Just Astarion's Reactions To The Question "What Do You Want?"

Just Astarion's reactions to the question "What do you want?"

Act I

Act II

Act III

I'll go cry now goodbye

Hurtful Words

Pairing: Astarion/AFAB!Reader

Mentioned Background Tadpolycule

Summary: In the months since Astarion left you, furious for refusing to help him ascend, you've tried to put your life back together the best you can. Your heart is broken, but you try to manage.

Astarion, meanwhile, stalks the streets by nightfall, hoping to find you again.

Warnings: Mild Smut 18+ content, hurt/comfort, break-ups, Astarion being bad at feelings (full list of tags on AO3)

A/N: You guys voted, and wanted to see the feely, hurt/comfort fic first, so here it is! It's been a while since I wrote this type of fic, so I hope it doesn't disappoint.

Word Count: 6885

AO3

"I'm done with this, and I'm done with you. I would say good luck out there, but honestly? I hope you die screaming."

It had been months since you'd thwarted the Absolute, become the Heroes of Baldur's Gate, and yet, his words never left you. How his eyes that once held so much love for you were filled with a burning hatred, all because you refused to help him give up his soul for some foul, demonic power.

The others had given you space when you returned to camp. Astarion's tent was left untouched, clearly, he hadn't come back for any of his things. You weren't sure he even would.

Wyll and Karlach, sweethearts that they were, carefully kept prying if you really were as alright as you tried to make it seem. You weren't, of course, but their questioning soon became exhausting.

"Astarion wasn't the first person to love me," you had said, voice sure and steady. "And he won't be the last. I am in pain, for now, but it'll fade. We have more pressing matters right now, I'm afraid."

And you did. The tadpoles in your heads were still the greater threat - you couldn't waste any time crying over a breakup, no matter how much it hurt. You needed to get over it, and quickly, else you wouldn't be able to focus on the various crises at hand.

Some part of you was angry at him, too. You hoped it would make all of this easier.

So, the next morning, when you saw that Astarion's tent was still standing, undisturbed, you made a decision. You collected everything you owned that he had once given you, things that connected you to him. A shirt of his you liked to steal. A necklace he had pickpocketed for you. A blouse he loved seeing you in.

The ring you found in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, the one that matched with his.

You left those objects in his tent, scribbled a note to go along with it. If he decided to come back for his things, he'd find them - and if not, some other person may benefit from finding this. It felt like leaving a part of yourself behind - the part that loved him - to try and look forward instead.

With that, you told the others to pack up and move your camp.

You didn't know where Astarion ended up after the whole mess at Cazador's palace. You didn't dare to try and reach out to his tadpole, either. Your heart had clenched painfully as you watched the sun after you'd defeated the Elder Brain - you hoped Astarion could find shelter quickly enough.

But, that had been months ago. What was left of your group split up. You stayed in Baldur's Gate, having asked to be gifted a permanent home as thanks for saving the city.

You live alone, now. Sending stones connect you to the others, or they come to visit you. Scratch and the Owlbear keep you company, make your house feel more lively. You take odd jobs and occasionally help Rolan out at Sorcerous Sundries.

Hells, even Dalyria, Astarion's 'sister', sometimes comes by to check in on you. She's surprisingly pleasant company, and you can tell she's worried that you and her 'brother' are no longer involved. She tries to keep an eye out for him, but unlike the other spawn, Astarion never came to the Underdark. You usually talk research with her - enchanted things are just things with spells on them, so if the Ring of the Sunwalker exists, surely, there must be a way to replicate it.

Your life is quite mundane now. Sometimes you toy with the idea to follow Wyll and Karlach to Avernus, or to help the spawn settle in the Underdark. It was the one victory you had from that day, that you managed to wrench control from Astarion long enough to set the poor wretches in Cazador's dungeon free. You knew that, given how spiteful he could be, he would have let them rot forever after you refused to help him ascend.

On some evenings, you head out to the Elfsong Tavern for a drink. Sometimes, you even take someone home, but nobody ever sticks. You're not quite ready for something new yet. Not when your breakup with Astarion was so desastrous, and not now, when all your other lovers were scattered in the wind.

But, your life is okay. You're not starving, nor are you homeless, your fluffy companions are there to fill the void, and that is just enough for you.

____________

Astarion had been furious after what had transpired in Cazador's lair. He felt betrayed by you, of all people, and then, you had the gall to release the spawn when you had denied him his freedom.

He'd had no plans to return to your camp. He stalked taverns and brothels, indulging in his worst impulses now that he could chose to do so. It was the least he would do after you had refused him his ascension.

But reality kicked in as soon as the Elder Brain was disposed off. Astarion felt his skin burn to ashes in the sun and fled into the shadows, and as he cowered under whatever flimsy shelter he could find, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes at being condemned to the dark, again, he wished for nothing but your comfort. If you had been there, you'd have comforted him, soothed him, kept him safe from the sunlight.

He missed you. He missed you terribly.

Once night fell, he scrambled back to camp. It had only been a few days, surely, you would still be there.

His heart had shattered to pieces when he found his tent to be the only one left standing at camp, a hollow feeling settling in his stomach. Judging from the footprints around, you all must've left shortly after his outburst.

Astarion had resigned himself to simply collect his remaining things and start planning what to do with his new unlife. But then, he'd found the things you'd left for him, and the note.

Good luck on your new path, Little Star. Don't stray too far from the light, despite everything. I love you.

Even after everything, your final words of farewell were words of love, of affection. He'd expected anything else, something telling him that you hoped he'd burn in the sun, that some hunter would come and stake him. But no, even after he had wished violent death upon you, all you had for him was love.

Gods, what had he done?!

Astarion had sobbed into the note, into your blouse, until his voice turned hoarse, at the realization that you were well and truly gone. You had disappeared from his life, and he had no one else to blame but himself.

Seeing your ring had torn him apart once more. He remembered how you'd cheekily given him his ring, after you'd slipped on yours.

"There. Now you can keep me safe, too!"

Your smile had been infectious, even he couldn't resist joining in, no matter how much he wanted to comment on how cringeworthy matching warding rings were. But it also made his heart soar, knowing you were so willing to publically display that he was yours, and you were his.

He'd wished for nothing else, then, but to have you there, so he could return your ring to you.

Nowadays, Astarion is back to stalking the streets like a ghost. He has no proper home to speak of - Cazador's palace isn't an option, the other spawn would surely spurn him after his actions at the ritual, and unlike you, he wasn't a hero with gifts to reward him with.

He hasn't dared to try and reach out to any of your other companions. To be fair, he has no idea where everyone ended up. Astarion knows he'd easily find Gale if he travelled to Waterdeep - but the idea of coming crawling to Gale, of all people, makes him sick.

He never thought he'd be reduced to this again. Seducing people just to get a quick meal in. Getting on his back for breadcrumbs, once more. With you, he had painted a brighter future, the two of you often daydreaming about what you wanted to do once your tadpole problem had been resolved. You had thought up the most delightful things, thinking he could become a perfumer, or even a tailor, should you save up enough for a small shop. You would travel together to source the rarest ingredients or most exquisite fabrics, while you would brew alchemic concoctions or enchant objects for sale. You saw endless potential in him, while all he could dream of was having power. He never realized until now how little you actually cared for power. You wanted to be happy, and you wanted to share life's joys with him.

Even at the ritual, you had tried to see the best in him, had tried seeing everything he could be, but refused to see. He had thrown it away, your hope, your belief in him, and your love for him.

Astarion cowers in the shadows, once more, an ache in his undead heart he isn't sure will ever be soothed.

___________

It's Dalyria who tells him that you're still in town, and that you haven't run off with one of the others.

Astarion bumps into his sister one night while he's out on a hunt. Dalyria is just on her way back to the Underdark after having stayed with you for a couple of days. Their sibling reunion isn't the most euphoric, but Astarion is glad it's Dal he runs into instead of one of the others.

What nearly knocks him off his feet is that he can pick up your scent sticking to her. He immediately questions her on it - why the hells does she smell like you?

Dalyria would rather spare you from him. She'd heard the hurtful words he flung at you, and while you put on a brave face, she can tell you're still heartbroken over him. She can see it anytime you look at her. You very obviously associate her with Astarion, and though you value the friendship you have built, Dalyria clearly is a painful reminder of your lost love.

She leaves Astarion with nothing more than the information that you are still in the city. He wishes he could pry more out of her, but without the tadpole, she and him are evenly matched in power. He also knows that Dalyria will now likely lay low and not go to see you - she knows too well that Astarion would try and follow her.

Baldur's Gate is large, but he knows the city like the back of his hand. And if there's one thing Astarion has in abundance, then it's time. He'll find you.

He'll find you, and get you back.

___________

Find you he does.

Astarion sneaks into Sorcerous Sundries one day, in hopes of maybe finding a tracking spell he could use in his search for you. What he doesn't expect is to see you standing by the counter, arraging your alchemic concoctions neatly on a sales display, while you make idle chat with Rolan.

Astarion has to bite back a snarl. You seem chipper and happy in Rolan's presence. He also knows you're attracted to the tiefling - the two of you had taken Rolan with you for a fun little evening at the Last Light Inn, so many moons ago.

Are you his, now?

Thankfully, it doesn't seem this way. You are naturally flirty, in a way that doesn't always mean anything more serious. Astarion knows you love making people blush, so he files this away as you having a bit of fun with Rolan, nothing more, eventhough he seethes at how easily you fluster the haughty wizard with your sweet words.

Astarion sneakily follows you home. He's glad to see both Scratch and the Owlbear in your home - at least the little snacks have a safe place to stay, and they keep you company. They keep you safe. No burglar would dare enter a home guarded by a dog and an owlbear.

He doesn't approach you yet. He needs to plan this, think about what to do. What to say. A simple 'hello, again' would not suffice.

So, Astarion lays low, and stalks you the next few days. He's sure he must looks suspicious, covered during the daytime in such a thick cloak, but he doesn't care. He needs to know more about you, the city you, and the life you lead.

You don't do much, really.

At the beginning of a week, you head to Sorcerous Sundries to supply Rolan with new stock and collect payment for the sales made the previous week. Other than that, you take Scratch and the Owlbear on walks, and stay cooped up in your laboratory.

It is the evenings, when Astarion can be more active himself, that you actually do something other than your daily grind.

You head to taverns. Your favourite seems to be the Elfsong - you sit at the same table you used to sit with him at back in the day. You chat up other patrons, and let yourself be chatted up. There's no particular pattern to your partners, and you don't always leave with someone. Sometimes you just sit, and drink. Othertimes, Rolan, or any of the other tiefling refugees join you. Cal and Lia come by to try and lift your spirits. Dammon always seems ready for a long night of deep conversation.

Astarion watches you for a good few weeks. He toys with the note you left him - he's so close to you, now, he just needs to make a move. It needs to be one of the days when you're only in a drinking mood, but early enough in the evening that you're not drunk yet.

He makes his move on a night after you've had a goblet of wine. You'd actually brought a book with you, hoping to relax as Alfira is the bard performing tonight. Astarion glides through the movement in the tavern effortlessly, and sits down across from you.

