âI love youâ are very difficult words for BRUCE WAYNE to say.Â
Heâs not good with his words, and he is not good with his actions either, but he tries.Â
The second Bruce starts taking you as his plus one everywhere, or when you start staying at the Manor some nights, or when you finally get to meet his children formally, you know you have started a relationship with Bruce Wayne.Â
To have a relationship with Bruce is a big deal. Anyone could end up in his bed, naked and satisfied. But not anyone can say they are formally dating him. Thatâs your privilege.Â
Still, he has never said âI love youâ. Not once.Â
You love him, and he knows itâyouâve told him many times. In a lazy, honeyed voice right after you woke up. In an enthusiastic voice, full of affection, every time he gives you a new gift he bought for you for no reason at all. Whispered, like a secret, every time you comfort him. Moaned when he touches youâŠ
You love Bruce Wayne, everything about him, without exceptions.Â
He knows.
But does he love you?
He cares about youâhe cares deeply. Your wellbeing is important to him. He often calls you, or texts you to check up on you. He prioritizes you over anything else, even himself.Â
He admires you, worships you. He never misses an opportunity to compliment you. How beautiful you are, how your dress enhances your beauty impossibly more. For him youâre ethereal, too good to be true, too good to be his.
And he for sure makes you remember youâre dating the billionaire Bruce Wayne. He showers you with presents. But each one has value, meaning, a story behind them. Heâs thought each one through carefully before giving it to you. He also takes you to every gala and stays by your side, making sure youâre comfortable with the place and the people.Â
He cares for you, admires you, and gives you everything you could ask for.
Then he must love you.
But youâre longing for him to tell you. You want to hear those three words come out of his mouth. You want him to confirm itâfor your sake and for his own.
And maybe you think that, after all this time with Bruce, you could guess the moment when heâd finally say it. Maybe one day, whispering it in your ear at a gala. One day, moaning as you make love. One day, with a painful physical effort, while youâre by his side after a tough night as Batman.
But not now. Not like this.
âI love you.â His voice has that normalcy not many have the privilege to know, because they only know the charismatic Bruce, but not the relaxed, off guard Bruce you love.
He had cut you off. You were telling him about your day at work, complaining about the people, about how much your body ached from the exhaustion, and meanwhile you were walking around Bruceâs room. While telling your story you had picked up your nightgown from the closet, then walked towards the bathroom to clean your face, then walked towards your bag to pick up something. You hadnât stopped moving nor talking.
Meanwhile, Bruce was looking at you, following your every movement and listening to your every word attentively. He even hummed in approval at some of the comments you made. And then he cut you off.Â
You were at the climax of the story, and then he cut you off.
To say âI love youâ.
Everything stopped, and suddenly you felt the room fading. It was only you and Bruce.
He had a small smile on his face and his eyes never moved away from your figure, never hesitated.Â
Then he said it again.Â
âI love you.â Followed by your name.
Bruce Wayne loved you, and so did you.
And those three words were complicated for Bruce Wayne, until he met you. He just needed to find the right time to say it, so you would believe him.
SYNOPSIS: When he hears the love of his life get kidnapped over his comm line, Dick finds her in the nick of time, bruised and bloody, but still breathing.
NOTE: This was so fun to write
MASTERLIST
"Oh, what do I have here?" She grins, clicking the little device in her ear on, like she's seen Dick to a hundred times.
It's a minute before she gets a response, the telltale 'click' over the other side indicating someone's joined the frequency.
"Did I leave it with you again?" He groans. "I've been looking for that, Bruce is gonna have my head if he finds out I found the comm after I made him replace it."
"Maybe if you didn't shuck your suit off on the floor the second you come home, and actually put it away properly, you wouldn't be losing things all the time." She shakes her head, coming to a stop at the bus stand, squinting her eyes to read the posted schedule for the next bus on route.
"The longer I spend doing that, the less time you get with me later." There's a cheeky smile on his face that she can practically hear. "And you weren't complaining about it last night, babe."
"I'd rather that than hear you sulk about it the next day." She huffs out an amused laugh. "I'll leave it on my desk when I get home. You can crawl through the window like a creep and get it when you start your night life tonight."
"Creep?!" He exclaims. "Says the woman that leaves her windows unlocked on purpose! And mopes when I don't stop by to say hello!"
                 · · âââââââ ·đ„žÂ· âââââââ · ·
Dick swings around in his favourite chair in the cave, right in front of the computer next to the impromptu gym mats. He's smiling ear to ear as he banters, and he half wishes there was a visual aid to go with it. It's only been a couple hours since they saw each other, but he's already missing her presence.
"You're making things up." Her voice comes in his ear.
He scoffs playfully. "I've never told a lie in my life, scouts honour!"
"You were never part of the scouts!" Her giggle makes his heart settle. "And even if you were it's not like you-...uh...hello?"
Dick's smile falters. "Everything alright?"
She doesn't answer him. "Can I help you? See what?"
There's a beat of silence, Dick starts to feel uneasy. He sits up in his chair, calls her name a little more seriously.
"No, I'm good...I said I'm good. What the fuck?!"
Immediately he snaps to attention, is on his feet not even registering he stood up. "Hey, talk to me, what's happening? Sweetheart?"
"Get away from me! I don't want...stop!"
Dick calls her name out, hand pressed to his ear and rushes to the computer, trying to pull out where the signal is coming from. Dread sours in his gut, franticness taking hold.
"I...Dick? Dick!" She screams, tinny across the line and he stops breathing.
"Stay on the line." He orders, heart hammering. "I'm coming, okay? Run, I'll be there, I'll find you."
A telltale sound of a scuffle echoes through the other half of the comm, a struggled, grunts and a shriek that's cut off midway. He shouts her name, it echoes in the cave. "Are you there? Talk to me!"
The line goes staticky.
A crunch.
The line goes dead.
"Shit!" He says tightly, watching the computer flash red.
'Signal Lost.'
Panic clutches him for a moment, roots him on the spot because he just heard the love of his life be...taken? Kidnapped? He knows where she was going, what route she was going to take so all he has to do is start there and he'd find her. He would. He has to.
Dick is zipping up his suit and grabbing his escrima sticks when Bruce and Damian find him in the cave, alerted by all the noise. Tightly, he gives them a run down because as much as he needs to act now, he recognises that having them with him increases his chances of ending this nightmare quicker.
'Hold on.' He thinks as he revs his bike, takes off out of the cave. 'Hold on, I'm coming.'
                 · · âââââââ ·đ„žÂ· âââââââ · ·
Two days. Forty eight hours she's missing. Two entire days that Dick has been putting everything he has into finding her.
There's half a dozen men in the building, and if you asked him, Dick could not tell you how they went down. It's a blur with his one track, slightly panicked mind. He couldn't tell you any of the plan Bruce had told him and Damian, couldn't dictate where their entry point.
All Dick knows is that one moments he's racing on his bike towards the ocean, and then next he's kicking down the door to a dingy room in the back.
He lays eyes on her and for one moment, a single few seconds that he won't admit to anybody, he feels rage beyond anything he's ever experienced before. It's dark and filthy and laps at his ankles like a distorted siren's song he can't decipher the garble of. His concern is enough to wipe it away almost instantly, the relief crashing into him making his heart pound.
She looks terrible.
Slumped over in a chair, wrists tied behind her back tightly and a blindfold digging into her cheeks. Bruises bloom over exposed skin, her hair is matted on one side with bloody that is hers. He sees the cuts marring her skin, and a deeper gash on her leg that's half scabbed over.
"Hey!" His voice cracks, and Dick is on his knees in front of her immediately, hands cupping her face. "I'm here, it's okay, I'm here now." He says frantically.
Static crackles in his ears when she flinches away with a choked gasp. He blinks away the red at the corner of his vision, focuses on the moment even though his heart drops. It's not about him.
"It's just me. You're safe I swear, I've got you, honey. You're okay."
She's trembling as the ropes around his wrists fall away and the blindfold comes off. It takes a second for her to adjust to the light again, but the second her vision clear and see's Dick kneeling in front of her, worry, relief and grief swimming in his expression, something in her breaks.
A sob pushes past her lips, horrible and scared. She's kept it together for the past two days, but it's all spilling out now at the sight of him, and the relief that hits her like a truck. It's entirely overwhelming.
