I’ve never tried having a blog so this is me holding myself accountable. I want to actually reblog and post some art/writing/thoughts about the things I like. Let’s see where that takes us!
FINISHED! I really thought all the painting would turn out terrible tbh. I suck at painting and then add on tiny pieces. BUT I think it came out really nice even tho I’m questioning its ability to work as a book end. I ended up going with the silkie because it was very cute and a bit of a bright silly spot in the piece.
warnings: mdni 18+, afab fem reader, p in v sex, missionary position, verbose praise (not just use of good girl)
Always loquacious, Gale finds himself unable to stop from talking you through the moment and uttering the most well-formed compliments. How he stays coherent enough during such intimacy, able to boast about how utterly bewitching you are is a mystery to you. His mind crafts the most verbose metaphors, the sweetest praise you've ever had the pleasure to hear.
He just loves the way you squirm when he takes you like this- the lack of urgency in his slow teasing movements always has you drooling and begging, the constant praise he bestows upon you keeping your pussy soaked for him.
"You take me so well," he pants, thrusting into your cunt at a leisurely pace that makes you ache for more, "As if your body was made just for me. The last puzzle piece to finish what was almost whole."
However flowery, his praise never fails to send you reeling, bucking your hips to meet him in the middle- needing more than what he is currently offering with an unhurried pace that drives you insane- body positively on fire with arousal for him.
A husky chuckle climbs up his throat, the sound of his voice low and so affected by pleasure has you keening- "Gale, please..." you plead, needing so terribly to finish, impatient with the way he chooses to take his time with you.
The sound of your voice begging, that is something he can never ignore- something he can never say no to. He grabs your hips gently, skin slapping against skin as he speeds up, grinding against you in a way that stimulates all the best places.
"So eager, you are. So desperate for the ecstasy that only I can offer you. You know how much I love to see you lose yourself like this, irrevocably undone by my body and words. How exquisite the sight of this is, your body quivering under my touch..." he praises, his verbosity not even evading him now.
His words drag across your sex-addled mind, dripping over you like a sticky honey. Clinging to your very soul, his voracious words put you back together as his touch unmakes you, body shuddering as you come undone for him.
ᡣ𐭩 smoking with plug!jason todd ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ cw: mentions of weed, pet names, bruce wayne
gotham’s sunset spills into your bedroom like a quiet fever, soft orange light pooling across the space while the skyline glows gold and dark beyond the glass. jason stretches out across the sheets, a knitted sweater soft against his frame, concealing the kind of strength that doesn’t belong to a man who looks this gentle. his dark hair falls back in a messy push of fingers. he takes a slow drag, smoke curling toward the window before he passes the blunt to you, eyes flicking up through the amber light.
you lift your head from his shoulder to take it from his surprisingly soft hands, the smoke sliding into your lungs, slow and warm. “did you wanna talk about it?” you ask as you exhale, the words drifting out with the haze. you don’t need to clarify. after the almost frantic texts asking to see you, you both know it’s about bruce again.
he sighs, taking the last drag before pressing the blunt out on your side table. his free hand drifts through his hair, fingers tugging lightly at the strands. “nah sweets, s’not worth it,” he says at last, his voice low, the tension leaving with the words. when he turns to you, a soft smile curves his lips, one he saves only for you.
you don’t push, you never do. you climb into his lap, his arm finding your waist right away, pulling you close like he needs you to breathe. he presses a few soft kisses to the top of your head before tucking his face into your hair. “missed you, ma,” he murmurs, his breath warm against you.
you tilt your head back, fingers sliding through his hair. he leans into your touch like a man starved. a soft, dazed smile tugs at your lips. maybe you could blame it on the weed, on the slow warmth still curling through your veins, but you both know better. your voice comes out low, a whisper meant just for him. “missed you too, jay.”
“‘preciate you so much, baby,” he whispers after a long breath, his voice soft and worn. “my sweet girl, so perfect.” his lips brush over your skin, tracing a slow line from your cheek to your mouth while his hands move along your torso, steady and sure. the kiss that follows is gentle, but there’s a pull beneath it, a quiet hunger that’s so jason. even without the words, without a name for whatever this is, you both feel it. he’s yours.
synopsis: Jason didn’t mean to keep your existence secret from his family—really! At first, it was for his and your own protection more than anything, his double life wasn’t just for any average person after all. But, even after the whole marriage and settling down thing, he may have just—honest to god—forgot to mention it?
includes: silly shenanigans, fluff, civilian wife!reader, + pregnant reader but it’s really only mentioned like twice, she/her pronouns used, oblivious & extremely confused batfam, jason & reader share a singular + 1/2 of a brain cell, domestic life, annoying siblings, jason being terrible at communicating, he’s also got a bit of a potty mouth, warning for my absolute horrible punctuation & run-on sentences + not beta-read
cast: jason todd, dick grayson, tim drake, damian wayne, cassandra cain, bruce wayne, alfred pennyworth, you!
a/n: I love Jason with a secret family trope >w< !!! thus I took it upon myself to write my own. sorry if anyone seems out of character or odd!! I tried to keep this as fun and lighthearted as possible <3 this is my first ever x reader fic! be kind to me world :3…
wc: 6.4k
09.28.25
In the beginning, Jason was apprehensive about you. You who approached him first, completely unprompted, at your favorite coffee shop. All red and fidgety with nerves when you asked him for his number.
At first he was sure it was a trap, someone sent sweet, unassuming you to catch him off guard. Try and trip him up then get him when he’s unprepared and vulnerable. After all, regular people didn’t just walk up to Jason on purpose to ask him anything, let alone on a date. Jason knew he didn’t really give off dinner and a movie vibes.
Still, something about you drew him in. Maybe it was the overwhelming normalcy of you. Your outfit was overly-casual, like one of those too-late-in-the-week-to-care outfits when it was only Tuesday. You had a kind of anxious, hurried jitteriness to you that screamed that late-for-everything-college-student vibe.
With your bag slung over your shoulder, bursting with notebooks, textbooks, and stray paper, and your iced-coffee order’s condensation beginning to soak your hands, you weren’t extraordinarily beautiful, or blindly radiant, or mysterious like you were hiding a million secrets from the world. You were just any other twenty-something year old running late for her morning classes.
You were also beginning to tense from Jason’s continued silence, embarrassment overwhelming your body language.
Just as you begin to open your mouth, laugh it off and go about your day pretending like you won’t be thinking about the most beautiful boy you’ve ever met’s hard rejection of you at your favorite coffee place (which you’d never be able to return to again) for the next thirty years of your life—he agreed.
With eyes narrowed in suspicion Jason gave you his number, telling himself it was only to figure out who’s ploy this was and what they wanted with him.
Well, Jason’s investigation lasted eight dates before becoming an official label. And somewhere between the meeting your family and the engagement to marriage pipeline, Jason had to admit you might have really just wanted his number.
Jason was unlike anyone you’d ever met, just like you’d known the second you laid eyes on him. He was rugged and rough around the edges in a charming way. Confident and unwavering at one minute, and then second guessing and completely stumbling over himself the next. When it came to you, he was so unsure about everything. Afraid his touch might break you into a million pieces, and his scars—literal and figurative—would scare you away. All he knew was he could not mess this ups
Jason was pretty closed off when you first started going out, he hid secrets you couldn’t begin to decipher and told lies like a priest spreading the gospel. It took a while to crack him open, but when you did the damage was irreparable.
You confronted him one night about his coming and goings at unholy hours of night and morning. It was not too long after the two of you moved in together, it was getting near impossible for him to hide the bruises from you now and the anxiety of not knowing where your boyfriend was disappearing to kept you up all night.
You wanted to give Jason his privacy, just let the sickening feeling coiling in your stomach slowly eat away at you. Keep it locked up snug and tight. But, one too many sleepless nights and you broke like a dam under distress.
Tears and flurried words and too many feelings for you to keep up with all came rushing out when he stumbled back into your shared apartment one night smelling blood, sweat, and something feminine. You asked if he was in some kind of trouble, or if there was someone else—if he didn’t want to be around you anymore that was totally fine, but at least let you know before you get into this too deep—
Jason cut off your rambling with a bone-crushing hug. Tripping over his own words in a hurry to reassure you, the thought of losing you enough of an adrenaline rush to have him forgetting about any injuries he may have procured and his heart feeling like it just might implode in his chest.
And then Jason broke too. He told you the truth—about everything. His nighttime activities moonlighting as Gotham’s vigilante slash crime lord, his history, his family. He spoke of the monsters he fought day in day out, the sacrifices he often had to make to keep a temporary peace in his city—often times those sacrifices having to be pieces of himself.
He told you about you, how you were his sanctuary. A reminder of what he fought for. Your innocence and light. You were no saint by any means, but you’d never be able to accumulate half the sin just he had on his hands in four lifetimes. You were there to remind him that there was still good worth fighting for in the world. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.
He then apologized profusely for lying to you, and you could never stay mad at him for long anyway. However, to make up for it (on his insistence) you did make him tell you the civilian identities of all your favorite heroes. A fair trade, you’d say.
Which now brings Jason here. Married, paying off a monthly mortgage, attending Thanksgiving and Christmas parties at your family’s house, waving to neighbors at ungodly hours of the morning as he walked your dogs, and soon expecting a little one of his own.
Yeah, it definitely wasn’t what four-years-ago-Jason would’ve imagined himself as either, or even further back than that Jason. He wouldn’t trade a second of it for the world.
He’d like to say a part of him was reluctant to tell his family of your guys’ relationship because they’d disapprove, and that was why they didn’t know. Saying something like you two were rushing into things and that you had no business being in their line of work due to the dangers. But, in all reality, even after Jason had started to rekindle his relationship with his family and see them more often, he’d just…forgotten.
To tell anybody, really. His family, his friends, he just thought at some point he had told people and they just never mentioned it—there was no way the people he surrounded himself with wouldn’t be able to find out. So, they had to have just no interest in you two, right?
Wrong. Apparently. Jason found out this fact firsthand.
Jason didn’t wear his wedding ring while at work, for obvious reasons. Some of the most notable being, it wasn’t very practical nor was it anyone’s business what the Red Hood’s love life was like. Plus, he didn’t want it to get dirty or risk losing it. He often opted out of wearing it all together deciding the best course of action is to leave it at home, however that night had been different.