"Could I buy you another drink?"

His voice is smooth as ever, trying his best to charm you.

You look up from your book. First, you look surprised, shocked, to see him. Then you seem as if you want to say something, but you swallow the words in favor of snapping your book shut and giving him a smile - though Astarion can tell you're anything but happy.

"I think not," you say, watching as he visibly deflates at your rejection. "I think I might have already overindulged, tonight. I may be hallucinating - you look like someone I once knew."

Ah, so it is to be a game. No matter, Astarion knows how to play along just fine.

"Oh? And is that someone a friend, or a foe?"

Pain flashes through your expression, gone as quickly as it came.

"I'm not sure anymore. Once, he was my dearest friend, the person first in my heart. Then, he told me he hoped I died screaming, and abandoned me." You toy with the rim of you goblet. Perhaps you did need another drink. "I'm not sure what exactly that makes us."

You take it as a victory that Astarion immediately looks remorseful. Some part of you wants to hurt him back, but what would be the point of that. It's only give you temporary satisfaction and lead nowhere else.

"Perhaps your friend was not in a right state of mind when he said those things," he reasons, a strained look on his face. "If you were to meet your friend again, it might be possible that he would want to apologise."

"Really? Aren't you an optimistic one. I'm not too sure about that. Apologising never was his strong suit. He'd rather lash out."

You can barely hide your scoff, and Astarion feels as if he's been stabbed. Perhaps Dalyria had been right in trying to keep him away from you. He never considered if you even wanted to see him.

He, once again, did not consider what you might want.

You sigh heavily. "Take me home, will you? Though I'd love to hear Alfira play tonight, I doubt I'll actually get much listening done."

Astarion stares after you as you get up out of your seat and make your way to the exit. He follows swiftly.

"How would I even know where you live?" He asks incredulously once you're both outside.

You don't bother turning to face him. "Really? You expect me to believe you just 'happened' to bump into me tonight? I'm not stupid. Knowing you, you've been stalking me for weeks."

"I did not!" Astarion protests. "This was pure coincidence, honestly!"

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that if it helps you rest easier at daylight." You shake your head. "Now, are you going to walk me home? I demand an arm to hold from such a dashing stranger."

Of course, he offers you his arm. And of course, he's already memorised every single way to get to your house. You don't mention it again, knowing full well that your darling vampire has a tendency to be an absolute creep.

Scratch and the Owlbear are happy to see you back home, but are overjoyed to see Astarion again. They circle around his legs, tackle him clean over, yipping and hooting euphorically as he struggles to give out an appropriate amount of pets to them both. You busy yourself hanging up your cloak, smiling at the display.

Both of your fluffy friends had been asking where your 'fanged friend' had went. You never had a good answer for them.

Once Astarion manages to wrangle both of your pets, he follows you to your dining table. You've set out glasses and two pitchers each, and motion for him to sit down. You are clearly drinking more wine. Astarion sniffs at his glass once he fills it, and his brows knit together in confusion. It's pig's blood, seemingly still fresh and warm.

"Your sister Dalyria comes by sometimes," you explain. "I've perfected the art of preserving and re-heating blood by now. I always keep some on hand for her."

"That's...very kind of you," Astarion says, unsure how to respond. "How often is she here? How did that even happen?"

"She thought I was good for you, and disliked the way our relationship...ended. She sought me out a couple of weeks after I settled in here to check on me - you vampires can easily sniff out a person. We usually chat about whatever research projects we've got going on." You take a sip of your wine. Maybe this whole conversation is more bearable if you get drunk. "Dal's become a good friend. She usually stays a couple of days, and we bounce ideas off of each other. I like her."

That causes Astarion to bristle. Was he really that easily replaced? By his own sister-spawn, at that?

"How much do you like her?" He asks, trying to keep his voice sounding casual.

He fails. Your eyes immedately harden into a glare.

"You are in no position to play the jealous one after what you said to me," you spit, rage bubbling up inside you. "But if it soothes your sick little mind - no, I am not fucking your sister, and she isn't feeding on me, either."

Astarion flinches at your tone. He's seen you angry before, but never has your anger been directed at him. It feels awful. He hates it.

"What are you two researching, then?" He diverts. Yes, keeping it casual was a good idea. Maybe you would soften up the more you spoke.

"Dal's still looking for a cure to vampirism. I'm looking into a way to get spawn to walk in sunlight. It would give them all a brief respite from the Underdark." You don't mind answering. You like talking about your work. You're also in constant contact with both Gale and Rolan about all of this - more brains to think with, so to speak. "Dal and I are also thinking to try and restore the Arcane Tower down there. I kind of miss the Myconids, and the equipment there was top-notch. It would provide both of us with a sharable workspace. Rolan could benefit from the resources there, too. Overall, getting it back up and running would just be beneficial, and if we find a way to reprogram the robots, they could help the spawn in building their village."

"So, you're moving to the Underdark, then?" Astarion worries. He's just found you again - he can't have you running off right away.

"Not immediately, and not permanently," you assure him. "Setting up portals between here and there is an easy matter. I'd move from time to time. But enough about me. I believe you have something to say?"

Astarion becomes indignant. He hates being cornered, and you are doing just that.

"You aren't going to apologise for anything?"

"Me? I don't think I have anything to apologise for," you scoff. "I have no regrets. If I had to do everything all over again, I would change nothing. There is not a world in which I would've helped you ascend, not a universe in which I would've let you sell your soul for the ascension. If losing you is the price I have to pay for ensuring you don't commit a vile act of mass-murder, then so be it. I will not apologise for that."

You can see he hates how sure of yourself you are. He wishes you felt any amount of guilt for having refused him, but - breakup aside - your conscience is clear.

"You've gotten over me quickly," he grumbles.

"I haven't. But I'll happily tell you what I told the others." You pin him with your gaze again, looking him right in the eye to make sure he properly hears you. "You were not the first person to love me, and the way I saw it, you wouldn't be the last. And to be fair - would you wish to continue to be with someone who said they hoped you died screaming?"

No. No, he would not. You have no reason to hear him out, let alone take him back. What he said to you was vile, hurtful, and wholly undeserved. He knows that himself.

"So. I have nothing to apologise for," you say again. "Would you do everything the same way again, knowing the outcome? Because if you would, then you don't have anything to apologise for either, and we can end this conversation here. Both of us should move on with our lives, in that case."

Astarion doesn't want to move on. He wants you back. He wants to bask in your light again, share your joy with his own.

"You never were so harsh with me," he finds himself saying.

"My patience has its limits," you reply. "I know you've a lot of growing to do, so I've always tried to be more lenient with you."

Your eyes harden into a glare, turning glossy as tears are slowly burning at their edges. Astarion doesn't want you to cry. He doesn't think he can take it.

"But after everything we'd gone through, how much time we shared, the fact that you would say something like that to me..." You shake your head in irritation. "It helped mask the pain, really. I was furious."

The tears start spilling down your cheeks. You wipe them away angrily. You'd thought about it, of course, what you'd do if you ever saw Astarion again. You would slap him, at the very least. Maybe turn him into a sheep. Cast the Daylight spell on him if he was especially vile to you again. You never wanted to cry. He did not deserve your tears, not after that.

"You once promised you would never hurt me - on purpose, at the very least. I was foolish enough to believe you."

Scratch and the Owlbear sense your distress. Scratch comes to sit beside you, resting his snout on your thigh, nudging you, as if to encourage you to pet him. The Owlbear settles in behind you, hooting at you as a mother owlbear would at her cub. You weave your hand into the soft fur of Scratch's head, and the dog whines.

It's a small victory to you that Astarion looks at you with regret. Even his ears have drooped, and he seems defeated.

"Did you ever cry for me?" He asks carefully.

"No." Your voice is cold as ice. "I did not. Not once. Not until you flitted back into my life."

Gods, maybe this whole plan was a mistake. You seemed like you really were moving on with your life - and then Astarion decided to come crashing in.

Astarion pulls out the ring and the note. The paper is crumpled, the ink faded - he'd read it over and over and over, trying to imprint every single memory he had of you in his mind. The ring is polished and well cared for. It's only now that you realize that Astarion is still wearing his.

"Back then, at the ritual. I was blinded by all the power and the safety it promised," Astarion says mournfully. "You've always seen the best in me, and I know you were trying to show me I could be better than Cazador ever made me to be. I wasn't able to understand it then. All I saw was you stabbing me in the back. You, of all people. Especially since I wanted to do it for us."

You scoff at that. "You cannot even admit the truth. For weeks before heading to Cazador's palace, the ascension was the only thing you ever spoke of, how you'd command some nocturnal hoard we would both supposedly rule over. You never asked me what I wanted. You just assumed. You didn't want it for us. You thought only of yourself."

He looks away, unable to bear your gaze any longer. You know him too well.

"You're right, of course," he says.

"Then say it. Speak the truth. Admit to it."

He shuts his eyes and sighs. "I wanted the ascension for myself. I didn't care what you want. I didn't care if I would turn into heartless being who would take what it wanted from you, regardless of your opinion on it. All I saw was the power, and I wanted it all to myself."

You seem satisfied with his confession. He knows it's the truth. He was too much of a coward to admit to it earlier. Astarion toys with the ring - your ring - in his hands. How long had he stared at it, day after wretched day, wishing he could somehow find you with it?

"I admit I wanted to hurt you when I...when I said I hoped you died screaming. I thought many terrible things in the days that followed. It was only when I returned to camp and found your belongings that I realized what I'd done. What I'd done to you."

He had wailed for you. You had never cried for him. Had he hurt you so badly that any love you held for him in your heart had shrivelled up and died? Had scorched the earth between the two of you so severely, nothing was ever to grow there again?

"You didn't deserve that. Any of it," he says. "And still, you found it in you to tell me you loved me."

"Because that was the truth." Your words weigh on him. Was. What about now? "I also know that sometimes, eventhough you love someone, you may both be better off apart. Which is why I let you go."

Astarion feels sick. Still, he needs to ask. Needs to know. "Do you still love me?"

"I'm not sure you have the right to ask that," you say bitterly. He hasn't even apologised properly, and yet has the gall to ask this. "But if it comforts you, I don't think all feelings are gone. Else, I would likely have less trouble entering a new relationship. And I wouldn't be crying, now."

Your tears haven't stopped. Astarion wishes they would. He hates knowing he's the cause of them. He has to swallow his jealousy. He wants to ask if it's Rolan who may have captured your heart, or Dammon, the sweet blacksmith. If it's Gale you have a distant relationship with, or if Shadowheart visits you in the night. But he is in no place to ask, not if he's the reason you're hurting.

Astarion leans across the table. He presents your ring to you in his open hand. You don't take it just yet, you simply watch him warily, the Owlbear and Scratch loyal at your side.

"I'm sorry," he says, voice almost a whisper. "I fucked up. I was messed up, too terrified of everything to think clearly. I'm sorry I said those things to you. You never deserved such treatment."

He bows his head.

"I've no right to ask for your forgiveness, let alone to ask you to take me back. I have been miserable since we parted, and I know it is my own fault. You're free to refuse me. I just...I just wanted to see you again, even if for the last time. If you are happier in your new life, I have no choice but to let you go."