He whispers her name, heartbroken, and then his arms are around her, crushing her close. Dick talks in a hushed tone, soothing and reassuring. Telling her he's here now, that she'll be okay, that he'll take care of her. Never again, he tells her with such conviction that it makes her cry harder.
Damian's near the exit, standing guard, and Dick is grateful for the privacy. He knows Bruce will take care of the logistics of cleaning up whatever this operation was. Right now his priorities are only in making sure his girl is okay.
"Can you stand up?" There's so much gentleness in his voice. Mindful of the injuries he can see, Dick helps her stand through her hitched breaths and shaky inhales, clutching onto her and taking almost all of her weight. "There you go. We're going home, okay? It's over."
Swallowing roughly, she manages a nod. Fuck this warehouse, and fuck those people. She never wants to see them again, doesn't want to stay here any longer than she has to now that she's calm enough to claw back some of her coherency.
The first steps makes her wince, aggravates the gash in her calf.
He inhales sharply beside her, and then she goes weightless as Dick pulls her into his arms, carrying her out to the Batmobile.
Too tired to argue, she leans back against his shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut.
                 · · âââââââ ·đ„žÂ· âââââââ · ·
"This might sting." It does, Dick cringes with her in sympathy as the antiseptic touches the torn skin around her wrists from the rope. "Sorry."
"Not your fault." She mumbles, eyes trained on the ceiling, right next to the bright lights. Bandages wrap around various parts of her body, two gashes stitched close by Alfred. The bruising inspected was deemed surface level, just nasty in colour, and she holds an ice back to her cheek as Dick fusses over wrapping her wrists and forearms.
Guilt is heavy in the lines of his shoulders; it's evident in the way his eyes are frantic to find her every time he turns away, but equally as quick to flicker away from holding her gaze when they do.
The only thing punctuating the silence is the rustle of fabric and the slight squeak of the stool every time Dick moves. When he's done securing the bandage, he brings her hand up and presses the back of his against his forehead, bowing his head, taking a second to breath.
She watches him tiredly, doesn't interrupt the thoughts clearly racing through his mind for a moment. Shoulder's rising and falling steadily, it's only when his grip tightens around her hand that she speaks.
"You found me." And he sits up to pay attention to her instantly. "You can stop acting like I'll dissapear."
"You did disappear." He says after a beat. "And I was too late."
And with that it all come spewing out. Dick's never been one to tuck his heart away.
"I'm sorry." A hoarse whisper. "I'm so sorry. I should've gotten to you sooner. They hurt you, and when I saw you slumped over in that chair I thought..." He can't even verbalise the thought, it's too painful, so he sucks in a long breath instead. "You should've been safe."
Unable to hear him beat himself up any longer, she moves her hand to cup his cheek, tilting his head up until he meets her eyes.
"I don't blame you, Dick. You can't be everywhere at once." She says, a weak smile. "And you did save me, so there's no point in entertaining 'what if's' right? I knew you'd come."
"Always."
The immediacy of his reassurance makes her smile widen.
"Then that's all anyone can ask of you." She intertwines their fingers, softens when he looks up and his eyes are watery. "Come here."
Dick melts into the hug, holding on like he's frightened she'll slip through his fingers. She shifts to relieve the pressure on her leg, and pulls him forward until he's laying next to her, settled in the medbay cot that's definitely far too small to fit two grown people.
The fabric on her shoulder is suspiciously wet, and all she does is rub his back soothingly with a hand slipping under his shirt to palm at the warm skin, tears prickling her own eyes.
It's a good few minutes before he settles down and builds his composure back enough to pull his face away. His eyes are red-rimmed and his nose is flushed, but Dick looks down at her with such love and reverence it's devastating.
She meets him halfway when he tilts his head down to kiss her softly. "I hope you know I'm not letting you out of my sight." He says against her. "At least for the next five years."
It makes her crack a smile. A real one. "I can live with that."
"Good." He kisses her again, a little more firmly before settling back down at her side. "'Cause you're stuck with me. I'm loving you forever."
"A burden I must carry." He smiles, pulls her to his chest carefully.
It's not okay right now, but it will be. It's a brand new day tomorrow, and it'll come with its own challenges when it comes to dealing with the fallout of this experience, but knowing that they're in this together make it much more bearable.
His lips pressed to her forehead, she lets her eyes shut and basks in the feeling of safety he brings her.
Painted this as soon as Art Fight ended, I missed these idiots sm!! Wasnât planning on posting this one since itâs still a wip and I donât think Iâll ever finish it ( Arthur looks straight up silly in here đ ) but I really liked the colors and since my semester starts literally today, Iâve got no idea on when Iâll get to paint these two again. So I present my humble offerings to the Merlin fandom
Just our Zaddy Zevlor reading some spicy romance đ€. Thank you to @Ikayaki_Ichisan on vgen. Inspiration from @reverieblondieâs writings (see below) and @sweetlittlelambâs Tiefling Troubles fanfic!
đŹ 12  đ 64  â€ïž 684 · Finding the Tiefling Bachelors Smut · A/N: I really hope everyone enjoys these hcs. Now these are just my ideas if you
What do they act like when they are utterly in love and yearning for you?
Pairing: Astarion, Gale, Zevlor, Rolan, x gn!Tav!reader
Summary: During the early stages of your misadventure, he cannot help himself but never stop yearning for you.
Genre: Fluff, lime (does anyone use lime and lemons anymore?)
Words: 2.3k
Note: Iâm hosting a small event over at my blog. Check it out if youâre interested <3 Iâm choosing four participating users at random to receive a personalised letter from their fav char<33 All of this is happening in act 1 btw.
Astarion AncunĂn // The Pale Elf
Yearning scale: 8/10
He denied himself the pleasure of thinking about you in a romantic way other than to use you to get protection, power and a willing source of absolutely delicious blood. Really falling for you would be very stupid and have no benefit, really. Astarion never viewed himself as someone who deserved love, especially yours.
But during every battle Astarionâs concentration began to waver more and more. His eyes scan the area in panic until he finally spots you somewhere, being very occupied by trying to finish off the gnoll growling at you. He knows youâre capable defending yourself and finishing off some enemies and it is a delight to watch you fight, but that caused him to miss more and more, with both daggers and his crossbow.
You notice how his whole face lights up whenever you saunter over to him to do some small talk after a long day. His eyes look much softer and his smile becomes less guarded, less planned. It was adorable but you never mentioned it to him, or else you might never see that off-guard smile again.
At first you were adorned by Astarion and showered in flirts and compliments to love-bomb you and bind you to him, something he has done wo many countless times, but slowly he feels himself regretting playing up his flirtatious persona. He thinks you might not like him anymore when he stops with the over-the-top flirts, the nightly trysts and most importantly, the sex.
But deep down he was hoping and praying youâll still like him for him.
Slowly, Astarion will insist on staying close with you no matter what. The group splits up to explore a cave efficiently? He is definitely sticking by your side. Youâre heading to the Emerald Grove to stock on some food for tonight? Donât mind him tagging along, he just needs a couple of healing potions. Youâre injured and need healing? Out of the way Shadowheart, he got this with some alcohol and bandages.
âIâm sure you wont mind taking me with you to that grove again, I wanted to talk to that Tiefling by the forge. Iâm thinking about asking very nicely to have a little taste of his blood⊠But I wonât if you get jealous easily, my darling.â
Astarion quietly yearns for you. He knows how to (mostly) control himself and his tongue around you to not accidentally start coughing up the butterflies terrorising his stomach by praising, flirting, teasing you, doing everything to try and make you like him by any means, even if he has to play a persona.
He has to let out this pent up love for you somewhere, so in the evenings heâll retreat and quietly stich up his clothes that were torn during the day, check his daggers for sharpness but then also open up the hidden notebook he stashed away under his pillow and sketch a little. Mostly you, really, in all kinds of poses and situations.
He never sexualised you in any way, simply sketching you in almost domestic situations from his view; the way your face lights up in delight when Scratch brings you another drool-drenched sandal, your face scrunched together in disgust after tasting one of Auntie Ethelâs mold pies on accident or you just relaxing after a hard day. Astarion quietly admired you from his tent as his pen works against the paper. Heâs not really talented in it but itâs a nice way to unwind. He is praying though that the dog never gets the bright idea to steal his notebook and drop it into your lap or he will beg Shadowheart to cast moonbeam and incinerate him.