Patrol had ended early one night, something Jason was rather irked by considering he’d rushed here from out of state visiting your family due to a false alarm ‘emergency’. He’d had to leave you behind and wouldn’t be able to see you for another week, as the excuse he’d given your family was supposed to be long-term and he refused to let you cut your visit short.
He, along with the other assorted members of Gotham’s vigilantes, ended up back in the Batcave. Jason sat by himself, off to the side where he was not sulking, and—more importantly—where you were not answering his messages.
Dick waltzes up to Jason, who doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, and flops down on the couch next to him,throwing his legs over Jason’s body and making a show of getting comfortable.
Jason glares at him over the screen of his phone and roughly shoves Dick’s feet off of him, promptly turning his attention back to his phone.
Dick cocks a brow. Jason had been particularly quiet and prickly tonight—and he means even more than usual.
It wasn’t uncommon for Jason to be in a bad mood, especially around them, but in recent years he’d been better. He’d started to actually spend time with them—even outside parole, reaching out first occasionally, and they could go several hours without him blowing up and storming off! All in all, Dick wouldn’t call Jason’s behavior unusual, just odd for it to be tonight of all nights.
“What’s so interesting?” Dick asks, nosiness curiosity getting the better of him. He switches his position, instead draping himself over Jason, who was still glued to his phone, and trying to peek at Jason’s screen.
“None of your business, dickhead!” Jason snaps, trying to push Dick away from him.
“What? What is it? Come on! I want to see!” Dick says insistently, chuckling as Jason gets more and more riled up. They wrestle for a moment, Jason outright childishly holding his phone up in the air, away from Dick, as Dick tries to grasp for it but is stopped by Jason’s hands and feet pushing him away.
“Is it something naughty?” Dick teases, mock gasping. “Is that why you won’t show me, Jason? Are you being a bad boy?”
“Shut up! You weirdo!”
Dick howls with laughter as all but Jason tackles him to the floor once Dick gets ahold of his phone. They continue their roughhousing, Dick trying to unlock Jason’s phone screen as Jason fights to get it back. However, Dick has rolled onto his stomach now, and hunches over the phone moving this way and that to prevent Jason from seizing it back. Their commotion draws over the other inhabitants of the cave.
Jason’s phone is snatched from Dick’s hands, Jason lunges after it but is held back by Dick.
“Don’t let him get it, Dami!” Dick says, a wild grin on his face and breathing harshly from laughing so hard.
Damian stands in front of them, Jason’s phone in his hand as he gives the phone a suspicious look. The lock screen is a picture of a woman, her back to the camera as she looks out at the setting sun across the ocean with her hand atop a dog’s head sitting obediently at her feet. Damian raises a brow slightly at this, but opts not to mention it. It wasn’t any of his business what Jason found aesthetically pleasing, after all.
He instead turns back to the real objective at hand: making Jason’s life miserable.
“What is that you’re hiding, Todd?” Damian demands, not asks. “Give it up now and save yourself the trouble. I will find out, one way or another.”
“I’m not hiding anything!” Jason says, irritated. He technically wasn’t lying. He wasn’t intentionally hiding anything from them. He was simply waiting for a very important message from you that he didn’t want to miss because of his annoying, asshole siblings.
Damian clicks his tongue, not believing Jason’s words. He crosses his arms and holds the phone out to his left, handing it over to Tim who starts examining it top to bottom.
Jason rolls his eyes, “You guys are making such an unbelievable deal out of this. It’s just a phone!”
“Nuh uh!” Dick ever-so-helpfully cuts in, his grin still having not left his face as he holds onto Jason even though Jason had stopped struggling. “It’s a phone you don’t want us to see! Which makes it much, much more than just a phone.”
Jason rolls his eyes harder, if that’s even possible, and attacks Dick again. This time, just for Dick being obnoxious.
Tim continues to look over the phone with a critical eye. The case is a black otterbox, the lock screen the picture of a woman and a dog, and a basic numbered password locks the phone. Overall, nothing stands out to him. No secret mechanics or buttons. Well, nothing but the fact that this was definitely not the phone Jason used around them.
That was nothing too shocking though, they all had secret phones. Except the fact that this one seemed to be the personal one, not the work one.
Okay—maybe Jason was hiding one little thing from them, but hiding his personal number from them was nothing egregious.
“A secret phone?” Cass says as she looks over Tim’s shoulder, a smirk on her face and a conspiring glint in her eyes.
“Seems like it.” Tim replies, ignoring Jason and Dick’s squabbling, a twin smirk on his mouth.
“Open it, Drake!” Damian says impatiently, smacking Tim’s arm repeatedly.
“Alright, alright! Stop it!” Tim shakes Damian’s hand off and tries to unlock the phone. He first tries numerous combinations of numbers he knows Jason would use to try and trip them up, but they don’t work. Tim frowns.
Of course they didn’t work, the password was your birthday, but Jason would never use something so simple as a birthday as a password, right? Not that they knew your birthday, anyway.
Jason made it easy for you. He never used his personal phone for anything other than you and the civilian side of his life, anyway.
Usually, he never carries his personal phone with him while he’s at work, much like his wedding ring, and he would never give you his work phone contact to potentially have your number compromised if his phone is ever stolen while he’s out at night. All he has installed on your phone while he’s out is a panic button, it’s made to alert him immediately on any of his devices of your location once it’s activated.
Tonight, though, in his rush he’d kept his personal phone on him—and thank god for it otherwise he’d be bored out of his mind, stuck in the batcave with only his family to keep him company. Well, up till you stopped replying of course.
Tim tries four more passwords before the phone shuts him out for a two minute cool-down. Tim grumbles deep in his throat, starting to get irritated himself.
“Jason, what is it?” Tim grumbles, tapping his foot insistently waiting for the two minutes to finish up. “What’s the password?” Jason doesn’t answer, too caught up with getting out of Dick’s headlock.
“Try one-two-three-four.” Cass suggests.
“Why would it be one-two-three-four?” Tim asks, exasperated. Cass shrugs. Tim sighs.
Jason’s phone suddenly dings with a notification, the sound drowned out by the surrounding chaos. Still, it cuts through the cacophony of noise to Jason like a siren.
“Message from ‘ba—’” Tim starts to read. Jason leaps off of Dick, his brother yelping as he’s trampled under Jason’s feet.
His heart soared when he saw your name on his screen. His shoulders loosens and his face softens, his heart beats a million miles an hour as he taps to open the message. However, his demeanor quickly sours once again once he sees he’s locked out for another forty-two seconds.
Cass’ brows rise imperceptibly as she watches Jason’s body language rapidly change, seemingly going unnoticed by their brothers. She grins and studies Jason closely, thoroughly intrigued now.
She cocks her head, that sly grin still splayed across her lips, and approaches Jason. She peeks over at his phone screen that he alternates from glaring at to Tim and back.
“Who is it?” She asks in a whisper, like they were trading secrets under a comforter way past their bedtime. She hangs over Jason’s arm, trying to get a look at the message as the timer ticks closer to zero, before she’s pushed out of the way by Damian.
“What? What is it?” Damian demands. “I want to see.” He tugs down at Jason’s arm, trying to move it out of the way and snatch the phone back.
Cass pushes Damian back and retakes her spot, Damian doesn’t take kindly to that and soon they’re having an all-out tug of war with Jason’s forearm.
Jason tries to push them both off, but he’s quickly bombarded by his plethora of siblings. Dick finally gets up off the floor with a groan and drapes himself over Jason’s back, and Tim takes a spot hanging over Jason’s other open arm. His siblings’ voices all overlap one another as they continuously get louder trying to speak over the others, making it nearly impossible to pinpoint what one is saying. However, if Jason had to guess, the gist of it all was them wanting to know what was on his phone.
“Would you idiots calm down?!” Jason shouts over them, though it does little to quell their mayhem. However, once he ever-so-casually drops that it’s just you messaging him, that gets them to freeze and the cave suddenly goes dead silent.
Jason rolls his eyes, finally squeezing out of his siblings’ grasps and walking back over to the couch he was previously sitting on. All the while, Dick, Cass, Tim, and Damian stare after him in utter confusion, Jason doesn’t even notice their puzzlement.
The four share looks with each other, looking to one another for answers but coming up short each time.
“Uh…” Tim finally speaks up, “Who?”
Jason repeated your name absentmindedly, like it was one he said on a result basis. Like it was one they were supposed to know.
This also catches the attention of Bruce, who’d previously been sitting at the batcomputer ignoring his children’s rambunctiousness. The four kids glance back at him for answers, but he has no answer for him.
“Right.” Dick says, walking over to Jason who was almost giddily tapping away at his phone, completely unaware of their odd behavior. “And…who is that again?”
Dick chuckles awkwardly, trying to gently coax an answer out of Jason. He leans over the back of the couch and peers at Jason’s phone with his siblings joining him, no resistance from the younger man this time.
However, that seemed to be the wrong thing to ask as Jason whirls around to glower at Dick, pure disbelief and outrage on his face like Dick had just committed the most heinous of crimes.
“Are you serious?” Jason asks, tone hard and deadly. “My wife, jackass?”
Jason scoffs and turns away from Dick, and Dick notices for the first time that night Jason’s fiddling with the necklace strung around his throat. The necklace with a wedding ring hung from it, the inside of the ring engraved with ‘Mr & Mrs’ followed by initials of two names, one he knew as Jason’s and the other hyphenated, and a date. A wedding date if Dick was so bold to assume.
The cave was now so quiet Dick could swear even the resident bats had stopped to settle into absolute shock. He could practically hear Tim’s jaw drop to the floor.
Also for the first time that night, Dick got a good view of Jason’s phone screen. Jason was scrolling through a chat on his messages app;
‘baby 💍💖’:
sorry!! I got caught up in a poker tournament (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞
but don’t worry you worry your pretty little head sugar, I won hehehe (¬‿¬ )
no matter what that little tyrant cousin of mine tries to say
[6 attachments]
what do you think of these ones??
Dick watches in stunned silence as Jason replies to each message, taking time to reply to the person saved as ‘baby’ with a heart and ring in his phone that texts with emoticons, with care and attention.
