#drow!reader

had to write something to accompany this

The night air was crisp, laced with the lingering scent of damp earth and crushed leaves. Moonlight bathed the forest clearing in a soft, silvery glow, illuminating the narrow path that led from the river’s edge to the towering trees beyond. You stood there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, shifting your weight from foot to foot as impatience and worry warred inside you.

Wyll was late.

He was never late.

A thousand thoughts whirled through your mind, each one darker than the last. Had something happened? Had he been caught? It was no secret that Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard disapproved of you, had never bothered to hide his disdain whenever Wyll so much as mentioned your name.

The man was a legend—a stalwart protector of Baldur’s Gate, a symbol of law and order. And you? You were drow. That alone had sealed your fate in his eyes. Never mind that you had fought to protect the city, bled for it just as Wyll had. Never mind that you had spent your entire life trying to prove that you were not like the kin who still lurked in the depths of the Underdark, weaving their webs of cruelty and deceit.

To Ulder, you would always be one of them.

You could stomach his hatred—you had faced worse, after all. But Wyll? Wyll bore the weight of his father’s expectations, shouldered them like a burden he had long grown used to carrying. You had seen the way he tensed whenever the Grand Duke’s name was spoken, how his smile turned brittle, how his gaze darkened with something bitter and unspoken.

You had told him, time and time again, that he didn’t have to fight for you. That you could endure the disapproving glances, the whispered insults, the veiled threats. What you couldn’t endure was the thought of him suffering for your sake.

A rustling noise jerked you from your thoughts. You turned sharply, ready to berate him for making you worry—but the words never left your lips.

Wyll stumbled into the clearing, his usual noble composure entirely shattered. His coat was askew, his shirt half-untucked, and his once-pristine curls were now tangled with twigs and leaves. A streak of dirt smudged his cheek, and—were those bruises? Your heart clenched.

"Wyll!" you rushed forward, reaching instinctively for him, but hesitated at the last second. "What happened?"

Wyll, breathless and grinning, shook his head. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" You gestured wildly to the state of him. "You look like you just fought off a pack of rabid wolves—!"

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, well… not wolves, exactly."

Your eyes narrowed. "Explain."

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face before meeting your gaze.

"My father finally figured it out," he admitted. "Realized I wasn’t just taking evening strolls through the lower city for my health."

You inhaled sharply. "Wyll."

"He forbade me from taking another step down the manor stairs."

You stiffened. Your grip on your arms tightened. "Then how did you get here?"

His grin widened. "Window."

Silence. You blinked. "You what?"

"Jumped." He gestured vaguely behind him. "Right out of the window. Landed in some bushes."

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "Wyll."

"I tucked and rolled!" he added, as if that somehow made it better.

"You jumped out of a window—"

"Tucked and rolled!" he insisted.

"Do you want to die?!" He had the audacity to laugh.

"Absolutely not," he said, then grinned, all boyish charm and reckless affection. "Though I would risk a broken leg if it meant getting to see you."

Despite yourself, you groaned, raking a hand through your hair. "You are impossible."

"Mm. And yet—" He stepped closer, lowering his voice, his smile softening. "You love me anyway."

You exhaled heavily, leveling him with a glare that held no real heat. "Unfortunately."

His grin turned smug, but before he could say anything else, panic surged through you.

"Wyll—your father—" You grabbed his arms, scanning the darkened forest behind him. "Surely he followed you?"

Wyll chuckled, shaking his head as if reliving the memory. "Oh, he tried."

You swallowed nervously, panic rising in your chest. "And?"

He shrugged. "I think he realized that if I was willing to jump out of a window for you, there was truly no point in trying to keep us apart." His expression softened, voice dipping to something more tender. "It would be a waste of effort."

The breath caught in your throat. Ulder Ravengard had given up. He had spent so long trying to pull Wyll away from you, trying to keep him tethered to the image of the noble hero he had envisioned for his son. And now—he had let go.

Your chest tightened, something fragile and aching welling up inside you. Slowly, you reached up, cupping Wyll’s face, tracing the smudge of dirt on his cheek with your thumb. He stilled under your touch, breath hitching ever so slightly. You didn’t let yourself think, didn’t let yourself hesitate—you surged forward, capturing his lips with your own.

Wyll made a soft, startled sound, but then—gods, then he melted into you, one hand finding your waist, the other threading into your hair. His lips were warm, insistent, home.