Gale Dekarios // The Wizard of Waterdeep
Yearning scale: The ultimate yearner âą/10
Letâs be honest, Gale is not very subtle with his yearning although the wizard thinks he is being very smooth with it.
Before having the moment with you in the weave where your minds interlinked, where you imagined kissing him, first carefully, then passionately and with vigour so shamelessly while he stands there rooted in place, trying not to explode (literally), Gale has been dreamily watching you.
He wasnât even sure why he fell in love with you or how exactly it happened, Gale had a dream about you with him in his wizard tower in Waterdeep, not exactly using his desk the way it is intended to be used. He woke up with the orb flickering in his chest and a all too familiar warmth spreading through his lower abdomen.
With every artefact you sacrifice to him and with every minute you listen to his boasting and rambling, Gale stopped fighting the feelings that were growing inside him every day and accepted that yes, he did just fall in love with the stranger that pulled him through a portal, fed him boots without hesitating and never seriously judged him for his poor decisions. He hasnât met anyone besides Tara that was very judging.
He canât act on his feelings yet, though. Gale canât even let his mind slip for a moment and let the sweet, sweet thought of your lips pressed against his, your tongues dancing with each other, his hands feeling up your waist to pull you closer and closer as if trying to absorb you. He gets ripped out of these fantasies by a sharp pain in his chest and the all too familiar feeling of the orb becoming restless.
It physically hurts him to yearn for you. The orb is like a handcrafted punishment by his goddess Mystra, which it is, but not in the way she probably intended.
His way to painlessly express his admiration for you is mostly by talking; he rants and over-explains the littlest things that can sometimes accidentally come off as condescending, but you were always interested for whatever reason, even if he just listed all the different types of elementals and all the kinds he has met himself before.
But Gale also very openly expresses how highly he thinks of you. You always heard cheers like âA perfect hit!â or âYou are doing absolutely amazing!â from the half dead and bloodied wizard that is surrounded by goblins but still thought about praising your skills. Sometimes his mouth worker faster than his brain and heâd accidentally compliment your very natural musk or point out how beautifully shiny your unwashed hair has gotten. It was probably meant to be a compliment.
Oh, it was starting to become a torture. Gale wakes up in the middle of the night after a blissful dream of strolling through the markets of Waterdeep together, playfully arguing who gets to cool what tonight, worrying about nothing other than to remember get Taraâs favourite treat. Rolling over in his bed he could feel his chest tighten, his hand instinctively gripping his nightshirt, trying to soothe the orb by touching it. He tried to take a deep breath, his fingers spreading out over his chest slowly.
His eyes fluttered shut and his lip quivered slightly as his other arm began to move to wrap around his own body. The wizard rolled over onto his side to stare at the tent wall, his own arms hugging himself, trying to make a fraction of his fantasies about you come true. But Gale would never allow to even properly think about asking to spend the night with him; it would be selfish to do so.
Zevlor // Leader of the Tieflings // Exiled Hellrider
Yearning scale: 6/10
It was probably wrong to feel the way he was feeling. You defended the grove and the refugees against goblins without questions and werenât even disappointed about not getting a reward. You walked around and talked to the Tieflings, setting some dispute between three siblings, saved Arabella from the mad druid and offered to kill the goblin leaders for them.
Zevlor tried to push away the racing heart that seemed to flare up every time you showed more and more simple kindness for his people and others. He justified it to himself that the fluttery feeling in his chest and the warmth spreading embarrassingly fast on his face is just his gratitude manifesting in other ways, but during the small celebrating party you allowed to be held at your camp and after too many cups of vinegar for wine, it all dawned on him.
âGo, enjoy yourself. Youâve earned it. Donât spend all your time on me, Iâm sure many here would want to have a word with you instead.â
He admires your courage and selflessness, but his feelings reach far beyond that. To be able to share a cup with you was incredibly flattering but also a little selfish, he thought. You are quite popular in camp and Zevlor canât deny the looks the other companions give you, so he tries to shoo you away and enjoy yourself. Having your attention all to himself, somewhere in private and in a situation that isnât stressed by looming fights and threats would be an absolute dream.
A dream he didnât allow himself to realise.
Besides, heâs an older, Hellrider-exiled Tiefling and an Oathbreaker Paladin with a group of refugee kin to look after and lead to Baldurâs Gate. Zevlor is barely able to love himself, how in the world are you supposed to be able to love him? Surely you deserve to be with someone more deserving of your love and devotion.
Even despite barely interacting with you, it was difficult for him to part from you and your troupe but there was a city for him to safely escort the refugees to. Duty calls and so does the road.
For now, Zevlor will just silently dream about you at night and think about your whereabouts during the day. He didnât allow himself to get distracted too easily but during every small moment of respite his eyes would briefly close and his mind slowly travelled to you. He always wondered where you are right now, what you are doing. How far along have you come in your journey? Last he heard Halsin joined you on your quest for a cure against a tadpole.
He secretly wonders if you are still wearing the Hellrider Gloves he had given you as a thanks after redeeming Kagha and buying them more time to pack in the druid grove. Itâs a childish thought but Zevlor really hoped that they serve you as well as they once served him and keep you safe. And maybe you think of him when you look at them.
For now, Zevlor has to focus on getting his caravan to Baldurâs Gate safely. The apparently cursed and so called âShadow Landsâ are the only way. Hopefully he can get them through in one piece.
Rolan // Wizardâs apprentice
Yearning scale: 8/10
Oh he has got a big, fat crush. Or at least that is what Cal and Lia have been teasing him about for the past days, hours and minutes. Ever since you stepped into the dispute the three had about whether they should leave the grove or not, Rolan has been more squishy and distracted.
He keeps seeing you around the grove, talking the Tieflings there and listening to what they have to say, trade with that druid merchant before heading over to Dammon to buy some new armour for you or your companions after the plates broke down. Rolanâs eyes would be scanning your whole body from the position he was standing, trying to see through your clothes and armour to check for injuries.
He knew you are an adventurer of some sort, talking to Ethel about something in your head and stocking up on a lot of healing potions. If not for you fighting through goblins Rolan wouldâve used Thunderwave to send those scum to the afterlife. So he greatly appreciates your efforts and all it must take to finish them off.
His eyes would sparkle every time you even briefly passed him. You didnât even had to look at him and he would feel his tail wagging embarrassingly fast behind himself as he tried to avoid his siblingâs knowing glances and how they 100% know what was going on.
Rolan doesnât really understand himself and why his brilliant mind decided to choose you to pine on. You, someone he will leave behind and probably never see again. You, who only interacted with him a few fleeting times. You, with that heroic attitude and need to fix everything, you with that stupid smile you gave that woman Ethel, you simply existing. He felt childish for feeling like this.
He knew youâd make short work of the goblins and their leaders but his heart still managed to flutter in admiration after finding out what you managed to do. The wizard prepared his stupid party-trick spell until you got back to the grove, trying to cast the beautiful spell he had been casting since childhood over and over until it was perfect. Performing it in front of you asked for a bottle of wine or three to get some courage.
After bowing and getting some applause from you, Rolanâs eyes still stuck to you well after you gave your compliments and departed. He couldnât help himself but feel jealous of that vampire in the corner, the purple wizard in the other and literally everyone else that breathed near you. Everyone wanted to have a piece of youâ of course. Youâre the hero of the party.
Rolan wanted to hog your time and attention to himself, though. He wants to sit down with you and for once just listen to you talk instead of him doing some boasting. It doesnât matter what you were talking about, he wants to listen and watch your lips move, maybe fantasise about leaning in closer and sharing a kiss.
But alas, thereâs an apprenticeship for him to attend in Baldurâs Gate. The road was calling and he had to move on with his travels. It doesnât mean you left his mind though, every moment he did not spend checking up on Lia or Cal, getting into an argument with one of the kids or whatever, he spend daydreaming about you.
Maybe youâll see each other again under better circumstances. He really hopes so.
đ
Authorâs note. Thank you for reading!