You stare at him, for a good long while. Astarion doesn't move, frozen in place. He'll stay put until he has an answer, be it to say his farewells, or to pull you into his embrace.

You actually got a proper apology from him. That was all you wanted, really, but your mind is confused. You feel so much, all at once. You hate him, for having ever hurt you like that. And yet you love him, still. So, so, much. You've missed having him in your life. So while your mind is definitely still angry at what he said, and how he'd left you, your heart soars at the idea of having him back. It's enough to put out the firey rage, leaving nothing but relief. You'd worried so much about him the past months, wondering what had become of him after he left you.

You lean across the table yourself, and carefully clasp his hand in yours.

"Break up with me like that again, and I'll tie you up in my garden to see your last sunrise."

You're half-serious, half-joking about this. Your delivery is so dry, despite the wetness in your voice, that Astarion lets out a little giggle.

You've missed that sound.

"You'd be justified in doing so, darling. I'm surprised you haven't done it yet."

"Don't tempt me." You withdraw, and take your ring from him. "There's still time."

Astarion finally looks up. Tears are still rolling down your cheeks, but as you slip your ring back on, Astarion senses that at the very least, you're not hurting anymore - at least not as much. He's empathetic enough to understand this won't be a quick forgive-and-forget situation.

"Am I yours again, my love?" He asks. He almost doesn't dare to say it, but he needs to know. Needs to be sure.

"You are." You smile at him for the first time tonight, a true, honest smile. "As I am yours."

For the first time this evening, Astarion smiles a genuine smile. One of pure elation, of relief. It takes the years off of him, rounding out his eyes and softening his features.

He bolts up from his chair to near tackle you from yours. You yelp, for you surely would have fallen straight off if not for the massive Owlbear behind you. Astarion settles in your lap, unintentionally shooing Scratch away from you, and squeezes you to his chest. You can only laugh as Scratch then insistently burrows his snout between the two of you, demanding to be a part of the embrace, yipping excitedly all the way. You return Astarion's embrace, trying to accomodate your fluffy friend as well.

"Gods, what a relief," Astarion murmurs into your hair. "I've missed you, my love. You have no idea."

"I can imagine, my darling. You've gone to quite the length to find me," you reply. You shut your eyes, relaxing in his arms. "I missed you, too. Terribly so."

You stay like this, with his weight comfortable in your lap, until Scratch decides all this cuddling is far too warm for him. The dog scuttles out again, which you use as your cue to head over to your living room. You and Astarion stay there for the next few hours, talking, catching up, and drinking some more. All the while, Astarion is glued to your side - he's been without contact for months, and he's not ready to be apart from you again.

It's only when your yawns start increasing that he decides for the both of you that your night is over. Your tiredness is a bitter reminder to him of how the two of you now exist in different rhythms, but you quickly assure him that you'll find a way to manage.

The two of you have faced harder challenges.

Astarion insists on carrying you up to your bedroom. Scratch and the Owlbear curl up on their respective nests to sleep downstairs - the Owlbear is far too big to climb the stairs, and Scratch would never abandon him to sleep alone.

When getting ready for bed, Astarion is disappointed to learn you truly have none of his clothing left in your possession. No shirt for him, then, which neither of you happen to mind terribly. He strips down to his underwear, and is delighted to see that, while your eyes have a quick roam over his bared skin, they easily settle back on his face, happy and relaxed.

You never were with him for just his body. You always loved him for who he is.

It's a little awkward at first. The two of you just got back together, neither of you are sure what the other is comfortable with. You allow Astarion to take the lead on that - he's the one who has more trouble with intimacy, so his boundaries need prioritising, within reason, of course.

For now, he just stares as he lays across from you, like he is truly unsure of what to do. Then, he hesitantly speaks.

"May I kiss you?" He asks.

He doesn't have to ask twice. "You may."

"Thank you, my treasure. Can you lay on your back for me?"

Easily done. Astarion is gentle with you. He cautiously slides himself between your legs, avoiding too close of a contact at first, and cages you in with his arms. You gaze up at him, taking in the vibrant red of his eyes, the slightly nervous glint in them.

You nod at him once more to affirm that you want this.

He dips his head down and presses the softest of kisses to you lips. It's so chaste and gentle, it seems so unlike him. You enjoy the softness. It's a rare gift from him.

His lips are hungry for more. They wander away from your own, leaving little pecks on your cheek, your brow, your nose, your eyelids. You feel every word he might wish to convey to you in each of his kisses.

Don't leave me. I need you. I love you.

When his lips find yours once more, their touch is more heated. He pulls you impossibly close, and you grasp his shoulders in return. Astarion's tongue licks along your lips, and you easily let him enter, moaning softly as his hands glide down the sides of your body and rest on your hips, squeezing at your flesh.

Astarion moves on from your lips to pepper your neck with kisses. He's disappointed that his bitemarks have healed and left no scars in his absence, no trace of him left on your lovely skin. You feel his growing hardness start to strain against his undergarments, but resist grasping for him in a short moment of clarity.

"No," you say softly.

Astarion raises his head. He looks confused, almost hurt. You run your thumbs over his cheekbones, trying to soothe his fears.

"I want this. Madly so, my Starlight," you say. "But tonight is not the night for it. Everything feels too fresh, too raw. I don't think I would enjoy it if we slept together right now."

You see the relief in his eyes, the panic dissipating from his expression.

"You may be right, darling. Apologies. I got carried away."

"Don't apologise. Not for that." You pull him down for another kiss. You feel him smile against you before you break it off again. "We can keep kissing like this, though. I do rather like that."

"Darling, there is nothing I'd like to do more."

Astarion kisses your lips, your face, lovingly, adoringly over and over, until your breathing starts to slow, and he realizes you've fallen asleep in his arms.

He'll keep watch. Keep you safe. No matter what may come.

__________

The next morning, you wake to Scratch yipping at you from the footend of the bed, and Astarion missing from your side.

You drowsily cast a quick Animal Speak spell, to hear what your fluffy friend has to say.

"The other one's doing something in the food place," Scratch tells you. "It smells...concerning."

Good gods. You quickly throw on a dressing gown and head downstairs, Scratch at your tail. Indeed, you smell something burned, and hear a sound of frustration come from your kitchen.

The Owlbear curiously eyes Astarion through the doorway. You pet its beak, before heading in to meet your lover, who has clearly been defeated by what looks to be heavily charred fried eggs, the yolks burst and blackened bits stuck to the pan.

"Cooking for me?" You coo at him, slinking up and wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. "The bacon and the bread looks good."

"Yes, and the eggs are a disaster," Astarion says with a sigh. He turns his head to press a kiss to your forehead. "So much for my surprise. Good morning, little love."

"Good morning to you too, Little Star. Oh, and I'm happy and surprised, nonetheless. The Owlbear doesn't mind charred food, so they won't go entirely to waste, and I can show you how to do it without them sticking to the pan like this."

He lets you take the reigns from there, paying attention as you teach him how to fry an egg.

Later, you settle down in your living room after breakfast, the curtains shut tight so Astarion can get comfortable.

"So, what's next?" He asks. "Any plans?"

"Well, first I'll send message to Rolan that I'm taking the next week or two off," you say. "I'd like to just spend some time...being with you. We didn't get the chance to do that on the road, perpetually fearing and fighting for our lives. Now, we can."

"Sounds delightful. No objections from me."

He'll have to bring what few belongings he has to your house. You have no trouble accommodating him - what had worried you was that he'd admitted to you that he was essentially homeless, drifting from place to place with just his pack and nothing else.

"Wonderful. I think we need a bit of adjustment time. While I'm glad to have you back in my life, some wounds still need healing, I think." You give him a knowing look. "On both sides."

Astarion hates how right you are, but hums in agreement, anyway.

"Do you want to see the others?" You then offer. "Not a lot of them are close, though. Shadowheart is the closest. The others are day's trips away, or in another realm entirely."

"Shadowheart would be a good start," Astarion says. "She may be the least likely to stake me for having broken your heart."

"You'll have better luck with Wyll or Gale," you say with a chuckle. "She was ready to set your tent on fire."

Astarion feels a cold shiver run down his spine. "As long as she doesn't set me on fire, I'd love to reunite with her."

"Don't worry. She's bound to be more mad at me, really." You find this all too amusing. "I can hear her already. 'Really? He trampled all over your heart and you're taking him back?!'"

That does sound like Shadowheart.

"Anyway. We could also head to the Underdark and see what's what. The portal is easy enough to cast," you contemplate. "And the quicker the Arcane Tower is back up and running, the closer I may be to find a solution for your sunlight allergy."

"I'm happy to go anywhere you like, as long as I get to be by your side, my love," Astarion says sincerly.

He's truthful this time, you both know.

Astarion feels that with you by his side, anything and everything may be possible for him. His new life can truly begin now, and he's happy that he gets to share it with you.

His dearest, most beloved treasure.

1K notes View Post

kitty-kei

1 year ago

My husband won Christmas this year.

But then if that wasn't enough, he got this.

Holy shit you guys.

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑫 𝑰𝑵 𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑳

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: You are worker in the brothel who had recently gotten attached to your client, Sevika, after countless nights of more passionate sessions. Until they suddenly stopped, leaving you with an aching heart.

A/N: Honestly forgot I had this in my documents, but thought I should post it (since we all love Sevika).

The first time she came to you, she was all easy smirks and smooth charm, her prosthetic hand cool against your waist as she pulled you onto her lap. Sevika had the kind of presence that demanded attention, the kind that made others shrink in her shadow or lean in closer just for a taste of her heat. You had been the latter.

She paid well. That was all that mattered at first. A client with deep pockets and a reputation that ensured no one would bother you when you left her room, skin flushed and legs weak. It was a simple arrangement: pleasure given, coin exchanged. Nothing more.

But then she kept coming back.

And you let her.

At first, it was nothing but indulgence—nights filled with laughter and the scrape of her teeth against your throat, her hand gripping your thigh in a way that made your stomach coil with something dangerous. She made you laugh, too, in a way few did. There was something intoxicating about her presence, the roughness of her voice, the heat of her gaze when she dragged it over your body like she was memorizing you.

Then something shifted.

One night, she stayed after. No rush to pull on her coat, no tossing coins onto the nightstand with a smirk before disappearing into the Undercity’s streets. She lingered, arm draped over her stomach, watching the ceiling like it held answers she wasn’t ready to share. You didn’t ask. But when she turned her head and found you watching her, something in her expression softened.

"What?" you asked, your voice quieter than usual.

She exhaled, long and slow. "Nothing. Just... comfortable."

The next time, she brought you a drink, one she swore you’d like. You sipped it from her fingers, let the burn of it settle behind your ribs, and tried to ignore the warmth curling beneath your skin at the way she watched you. She stayed again that night, but this time, she talked. Stories about fights she had won, men she had bested, but also things she shouldn’t have shared—memories from before she was who she was now. You shouldn’t have asked, but you did. And she answered.

It got harder to pretend you weren’t waiting for her. Harder to ignore the way your heart stumbled when she walked through the door, or the way your body leaned into her touch like it was instinct rather than necessity, like it had been there since your first breath.

