#he is. so desperate for his approval. and so consumed by said desperation. that he will completely change his view of a situation

[a-casxandra]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊

Sylus x non-mc, no spoiler.

Part 1 and 2 | Sylus's version of third person to a two-person's home [zayne's fic]

Sypnosis : Sylus was a man who loved too deeply for his own good. He spent his life trying to hold everything together—a demanding mother who never approved of his choices, a wife he adored but often neglected, an unborn child he lost because he wasn’t there, and a sick daughter he never knew existed until it was too late. He tried to be everything to everyone, sacrificing pieces of himself until there was nothing left. In the end, his love—so heavy, so consuming—became the very thing that broke him.

𝗦𝘆𝗹𝘂𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄

From the very beginning, you were a light he never knew he needed.

Sylus met you at a corporate travel fair. You were just a university student then, volunteering at the tourism booth. Your smile was soft and awkward, your hair tied back messily with a black ribbon. You were nervous, fumbling your words when he asked about package deals for company trips.

He thought you were adorable.

Somehow, that chance meeting turned into coffee dates. Coffee dates turned into dinners. Dinners turned into quiet nights in his apartment where you would fall asleep on his chest, your soft breathing anchoring him to reality.

He loved you. More than he ever thought he could love anyone.

That’s why he married you.

Your wedding was simple. You didn’t want anything grand, just the people you loved, vows whispered with trembling voices, and a promise to always stay by each other’s side.

When you found out you were pregnant, you cried in his arms for hours. He remembered thinking—I’ll do everything to protect you. To protect our family.

But life was never that kind.

Sylus knew his mother disliked you from the start.

She would comment on your posture, your manners, your education. She thought you were beneath him. That you weren’t strong enough to stand by his side in the world he navigated.

He tried. God, he tried so many times to make her like you. He’d invite her to dinner with you, only to watch her ignore your every attempt at conversation. He defended you, argued with her until his throat was raw. But each time you would tug his sleeve, shaking your head, silently begging him to stop fighting. Because it hurt you more to see him argue with his mother than to endure her silent hatred.

Then MC showed up.

His ex-girlfriend. His first love. The woman he thought he would marry someday, before everything fell apart between them.

She appeared at his office one morning, clutching the hand of a small child. A little girl with silver-white hair and crimson eyes.

His features.

His blood.

Lilith.

He remembered feeling like the air was sucked out of his lungs. Six years. Six years he never knew he had a daughter.

She was beautiful… but so frail. Sick. The doctors said she didn’t have long without continuous treatment.

That’s when everything began to crumble.

Sylus tried to be there for you, he really did. But Lilith needed him. MC needed help too. And slowly, his hours were spent more at the hospital than at home. He told himself it was temporary – that once Lilith stabilized, he could focus on you again. On your pregnancy. On the family he was building with you.

But he didn’t notice how distant he became. How lonely your eyes grew every time he left.

That day, you begged him not to leave.

“Sylus… can’t you just stay here tonight, please…?” you asked, tears trembling in your eyes, your hands clutching his coat sleeve.

“[y/n]… I can’t. Lilith needs me in the hospital.”

“B-but I need you too!” your voice broke, desperate and small. “I… I haven’t been feeling well since last night… I feel dizzy, and… and I…” You couldn’t finish your sentence. You were terrified, he could see it. But in his mind, Lilith was worse. Lilith was dying. You… you would be okay, wouldn’t you? You were strong. His strong girl.

“My mother is here. She’ll stay with you. I’ll be back,” Sylus said, prying your hands away from him, kissing your forehead before leaving without looking back.

That decision would haunt him forever.

When Sylus came home that night, he expected you to be asleep. But then he heard it—the muffled sobs from the bathroom.

He opened the door to find you curled on the floor, blood pooling around you. Your eyes were glazed with pain and tears, your hands trembling as you clutched your stomach.

“It hurts… Sylus… it hurts so much…”

He remembered screaming your name. Scooping you into his arms. Driving through the night like a madman. The red lights blurred past. All he could see was your blood-stained pajamas. All he could hear were your fading sobs.

At the hospital, they told him the words he would never forget.

“I’m sorry… your wife experienced a miscarriage. The baby… was already gone by the time you brought her here.”

Gone.

He sat outside your hospital room that night, his back against the wall, head buried in his hands as silent sobs tore through him.

It’s my fault.

It’s all my fault.

I killed our baby… I killed… everything…

When you were discharged, Sylus tried to hold you on the way home but you flinched away silently. Your eyes were empty, staring out the window as though you were already somewhere far away.

Not even a day later, MC called again. Lilith was unresponsive. The doctors needed him there immediately.

“If you leave now… don’t expect to have a wife you can come back to,” you said softly, staring at him with tearless eyes.

The words scared him. Truly scared him.

But Lilith needed him. After losing his unborn child with you, he couldn’t lose his daughter too.

“I’ll come back,” Sylus promised desperately, leaning down to kiss you, but you turned away. “Please… wait for me. I’ll come back. I promise.”

And then he left. Again.

When Sylus came back that evening, he was exhausted. Drained. But hopeful, somehow. Maybe you’d be angry. Maybe you’d shout at him. Maybe you’d cry and hit his chest with your small fists. He would take it all. He deserved it all.

But when he stepped into the house, it was silent.

Utterly silent.

He called your name once. Twice. No answer.

That’s when he saw them—the suitcases by the door.

He opened them with trembling hands. Only your things inside. Only yours.