I wanted to write a request I swear but my hands moved on their own and wrote something that has been on my brain for like a week or so :,) Forgive me lmao. Iâll be answering asks and requests soon tho!
My headcanon for Merlin is that he'll randomly drop insane lore and refuse to elaborate. It never fails to freak people out. Even those who know about his magic
Some examples:
Merlin, after complaining about his duties as Arthur's manservant: Maybe I should just run away and become a hermit. My father lived in a cave for twenty years - how hard can it be?
Lancelot: Your father what now??
. . . . .
Merlin, on a hunt: I can't grow chest hair. Not since the incident (he means when Nimueh hit him in the chest with a fire ball)
Leon: Are you just- are you just not gonna elaborate????
. . . . .
Merlin: Thank God it's not hemlock. That stuff tastes awful
Gwen, about to have a heart attack: Hemlock?!
. . . . .
Merlin, after having an annoying day: I really wish that serket had finished me off.
Arthur: That's it! I'm never letting you out of my sight again!
The battle had devolved into the kind of messy, sprawling chaos that made strategy feel like a distant memory. Mud clung to your boots, smoke stung your eyes, and the clash of weapons rang endlessly in your ears as you pushed forward through the press of enemies with stubborn determination. You were tired, bruised, and running purely on adrenaline, but the sight of the enemy captain retreating toward the far side of the field lit a spark of reckless resolve in your chest.
If you could just reach themâjust land one decisive blowâ oh, the rush to your ego was just too sweet, so you surged ahead. Blissfully unaware that, behind you, somewhere in the shifting haze of battle, Astarion had noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He had been watching you for the last several minutes with mounting irritation, tracking your movements with sharp, predatory focus as you edged farther and farther away from the relative safety of your formation. He knew that look on your faceâthe tight jaw, the narrowed eyes, the absolute refusal to back down even when the odds tilted dangerously out of your favor.
It was, in his professional opinion, one of your most infuriating traits and one of the most terrifyingly attractive.
âDonât,â he muttered under his breath, already moving. You didnât hear him. You were too busy chasing the fleeing captain, weaving between clashing bodies, breath burning in your lungs as you closed the distance step by step. Victory felt tantalisingly close, just within reach.
Then the world shifted. A second enemy stepped into your path and another moved behind you. Before you could react, the careful rhythm of the fight collapsed into sudden danger, the space around you tightening like a trap snapping shut.
Astarion saw it all unfold in an instant and his stomach dropped.
âOh, you absolute fool,â he hissed and instead of retreating back to safety, to make this someone else's problem, likely karlach's, he did something that surprised even himself, he ran towards the ugly fray.
Not with his usual lazy elegance, not with the theatrical grace he cultivated so carefully, but with raw, urgent speed that cut through the battlefield like a blade. He shoved past an opponent without breaking stride, ducked under a swinging mace, and closed the distance between you just as one of the enemies lunged. You barely had time to register the movement before something slammed into you from the side.
Hard.
The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as Astarionâs shoulder drove into your ribs, sending both of you stumbling sideways through the mud. The enemyâs strike whistled through empty air where your head had been a heartbeat earlier.
You gasped, disoriented. âWhatââ
His hand clamped around your arm like a vice. â-What,â he snapped, voice tight with fury, âdo you think you are doing?â
You blinked up at him, still catching your breath. âI almost had themââ
â-You almost had a sword through your spine,â he shot back.
Before you could protest, he yanked you sharply backward, dragging you out of the fray with startling strength. His grip was unyielding, fingers digging into your sleeve as he hauled you step by step through the chaos. You resisted immediately, you were so close to winning.
âI can still fightââ
âNo.â
âAstarion, let goââ
âAbsolutely not!â
You twisted, trying to wrench free, but he anticipated the movement instantly. With a sharp, irritated sound, he shifted his holdâone arm sliding around your waistâand physically lifted you just enough to disrupt your footing. Your boots left the ground for a split second and you let out a startled noise. âAstarion!â
âYou are coming with me,â he said through clenched teeth, dragging you behind the shattered remains of a stone barricade. You squirmed, like a child being dragged in for dinner, by their parent who had not had enough wine to deal with you.
âI was fineââ
âYou were being spectacularly stupid. You reached new levels of stupidity that not even I was aware of. You-â You opened your mouth to interject in his ranting and twisted as you did. That was when it happened.
There was a tiny, horrifying sound. A faint, delicate crack. Everything stopped. Astarion froze mid-step and dropped you onto the ground with the ceremony of a sack of potatoes. Then slowlyâvery slowlyâhe looked down at his hand.
You followed his gaze from the floor, heart wrenching as the tragedy came into focuse.
One of his long, immaculately groomed nails had split clean across the tip, the smooth edge now jagged and uneven. For a moment, the battlefield noise seemed to fade into the background entirely. Astarion stared at the damage as if the world had personally betrayed him.
ââŠNo,â he whispered.
You blinked.ââŠIs thatââ
â-My nail,â he said faintly with the echoes of lament.
You pressed your lips together, trying very hard not to laugh. He turned his hand slightly, inspecting the break from every possible angle, his expression shifting from shock to genuine outrage.
âI just finished shaping these this morning,â he said, voice tight with disbelief. âDo you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain standards in the wilderness?â
A laugh bubbled up in your chest despite yourself. You tried to swallow it. Failed tremedously.
Astarionâs head snapped up, eyes narrowing dangerously. âYou think this is amusing?â
You bit your lip, shoulders shaking. âA little.â
His expression darkened instantly, indignation flaring like a spark catching dry tinder.
âOh, splendid. I risk life, limb, and manicure to rescue you from your own suicidal impulses, and you find it entertaining.â
You wiped at your eyes, still trying not to grin. âYou broke a nail saving me.â
âYes,â he snapped.
You tilted your head, studying him. âThatâs rather heroic. We should be sure to tell Volo when we return to camp.â
He scoffed sharply, turning away as if the word 'heroic' physically offended him.
âHardly." Astarion scoffed, eyes narrowing at his brutalised nail. "It was an act of self-preservation. If you insist on throwing yourself into danger at every opportunity, someone has to intervene before you ruin everything."
You watched him closely, warmth stirring quietly in your chest despite the lingering adrenaline. You picked yourself up off the floor and smiled at him. âYou came after me.â
âOf course I did,â he said immediately. The words slipped out before he could stop them. He froze.
You raised an eyebrow and his jaw tightened. Then, almost violently, he pivoted away from the moment, anger rushing in to fill the space where something softer had threatened to surface.
âThis,â he said sharply, gesturing accusingly at you with his uninjured hand, âis precisely why I cannot allow you any independence whatsoever. You are reckless, impulsive, and clearly determined to die in the most inconvenient manner possible and bring my own innocent hands down with you.â
You crossed your arms. âI had it under control.â
âYou had nothing under control.â
You took a step toward him and he stepped back immediately, still glaring, still clutching his injured nail with exaggerated offense as if shielding it from you, so not to allow further damage.
âAnd now look,â he continued, voice dripping with dramatic despair. âPermanent damage. A tragedy. A catastrophe. Truly, history will remember this day.â
You laughed softly and he scowled harder.
âStop smiling,â he muttered, trying to ignore the way it made his dead heart flutter.
âYouâre worried about me.â
âI am worried about my manicure.â He emphasised by showing off his broken nail and pointing at it with flair. You took another step closer.
He held his ground this time, but his expression flickeredâannoyance warring with something far more vulnerable that he clearly had no intention of acknowledging.
You reached out gently and took his hand, the one with the broken nail and he stiffened immediately. Looking at you like he was trying to understand what audacity had overcome you.
âYou risked yourself for me,â you said quietly.
His gaze flicked to yours, sharp and guarded. He scoffed, pulling his hand back just enough to reestablish distance, retreating behind irritation like a shield.
âDonât be ridiculous,â he said briskly. âI simply refuse to let you die before Iâve had the opportunity to use you for all your apparent worth.â
You smiled again and he rolled his eyes dramatically, already turning away.