Dick thinks he nearly falls to his knees with a heart attack when he sees the images sent to Jason were baby cribs—and he’s pretty sure Bruce actually does when he hears a strangled gasp to his left. He hadn’t even noticed when the man had come up and joined him and the others, but there he stands mouth agape and his skin a worrying pallor.
“Todd…” Damian is the first to the silence, his voice barely above a whisper at first thought he might as well have just set off a hydrogen bomb.
“You have a wife?!” The boy screeches, voice raising an octave in disbelief.
“Since when?” Cass asks next, in complete disarray.
“Since how?” Tim chimes in, eyes nearly bulging out of his head trying to piece some puzzle together.
“Jason…” Bruce says breathlessly, the quietest among them sans Dick’s abstaining, the gears in his head working overtime trying to figure things out. His brow furrowed and his eyes rapidly blinking, he looks almost…hurt.
Jason looks at them all quizzically, almost appearing as confused as them though Dick is positive that may be impossible.
“What? What are you morons talking about?” Jason asks, his demeanor truly lost.
“What are you talking about?” Dick can’t help but throw his question back at him. He feels his legs starting to get shaky and he has to sit down.
“I’ve been married.” Jason says as if he’s stating the sky is blue.
“Jason…I—why didn’t you—when did—“ Possibly for the first time ever Dick witnesses Bruce at a loss for words. No contingency plan existed for missing your son’s wedding, apparently.
Jason stares at them all strangely, seeming particularly unsettled by Bruce’s reaction. “Uh…yeah. I’ve been married for like two years now.” He says casually.
“Two—two years?!” Tim and Dick shout simultaneously, Dick shooting to his feet. Bruce releases another one of those dying animal sounds and sits down where Dick was previously before he could topple to the floor, rubbing his hand over his face.
“Yeah…” Jason is startled now, clarity slowly starting to creep into his features now. “Didn’t I…tell you guys?” He asks apprehensively.
“No!” They all shout back.
“Well, how did you not know?!” Jason replies defensively. “Aren’t you people supposed to be the ‘world’s greatest detectives’?”
“Jason, no offense, buddy, but you don’t exactly give off the whole loving husband vibe.” Tim says, looking Jason over as if seeing a whole new person.
Jason’s face screws up in definite offense. “Oh fu—”
“You are having a baby!” Cass interrupts, tone caught somewhere between bewilderment and excitement. She’d snagged Jason’s phone while he’d been distracted and now she and Damian scroll through the two of your messages.
Bruce really does collapse that time.
It’s the next day when they all gather together again. The night before, after Dick and Jason had deposited Bruce in his bedroom upstairs, they’d all agreed to get some sleep and resume their talk in the morning. Hopefully, some rest and preparation would help soothe the situation and their conversation can happen in a more civilized manner.
That was the plan, however, even Jason walked into the dining room the next morning for breakfast, he found his family already there looking as if they hadn’t slept a wink.
Jason sits down in his usual seat, ignoring the disappointed look Alfred gives him as he places a plate in front of him. They all sit in silence as Jason serves himself breakfast.
“Look…it was uh—an honest mistake.” Jason says sheepishly, breaking the silence. The sound of forks scraping porcelain halts at Jason’s words as his family all look up and stare at him incredulously.
“An honest mistake?” Dick asks, as if his lack of sleep was causing auditory hallucinations.
“To neglect to inform us that you’ve been in a relationship. The past four years.” Damian tags on—rather judgmentally might Jason add.
“And married. The last two.” Tim says. What was this, some kind of circus act?
“Also, you are expecting a baby.” Cass helpfully adds.
Jason shrugs, finding his food rather captivating. “Could happen to anybody.” That was that catalyst. All of a sudden everyone is speaking loudly trying to speak over each other.
“Right. That too. Is there anything else you’ve forgotten to tell us about, Jason?” Dick asks, overly sarcastic. “You know, besides your secret family.”
“Any more babies?” Cass—voice bright.
“Oh god, please, no.” Bruce moans.
“Why have you hidden this woman from us, Todd? Are you ashamed?” Damian narrows his eyes suspiciously.
“What—no—!”
“Is she a hero?” Tim.
“Who does she work with?” Bruce.
“Is she a criminal? That would explain your reluctance.” Damian, again.
“No, she’s not—”
“Who is she? What does she look like?“
“Are you going to invite her over?”
“Oh! Tell her to come to dinner tonight!”
Jason could hardly keep up anymore, between his brothers’ rapid questions, Bruce’s hard scrutiny—as if he could figure every answer to his questions if he stared at Jason long enough, and Cass making dinner plans with Alfred.
“Shut up! How am I supposed to answer anything if you don’t give me time to breathe?” Jason snaps, huffing and throwing his fork down. “Ruined my damn breakfast.” He mutters, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Oh, quit pouting, Todd—” Damian rolls his eyes.
“I am not pouting, you little—”
“That’s enough!” Bruce cuts in, his tone firm and commanding, quelling the cacophony of voices.
“Jason…” He says, trailing off like he wasn’t sure where he was originally going with his sentence. “Are you sure about this? Marriage is uh…a big decision—”
Jason snorts, cutting Bruce off before he could hurt something with how uncomfortable he was. “Little late for that, big guy.”
“When are you bringing her over?” Cass inquires again. She seemed to be the only one finding the positive in this situation. “Tonight? What should we make for dinner? Does she have any allergies? Alfred—”
Cass turns to Alfred and continues with her dinner plans, not waiting to consult with Jason.
“She can’t come tonight.” Jason rolls his eyes, sighing heavily. “She’s visiting her family in her hometown.”
A collective groan of disappointment resounds around the room, even Alfred and Bruce seem to huff a bit in despondency.
“So even your own wife can’t stand to be around you, huh?” Damian taunts.
“I swear to god—”
A week later, you and Jason stand out front the manor.
“We can leave, if you want.” Jason says, squeezing your hand reassuringly. Though, you think that was more for himself than you. “Really. No offense on either side, we’ll just say something came up with the baby. That you’re not feeling good, or—”
“Jason.” You interrupt, gently gripping his hand in both of yours. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”
“I know. I know that. Of course it’s going to be fine.” Jason scoffs, seemingly thinking his casual attitude covered up the stiffness of his shoulders. Your sweet Jason, doesn’t he know you know him too well for that?
“Doesn’t mean I have to want to do it.” He mutters under his breath. You huff out a small breath of laughter, shaking your head.
You rub comforting circles on the back of Jason’s hand. “You ready?” You ask, hopping excitedly on the tips of your toes once you two stop in front of the large, double front doors.
Jason softened as he observed you. A smile slowly overtaking his smile and his shoulders loosening, your presence was calming and your smile infectious. He couldn’t help but almost share in your excitement—almost.
Before you could even finish knocking, the door swings open. Standing in the threshold was Jason’s sister, and if you didn’t know any better you’d suspect she’d been standing there watching and waiting for you two to knock.
She looks over you critically, doing a full head to toe scan of you before looking you straight in the eyes.
You clear your throat, squeezing Jason’s hand for courage. However, before you can let nerves get the better of you, her face breaks out into a brilliant smile.
“Hi!” Cass says, her eagerness barely being restrained. “Welcome! I am Cassandra—but just call me Cass.”
Cass reaches out for your hand, pausing for a moment to see if you’re alright with her grabbing ahold of it. You meet her halfway—much to Jason’s dismay—and you swear the sun shines a little brighter as her face lightens.
She pulls you into the foyer, talking amicably with her entire body as if there weren’t enough words in the world to express her thoughts. “I’m so excited to meet you! I can’t believe Jason has tried to hide you from us.”
“I didn’t—” Jason tries to cut in.
“I asked Jason what you like so I hope everything is perfect for you.” Cass says excitedly, ignoring Jason’s grumbling. She pulls you along further and you have to pick up the pace to keep up with her.
“Hey, careful!” Jason growls, you swat at him and quietly tell him to ‘knock it off’. He looks at you with blatant offense, his eyes telling you he can’t believe you’re taking her side. You roll your eyes and continue following Cass.
Cass drags you into the dining room, Jason trailing in not far behind you. The atmosphere is warm with candles lit and the table all set, the air filled with the comforting smell of all your favorite foods.
An old man dressed in a butler’s suit appears through a swinging door, presumably from the kitchen the smells of food are wafting from.
“Good evening, Miss.” He smiles politely, warm and grandfatherly. “I am Alfred Pennyworth, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
You brighten at the familiar name. “Ah! Alfred, yes, Jason’s told me so much about you!” Alfred nods and pulls out a seat for you, you take it gratefully. You smile jubilantly at Jason as he takes the seat next to you, conveying an ‘I told you so!’, absolutely elated with the smooth meetings so far.
Jason shakes his head fondly. Cass pats your arm on her way out of the dining room, smiling reassuringly. Faintly, drop the hall in the foyer you’d just arrived from, you hear her voice call out; “They’re here! Dinner!”
A moment of silence goes by. You and Jason were left alone in the dining room speaking quietly amongst yourselves, Jason’s hand never having left yours.
Then, you hear thundering footsteps approaching from the hallway. Jason groans and slumps down into his chair.
The dining room door bursts open, and a man you recognize as Dick Grayson, Jason’s older brother, stumbles in pushing through the crowd of his younger siblings also trying to fight their way in. You giggle and his eyes snap to you, his face brightening with a charming smile.
He calls out your name and approaches you with his arms spread like he was coming in for a hug. “It’s so great to finally meet you! I’d like to say Jason has told me a lot about you, but he really hasn’t.” He says, obviously still bitter over the fact Jason had kept your relationship a secret from him.
You chuckle sheepishly, glancing at Jason who was glaring at Dick. Jason told you about how it may have slipped his mind the least couple years to mention he was in a relationship to his family. You couldn’t even really be upset considering the fact it may have…slipped yours as well?
The thing was you had met his family before! Sort of. About a year into you two dating, Jason had dragged you to a gala hosted by Bruce Wayne, practically begging you to accompany him so he wouldn’t be ‘bored to death surrounded by a bunch of pompous assholes’ (his words, not yours). You’d clung to Jason’s arm the whole time as Jason skirted on the edges of the ballroom, and fifteen minutes in you two had elected to ditch the event as a whole instead having a date night in.
Throughout the evening, however, quite a couple of his family members had chased him down, and at the least greeted him before he could shake them off. Ok, you guess you can see how Bering seen walking beside Jason at a gala filled to the brim with people could be overlooked as a proper introduction.