Then, suddenly—he winced. You immediately pulled back, heart hammering. "What?"

He exhaled a breathy laugh, rubbing his ribs. "Landed harder than I thought."

Guilt surged through you. "Wyll, I—I'm sorry, I didn’t—"

"You could kiss it better," he suggested, voice dipping into something playful, teasing.

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned. "You are insufferable."

"And yet—?" he prompted in a sing-song tone, repeating your previous conversation not moments ago. You sighed dramatically, then leaned in, pressing the softest kiss just below his jaw. His breath hitched.

"Mm," he hummed, arms tightening around you. "That does help."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Come on," you murmured, tucking yourself against his chest. "Let’s go get you a drink and maybe some bandages."

Wyll smiled against your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

"Lead the way."

Guys I had to, work is stressing me out and I had to write something with my baby boy. My stupid baby boy. But by gods do I love him and I hope you love him too. Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

(A work in progress)

Downed (You get hit by a fear spell and Astarion gets you to safety)

Thankful (Post Cazador encounter comfort)

omg omg i kinda merged it into two, hope you like it!

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Wyll x Drow!F!reader | Out of Place

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You’d never been more uncomfortable in your life.

The silks of the formal dress clung to your skin, tailored to fit your figure perfectly, yet somehow still managing to feel foreign. You were no stranger to fine clothing—after all, Drow society placed heavy emphasis on appearances—but this wasn’t the Underdark, and this wasn’t an occasion of your choosing. The lavishness of Baldur's Gate's Upper City felt different. Stifling, even. You stood at Wyll’s side, his hand resting gently on your lower back, his touch a steadying anchor amidst the sea of judgmental stares cast your way.

"Relax," Wyll murmured, sensing the tension in your body. "They’re just not used to seeing someone as radiant as you."

You scoffed, shooting him a sideways glance.

“Radiant, you say? I think you mean 'out of place.'” You smoothed a hand over the silk that clung to your curves, painfully aware of the way fabric strained over your hips and how you stood out among the slim, pale, and perfectly coiffed humans that filled the ballroom.

Wyll's smile was crooked, one of those rare, genuine grins that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

"Yes, out of place, but in the most beautiful way," he whispered, leaning in to kiss your temple. His gesture was tender, and it did little to alleviate the tension thrumming through you, but it did remind you why you were here. For him. You would endure this world of sneers and judgment because it meant standing by Wyll's side.

You’d known this wouldn’t be easy from the moment he invited you to meet his father, Duke Ravengard. The Duke was a powerful man, well-respected and admired, and your relationship with his son would undoubtedly come under scrutiny. Add the fact that you were Drow—a race notorious for its bloody history and enslavement raids—and it became clear why so many eyes lingered on you, flicking to the scars that traced your arms and shoulders, the deep hue of your skin, and the curve of your frame.

It was a little too easy to tell what they were thinking: 'What's someone like her doing here?' or 'How could she ever belong with him?' You'd faced similar prejudice in the past, but something about being here, in Wyll's world, made it feel sharper, more personal.

“We can leave if you want,” Wyll offered, his voice gentle. He always knew when you were on the verge of running, of lashing out. “My father can wait. There’s no rush.”

“No,” you said, squaring your shoulders, though you could feel the weight of every stare. “We’re doing this. I can handle a few condescending looks.” You managed a small smile, hoping it was more convincing than it felt. “I’d rather face a room full of judgmental nobles than another mind flayer colony, but only just.”

He laughed at that, a soft, genuine sound that warmed your heart.

“There’s the fire I love.” Wyll gave you a quick, reassuring squeeze before leading you deeper into the crowd, navigating the sea of glittering gowns and tailored suits with a practiced ease that reminded you just how different your upbringings were.

And then you saw him: Duke Ulder Ravengard, standing near a marble column, an imposing figure despite his age. He was every bit as intimidating as you'd imagined, his presence commanding the space around him. His eyes, sharp and calculating, turned to you the moment Wyll approached, and you felt the full force of that scrutiny, like a weight pressing down on your chest.

“Father,” Wyll began, his tone respectful yet warm. “This is—”

“I know who she is,” the Duke interrupted, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve spoken enough about her in your letters.”

There was no warmth in his tone, no sign of approval or disapproval. Just that same unyielding, unreadable stare.