âNow stay here,â he snapped over his shoulder. âTry not to endanger yourselfâor my grooming routineâagain.â
Gale:
The deeper chambers of the Sharran temple possessed the sort of oppressive quiet that made every sound feel intrusive, as though the place itself disapproved of living things disturbing its long-abandoned halls. The stone underfoot was cold and worn smooth by centuries of passing feet, the walls etched with the dark, elegant iconography of Sharâcrescent moons, shadowed figures, and carvings that seemed to drink in the dim torchlight rather than reflect it. The air was cool and carried a faint scent of damp stone, dust, and something else beneath it all, something sweet in a way that felt distinctly out of place among the gloom.
Gale walked beside you, his hands clasped loosely behind his back in the posture he adopted when his mind was particularly occupied, his eyes flicking over the architecture with scholarly interest while he murmured half-formed observations under his breath about Sharran religious symbolism and the lingering magical residue saturating the temple. Every so often he would gesture vaguely at a carving or faded mural, clearly itching to launch into a proper lecture but restraining himself in favor of focusing on the task at hand, scouting out for Raphael's enemy.
You, meanwhile, were only half listening. Because you had spotted something far more interesting.
You stopped walking abruptly, crouching down near one of the pillars where the stone floor dipped slightly in a shallow depression.
âGale,â you said thoughtfully.
âHm?â he replied absently, still scanning a row of carvings along the wall.
âLook at this.â
He glanced over with mild curiosity, then saw what you were looking at. His entire expression shifted instantly from idle interest to deep, immediate concern.
Lying on the stone floor between the pillars was a spider. Not a small one either, but a thick-bodied creature the size of a boulder, its legs curled tightly inward in the unmistakable posture of death. Its glossy amber abdomen reflected the faint light of Galeâs staff. You leaned closer, resting your chin in your hand as you studied it with growing fascination.
Gale frowned.
âWhy,â he asked slowly, âare you looking at it like that?â
You tilted your head. There was a scent drifting faintly from the thingânot the rot of decay, but something strangely sweet, almost honeyed, with an undercurrent that tickled the back of your mind in a way that was both intriguing and vaguely intoxicating.
ââŠInteresting,â you murmured.
Galeâs frown deepened. âInteresting how?â
You didnât answer immediately; instead, you leaned forward slightly. And before Gale could process what you were about to do, you reached down and gave the spider a quick experimental lick.
There was a momentâlong and terribleâof absolute silence.
Galeâs brain appeared to have completely stop functioning. Very slowly, as though afraid that moving too quickly might somehow make the moment more real, he turned his head to look at you.
âYou,â he said faintly, âlicked a dead spider.â
You blinked up at him.
âYes.â
âDead,â he repeated carefully. âSpider.â
âCorrect.â
âYou licked it.â
âThat is also correct.â
Gale stared at you in the way one might stare at a catastrophic magical anomaly that had just appeared in the middle of the room.
âThat,â he said after a long pause, âis something that happened.â
You shrugged lightly. He dragged a hand slowly down his face, exhaling in the deeply weary manner of someone whose day had just taken a deeply unexpected turn.
âI think,â he said carefully, âwe need to get you some air⊠and perhaps have a long conversation about unresolved childhood issues.â
You snorted at that, clearly unrepentant. And then, because the thought had already taken root in your mind, you leaned forward again toward the spider.
Gale made a strangled sound. âStop licking the damn thing!ââ
His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist just before your tongue could reach its intended target for a second time.
âWhat,â he demanded, his voice climbing an octave, âis wrong with you?â
You pouted immediately. âIt tastes funny.â
âThat is not a justification!â
You attempted to lean forward anyway. Gale tightened his grip instantly, hauling your arm back toward him.
âNo!â Gale responded, his face twisted in absolute horror of your disposition.
âJust one more,â you insisted, pouting slightly
âFor the love of Mystra, no.â Gale told you, his grip on you tightening.
âYouâre being dramatic.â
âI'm being dramatic?!" Gale's voice pitched up a few octaves at the accusation. "You licked a corpse!â
âItâs barely a corpse.â
âIt is very much a corpse!â Gale stressed as he pulled you further away from it by your arm, and you couldn't help but giggle. And that was when Gale realized something else was wrong.
Your laughter was slightly too loose, your expression flushed in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment, and when you looked up at him your pupils were blown wide, swallowing nearly all the color of your irises.
Your breathing had quickened and there was a strange, restless energy humming through your movements that definitely had not been there moments earlier.
Galeâs stomach dropped.
ââŠOh dear,â he murmured. You were still trying to lean toward the spider. He grabbed your shoulders this time and physically pulled you backwards. âNo more licking mysterious temple wildlife!â
You laughed again, clearly delighted by his distress.
âWhy not?â
âBecause it is deeply disturbing behavior!â
But now that strange warmth was spreading through your limbs, a buzzing heat that made the air feel thick and your thoughts pleasantly fuzzy. Everything around you seemed sharper somehowâbrighter, more vivid.
And Gale was holding you very tightly and standing very close.
Very close indeed.
You looked at him slowly, your gaze drifting over the lines of his face, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the soft curl of his hair falling slightly into his eyes. Gale shifted uneasily under the scrutiny.
ââŠWhy are you looking at me like that?â he asked cautiously.
You leaned more into his touch, relaxing in his hold of you. He froze, as if suddenly realising he was manhandling you and an awkwardness settled in his chest as he suppressed his own feelings for you. Luckily, he did not have time to dwell on it as you spoke again.
âYouâre very pretty,â you said sincerely.
His brain short-circuited.
âIâwhat?â
Then, without further warning, you leaned forward to kiss him. Gale reacted purely on instinct. He released you only for his hand to come up immediately, pressing gently but firmly against your face and pushing it to the side before your lips could reach him.
âNo!â
You blinked in surprise. ââŠRude.â
âYou are not in your right mind,â he said softly but firmly, now holding you at armâs length. Which did not stop you from trying again.
He caught both your shoulders.
âStop that.â
You giggled again, clearly unbothered.
Galeâs concern was rapidly turning into full-blown alarm. The sweet scent from the spider drifted through the air once more and the pieces clicked together in his mind with horrifying clarity.
ââŠSuccubus enchantment,â he muttered. You were still attempting to lean toward him.
âJust one kiss.â
âNo.â
âPlease?â
âNo.â
You pouted dramatically and then abruptly attempted to dart past himâback toward the spider. Gale reacted immediately.
âOh no you donât.â He grabbed you around the waist and hauled you bodily away from it. You squirmed and protested loudly.
âLet me go!â
âYou have already licked it twice!â
âItâs interesting!â
âIt is cursed!â
You laughed helplessly, the entire situation clearly far more amusing to you than it was to him. Gale, meanwhile, was beginning to look like a man being slowly driven to madness.
âThis,â he muttered under his breath, âis precisely the sort of situation wizard training does not prepare you for.â
You attempted to twist free again. So Gale did the only thing he could think of. He picked you up. Entirely.
You squeaked in shock as he hoisted you over his shoulder with surprising determination and strength.
âGale!â
âYou are coming with me.â
You kicked your legs indignantly.
âPut me down!â
âNo.â
âThis is kidnapping!â
âThis is damage control!â
You wriggled and twisted the entire way out of the temple, attempting several times to lean down and kiss the back of his neck, which caused Gale to nearly trip more than once while he tried very hard not to think about the warmth of you against his shoulder. He had plans, a whole starry sky full of plans to woo you, you being horny from dead spider meat was not in those plans.
âOh for the love of Mystraâstop that!â
You only laughed harder. By the time the distant glow of the campfire came into view through the trees, Gale looked like a man who had aged several years in the span of a single hour.
âYou,â he declared breathlessly as he carried you toward camp, âare never allowed near enchanted wildlife again.â
You hummed happily, clearly unconvinced, and Gale sighed the long, exhausted sigh of someone who already knew, deep in his soul, that this was absolutely not the last time he would have to physically drag you away from something profoundly ill-advised.
Wyll:
The battle had turned into a storm of steel and shouting, the kind of chaos where dust hung thick in the air and every sound felt too loud, too close, too urgent.
You were in the middle of itâof course you wereâboots sliding in the churned earth as you pressed forward with stubborn determination, blade flashing in the dim light. The enemy line wavered ahead of you, and you saw your chance, that tantalizing sliver of opportunity that whispered if you just pushed a little farther, just a little harder, you could turn the tide.
