve you. There isn't a soul in this world who deserves someone like you – someone so selfless, understanding, empathetic, and forgiving. If you were his, you'd suffer. Your light would slowly flicker out from the darkness he would drown you in, just like everything else in his life that ever mattered to him. There is so much beauty to you that would go to waste in his care – why would someone as perfect as you ever settle for someone like him, anyway? There's no way you'd ever return his feelings. And even if you did… could he even be brave enough to allow you in? Does he have the strength to accept a heart freely offered to him? Will the scars and darkness within him allow him to accept such pure and unconditional love? He can't possibly be selfish enough to ask you to take the chance on him. You deserve to be with someone who is strong and complete – someone who can give you their whole being, wholly and unreservedly – not someone who is afraid of showing weakness, for fear of you leaving him broken-hearted. Someone who would actually have the capacity to love you like you should be loved. Not a broken, shattered shell of a Prince that could only ever give you pieces of his heart that are full of cracks.

Why the fuck does his chest hurt just thinking about the fact that you would be better off without him? It feels as if someone were stabbing his heart repeatedly, and no matter what he does, the wounds refuse to close and the blood continues to ooze through the cracks. He stares up at the dark ceiling of his dorm room as a single tear rolls down his cheek for the first time in years as he tries to cope with this excruciating feeling of hopelessness, despondency, and despair. The fear that you will one day be gone from his life grips his soul, his heart pleading with him to simply confess, yet his twisted mind forces him to remind himself of his inadequacy. What a sad, pathetic sight you would see, the once fearsome lion, pitifully pawing at your ankles as his heart poured itself at your feet, praying for the warmth of your love and the validation of your approval.

💛 Leona who is pining after you… hates how obsessed he is with you and your opinion of him. Every day he finds himself trying to be better because you make him want to try harder to make the world a brighter place. Maybe you're right, maybe he doesn't need to be King in order to lead people and do great things. Because of the friendship you two have nourished, he finally feels comfortable opening up to you and talking to you about what he's going through: his past, and how much he truly cares about everyone's safety, success, and overall happiness – a sentiment that's foreign to everyone who's ever known him in the past. Although he still can't bring himself to vocalize his emotions aloud, you now truly understand the message his eyes are always trying to relay, no matter how small the glimpse: even if he was destined for a fate in the shadows, his biggest hope is to someday become the leader he was supposed to be. His newfound vulnerability allows you to slowly chip off the armor that guards his heart and bring him peace, healing his wounded spirit. Because of you, he now understands what it feels like to be valued and treasured by another, and he feels empowered enough to put the effort into doing something to change his future for the better. It scares him how badly he wants to impress you, wanting you to be proud of how he's matured.

Before taking on the daunting task of bettering his Kingdom, he starts with something small – making a positive difference in your life. You actually make him feel useful. He loves the way you look up at him with admiration. He knows now that one of the reasons he fell for you so hard is because you always ask for his advice – knowing damn well he's the smartest person in this godforsaken place – and you actually take it. You listen to him and you value his opinions. Seeing things work out for the better when you take his advice and enact his plans gives him a rush of pride and confidence. It motivates him to keep working hard to have good ideas that benefit the world. He's always enjoyed helping people even though he's bad at putting it into words, or showing his true intentions, instead preferring to keep people guessing while he hides behind his indifference and nonchalant attitude. But now, thanks to you, he finds that the more time he spends caring about helping the people around him, the more understanding and honest he is with himself, the happier he becomes. He's feeling more confident stepping up to the plate, having less fear of letting himself or the other people he cares about down.

He started feeling honored to be the housewarden for Savanaclaw again and he actually takes the responsibility seriously, tackling issues and standing his ground with the students and teachers. He wants to set an example for others, making you proud of his actions by raising his standard. When it comes to issues in the school and within his territory, he's calm and diplomatic as he addresses issues – making sure everyone is heard and everyone walks away satisfied. No longer is he plagued by a lack of enthusiasm to make real, significant changes. He now genuinely enjoys himself, striving to go beyond his expectations to overcome his shortcomings, always pushing himself to think outside of the box. It's like the Leona of his past no longer exists, and he doesn't feel any resentment or shame at the thought, simply believing it's for the better that he finally has the strength to make room for a version of himself he can enjoy instead. Because of your guidance and patience with him, he’s slowly learning to no longer fight his introspective nature, instead choosing to work hard every day to embrace all aspects of himself – whether they be negative or positive. Every day is far from perfect, but he's allowing himself the respite of leaning on your shoulder, even though for now, it’s just as a friend and trusted ally, not as a lover. For the first time, he's happy with where his life is going and the person he is becoming. Through this whole experience of falling for you, he learned that there are still things worth fighting for, regardless of if you one day soon reciprocate his feelings or not. At least, that's what he keeps telling himself.

I was nervous to write this because we all know that canon Leona leaves much to be desired when it comes to his story and the complexities of his character. I've spent over a year of loving him, meticulously crafting who I think he is and who I want him to be. Most days, I'm pretty sure Leona Kingscholar is just a character who exists solely inside of my mind, completely separate from the source material. So, if this resonates with you, I am very glad! Thank you for reading. I hope I was able to bring justice to my beloved Leona! If you would like to see this series with another character, please let me know. 💛 Erica Malleleothreesome

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casualcharacter · 6 months

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„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

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casualcharacter · 6 months

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Here's my idea that I would love to hear your opinion! Just to let you know this is quite self-indulgent XD What if GN!Reader knew that he was trying to use them from the start? They knew because they're quite familiar with people only talking to them because it's either because they can do something for them or they have something they need! They would still help him since they believe it's something he shouldn't need to go so far to have it. What do you think of it? I'm curious :3

UMMM YESSSS ANON YES! This is definitely something I have considered as well!! Tav isn't a naïve little target like Astarion is used too!

I imagine that Tav/Reader would probably admit to knowing about his plan not long after his own confession scene from Moonrise Towers in Act II. I think it would go something like this ♡♡

P.S.: I absolutely LOVED doing this, and my inbox is literally always open for stuff like this friends! :) It may just take me a hot second to reply!

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“I still can’t wrap my head around this,” Astarion’s voice was a hushed whisper in your ear, the two of you laying next to each other in his tent. You were close, but not touching — you were affording him space, allowing him to make the first move to initiate any kind of touch.

The intimate setting of laying across from each other in his tent was more than you had even expected. The candle stumps sat carefully around you basked everything in a gorgeous, orange glow.

“What do you mean?” You asked gently, your eyebrows furrowed.

“I’d imagine confessing to you in more ways than one… and never once did I imagine it would end like this.” He motioned to the two of you, running a finger tip across your knuckles before withdrawing. His voice was thick with emotion.

A soft chuckle escaped you, “What you thought I’d stake you?”

“Well… yes!” He said exasperatedly, before letting out a breathy laugh himself. Then he shook his head, turning serious, “I was manipulating you. Plotting against my master, with you as my shield.”

Your mouth twitched as you admitted, “I knew.”

“No, I don’t think you understand—“

You interrupted him, your face earnest, “No, Astarion. I do. I knew.”

Realization set deep in his features, his mouth hanging open just enough you could see his fangs, “How long had you known?”

You gave him a half smile, “Since the night you invited me to the woods.”

Your first night together.

“I— that was ages ago!" He sat up abruptly, his red eyes wide, "Why didn’t you say anything? Or better yet— gut me?!"

You sat up slowly, resting on your knees. “People have been using me for my entire life, Astarion. I know what they see when they meet me — a pretty face and nice clothes. Someone who is too friendly, too eager. People have been knocking on my door to ask for gold or sex or an invitation, anything they can get from me… as long as I can remember. Long before I met you."

Astarion was well aware of the mask you could so easily slip on when interacting with others. He hated it when you wore it. But now he understood you had been donning it to protect yourself, as much as he it did for himself too. But he still wanted to stalk and haunt every person who ever made you feel like you were a thing to be used, a means to some end.

Including himself.

Your voice snapped him back to the present, your voice hesitant, "But I had seen through your flirtations for a while now. It’s a force of habit for you, isn’t it?"

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, "Yes, it is."

Your expression crumbled, "I may have realized you were using me, but I didn’t realize how sex made you feel. I’m sorry I didn’t realize, I shouldn’t have indulged in that way."

The vampire waved off your apology, but curiosity got the best of him. "Why did you ‘indulge’? If you knew I was using you… if you knew that I'm... this."

You took a deep breath, before looking him in the eye. “Because I also recognized that what you were doing was a routine, a defense mechanism that you had been doing for longer than I’ve been alive. Because you were manipulated and used for your whole life too, weren’t you?"

Tears formed in the bottom of his eyes as he listened to you, but he willed them to stay back. His red eyes blinked furiously as he listened to you, his fingers intertwining together on his lap.

He wished you would hold them.

"You aren’t like your master, Astarion. And you aren’t what he made you to be either. You are a survivor. And when you were thrown off that nautiloid ship and found yourself in this merry party of misfits, you did just that — survive.

So… I let myself play mouse and get stuck in your trap. Just as I turned a blind eye to Wyll's sending stone. Or didn't ask Gale to explain what in the heavens he was doing with the amulet we had found. Because I trusted you, even back then. Cared for you far more then I should admit. But I knew you needed time."

His bottom lip trembled as you continued your own confession. He let his tears slip free as he saw your own break free. They stuck to your lashes and dripped down your flushed, freckled cheeks. Gods, even crying you were beautiful.

"But I regret that I laid with you — if I had known it caused you such pain I wouldn’t have done that. I knew that sex was apart of your repertoire, but I didn’t realize the anguish it caused you." Your face was pained as you admitted that, he could feel the self-loathing radiating off of you.