You dipped into a low, formal bow, hoping the gesture conveyed more confidence than you felt. “It’s an honor to meet you, Duke Ravengard.”

“Is it?” he replied, and for a moment, you could feel the silence in the ballroom intensify, as if every eye had turned to witness this exchange. “I wonder if you understand what an honor truly is, coming from your… background.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and your fingers curled into fists at your sides, but Wyll stepped in before you could respond, his voice calm but firm. “Father, she’s fought alongside me, protected this city, and saved countless lives. She is as deserving of honor as anyone here.”

The Duke’s eyes shifted to Wyll, and something passed between them—something that spoke of years of unspoken words, unvoiced expectations.

“And yet, she is not of this world,” he said, a hint of steel in his voice. “She does not belong.”

You felt your temper flare, a surge of anger that reminded you of the worst parts of your past, the times when you’d been dismissed, overlooked, or cast aside because of what you were. But before you could say anything, Wyll took your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“You’re wrong,” Wyll said, and there was no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty. “She belongs with me. And I’d like you to try to find someone more deserving of that place.”

The Duke was silent for a moment, and you could feel your pulse hammering in your ears. Finally, he sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the vast space.

“You have always been stubborn,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. When his eyes met yours again, they were softer, if only just. “Tell me, what was your life before this? Before you met my son?”

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “I was a warrior, a wanderer. I fought to survive in the Underdark and then on the surface. I have been many things, Duke Ravengard, but none of them matter as much as being here now, with Wyll.”

For a moment, you thought he might dismiss you entirely. But then, something shifted in his expression—a flicker of understanding, of respect.

“Well, if you’re to be in my son’s life, you may as well get used to being part of mine,” he said gruffly, though there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “The people here won’t accept you overnight, but you’ve faced worse, haven’t you?”

You allowed yourself a small smile. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

As the Duke gave a small nod and turned to engage Wyll in another conversation, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Wyll’s hand squeezed yours, and when you glanced up at him, you found him beaming at you, pride shining in his eyes.

“See?” he murmured. “I told you he’d come around.”

You huffed, feeling the weight of the moment begin to lift. “I’m still not sure I won’t have to prove myself to every single person in this room.”

“Then let them look,” Wyll replied, bringing your hand to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Because you are the most incredible person here, and they’d be fools not to see it.”

And in that moment, surrounded by silks and sneers, you felt, for the first time, that perhaps you really did belong, belong with Wyll.

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Made Ulder a bit harsher in this, but I hope you guys liked it! - Seluney xox

I also just adore domestic Wyll too ! Thank you so much !!!

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Wyll x Drow!Fiance!reader | Plotting

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The party was in full swing, filled with the warm glow of lanterns and the murmur of conversation. Music hummed through the air, and Wyll navigated through the crowd with an air of tension about him. His eyes scanned the room, searching, always searching for two people—Ulder Ravengard, his father, and you, his fiancée.

He had been nervous all day, stomach in knots at the idea of introducing the two of you. Ulder was a strong presence, a man with commanding authority, and while Wyll knew you were more than capable of holding your own in any conversation, there was still a lingering anxiety about how the two most important people in his life would get along. You, a proud and strong Drow woman, could be a bit… off-putting to people unaccustomed to your forthright nature and the formidable stature you carried so effortlessly. Even though you had a softer side that only Wyll knew, he feared his father would not see past the prejudices many surface-dwellers held toward the Drow.

The room swirled with faces, laughter, and clinking glasses, but Wyll couldn’t focus on any of it. He was determined to find you both before any awkwardness could ruin the night.

Finally, his eyes landed on a familiar figure in the distance. You were standing by one of the large bay windows, looking striking as always in a deep violet gown that hugged your muscled frame in all the right places. The light of the lanterns reflected off your midnight-dark skin, your silver hair tied up in a loose but elegant knot at the base of your neck. Standing beside you, much to Wyll’s surprise, was Ulder Ravengard, a drink in his hand as he leaned in, engaged in what seemed to be a lively conversation.

Wyll’s heart skipped a beat. Was it going well? He took a few cautious steps closer, straining to hear the tone of your voices before deciding whether to intervene.

He stopped in his tracks, listening in with a mix of confusion and relief.