His eyes scanned the room. Everything he ever gave you remained behind – the dresses he bought to impress his mother, the expensive accessories, the shoes, the bags. Even your wedding ring lay on the vanity table, glinting under the dying sunset light.

You left it all behind.

You didn’t even want to bring a single piece of him with you.

Sylus sat on the edge of the bed that night, staring at the empty spot where you used to sleep. The sheets still smelled like you. Like your shampoo. Like your warmth. Like everything he just lost.

He thought he could balance it all.

Be a husband.

Be a father.

Be a son.

He really, really tried his best.

But life demanded sacrifices. And to keep one, he had to lose another.

He could be a father to Lilith.

But a husband? No. Sylus would never be a husband again. Not after losing you. Because his love… his entire heart… it always belonged to you. It was only overshadowed by the guilt of wanting to make it up to Lilith, the daughter he never knew existed.

Now he had lost you both in different ways.

And Sylus… he couldn’t recover from that.

That night, after reading Lilith her bedtime story at the hospital, he kissed her forehead softly. Watched her chest rise and fall. Memorised the shape of her face, the sound of her breathing. He stroked her silver-white hair, the same as his.

“Be good for mommy, okay…?” Sylus whispered softly, voice breaking as tears fell onto her blanket. “Daddy loves you so much…” He walked out of the room, his footsteps silent down the dark hallway.

When Sylus got home, the emptiness of the house swallowed him whole. The rooms still smelled like you. The bathroom tiles still had faint stains of blood he didn’t clean properly, a permanent reminder of what he destroyed.

He sat on your side of the bed, staring at the blank wall. The moonlight illuminated his profile – the silver hair, the hollow crimson eyes, the way his chest barely moved as he breathed.

For the first time, his phone wasn’t ringing.

No one needed him.

No one was waiting for him.

“I’m sorry… I’m so… so sorry…” he whispered into the emptiness.

He thought he could fix it all.

He thought he could save everyone.

But he couldn’t even save the woman he loved most in this world.

Sylus reached into the drawer, pulled out his old handgun. He stared at it for a long time, feeling its weight in his trembling hands.

He thought about you.

Your smile.

Your laughter.

The way you said his name like it was the only word that mattered.

The way you whispered “I love you” against his chest at dawn.

𝗦𝘆𝗹𝘂𝘀 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀.

𝗔𝗻𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁.

Author's note : it is, what it is. also sylus from the new multi-banner is so cute, like wdym he let mc ties his hair into tiny ponytails?? Anyways, i actually just woke up, did i just chose violence? yes. and now i'm going back to sleep lol

[randomwriteronline]

The sound of waves is soothing and irritating all at once. It almost drives him mad, and then it calms him down again. His heartlight pulses a little quicker than it should. A sense of anxiety gives his rocking motion a strange apprehension.

The sea bears life.

The sea bore us.

His sister's words make him feel sick in his chest.

"Pohatu..."

His head raises suddenly to the grey sky, smiling: "I'm here."

"Where are you siblings?" asks Teridax's voice with a windy whisper, slithering around him.

"Trapped underground."

"Very well," the Makuta's voice purrs; bashful pride swells in the Toa's chest. "Where is the Mask of Light?"

"With Akhmou, to be melted down in the forges."

"Very well," another rumble in the protodermis sea, another caress from the howling gale. "Where are the Turaga Metru?"

"If they haven't been caught already, on the way to me."

"Very, very well, my Toa." Pohatu grins, basking in the quiet praise - but his heartlight stills a moment later as the sky sighs: "And yet..."

Has he done something wrong?

Something bad?

He tried to do everything right, as right as he could.

Did he waste too much time?

Cold winds wrap around him; the ground beneath him seems to sink a little more under his weight, the air curls heavier around his limbs and head, and the entire universe seem to close in on him, to observe him more intently.

He's not scared by this.

He knows Teridax would never hurt him.

He's just trying to understand what he did wrong.

The sounds solidify in the shape of a well-known claw to trace the maskless face he cradles in his arms: "He is still here."

Pohatu looks down.

Takanuva remains unconscious.

"Pohatu..." Teridax asks sweetly, rumbling like a thunderstorm, "You do remember what I've told you... The Toa of Light..."

"But it wasn't his fault!" Pohatu interrupts him. His hold on his little brother tightens slightly. "You said it yourself, Takua has nothing to do with this. If it wasn't for the Turaga, for that mask - he's innocent."

"He is, of course," the Makuta growls, "But danger lurks within him."

The Toa curls around the much larger body in his lap: "But he hasn't done anything wrong," he continues to defend him. "And without the mask he can't do anything, he's just like a Matoran again, without any powers - so I thought... I thought..."

"You disobey me?"

"No! No, no, I'm not disobeying, I don't want to disobey!" he's quick to reassure his master. Nothing frightens him more than the quiet heartbreak in his tone - he's good, he's good, he wants to be good, he wants to be good and useful and someone to be proud of, he doesn't want to make him upset, he doesn't want to disappoint him, it's just... It's just... He looks down, to the closed golden eyes of Takanuva. His shoulders close around him tenderly, to shield him from the cruel world that saw it fit to throw him into such a terrible life. "But he's... He hasn't done anything... He thought - they made him believe he had to, that it was his destiny, it wasn't his fault... He's just Takua... He's just..."

"Your little brother," Teridax finishes for him.

Pohatu nods.

The waves recede until the seabed is almost visible; they crash once more against the cliff with a long, gentle sigh.