And then came the night she kissed you slow. Not the usual rough, greedy clash of lips and teeth, but something deliberate, something aching. Something that made your fingers twist in the fabric of her shirt, made you press closer, desperate to chase whatever this was before it slipped through your fingers.

"This ain't what you do," she muttered against your lips, almost like she was warning you. "Ain't what I do either."

You knew that. You should have let it go, let her leave before the line between transaction and intimacy blurred any further. But instead, you whispered, "Then what is this?"

Sevika didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled you back in, and for the first time, she made love to you rather than just taking. Slow hands, lingering kisses, eyes that held something more than want. It was terrifying. It was thrilling.

When it was over, she didn’t leave. She laid beside you, arm draped over her stomach, staring at the ceiling again. The silence stretched between you, thick with unsaid things. You rolled onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, and ran your fingers through the short strands of her hair.

"Are you staying?" you finally asked.

Her eyes flicked to yours, unreadable. "Do you want me to?"

You swallowed, throat dry. "Yeah."

She let out a soft breath, something close to a chuckle but not quite. "Then I’ll stay."

You knew this had become something dangerous. Because you had let yourself believe, even just for a moment, that she might stay for good.

As attachments grew, you slowly stopped giving much passion to your job with other clients. You knew you needed the money, but the feeling no longer sat right in your chest. It only felt right when she came every night, when her hands traced over you in a way that no longer felt like a simple transaction.

But then, the visits slowly stopped.

At first, they became shorter. A hurried touch, a quick drink shared between you before she left, murmuring something about business. Then entire nights passed without her at all. The ache in your chest started as a whisper, then grew, a quiet panic every time the door opened and it wasn’t her.

One night, you waited longer than usual, fingers curled in your lap, stomach twisted in knots. The creak of the door had you looking up, heart leaping—only for disappointment to crush it just as quickly when you saw it was just another client. You forced a smile, but it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

She was gone.

You told yourself you shouldn’t have expected anything else. That this was inevitable. That she was never yours to keep.

But it didn’t stop the tightness in your chest, the sting behind your eyes as you sat in an empty bed, wondering if she had ever truly meant to stay at all.

As you dwelled on it further, the confusion gnawed at you until you couldn’t take it anymore. You sought out Babette, the woman who ran the brothel—the woman who had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. She was the closest thing to family you had, and if anyone knew what was going on, it would be her.

"She’s still coming around," Babette said, her gaze softening in concern. "Just not to you, sweetheart.”

The words hit like a gut punch. You blinked, feeling the air leave your lungs. "What?"

"She’s been with the others," Babette continued gently. "Sometimes just one. Sometimes more than one. But not you."

Your stomach twisted into something sharp, something ugly. You willed yourself not to cry, not to let the tremor in your hands show. But Babette saw it anyway. Her brows knit together as she reached out, fingertips grazing your arm in silent comfort.

"Maybe it’s better this way," she murmured, her voice almost hesitant. "You know how she is, sweetheart. She doesn’t—"

"It’s fine," you interrupted, your voice too quiet, too fragile. You forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "I was just curious. That’s all."

Babette sighed, her hand fully resting over yours now, warm and grounding. "You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what she meant to you."

You swallowed, hard, but the lump in your throat didn’t go away. "She didn’t mean anything to me. She was just a client."

The lie sat bitter on your tongue. Babette didn’t call you out on it, only squeezed your hand and nodded, her expression unreadable. But her silence told you she didn’t believe it any more than you did.

Whatever you thought you had with Sevika—it had only ever been a game to her. You were nothing more than a warm body, a convenient distraction. And when things started feeling too real, she had sought out others, made sure to remind you of exactly what you were: an option, not a priority.

The belief that you could be loved for more than your body had been foolish. And now, the ache in your heart was proof of just how deeply you had let yourself hope.

Days passed, each one bleeding into the next in a haze of exhaustion and quiet heartache. You went through the motions, welcoming clients with hollow smiles and empty touches, but the passion, the illusion, was gone. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like anything at all.

You tried not to linger on the thought of her, but it was impossible when every shadow in the brothel seemed to whisper her name, when every quiet moment left space for memories you wished you could carve out of your mind.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Babette,” you said one night, standing in the doorway of her office. She looked up from her desk, her sharp eyes softening the moment she saw you.

“Come in, sweetheart,” she murmured, setting down her pen. You hesitated, shifting on your feet, trying to find the right words. She noticed. Of course, she noticed. “What is it?”

You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “I need a few days,” you finally said. “Just some time.”

Babette leaned back in her chair, studying you the way a mother does when she already knows the answer but waits for you to say it anyway.

“You haven’t been yourself,” she said simply. “Not since—” She didn’t say her name. She didn’t have to.

You dropped your gaze to the floor. “I just need a few days,” you repeated, quieter this time.

She sighed, then stood, walking around the desk until she was in front of you. A warm hand cupped your cheek, gentle but firm. “You take all the time you need, baby,” she said, brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. “But don’t let this break you. You hear me?”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed it.

That night, you left the brothel and retreated to the small apartment Babette had helped you get years ago. The space felt both foreign and suffocating all at once, too quiet, too empty. You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor, willing yourself not to cry.

This was supposed to be temporary. A few days to pull yourself together, to forget.

Because you had to forget.

Sevika was just a client.

She was never supposed to be anything more.

And yet, the ache in your chest told you that she had been.

And that she still was.

Sevika stepped through the familiar doors of the brothel, the heavy scent of perfume and liquor thick in the air. It was the same as always—soft laughter spilling from plush lounges, the low murmur of conversation, the occasional moan slipping past velvet curtains.

But it didn’t feel the same.

She had been here almost every night, distracting herself with fleeting warmth, with lips that weren’t yours, with the burn of whiskey numbing the gnawing in her chest. She convinced herself it was working.

Until now.

Her feet carried her straight to the bar where Babette stood, drying a glass with slow, practiced movements. The moment she saw Sevika approach, something flickered behind her sharp eyes—something knowing. Something unreadable.

Sevika didn’t care to decipher it. She exhaled sharply, leaning one forearm against the counter.

“Is she available tonight?” she asked, the words coming out rougher than she meant.

Babette didn’t answer right away. Instead, she set the glass down and folded the rag over her shoulder. Only then did she meet Sevika’s gaze, her expression unreadable.

“She’s not here,” Babette finally said, voice even.

Sevika’s brow furrowed. “She got a client already?”

“No.” A pause. “She’s been taking time off.”

Something in Sevika’s chest tightened.

“Time off?” She frowned. “Since when?”

“A few days now.”

Sevika’s fingers drummed against the counter, a growing unease curling in her gut. You never took time off. You needed the money, just like everyone else here.

“Why?” she asked.

Babette just looked at her. A slow, knowing look, one that made Sevika shift under the weight of it. And then, to her surprise, Babette let out a dry, humorless chuckle and shook her head.

Sevika’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Funny, you askin’ that,” Babette mused, picking up her rag again, wiping at a spot on the counter that wasn’t even there.

Sevika’s jaw tightened. “Just tell me.”

Babette stopped wiping, meeting her gaze dead-on. The look in her eyes was almost pitying. Almost.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she said, voice blunt.

Sevika stayed silent, waiting.

Babette sighed through her nose before finally giving her the truth—the one Sevika hadn’t let herself consider.

“She got too attached,” Babette said, folding her arms across her chest. “And now she’s trying to wear that off.”

The words hit Sevika like a punch to the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.

Too attached.

Trying to wear that off.

For a moment, she just stood there, staring, unable to process what she had just heard. Because that meant—

That meant you had felt it too.

The thing she had been running from, numbing herself against, drowning in booze and other women just to avoid facing.

You had felt it too.

And instead of dealing with it like she had, you had done the opposite. You had left.

Sevika’s fingers curled into a fist against the counter. The guilt, the frustration, the regret—it all slammed into her at once, a crashing tide she wasn’t prepared for.

Babette watched her, eyes sharp, knowing.

“You asked,” she said simply.

Sevika swallowed, her throat dry. She pushed off the counter, turning toward the door without another word.

She needed air. She needed a drink. She needed—

She didn’t know what she needed.

All she knew was that she should have never asked.

Because now, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Now, she knew the truth.

And there was no running from it.

Sevika stood outside your apartment door, exhaling a slow breath. The hallway smelled of damp wood and old cigarette smoke, the dim lighting flickering overhead. She had stood in front of many doors before—some with intent, some without—but this one felt different. This one made her hesitate.

She had spent days, weeks, running from this, burying herself in distractions. But Babette’s words echoed in her head, stubborn and unrelenting.

“She got too attached.”

Sevika clenched her jaw and lifted her hand, knocking twice.

A long pause.

For a moment, she thought you wouldn’t answer. Maybe you were asleep. Maybe you’d left. Maybe you wouldn’t want to see her at all.

But then, the door creaked open.

And fuck—

You looked wrecked.

Your hair was undone, tangled from nights of restless tossing. The clothes you wore were loose and rumpled, as if they had been thrown on days ago and never changed. And your eyes—puffy, red-rimmed, still glossy with the remains of sleepless nights and silent tears.

Sevika had seen you in every state imaginable—laughing, breathless, flushed from pleasure. But never like this. Never broken.

Her stomach twisted.

For a second, you just stared at her, like you weren’t sure if she was real or just some cruel figment of your exhausted mind. Then, slowly, your expression hardened, and you began to push the door closed.

Sevika’s hand shot out, gripping the edge before it could fully shut. “Wait.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want, Sevika?” Your voice was hoarse, quiet, so unlike the teasing lilt she had grown used to hearing.

She swallowed, forcing herself to meet your gaze. “I just need to talk.”

A humorless chuckle escaped you, void of warmth. “Talk?” you repeated. “Like how you suddenly stopped coming to me? Like how you’ve been fucking around with everyone else?”

Sevika flinched at the bitterness in your voice. She had earned that.

You scoffed, shaking your head as you tried to close the door again. “No. I can’t do this, Sevika. Just—just leave.”

Panic shot through her.

Her hand pressed harder against the door, a crack of desperation in her tone. “Please.”

You froze.

Sevika never begged. Not for anything. Not for anyone.

But she wasn’t too proud to now.

“Please,” she repeated, softer this time. “Just let me explain.”

Your fingers trembled slightly where they gripped the doorframe. You didn’t move for a long moment, weighing your choices, weighing her.

Then, with a quiet exhale, you stepped aside.

Sevika took a slow breath and walked in.

She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know if she even could.

But she hoped that she could at least try to.

The silence stretched between you as you both settled into the living room. You sat on the couch, curling your legs under yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your torso like you were trying to hold yourself together. Sevika hesitated before lowering herself into the chair across from you, elbows resting on her knees.

For a moment, she said nothing. She just looked at you, at the exhaustion on your face, at the way your fingers picked idly at the hem of your sleeve, at the hurt she had put there.

She exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand down her face before finally speaking.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she muttered, voice rough, tired. “That—that was never my intent.”

You scoffed quietly, shaking your head. “Really?”