So you did. You pressed forward, heart pounding, ignoring the shouted warnings from behind you as adrenaline burned hot in your veins. The world narrowed to the swing of your weapon, the clash of metal, the rush of movementâ
And then everything went wrong. A horn sounded somewhere to your left. Reinforcements.
More enemies poured into the fray, closing the gap around you with frightening speed, their weapons raised, their movements coordinated in a way that made your stomach drop as you realizedâtoo lateâthat you had gone too far ahead.
You turned, searching for your allies but the distance between you and safety had grown. Fast.
Across the battlefield, Wyll Ravengard saw it happen in an instant.
He had been fighting with his usual flairâblade moving in clean, practiced arcs, posture straight even in the chaosâbut the moment he spotted you surrounded, his focus snapped sharply into place. The easy confidence on his face hardened into something fierce and protective, his instincts screaming louder than reason.
You were in danger and that was all that mattered.
He moved, not cautiously, not hesitantly, but with the bold, sweeping urgency of a hero charging into the final act of a grand tale. He cut through the battlefield with powerful strides, parrying one blow, then another, his cloak snapping dramatically behind him as he forced his way toward you.
You didnât see him coming. You were too busy fending off the attackers closing in around you, breath coming fast and uneven as you tried to hold your ground. Your muscles burned, your footing slipped, and for the first time, doubt flickered in the back of your mind.
Then suddenlyâ A strong arm wrapped firmly around your waist.
You barely had time to gasp before you were pulled sharply backward, lifted clean off your feet as the world spun in a blur of motion.
âWhatâ!â
You collided against a solid chest, the scent of leather and smoke and something warm and familiar filling your senses as you were swept out of danger in one smooth, decisive movement.
âEasy,â Wyllâs voice said close to your ear, steady and reassuring even over the roar of battle.
You blinked, disoriented, as he carried you several long strides away from the press of enemies, his grip secure and unwavering. One arm held you firmly against him, the other wielded his blade with effortless precision, deflecting a strike that came too close for comfort.
Your heart hammered wildly in your chest.
âWyllâ!â
âIâve got you,â he replied, calm but firm.
The words landed somewhere deep in your chest, warm and steadying in a way you hadnât expected. He didnât set you down immediately.
Instead, he continued moving, guiding you through the chaos with confident purpose, his hold protective without being rough, his posture straight and unyielding as he carried you toward safer ground. It feltâabsurdly, impossiblyâlike something out of a storybook, like the kind of dramatic rescue sung about in taverns by bards who believed in happy endings and heroic gestures.
You finally found your voice.
âYou can put me down,â you protested, breathless.
âIn a moment,â he said smoothly. You glanced up at him, and the sight nearly stole your breath all over again.
Dust streaked across his cheek, his braids slightly dishevelled from the fight, but his expression remained composed, focused, utterly determined. There was a spark of concern in his eyes, softened by something warmer, something gentler that made your pulse stutter.
He looked like a knight straight from a romance novel. Strong. Dashing. Completely unflappable. You swallowed and you could feel your preteen self practically swooning.
âI was handling it,â you insisted weakly, if not to him, to yourself.
His mouth curved into a faint, knowing smile.
âI have no doubt,â he replied, voice rich with reassurance. âBut even the bravest heroes deserve a rescue now and then.â
Heat rushed to your face. He finally slowed, reaching the relative safety behind a line of fallen stone where the rest of your companions were regrouping. Only then did he lower you carefully back onto your feet, his hands lingering just a second longer than strictly necessary to make sure you were steady.
You swayed slightly. His hands tightened instinctively at your waist.
âAre you hurt?â he asked immediately, concern sharpening his tone. You are breathing quite heavily-"
"I'm fine!" You said a bit too quickly, and you took a deep breath in to steady yourself. âNo. Justâstartled.â
His gaze softened. âGood,â he said quietly.
For a brief moment, neither of you moved. The battle still raged in the distance, steel clashing and voices shouting, but here, in the small pocket of safety he had carved out, everything felt strangely still.
You became suddenly aware of how close he wasâhow warm his hands felt where they rested at your sides, how steady his presence was, how easily he had carried you as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
âYou didnât have to be so dramatic about it,â you said, attempting to sound casual.
One of his eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in his expression.
âDramatic?â he echoed lightly.
You nodded, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your chest.
âYes. Very heroic. Very⊠theatrical.â
A soft chuckle escaped him.
âWell,â he said, releasing you at last, though his gaze lingered warmly on your face, âif Iâm to be accused of anything, I would much rather it be heroism than negligence.â
You felt your lips tug into an involuntary smile.
He stepped back then, drawing his sword again as his attention returned to the battlefieldâbut not before giving you one last steady look, equal parts reassurance and quiet promise.
âStay close this time,â he said gently.
And somehow, after being swept off your feet like that, you found yourself very willing to listen.
Halsin:
The forest had turned against you.
What had begun as a routine skirmish along the edge of the wilderness had spiraled into something far more dangerous, the undergrowth thick and uncooperative beneath your boots, branches clawing at your armor as you pressed forward with stubborn determination. The air smelled of damp earth and crushed leaves, heavy with the sharp tang of sap and the distant metallic scent of blood, and somewhere above the canopy the wind howled through the treetops like a warning you had chosen, perhaps unwisely, to ignore.
You refused to retreat.
Even as the situation shiftedâenemies closing in from multiple directions, the terrain growing treacherous, the ground slick with mud and scattered debrisâyou dug in your heels and fought harder, your breath coming fast and hot in your lungs, your muscles burning with the effort of holding your position. You could hear your companions calling out behind you, voices strained with urgency, but you blocked them out, focused entirely on the opponent in front of you and the stubborn, unyielding conviction that you could handle this on your own.
Then the ground gave way.
It happened in a heartbeatâa sudden collapse of loose earth beneath your feet, the edge of a concealed drop crumbling under your weight as you stepped forward to strike. The world lurched violently, your balance disappearing as the soil slid out from under you, sending rocks and dirt tumbling into the steep ravine below. For one terrifying instant, your stomach dropped and your arms flailed for purchase, fingers grasping at empty air as gravity threatened to drag you over the edge.
And thenâ
You were seized.
A massive hand clamped around your upper arm with crushing strength, halting your fall so abruptly it stole the breath from your lungs. Before you could even gasp, a second arm wrapped securely around your waist, hauling you backward with irresistible force. Your boots skidded across the unstable ground as you were dragged away from the crumbling ledge, your body lifted clear off your feet as though you weighed nothing at all.
You barely had time to register what was happening before you were pulled firmly against a broad, solid chest, your back colliding with something warm, immovable, and undeniably powerful.
âEnough.â
The word landed like a thunderclap. You froze. There was no mistaking that voiceâdeep, resonant, and usually so calm it carried the steady reassurance of ancient stoneâbut now it was edged with something sharper, something fierce and unmistakably angry.
Halsin.
He did not release you. If anything, his grip tightened, one arm locked securely around your middle while the other steadied you by the shoulder, holding you firmly in place as the last of the loose earth tumbled into the ravine below. You could feel the tension in him, the coiled strength beneath his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with controlled, measured breaths that spoke of restraint rather than calm.
You twisted slightly, still disoriented, your heart pounding wildly in your chest.
âI had it,â you protested weakly, though the words sounded hollow even to your own ears.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then he turned you. Not gently. Not carefully. But firmlyâhands gripping your shoulders, guiding you around until you were forced to face him directly. His expression stopped you cold. You had never seen him like this before.
Gone was the patient warmth, the soft kindness that usually lived in his eyes. In its place burned something fierce and protective, his jaw set tight, his brow drawn low, the quiet authority he carried every day sharpened into something far more intimidating.
âYou had it?â he repeated, his voice low and dangerous, each word deliberate.
Your mouth opened and quickly closed again. Because the look on his face made it very clear that this was not a conversation you were going to win.
âYou nearly fell,â he continued, his tone rising slightly, frustration bleeding through the calm he usually wore so effortlessly. âYou ignored every warning, every signal, every call to retreat, and you placed yourself in needless danger.â
The reprimand hit harder than any blow. You blinked at him, stunnedânot by the words themselves, but by the sheer force of emotion behind them.
He was angry. Not irritated or mildly concerned. Truly, deeply angry.