"You have much too big a heart, Pohatu," the Makuta tells him, willing the salt in the air to cradle his puppet's head as though it were his palm. "And though it is an admirable thing, it still sometimes blinds you from what must be done - especially when it is in your little brother's best interest."

The Toa looks up, into the sky, to the spectral light of the twin suns. He has no trouble imagining the deep crimson of Teridax's eyes in place of their thin silvery shine.

"He has been turned into my enemy against his will, that is true," the usurper continues, voice low and sweet: "And I cannot execute him for being guilty of a crime others forced him to commit without even knowing what he was truly doing. But he must die regardless, Pohatu - not because he must be brought to justice, like your siblings and their mentors, but because he deserves to be given mercy."

"Mercy?"

"Yes, my Toa, mercy... The very same thing the Turaga denied him. Reflect well: the Avohkii has mutated him, tearing his previous careless, happy existence from him, staining him with the irreversible mark of its blinding light. No matter how far he may run, Destiny will always hound him, chasing him into his demise."

Pohatu hugs his brother closer, as though Destiny was a beast standing right before them in this second, hissing and writhing as it eyes Takanuva with a hungry gaze.

Loving claws of frigid wind soothe his head, caressing it slowly: "Do you see, then?" the waters churn below him, "Death is not a punishment; it is a kindness. Free him from such a horrible fate. Put a gentle end to the life of strife and agony he has been sacrificed to."

This -

This is the only time Pohatu laments following the code.

He would. He would kill Takanuva, right here and now, in his own arms, while he's still unconscious - so he could die loved and safe, without even noticing, drifting into even softer, even deeper sleep.

He would do it for him, so he doesn't have to suffer, so he doesn't have to be torn apart by something else, something so much more terrible than a brother who honestly, honestly loves him, a brother who loves him enough to spare him from something as horrible as a life he should not be forced to live.

He would, he would, he wants to (Teridax is right - what a fool he was for doubting him, when Teridax is always right and always good, and he even talked back to him and argued with him - oh, a fool, a fool, an idiot, a cretin, a worthless mindless sack of rocks - he is so lucky Teridax is so patient with him even when he's this incredibly stupid, so lucky he still cares about him enough to call him dear), but he can't. He can't. He can't.

He rocks Takanuva slowly, for no good reason, and he thinks.

He thinks as hard as he can.

"There's a cave in Po-Metru," he mutters - half to himself, half to the universe, "By the docks - the Visorak horde opened it with a tunnel, but the rest of it caved in... It's under the sea, I remember, with an entrance that can only be found underwater... Getting there was a mess. But I remember the way, I could do it. And the adaptive armor would make it easier. With some luck, the high tide would catch up to him before he could wake up. He wouldn't feel a single thing."

The ground beneath him rumbles: "There," Teridax praises him, "How clever you are, when your mind is clear."

The fear and guilt and worry are washed away from him completely in the mere fraction of a second, like a bad dream chased off by a gentle embrace: Pohatu smiles, embarrassed and flattered.

"Although, just in case luck does not favor us - perhaps, a shackle or two... As he would not understand your act of mercy..."

Of course, of course: "I'll make sure he's secured, Great Spirit."

The grandiose title makes the cliff on which the Toa sits stand even taller as the Makuta preens himself. Great Spirit - yes, of course; that is his name, now, and this is his universe; and oh, it is with such reverence that Pohatu says it, such conviction, such blind all-consuming devotion...

His claws in the shape of the winds lift the Toa's chin up to the sky, his brilliant eyes so eager to make him proud: "Well done, Pohatu," Teridax croons; with another gust of gale he presses against the forehead of his mask to push it down again, in a show of obedience: "I knew you would not disappoint me."

Pohatu never disappoints him.

Pohatu craves to be loved too much to disappoint him.

"Now run along, my dear Toa of Stone. You have a brother to save, and six traitors to imprison."

Pohatu nods, brimming with purpose and quelled anxieties.

Then he disappears, an orange flash beneath grey skies.

The waves keep crashing against the small cliff.

Under it, Hewkii shakes, breathing too fast.

[norrisainz33]

simp || cs55

summary: carlos has a massive crush on one of hollywoods it girls, y/n and he desperately wants her to notice him

pairing: carlos sainz x famous!reader

fc & warnings: madelyn cline and suggestive. you are responsible for the content you consume

requested: yes! thank you for your patience!! i know this took forever

masterlist

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post

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ynuser: can’t even tell i’m jet lagged to all heck right now thanks to my incredible team!! thanks for having me dior

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carlossainz55: jet lag has never looked better princessa

user1: how does this man always beat me here im

user2: when u show up to a who loves y/n most competition and this mf there

user55: its getting hard to make excuses for you carlos

user1: your hair omgggg you look so good

yourbff: no you're glowing

ynuser: thank you 🤍

user4: god i’m obsessed with you

joeburrow: 😍 [liked by ynuser]

yourcostar: ok i see you gorgeous girl

ynuser: i miss you

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williamsracing: they had a lot of fun with this quiz! check out the latest grid games with lia, carlos and alex!