Sevika winced but didn’t argue.

She let out another breath, staring at her hands as she tried to put words to the mess in her head. “I—this isn’t something I know how to do,” she admitted. “Feelings, love—any of that shit. It’s never been something I was meant for. The things I’ve done, the life I live… it doesn’t make me the kind of person who gets this. Who deserves it.”

Your brow furrowed, but you stayed quiet.

Sevika clenched her jaw. “I was scared,” she admitted, the words almost foreign on her tongue. “Scared of what it meant. Scared of how easy it was with you. How much I wanted it to be real.”

She finally looked up, and the weight of her gaze settled heavy between you.

“I thought if I put distance between us, it’d go away. That I could just bury it, move on.” A humorless chuckle left her. “Guess I fucked that up too, huh?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly on the couch. “You could’ve just talked to me,” you murmured, voice quieter now, the sharp edges dulling.

Sevika nodded, dragging a hand down her face. “Yeah. I should’ve. But I was so caught up in running from it, I didn’t stop to think about what it was doing to you.” She let out a slow breath. “I didn’t realize—”

She stopped herself short, like saying it out loud would make it too real.

But then, she forced herself to look at you again.

“You liked me back.”

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed, looking away, suddenly finding the floor far more interesting.

“Of course I did,” you muttered, voice thick. “I still do.”

Sevika’s chest tightened.

She had spent weeks drowning herself in anything that could distract her—other women, alcohol, fights that left her knuckles bruised—anything to push away the feeling she didn’t want to face.

But now, sitting here, watching you—

She realized she had made a mistake.

A huge one.

Sevika took a deep breath, steadying herself before she stood, crossing the short distance between you. Her movements were slow, hesitant, like she thought you might flinch away. And at first, you nearly did—your body tensed, your fingers gripping the fabric of your sleeves as she approached.

But she didn’t force anything.

Instead, she reached out, calloused fingers brushing against your jaw before cupping your face with a gentleness you hadn’t expected. Her thumb traced over your cheek, hesitant, almost reverent.

“Let me fix this,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering up to hers, searching.

“Let me love you back.”

Her words cracked something open in you, something raw and aching. The weeks of confusion, of longing, of heartache—all of it threatened to overwhelm you. You could see the desperation in her eyes, the regret, the unspoken plea for another chance.

Slowly, your body relaxed.

Your hands moved on their own, fingers brushing over the cool metal of her prosthetic before gripping the front of her vest, pulling her closer.

Sevika exhaled shakily, her forehead resting against yours for a moment before she tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a kiss that was nothing like the ones before.

It wasn’t rushed or hungry.

It was soft. Careful. Like she was afraid you might shatter beneath her touch.

You melted into it, arms looping around her neck, pulling her impossibly closer. The kiss deepened, her other hand splaying against your back, holding you as if you might slip away if she let go.

When she finally pulled back, her lips hovered just over yours, breaths mingling.

“I won’t run again,” she promised, voice rough with emotion. “Not from you.”

You searched her face, the sincerity in her expression, before nodding slightly.

“Then don’t.”

And when she kissed you again, you knew—this time, she wouldn’t.

A/N: Kinda noticed the amount of repeating phrases in this but I didn’t proofread and wrote it when I was sick so ignore that and hope you enjoyed it (and again, sorry for being gone for so long)!

Fiery Familiarty - Part 4

i’m so sorry yall ;;; i really meant to post before now, my brain has been all over the place. but finally, here you have part 4, please forgive me!! i hope you guys enjoy <3

words: ~2.1k

prologue | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

When you awoke the following day, you were almost nervous to leave your room. As you dressed, you mentally prepared yourself, taking a deep breath before you walked out to greet everyone else. You greeted everyone politely, elbowing Toph and Sokka as you fought for your morning meal. You thanked Pipsqueak before taking your food, settling in to watch Aang and Zuko training.

You couldn’t help but cringe as Zuko let out a particularly frustrated growl, changing form in an effort to get more out of his bending. “Don’t patronize me! You know what it’s supposed to look like!”

“Sorry, Sifu Hotman!”

You snickered around your breakfast at the nickname.

“Hey, jerks!” Sokka sat beside you, munching his apple. “Mind if I watch you two jerks do your jerk bending?”

You elbowed him, “Shut it.”

“Get out of here!”

“Okay, take it easy.” Sokka drops his apple, “I was just kiddin' around.” He snickers to himself as he walks away, “jerkbending, still got it.”

You watched Zuko sink in on himself, groaning in frustration at his own failure. You decided to leave them to train in peace, not noticing Zuko’s eyes trailing after you as you went.

Once you caught up to Sokka, you shoved him. “Hey, idiot, what was that for, do you have a death wish or something? Willingly bothering an angry bender? Has Katara taught you nothing?”

He chuckled to himself shoving you back, “Hey, not my fault I’m so naturally hilarious. Besides, he’s so fun to tease now that he’s on our side.” He threw an arm around your shoulder, “besides, I think he’s got other interests. Somebody was asking about you this morning.”

Your eyes widened as you looked over to him, “what?”

Sokka’s face pulled into a Cheshire cat grin, “oh yeah, he was asking all about you this morning. Who you were, where you were from, what we knew about you. Seemed to reaallllly wanna get to know you. You got something going on with Prince Grumpy?”

Your heart was pounding so loud that Sokka’s voice sounded muted. Had he figured it out? Surely not, or everyone would know. Right?

You laughed nervously, trying to keep your voice steady. “No way, I think he’s just asking 'cause I talked to him yesterday. Asked him about some stuff, he probably just wants to know more about who he’s teamed up with.”

Sokka swung his arms behind his head, crossing them to support it. “Okay, whatever you say! But I’m telling you, he’s more than just curious. There’s something more there.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, you tried to will it away as you grumbled, “whatever.” You passed him and went to check on Toph. You chose to spend the rest of your day with the others, exploring the Air Temple and playing mindless games to entertain yourselves.

Around the campfire, after Zuko came to the realization that he didn’t have the rage and anger to fuel his bending, Toph explained how she learned from the original source, the badgermoles. Though, seeing as the dragons had since gone extinct, he and Aang decided they were going to visit the civilization of the Sun Warriors. They set off bright and early the next day.

You paced all day until they returned, rushing to check on them. Aang laughed, assuring you they were alright before launching into another of his long-winded stories. You all got a good laugh out of their very sacred dragon dance.

Later that night, you guys sat around the fire, sharing food and laughter.

“You should’ve seen the look on his face, I’ve never seen a kid so scared about a baby tiger seal!” Katara’s cackle was infectious, everyone joining in as Sokka whined at her for exposing him.

You chuckled softly, nudging him, “Don’t worry Sokka, I remember back home when we would visit the turtleducks, Zu-” You panicked, coughing to cover the fumble. “My friend Zumon, he used to bug them and the mother would bite him.”

The others laughed softly but mostly continued to tease Sokka and tell more stories. You could tell Toph felt your heart start pounding. She tapped your leg in concern, to which you tapped back twice for “I’m okay.”

You could feel Zuko staring at you. You lifted your gaze to meet his, your breath catching in your throat. He knew. There was no way he didn’t, not with the shock in his expression. He almost looked hurt, and you couldn’t take it. You stood up, quietly bidding everyone a good night, claiming you were tired. In reality, you barely slept.

You woke up before the morning sun had even risen, a hand on your shoulder. You panicked, sitting up so fast it made you dizzy.

“Sorry,” Zuko whispered, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You felt some tension bleed as you realized it wasn’t someone coming to attack you, but some came back when you realized that it was Zuko. Your Zuko. The Zuko you deceived into thinking you weren’t his childhood friend. Who found out by accident because you had slipped up in your stupid story. “Zuko… hey.”

“Hi,” his awkward attitude strikes back. “I was… Well, I was wondering if you- If you’d like to train. With me.”

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea-”

“Please.”

You could see the hope in his eyes, even in the dim light.

“...Okay”

You got on some light clothes, following Zuko out to where he’d been training with Aang. He sat down, patting the spot beside him. “So…”

You laughed softly, “so…”

“Why… didn’t you say anything?”

The dreaded question. “I didn’t mean to lie to you… I just couldn’t tell them. You have to understand, having someone from the Fire Nation try to join them? That was not an option. I couldn’t tell anyone. After I left, I had to blend in. I became a lost child, an orphan. Everyone assumed my family had been killed in the war, and I couldn’t tell anyone the truth. The family of the Fire Nation generals, even a child, are not treated kindly. I didn’t get my scar from a trip and fall,” you laughed bitterly.

Zuko paused, taking in your words before responding, “I didn’t mean why you didn’t tell anyone. I mean, why didn’t you say anything to me before you left? Y/n, you were… You were my only friend.”

Your heart dropped as you looked at him, grabbing his hands, “I never wanted to leave you, Zuko. There was never a day when I didn’t regret leaving you behind, you were my best friend. But after what I heard, their plans to enslave a town of innocent people… I couldn’t stay there.”

As Zuko studied your expression, he could see the distress in your eyes. His eyes softened, “If anyone understands the cruelty of the Fire Nation, it’s me. I’m just glad you got the chance to get out of there. It just… hurt. Losing my best, my only friend. Then when mom left…”

You leaned forward, hesitating before hugging him, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m so sorry for not being there when you needed me. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to lose her, Ursa was so kind and loving… I’ll never let you go through something like that alone, not again.”

As you pulled back, you saw a sole tear stream down his face. You raised a hand to his cheek, swiping your thumb across it as he leaned ever so slightly into your touch. “I promise, Zu.”

And as the Zuko in front of you looked into your eyes, you could see the broken boy he used to be, a weak smile finally gracing his face.

He closed his eyes, taking a moment to gather himself before pulling back. “Will you train with me? I… can teach you what I learned from the dragons.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m honoured, Zuko, but if they catch me-“

“The sun isn’t even awake yet, Y/n. Just this once, bend with me. It’s been years.”

You couldn’t resist those puppy dog eyes.

You nodded, stepping towards him as you bowed to each other. “I haven’t used my bending in years, I can’t promise I’ll be any good to practice with.”

A soft laugh, “I supposed I'll have to show you how a real master does it then, huh?”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head playfully, “you, a master? I saw you a couple days ago, that little smoke show wasn’t master level.”

He grinned, sliding into his first form, “that was before a dragon showed me my true power. Here, I’ll show you.” He moved so fluidly, from one motion to another before he struck. The sheer amount of fire, the heat radiating from his bending, it was mesmerizing.

You smiled, “Oh great Sifu Hotman, show me your ways!” You waved your hands in fake worship, eyes swimming with mischief.

“Spirits, not you too!” You let out a cackle as he grumbled about the ‘stupid nickname’.

“Well, come on, teach me.”

His grumpy expression seemed to soften, his eyes betraying him. He slid behind you, “may I?”

You nodded without even thinking about what he was asking to do.

You gasped as he placed his hands ever so softly. You had forgotten how bending heated his hands. His touch felt deliciously warm with the morning air cooling your skin. You inhaled, holding your breath as his feather-light touch slid over your arms, guiding you.