“It wasn’t all bad — those times with you were some of the most unexpected moments of bliss I’ve had in centuries." Astarion confessed as he grabbed your fingers and held them tightly. "But it still feels tainted, marred from my past with Cazador..."

“I know." You squeezed his fingers back, another silent understanding. "And we do not need to do such things until you are ready, Astarion. I mean it.”

He nodded, keeping his head down as he stared at the blankets you both sat on — willing himself to get his emotions under control.

You tucked your head to look up at his tilted face, "May I?" You asked softly, your hand hovering between you.

He swallowed as he nodded. You reached out slowly with your hand, before your thumb gently swept under his eyes and down the sides of his face, wiping away the tears that lingered on his pale skin. A sigh of contentment left him at your soft, simple touch. No one had ever touched him like that before.

He caught your hand as you went to withdraw it, your hands intertwined with his between you as you kneeled in front of each other.

Astarion was afraid to ask the next question on the tip of his tongue. But curiosity got the best of him. “So if you knew about my plan this whole time… when did you realize you— you’d fallen for me?”

Your entire face brightened as he asked, your eyes shining as you spoke, “Oh, from the moment you held a knife to my throat and barred your teeth.”

His heart soared, climbing up his throat as he almost choked from the happiness spreading through him.

“You masochist.” He laughed, grabbing onto the sides of your face.

“A romantic fool," You murmured as he placed his lips softly onto yours.

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If you enjoyed this, please feel free to check out more of my Astarion x GN!Reader on my masterlist!

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casualcharacter · 6 months

Note

HII I SAW UR REQUESTS WERE OPEN!!! your writing is so amazing i couldn’t resist sending one in after i had binged everything…

may i request headcanons for a totally whipped al-haitham with the childhood friends to lovers trope throughout the years? as in how he was to reader in elementary, middle school, etc. but if not that’s fine!!! your fic with him liking reader since middle school was so 😭😭😭❤️ reader teasing him was so funny and i can’t scream about it hard enough 🥹

i hope you have an amazing day!!! keep up the good work!

thank you smm that rlly means a lot! im so glad you enjoyed my writing ❤️❤️ i love the friends to lovers trope sm writing this involved a lot of giggling and kicking my feet, whipped Alhaitham is just so cute. Anyway I hope you like this I had so much fun with it too 😋😋

༊*·˚ 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

Pairing: Alhaitham x F!reader

Content: fluff, modern AU, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, (very) whipped Alhaitham

ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

You’d first met Alhaitham when you were in elementary. He, being slightly younger, was in preschool. Unlike the other kids, he kept to himself, mainly studying a picture book in a secluded corner. Your play areas were separated by a low fence, one which you often loved to climb over.

“Haitham!” You almost fell onto the grass after scaling this fence once again in the break time, peeking over the smaller boy’s shoulder.

“Is that a kangaroo?” You pointed at the picture book enthusiastically. Alhaitham only looked up at you, blinking a few times with his wide green-orange eyes.

“No, it’s a pademelon.” He spoke surprisingly eloquently, tongue only slightly lisping over the syllables.

“You’re no fun.” You sighed, plopping down next to your self-proclaimed friend and beginning to draw flowers on paper with your new crayons. Upon seeing the curious look on Alhaitham’s face, you handed him the green crayon.

“You can draw flowers with me if you want.” You shifted closer. The boy said nothing, only holding the crayon tightly as he watched you happily scribbling.

Once you’d befriended Alhaitham, there was no turning back. He was shy and quiet, but utterly attached to you. You nodded excitedly whenever he babbled on about a new topic, although you never really understood what he was talking about, and played imaginary games with him in the playhouses. He never really understood the imaginative concept, but you would lead the way as he followed along with whatever you said.

“I am the princess, and I am going to become the queen! Bow before me!” You manoeuvred a figurine across the miniature castle.

“No, the crown prince’s wife will become queen when he ascends to the throne.”

“Oh, okay. You’re so cool, Haitham.”

Alhaitham only smiled at you. The truth was, he thought you were the coolest person in the world. He might know all the logistical facts, but he could never weave a story as you did.

“Huh? Haitham, you’re the knight. You need to go to battle!”

Alhaitham was shaken out of his daze when he realised he’d only been staring at you in awe, quickly grabbing the knight figure to move it. Beneath his long lashes, he’d constantly sneak glances at you - looking for your approval that he was doing the right thing.

Whenever you were absent, Alhaitham would ask everyone else where you’d gone. After verifying that - unfortunately - you really weren’t coming to school and shocking his peers with his sudden friendliness, he’d retreat to the outskirts of the play area. He would collect flowers and rocks, gathering them in his small arms - still a little chubby with baby fat - determined to find the best things to gift to you.

When you came back the next day, Alhaitham would shyly press the gifts he’d collected into your hands, eagerly watching your expression. If you smiled, he would too. Truly, although he was too young to know, you were his first love and the centre of his universe.

MIDDLE SCHOOL

During middle school, you and Alhaitham were in the same class. Due to his intellect, he’d been bumped up by a grade - much to his joy. The truth was, he’d been offered to move higher by two grades, but opted to only move one so he could be with you. Not that he’d ever admit that to you, of course.

Middle school Alhaitham would be better at hiding his feelings. He’d no longer be the the eager boy who openly chased your attention, although he still wanted it just as much. Rather, he’d deploy more subtle tactics, despite them rarely ever working.

It was undeniable that you were quite popular. Given your outgoing, virtuosic personality, you were constantly surrounded by friends. It hurt Alhaitham slightly, knowing that you were his favourite but he wasn’t yours. Despite this, he never changed his aloof demeanour - acting coldly to others, and less coldly to you. It was clear through his gestures that he had a soft spot for you, whether it consisted of paying for your lunch or bringing you snacks.

“Oh, we were supposed to bring a protractor to the test?” You hissed in the silence of the classroom, broken only by the whisper of pencils on paper. The teacher shot you a glare, motioning for you to be quiet.

“Here, I have a spare.” You felt a light tap on your shoulder, and spun around to see Alhaitham holding his hand out. His eyes hesitated before locking into contact with yours, the glasses making them look larger than they were.

“Thank you. You’re so cute, Haitham.” You whispered, shooting him a wry smile before resuming your position hunched over the test paper. You didn’t lie - he really did look adorable, those large eyes and small frame lending him to having a rather endearing disposition.

Alhaitham flushed red, his hands fumbling to close the zipper on his pencil case. He pushed his completed test paper to the side and placed his head on the desk, the hard surface cold on his burning skin. He mentally praised himself for always bringing a spare of every stationery item, just in case you needed it.

Whilst Alhaitham swatted away anyone else who dared ask him for academic help, he’d be almost eager to give you any form of assistance. If you were paying attention, you’d see the way his cheeks flushed when you leaned in to copy his homework, or the slight tremor in his voice when he explained a concept to you. Middle school Alhaitham - now hyper aware of his feelings for you - would be a stuttering mess at times, although that would soon change in his high school years.

“So, after completing the square… this equation can translate to- hey, why are you staring at me?” Alhaitham stopped upon noticing your gaze.

“Haitham, you can be so pretty if you tried a little more. I’m so jealous, you have such nice eyes.” You commented, running your fingers through his soft hair.

“… Why would I seek the superficial approval of others?” Alhaitham huffed, crossing his arms. Secretly however, your words spiralled in his head. Perhaps, if he did as you said, you’d like him too…?

He realised your hand was still on his head, and moved back. You whined in exasperation, flopping onto the desk.

“Your hair’s so soft though…” You mumbled, reaching out again.

“We’re here to study.” Alhaitham snapped, busying himself in flipping through the textbook to hide his red face. He found the content mundane, but teaching it to you made his heart flutter in knowing that he could be of use to you.

HIGH SCHOOL

Alhaitham in high school was drastically different from his middle school self, to say the least. He’d risen greatly in popularity for being the mysteriously smart and handsome student that barely paid anyone any mind. Much to your surprise, he’d grown even taller than you - making it a lot harder to ruffle his hair. It was rumoured that he’d brutally rejected confessions from many others, and had even made a teacher cry - but the shy boy you knew would never do that, right?

“Where are you headed?” You felt a large hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m… going to study!” You stammered, finally looking behind you to meet a piercing amber gaze.

“Studying? On your way to the bus stop that leads only to the mall?” Alhaitham raised an eyebrow.

“Um, yes, a new cafe opened there and I wanted to study in it.”

“Hey, what’s taking you so long? We’re going to miss the movie at this rate!” You internally cursed as the loud voice of your friends interrupted your conversation.

“Studying, huh… Well, have fun. Don’t expect me to help you this time.” Alhaitham scoffed, releasing his grip on your shoulder.

He sent you his notes later that night regardless.

It was well known around your school that you were friends with Alhaitham, although you vehemently denied any romantic feelings between the two of you - much to his dismay. Because of this, you often had students approaching you and asking to be set up with Alhaitham. Of course, being the epitome of moral excellency, you only agreed if they paid you.

"You know, this girl in my class is pretty cute..." You showed Alhaitham a picture on your phone.

"You like her?" Alhaitham asked, not even sparing a glance to the picture.

"No, I..."

"How much did they pay you this time?"

"What! I would do no such thing-"

"You know, if you just asked me, I could give you way more than whatever they're giving you. Stop trying to auction me off, I have no interest in such things." Alhaitham snapped his book shut. You frowned, tugging on his arm.

"Please? Just one date with her, I'll do anything."

"Anything?"

"Kiss me."

"Why?"

"Wouldn't it be awkward if I were on a date with this girl, and I didn't even know how to kiss her?"

"Oh, true." Alhaitham internally winced at how you didn't give it a second thought, only leaning in to seal your lips together. Although he'd mastered the art of maintaining a cool facade, if you'd opened your eyes in that moment, you'd see the flush in his face. He reminded himself to close his eyes, recalling the countless books he'd read about the topic. It definitely wasn't how he'd imagined his first kiss with you to be, but he'd take anything you gave him.