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user2: carbonooooooooo

user4: i love that lia is here too omg

carlossainz55: ynuser shooting my shot 😌

user55: carlos go 1 minute without mentioning y/n challenge failed

user5: since my goat said to tag her ynuser hello did u see this

user55: god he’s down so bad ynuser please im begging

user43: ynuser carlos saved my cat from a burning building

user77: carlos built me a house ynuser

lando: ynuser hey

carlossainz55: my guy 😉

yourbff: lmaoooooooo ynuser you gotta put this man out of his misery

user55: EVERYONE STAY CALM CARLOS STAY CALM MY MAN DONT EMBARRASS US THIS IS HER BEST FRIEND

carlossainz55: yourbff ynsuer please

user4: god hes such a simp this is painful

user8: i love this trio sm

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yunser: fun in the sun ☀️🤍

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user1: you are the definition of beauty

carlossainz55: you should try the spanish sun. i think you’d have a lot of fun under it 😉

lando: not your best work mate

charlesleclerc: mon ami what was this line

lewishamilton: next time be less obvious

user55: not even the drivers can defend him anymore

user22: body is tea

zendaya: the prettiest lady 🤍

ynuser: daya 😭😭😭😭🤍🤍🤍🤍

user33: so you can paint now too?! what can’t you do

user44 the literal love of my life

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yourbff: Y E S! he is so fine it’s sickening

ynuser: he is really attractive……

yourbff: anyone with eyes can see that bb

ynuser: alright…… i’m gonna dm him

yourbff: YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS

yourcostar: i laughed out loud at this and then checked your posts and man is trying his hardest

ynuser: stoppppp 😭😭😭 he is committed and honestly i’m into it

zendaya: tom knows him!!! he’s a super nice guy. i say go for it

ynuser: if you and tom approve i’ll do it

zendaya: double date!!!!!

yourfriend1: DO IT FOR THE PLOT

ynuser: on it

yourfriend2: i have been begging you to get into f1 for years now

ynuser: you’re right…. my bad girl

ynuser has posted to their story

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user2: you’re doing just about anything but filming that new season huh

user55: no way. no way you’re in spain. oh my god this better be about carlos. i’m gonna crash all the way out

yourbff: OMG YOIRE WITH HIM!!! AGAIN?!?!?!

ynuser: i am!! having the best time with him 🥹 after our first date in monaco he convinced me to go to spain with him over his break from driving and it has been like a dream

yourbff: you have to facetime me later and spill the beans

ynuser: if i get any alone time i will 🤭

yourbff: are you….. staying in the same hotel room?! OMG DID THEY DO THE THING WHERE THEY GIVE YOU A HOTEL ROOM THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 2 BEDS BUT WAS ONLY 1?!

ynuser: AHAHHAH no i am NOT in a romance book tho it feels like it. we chose to get a hotel room with only one bed 😏

yourbff: i’m giggling, goofing , freaking out. how dare you not tell me this !!

ynuser: i promiseeee ill call tomorrow!!

yourbff: fineee enjoy your night of f*cking. you gotta tell me how he is 😉

ynuser: STOPSJDK

carlossainz55: i’m glad you love it mi amor 🥰

ynuser: might just be because i have the best tour guide ever

carlossainz55: that definitely helps i’m sure

user4: aesthetic af

charlesleclerc: thank GOD!

ynuser: it’s been a long time coming

charlesleclerc: you can say that again

user12: on god this better be about carlos sainz

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ynupdates: is that blondie in the corner who i think it is you ain’t slick

user2: you’re my love

lando: you in amorrrrrrrrr?!

carlossainz55: yes 😍 she’s just as amazing as i imagined

lando: awooga that’s the best news ever

user4: i can’t wait for you to get back on track

alex_albon: are you having fun????

carlossainz55: so much fun…. some would say the most fun especially because she agreed to be my girlfriend 😉

alex_albon: thank GOD. george owes me £400

carlossainz55: que?

alex_albon: we took bets on if she’d fall for you or not. i said she would 😌

carlossainz55: i’m going to have to give george a call it seems. who else bet on this????

alex_albon: the whole group chat 😅

carlossainz55: give me a list of everyone who bet against me

carlossainz55: DONT LEAVE ME ON READ

carlossainz55: ALEXANDER ALBON

user55: you’re in barcelona. y/n is in barcelona…. she’s blonde… there’s a blonde in this photo that looks a lot like her….. did you do the unthinkable and get y/n to notice you?

user13: when you getting back in the car king

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carlossainz55: you know what they say - pics or it didn’t happen

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user3: oh my god he’s done it

user55: THATS MY GOAT!!! IM SO PROUD OF YOU

lando: i can’t believe my eyes

carlossainz55: me neither

williamsracing: so this is why you were in the best mood i’ve ever seen and asked for a paddock pass for every race for the foreseeable future

carlossainz55: 😌🤍

alex_albon: incredible work mate

user23: wondering what insane level of simp he’s gonna reach now that he’s bagged the baddie

charlesleclerc: you are welcome!

ynupdates: claiming credit i see charles

charlesleclerc: well i helped

ynuser: my friends did send me your tweets so really you both did this

carlossainz55: and i thank you both charlesleclerc ynupdates

user34: i just stood up and applauded

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: thanks for reading!!! likes and reblogs appreciated. been very busy recently, hopefully will have some more time to writing soon!!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[heartless-tate]

Notice me! | Azriel X Freader

summary; Azriel courting an oblivious reader.

a/n; Heyy! Just a little fic of being courted by Azriel. And you not being very aware of it. Hope you enjoy!

content/trigger warnings; knife, food, meat?, cussing, kissing, no use y/n, hint towards lust feeling, Azriel pining, Armen being sassy, FEM reader (if you’d like me to make a another post with male reader, message me!) she/her pronouns for reader, thunderstorm mention and I think that’s it. If I missed something, feel free to message me on it! 💝

word count: 3.1k. |. Part two

A plate clattered against the table causing your attention to turn to the man in front of you.