“Uncle always told me that your firepower comes from breathing, not muscle.” He pressed gently on your diaphragm, “breathe, Y/n.”

You drew a shaky breath, closing your eyes to try and steady yourself. You focused on his voice, on the electricity buzzing under your skin everywhere he touched.

“Good. Your breath becomes your energy. It powers you, it extends out and becomes your fire. Let the air fuel your flame.” He was so close you could feel his breath against your neck and he pushed you into form.

Your eyes shot open as you felt all the energy culminating, a flame shooting out of your hand. Your eyes lit up as you turned to him, “I did it!”

He laughed, “I told you, you just needed a master to teach you.”

Your smile turned to a cocky grin, “oh yeah? We’ll get ready to get your butt whooped, O’ Great Fire Master. You can’t stop me now that I’ve got my spark back!”

You let out a laugh as you pushed, a flame forcing him the deflect. That was all it took to get him going. You mimicked him, mirroring his forms in a perfect act of push and pull. It brought back old memories of long-forgotten childhood games, and silly moves you once used. You let out an excited yelp as he threw his ‘Super Mega Prince Fireball’ at you, nearly tripping over yourself as you dodged it. Zuko couldn’t help but play fight when it brought such a lovely shine to your eyes.

Then suddenly, as if the puzzle pieces had fallen into place, you remembered an old dance. One from such a distant memory, you were sure he had forgotten. But as you took your first step, and hummed a note, hoping he would remember… You could see recognition cross his face as he took the next step, humming the note to match. The raspy notes in his voice matched with the even tone in yours, creating the melody you’d missed so dearly.

You danced around each other, letting out plumes of fire, your bodies brushing against each other in an intricate dance. As the tune built to its crescendo, your eyes met and suddenly it was like the world ceased to exist outside of him. He danced so perfectly, it’s like you were an extension of each other. You could feel your heart pounding as your feet moved in sync, a harmony you had never known until now. Then, on the last note, he swept you up, the way he’d never had the courage to do as a child. Zuko held you close before he dipped you, and both your opposite hands reached up toward the sky. Then, in your final pose, your hands wove together, shooting out flames that mixed so hot it burned white.

You both held the pose, bodies pressed together as your chests heaved from the exertion. You were staring into his eyes as though you’d never see each other again, drinking each other in with a breathless smile. You almost forgot that you weren’t the only people in the temple.

“Well well, looks like Sparky finally found his match.”

taglist: @mochminnie @martinys-world @shinyakii @typicallydepressedandanxious

Day 14: fantasy AU

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

This is a bit (too) long, but I honestly loved writing it. I hope you like it as much as I do, it's my favorite so far!

Living as a magical creature was undoubtedly difficult. But being born a witch was practically a death sentence.

You couldn’t boast that your kind had ever been fully accepted by society, but at least you could live in peace with others, and perhaps, out of fear, they wouldn’t dare harm you. But now, everything was different with the institution of a new system that aimed to completely exterminate you.

There were no longer safe places, and you were forced to retreat into the forest, stay united in covens, or the boldest among you faced the enemy. Treating you as a threat only turned you into one, sparking an unprecedented war where the king’s men used all sorts of devices to hunt, torture, and kill witches. On your side, you practiced every spell you knew, cursing them sometimes and even causing entire towns to suffer the consequences.

It was so sad to witness the feud and know that someday you could be the one standing on that stake that had taken so many lives or hanging with your feet floating above the ground as a demonstration of what they were capable of doing: a warning.

You doubted that you could ever kill someone out of spite. Your work had always been about healing, and up until that moment, you hadn’t allowed dark magic to corrupt you in any way, adhering to your principle that magic should only be used for altruistic purposes or, at worst, in self-defense.

However, that didn’t exempt you from fearing the men tasked with hunting you. You used to travel between towns to sell your healing potions, always careful not to be spotted by anyone who might turn you in. Sometimes, you worked for free for families too poor to afford other services. After all, magic was more effective. It was always more effective, both for good and for evil.

The fireplace burned softly inside your cabin, just enough to warm you but not enough to attract the attention of those who passed through the forest. Honestly, being there sometimes felt like living in a cave. You had covered the few windows to avoid being seen, and to counteract the lack of light, you had placed candles throughout the space.

You were preparing a stew for dinner with vegetables you had bought that afternoon in a neighboring town when a knock at the door startled you. The knocks weren’t aggressive but not timid either, and you quickly ran to extinguish most of the candles, hoping whoever was behind the door would go away. No one found your place by accident, so it had to be an intruder. If it were another witch, you would have felt it.

"I know you're in there," said a voice behind the wood. It was deep, and fortunately, not unfamiliar to you. "Let me in, I don’t want anyone else noticing I’m here."

Fearful but determined, you walked to the door to do as he asked. Suddenly, you remembered how the man always complained that your footsteps made no sound, something you found useful all the time.

Before opening, you discreetly peeked through a crack in the wood to make sure no one else was with him. Having a witch hunter at your door was bad enough; more of them would be catastrophic.

You pulled the handle of the old wood to reveal your guest, and he silently walked inside.

You had never met a man as strange as Reid, the witch hunter. You first saw each other during a skirmish you hadn’t planned to be part of but unfortunately ended up involved in. Your role wasn’t to attack anyone; instead, you helped your injured companions. At some point during the altercation, the man managed to catch you, and, scared but determined not to let him discover who you were, you tried to escape. He attempted to put a pair of shackles on you, but you fought back with all your strength. Although you tried to cast a spell, the man was intelligent. His hands strategically held you to prevent any of your movements, and he was strong enough that you couldn’t overpower him.

“Witch, it’ll be worse if you resist…”

You didn’t know if he said that to convince you or out of frustration from the struggle you were giving him, but you didn’t want to find out either. You bit the hand within your reach, and though he groaned, he didn’t release you entirely. When one of your feet touched the ground, giving you more stability, you kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to let you go.

You tried to run, but the man was an expert. He quickly reached for his sword, still sheathed at his waist. You looked him in the eye and regretted being in this situation. You didn’t want to hurt him, but it was kill or be killed.

Suddenly, you noticed hesitation in him, as if he didn’t want to do anything but capture you. His long hair was tangled, and his face was smeared with blood: you didn’t want to know if it was his or one of the women’s.

A crash echoed, and in a split second, a flash of blue light shot through the air, hitting the hunter’s shoulder in front of you. A few inches to the side, and it probably would have killed him instantly.

He collapsed to the ground, dropping his sword to use his hand to try to stop the blood pouring out in torrents. You stood in shock, watching him for a few seconds, stunned by the deep pain on his face. However, there was something else: it looked like hate, but if you looked closely, it was fear. No one wants to die, and in that gaze, there was fear of passing to the other life.

What could you do in that case? The wisest thing would have been to run away and leave him to his fate, but you hesitated for a second. Was that really the right thing to do? He had tried to capture you, but after all, he was a man, a soul.

Cautiously but without wasting time, you stumbled to his side, kneeling, and extended your hands over his body, covered by a leather jacket, pressing on the wound.

“Leave me alone!”

“Shut up, I’m trying to save your life,” you scolded him.

You began to recite a spell, and although he tried to move, the pain wouldn’t let him. Little by little, he felt the burning sensation diminishing, along with the feeling of his blood gushing out.

Reid was an expert at remembering faces. Thanks to that, his team of hunters often managed to catch witches, even if they moved from place to place. While you worked, he focused on observing you. Your face was smudged with soot, and you had a small cut at the hairline, but other than that, you were fairly easy to recognize. Your brows were furrowed with concern, and he wondered what kind of crazy person you were to be helping him, even though he had been about to condemn you minutes earlier.

When the pain was completely gone, leaving only a red stain, you knew you were vulnerable again, so you quickly got up to move away from the man. You didn’t know how long you ran, but the memory of the tears streaming down your face, thinking about abandoning your own kind, was etched in your memory.

The second time you saw each other was a complete accident. You had gone to town to stock up on some materials you needed, carefully buying from different vendors so that no one could accuse you of practicing witchcraft, when you bumped into someone. Before you could apologize, you saw that golden insignia worn by the most prestigious hunters, and as soon as you looked up, you both recognized each other instantly.

You didn’t hesitate to turn and run in the opposite direction, knocking into some people along the way. A few meters ahead, he caught up to you, grabbing your arm and dragging you into a secluded alley.

“Don’t kill me,” was the first thing you said, looking at him with an involuntary pleading expression.

Thanks to the daylight, you could observe him better and noticed the hardness in his features. He was intimidating, no doubt, and you understood why there were enough reasons to consider him dangerous.

“Why did you help me?”

There was a gruffness in his question that made it sound as if he were angry. Was he offended that he had been saved by the enemy? Or did he want to know your reasons before sending you to die?

He still held one of your hands tightly, fully aware that most spells required both your hands. There was silence for a moment as you stared at each other until you dared to speak.

“I don’t know.”

“I tried to capture you.”

“I know,” you replied just as seriously. He still hadn’t let you go. “But it’s my job. I help others. And I didn’t want the guilt of having left you lying there, although now that I think about it, it probably would’ve been the smarter thing to do.”

“You could’ve let me die, but you didn’t,” he murmured, almost as if talking to himself rather than to you “You didn’t.”

He sounded incredulous, as if the idea of an act of kindness from you was unimaginable. You remained very still, waiting for him to do something, and after a few seconds, he released your wrist.

“Go,” he said again. “It’s a life for a life.”

Without thinking too much about what he was offering you, you fled once more, and you didn’t stop until you reached the forest, completely forgetting the reason you had gone there in the first place. You would buy the ingredients elsewhere, what mattered most now was getting as far away from that hunter as possible.

As if by fate, you continued to run into each other, and each time your panicked glances were ignored by him, as if by not looking directly at you, he was giving you a chance to escape. Months passed this way, and at some point, you found him at your cabin door when you returned from the town.

You thought this would be your end and cursed yourself for not letting him die, sealing your tragic fate. However, he wasn’t there to capture you but to make a deal. You couldn’t believe it. After all, since when did hunters negotiate with witches?

“You’re something like a healer, aren’t you?” he asked once he had forced you inside the cabin so you wouldn’t be discovered.

“I am.”

“And do you know how to treat head troubles?” he asked curiously “You know, things doctors can’t?”

You didn’t understand what he wanted, and once again, you felt afraid. The enemy knew where you lived; he was standing in your home, not pinning you against a wall to immobilize you. He was seeking your help, which you had every right to refuse if you wished.

“You’re a witch hunter,” you muttered aloud, your tone bordering on disgust “What does it matter if I can do that?”

If you were going to die, you wanted to do it with integrity.

“Listen, I can offer you something in exchange for your help. I can protect you. If I hadn’t kept quiet, my companions would have already found and killed you because no detail escapes me. If I figure it out, my whole team knows, but on their own, they won’t be able to decipher it. I’m the one standing between them and you. If I say nothing, you’ll be safe.”

Could you trust his word? What if it was all a trap? A million questions crossed your mind at that moment, and you tried to consider whether the risk was worth the reward. Probably no hunter in history had ever sought help from a witch, and you were sure your kind couldn’t trust ordinary humans.