“…and then, instead of taking the obvious route, Wyll decides to climb over the damned fence—gets stuck halfway up, mind you. There he is, legs kicking like mad, making enough noise to wake the dead!” Ulder was laughing, a deep, rich sound that Wyll hadn’t heard in ages. The former Grand Duke seemed completely at ease, his face softening into an amused smile as he told the embarrassing childhood story.

“And what did he do?” you asked, grinning, your eyes gleaming with interest. Wyll recognized the playful spark in your expression, the one you usually reserved for when you were about to tease him mercilessly.

“He dangled there for a good five minutes until the stablehand had to come out and haul him down!” Ulder shook his head, clearly enjoying the memory.

You chuckled, the sound low and rich, and Wyll felt his breath catch. The sound of your laughter, combined with his father’s, was something he hadn’t expected. But here you both were, sharing stories as if you had known each other for years.

“Oh, I can believe that,” you replied, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “It reminds me of the time we were up against a group of gnolls. Wyll decided he could talk them down—started lecturing them about the importance of teamwork or something.” You waved a hand, recalling the moment with dramatic flair. “One of the gnolls actually sat down to listen—only for the rest of them to try and rip him apart five minutes later.”

Ulder barked out a laugh, slapping his knee. “That sounds exactly like him! Always with the speeches, isn’t he? I told him he could not have a pet mephit and he spoke of it for days like some great injustice. It almost worked, he was always the charismatic one.”

You nodded, eyes twinkling with affection as you glanced in Wyll’s direction, catching sight of him at last.

“Oh, absolutely. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You gave Wyll a small wink, which made his heart skip.

Wyll stood frozen for a moment, taking in the scene with a mix of relief and embarrassment. Here he was, worrying for nothing. His father and his fiancée, two people he had feared would clash, were standing together, sharing stories and laughing at his expense.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Wyll finally said, stepping forward, a sheepish grin on his face. “Plotting against me already?”

Both you and Ulder turned to face him, still smiling broadly.

“Just reminiscing,” Ulder said, setting his drink down on a nearby table. He approached Wyll, clasping a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “You’ve picked well, son. I have to say, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but—” He gestured toward you with a nod. “She’s quite remarkable. You’ve found yourself a strong one, haven’t you?”

Wyll’s heart swelled with pride and relief. He glanced at you, and you just smirked, raising an eyebrow as if to say, well, of course.

“I’ve been telling him that for years,” you said, crossing your arms in mock offense. “But he doesn’t always listen.”

Wyll chuckled, stepping over to stand beside you, feeling your presence like a steady anchor in the room. You were tall, muscled, and intimidating to many, but to him, you were warmth, comfort, and strength personified. Ulder looked between the two of you, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.

“I see what you mean,” he said, as if realizing something. “You two complement each other well. Good balance.”

Wyll’s heart fluttered. His father’s approval, something he had quietly hoped for, felt like a weight lifting off his shoulders. He squeezed your hand gently, knowing full well that you had won Ulder over with nothing more than your unfiltered self—and maybe a few well-timed jabs at his expense.

“Balance,” Wyll echoed, turning to you with a warm smile. “That’s one way to put it.”

You grinned back, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow. “He means you’re lucky to have me.”

Wyll shook his head, eyes sparkling. “Luckiest man in the world.”

Ulder clapped him on the shoulder again. “You’ve done well, son. Very well.”

As the evening wore on, the three of you continued to talk—stories of Wyll’s childhood and adventures flowing freely. Wyll no longer felt the weight of his earlier anxieties. Instead, he felt a sense of peace, knowing that the two most important people in his life had found common ground. Even if that ground happened to be poking fun at him, he would take it, happily.

By the end of the night, as Ulder bid his farewells, Wyll stood by your side, his arm draped over your shoulder. He glanced down at you, his heart full of gratitude and love. You caught his eye, your expression softening in that way it only did when it was just the two of you.

“Thank you,” Wyll whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “For everything.”

You gave him a small, satisfied smile, leaning into his warmth. “Of course, Wyll. I’ll always have your back.”

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Drow reader is back back back again, hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

But she REALLY likes Wyll so shes trying?? Being nicer intentionally? Like she was already kinda nice, for a Drow, but shes being especially so? Also her being friends with Astarion and him making fun of her for that... and for the fact that shes like a foot taller than him. I just like big scary women and little guys sometimes.