You met his gaze as he waited for you to try his new dish, his eyes seeming to shine as the sun hit his eyes. You swear he always seemed to be effortlessly beautiful. It was angering in some ways, you had even seen him wake up looking like a god. No. Better than a god. It didn’t matter if you spent an hour in the mirror, swiping various products of different expenses on your face; the result would be the same. The same boring face you saw everyday.

A wonderful smell wafted from the plate, causing your empty stomach to growl loud enough to shake the mountains. The shadowsinger smirked, pushing the plate of food closer to you with a gentleness most men didn’t have. Your face flushed with embarrassment, your hands instinctively coming to paw at your stomach, hoping it would stop. Your eyes wandered down to the plate where a meal sat.

“I haven’t made this before. I wanted you to be the first to try it.” He spoke with every ounce of grace and elegance a god would have. His hands grasped the seat across from you, pulling it out and taking a seat. His wings shifted until finding a comfortable position in the chair. You nodded in response, picking the fork up before taking in the rather- gracious portion of food he had made for you.

A ribeye steak bigger than your hand sat on the plate. Seasoning of different kinds were smothered on it, and the smell of butter consumed your senses. Your mouth watered in response. Beside it were two sides. Your favorites.

Armen smirked from where she sat beside you, watching as you lifted the steak knife and fork. You were so oblivious. She had been watching for the last few years as Azriel desperately chased after you, and you never seemed to even notice. It was amusing. He has spent hours staring at you, and you never realized. And if she pointed it out, you just assumed you had something on your face. She knew he was growing restless. Not tired of you, but tired of your complete oblivion. These days he seemed ready to scream from the top of the roof that he loved you.

Azriel’s scarred hand clutched at your wrist. He gently took the knife and fork away from you, before grabbing your plate and proceeding to cut your steak into bite sized pieces. Armen snickered from where she sat, resulting in a glare from Azriel.

“Oh- Azriel I can do that-“ You started.

“I know you can.” He responded. He didn’t give back your plate until your steak was cut into bite sized pieces for you. He watched you place the first bite of steak into your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back and you let out a hum of approval, chewing the food. The flavor was delicious, and it was quite easily the best steak you had ever tasted in your life. It wasn’t too buttery. Or too seasoned. It was just right. The meat was tender.

Azriel’s wings rustled at your hum. His face shined with pure male pride. His eyes never left you once while you chewed and swallowed. He stood, taking the steak knife that was no longer needed into the kitchen.

Armen followed after him. He sat the knife in the sink, letting the house do its magic before turning his attention to Armen.

“You’re like a love sick puppy.”

“My love life isn’t your business.” Azriel responded, his face tight. His words were low, ensuring you couldn’t hear.

“Hm. All I’m saying is your ‘courting’ isn’t going to work.” Armen said, picking at her nail leisurely. She was like a cat. Her piercing eyes watched as Azriel’s eyes narrowed at her with a scowl. Before he could comment more, Armen spoke again.

“She’s oblivious. It doesn’t matter if you fix her food, or leave her favorite pastries everywhere so she finds them, she won’t get the hint. Literally. I’m getting seasonal allergies from the amount of flowers you’ve left for her everywhere in this house.Seriously, this place is covered in flowers. Either start professing love or drop this little crush.” She growled out, walking out of the kitchen.

Azriel stayed silent before whispering,“It’s not little.”

“Yeah, don’t let me forget to grab a few early starfall gifts.” Mor said. You groaned loudly, rubbing your temples. Even the idea of her gifts made you want to cry. Her starfall gift for you these past few years have been a collection of ridiculously fuzzy socks. Every.Year.

Of course you were grateful, but everyone knew Mor’s gifts weren’t particularly good. You now had a drawer filled with fuzzy and odd colored socks.

Velaris was bustling today. Fae of all kids roamed the streets, some tending to their shops. Kids ran through the streets playing games. Everyone was out enjoying the sunny day. You and Mor decided to go shopping to pick up a few items. Your eyes wandered back down to your list, a few more candles, a book or two, and some lotion.

“Starfall gifts? I don’t think you need to shop this early for them-“

“Nonsense! It’s never too early to do gift shopping!” Mor said, cutting you off. You sighed and shook your head knowing it was hopeless to argue with her.

After a few trips to some stores, you both ended up getting lunch at Rita’s. You ordered a milkshake- apparently a new creation of a cold drink? None less, whatever they were, everyone had been going crazy over them in Velaris. And of course you also got your favorite meal. Mor ordered practically half the menu, content to eat her heart out. You didn’t blame her- food was good.

As your plates were sat down by the waitress, Mor eyed your food with a questioning look. Your eyebrows raised in confusion. “What? You’re looking at my food weird.”

“Oh. Well I’m just surprised to see you ordering a meal here. You know Azriel is gonna harp if you don’t eat his food.” Mor responded, shoveling food into her mouth as if she’d starve.

“Huh?” You countered.

Mor finished her food before rolling her eyes. She sighed deeply as if you had troubled her. “You know..” she said, waving her hands as if that would solve your confusion. When you raised your eyebrows with a puzzled face, she put her fork down.

“You know- when you eat something someone else cooked or you’re not hungry, and he’s cooked you a meal. And you refuse it- he gets all huffy and puffy! Like a broody motherhen.” She continued.