But you knew of Jason’s unconventional relationship with his family, he’d only just started—slowly, integrating himself into their lives after all, so you never pushed for anything.
You felt a bit guilty now, though, after finding out how upset his family had been about not knowing of you.
Dick tries to take the seat next to you but Cass is quiet and silent as she slips behind him, yanking the chair out from under Dick before he can properly sit down and sending him crashing to the floor. She maneuvers the chair around him and places the seat next to you again, sitting down with a smug grin.
Jason bursts out laughing. You try to stifle your own laughter and ask Dick if he’s okay, but with the way Cass and Jason are looking at you with amusement you must be doing a terrible job.
The youngest of the bunch, that you know is Damian Wayne, clicks his tongue. “Get off the floor, Richard, you are embarrassing me.”
You nearly lose your composure again after hearing the words coming out of the young man’s mouth. You can’t help finding it incredibly endearing how prim and proper he presented himself. You really do laugh when the boy’s face turns bright red after you tell him that very notion.
Last to enter is Tim Drake, snickering at the sulking Dick who took the seat across from you instead, and the blushing Damian.
You’re pleasantly surprised how easily you all slip into comfortable conversation. Laughing and teasing, trading stories and lighthearted secrets as if you’ve been doing it for years.
You were having an amazing time, any doubt or anxiety you previously had completely disappearing with your reverberating laughter. Even Jason had lightened up.
Bruce Wayne finally made his appearance once Alfred began bringing out the night’s dinner on trays.
You stiffen imperceptibly, that anxiety slowly creeping back into your stomach, but you don’t let it dampen your mood. Only sitting up straighter and keeping your carefree smile on your face.
Jason sets a reassuring hand on your thigh, heavy and warm and familiar. It soothes your nerves and you take his hand in yours, sending a smile his way.
Bruce sits down quietly, the other Wayne family members not bothering to briefly break in their conversations to acknowledge him. He seems content with this so you don’t say anything either, only waiting for him to look up and meet your eyes.
You greet him politely, and he says your name in return with a small nod. From what you’ve heard from Jason that is a wonderful sign and probably the most you’re going to get out of him, so you take it in stride and smile widely returning to the rest of the table.
It was nice being so included in their inner circle. You had a bit of a rocky relationship with your family yourself, but you’d all been working on it in recent years. However, the way you slipped so naturally into their dysfunctional quota was like a missing piece of a puzzle finally finding its home.
You could feel even through all the teasing and poking fun that this family would always have each other’s backs. Through the rough and hard times, or even when they’re at each other’s throats, they’d never give up on one another. Knowing Jason had something like that to look after him if anything ever happened to you comforted a piece of your soul.
Halfway through dinner, you glanced at Bruce Wayne, having almost forgotten he was there. Silently he sat, eating his dinner and observing the attendants at the table and your heart melts as you saw the contented warmth in his eyes. He met your eyes and gave you a slight, warm smile, you saw the way he watched Jason and you.
How open and easygoing Jason became with you around, his arm thrown over the back of your chair and him openly talking and laughing without a care. Your heart soared as he gave you an approving nod, almost thanking you for taking care of his son.
Wow. You totally got why people lost their mind’s for the Batman’s approval now.
“Hey.” You’re pulled away from Cass and answering her million questions about your pregnancy; ‘Did you know what it was yet?’ ‘How far along are you?’ ‘Have you picked out names?’ ‘What do you think about this nursery? Or this one?’ ‘Have you considered Kassandra if it’s a girl? With a K of course.’—when Tim whisper-yelled your name across the table.
You chuckled leaning in with the others as they all acquired a conspiring glints in their eyes.
“Be honest—did you totally kick Jason’s ass when you found out his incredible incompetence struck again?” Damian asks, almost excited to hear about your imagined wrath.
“Please tell me you did.” Tim chimed in, still whispering as if Jason wasn’t sitting directly to your left.
“Oh, don’t be too upset with him!” Dick says, though his wolfish grin betrayed his true thoughts. “He’s not the brightest person sometimes, but he means well! We all have our flaws.”
Jason scoffs and you could practically hear him roll his eyes. You respond before Jason can start retort.
“Well actually…” You begin, tentatively. “I thought you all knew too.” You confess.
The table goes silent.
“I just thought none of you ever mentioned anything! So I didn’t either.” You chuckle bashfully.
Well weren’t you two just a pair of peas in a pod.
“And technically!” You add quickly, trying to defend yourself. “We have met before! At a gala, three years ago, around Christmas time.”
“The Christmas Wayne Foundation gala…?” Dick mumbles.
“Mhm!” You nod, Jason holding a hand up to you as if you were proving some point of his.
“Three years ago…” Tim says, almost like he’s trying to make sure he heard you right.
“Where Jason avoided us the whole night and then disappeared before the event really even started?” Cass asks, this time. You’re sort of starting to get the feeling you’ve said the wrong thing.
You nod again, a little less assured now. “Well, yes. But I was there with him!”
“That counts as a meeting, right? I did see all of you.” You turn to Jason who nods in agreement.
“Not your fault they couldn’t put two and two together—” Jason tries to say.
“No!” They shout in unison.
“Are you people living in delusion?”
“You didn’t even invite us to the wedding! How’re we supposed to guess that you’re married?”
“Well it was small! There were only like—two other people there anyway!” Jason tries to defend.
“Not even a Facebook relationship status change?”
Lesson learned. Jason will never assume the ‘world’s greatest detectives’ (derogatory) knew everything ever again.
It also didn’t sail too smoothly when Jason got the bright idea to check if he maybe ever informed his friends of his relationship status. (Spoiler: he hadn’t.)
Jason is strong, it doesn't matter if you're tall, if your chubby, if your skinny or buff, he can manhandle you. I mean, Jason's really big, he can lift you with so much ease.
and his arms are so muscular, everytime he gives you a hug you can feel his muscles tense.
when Jason fingers you, his arms get marked with veins, popping from his hand to his elbow.
sometimes he has you sitting on his lap, spreading yourself on top of him, with your legs open and his big cock bullying its way inside of you.
you don't know where to reach, but you need stability, first thought? his arm, your nails dig into the hard of his shoulder.
even if he's using his big arms to help you ride him, you always end up scratching his shoulders, arms and back !!
Summary: You've dreamed of playing Beatrice in Shakespeare's much ado abut nothing for as long as you can remember. In your second year in Baldur's Gate University's drama program you finally score your dream role, but there is one catch. The casting for Benedick, your on stage romance, is Gale Dekarios. And you CANNOT stand him, and the feeling is mutual. Will this unfortunate casting ruin your dream? Or will you be able to set aside your differences and make the most of this opportunity?
Pairing: Gale x f!Reader
Wordcount: 4831
Warnings: a bit of negative body image from reader
Act 3, scene 1
Wyll Ravengard named the group chat Cupid gang
Wyll Ravengard changed the theme to Love Change
Wyll Ravengard added Shadow♥
Shadow♥ (10.51 am): Wyll, what is this?
Wyll Ravengard (10.53 am): I have a plan, and I need your help.
Wyll Ravengard added Mr. Fangs
Mr. Fangs (10.54): Wait.. why am I "Mr. Fangs" in your phone????
Wyll Ravengard (10.54): You bit me in Dracula, Astarion, it seemed fitting!
Mr. Fangs (10.55): *Dracula hissing gif*
Wyll Ravengard added HotMamaK
Mr. Fangs set the nickname for Mr. Fangs to Astarion.
Wyll Ravengard added Fira ✨
Shadow♥ set the nickname for Astarion to Mr. Fangs.
Wyll Ravengard (10.59 am): Ok guys, no one tell Gale or (Reader) about this group chat, it's a secret!
Wyll Ravengard (11.00 am): I think that Gale and (Reader) would be perfect for one another, and I think we, as their friends, should do something about that.
Mr. Fangs replied to Wyll Ravengard (I think that…) (11.02 am): Is this just because she rejected you?
Shadow♥ replied to Wyll Ravengard (I think that…) (11.02 am): Nope. No way.
HotMamaK (11.03 am): Omg yesss, they would be so cute together!!
Shadow♥ (11.04 am): They would drive each other crazy, and then she would drive me crazy!
Fira ✨ replied to Shadow♥ (They would d…) (11.06 am): Doesn't she already drive you crazy? Maybe this would fix it?
Mr. Fangs (11.06 am): I'm in. Love me a good scheme.
Shadow♥ replied to Mr. Fangs (I'm in. Love…)(11.07 am): You just want to mess with her!
HotMamaK (11.09 am): Guys I think they'd be perfect for each other.
Mr. Fangs replied to Shadow♥ (You just wan…) (11.09 am): Maybe 😏
Fira ✨ (11.10 am): I'm in! I think they'd be perfect for each other!
Wyll Ravengard (11.10 am): @Shadow♥?
Mr. Fangs (11.13 am): Come on @Shadow♥ !!
Mr. Fangs (11.14 am): @Shadow♥ You know you want to!
Mr. Fangs (11.15am): Shadow♥ !!!!
Shadow♥ replied to Mr. Fangs (@Shadow♥ !!!…) (11.15 am): 🖕
Shadow♥ replied to Wyll Ravengard (11.16 am): Fine, I'll bite, what's your grand plan?
Wyll Ravengard (11.18 am): We make them think that the other is in love with them, and then between the tension, and the long hours rehearsing together… boom! love!
Mr. Fangs (11.20 am): …is your plan just the plot of much ado?
Shadow♥ replied to Wyll Ravengard (We make th…) (11.20 am): You're kidding.
Wyll Ravengard (11.21 am): It works in the play! Besides they already bicker like an old married couple, they're not going to need much!
Fira ✨ (11.21 am): That would be so cute though! And Wyll is right, they do act like Beatrice and Benedick!
HotMamaK liked a message from Alfira (That would b…) (11.21 am)
Shadow♥ replied to Wyll Ravengard (It works in …) (11.23 am): First of all, it works in the play because it is a PLAY
Shadow♥ (11.23 am): Second, I hate to admit it but they would be stupid enough to fall for that
Wyll Ravengard liked a message from Shadow♥ (Second, I ha..) (11.23 am)
Wyll Ravengard (11.27 am): Okay, so if me and Karlach work on Gale, Shadowheart, Alfira and Astarion can try and get (Reader), just have a conversation about it where they can overhear you or something, gentle nudging, ya know?