"Now, you're going on that date right? Here's her number." You winked, pulling away. Alhaitham furiously tugged his headphones onto his ears to hide how red they were, shooing you away.

"I'll text you her number then, Haitham!"

You ignored the confusing twist in your chest, attributing it to the kiss. After all, sharing a kiss with anyone would make you flustered - surely, it was nothing special.

Regardless of your efforts to make whatever dates you sent Alhaitham on successful, it never seemed to work. In truth, you had no idea how Alhaitham knew you'd been spying on those dates - after all, you were so inconspicuous, posing as a mere passerby. But he'd grown used to your exact demeanour, and no matter how hard you tried to be nondescript, his eyes were inevitably drawn to you. Unbeknownst to you, your eyes were drawn to him too - perhaps that was why you felt a slight twinge in your heart.

"Which popcorn do you like?" The girl next to Alhaitham giggled nervously.

"Salted caramel." Alhaitham responded cooly. Your jaw hung open from where you sat hidden behind a poster wall. Whenever you got salted caramel popcorn - your absolute favourite - he'd raise an eyebrow and inform you of your poor decision making, muttering something about the awful taste. You closed your mouth to smile to yourself. Perhaps he was trying to impress his date with his (superior) choice of popcorn. Your smile faltered when you realised how close they were standing to each other, before you mentally cursed yourself. What were you thinking? Surely you didn’t… have feelings for the very guy you were setting up with another girl…?

You followed the pair into the cinema, sitting a row behind them. They'd chosen a horror movie, which you absolutely hated, but you bore with it.

A few minutes into the film, you felt a tap on your knee. Alhaitham held out a fistful of popcorn to you from where he sat in front, his arm outstretched behind him. You scowled. He'd shown no prior indication that he'd noticed you - did he have eyes in the back of his head? You took the popcorn anyway, frowning at how Alhaitham played it off by lowering his arm around the girl's shoulders.

As the movie continued, Alhaitham wished it was you seated next to him. He hated the popcorn, but he'd gotten it just for you, anyway. His heart beat a little louder every time you reluctantly accepted his offering, although he had to glare at the girl who'd stolen your spot every few minutes to make sure she didn't think he was blushing for her. How troublesome this ordeal was. From an objective perspective however, this was fair exchange. If it made you happy, then he was happy too.

Alhaitham wasn't particularly athletically inclined, although his scholarship demanded participation in extracurricular sports. Hence, he found himself in the odorous male changing rooms for the second time that week. It would've been a mundane practice session (with him showing off a little if you happened to be watching), until he overheard a teammate's plans to ask you out.

"You should do it, I'm pretty sure she's single." Another teammate encouraged the first, the echo of a slap on the back reverberating through the room.

Alhaitham frowned. He'd planned to play the long game, although this was an unexpected interruption to his plans. Of course, there were other people to factor in. How could he have been so foolish as to exclude that from the equation?

"Yeah, I've had my eye on her for a while." The first guy spoke again.

"She's taken." Alhaitham blurted. Blurted, as in - his mind didn't fully weigh the decision before it left his mouth in a measured tone.

"Oh, sorry man. Are you two...?"

"Yes, we are." Alhaitham lied smoothly. He'd figure out how to deal with the repercussions later, but for now, he had to prevent anyone else from asking you out.

"That's great. Wish the best for you two." With a friendly (although slightly forceful) pat on the shoulder, the teammate left Alhaitham to head outside.

Alhaitham’s confession to you was ultimately very enigmatic and confusing, just as he was. Although he’d more or less practiced what he would say, when it came to you, he was always at a loss. You were a contradiction, a threat - both to his plans and his sanity. Somehow, that was what made him love you so much.

“I’ve heard a rumour that you and I were dating, Haitham. How come I never knew about this?” You tutted.

“Ah, they’re just saying mindless things. We’re just friends, after all.” That was what Alhaitham meant to say. Instead, what came out was;

“So what if we are?”

“We’re dating?” You cocked an eyebrow, failing to hide your flushed cheeks. Alhaitham noted this detail, trying his best to control the situation. What on earth had he just said?

“Yes, we are. Since we both like each other.” Alhaitham explained, internally cursing himself for his straightforward delivery. The situation was so outlandish - he’d just made an assertion, then supported it to somehow (very obviously) gaslight you into being his lover.

“You like me?” You spluttered. Alhaitham smiled. You hadn’t denied that you yourself liked him.

“Yes, because we’re dating.”

“No we’re not.”

“We are now.”

You stared at him in stunned silence, shocked by his audacity. But you couldn’t exactly deny his claims.

“Okay, I guess we are then.” Your mind still spun. Had he just… declared your relationship status?

“… Thank you.” Alhaitham murmured. You fidgeted on the spot uncertainly, before finally mustering the courage to peck his lips. Before you could scurry off however, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back.

“What are you-”

“I’ve waited years for this. God, you’re so stupid for not realising this earlier.” Alhaitham brought your lips to his, fiercely bringing you in to a passionate kiss.

You closed your eyes, melting into his touch as his hands deftly pulled you flush against him by your waist. Unsure of where to put your hands, you placed them on his chest - feeling it heave with every breath he took. His heartbeat thudded under your touch.

It was strange. Most people thought of him as being cold, almost robotic. And yet, he was so human now, from the light sheen of sweat on the column of his neck, to the flex of his jaw as it worked against yours. The slight tremble of his hand as it rose to rest on your nape, almost as though he too couldn’t believe what was happening.

The two of you pulled away after a while, panting heavily.

“I’ve… got to go.” Alhaitham muttered, walking off hurriedly before he could embarrass himself further. Nevertheless, it was alright for him to be selfish for once, right? It had seemed to work out in his favour.

Despite however much he tried to soothe himself, Alhaitham’s face was red, and a giddiness bloomed in his heart. Any other student would’ve been shocked to see the tender smile spread across his face, breaking that infuriatingly stoic expression. His childhood friend - and his first love - was now finally his.

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casualcharacter · 6 months

Text

— how to woo the acting grand sage 101

wherein you pull out all the stops in an effort to persuade alhaitham on why he should date you, only… he woos you instead?!

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 7.8k wc, fluff, (attempts at) humour, angst if you squint, reader gets ill from overwork in one part, slight spoilers for 3.2 archon quest (brief mentions/recap of end events)

A/N : reader is struggling but they’re trying their best, alhaitham is a (smitten) menace and bad at feelings (kinda); the embodiment of u fall first, he falls harder (i just think we need more energetic/cute readers with haitham TヘT)

It wasn’t anything special. Really. Just you, your first day jitters, and the calm boy beside you in his Haravatat beret; the same one as yours.

Perhaps he’d noticed your flitting eyes, your shifting feet, or your wrung hands that swung gently in front of your robe-clad body because, when your eyes met (and, oh, what pretty eyes he had), he gave you a small nod. Of what? Comfort? Acknowledgement? Salutations?

You couldn’t tell, and you couldn’t ask. By the time you regained your senses he’d already walked off, the blank space beside you feeling strangely empty.

It wasn’t anything special.

But to you, that one, singular moment was all you needed; the comfort it gave was immeasurable, your first day jitters nonexistent.

Keep reading

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casualcharacter · 7 months

Text

Honorary Maid, Aether!

a/n: im not even gonna say anything, i just wanna fuck aether in a maid outfit. there’s plot i suppose but y’know. also ended up longer than it should have been…

cw: sub!aether/dom!amab!reader, top!reader/bottom!aether | aether wears a maid outfit, blowjob(chara!receiving), aether calls reader “master”, his eyes get covered for a bit, mirror sex, slight cockwarming

————

The traveler has been faced with different types of commissions. So he’s not really one to complain no matter its difficulty or strangeness. After all, he’s been often tasked to jump on mushrooms back in Sumeru and nothing can get weirder than that…he supposed. He’ll take anything, since this is what keeps his mora pouch full.

Unfortunately for him, today was looking a little scarce.

“I’d like to apologize, but we have run out of commissions for the day. You may come find us tomorrow.”

Aether clicks his tongue. He needs to save up if he’s planning to travel to Fontaine anytime soon.

“None at all?” He asks again.

“I’d like to apologize, but we have run out of commissions for the day. You may come find us tomorrow.” Katheryne repeats word for word.

That’s troublesome. He’s a few mora short of what he usually earns.

He’s already done his share of bounties and requests for the week. He doubts that they’ll let him take another in fear of both exhausting him and taking opportunities from other adventurers.

And almost as if Katheryne could read his thoughts, she speaks up.

“There is a commission. Although, we have declined it for being too suspicious. Would you like to take a look, traveler?”

He nods, and she hands him a flier.

With one look, he understands why exactly it would be described that way. The details are vague and the mora that is being offered is far too much considering it’s only asking for housework.

“I’d advise against it but if you are going to take it, it is good to be careful.” She says.

That would be the most reasonable idea.

Aether, however, takes the flier and puts it away in his bag.

He did not think it would be that difficult. Perhaps the mora was reasonable after all.

The directions written on the flier weren't helpful at all. He’s been in circles, has been ambushed by three groups of hydro slimes and his clothes are a mess to look at.

It is his fault, he deems. He underestimated it, but who could blame him when he’s saved four nations from being ruined? A simple commission should have been easy. Exactly that, it should’ve.

Aether icks at how sticky he is. He tried to get off as much goo as he can, but some of it just spread to his skin and to his clothes.

He sighs, wondering if he should turn back.

That is, until he finally sees the mansion mentioned on the map.

It would be rude to show up in such a state, but going back empty-handed after going through so much trouble…

The money, Aether. The money. He thinks to himself.

He fixes his hair at least, making sure his braid is clean and neat.