“He doesn’t even fix me food that often-“ you argued.

“Oh please! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! Full course meal on the table for you. If only someone loved me that much.” Mor said, picking her fork back up. “Those meals weren’t from the house hun. All I’m saying is maybe you should pay more attention.”

For the rest of the meal, you both sat in silence as you pondered over her words.

Cassian laughed  as you entered from the hallway. His eyes shined with amusement as you waddled to the counter with your shopping bags.

The sound was enough to draw a curious Azriel to the room. He immediately grabbed all your bags despite your complaints, setting them on the table. He nodded at you in response when you thanked him.

“I thought you were only shopping for a few things.” Cassian stated. He stood casually leaned against the table with a drink in his left hand. Azriel stood to your left, his wings expanded. His eyes were keen and watchful. You doubted he ever missed a single detail. His skin glistened with sweat, a musky bourbon scent coming from him. Cassian’s skin was sweaty too, evidence of them training together earlier in the day.

“Well, the candle store had a buy two get five for free deal. So I bought  four and got ten for free! Cauldron I love Velaris!” You squealed, and Azriel smirked knowingly. He had taken note of your recent obsession with buying candles. Cassian shook his head.

Cassian's face lit up with surprise as you handed him two candles. “So I got one for everyone else. This one smells like leather and the other vanilla. I figured you’d like it Cas.” You continued. He nodded in thanks. You turned to Azriel.

“I got you this candle because I know you love blueberries. And this one is supposed to smell like rainy days and lightning. And this one is books and bourbon!”

Azriel’s eyes never looked down to the candles you had shoved in his arms. His eyes stayed on your face as you happily ranted about the candles. When you finished and looked back up to his face, he had a soft look. It was one you don’t think you’ve seen him use before. His eyes were soft and looked like pools of honey, and his smile was gentle.

You watched as he sat down the candles on the table and turned back to you. “They’re perfect.” He responded. He was so memorizing. You just knew whoever he ended up with would be content. You struggled taking your eyes from him.Cassian growled playfully.

“Hey! Unfair! He got three candles! I only got-“

Cassian was cut off by Mor smacking him on the back of the head as she trotted to the kitchen. She had a lot of leftovers to put away. Azriel gave him a quick glare, silencing him.

You noticed he was wearing all his leathers, and siphons. His shadows whirled leisurely around his shoulders and wings. Azriel watched as your eyes creased in confusion. He sighed. He couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of hope at the fact you had gotten him more candles than Cassian.

“Rhysand sent me on a mission, I’ll be gone for a few days most likely. I’m going to spy on the human queens and make sure all is well there.” He admitted. He watched as your face fell. You quickly smiled again and nodded. His heart thumped like a hammer in his chest. Did you care? Would you miss him like he always missed you? He wondered if you couldn’t sleep like he couldn’t when he was away from you.

“Oh. I see. Be safe.” You responded, nodding slowly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the feeling in your chest. You had never felt it before. You wondered why all of a sudden you felt this way about him leaving.

His eyes softened even more. “I leave in an hour or two.” He whispered, head tilting to catch your eyes once more. Cassian had disappeared from the room all of a sudden, him and Mor talking loudly about dumb things in the kitchen. Leaving you and Azriel alone. “Let me cook you dinner before I leave.”

His eyebrows furrowed this time as you shook your head no. His smile dropped. He looked like a kicked puppy almost-

“I ate lunch with Mor.” You explained. Your explanation didn’t seem to comfort him as he shook his head in response.

“That was lunch. It’s time for dinner.” Azriel said firmly.

Your mind went back to Mor’s words. Pay more attention…what did she mean? What was there to pay attention to? Azriel cooked for everyone- right..? Your mind raced over your memories, trying to think of a single time you had seen Azriel set a plate down for one of the others.

“Alright then, fix me dinner Azriel.” You responded. Azriel smiled, pleased. His right wing flared, draping over your back. “Follow me.” He said, leading the way into the kitchen. His wing was warm against your back, as it guided you beside him. It was much larger than  you were, towering over your head. As you entered the kitchen, Cassian and Mor immediately scampered out shouting something about extra training.

You watched Azriel move around the kitchen in a graceful dance of grabbing pans and pots. He kept his wings tucked in, to keep them from banging against counters and tables. His hair was messy from training, or like he had ran his hands through it more then once. But it never failed to frame his face. You watched as a few shadows dart around, grabbing various spices and ingredients for whatever new dish he’d make tonight. He set a pan down on the stove before turning to you.

His scarred hands gently grasped your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. He sat you on an empty space on the counter. He huffed a laugh at your squeak of shock. He patted one of your thighs gently before leaving your side and returning to his pan.

Your face flushed with embarrassment. He had lifted you as if you weighed nothing, showcasing his obvious strength. Everytime he touched you with his beautiful hands, it felt like everything stopped. As if the world had slowed to let you enjoy the moment. Your hands wrapped around your stomach, wondering what this weird feeling that had overcome you meant.

He moved swiftly, chopping ingredients and throwing things in various pots and pans. You quickly realized by smell alone he was making your comfort food. You remembered the night a storm had rolled in. Usually thunder and lightning didn’t scare you- but this was different. The booms and flashes were intense, shaking the ground and keeping you from sleep. You had stumbled to the house library in an attempt to distract yourself. But you only found Azriel instead. He had scented your obvious distress and took action immediately. He helped you settle on the couch with cushions and blankets before asking what a comfort food was. A good 15 minutes later he returned with a plate.