âI was trying to hold the line,â you said, your voice quieter now, defensive but uncertain.
âAnd you would have held it from the bottom of that ravine?â he shot back immediately.
The sharpness of the retort caught you off guard. He had never spoken to you like this before. Never raised his voice. Never allowed his frustration to show so openly. And yet here he was, towering over you, his hands still planted firmly on your shoulders, his grip strong enough to keep you steady but impossible to ignore.
âYou are not expendable,â he said, the words landing with heavy finality. âNot to this battle. Not to this cause. And certainly not to me.â
Your breath caught. The forest seemed to go very still around you, the distant sounds of combat fading into the background as the weight of his gaze pinned you in place.
You should have felt chastened. Embarrassed. Maybe even ashamed. InsteadâSomething warm and unexpected unfurled low in your chest.
Because there was something undeniably compelling about this side of himâthe fierce protectiveness, the unyielding authority, the raw intensity of his concern. The way his deep voice rumbled with restrained anger, the way his broad shoulders squared as he held his ground, the way his presence filled the space around you like an unmovable force of nature.
It did something to you.
Your lips twitched. Then, despite every ounce of common sense you possessedâ You smiled. Just a little. The reaction was immediate.
âDo you find this amusing?â he asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.
You triedâtruly triedâto school your expression into something more appropriate.
âIâno,â you said quickly, though the warmth lingering in your gaze betrayed you. His jaw tightened.
âYou are smiling,â he pointed out, clearly unimpressed.
âIâm notââ
âYou are.â
There was a beat of silence. Then your smile widened despite yourself, a faint flush creeping up your neck as the realization settled in.
Gods. You liked this.
You liked the firmness in his voice, the way his hands remained steady and grounding on your shoulders, the protective anger burning in his expression. You liked the way he refused to back down, the way he held you accountable, the way he looked at you as though your safety mattered more than anything else in the world.
It was incredibly attractive. And he saw it.
The exact moment he realized what was happening flickered across his faceâconfusion first, then dawning recognition, followed swiftly by a fresh surge of exasperation.
âIncredible,â he muttered under his breath.
Your smile didnât fade. If anything, it grew softer, more open, your eyes lingering on his face in a way that made his frustration deepen rather than ease.
âYou frightened me,â he said suddenly, the words slipping out rougher than before. The honesty in them made your chest tighten.
But stillâ You couldnât stop looking at him like that.
Couldnât stop the small, stubborn warmth curling in your stomach. His hands tightened slightly on your shoulders, not enough to hurt, but enough to emphasize the seriousness of his next words.
âThis is not a game,â he said firmly. âYou will listen when I tell you to fall back. You will trust that I am acting to protect you. And you will not throw yourself into danger simply because your pride refuses to yield.â
You nodded slowly.
âYes,â you said trying to sound convincing, but the soft smile remained.
His eyes narrowed again, frustration simmering dangerously close to the surface.
âYou are still doing it,â he said.
âDoing what?â you asked innocently.
âLooking at me like that.â
You tilted your head slightly, feigning confusion, though the warmth in your expression gave you away completely. He exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to say something more.
Something harsher. Something he would likely regret.
Instead, he released you at last, though his gaze lingered, heavy and watchful, as though he fully expected you to charge back toward the danger the moment his hands left you.
âStay close,â he ordered.
The command was firm. Uncompromising. And, to your own quiet surpriseâ You found yourself smiling again.
Rolan:
The explosion of magic came out of nowhere.
One moment you were locked in a tense standoff, trading careful strikes and measured spells with the enemy forces pressing in from the edges of the ruined courtyard. The air was thick with dust and the sharp tang of ozone, the ground beneath your boots trembling faintly from the force of arcane power being hurled back and forth. You had been focusedâintensely soâtracking movements, calculating distance, preparing your next strike.
Then a fireball detonated against the far wall.
The blast sent a shockwave tearing through the courtyard, rattling loose stones from the crumbling masonry and filling the air with choking smoke and swirling debris. The force knocked several fighters off their feet, and for a brief, disorienting moment, everything dissolved into noise and confusion.
You staggered but kept your footing, pushing forward through the haze, squinting against the smoke, determined to regain control of the situation before the enemy could capitalize on the chaos. Your instincts screamed to keep moving, to stay aggressive, to hold the line no matter what.
Behind you, unnoticed in the turmoil, Rolan saw exactly what you were doing and he did not hesitate. The tiefling had been stationed near the rear, hands glowing faintly with residual magic, mind racing as he assessed the battlefield with sharp, anxious precision. Normally, he preferred distance, control, and careful calculation.
Normally. But then he saw the enemy preparing another spell and he saw your foolish beautiful self walking straight into its path and something inside him snapped into place with sudden, startling clarity.
You took another step forward, coughing lightly as smoke burned in your lungs, your vision still blurred from the blast. Shapes moved in the haze aheadâenemies regrouping, weapons raisedâbut you pressed on stubbornly, determined to finish what you had started.
You never saw the spellcaster lift their hand. Never saw the gathering surge of arcane energy coiling into a tight, deadly sphere. Rolan did, however, and his heart lurched into his throat.
âMove!â he shouted. You half-turned at the sound of his voice, confusion flickering across your face.
âWhatâ?â
The spell was released. There was no time. No room for careful planning. No chance to think about dignity or appearances or the fact that this was very much not the sort of dramatic heroics he wanted to display for you of all people.
Rolan ran fastâfaster than you had ever seen him moveâboots pounding against the stone as he sprinted straight into the heart of the danger without a second thought.
You barely had time to register the blur of motion before something slammed into you from the side. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as arms wrapped tightly around your torso, hauling you off balance and dragging you bodily out of the path of the incoming blast.
The spell struck the ground where you had been standing an instant later, exploding in a violent burst of light and heat. You stumbled, disoriented, your ears ringing as the world tilted sideways.
âWhat theâ?â
âGods, are you trying to get yourself killed?â Rolan snapped. You blinked. Your vision cleared just enough to focus on the face inches from yoursâflushed, breathless, eyes wide with a mixture of panic and irritation. But you recognised that voice of worried distain anywhere
Rolan. You stared at him. âRolan?â
âYes, Rolan,â he shot back, still gripping your arm with surprising strength. âWho else would be foolish enough to sprint into a blast zone after you?â
You opened your mouth and promptly closed it again. Because you were still trying to process the fact that he was holding youâfirmly, decisivelyâdragging you backward through the chaos with a grip that brooked absolutely no argument.
You stumbled slightly as he pulled you behind a half-collapsed stone pillar, his hand tightening instinctively to steady you.
âI had it handled,â you protested weakly.
He stopped abruptly. Turned to face you. His expression was incredulous, similar to the look he had given to you back at the Last Light Inn when you said you would be the one to help him bring his sibling back.
âYou were about to be incinerated.â
âI wasnâtââ
âYou were!â His voice cracked slightly on the last word, the sharp edge of fear slipping through despite his best efforts to maintain composure. You blinked at him, caught off guard.
Before you could respond, another distant explosion rattled the courtyard, sending a fresh cascade of dust drifting down from the broken walls. Without hesitation, Rolan grabbed your wrist again and pulled you farther into cover, positioning himself squarely between you and the open battlefield.
The movement was instinctive. Protective. You couldn't help but stare.
âSince when,â you managed, still breathless, âdo you charge into danger like that for someone you despise like me?â
He froze for half a second, clearly realizing what he had just done. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
âIâwellâsomeone had to,â he said stiffly.
You raised an eyebrow. âYou tackled me.â
âI did not tackle you.â
âYou absolutely tackled me.â
He bristled immediately. âI rescued you,â he corrected, drawing himself up with wounded dignity. âThere is a distinction.â
You couldnât help the small, incredulous laugh that escaped your throat. It was still surrealâbeing manhandled to safety by Rolan of all people, and yet here he was.
Standing close. Still holding your arm. Still breathing a little too fast. Still watching you with unmistakable concern.
âYou ran straight into that,â you said quietly. His gaze flicked away for a moment, jaw tightening.
âWell,â he muttered, âyou were being reckless.â
The words were defensive, but the tremor beneath them gave him away. You studied him, something warm and unexpected stirring in your chest.
âThank you,â you said softly.
He blinked. The simple sincerity of it seemed to throw him completely off balance.