But despite knowing this, you accepted. After all, your secret was already exposed, and if you refused, you would only hasten the inevitable result. At least by accepting his deal, you bought time. You could live until he decided you were no longer useful, or when his team of hunters wanted to eliminate more witches.

Months had passed since then. That’s how he told you what he was suffering from, and you helped him treat it, giving him various infusions, ointments, and occasionally using some magic directly on him.

“Have you gotten better or worse?”

“I’ve improved. On a scale from one to ten, maybe a seven.”

“Have you followed the instructions I gave you? The therapeutic baths, drinking the drops I gave you, all of that…”

“Yes. Sometimes I don’t have time, but I try.”

Whenever he visited you, neither of you made eye contact. You pretended to be busy preparing things, while he kept analyzing the wood of your table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Alright. Give me a moment, and I’ll prepare what you need.”

Reid hummed in response, and he stayed calm, drumming his fingers on the surface in front of him. While you mixed ingredients, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, noticing that he was wearing his characteristic black clothes, but this time he looked more relaxed. No sword or visible weapons. He was only wearing a linen shirt and pants, which made you wonder if the night’s chill would affect him.

Your cabin was exceedingly warm, and although he wouldn’t admit it, there was a comforting feeling upon entering.

“I heard you caught the Green Witch.”

“We did, yes. Just yesterday. By the afternoon, her sentence had already been passed.”

“May the gods receive her with joy, and may she become magical strength for her coven,” you recited, making a gesture similar to crossing yourself.

Reid assumed that this was what you witches said every time one of your kind died.

“Did you know her?”

“Yes. We met a couple of times. She was a bit mad, but not so much that I’d wish her dead.”

“She did a lot of bad things.”

“I know. But years ago, she lived in peace with us.” You fell silent for a moment, waiting for a response. None came. “What you people do to my sisters is completely inhumane. Did you know that?”

“We’re just trying to protect people.”

“Yes, from something that wasn’t dangerous until you decided it was. If you keep telling someone they’re evil long enough, I think you’ll eventually push them into becoming that.”

Admitting it out loud would be a betrayal of the principles on which he worked, but Reid had thought many times about what you had just told him. The first encounter he had with you caused a complete ideological conflict in his mind. The lingering question had started to take shape: What if not all witches were evil?

He had joined the hunters to help achieve a greater good for his people. During those months, he had enjoyed the effects of your remedies, you had taken care of him, and despite who he was, you treated him with respect. He wondered if your behavior was out of fear that he might expose you to the other hunters or if your actions were genuine.

“If I refused to keep helping you…” you began, breaking the silence. He was deep in thought, and your voice brought him back to reality “Would you send me to the stake?”

As you said this, you still didn’t look at him. Focused on your work table, you gave him your back, somehow hoping his response would come directly to that place. You were sure of what he would say, that it would reach you like a stab.

“Are you planning to stop helping me?”

“Would you do it?” you insisted.

Reid thought about it for a moment and decided to answer your question with another.

“Would you be capable of killing me?” When you heard that, you turned with a confused expression. “You have all the means, to be honest. I drink those things you give me without question. Who’s to say you couldn’t be poisoning me?”

“I would never do that.”

“I can’t know that, just as you have doubts, so do I. It’s a matter of trust. Helping me is your choice, I’m just offering the benefit of protection in return. But if one day that agreement breaks, it won’t be me accusing you. If you decide to act wrongly, that’s your responsibility.”

You fell silent, observing him seriously. He was such a strange man.

“So, it’s our fault that we’re sent to die? Without being given the chance to prove we can help you?”

“Don’t think I’m a fool. I know you travel through the villages selling your potions and healing the poor. You’re proving your worth by keeping yourself alive, and that’s why you’re still here. You might live a long life as long as you don’t draw attention.”

“But I’m still a witch in the end. And you’re a hunter. The outcome for that combination is logical and inevitable.”

“And do you think all hunters are monsters?”

“I don’t know. Do you think all of us are evil?”

The two of you fell silent. Neither of you would dare say what you really thought. But there was something in the look you shared that felt hopeful.

Sensing the lack of response, you turned back to your work, and the conversation was over. A few minutes later, you placed three jars, a wooden container with ointment, and a plate of hot stew on the table.

“What’s this?”

“Food. No poison. If you don’t want to join me, then take your remedies, and the door is open.”

You had never invited him to stay longer than necessary, and the proposal felt strange to both of you.

Reid’s silence and his remaining in your home seemed to indicate a positive response, and still without saying anything, you served yourself a plate to join him for dinner. The sound of the fireplace was all that could be heard around you, along with the occasional noises of nature.

Whenever you weren’t paying attention, Reid would look up to observe you, as if you were a puzzle he needed to solve. Similarly, you analyzed his behavior, wondering if this man was worth the risks you were taking. Once, your gazes crossed, but as soon as your eyes met, both of you looked away.

“I should go,” he announced after finishing his meal. He wanted to compliment your cooking skills but couldn’t find the words. “Should I take the medicine the usual way?”

“Yes. The ointment is only if you have a fever.”

“Alright,” he muttered, nodding his head. He needed to leave, but it was as if his feet weren’t responding. “Thanks. For everything.”

For perhaps the first time, Reid saw a smile on your lips, and he took it as a sign of trust.

“Be careful on your way back.”

You didn’t speak of the matter any further, and you tried with all your might not to think about it. But the weeks passed, and you heard no news of Reid. It wasn’t as if you wanted to run into him everywhere, of course, but not knowing anything about him left you feeling strangely uneasy this time.

During one of your visits to town, you overheard rumors and couldn’t help but get curious. Several people were saying the same thing, both villagers and hunters.

"The hunter Reid is sick."

The women recited prayers, and the men expressed their sympathy for him. Apparently, he was a well-liked figure among the villagers, which made you wonder why and, secondly, why he hadn’t come to you for help.

Through whispers, a few questions, and your own deductions, you managed to find out where the man lived, and, trembling, you decided to search for him. Night had already fallen, and you hoped that under the cover of darkness, your identity would remain hidden.

Once you arrived, it wasn’t difficult to open the door, but your main fear was that he might have company, which would ruin everything. You noticed that the place was modest, with just a small hallway, a little room with shelves full of books, and a tiny space for preparing and eating meals. In the back, visible from the entrance, was a room dimly lit by a nearly extinguished candle.

How angry would he be if he found you in his home? In his territory, violating the place he likely considered sacred and safe? A witch in the house of a witch hunter.

He was alone in the room, lying on a small bed pushed against the wall, barely fitting his frame. He looked peaceful, but also visibly worn out, and his cheeks were flushed. You had heard of an illness affecting humans, killing them in large numbers: the plague.

Gently, almost maternally, you brushed his hair away from his forehead to check his temperature. He was burning up with fever.

“Who is it?” he asked hoarsely, barely having the strength to speak. When he cracked his eyes open and saw you, you noticed his transition from drowsiness to alarm.

“It’s me. I’m here. Calm down, you’re not hallucinating,” you murmured. Without wasting time, you searched among his belongings for the ointment you had made for him weeks ago, and without questioning it, you began to apply a layer to his forehead.

“What are you doing here?”

“The whole town is talking about you. I couldn’t help but hear, so I thought I’d come to check if my protection from the gallows was still in place,” you teased lightly.

You were lying. You wanted to see him, and you were worried about him. But you weren’t going to admit that.

“I’m just a little sore. Everyone’s exaggerating.”

“Has anyone given you anything? Food, medicine?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything.”

“Oh, so you want to go out like a real martyr? Suffering helps you reach heaven, or that’s what you people say, right?”

“Why did you come to see me? How… how did you know where I live?”

He spoke with difficulty, struggling to string his thoughts together, likely because of the illness. He was completely vulnerable before you.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked first. “Because I can.”

“No offense,” he whispered, fighting to keep his eyes open. “It was just a question”

“Then, do you want me to stay?”

“If you want to, then yes.”

Neither of you would back down. Resigned, you found a chair to sit beside the bed and rummaged through your bag for something that could help him. You had a loaf of bread meant for your cabin and some tea, still warm, that you had bought from a farmer. Despite the hardship you'd face, your will allowed you to offer both to the hunter.

“You need to eat and drink something. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll prepare a potion that will help lessen the symptoms. With that and a little magic, you’ll be well by tomorrow or the day after you won’t even remember being sick.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will see you?”

“Of course I am. But I trust you’re not so treacherous as to betray me after I’ve risked coming here to help you.”

In that, you were right. And Reid knew it.

Without saying anything, you placed the food and the steaming tea on a little table beside the bed, then went to another area to start your work. Even though you didn’t have all your ingredients with you, you could prepare something decent with the supplies in your bag.

When you returned to the room, he had already devoured half of the bread and nearly finished the tea. You noticed that he was struggling to stay seated, so you encouraged him to lie down again, ready to begin your work.

Reid watched closely as you moved your hands and the faint sparks that appeared each time you twitched your fingers. It seemed as if you were pulling something from within him, and the man’s curious nature emerged.

“What exactly are you doing with that?”

“I’m pulling the illness from your system. Your soul is infected, so I have to cleanse it.”

“And the illness? Where does it go?”

“I absorb it,” you explained. Seeing his disbelief, you continued, “Magic always requires you to give something. That’s why so many witches who use dark magic end up corrupting themselves. Committing evildoings requires absorbing that pain.”

“Have you ever used dark magic?”

Suddenly, the conversation felt kind, intimate, almost like that of a pair of friends... or even lovers. You were terrified but didn’t let him notice.

“No. I practice Wicca: nature grants me power, and I am at peace with it. Without harming others.”

“It’s fascinating to hear someone talk about it. We know how to capture, contain, and kill your kind... I mean, witches. But I never really thought about what you all practice or believe.”

His voice was soft, tired, while you continued your work.

“Do all of you have the same mark?”

His hand reached up to touch your forearm, and you felt a shiver run through your body. His finger rested lightly on your birthmark, a reddish spot.

“Witches who are born with magic do. Well, most of them. For those who turn evil, the mark darkens, and often their fingers start to turn black, as if they have soot on their hands. It’s part of the transformation.”

“And is it true that you’re daughters of the devil?”

You let out a scoff, incredulous, wondering how many more lies had been told to tarnish your people’s image and turn you into monsters.

“We are daughters of Mother Nature, descendants of the oldest magical lineages. We have nothing to do with Lucifer.”

“And how is a witch born? Do you need... to be intimate with someone of your kind?”

“I think that’s a bit too personal of a question,” you murmured disapprovingly. With one final movement, you eliminated the sickness from his soul, and you felt that even his appearance had changed. “Better?”

“A little.”

“You need to drink this all day tomorrow and if possible, the day after. Dissolve it in enough water, and as the hours pass, you’ll notice improvement. But the most important thing now is for you to rest.”

“And where are you going?”

“To my cabin. You don’t expect me to stay in town, do you?”

“The night is dangerous,” he tried to warn, but you responded with a laugh.

“So what? Afraid I’ll run into a witch?”

Reid didn’t miss the teasing tone in your voice, and for a moment, he felt the same connection, that sense of familiarity you had felt before.