You don’t remember much pass that, you just remember becoming tired and sleepily. You remember feeling warm all of a sudden and then you woke up in your bed that morning.

“It’s almost done.” Azriel spoke, bringing you back from your memories. His eyes were distant as if he too was remembering that same night.

You smiled and thanked him as he handed you your bowl and a spoon. He made himself a bowl too. He took your bowl from his hands and sat it down, before grabbing you and setting you back on the floor. His hands stayed on your hips until he was sure you were balanced. He guided you to the sitting room with a fire.

Azriel didn’t eat until you took your first bite, ensuring you liked it. And of course, you did. It was warm, and comforting, like a hug in your mouth. It soothed your soul in ways nothing else could, the flavors easing your body from any previous aches. Azriel had never made a bad meal before. You both ate in silence together, with the comforting crackle of the fire and warming food. But as the time passed, you knew it came time for him to leave.

Your bowls sat on the coffee table. Both finished. The house made them disappear, taking care of them on its own. You were always amazed by its magic.

Your head snapped to Azriel as he stood. He sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. His eyebrows were furrowed and he almost looked like he wanted to chain himself to the wall before even considering leaving. He turned to your sitting form. His shadows seemed to move more quickly and sharper around his shoulders.

“It’s time for me to leave.” He whispered. He watched as you nodded solemnly. You smiled, but he knew it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you for the meal.”

You watched as Cassian hugged Azriel in goodbye, and Mor nod as her own way of saying goodbye. Azriel had taken his candles to his room earlier, before joining everyone in the hallway. When one left for more then a day, you all said proper goodbyes.

Azriel turned to you, walking swiftly. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his big biceps practically squeezing the life out of you. He practically had to hold himself back from purring when your arms wrapped around his neck in return. Everything darkened as his wings cocooned you. His wings blocked out the noises of the others, leaving just you and him. His head found solace in your neck. His scent overwhelmed your senses in a good way. Before you had time to question Azriel being touchy, Cassian yelled,

“Ok! Ok! We get it, Azriel. Let go of her before you suffocate her.”

Azriel lifted his head, and his wings dropped. His eyes stayed latched on yours. A few seconds passed before he tore his eyes away and scowled at Cassian. His teeth bared in silent warning. Cassian backed down and turned to have conversation with the others. Azriel released you from his grip.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t starve. And I left some flowers on your nightstand. I hope you don’t mind.” He whispered to you, fiddling with his hands like a nervous school boy. Your eyes lit up and you smiled gently.

“Thank you Azriel. Goodbye.” You whispered back in response. His smile turned upside down.

“I told you, call me Az. Or whatever you want- just not my full name. We’re closer than that.” He said in a growl like tone. He watched as you nodded your head.

It was time for him to leave now. He sighed deeply. The others had gone silent watching the scene with interest. But he didn’t seem to care.

He leaned down to your height, his hands grasping at your chin. He turned your head before leaving a gentle but firm kiss on the side of your cheek. “Sleep well tonight.” He whispered before pulling away. You stood in shock at the door to the balcony, as he said his last goodbyes. He waved in an almost shy way at you before taking flight.

You stood still, flabbergasted at what had happened. Slowly your hand rose to your cheek.

Realization dawned on you- he hadn’t ever fixed food for anyone else other than you.

a/n; hope you enjoyed, let me know if you want part two! 🌙

[joelsrose]

mornin

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ smut warnin

The first thing you felt was warmth. It seeped into your skin, tugging you from the soft haze of slumber. The morning light filtered through the curtains, golden and dreamy, and for a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure if you were awake or still lost in some delicious dream. Your eyelashes fluttered, your vision slowly coming into focus, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips.

There it was again—that familiar pull deep in your belly, a slow burn blooming low and steady. You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing the empty space beside you where Joel’s warmth usually was.

But then you felt it. Him.

He wasn’t beside you because he was there—nestled between your thighs, his broad hands gripping you firmly, possessively, as your legs tried in vain to press together. Joel’s touch was unyielding, keeping you wide open for him.

The moment you propped yourself up on your elbows, the sight nearly stole the breath from your lungs. Joel lifted his head, lips glistening and curved in a lazy, wicked smirk that made your heart stutter. His dark curls were tousled, messy from sleep, and the soft morning glow kissed his skin in a way that made him look like something carved from your most private fantasies.

“Good morning, my sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers cascading down your spine. He pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his beard scraping against you just enough to leave you trembling.

Your hand found his curls, threading through them with a trembling touch. He hummed in response, leaning into your caress for a brief moment, his eyes heavy-lidded with adoration as he looked up at you.

“You’re too beautiful for your own good,” he said, his tone dripping with affection and something darker. He kissed higher this time, his lips trailing a deliberate, teasing path that left your breath hitching. “Lay back, angel. Let daddy take care of his girl.”

The words, so low and intimate, left you speechless. Your heart thudded wildly in your chest, and with a shy nod, you let yourself sink back into the pillows.

Joel’s mouth returned to its home, his tongue hot and wicked against your skin. He moved with a slow, deliberate precision, savoring every reaction as though he had all the time in the world. You whimpered his name, the sound raw and breathless, and your fingers clutched the sheets in desperation.

“Oh, Joel,” you mewled, your voice trembling as heat built and pooled low in your belly.

