#viktor evanoff

Azlee looked up at Viktor from her seated position on the outskirts of the dance party. She smiled at him; those old feelings rushing to the surface once more. “I’m assuming you came over to ask me out onto the dance floor?” she smirked. “Am I correct?” @dvlwthn

The reception was a kaleidoscope of glitter, masks, and questionable dance moves—but Kris moved through it all like she owned the room. The beige cropped top and skirt combo clung and flowed in the right places, simple but commanding, the kind of look that didn’t need a crown to make the point. A few guests had already called her “Mother of Dragons,” to which she’d only smirked and said, “You have no idea.” She’d just grabbed another drink when she spotted him—Vik, in all black, head to toe. An outlaw aesthetic that somehow looked too natural on him, like he hadn’t even dressed up, just stepped out of some half-forgotten century. Figures. Kris drifted closer, the hem of her skirt whispering against the floor. “You really committed to the ‘mysterious danger’ bit, huh?” she teased, tilting her head as the overhead lights caught the faint shimmer of her jewelry. “You’re lucky I’m not still in my lab coat—this whole thing would’ve felt like a metaphor.” She took a sip of her drink, eyes cutting back to him with a spark of humor and something warmer beneath it. “Daenerys and an outlaw walk into a wedding… sounds like the start of a bad joke. Or a dangerous one.” @hxrricvnes

The town had mostly gone to sleep, though the lanterns outside Town Hall still burned low—gold light flickering through the autumn fog like the last breath of a dream. Azlee stood by the open balcony doors, heels abandoned somewhere behind her, a glass of champagne in hand she’d been nursing for an hour. The bottle beside her was half-empty; she wasn’t built for indulgence, not the way mortals were, but tonight felt like it demanded a small rebellion. One thousand, two hundred, eighty-four years. God, it sounded ridiculous even in her head. “Would you believe me if I said I don’t feel a day over eight hundred?” she murmured without turning, her voice carrying easily into the room behind her. “Though the hangover tomorrow will likely disagree.” Her reflection in the window flickered as Viktor’s shadow moved closer—familiar, heavy in that way only dragons could be. She didn’t look at him yet. Didn’t trust herself to. “I thought you’d forgotten what night this was,” she added, a smile tugging faintly at her mouth, dry and fond. “But then, you were always the one who remembered my bad habits. And my birthdays.” She finally turned then—candlelight catching in her eyes like a secret she’d tried too long to bury. “Tell me, Viktor,” she said softly, holding out the glass toward him, “will you help me pretend that time hasn’t done its worst?” @hxrricvnes

“Hey you,” she smiled softly, walking up to Viktor. “Fancy seeing you here.” She had two cocktails in her hands, offering one to him. Azlee frequents the casino often. She never really gambled though. She just came for the drinks from her favorite bartender. @dvlwthn

“I hope you were able to save me a dance,” she smiled softly walking up to Viktor.  Azlee led him to the dance floor this time. “You never gave me the opportunity to thank you.” @dvlwthn​