HotMamaK (11.27 am): woohooo let's go!
Shadow♥, Mr. Fangs and +1 else have liked a message from Wyll Ravengard (Okay, so if …) (11.28 am)
Wyll Ravengard (11.28 am): Everyone report back here when you're done, or if you need help!
Wyll Ravengard (11.28 am): To work everyone!
Shadow♥ (11.29 am): Okay. One more thing?
Wyll Ravengard (11.29 am): Yes?
Shadow♥ (11.30 am): Why did you name the group chat "cupid gang"? It's kinda stupid.
Wyll Ravengard (11.30 am): Well… I mean… If we can do this, Cupid is no longer an archer: his glory shall be ours, for we are the only love-gods!
Shadow♥ (11.33 am): …
Wyll Ravengard (11.33 am): 😀😀😀
**
Act 3, scene 2
As many productions as you've been in since you started at BGU one might think that you'd have gotten used to fittings by now. But despite yourself, you're not. It's always a stressful experience, and you hate when a new one comes around. It's a pity really, there is no place as magical as the costume shop, tucked away in an attic in one of the truly old BGU buildings. The room used for fittings is papered floor to ceiling in sketches along three walls, the last is fully mirrors. The table in the corner holds more tape measures than you think you've ever seen in your life, coiled like a nest of vipers waiting to strike.
The worn, stained carpet, the curtains that close off an area for changing, and the four rolling racks full to bursting of clothes soften the sound, making the whole room feel muffled. On it's own it's one of your favorite rooms on campus, topped only by the painted entirely black theater rehearsal rooms with the big, high, windows you can sit in. But fittings are the enemy, so you can't come within two doors of the space without your pulse spiking.
Part of you feels like it should count for something, the routine of it all, the exposure therapy. You've done all that work, the mental gymnastics, the convincing. You're largely happy with the way your body looks. You have dealt with it all, the fact that maybe the thing you've been told all your childhood, the thing that society keeps trying to convince you of, is false. You've even managed outfits, and whole weeks where you feel hot. It all feels like a victory, but evaporates just as quickly the second you enter the costume shop.
Today is no different, when Isabelle approaches you, tape measure at the ready. They're not making all of your outfits from scratch. Pulling from the massive archive BGU has amassed over it's years as the most prolific drama school in Faerûn. But there is almost always some article of clothing that needs to be made new, something to fit the director's unique view.
This means a double whammy. Not just measurements taken, but also fittings for alterations or sizing for the archive pieces. Oblivious, or uncaring, of your plight, Isabelle shoves you in behind the curtain with a mountain of skirts.
"Put those on, and we'll see." she hollers after you. "I'll be right back, need to go see about that coat." you can hear the door slam behind her as you ease out of your jeans, profoundly outside of your comfort zone. At least there is no mirror in the changing area.
It's not that you don't like the way you look, really, it's that it doesn't match the way you think you should look. In reality your thighs are much fuller, your stomach more pouchy, your breasts too small, shoulders too broad. If only you'd had bigger breasts, maybe that would have balanced it out, given you that thick curvy girl look… But alas. With force and effort you shove the thoughts down, you are a goddamn professional after all. You can do this.
You start with the underpinnings. The era of history is difficult to pinpoint based on the garments, but you begin with a shift that is near transparent, forgoing a bra since she did give you a corset. That presents an issue, lacing yourself into a corset is no trivial feat.
You can't genuinely say that you try. You make eye contact with the thing, eyes flicking over the lacing, and decide better of it. You might as well make Isabelle do it for you. You pace the small area waiting for her to return, your body still in some sense of fight or flight. When you think of it, you hate how wide you look in the shift… or maybe, that's not quite true. It drapes beautifully off your shoulders. But you can't help but focus how it hangs over your midriff, skimming too closely over your thighs. It looks like a tent. A see through tent. The outline of your black underwear is glaringly obvious. It hides everything, and nothing at the same time.
Without Isabelle there to distract you, your focus drops, from your waist, to your never-flat-enough stomach, to your never gapping thighs. Just as you're about to work yourself into a sulk about it, the door swings back open. Grateful at the reappearance of Isabelle, to help you with the corset of course, you wrap the cursed thing around you and go to open the curtain. A familiar voice stops you dead in your tracks.
"No, no, no, you can't tell her about it." Shadowheart sounds frustrated. You sink back into the curtained area, curiosity getting the better of you. "She'd be too cruel. You haven't seen that side of her, but I've lived with her for the past year and a half." your ego prickles, she's definitely talking about you.
"But you're sure that he loves her? That Gale is in love with her?" Alfira sounds almost giddy. You find yourself suddenly on the floor, sitting in a heap of skirts, having missed the small stool in your sudden rush to sit the fuck down. He what?
"Yeah," Shadowheart sounds long-suffering, more-so than usual. "Karlach and Wyll told me. They said I should tell her." a third voice chimes in, that perfectly coiffed drawl that could only be Astarion.
"But you won't?" it's somewhere between a question and a statement.
"I told them it's a bad idea, and if they care about Gale then just let him wrestle with it alone." Shadowheart states grimly.
"But why?" Alfira wheedles. "He's charming, and good looking, and… are you sure she won't want to hear it?"
Shadowheart is right, you don't want to hear this. But still… you're unmoved on the floor, the tulle of one of your underskirts brushing abrasively against your bare arm, one hand buried in a pile of silk, another against the unyielding boning of the corset. Trying to ground yourself. You can hardly believe your ears, or the heat that sparks behind your sternum. It must be embarrassment. Or maybe it's just indigestion.
"I know, he's a catch," Shadowheart begins, like a damn traitor. "But she's so fucking stubborn, besides, she's so committed to her 'work before romance' narrative that I don't think she'd even consider it."
Ouch. It's true, but still stings to have it spoken out loud.
"You're right," Astarion sighs, imperially. "She'd just use it to mock him." he agrees.
"Exactly, she'd use it for their little feud, and then reject him like she's done with all the people that have tried in the past few years." Shadowheart sighs. "Look I love her to death, but she turns every man the wrong side out, I don't know if it's a defense mechanism or what it is, but Gale is too nice to subject to that."
Blood rushes in your ears. Can you really believe what you're hearing? And why is she right? Have you been so damn blind to your own patterns? Did you ever believe that you had anyone fooled?
"You could tell her that?" Alfira offers sweetly. Shadowheart sighs, deeply.
"She'd just laugh at it." and it's true, you would deflect it.
"You're right, let Gale get over this one on his own." Astarion agrees. "Besides, he's too good for her by half!" that nearly makes you want to get up out of this pile of confection, burst out of the curtains and throttle him. You would do it, too. If you could figure out how to stand up, but something keeps you nailed to the floor.
"I've heard that he's really sweet when you get to know him." Alfira chimes in, dreamily. "Writes poetry and all that old school romantic stuff." she sighs "I wish someone would do all that for me.." Astarion picks up where she trails off, and you don't have to see his face to know his grin is wide and wicked.
"And that body.." you're sure he's raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, you're also sure Shadowheart is rolling her eyes and that Alfira has gone bright red. "He puts the dick in Benedick, if you know what I mean.." he trails off meaningfully, and Alfira explodes into a fit of giggles.
You're sure you've gone pink. You can't say you've ever considered what Gale might be hiding under all those dress shirts, sweaters and slacks, other than all that pretentious attitude mind you. But you would be lying if you said it had never crossed your mind at all. Hearing it in such clear terms… it makes you wonder… after all your body had reacted to him at the party, when he had pressed in close…
The door slamming shut breaks you out of your stupor. Suddenly it is too hot in the small curtained area, jumping to your feet you burst out of the curtains, bracing yourself against the table. You know you must look perfectly wild, your hair a mess, and in a barely there shift with no bra underneath, chest heaving, and you're sweating.
It can't be true, it has to be a joke. But your best friend's assessment of you hadn't been. Why would she talk about you with such a heaping amount of truth, and then lie about Gale? The implication nearly puts you on the floor again. Has he.. loved? .. you this whole time? Panic rises in you. Or is this a new development?
You've spent a whole year with him constantly in the back of your head, keeping track of him in class, making sure he's watching whenever you do something superior, making sure he knows you're winning this little game you're both playing. Has he spent the whole time looking at you like that?
Have you really closed yourself off from love so well that you can't see when it's been staring you in the face? Have you lost track of what it feels like to love someone, to have someone love you? Is that what this has been from the beginning? This hatred, the prickling irritation, but you still can't get yourself to stop seeking him out.. Maybe? no. no. no. It can't be. But if you're honest, you don't think you've ever really hated him.
The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through you. The implication, that you've loved him all this while.. it's not as foreign as you want it to be. But it is terrifying. You've spent your whole degree so far keeping any romantic prospects at an arms length, for your own benefit. Romance is messy and scary, it makes you weird and weak, submits you to the mortifying ordeal of having someone else see you, know you. But if you think about it, doesn't Gale see you? Know you? If he didn't then his jabs wouldn't sting so bad. Has this little shit managed to sneak his way past your defenses?
Oh god, you can't do this. But you can't deny it either.
Your turmoil is once again interrupted by the door opening, Isabelle back from whatever costume closet she's been digging through. You raise your gaze from where it has been fixed on the edge of the table you're braced against, straightening, pinning your mask back firmly into place. Being the leading lady won't afford you to be so fragile in front of people. Your best efforts crumble as you turn to face the person at door.
Gale looks just as shocked as you do. For a second, a minute, or maybe it's an hour… it really feels like an hour.. you just stare at each other. You really feel like you're seeing him in a new light, maybe he is attractive? Maybe you have known that this whole time?
That scruffy, sharp jaw, luscious hair pulled back into a bun, round glasses that you're sure he only wears when he wants to look like an academic. The navy sweater that drapes over his surprisingly wide shoulders looks so soft… and to your own horror you wonder what it would feel like against your skin, what he'd smell like if he let you that close.
You're sure you've gone bright pink, sure your sudden sweat has stained the shift, sure that you look absolutely hideous. But he doesn't seem able to look away. You're sure you caught his eyes wandering over your form, but now they seem locked to the area of your shoulders and up, anywhere but meeting your eyes. It makes you wonder, for a brief moment, if he was checking you out. But then you remember what you're wearing. The stupid transparent shift. shit… Shit!