“You’ll be fine. Just follow the instructions and find me when you’re better,” you murmured, hoping that would suffice as a farewell.

However, the man stretched out his hand to stop you from leaving, gently taking your fingers. You correctly assumed that no witch had ever received such a soft touch from a hunter, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Why do you insist on proving you’re good?” he asked, reflecting aloud. You looked puzzled by his statement. “You saved my life even though I sought to take yours. You help me stay sane with your herbs, and now you come here and assist me even though no one asked you to.”

“Are you dissatisfied?”

“I’m confused. How am I supposed to capture more witches, knowing they could be like you? That they could be kind, sweet… that they could be so human?”

His monologue seemed more like he was trying to understand things himself, rather than asking you. But if he was recognizing you as human, was he suggesting he saw you as an equal?

You were walking on very thin ice. Ice that could easily crack under the heat of emotions... of passion, and something strange that was brewing inside both of you.

“Just don’t do it,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. Without waiting any longer, afraid that his touch would overwhelm you, you pulled your hand away and walked toward the door. “Keep me updated. If you die, my protection dies too.”

You tried to make your words sound indifferent, but the truth was, they came out with a mixture of concern and plea. Reid felt a sense of pride, thinking that you were implying you needed him. That for one reason or another, you wanted him to stay alive.

“Thank you,” he murmured, delirious. In your heart, you hoped for his recovery, or you would never forgive yourself.

You waved goodbye and then made your way to the door of the house. Luck was on your side, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Cautiously, using those silent steps the hunter often complained about, you walked into the forest and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Throughout the night, perhaps due to fever or perhaps due to desire, Reid dreamed of you.

The months passed. Everyone was amazed at the sudden recovery of the hunter, and most attributed it to a miracle, not knowing that the magic they so despised had actually saved him.

Apparently, that second act of compassion on your part had softened his heart, and his visits became more frequent, almost always lacking any real purpose. He excused himself by saying that he wanted to learn more about witches, to see if there was a less violent way to deal with those who were evil. You had basically become the subject of his research.

Part of you was terrified at the thought that someone might discover your meetings or that he might dare to use against you all the information you were giving him. However, over time, the trust between you both grew considerably.

Titles had been lost somewhere along the way. Suddenly, you were no longer a witch, and he was no longer a hunter. You were simply two people, curious about discovering the secrets of the other's nature, beginning to learn that perhaps the beliefs you both had grown up with could be wrong.

Reid took it upon himself to warn you every time a hunt was going to start, making sure you didn’t leave your place until it was safe, trying desperately to keep the hunters away from the section of the forest where you lived.

Time was the only culprit for you growing fond of him. You didn’t want to; you never planned for it, but gradually, the feeling crept under your skin, and you couldn’t avoid it. It was terrifying just to think about it.

“It's beautiful, isn’t it?”

Reid was mesmerized by the view in front of him. Your curious friend had asked if it was true that fairies existed since he had never seen one, and you promised to take him to meet them. So, one afternoon, you ended up at a stunning crystal-clear lagoon surrounded by trees, with colorful lights flitting from one side to the other.

“We’ve explored this forest so many times. How come I’ve never seen this?”

“Sometimes, you humans only see what you need to see. The fairies are very protective of their territory, so not just anyone finds them,” you said, smiling slightly.

The idea of him being so excited to meet the fairies surprised you a lot. You had spent so much time with him that your perception of humans had inevitably changed too. Maybe not all of them were destined to hate magical beings… perhaps some could even grow to admire you.

But sometimes, you had mixed feelings about it. He visited you, protected you, trusted you… but he was still a hunter, wasn’t he? He still helped send witches like you to their deaths.

Only the evil ones, he always justified.

“Those little lights… Are they them?”

You hummed in agreement and carefully extended your palms, hoping one of them would approach. When one finally did, Reid was able to see it.

Fairies, contrary to what many humans believed, weren’t tiny, beautiful versions of a person with transparent wings. In reality, fairies were brown-colored creatures with moth-like wings and hair that looked like a bird’s nest.

“Aren’t they curious?”

“Very fascinating,” he admitted, a smile forming on his face. Lately, watching him smile had become one of your favorite activities.

He observed the scenery for a while, trying to register as many details as possible, while you gathered some plants that you would use to prepare potions or infusions.

Seeing you amid nature awakened a strange feeling in Reid. Kneeling, dressed in a white gown that gave you a certain aura of purity, your hair fell like a curtain over your face.

What was that feeling? Why did he feel this way, watching you so peacefully?

You said something, but honestly, Reid didn’t hear you. He was too distracted by the glow of your face and wondering where the little flowers in your hair had come from. It was probably the fairies, he thought, during the time he hadn’t been watching you.

“I asked if you know how to swim,” you repeated with a small smile “There are some who say this lagoon has healing properties. There are nymphs, too, but I haven’t seen any lately. They’re a bit possessive, to be honest.”

“Nymphs?” he asked, astonished, which only made you laugh.

Without saying another word, you set your basket aside, and Reid was shocked to see you start taking off your dress, leaving yourself in nothing but a very thin undergarment that was too indecent to be considered proper. But he couldn’t expect modesty from someone like you; after all, you had already shown that you didn’t follow conventional rules.

You gracefully dove into the lagoon, and Reid watched you disappear into the water, only to resurface a few seconds later.

“Come on!”

Reid hesitated for a minute, but eventually, he gave in and joined you in the water under the same conditions as you: in his underwear.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” you spoke again, floating on your back in the clear water.

You had your eyes closed, as the sun was shining directly on your face, and Reid tried to avert his gaze from the curves of your body, which were now visible through your soaked clothes. He felt slightly embarrassed by the improper thoughts that crossed his mind, thoughts he couldn’t control.

“Swimming?”

“The nature. The village is so gray and sad… everything here is better.”

The man hummed, as if to say that he agreed with you. Suddenly, he felt a couple of fairies fluttering around him, and the movement of their wings tickled him, making him laugh.

“Do mermaids exist?”

“They do, but only in the open sea. You should be careful with the sirens.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Mermaids can be benevolent if they wish. But sirens’ sole task is to seduce sailors and lure them to the bottom of the sea; they attract them with their song and beauty.”

“I didn’t know there were so many creatures I had to worry about, not just witches. No offense.”

“Oh, Reid. You humans are missing out on a whole world,” you teased, swimming right up to him “The difference is that witches don’t try to seduce you. We’re a bit more practical.”

“That would be a good strategy.”

“Do you want a witch to seduce you?” you asked, tilting your head slightly to one side to look at him.

“No! I mean… using beauty to attract people with reason might be effective. I suppose.”

“Unfortunately, there aren’t too many candidates who interest us. Most of them are grouchy, horrible old men. Although, well… there are always exceptions to the rule.”

Were you flirting with him? From the way you were looking at him, he thought it was entirely possible.

“Anyway, all it would take to make a man fall for us is putting a bit of love potion in his tea. It wouldn’t be hard.”

“Now I understand why my tea tastes weird lately.”

There was something unspoken in your teasing, something suggestive, even sinful. Yes, because the idea that a witch and a witch hunter could have that kind of tension was ridiculous. Unthinkable.

You both stared at each other for a second, waiting for the other to say something, but that didn’t happen.

“Are our things still where we left them? There are goblins in this forest too, and they tend to be quite mischievous.”

“They are,” he quickly answered.

You smiled and, with a nod of your head, invited him to follow you, then began swimming in an unknown direction.

You chatted for a while as you swam, and little by little, the sky turned orange, signaling that sunset was approaching. You were in an area surrounded by grass, where more fairies sparkled around than Reid had ever seen before, making the atmosphere visually stunning.

“We should head back. They might wonder where you are,” you suggested, glancing at the sky “Tonight is a full moon. A perfect occasion for a human sacrifice, and I don’t want any speculation.”

Your tone was playful, and just as he was about to respond, everything suddenly seemed to slow down. Behind you, there was a whirlpool in the water, and by the time he tried to warn you, it was too late. The natural phenomenon swallowed you up immediately, almost as if your body were in free fall.

Reid was seized by panic. His area of expertise didn’t involve bodies of water, but he knew how dangerous a whirlpool could be, as it could cause you to drown.

Without wasting time, he dove underwater and spent almost a painful minute trying to grab one of your limbs to pull you toward him. When he finally succeeded, your body was heavy and limp, making him fear the worst.

When he managed to resurface, he swam with you to the shore, carefully laying you down. While lying next to you, he called your name several times, moving your head to get you to respond, but nothing happened.

“Come on! Wake up!” he urged, his voice filled with evident desperation.

Suddenly, he remembered some of his knowledge of the human body and, albeit fearfully, began pressing on your chest to try to expel the water from your lungs. Every few compressions, he leaned in to give you mouth-to-mouth, hoping it would be enough to revive you.

When he finally heard you gasp and saw you roll onto your side to vomit all the water, he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Are you okay?”

“What happened?” you asked, disoriented.

Reid was nearly hovering over you, holding your cheeks with both hands as if to assess your condition, his honey-colored eyes locked onto yours.

“A whirlpool. I tried to warn you, but it already had you.”

“Oh…” you exhaled, still coughing a bit. It took you a second to process it “And you saved me?”

“Of course. Who else would it be?” he muttered, almost in a reproachful tone.

A small smile crossed your lips.

“So, is this going to become a habit? Saving each other’s lives?”

It wasn’t until that moment that you both became aware of how close you were. His wet body was pressed against yours, and Reid could feel your chest firmly against his. He was still holding your cheeks.

You stared at each other. His eyes, his beautiful and gentle eyes, were fixed on yours. Just breathing a little heavier would have allowed you to feel each other’s breath, your noses practically brushing.

Once again, you faced a dilemma. You could have gotten rid of him a long time ago. Not once, but many times. And he could have done the same without consequences. But that was never your intention; it was useless to keep pretending.

And then, it just happened. It felt natural for both of you to lean in and close the distance, sealing your lips together without any need for explanation.

Your kisses said it all. They said: I care about you. They said: I was afraid I was going to lose you. They said: I know you’re not evil like the others. And they said: I know you’re not ruthless like them.

Suddenly, the contact didn’t seem to be enough, and Reid positioned himself over you to continue kissing you, with no protest from your side. You could feel the heat beneath you, and he undoubtedly felt the same. His free hand firmly gripped your side, almost massaging the soft parts of your torso. You held him tightly, your fingers tangled in the wet curls of his hair.

And so, within a matter of minutes, you both gave in to the unrestrained passion that had been growing inside you for the past few months.

He was good to you, careful. You reciprocated, caressing him gracefully and whispering sweet words in his ear.

The thin ice you had both been walking on didn’t even exist anymore. It had shattered at that moment, and all that remained was an intense fire engulfing the both of you.

You just had to be careful that a heat like that didn’t turn into a pyre.

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kitty-kei

1 year ago

｡ﾟ･ ☆ lucifer morningstar (soft) gifs — here’s part 2!! I’m so in love with this man my god … anyway!! Here’s the other lucifer gifs and my requests are open if there’s any gifs / writing prompts you’d like me to do ! please credit me if you use these!!!