The mansion is big, perhaps even bigger than the Dawn Winery. He wonders what kind of person would live like this and this far away from others. He grits his teeth. His opinions when it comes to rich people aren’t that great, he has met his fair share of aristocrats without manners.

He knocks on the door, waiting patiently, although a bit anxious at how they’d react.

The door finally opens.

Oh.

He did not expect that.

What opens the door is clearly someone who gives off elegance. You wear a silky robe, a wine glass in your hand as you lay on the door frame.

Aether gets eyed up and down.

“May I help you? You may wash yourself if you want, I see you’ve been attacked by slimes.” You hum.

“I—Yes. Thank you.” He stutters out, not expecting such kindness. He follows you inside and then remembers what he’s here for. Right, no time to get distracted.

“I’m actually here…because of a commission you sent? I believe you need some help with housework.”

He watches as your mouth gapes open. “Of course. I didn’t expect anyone to be coming truthfully, with how late it is already.”

Aether winces at the indirect insult. Maybe, if you actually drew the map better—

“I got a bit lost.” He says.

“Yeah, I can see that.” You say, alluding to the slime that remains on his body.

Aether flushes, not expecting that. He coughs it away.

“As I was saying, you could take a shower first. I only need the house to be lightly dusted and cleaned. If you have time to cook, that would be fine too.” You inform the traveler.

“That’s it?” He asks. Surely, there was something else. No way you were paying him such a high price for just sweeping and cooking.

“Oh. If you finish early, you can come by my office and see if you can help me out with things.”

Is this really it?

“You didn’t add a few extra zeroes for the reward right? It’s 100,000 for this?”

You stare at him confused. He concludes that he was right that you had sent the wrong price.

“That’s fine. I’ll still do it for 10,000.” Aether replies with a reassuring smile.

“No, no. I clearly wrote a million.”

Did he hear you right?

“I’m pretty sure I wrote a million when I sent the letter…” You mumble, trying to remember what you had written.

Meanwhile, Aether is stunned.

Even he wasn’t paid that much when getting compensation from the Qixing.

“Ah, it doesn’t matter. I’ll have to work now, if you’ll excuse me. Your uniform is in the bathroom closest to my office!” You rush out before he can even deny the high price of such a reward.

…

Wait, what uniform?

Aether doesn’t see you for a while after that. He focuses on keeping every surface clean due to what he's being given. He sweeps and dusts what he can, only being limited by the locked doors you told him not to bother with.

The blond does all that while wearing this ridiculously fluffy outfit.

He shouldn’t be this flustered. He’s seen Adelinde wearing these kinds of outfits.

It’s in no way revealing, the socks he’s wearing even reaching up to his thigh. Yet, he still stumbles whenever he passes by a mirror.

He takes a deep breath, flattens out his skirt, and checks his braid before knocking on your office’s door. You tell him to come in and you don’t even spare him a glance, too busy with whatever it was that you are currently working on.

You still wear the same silken robe and he smells the alcohol mixing in the air with each deep breath.

“I’m done with everything.” He says.

“That’s good. You may rest now, I’ll give you the payment after I’m done.” Is all you reply to him, eyes not leaving your desk.

Your cheeks are tinted a bit red due to the wine so he assumes you’re a bit tipsy. It doesn’t do well talking to drunk people, he knows that much thanks to a certain archon.

“M-May I help you with anything else?” He interrupts.

That’s when you finally stop and glance at him. He’s red, embarrassed that he sounded like a squeaking animal. You place your head on your hand, tapping the pencil as you gaze upon him.

A smile lingers on your face. “Just sit next to me, if you really want to do something.”

“Sit?”

“Yes, It would be nice to work next to a pretty maid, no?”

Aether flinches at how you described him. He walks to the chair in front of your desk, staggering his steps.

He watches you work and realizes that you being this near is not good for his heart. He notices it from before, that you weren’t exactly wearing anything under the robe, showing more skin than necessary. He doesn’t want to look down—He’s not going to—but if he was to look under…

Archons.

“Is there something wrong, dear?” You ask.

Aether quickly shakes his head. “No! Not at all!”

He swallows the feeling of embarrassment. He shouldn’t have these kinds of thoughts, you are his employer, and he should treat you with proper respect.

Unfortunately, he can’t ignore the tired grunts you make, the way your robe seems to lower even more, and at this point, he’s not sure if he’s hallucinating.

The skirt is getting uncomfortable to wear, and a certain problem emerging. In fact, the whole outfit has started to do so. He fixes the collar, sweat starting to drip down despite the coolness of the temperature.

He places his palms on his cheeks, staring down, trying to calm himself.

He wonders how it would be if instead of the wine glass, you were to place that hand on his neck instead, to have you cup up his chin as you’re behind him with his back against your chest.

Aether continues daydreaming, not noticing that you’re calling up to him until he feels his wrist being taken away.

You pull him towards you and finds that you’re really warm.

“Traveler? Are you sick? Shall I send you home right now?” Your worry outstands him.

“N-No. I’m fine,” He glances down and tries to hide the growing tent with his apron. “I can wait. I’m good.”

You sigh.

If Aether was standing right now, he’d be down on his knees.

“No, I refuse to have you here any longer. You are clearly not well, I’ll compensate for it.”

Compensate? Does that mean you’ll be adding more to that ridiculously high payment?

He can’t have that.

“It is alright! I just uh—” What? Is he just supposed to admit that he was eyefucking you in his head?

He closes his mouth, scared that he’ll say something just as embarrassing.

“Don’t you have another task that I can do?” Aether asks.

“You can go home, I won’t take it against you—”

“Are you sure, Master—”

And Aether immediately wants to bury himself underneath. He didn’t mean to, he just didn’t want to go yet. Oh, when did he become this stupid? He’s always been rational when it comes to most things.

He hears you chuckle softly, which then turns into a burst of hard laughter.

He’s embarrassed himself and now you’re laughing. You’re laughing so hard that you start tearing up.

“W-Why did the Adventurer’s Guild send me such an adorable maid?” You say.

Aether thinks he’s far from adorable. In fact, he’d consider himself to be scary. He’s defeated three harbingers, fought a dragon, and gone through multiple battles. He is not…adorable. Not in the least.

He can’t find it in himself to argue with you.

“What’s wrong, baby? Don’t want Master to send you out?”

“I—You’re mocking my words! It just slipped out! I have a friend and I also call him by that title sometimes!” He frustratingly yells. Right, because of Diluc, that’s it.

“So you’re saying you…just have a habit of calling people your Master?”

Aether tries to stammer out a response. “W-Would you stop with all the teasing?”

“Oh, I’m the one teasing? Not the one who’s been so quiet as a mouse his whole stay, but all of the sudden drools as I innocently do my work?”

“You noticed…?”

“Of course, I noticed. You aren’t exactly sneaky when you stare at me as if you can see through my robe.”

Aether covers his face and crouches on his knees. Yes, he won’t argue that he does want your attention. However, he didn’t expect to get everything thrown at him all at the same time.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s cute.” You reassure him, helping him stand up.

“Sorry…I know you employed me for cleaning and all I’ve been doing is bothering you with your work—and you’re paying me too much already, I’ll just leave—”

Ah, Aether did not expect that.

He did not expect to be cut off from his mumbling with a kiss. Your lips were calming, soft and gentle. He feels you try to pull away.

He doesn’t want you to.

He pulls you closer to him, compared to you, he’s messy and in need. In need of your touch, in need of your attention. It’s a bit fast, he thinks. He’s only met you today, after all.

Aether doesn’t mind.

You separate from him, out of breath. “You know I’ll be holding that against you, right?”

“Yes…and no compensation needed. Please.” He stresses out. He doesn’t want this to come off as you are paying for his body. He wants this, it’s dizzying but relaxing. He’s been needing this kind of break, especially as of recently.

“Alright.”

It’s a shame that his black stockings are ripped this much, he thought they were rather cute. The desk is a bit uncomfortable on his back but he’s too distracted by your mouth on his cock, mouth gasping out pleasantly as you hold him still.

“S-Shit—” He curses out.

You apparently take that as a sign to go even deeper and multitask with your hands at the other end of his cock. You grumble something incoherent, and the vibrations send pulses to his nerves.

“W-What?” He asks, and then regrets it since you answer him again with him still inside your mouth. He tilts his head back, squirming on the hard desk.

You remove your mouth before he can even climax, just edging him to the point of him shuddering. His legs are so sticky, he can’t see it due to the skirt, but he feels it, the way his thighs slide against each other.

“Such pretty noises…I might just get tempted to keep you here if you keep doing that.” You state.

“I can’t.” He breathes out.

“Really? You’re sure I can’t convince you?”

“You can try.” Aether smirks.

You sneer at his confidence.

“Come here.” You direct.

“Stand?”

“Mhm, I’m sure laying like that can’t be good for you. Unless, of course. You already can’t stand up?”

Aether rolls his eyes at you. His legs shake with each step but he manages to position himself well, his back against your chest.

He hears the sound of the robe hitting the ground and he’s tempted to see. No, he wants to see.

He turns his head but his eyes are covered with your hand.

“Ah, no looking. Not yet.”

He can feel his entrance being stretched out, your fingers clearly taking their time. His heart thumps as his vision remains in darkness. Noises of satisfaction sounded from his throat.

He’s starting to get impatient with it, if he’s being honest. He remains still, however, he trusts that you know whatever’s best for him.

You hum and the tone of your voice seems satisfied.

After a few seconds of emptiness and silence, he finally takes you in. The urge to bend down right there was uncontrollable, but you hold his shoulders up. He’s this close to having a misstep and falling down.

His legs quiver, struggling to stand on their own.

You push further in and a silent cry comes out of him. He hopes that’s the last of it.

It isn’t, but he doesn’t have to know that.