You don't know what you say, and you're not sure your brain is functional enough to process his fumbled reply. But the sum of all has you shambling back into the dressing area, fast as you can, and him defending his sudden appearance while stumbling over his words worse than you've ever heard him.
It's almost reassuring, seeing him act so off his guard. Hearing his noisy exit, trying but failing to make his escape. It convinces you, gives you the evidence you need, maybe he is in love with you. And maybe, curse yourself to admit it, you're in love with him too. A fine pair of idiots you'd make.
**
Act 3, scene 3
It's not the cool thing to do. Breaking and entering into the BGU main auditorium to run lines at 9am on a Saturday. Most other students are still asleep, trying to run from their hangover or recover from their 4am bedtime. He knows it's deeply pathetic, that he went to bed at a crisp 11pm, after a fruitful whiskey and writing session, and therefore he can be up at 8 for a run, coffee, and then head to the theater for a full morning of work. No one is here on the weekends anyways, no one here to judge his lack of exciting life choices. Besides, he likes the peace of the familiar routine.
It falls in perfect line with the orders he's gotten from Tara, mentor, friend and older sister in all of the ways that matter. He'd gotten mopey after the break-up with Mystra, and Tara had taken it as a personal challenge to get him back on track. She'd still been at BGU then, having finished just before Christmas, half a year's delay so she could work half time at one of the biggest theaters in the Baldur's Gate area. A natural researcher, and born dramaturg it hadn't been a shock when they had scouted her.
In truth, Tara is the reason why he even auditioned for Much Ado, he'd learned early on in their relationship that he only ever ignored her to his own disadvantage. So when she had bodily dragged him to the sign-up sheet, he had dutifully penned his name down, assuming he'd get approximately four lines and a sum total of three minutes on stage. It was a shock, getting Benedick. And now he feels like he has to make the most of this opportunity, his first lead role. Hence the 8 am wake-up time on a perfectly good Saturday.
He starts with some stretching, waking his body up, then some vocal warmups, his voice is hoarser than he'd like - probably from lack of sleep. Just because he went to bed at 11 doesn't mean he fell asleep before 2am, that's the thing that is still tangible from the break-up, the insomnia that won't go away. He's just about to start running lines, working out his marks, when a voice rings out across the desolate auditorium.
"Thought I'd find you here," it freezes him dead in his tracks. "It's so like you, to rehearse first thing on a Saturday morning." condescension drips from the words. He wishes he could manage a witty response, but she hasn't talked to him since she broke up with him, and the sudden break in that wall of ice has caught him utterly wrong-footed.
"Don't worry," she drawls, making her way up onto the stage. "I'm not here to interrupt your work, I know how hard you try." something like a defense wrenches free from him.
"If you have something to say, say it, I'm busy." she laughs in response, he's not sure when her laugh shifted from the most beautiful sound in the world, to a hacksaw against his bones, but now he can feel it in his teeth. It grates.
"Well then," she scoffs, maybe not expecting so much bite from him, he's spent months avoiding her at every turn. "I was just wondering what the fuck you think you're playing at?" she poses the question sweetly, but he can feel the venom lingering beneath the surface of the words. "You're not an actor. Why are you here?"
This almost makes him laugh, he's been so thoroughly rattled by her for so long that he hasn't noticed the shift in their dynamic.
"I auditioned." he says simply. "The casting director must disagree with your assessment." it's more nonchalance than he had ever hoped he could muster in the face of his first conversation with her in months. Maybe he is a better actor than anyone has given him credit for? She scoffs, arms folding across her chest, and he recognizes it for what it must be. Defense.
"I want you out of this production." the pretense of sweetness has dropped, the sharp venom is all that is left now.
"No." he shocks them both with the ease of the word. She turns on her heel, sheet of perfect black hair swinging.
"Your funeral." she speaks the words like a promise, and he can't tell if they're empty bark or if they tell of a bite to come. But she's leaving, and that's really all he wants.
Maybe it should shake him, having her approach him like this, making threats or pitching a fit. But it doesn't, very much to his own surprise… Somewhere between the classes, the play, his newly made friends, he's made some sort of peace.
Although he's not quite exempt from people making trouble. You still linger, and unlike Mystra, your jabs still get a rise out of him. But that is different, instead of the hopeless defeat Mystra has always given him, you make him furious. And it's mutual. He can feel the difference against the wall of ice Mystra has built, and the warmth of the fire you keep stoking.
Unbidden his thoughts travel back to the other day in the costume shop, the halo of frizzy hair, the thin dress slipping off one shoulder, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The flush high on your cheeks… he shakes his head to get rid of the image, he has work to do after all.
He's halfway through his fifth attempt at the act 2 scene 3 ending monologue when his phone rings, buzzing insistently from his bag. The caller id shows Wyll, the time shows 10.30 am and he wonders if he's really just wasted nearly an hour and a half on one monologue. But he can't get it right, you keep tripping him up and you're not even there to laugh at him. He answers the call.
"What?" Wyll's voice comes loud out of the speaker, before he can even say hello. He opens his mouth to reply, confusion rising in his head, but Karlach beats him to it.
"Shadowheart told me all about it," she sounds conspiratorial. "They share a room you know, known each other since freshman year, if she says that she is in love with Gale then I believe her!" the phone slips from his hands, thudding hard against the floor, a new crack appearing on the screen. He scrambles for it, half to end the call before they find out that they've butt dialed him, half because he has to hear what they say next.
"I knew she was full of shit when she told me she was too busy for love." Wyll sounds triumphant, vaguely Gale recalls that Wyll has known you since forever, if he thinks this is true it must be, and Shadowheart, both of them know you better than he's ever known anyone. They can't be lying.
"But she's always going at him?" Karlach questions. "That she would be in love with him and still give him such a hard time?" Wyll is quick to answer.
"She's always been like that," he concedes. "The more she likes you, the more she teases. I can't believe I didn't connect the dots before now!" is it possible? that you could have loved him this whole time?
"What more did Shadowheart tell you?" Wyll prompts, and suddenly Gale feels like he'll die if he doesn't get to hear the rest. It damn well nearly gives him whiplash, the sudden shift from not caring to caring way too much. If he weren't already on the floor this surely would have put him there. Both hands cradle the phone, he tries to ignore that they're shaking. Karlach chooses this moment to act coy, and Gale could scream, if he didn't think it would alert them.
"Is she gonna tell him?" Wyll tries again, and the breath catches in Gale's throat.
"Nope, she can't." Karlach supplies readily. "She's spent so much time snapping at him, she can't tell him now!"
"Yeah," Wyll agrees, "And she'll be sure that he'll make fun of her if she does, because that's what she would do if he did that to her, she's too stubborn to let that grudge go even if she loves him."
"And Gale would make fun of her too, if she did tell him." Karlach chimes in and the realization stings, but maybe it is true.
"It's too bad he won't look past his pride," ouch. "She's a catch, witty, kind, sharp as a razor..-" Wyll muses.
"She can't be that sharp if she fell for Gale." Karlach snarks, and Wyll laughs again.
"She's stunning too, shame she hides it under all those oversized sweaters." The image of you in the barely there shift flashes through Gale's head again. They're right, you are mouthwatering, he just doesn't quite feel like he's allowed to admit that, not after everything.
"Look, Gale is great, but he needs to let go of all that pride and realize what is right in front of him." It's more frank than he's ever heard Wyll be, but he knows there is no malice in it. Wyll is the type of guy that genuinely wants the best for people, this is just an extension of that. Guilt creeps in, and in a flurry he hurries to hang up the phone, he's eavesdropped for long enough. Learned enough.
Wyll had been right, his pride is the only thing standing in his way, the only impediment to just admitting what he really feels for you. He doesn't know when things shifted, when your little rivalry had started he had truly just been out to get you. Never maliciously, but besting you had always felt so sweet. But somewhere along the way he has to admit, the pull towards you had gotten stronger than just the prospect of winning.
Maybe it's a cop-out, but he thinks, partially, this ignorance must be because of the whole thing with Mystra. They had gotten involved when he was about two months into his first term, she'd found him in their shared poetry class. It had been a whirlwind, and it had ended about a year later in flames. He's been sure that he'd never love anyone like he loved her, and when it had soured, and it had all been his fault, he'd felt convinced that he'd never get to feel that way again. It wasn't for him, he'd screwed up his only real chance at love, and this was the payment.
But somehow, you had snuck behind those defenses, behind the self-loathing, and the deep set knowledge that he had never really been worth loving in the first place. And you had fallen for him. And then decided you could never tell him, because he would laugh at it. You, with your bright eyes, and perpetual mop of hair, you, with your sharp tongue and ability to see people right through to the bone. You, with your sweet smile, and beauty. Just you. Far too good for him, but still there, pining for him in secret but never letting him win an argument.
You, infuriating, you, persistent, just you. He'd be the worlds fool if he didn't love you for that.
Summary: You've dreamed of playing Beatrice in Shakespeare's much ado abut nothing for as long as you can remember. In your second year in Baldur's Gate University's drama program you finally score your dream role, but there is one catch. The casting for Benedick, your on stage romance, is Gale Dekarios. And you CANNOT stand him, and the feeling is mutual. Will this unfortunate casting ruin your dream? Or will you be able to set aside your differences and make the most of this opportunity?
Pairing: Gale x f!Reader
Wordcount: 3898
Warnings: None
Act 2, scene 1
Having a masquerade ball themed cast party to celebrate the start of a production of Much Ado may be a bit on the nose, but if there is one thing now grown theater kid’s can be accused of being it isn’t subtle. It had been Shadowheart’s idea to host a ‘girls get ready’ for the main women of the cast, of course the term ‘girls’ is loose, since Astarion is also there, but nevertheless.
It's cramped in your shared dorm, but between the beds, and two desk chairs there is enough space for everyone to sit, any left over space covered in clothes and miscellaneous make up, and four masquerade masks hang to dry in the window, freshly bedazzled. Astarion’s is bright red with feathers and black gems that glint in the faint light, Alfira’s is more feathers than cardboard mask at this point, looking like the plumage of a peacock. Shadowheart’s is a midnight sky, with gems that hang down over her cheeks, the eye cut outs dramatically cat eye shaped. Yours, to your exceeding pride is shades of purple, a sweeping and dramatic form, with diamonds like swirls of water.