Sorry if this is too specific!

yes yes yes yes yes yes

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Wyll x Drow!Paladin!reader | Look away Lolth

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Life in Menzoberranzan had always been about power, status, and devotion to Lolth. You, a paladin of the Spider Queen, had grown up steeped in these values, rising to prominence within the third most powerful house. Yet, despite your unwavering loyalty to Lolth and the ruthlessness you displayed on the battlefield, there was one person who had managed to capture your heart in a way you never thought possible: Wyll.

Wyll was everything you were not. Kind, compassionate, and empathetic, he exuded a warmth that was foreign to the cold, calculating world of the Underdark. Despite the vast differences in your upbringings and values, something about him intrigued you, drawing you in and making you want to be better—for him.

You had already been known as somewhat nice, for a Drow, with many of your peers insulting you for it, but with Wyll, you found yourself striving to be even kinder, even more understanding. It was a struggle, trying to balance your natural inclinations with this new desire to show empathy and care.

It was a quiet evening in the camp. The fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows on the surrounding trees. You and Wyll sat close together, his warmth and presence a soothing balm to your otherwise tumultuous nature. You were listening intently as he recounted a tale from his past, his first stuggle after his exile, nodding and responding with genuine interest, something you were still getting used to.

"That must have been difficult for you," you said, your voice softer than usual. "But you managed to come out of it stronger."

Wyll smiled, his eyes reflecting the firelight. "It was tough, but I had good friends to help me through it. And now I have you."

The words warmed your heart, and you couldn't help but smile back. This was all new to you, but you were trying. For him. Just then, Astarion strolled into the camp, a smug grin on his face. He had a knack for making an entrance.

"Oh, look at you two lovebirds," he teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's almost sweet enough to make me gag."

You rolled your eyes, though there was no malice in your response. Astarion was a friend, albeit a mischievous one. "Jealous, Astarion?" you shot back, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Hardly," Astarion retorted, leaning against a tree. "I'm just fascinated by this new side of you, my dear. Trying to be all empathetic and nice. It's quite the transformation for a paladin of Lolth."

Wyll chuckled, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "She's doing a great job," he said, looking at you with admiration.

Astarion's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Oh, I have no doubt. But you know, it's still quite a sight—seeing someone who's practically a foot taller than Wyll, bending over backwards to be nice."

Before you could retort, Minthara walked over, her expression as stern as ever. "What nonsense are you spouting now, Astarion?"

Astarion raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just commenting on our friend's remarkable growth in empathy. It's heartwarming, really."

Minthara gave you a knowing look, her stern façade softening just a touch. "It's good to see you making an effort," she said quietly. "Even if it is for a surface dweller."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of pride. "Thank you, Minthara."

Wyll squeezed your hand again, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "I'm proud of you, too. You've come a long way."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you felt a renewed determination to keep trying, to keep being better. For him, and maybe even for yourself.

Later that night, as you and Wyll sat by the fire, he looked at you with a tender smile. "You know, I never expected you to change for me. But seeing you try… it means more than you can imagine."

You met his gaze, your heart full. "I want to be better, Wyll. For you. Because you deserve it."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. "And you deserve to be happy," he murmured. "We'll figure this out together."

As you sat there, wrapped in his embrace, you felt a sense of peace and purpose that was new and exhilarating. You were a paladin of Lolth, a warrior of the Underdark, but you were also someone capable of love and kindness. And for Wyll, you were willing to embrace that side of yourself fully.

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omgomg hells yesss and thank you so much!

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Minthara x M!reader | Admiration

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The dark, suffocating air of the Underdark was a distant memory now, though some nights it felt like the weight of Menzoberranzan’s shadows still lingered on your shoulders. But here, amidst the flickering firelight of the surface world, the twisted politics of the drow city felt far away. Here, with the stars twinkling above you, there was only Minthara.

She was sitting across the fire, sharp eyes scanning over a map of your next battlefield. Every movement she made, from the way her fingers glided over the parchment to the way her lips curled in thought, stirred something deep within you—something you hadn’t felt in years. Your admiration for her had started long ago, back in the depths of Menzoberranzan, when she had been a feared leader in the city’s cutthroat power struggles. You had been just another ambitious male servant back then in House Baenre back then, unnoticed among the masses. But you had noticed her. How could you not?