God, he feels so full. He curses your hand, he wants to see it. See how filled he is, see how your length bulges from his stomach.

“P-Please, move your hand.”

“In a bit, dear.”

It doesn’t take much for his body to succumb with a few thrusts. Each breath seems as if you’re somehow getting even deeper. He seethes at the pleasure, close to spilling.

“Hngh—” Aether grunts out.

It’s intoxicating how you hold him by his waist, rubbing his stomach. And with each pump to his body, his mouth releases a satisfied sound.

He swears in his head. Close! He’s so close!

He taps your hand on his eyes repeatedly, wanting you to take it off now. But you ignore it, pounding deeper instead as a response.

His body shrivels, and the next thing he knows, he’s screaming because of how good it is.

He’s blinded by the light when you finally allow him to see, his vision taking a while to adjust. The first thing he sees is how much he spills on the floor and how there’s still some coming out, dripping on his thighs.

“Would you look at that? My maid, creating a mess. Aren’t you supposed to be doing the opposite?”

He tries to turn around and almost slips, if not for your arms.

“Want to see, my baby?”

“Yes.” He answers.

Right after he says that, he feels himself getting lifted up, you still inside of him. A soft moan quickly escapes his lips.

“W-Wait!” He complains, confused at what you’re doing.

That’s when he notices the mirror across the room. “No, you’re not actually thinking of—ah!”

You walk towards it all the while his legs are lifted and spread out. The movement has him bouncing on your cock despite still being sensitive from his first orgasm. It’s only a few steps. He can count how many you took with his fingers.

So, why is it that his body is responding too well to the point that he gets hard again?

“You alright there?” You ask him, his head still overwhelmed that he can’t hear you.

You blow on his ear and he looks at you annoyed.

“Why don’t you look in front of you before you pout at me?”

He stares at himself and looks away, having trouble maintaining eye contact with his own. The scene is so…passionate.

The way his skirt is lifted up to show his waist, his ripped stocking, and his flushed face. All the while you’re carrying him so lightly, your cock only halfway inside of him, wet from all the juices he’s leaking out.

Halfway? He questions himself. There’s no way you weren’t fully inside him earlier, right?

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

“N-Nothing!”

“Is that so?”

He whines at how you push further in, stretching his walls out fully. It’s way too big for him and he has no idea how he’s being able to take you so well. He watches the reflection as much as he could, despite his vision being blurry at most.

His body writhes at each slight movement that he makes, making him be reminded of the fact that he’s still being lifted up. He wants to say something, to speak about how you’re so mean to him for placing him in this position that you know will ruin him and his vocal cords. Yet, he doesn’t, knowing that’ll push you even further.

He’s so drunk and breathless, which doesn’t make sense considering you’re the one who’s been drinking the whole day.

You slowly pull yourself out to make space and Aether sobs. He sobs at how his walls clench onto you as if it depended on it, he sobs at how much pleasure this is giving him than what he expected.

He’s scared of what might happen after this. Of how his body will be affected by how much affection you’re giving it.

And then you thrust in.

A loud whimper breaks out of him, and as the noises of skin slapping together get louder, so does he.

Aether sings out pleas and how much you’re ruining his body, that he’ll never be able to take anybody else after this.

“You shouldn’t even be considering that, to begin with. You’re mine now, yes?”

And he hastily nods. Yours, of course.

He struggles to breathe, not knowing where to focus on when you’re pounding ruthlessly into him. His body feels so heavy and so brittle at the same time, You’re—

Aether’s thoughts get interrupted when you empty inside of him, filling him up. Warm, you’re so warm.

He throws his head back as he reaches his second climax, everything draining out of him.

“Hah—give me—a sec…” He stutters out.

“Of course, should I pull out?”

“No, keep…keep it in.”

It took a while for Aether to recover. You suggested that you two should sit down but he immediately shuts that off once he remembered that warranted more movement. So, he stays there slightly lifted up, bearing the slight twitches of your cock.

You waited patiently, having a sight to look at just like this wasn’t exactly a complaint of yours.

He grabs your arms, lowering himself to the ground.

His legs aren’t exactly what you would call stable.

He moves on his own, pushing his body in and out. It’s slow, but it’s also gratifying at the same time. Some of your cum slips out with each push, being used as lubrication by your maid.

“You’re doing so well, keep it up.”

“‘Love your cock.” He says.

“Hmm…I see that. Need some help?”

He nods embarrassingly.

You position him to face you instead, making it a lot easier for him to work his way through.

It’s adorable how he hard he tries, his fingers are barely grabbing themselves onto you, in fact, you’re the one that’s the cause of Aether being to at least be on his feet.

He cries out loud as he hits that sweet spot of his, tongue lolling out from the pleasure. He’s tight and the movement is riling up the fire inside of you to use his body to your own accord. You fight against it, admiring at how much he’s trying to get that satisfaction without overwhelming himself from being too sensitive.

“That’s right, baby. Keep going. You’re so close aren’t you?”

“Mhm.”

He shudders at it, his core boiling to its brim.

“Please don’t let me fall.”

“I would never.” You promise.

Aether goes at a quicker pace, from what strength he has still, and lets his lower half do all the work until he spills out again, breathless but finally satisfied.

Aether knocks on the door again, waiting for you to open it.

As usual, you carry a glass of alcohol in your hand. Although more clothed, ever since he got possessive that someone else might see you like this.

You smile, and he braces for the teasing.

“My, at this point I really have to ask. Do you enjoy getting ambushed by hydro slimes or is your memory that bad?”

Aether rolls his eyes. He needs to persuade you from having a proper path made to get here. “I need a shower.”

“Ah, I’ve set up a bath.” You offered.

“And I assume you’re coming with?” The blond snickers.

“Of course, I am. Like you even have to ask.”

3K notes · View notes

casualcharacter · 7 months

Text

forever may you stay.

premise: you and lyney are friends. just friends? maybe. definitely. after all, if not friends, what are you?

notes: gn!reader. canon compliant kinda, childhood friend trope, mutual pining. small tw of blood since you get injured. is this ooc? idk tbh it's lyney and i ran with it. thank you for almost 200 followers! reblogs are appreciated.

wc: 7.4k (dear god)

"...This way, I'm sure they slipped away here…"

"...Assessing potential places of interest. Please wait for confirmation of order…"

The two voices from just a few metres away from you speak in fragments, one faintly mechanical and one frantic and you can only hide from their purview. You had just finished the easy work, infiltrating and getting the needed information. Now, the hard part was escaping. Ever since the incident with the Primordial Seawater and for Lyney and Lynette to blow their cover and be publicly revealed as Fatui — the missions entrusted to you have been harder to fulfill as of late, as the Gardes had increased their surveillance. Can't have Fatui lurking around after all… but you still had to fulfill the task sent over to you. However, you had been too careless, and one of the surveillance Meks caught sight of you, leading to a breach of alarms.

In the midst of the search for you, you find your thoughts wandering to Lyney. You wonder how they're holding up now. Him and Lynette had been scarce after the trial at the opera house, preparing for the arrival of Father due to Lord Harbinger Childe's strange case of arrest. The entirety of the House of the Hearth was. Hence why you were slinking around here to gather information in the first place.

A slight twinge of displeasure courses through you as the voices of the Gardes and automated Mekas veer just a bit closer to you and you shift silently. Focus, focus. You don't listen to yourself though, so your thoughts get back to where you started.

To you, Lyney has always been the one person that has been part of your world; part of the little comfy space you open up a slot for to so very few.

Lynette, Freminet, all the children in the House of the Hearth — Father, as well. But Lyney… Lyney was ambition and enthusiasm; solemnity and silence. Caring, steady yet cautious, so close yet so far. You had been among the many orphans of the House of the Hearth gifted a new life by the grace of Father and you met him that way. Lyney, Lyney. Him and Lynette were the first to welcome you there due to your similar origins of narrowly escaping a noble's filthy desire of wanting you due to your quick wit and innate ability of stealth and illusions.You had both developed a particular closeness to each other from said similarities. To you, they were family, close friends the next, people you could be with to endure the work of the Hearth. But in a(n) (un)surprisingly twist of fate, that closeness had only branched out to a deeper level with Lyney. To the point of something even almost akin to deep care for him.

(Deep care was putting it lightly, if you would ever admit it. You knew by that point that the care you felt for him extended past the boundaries of friendship for a long time now.)

After all these years of knowing him, the feelings that well up inside you are pushed deep, deep down your heart lest it shatters the careful and delicate foundation of trust you and him have built together not unlike a beautiful pyramid of cards.

(Its in the way you want him to sweep you up in his tirades of warm smiles and facades of multiples as you are shown the side of him others do not get to see. In a way, it is your little secret, proof of your trust and desire.)

Lyney is the embodiment of magic, you think. His work and profession needs the tone of illusions, the charming of the masses and to put up a front for the audience to be satisfied. Skillfully balancing the lines of truth and lies, weaving them into a tapestry of vivid colors you can't help but be awed of. Sometimes, you can't help but want. To wish. Wishing to pass through the barriers he sets up on his heart, that distances him from the world he so tirelessly deigns to please. To see him underneath all else, not as the Great Magician, not as Father's trusted, not as anything else. For you to be shown that side without any reservations. To you, Lyney being just Lyney was everything.

The moments you shared with him as you both grew into the people you knew today — the days you cherish greatly. Would it be so difficult for him to show you that part of himself you know that he's never wanted to show to anyone? The times he shows the barest amount of his true self are the ones you desperately cling to; and the peculiar nature of your relationship is put to the test whenever such a thing happens.You snap yourself away from your thoughts, as you hear the mechanical clink of automaton limbs and the cock of a gun and your pursuers get closer once more. You get to work, on alert, reaching for your weapon. You were no vision wielder like him nor Lynette, but for the goals of the House, you had to level the playing field. It was time to stop thinking about foolish things.