Making the masks has been the afternoon’s work, and you had cracked open the boxed wine when you started it, to "aid your artistic pursuits". Now, hours and several glasses later, it is a miracle that you have managed to get ready at all. The conversation keeps derailing, and you’re probably going to be hopelessly late, but what does that matter really?
“So,” Astarion drawls from his perch on Shadowheart’s bed. “Hottest in the cast?” he waves a hand with significantly more haughty grace than you would think him capable of at this point. “Go!” he demands imperiously, you laugh, taking the bait.
“Karlach.” Your voice curls around her name, something between a purr and mockery. Your eyes lock with Shadowheart who, with a practiced hand, easily deflects your elbow bound for her ribs without even pausing the application of her eye makeup. She returns the gesture by lovingly smacking you in the back of your head, before returning to the focus of perfecting her eyeliner. A chorus of 'oooohhhs' erupt around the room.
“She’s blushing!” Alfira delights, and you cackle. Shadowheart, instantly fed up with this particular line of inquiry fixes you all with a withering glare over-top her hand mirror, the impact of which is considerably lessened by the fact that she has indeed gone pink, and it's not due to a liberal application of blush.
“Personally," she deflects, picking up her lip liner. "I think Wyll is the most eligible person in this cast.” She proposes and you all consider it, charming and talented, she’s probably right.
"You went to high school with him right?" Alfira turns to you. "Any gossip?" you laugh at her curiosity.
"Wyll has always been the golden boy," you shrug. "Gossip doesn't stick to him, not the juicy stuff anyways."
“Not my type,” Astarion butts in “Halsin though?” he fans himself dramatically, and you snort a laugh.
“Halsinnn!” you agree enthusiastically. “Not that someone like that would ever bother with the likes of us, but damn, we can still look!” you raise your glass to Astarion and he follows suit. Alfira picks her moment to join in the fun about halfway through your swallow.
“I think Gale,” she says dreamily, and half of the wine destined for your stomach detours sharply out through your nose. Shadowheart and Astarion both spring into evasive action, waving frantically to try and cut Alfira off, but she has the blinders of several glasses of wine on and thus bulldozers happily on undeterred. “He’s hot in that kind of nerdy way, like he’d be a perfect gentleman, and you know what they say about well read men… what?” she crooks an eyebrow, finally becoming aware of the show unraveling in front of her. You, coughing frantically, red wine spraying out of your nose like a grape flavored nose bleed, running down your face destined to stain your duvet. Shadowheart and Astarion still waving frantically in a drunken attempt to stop her. To Shadowheart's dismay, you recover first.
“Really?” you start, mopping at your face with a makeup wipe, trying to minimize the damage “He always looks so conceited though? Like he thinks he’s better than – mhmm” you break out into indignant noise as Shadowheart’s hand seals itself over your mouth.
“DON’T get her started, Alfie.” She begs. “I’ve had to deal with this all week, I just want one night of peace.”
“What did I do?” Alfira asks, somewhat desperately, clearly aware she’s stepped in it but completely dumbfounded as to what she's done. Astarion, seemingly enjoying watching you struggle against your roommate's vice grip, takes mercy on her, as you try to wrestle free.
“She and Gale,” he doesn’t get further before the wine auto fills the meaning for Alfira and she burst out.
“She and Gale??” launching her into a fit of giggles and you into a fresh fit of hysterics. You lick Shadowheart's hand, efficiently freeing yourself as she flinches back with a satisfying "ew".
“Me and Gale? I would rather die!” you shriek. Shadowheart's hand wipes frantically on your hair, in an attempt to dry it, Astarion has retreated back into a fit of giggles. Confusion takes up residence on Alfira's face again, and Astarion, around his own fit of laughing, takes mercy on her.
“They hate each other.” He aims for his regular deadpan "duh" but doesn't quite manage it, realization dawns on Alfira.
“Oooohh," she voices her realization, before she immediately goes back to ponderous. "I was so sure they had at least fucked though!” she states, as if it were idle gossip, and not the most offensive thing you've ever heard in your life.
“Hello?” you wave your hand in front of her face “I am right here??” Shadowheart dejectedly fills her glass with the last of the wine, out of the corner of your eye you can see her down it.
“But all of that tension at the table read?” Alfira insists, and as much as you love her to bits, you sort of want to kill her right now.
“Easy to confuse,” Astarion chimes in “Maybe if they did fuck it would go away?” he grins at you, and you want to strangle him. In your periphery you see Shadowheart break the box apart to try and scrounge up the last drops of wine from the bag. You laugh at her sudden and desperate descent into alcoholism.
“You guys know I’m going to have to hear about this conversation every waking moment of the rest of forever, right?” she sounds exhausted, and frankly you’re not even sure why, it’s not like you’ve been insufferable about this, right? Just a normal amount of sufferable! This is a perfectly normal reaction.
“I would not fuck Gale Dekarios if you paid me actual cash money to do so.” You declare, gagging at the thought for good measure. What a truly ridiculous suggestion, abhorrent really, incomprehensible. Shadowheart pinches the bridge of her nose, abandoning the, now thoroughly empty wine box on her desk.
“PLEASE, can we talk about LITERALLY anything else.” she pleads.
“Fine by me!” You agree. “Let’s talk about anything other than that ridiculous joke of a man.” Astarion and Alfira share a look, but let the subject drop without a fight.
“We should probably get going, anyways” Astarion glances at his phone. “It’s a quarter past.” You all scramble to get the last of your outfits and make up done, none of you are lame enough to want to be on time, but there is fashionably late and then there is just plain late.
Act 2, scene 2
You loose track of time, the party unfolding around you. Shadowheart, kidnapped by Wyll for some plot or another as soon as you stepped inside the door, is nowhere to be seen. Astarion long since vanished into the kitchen in search of more wine, and Alfira.. Alfira is wrapped up in someone on the dance floor, you can swear it's one of techies although you can't clock who behind the mask. Someone tall, with dark blue dyed hair in two long braids, her arms wound around Alfira's waist as she laughs. It's a heartwarming sight.
You decide to join the fray, body joining the mass of the make shift dance floor. The middle of a living room with all of the furniture gone, a disco ball hung sloppily on what must be a lamp hook, lighting reflecting off perfectly ordinary eggshell walls. The music throbs out of speakers no doubt stolen from the AV department.
It's a heady and wonderful environment, comprised entirely out of music, lights and bodies. Bodies moving together, too close for comfort, closer still. You migrate into the middle of it, the base travels through your chest, moving your limbs, the alcohol in your system bursting like champagne bubbles under your skin. Beneath the feathers, the makeup, the mask, you loose yourself for a second, a minute, an hour. The world moving like a haze around you, slowing to syrup as you throw your hair back with a smile. The music moves through you, becomes you, and you in turn become it.
The illusion bursts like a soap bubble by movement in your periphery, someone entering your space. Or maybe you enter theirs. When you look back down, eyes opening wider, it's like breaking the surface of the water for air. He is a blur of dark clothes, a mask a near dead match for yours, dripping in purple paint and diamonds. For a second your eyes travel over his form, the shirt with the top buttons undone, the tight fitting slacks hanging off narrow hips. Something like admiration sparks in your gut, or is it lust? You don't have time to tell, before your eyes drag back up his body to his face, his eyes meeting yours. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Those damn chocolate eyes.
The realization washes over you like a bucket of ice water, yanking you out of your peaceful state. Suddenly you feel far too sober, as you realize you've made your way out of the center of the dance floor. Like you've been caught in his orbit. A familiar zip of angry warmth travels the length of your spine.
"My dear lady disdain." he greets you around a smile that is far too mocking for you to do anything else but roll your eyes at it. You hate that the script has supplied him with such an easy title to vex you with.
"Too lazy to think of your own insults? Gonna let Shakespeare do it for you?" you pose sweetly. He shrugs, yet again wearing that frustratingly composed mask of indifference.
"Well, if the shoe fits, far be it for me to disagree with the bard himself." the tracks fade into the next song, and you nearly laugh out loud as the opening notes to "Murder on the dance floor" migrate through the room. If he keeps going the way he is then it's surely a very fitting soundtrack for you to claw his eyes out to.
"Doesn't it ever tire you?" you ask, switching tack. "Being everyone's jester?" you expect him to scowl, or take offense, but to your dismay he laughs.
"Now who is stealing material?" he asks, head cocking as he catches you red handed. It occurs to you, from the beat to hell copy he'd brought to the table read, that maybe he too knows this play inside and out.
"Level playing field, and all that." You shrug, seeming unbothered. "Besides, who am I to argue with the source material, when it's this accurate?" you ask, sweetly. He returns your artificial smile.
"Aw, Fuck you." it doesn't sting you, and you're fairly certain he didn't intend it to. Maybe he's just playing his part like you're playing yours, maybe you've left Shakespeare behind, but for a second the honey dripping from his words catches you off guard. This is the type of banter you'd have with Shadowheart, or — damn it all to hell — if you were flirting.
The realization washes over you in one fell wave of roiling nausea, and you pray none of it makes it onto your face. Feeling utterly backed into a corner, you continue to play the game, trying to ignore the way his eyes flash as you step into his space. Trying to ignore the way you can feel electricity buzz through your skin, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to his proximity. Gods, you have to get out of here.
"You know, I would," you drop your voice, low and coy "fuck you that is." before turning it mean and sharp. "But I've already done enough charity work for one semester. Goodnight, Gale." you turn to leave, but a hand locking itself into a vice grip around your wrist jolts you to a stop. It loosens as soon as you come to a halt only two paces away from him, but his fingers remain, as if to discourage you from running. Through the haze of alcohol, you can feel the skin of his fingers burn into your bare wrist.
You're already plotting your escape, still reeling from his brazenness, when he steps in close, his chest nearly touching your back. You can feel his breath against the back of your neck and fight to suppress a shiver.