Minthara was always a force, even then—ruthless, cunning, and undeniably captivating. You had watched her from afar, seen the way she commanded respect with just a glance, the way her presence alone could silence a room. And even now, on the surface, away from the suffocating power games of the drow, she was no less commanding. If anything, the freedom of the world above only amplified her strength.

As you stood by the fire, watching her in silence, you had no idea that your secret from all those years ago had not remained hidden as well as you thought.

She shifted in her seat, her piercing eyes flicking up from the map to meet yours. There was something different in her gaze tonight, something sharper, more knowing. You swallowed, feeling that familiar rush of heat crawl up your neck—the same one you felt back when you were a mere shadow in the background of her victories.

“Why do you stare, male?” Minthara’s voice cut through the air like a blade, low and edged with a challenge. “Surely you know by now that I do not suffer cowards.”

You froze, caught between the urge to speak and the fear of revealing too much. But Minthara was not one to be evaded. She rose slowly from her seat, each step deliberate as she approached, her armor gleaming in the firelight. When she stood before you, her eyes boring into yours, it was impossible to hide anything from her.

“I know,” she said softly, her voice a dangerous purr. “I know what you were to me in Menzoberranzan.”

Your breath caught in your throat. How? How could she know?

She stepped closer, the heat of her body now a palpable thing, mingling with the warmth of the fire.

“You think I didn’t notice your little looks? The way you would linger in the shadows, watching my every move?” She tilted her head slightly, her white hair catching the flicker of the flames. “Did you think I was oblivious to your admiration? To your desire?”

Her words hit you like a physical blow. The secret you had kept so carefully, the unspoken feelings you had buried deep—Minthara had known all along.

“I… I was a fool,” you managed to say, your voice rough with the weight of your confession. “A fool to think you’d notice someone like me back then.”

A low, amused chuckle slipped from her lips, and she stepped even closer, so close that you could feel the cold metal of her armor brush against your skin.

“A fool, yes,” she agreed, her voice laced with amusement. “But not for the reasons you think.”

Her fingers traced the edge of your jaw, light but deliberate, and the touch sent a shiver down your spine. “You admire strength, don’t you? You always have. But in Menzoberranzan, you never had the courage to act on it. Instead, you watched from the shadows, dreaming of a moment like this.”

Her words stirred something deep inside you, a mixture of embarrassment and desire. She was right. Back then, you had been too afraid—afraid of her power, afraid of the consequences. But now, with her standing so close, the flames casting shadows across her sharp features, you felt something else entirely. A spark of defiance.

“And now?” you asked, your voice steadying. “What is it you want from me now, Minthara? To continue playing your game?”

Her smile was a slow, predatory thing, and her fingers trailed down your neck, sending a pulse of heat through you.

“Oh, I could make you grovel if I wished,” she murmured, her breath warm against your ear. “But that would be too easy. I’ve seen how you’ve grown since then. How you’ve fought beside me. You’re not the same little servant who hid in the shadows, are you?”

The challenge in her voice was unmistakable, and it stoked a fire within you that had long lain dormant. You straightened, meeting her gaze head-on, no longer the passive admirer you once were.

“No, I’m not,” you said firmly. “I’m not the same. And neither are you.”

For a moment, there was silence between you, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the night, as the acknowledgement of Minthara's fall from grace in Menzoberranzan hung in the air. Minthara’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing your words, testing you. Then, unexpectedly, she laughed—low, rich, and full of something you couldn’t quite place. Approval, perhaps.

“Good,” she said finally, stepping back just enough to let the tension between you settle. “Perhaps you’re more than I gave you credit for.”

Her gaze softened ever so slightly, though the teasing glint in her eyes remained.

“But I wonder…” She trailed off, her fingers idly tracing along your collarbone now, her touch light but charged with intent. “How far will you go to prove it?”

Her question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in velvet. You swallowed, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but instead of shrinking back like you once would have, you took a step closer, your eyes never leaving hers.

“As far as I need to,” you replied, your voice low and sure.

Minthara’s smile widened, and there was a glint of approval in her eyes as she regarded you.

“Very well, then,” she said, her voice a purr of satisfaction. “Let’s see what you’re capable of.”

And though you could feel the weight of her teasing, the game she played so expertly, there was something more behind it—an unspoken understanding that this, whatever it was between you, had shifted.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Woowee i am reader, i am simp (fem), hope you guys enjoyed this ! -Seluney xox