To you, Lyney is so close, yet so unreachable.

── ➶-͙˚ ༘✶ ──

"What are you reading?" A girl asks you when you're curled up in the makeshift nook you made for yourself in the lounge room. It has been approximately 45 hours since you've been put in this unfamiliar place, packed to the brim with children you don't know. This is the first of them that don't look at you with distrust or hatred.

"The Complete History of Fontainian Civilizations," You reply, as you don't look at the two children staring at you in your little corner. You didn't want to deal with people's eyes anyway, so you were reading to pass the time. "If you want to spend time with someone, don't come to me."

"Still, it's not good to be lonely." The boy beside the girl with feline ears says to you a bit too loudly, leading you to turn your head to meet their curious stares. There is a slight frown on your face as you pause at his words. They have really pretty eyes, you think. In your line of sight, you look quite captivated by the sight of the girl with cat-like ears and then look back at the boy with light purple eyes. At your inquisitive stare and tilt of the head, you miss how a flush creeps up the boy's cheeks.

"I'm perfectly fine," you stubbornly say to them as you turn back to your book. "I'm not lonely." You thought they would leave you alone after your words, but from the corner of your eye, the boy stiffens when the girl (his sister, you assume. they looked almost identical.) nudges his elbow and whispers in his ear and you hear the faint sputter in his voice as he replies back to her.

"...at, no!"

"You were the one who wanted to get their name…."

"But…."

"...on't tell me you're scared to ask it. What happened to earlier when you said…"

You felt irritated now as it felt like they were talking about you, and due to your apprehension in this unfamiliar environment you've just been placed in, you were more than on edge at their secrecy. You put down the book and cross your arms at them, defensive.

"If you wanted my name, just ask." you say to the boy, as he flushes crimson even more. The girl looks at him, as she puts a hand on the boy's shoulder. His eyes dart back to her and you, before he clears his throat. "I'm Lyney. This is my sister, Lynette. And I'm sorry if we disturbed you," he says, before his sister corrects him by saying 'not we, but you did' to him, which makes him shush her, embarrassed. This makes your lips quirk up a little, as you raise your brows and the boy turns back to you, a little sheepish. "But um, I just thought it would be nice to talk a little."

Cute, you think. But then you widen your eyes a fraction at your own thoughts. Why would you think that? You drive your thoughts away at the boy, no, Lyney, and you narrow your eyes a little before you speak.

"[Name]." you say, as Lyney's eyes sparkle when you respond to his inquiry. "And there's no need to apologize. I'm still new here, so it's a little difficult to talk." you finally let your guard down just a little bit, speaking just a tad softer. Lyney and Lynette look at each other and Lyney's the one to speak up first, and you pick up the enthusiasm in his voice before he schools his expression.

"It's no problem at all! We understand that feeling too… If you want, I can– I mean, we can show you around!" Lyney says to you, and you don't miss how he seems eager for your answer. Lynette seems to say something under her breath that only he can hear, and he flushes again at what she said, tearing his gaze off of you as they talk to each other in hushed tones.

This place was different from what you're used to, but perhaps a little socializing would be okay? The two siblings who approached you seemed like decent company…. you think to yourself as you watch them. They seem to know that you were observing them, and Lyney immediately stops whatever mini discussion him and his sister were doing earlier as he looks at you hopefully.

"Um… about my, I mean, about the offer? You don't have to if you don't want to, of course!" he immediately says as he looks away from you until he hears a little chuckle escape your mouth and he widens his eyes again. Yes, maybe these twins wouldn't be the worst company. You nod at them both, as you speak.

"Sure then. You can show me around," you say, and you give them a small smile. Lynette's ears twitch at your words, as you begin to put your book away and face away from them for a while, hiding your smile. You try not to laugh again when you hear Lyney's exclamation of a 'yes!' — when you turn back to them, he tries to act nonchalant as you face them. Quite endearing. You look at the both of them, before your eyes settle on Lyney.

"I'll be in your care then." Lyney nods without hesitation at your words, as you begin to walk with them. Unbeknownst to you his cheeks don't lose their rosy tint, and Lynette's tail swishes as you three conversed, a sign of interest at her brother's behavior right now.

You brushed off the slightly different beat of your heart as Lyney tours you around with Lynette. You thought of it as nothing.

Little did you know, it was going to be something.

── ➶-͙˚ ༘✶ ──

Lyney almost always forgets to breathe whenever he gets close to you. He rushed here as soon as he heard from Freminet about your task going almost haywire. He doesn't care that you fulfilled the task; not when it came at the cost of you getting in harm's way. His thoughts flash to a time he doesn't want to remember, as he opens the door to your room at Hotel Debourd and he spots you near the vanity next to your closet.

You jump a bit, but you give him a weary gaze of playful irritation. He doesn't pay any mind to it, rushing straight to you.

He hears the hitch in your breathing when he brushes the tips of his fingertips onto your forearm; his gloved hands which then touch the wound on your shoulder. He doesn't miss the way your face twists in pain from the faint prodding. Lyney has always been so good at cleaning up the things people wouldn't want to see on themselves — to cover up the bruises to wounds one wouldn't want to show. His softly colored lilac eyes trail over the injury. The mirror behind you glints, as the silence between you two feels almost alive; its breath held in deep anticipation.

You're seated on the countertop, as Lyney trails his gaze to your body, to the injuries littered on your person. Shamelessly, he tries to fight the urge to stare at you (like always). His eyes felt like a force pinning you down in place, getting closer to you as you gave him the cotton and cloth you got so he could patch you up. The barest movement of your fingers making contact makes chills run down his spine as his eyes flit back and forth to your face your lips and to your arm.

His eyes never lied when it came to you. To Lyney, you were something he wanted to reach for, but couldn't. Shouldn't, he thinks to himself. But his worry seeps through anyway as he patches you up. You had gotten into a scuffle in the mission; an aftermath of contending with the Gardes pursuing you, according to Freminet. This was quite the high-risk task assigned, so the fact that you came out relatively unscathed save for the deep wound on your shoulder and some minor injuries relieves him. The thought of you getting more than that makes his throat dry and the words that usually effortlessly spill from his mouth cease. Try as he might to stamp the thought, he knows the worry he feels for you is different from the rest.

(He knew it back then, and even now. He knew it since the day he approached you, since the day he saw you reading that book with a title too long for him to remember.)

"You were careless this time, [Name]." he tuts, his hands gingerly dabbing at the sound, a blossom of blood erupting from your wound, wincing a little at it. He was then cleaning up the small scratches, his breath not faltering. His eyes didn't look up at your face, but you felt his gaze all the same. The silence in the room envelopes you two, as you take time to rest from your mission. It has always been a habit that Lyney tended to your wounds. Whether in training, missions, or wounds from playing in the courtyard. He did this back when you were children, along with Lynette; and it continued even now.

(He always hopes you don't hear his rapid heartbeat when he tends to you.)

Instead of acting like a tongue-tied fool, you scoff at his words. The proximity between you two can drive you (and him) mad. If the eyes were the window to the soul, you knew damn well that yours was a window so open that even he could see through you (can he?). Yet you catch yourself, not daring to slip up. Lyney feels the heat creep up to his neck as you look at him, contemplative. The curve of your jaw and the slight tremble of your lips makes him feel overwhelmed; the air thick with unspoken words and brushes of your arm and his hands that friends certainly wouldn't be sharing, as the lines tiptoe between the shores of affection. Has it always been this warm in the room?

Well, the both of you never really cared for defining what it was you both had, so that was besides the point.

"You're always so lenient with Lynette when she's injured. Why not me?" you say to him, smiling weakly.

He hums, his voice a sound that makes your bones quake with yearning as he gestures for you to turn around so he could inspect if there were further damages to your body. "Lynette is a vision-wielder. It's not that I don't trust your skills, but…" he immediately corrects himself when he says the last part. And maybe you were deluding yourself, but for a second you could see his normally confident expression falter, a little flustered. A little glimpse of the Lyney of before, from before he's put up a wall around others, even to his most trusted. "I can't be calmed if my dearest friend would be harmed, no? Also," he continues, winking a little at you as his gloved hands gently patching you up. You don't notice how he looks away from you, a flash of pink coloring his face.

"You tend to be reckless. It… it worries me." Hearing him admit it outright makes warmth bloom in your chest. That's true. Lyney knows you had always been quite headstrong in your endeavors in the House's duties. He can only sigh, and your brows furrow even more at his continued silence as you finally tear your gaze away from his face, as you look to your injury. Whether you felt the way he lingered on your wound as he touches your arm more than he should, you don't point it out.

(He's glad you didn't, honestly. He's never been able to find a way to truly hide his emotions from you. Lynette deemed him as mysterious as Charlotte asking for an interview with them whenever it came to matters of you, after all. It's always been like this though.)

You lock eyes with him again, and you hesitantly brush your free hand to his. Lyney tries not to let the feeling of your touch consume him, as your eyelashes flutter he tries not to let himself imagine running his hand over your face — your mouth pursing he can't help but swallow when he gazes at your lips as Lyney can only follow your touch with his eyes when you remove his gloves. You've never really liked the feeling of his covered hands, anyway. Neither did he. It was as if the tables turned, and it was him that needed fixing. Perhaps fixing his heart, maybe. A brief pause in your motions, before you intertwine your hands together. His breath seems to stop at that, as your thumb makes little circles in his palm.

"You know I'll be fine." you say, as you squeeze his hand. "You've always been quite the worrywart after all." A slight laugh. The intimate gesture is different from before. Why you were bold enough to act something you normally never would, you don't know. But you needed to or else the way he just looked at you would make you break apart.