"Charity?" he hums, voice moving through you in a way that should feel deeply unpleasant, and you almost wish it would, only it doesn't. It snakes through your bloodstream, making the hairs on your arms stand at attention. For a second you are completely frozen to the spot and he takes full advantage. "I assure you, it would not be charity." he let's the implication settle before he let's you go, the skin of your wrist still burns, your body completely alive with restless energy. You reel around, suddenly all to aware now that you've lost the interference of his body so close to yours. Your eyes narrow at his satisfied grin.
"Really?" your voice hovers somewhere between pityingly sweet and strained nonchalance. But there is a breathless edge to it too, like he's stolen the air from your lungs and you hate him for it.
"Is that why you had to follow your ex into a theater production? Because of your miraculous skills in the bedroom?" you know it's a low blow, especially with the edge that has crept into your voice, and you can see it on his face as you leave. But you can still feel warmth burn where his fingers had wrapped around your wrist, still feel the static where his chest had rested, a hair's breadth against your back, still feel his breath ghosting against your ear. So you take the easy way out, wound and run. It's almost surprising how easy it is, but you can feel guilt settling in your gut as you make your way through the crowd and off the dancefloor.
You feel utterly untethered, it's not like you haven't taken jabs at each other before… so why does this feel so different? Your movement is without aim but, like clockwork, your frazzled senses, overwashed with lust, and hate, and guilt, guide you like a magnet back towards the booze.
Act 2, scene 3
You know almost everyone at BGU knows Wyll Ravengard, in some fashion or another. Most just know him as the son of the acclaimed director and long time part of BGU's distinguished faculty. Some have had the fortune to be in a production, or club or combat group with him, and knows how hard he works, they have some point of reference for how little nepotism factors into any facet of his life. You have known Wyll Ravengard since 1st grade algebra, a class that you had both been in real danger of failing.
You'd known of him for way longer, his house only two houses down from yours, but in 1st grade algebra you had done combat together, bled together. You'd loved him like a brother from then on. He's a good guy through and through, the kind that will stand up to any bully, and whisk you off for ice cream when you have a fight with your parents. It's no surprise that he seems to have taken it as a personal challenge to bring Shadowheart and Karlach together, even less of a surprise that he's succeeded.
You know it must be his doing the second you spot them, perfectly visible in a secluded corner, wound up in each other. You cheer internally for your roommate. Get it girl! And move to find the man you're sure is behind all this.
He is surprisingly easy to find, holding court on one of the plush couches placed against the walls. You nearly stop your approach when you spot Gale sitting next to him, once in one night is enough. Besides, you still don't quite know what to do with the spark in your gut from when he had leaned in, dark voice in your ear, nor the guilt from your low blow. You've been drinking about it since it happened, but it won't go away. Like a tension headache it clings.
Ultimately, you're spared the decision, as the crowd parts and Wyll spots you, waving you over with all his drunken flare. Like a kingly decree. Who are you to refuse his majesty? Despite your trepidation a wide grin makes it onto your face as you cut through the dancing masses, making your way to him. Once you arrive you find the space next to him thoroughly vacated. Gale nowhere to be seen. Wyll is laughing.
"What is going on between you and Gale?" he asks as you deposit yourself next to him, body sinking into the plush couch. "he practically ran when I waved you over." you snort, and raise the bottle of wine you've pilfered from the kitchen to your lips, and shrug, vastly.
"It's a long story." you tell him, with an aire of finality. You don't want to rehash your grudge with Gale when you're this drunk, you can't quite recall all of the details even when you're sober.
"You shouldn't be so harsh on him." Wyll admonishes, and you can feel the guilt rear up from where you've managed to keep it somewhat pinned, or more aptly drowned, beneath half a bottle of red. You know Wyll has a point, but you can't for the life of you admit it.
"He's the one who keeps poking a sleeping bear." you mutter, more sullenly than you'd like. Wyll laughs again, but lets it go. He's known you for long enough to recognize a pointless discussion when it arises. You're sure he'll just try and meddle in the background instead.
You change the topic, gesturing with the bottle to where Shadowheart and Karlach have, somehow, become yet more horizontal in their corner.
"I'm guessing you had something to do with that?" you elbow him good-naturedly and he shrugs.
"I merely nudged it along a bit." he concedes, but takes no credit. You scoff.
"Well, I guess that's what you do best." you admit. The conversation lulls as you take another swig of the wine, eyes contemplating the frankly whoreish display your beloved roommate is putting on.
"I guess this is it." you sigh, settling deeper into the couch, body sliding into Wyll's, one of his arms draping over your shoulders. Your head leans on his shoulder, body falling back into old comfortable habits. You haven't properly hung out with Wyll in ages, but you don't think that easy comfortable friendship will ever fade.
"This is what?" he prompts, and you know you've spaced out somewhere between your comfort and another swallow of wine.
"Finally one of us finds romance." you lament, both you and Shadowheart have been perpetually single for as long as you've been roommates. Not quite from lack of trying, although you're sure that you've convinced everyone but yourself that you are single by choice. It's focus on career over focus on romance. The oldest play in the book. But you can't say you don't wonder. Wyll laughs, softly, without malice.
"I didn't know you were looking." He teases gently. If you've questioned it then you know that Wyll knows you well enough to also have questioned it. "If I knew you were I might have felt inclined to play match-maker."
You shudder at the thought. You know he means well, and if you let him he'd probably find you a perfectly nice date, but the thought makes you scrunch your face in disgust nonetheless.
"Nope." you deny vehemently. "Not my thing." Wyll laughs again, and this time you know it's at your expense. You bury your face in his shoulder, uncaring of the way your makeup is no doubt smudging. "I'm more of a; I've known you for one hundred years, and you have seen all my icky bits, let's get married kind of person, you know this." you speak into him. You expect a witty response, or at least an encouraging platitude more suitable against floral background on your mother's pinterest board, but instead, Wyll goes quiet. You untangle yourself from him, and you can feel, somewhere beneath the thick layer of alcohol, that the mood of the conversation has shifted.
"I've known you for one hundred years." he says softly. "And seen all of your icky bits." panic floods your system, but you find yourself laughing despite it. This is Wyll, the guy that watched you have your first period, the guy who punched your first crush in the face after he ridiculed you in front of the whole class for asking him out, the guy who took you home when the food at your first prom made you throw up and your date abandoned you. The guy who you used to sneak out with to take long walks around the lake at midnight. He must be fucking joking.
"No way." you protest, mingled with your laughter. You wish you could stop laughing. "You don't want me, you know better." you insist, and the relief you feel when he joins you in laughter is palpable. It's a joke, it has to be, you're both in on it.
"I got you though." he grins, that signature Wyll Ravengard grin, and you can't help but wonder. You know him just as well as he knows you, and he had seemed sincere. But you physically can't dwell on it now, that would be too much. Not when your brain still seems incapable of forgetting the closeness of the man that you hate with every fiber of your being.
"You did." you admit, and you know it's because he probably meant it, but you're unwilling to let that change anything. Instead you down the contents of your bottle, and offer him your hand. "Let's dance?" you offer, and he takes it gratefully. You can feel your dynamic shift back onto safer territory, and if you try you can also feel his gratefulness. You tug him up, and disappear back into the fray, loosing yourself in the music, and pretending that you don't feel eyes on you.
Astarion x Reader
・❥・You bring him frogs and hedgehogs; he brings you smirks and reluctant affection.
The first time, he thought it was a joke.
Astarion was lounging by the fire, polishing his dagger with that casual elegance only he could manage, when you marched into camp with your hands cupped around…something.
“What,” he drawled, “is wriggling in your hands, darling?”
You crouched in front of him and revealed the prize with all the pride of a victorious dragon.
“A frog.”
Astarion stared. Slowly. Then blinked.
“A frog.”
You nodded eagerly. “He was just sitting by the river, and I thought of you.”
There was a pause - a long, incredulous pause - before he leaned back on his elbows, a wicked smile curling his lips.
“Of me? I can’t decide if I should be flattered or insulted.”
“He’s cute,” you argued.
“…Yes. And he eats bugs. I see the resemblance now.”
You stuck your tongue out and went to release the frog, but the sparkle of mischief in his red eyes lingered all evening.
………………
The second time was a squirrel.
You held it out like a rare treasure. “Look! He let me pick him up!”
Astarion didn’t even lower the book he was reading this time. He only peered over the top, voice smooth as silk and dripping with disdain.
“Darling, unless you intend to train a small army of rodents to do our bidding, I’m not sure what you expect me to do with that.”
“He’s soft.”
“Mm. And he probably has fleas.”
You made a face but stroked the squirrel anyway, letting it scurry back into the woods. You swore you caught Astarion watching, lips twitching as if he was holding back laughter.
………………
By the third time, you thought he’d be used to it.
You crept up behind him with your latest find - a hedgehog, balled up in your palms.
“Astarion…” you whispered dramatically. “I have a gift.”
He sighed without looking up from his dagger.
“Let me guess. A feral pig this time? A bear cub? Oh, I do hope it’s an owlbear, that would really complete the menagerie—”
You plopped the hedgehog right into his lap.
Astarion froze. He stared down at the tiny spiny ball now sitting politely on his trousers. The hedgehog sniffed, then sneezed.
A soft sound escaped him - half scoff, half laugh.
“You…are absolutely incorrigible,” he muttered. But instead of shoving the creature away, he extended one elegant finger, letting it sniff him.
“…Alright, I admit it. He’s rather…distinguished. A fine gentleman.”
“See?” you whispered, grinning. “You like him.”
“I tolerate him. There’s a difference,” he sniffed but the smile ghosting across his lips betrayed him.
………………
That night, as the hedgehog trundled off into the shadows, Astarion lingered by the fire with you, watching the sparks drift upward.
“You are an utterly ridiculous creature, you know that?”
You nudged him with your shoulder. “You kept him in your lap for almost an hour.”
He hummed thoughtfully, eyes glittering in the firelight.
“Yes, well. Perhaps I’m growing…attached. Don’t get used to it.”
The next morning, he left a single wildflower on your bedroll.
When you raised an eyebrow, he only smirked.
“Consider it a return gift, my dear. I thought of you when I saw it…though, unlike your frogs and squirrels, it doesn’t have fleas.”
How funny would it have been if Wyll's dad actually was in that fire and we saved him tho
You banished ur son, you thought you'd never see him again, then boom, he's pulling you from a random tavern fire and he has so many weird friends with him looting all the breads and snacks.
gummygunk
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
gamechangershow