âIâyesâwell,â he stammered, color creeping up his neck. âTry not to require such dramatic interventions in the future.â
You smiled faintly. âIâll do my best.â
Raphael:
The fight had begun as so many of yours didâloud, messy, and entirely under your control, or so you believed.
Steel clashed in sharp, ringing bursts that echoed through the ruined hall, each strike reverberating up your arms and settling deep into your bones as you pushed forward with relentless determination. Dust drifted lazily from the fractured ceiling overhead, disturbed by the force of spells detonating against stone pillars and shattered walls, while the air itself seemed to hum with tension, thick with heat, smoke, and the lingering bite of magic that prickled unpleasantly across your skin. It was chaos, yesâbut it was a chaos you understood, one you had learned to navigate with stubborn confidence and an almost reckless refusal to yield.
You advanced another step, breath coming hard but steady, your focus narrowing to the enemy directly in front of you. Their guard faltered under the pressure of your assault, their footing slipping slightly across the debris-strewn floor as you drove them backward with a sharp, decisive strike. Victory felt closeâso close you could practically taste itâand the familiar surge of adrenaline pushed you onward, urging you to finish the fight before anyone else could interfere.
That was when the battle shifted.
It was subtle at firstâa flicker of movement at the edge of your vision, the faint whisper of leather against stone behind you, the quiet repositioning of an opponent you had momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment. But you were too focused, too determined to press your advantage, and the warning signs slipped past your notice like shadows in the dark.
Someone else noticed.
From the far side of the hall, just beyond the immediate clash of weapons and magic, Raphael watched with an expression that hovered somewhere between mild amusement and growing irritation. He stood perfectly composed amidst the chaos, doublet untouched by dust or blood, as though the violence unfolding around him were nothing more than an elaborate performance staged for his personal entertainment. His sharp gaze tracked your movements with unsettling precision, lingering not on the enemies themselves but on youâon the way you pressed too far ahead of the others, on the way your attention locked forward while danger gathered quietly behind your back.
He saw the blade rise. Saw the intent behind it. Saw how little time remained. A soft, exasperated sigh escaped him, barely audible beneath the din of battle.
âOh, dear,â he murmured, voice smooth and low, threaded with something that sounded suspiciously like concern despite the dry humor lacing his tone. âYou truly do make a habit of this and it simply will not do.â
You never saw the attack coming.
The enemy behind you moved with sudden, lethal speed, their weapon arcing downward in a clean, deadly line aimed squarely for the space between your shoulders. Your focus remained fixed on the opponent in front of you, your muscles already coiled to deliver the next strike, completely unaware of the danger closing in from behind.
Then the world shifted.
Without warning, a powerful arm wrapped around your waist, firm and unyielding, hauling you backward with startling force. Your feet left the ground entirely, the momentum of your forward motion abruptly stolen as you were yanked out of the path of the descending blade. The weapon sliced through empty air where you had been standing an instant earlier, its edge biting uselessly into the stone floor with a harsh, grating screech.
The sudden movement knocked the breath from your lungs.
âWhat in the hellsâ?!â
Your protest dissolved into confusion as you found yourself pressed against a solid, immovable chest, your back colliding with a figure who smelled faintly of musk, cherries, and unmistakable sulfur. The heat of him seeped through the layers of your armor, unsettlingly warm, and before you could fully process what had happened, a familiar voice drifted down beside your earâsilky, amused, and entirely too composed given the circumstances.
âReally,â Raphael murmured, his tone equal parts dry reproach and quiet satisfaction, âmust you insist on turning every minor skirmish into a near-death experience?â
Your stomach dropped as recognition slammed into you.
You twisted immediately, bracing your hands against his chest in an attempt to push yourself free, indignation flaring hot and sharp in your chest. But his hold did not loosen. If anything, his grip tightened just enough to steady you, his arm locked securely around your middle in a way that made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of releasing you anytime soon.
âLet go of me,â you snapped, breath still uneven from the abrupt rescue.
âMmm,â he hummed thoughtfully, as though considering the request with polite interest rather than immediate compliance. âI donât believe I shall.â
Before you could argue further, he moved againâsmoothly, effortlessly, as though the chaos of the battlefield meant nothing at all. The air around you seemed to twist and fold in on itself, reality bending subtly at the edges as he guidedâno, draggedâyou several paces away from the thickest part of the fighting. The shift was disorienting, the world blurring for a heartbeat before snapping back into focus as your boots touched solid ground once more.
You staggered slightly, caught off balance by the sudden displacement.
His arm was still around you. Still holding you firmly in place and entirely too close to you.
âI said let go,â you repeated, sharper this time, irritation bleeding into your voice as you struggled against his grip.
âAnd I heard you,â he replied calmly, unmoved. âI simply chose not to comply.â
Your temper flared. âI was handling that!â
Raphael finally released you thenâbut only enough for you to turn and face him fully. His hand remained on your arm, fingers curled securely around your sleeve, as though he expected you to bolt straight back into danger the moment he loosened his hold.
He regarded you with a faintly raised brow, his expression composed yet unmistakably skeptical.
âHandling it?â he echoed, voice smooth as polished glass. âMy dear, you were moments away from being carved open like an overripe fruit.â
âI was notââ
âYou were,â he interrupted, more firmly this time, the humor in his voice thinning just enough to reveal the steel beneath. âAnd while I admire your enthusiasm for dramatic heroics, I would prefer not to witness your untimely demise today.â
The words landed heavier than you expected. You crossed your arms, bristling.
âI donât need you stepping in every time things get difficult,â you shot back, frustration bubbling over. âIâm not your responsibility. Iâm not yourââ
âPet?â he supplied smoothly, the corner of his mouth curling upward in a knowing smile.
Your jaw tightened.
âYes.â
For a brief moment, the teasing expression faded, replaced by something quieterâsomething more deliberate and unexpectedly sincere.
âNo,â he said softly. âYou are not.â
The simple acknowledgment caught you off guard, stealing the sharp edge from your anger for just a heartbeat.
But before you could respond, another blast of magic struck nearby, sending shards of stone skittering across the floor. Instinctively, Raphael stepped forward again, one hand settling against your shoulder to guide you back out of harmâs way. The motion was swift, decisive, and maddeningly protective.
You jerked away, irritation returning in full force. âI can stand on my own,â you insisted. His fingers tightened briefly, steadying you as you shifted your footing.
âThen stand somewhere less likely to get yourself killed,â he replied sharply.
For a moment, the usual theatrical arrogance slipped away entirely, revealing a flash of something deeper beneath the surfaceâan edge of genuine concern that unsettled you far more than his teasing ever could. The faint smile returned to his lips, smooth and composed, as though the brief crack in his mask had never existed at all.
âThere we are,â he said lightly, stepping back at last and releasing you completely. âSafe and sound. A much more agreeable outcome, donât you think?â
You straightened, brushing dust from your armor with more force than necessary, your pride still smarting from the unwanted intervention.
âI didnât ask for your help,â you muttered.
âNo,â he agreed easily, hands clasped behind his back as he regarded you with quiet amusement. âYou rarely do.â
A beat passed between you, the tension lingering in the air like the fading echo of thunder.
âI had it under control,â you insisted again, stubborn to the end.
Raphael tilted his head slightly, studying you with that same unsettling intensity. âOf course you did,â
You narrowed your eyes.âI mean it.â
âAnd I believe you,â he replied smoothly, his voice lowering just enough to carry a hint of something more earnest beneath the polished charm. A pause. Then, softerâ âI simply chose not to risk being wrong.â
The words settled heavily in your chest, unwelcome and difficult to ignore. You exhaled slowly, frustration still simmeringâbut now tangled with something far more complicated, something you werenât ready to name. You shot him one last glare.
âNext time,â you said firmly, âstay out of it.â
His smile deepened, slow and knowing, as though he had already made his decision long before you spoke.
âOf course, pet."
I simply could not resist doing the spider scene for gale, I know everyone else's was during battle but I just could not pass up the opportunity.
I really hope you guys enjoyed these! I have a similar concept to this in mind, but dithering on whether or not to do it for the dark!BG3 lot or the regular companions. Decisions, decisions. Anyway hope everyone is doing well đ- Seluney xox
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