Silence ensues once more, but this time, its not as unbearable as before. The way your hands make no motion to get out of his grip makes him lose his composure slightly. Though they were just innocent touches of comfort (were they truly?) he can't help but wish it was more (it was).

He finishes patching you up, and he mourns the loss of your hands on his own, your touch leaving like a light feather in the wind, as you move your shoulder a little to see if you would be fine.

"Thank you." You tell him, sincerely smiling this time. He coughs, as he looks away from you when you remove yourself off the countertop. He looks back at you, his eyes searing with the weight of his own emotions. If only you knew how much he wishes for you.

"Anytime." He says back, and you hesitate. You bring his hand to yours again, an action he widens his eyes at, and in a moment the comfortable tension peaks and all he remembers is Father's words of how emotion was being weak and foolish and how the way he felt consumed him and terrified him to the core and before he knows it, he moves his hand away from you with a jolt. He shouldn't, he shouldn't, he… It pains him to see your expression crumble, as you look at him once more.

Your eyes reach his own, but he turns away. Lyney can only see the faint bite of your lip, the squaring of your jaw when he pulls away from you. In the corner of his eye, he sees the rise and fall of your chest. Waiting. He brings his eyes down on the floor. A moment passes before you leave. When he looks back, the door is left ajar.

To Lyney, you were the one thing he wishes for; the one thing he's too scared to reach.

── ➶-͙˚ ༘✶ ──

You were both stubborn all right. It's been a week, and truthfully? Lyney doesn't know how much longer he can take with your radio silence. You were avoiding him and he hates it even though he knows he deserves it. Why did he have to do that to you? He's wallowing in his own self-hatred — Why did he turn away? Did you want to hint at something? He knew that maybe there was a chance you felt something more… that maybe his shameful attraction to you, one of his oldest friends (just friends?) could at least be reciprocated. He knew there's been something there for a long time now.

He grimaces at the way he acted when he patched you up. Was that a glimpse of what could be between you two? The domesticity of it makes him feel light-headed, the possibility of sharing even more moments like that if he hadn't stopped you from holding his hand drives him to a spiral.

If he stepped and tore down the already blurred lines of your bond… was that how it would be? The thought terrifies him and also makes a fire light up in his heart. His mind is a jumble of thoughts right now, drowning in the little signals you might be giving him, and the little signs he's been giving you.

"Lyney."

Lynette gets his attention, as said magician can only return back to reality when she snaps her fingers. His brows quirk upwards as he tries to cover up his thoughts of the moment you both shared from a week ago. "What is it?" he replies, not all there yet.

"..." Lynette stares at him. "You're unfocused. What happened?" She was still his twin after all, nothing escaped her eye. Especially when it came to Lyney. "And don't try to make excuses. I know [Name]'s been avoiding you."

The mention of your name makes him shy away from his sister's gaze. Perhaps she already had an inkling of what transpired between you two. Lyney can only look away from her a little shamefully, his top hat being pulled down just a bit. That's enough confirmation for her. At her brother's self-inflicted pity party, she can only sigh. And then, she flicks his forehead hard. That's enough for him to look at her with disbelief in his face.

"What was that for?!"

"Sorry, but for someone who frets at every possible problem, you can be so narrow-minded sometimes." she says, drinking from her teacup. "This will-they won't-they thing you have going on with [Name] won't last forever, you know."

He knows that, he knew that very well, but he can't just bring himself to acknowledge it. He wants to tell you, to tell Lynette about his thoughts, his feelings, but it's hard. So, so very difficult. He's always been the performer, the actor. He's used to illusions and burying his true feelings and now he can't forget the way you touched his hand and the mere action of it made him want it, crave it. It made him want more than he deserves. Nevertheless, he looks at Lynette to hear her out. She sighs once more, as she sets the teacup down and puts her hands on the table, waiting for him to talk.

"I know that." he admits, a little embarrassed. Lynette has always known about his little crush turnt whatever-he-feels-for-you-right-now since the beginning. Truthfully, if he knew his sister, he was sure she was getting a little tired of how he internally battles with his mind when it came to matters of you. He's prepared for her banter, and he's prepared for his vehement denial of his feelings. Not this time though.

"What are you so afraid of, Lyney? Why do you not want to act on your feelings?"

"...You know better than anyone the reasons why."

"Dumb reasons, really."

"Lynette!" he exclaims at her bold remark, and he feels like a cat brought to a corner at his own sister's words. She only shrugs. "It's true. They clearly feel the same. What's stopping you? You two should just get a room already." his face burns at that. Was he really that obvious? He looks away from her again. This time, her eyes soften. "[Name]'s been with us and sees us. Even the parts we try to hide. They've been there for everything. You know that. If you're hesitant right now, you'll only regret it in the end." Ouch. Lynette's still as bitingly blunt as ever. His sister definitely has a point. "Still…" Lyney mutters.

"Lyney. Look at me." Lynette tells him, and he does. She's always had a good poker face, but this time there's a bit of exasperation on it. "If [Name] were to be swept away by some other person enamored by them, what would you do?"

The thought makes him unapologetically glare at her teacup, envisioning whatever hypothetical person his sister is talking about. How hypocritical of him, he thinks. He wants you, but at the same time he's too afraid to take that step. For all his playful banter and teasing between you two, it is him that cannot accept it; should you be in another's arms. Again, he feels his stomach drop and feels the guilt and self loathing swallow him up. Lynette only tilts her head, raising her eyebrow in a knowing look.

"See? This is the problem. You're already giving up before trying to look past the surface. If you don't try, how do you know it'll end wrong?" She tells him. "Sometimes, it's good to be a little selfish. It's good to want for the heart, not always adhering to your mind."

It's good to be a little selfish, huh…

Lyney has always been so very guarded. Even with his sister, there are things he wishes to keep away from her knowledge, for her sake and his as well. If he takes that step, if he breaks past his difficulty in showing you all his problems and just reach, will you grab him? Will you still think of him the same way? You both have been raised under Father's tutelage, taught to protect all those dear to you. Will you hold him when he thinks what he's doing is too much? Will you tell him to rest whenever he feels the weight of his lies overtake him? Will you kiss his thoughts away and comfort him like he desperately wishes you to?

When he looks at Lynette, she just stares back. "Done with the overthinking now?" Lyney can't help but release a dry scoff at that, as he pulls his tophat down again, not letting her see his flushed cheeks. He had never been good at leaving his feelings open to his sister. Maybe she already knows the conclusion he's reached.

To Lyney, you were something he wishes for, but couldn't reach. Shouldn't reach for. He wants to fall so deep in your arms, lose to the temptation of you.

His only wish?

That you would catch him in the fall.

── ➶-͙˚ ༘✶ ──

One week and two days. A whole week without his playfulness, his flirtations that make your cheeks color scarlet. You were avoiding him, and was doing a good job at it until now. Right now, you're trapped. The reason? None other than Lyney, of course.

Why now? Why did he have to show up now? You were just patching yourself up in the same place he tended to you, sitting on the countertop — from the mirror, you see a figure and that's all it takes for you to whirl yourself to a combative position until you relax when you see that it's Lyney putting his arms in surrender. He laughs, amused. That only makes you more irritated. A week of avoidance and this is how he appears to you? With a slight pang of pain, you begin to plant the thought that maybe he thought that your touch on his hand from a week ago was nothing. That what you were trying to hint at was a mistake. That thought is only solidified when he puts a hand on his chin, eyes twinkling with mirth as if nothing ever happened.

(Unfortunately, you seem to miss how his eyes look longingly at you from earlier.)

"Relax, it's just me. Why, what were you going to do?" he says, grinning. You're not impressed though, and you look at him unamused. It's petty because you were the one that avoided him, but really, you were past caring. "I would think you're trying to murder me and I'd try to stab you with this," you say, voice flat as you hold the scissors you were going to use to cut your bandages. He only laughs further, the sound earning your annoyance. He knows it's an empty threat, for you'd never hurt him. Probably.

"Then I suppose it'd be an honor for me." he replies, and your brows furrow even more. What is he playing at?

"You'd want to die under my hand?"

"If I get to see you tackle me onto the ground, sure. As the books say, 'there is no greater honor than to die by the hand of the beautiful.' Well, romance books do."

"No book says that." you deadpan.

"But I do. Or maybe it's just because you read the wrong kind." The nerve….

"And here I thought you weren't one for fictional tales."

"Creating the impossible and swaying the hearts of my audience are my signature trademarks. Fiction and magic both make use of charming the audience with pretty words and theatrics. They're not that too far off." a shrug of the shoulders from him, tone light.

"Mm. Color me surprised. I should really take notes from you then, Great Magician. Still doesn't really answer my question though. You'd have to be messed up in the head at least to want me to stab you with scissors like this." sarcasm ebbs around your words, as you begin to feel a riled up at how he's dancing around the subject of your avoidance. Said magician has the nerve to look bashful, before muttering in words only you can hear.

"If it's you, I don't mind whatever you want to do to me."

"Lyney." a warning as you blush from his words, flabbergasted. You see his expression turn to a more sheepish one at your tone of voice and expression; and he clears his throat. The hand on his chin goes behind his head to rub at his nape. Was it you, or was he more shameless than usual? You were used to his smooth-talking and romanticism, and frankly? You couldn't deal with it right now. Not when the way he looked at you felt determined, and no, you didn't miss the way his eyes lingered on your lips when he said those words.

"Sorry, too much?"

"Why are you here? What are you…" you cut to the point, trailing off and you watch his gaze turn flustered at your query. For a moment, you can't help but notice the way his gloved hands stop. He doesn't answer, only taking the scissors in your hands before he cuts away at the bandages on your shoulder. You're still sitting on the countertop. It's like a repeat of what happened a week ago, and you can't help but feel the irony. His gaze trails over to you. "How's your shoulder doing?" Changing the subject as always, huh.

"Decently, as you can see," at least you don't make any movement to remove your shoulder, Lyney thinks. "It'll be fine in a few days." Two can play at that game. Fortunately, he doesn't speak again.

"You've been quite easy to miss lately." so he did notice your avoidance. It's you who hums this time, as you look at him renewing the bandages on your shoulder. "Why, don't tell me you missed me?" is your reply back. If he was going the long way, then you were too.

"...And if I did?" Huh? You feel your eyes snap back to his face, shocked. He doesn't seem to acknowledge how your stare is burning holes at his hat, when he's focusing on wrapping your wound securely. "What would you do then, [Name]?" he finally looks at you. The way his eyes soften drives you insane; just a bit more and you would top over the edge and do something so very stupid. Either Lyney was horrible, or he just wanted to mess with you. Again, he looks at your eyes, right first, then left, before dropping them to gaze to your mouth. Archons, did he even know what he was doing?

"Beats me." you say, voice cracking you think you couldn't be any more obvious and trying not to let your face betray your inner turmoil. He's done patching you up, but he doesn't let go of your shoulder. You look away, his gaze something you couldn't handle right now. A sense of dèja vu fills you, this situation playing out all too similarly once more. But this time, it feels more urgent, more serious. You have a feeling it won't end the way it did last time.

As if the way you'll respond to what he would say will determine his actions. Will answer that irritating question you and him have been trying to figure out for gods knows how long.

"Can't you tell me?" his words are a siren's song, so easily capturing you under his thumb. Gently, carefully, he takes your chin and gently turns you to face him. Your eyes lock, and the room seems to burn a thousand degrees hotter. You're lucky he has his gloves on. It's so unfair, how he could be so unpredictable that it throws you in for a loop. You've known him since forever, but it feels like now everything you've known about him falls short at how he's looking at you like you're the only thing he wants to see.

"Tell you what?" Your words are hollow, poking at whatever stupor he's under in. Lyney doesn't miss the way your lips tremble. Try as he might, he can't stop the nagging feeling of wanting to capture them in his own. Would they feel as soft as he'd imagined? Would you push him away like he did last time? He has to be careful about this. The fact that you asked about what he's doing means that you still aren't over how he pushed you away. Something he'll change in a bit. After all, a magician's greatest asset is the art of charm. He'll go through this step by step, in Lyney fashion. He just hopes that the outcome would be what he'd envision, though. He can't afford to slip, lest his grand finale wouldn't be up to par with his standards. He still has your chin in his hand. He waits for a pushback that would never come for you to react.

If you would tell him to stop right now, he would. He would recognize that this thing hovering between you two will never be anything more than longing glances and coy remarks that will never escape the threshold of unspoken affection. But you don't, so he takes that as a win.

"[Name]."

"Lyney." you breathe out, but you make no move to remove your chin, just looking away from him with pink coating your cheeks, your eyebrows scrunching as you look at him, the different feelings overwhelming your senses. "You can't just say that. Not after…" he sees your hands clench to fists, and guilt overtakes him for a moment, before he pushes himself. He can't back out now, not if he can help it.

"I know what I did. It was stupid. It was my biggest mistake, when you were already trying to get me to open up to you. What I wanted was right there, and all I had to do was just take that leap. [Name], please."

"What do you want? What do you want me to say, Lyney?"

"Tell me to stop."

"..."

"Tell me, [Name]. Tell me to stop myself. Tell me I'm wrong, so I won't have to resort to this. To continue feeling like this for you." this time, his free hand brushes against your lip with his thumb. He's sure that the flustered expression you wear right now is an exact mirror to his own face.

"Lyney." you tell him plainly.

"Push me away," you feel yourself being pushed to the wall of the countertop, as each boundary you both have long decided to ignore starts to truly feel gone. "Tell me we're just friends," he murmurs, his hand slipping to your clutch your waist this time — but his thumb lingers on your lips. Lyney looks at you, and then you see it. "Tell me that's all it'll ever be."

(That'll never be all it would be. Both him and you knew that. Friends have never looked at each other the way you two did, anyway.)

His eyes. It bleeds, it screams. It tells you the complete opposite of what he's saying right now. It's loud in all the ways it isn't. You see his longing, his desire, the words he wants to say; his eyes reflect the depths of his soul, reflecting your image. As if to him, you were the only thing that mattered right now. To you, Lyney was someone so close, yet so unreachable.

But now? When his eyes go half-lidded, drunk on the feeling of being so close to you? This distance that seemed insurmountable seemed bridgeable in an instant. Your hands grab at his sleeve.

"Lyney." your voice is so alluring. He stops, as he lays his head on your shoulder, breathing in deeply. His hands go through your waist, and before you knew it, he was embracing you. Your eyes widen. You notice that his hat slips off of his head, tumbling gracelessly to the floor.

"Lyney, your hat…" you say, voice devoid of any edge. You gently rub circles onto his back, something he greatly enjoys.

"Let it fall. I'll get it back up later. Right now, just– just let me do this." Silence for a few moments fills the room, before you speak.

"Why the change of heart?" Lyney tenses a little from his spot on your shoulder. "Last time, you were–"

"Like I said, I was foolish and stupid. I'm sorry, [Name]." he says to you, removing his head off of your shoulder. His weary gaze and earlier desperation numbs a bit, but it's still there. "I'm sorry if I wasn't clear about it earlier. I'm sorry it's difficult for me to want… to say that I want you."

"....Want me?"

Lyney nods, his hold on you loosening a little. "I think I've always known the feelings were mutual, but I was scared to act on it. I hope you can forgive me for that. I was constantly thinking about my actions, how if I would spout lies to you and ruin–" his voice lowers down a little, as you feel him tighten his embrace again. "I thought that if I would act on it, I would go past the point of return. If I reached for you, I know I would be a goner. I wouldn't know what to do with these feelings and thoughts of you and unintentionally harm you, So I just felt like Father's words of emotion being a sign of weakness were true and I just… pushed you away. I also didn't want to let go of our friendship, selfish as it could be." he muses, as he uses one of his hands to caress your cheek. When you look at his hand on your face, before leaning into it, it makes his heart soar and his cheeks burn even more.

Then, you remove his hand off of your face gently, and he can't help the drop in his stomach and the spiral into self-critique. He looks away, suddenly afraid of your judgment. Yeah, he was too forward, his apology too shallow, too–

A soft press of something on his lips. You. It's you. It's you and your lips pressing to his own. You're kissing him, and all Lyney can think about is how your mouth feels so right against his, his hands hesitantly wrapping around your waist firmly. Your eyes are closed, and from the corner of his eye he sees the reflection of you both on the mirror of the countertop table, but doesn't pay any mind to it. Just like that, the waves of thoughts that keep him up at night get silenced under the heavenly feel of your lips. His mouth slants against yours, and he's never felt such hunger for someone this badly until now. The kiss lasts for a few long moments, before you pull away (much to his chagrin) and flick his forehead.

"You're an idiot for thinking that way then." you say, but the bite in your voice is half-hearted. Lyney rubs his forehead, slightly disgruntled with furrowed brows. Was this something you and Lynette shared in common? Chiding him for his rightfully deserved, don't worry actions? Lyney tries to come up with a remark or even try to pout, but at the bashful smile on your face, he can't really say anything back.

Not when you look absolutely radiant, so breath-taking right now. The smile you gives him can't compare to anything else he's seen on you. It was magical. All he can do is look away from your allure, using his gloved hands to hide his blush.

"....I assume that's not all you have to say to me? Otherwise, you might break my heart if you'd continue barraging me with such harsh words." he laughs nervously, trying to compose himself, but you only smile knowingly, and just like that, Lyney falls.

"You definitely need it. Not when your reason for trying to do what you did a week ago isnt even a good reason at all." you laugh, and if Lyney could store its clear and lovely sound in his magic pockets and play it whenever he could, he would. "Hey now, you can't blame me for that!"

"It's still a stupid reason though," you say, as you put your arms around his neck. "So, tell me, Great Magician Lyney, how do you plan on compensating for that?" your voice drops, low and breathy as your lips ghost around his own. Lyney can only chuckle. You had a point. You did need compensation. Both of you did, really. For lost time and foolish misguided assumptions of the inevitable.

So Lyney does what he does best. He winks, and takes one of your hands to bring to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, before his eyes are filled with mirth. "Have patience, chérie. I'll definitely compensate. All you have to do is keep your eyes on me," he says, as he intertwines his hand with yours, before he captures your lips once more in a flash.

"I'm sure you know this already, but try not to blink–" he murmurs in between kisses, as you can smile in between them, "because if you do, you might miss it."

To Lyney, you were something he wished for, but couldn't, shouldn't reach. But now? He knows better. It's better to reach forward even if it'll be difficult, instead of ending up in regret.

── ➶-͙˚ ༘✶ ──

"Freminet, I think it's best we leave [Name] alone for today." Lynette tells the timid young man. At her words, he's puzzled. He knew you were avoiding Lyney, and the sweet young soul he was, he was hoping he could at least try to get you both to talk it out. But Lynette stopping him? That was very odd, really. He asks her why, and she just smirks. She just gestures for him to sit next to her as they sit down one of the tables near the hotel lobby.

"Those two can handle themselves. And, I think they wouldn't want any interruptions, really."

"Oh, you mean…"

"Yeah. By the way, our bet still stands. Tomorrow we'll have the results, you know that, right?" she just bites into the juicy fillet of fried fish, her tail swishing and ears twitch in satisfaction. Freminet knows what she's talking about, but he's still worried.

"Still, what if they don't?"

"Ah, then I'll just implement a few tricks up my own sleeve. But that won't be happening, so it's fine." Lynette says plainly.

Yeah, she's going to win quite a lot of money from this. You were both a long time coming, after all.

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