He hummed in approval, the vibration sending shockwaves through you. His hands held you steady, his grip firm yet reverent as though you were something precious and fragile. “That’s my girl,” he rumbled, his voice thick with pride. “So sweet, so perfect. I could stay here forever, darlin’.”

And when his gaze flicked up to meet yours, dark and smoldering, it was all too much—the intensity in his eyes, the way he worshipped every inch of you. Your back arched, a broken cry spilling from your lips as you surrendered completely to the man who seemed utterly consumed by you.

Joel didn’t just touch you—he devoured you, like he couldn’t get enough, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

[jacquitries]

When Gods Fall | T.R.

In a world where Tom Riddle is a god, there’s one thing he can’t conquer—you. When you’re hurt, his obsession comes to light, and you discover that even gods can fall.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You were a moth to a wildfire. A consuming, unrelenting force that demanded worship. Tom Riddle spoke, and the world leaned in. The rich timbre of his voice wove through the air like a spell of its own, and you were no different from the rest. Enamored. Entranced. But unlike them, you were aware.

Liking a god was folly.

So you stood at his side, not in deference, but in presence. You were skilled, an exceptional witch, and that was why he kept you close. That was why you belonged to his carefully curated circle, where he collected power like a dragon hoards gold. He favored strength, intelligence, potential. And you—you never fawned, never preened under his attention, never sought it. That, perhaps, was what frustrated him most.

Your mind was sharp, your wit cutting. You could match him in conversation, challenge him in ways no one else dared. He did not simply tolerate your presence—he sought it. And yet, for all his influence, for all the people who clamored for his favor, he found himself waiting for yours.

And he noticed when you were absent.

"She doesn’t treat you the way the others do."

The words came from Abraxas Malfoy, lounging lazily in his chair, twirling his wand between his fingers. The Slytherin common room buzzed around them, low murmurs of students engaged in hushed conversation, but Tom's circle had their own space, their own rules. Tom did not respond immediately, merely tilting his head as he regarded your usual empty seat.

Avery smirked. "You could command her attention if you wanted. Just a word, and she’d be on her knees like the rest."

Tom’s jaw ticked. "No, she wouldn’t."

A knowing chuckle rippled through his group. Even among his most devoted followers, it was obvious. He had everything, commanded everyone, but you remained just out of reach. You did not seek his approval, did not hang on his every word like the others.

And tonight, you weren’t here.

His fingers tapped against the armrest. "Where is she?"

A brief silence. Then, Rosier shrugged. "Off practicing, probably. She wasn’t at the meeting."

Tom said nothing. But he was already standing.

The night air was crisp, the scent of parchment still lingering on your robes as you left the library. A Gryffindor victory meant drunken revelry, songs slurred through corridors, bodies stumbling in celebration. You paid it little mind, until they found you.

Six of them. Their breath reeked of firewhiskey, their eyes glinted with something far more dangerous than intoxication.

"Look what we have here," one of them sneered, stepping too close. "A little Slytherin all alone."

You lifted your wand before he could blink. "Step away."

They laughed.

Then they lunged.

Your magic was fire, raw and untamed, searing through the night. A hex sent one crashing into the stone wall, another clutching his bleeding nose, a third convulsing from a well-placed curse. But there were too many. Hands clawed at you, nails raking, fists striking. You barely registered the pain through the adrenaline, the desperation to get free.

And then you did. You ran, battered and bruised, their slurred shouts chasing after you.

The common room was dim, the emerald glow of the lamps casting long shadows. And there he was.

Tom Riddle, seated by the fire, elegance carved into his every movement, looked up.

His expression stilled. His gaze sharpened, flicking over your torn robes, the smudges of blood, the trembling of your fingers. And then—

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched. Rage curled through him like a brewing storm, restrained only by sheer force of will. His voice, when it came, was a whisper laced with steel.

"Tell me who hurt you."

You exhaled, unsteady, weary. "Please. Let me deal with it in the morning. The night has already taken too much from me."

Something flickered in his gaze. A pause. A realization. He took in your small frame, the exhaustion etched into your very being, and the fury simmering beneath his skin cooled.

He relented.

Wordlessly, he stood, reaching for your wrist. He led you through the corridors, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. He brought you to the prefects' bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He knelt before you.

You watched, breath caught in your throat, as he carefully examined your injuries, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. A whispered spell cleaned the blood, a salve smoothed over the bruises. His fingers lingered, tracing the tender marks left by their hands.

It was surreal. This god among men tending to you with the reverence of something fragile.

You swallowed. "I didn't know you had this side to you. That you cared like this."

His lips curled, not in amusement, but something else. "Just for you."

A confession, raw and unguarded. Your breath hitched.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, softer, hesitant, he asked, "May I stay with you tonight? To ensure nothing else happens?"

Your pulse thrummed. You nodded.

You expected tension, discomfort, but the warmth of him beside you melted away the remnants of terror. In the quiet of the night, you whispered what had happened, your voice steady, but the weight of it unmistakable. He listened, unmoving, his hands curled into fists.

A tempest lay beneath his skin, but he remained still—for you.

Sleep claimed you.

And when you woke, he was gone.

The day stretched, a hollow ache settling in your chest. He was nowhere. You carried on, pretending the absence didn’t gnaw at you. You contemplated telling the professors, seeking justice, but the thought of doing it without him at your side felt unbearable.

The great hall was abuzz with chatter when he finally appeared, striding in as if nothing had changed. He approached, took the seat beside you, his voice smooth and unbothered. "How are you?"

You frowned. "Like a song cut short, if I’m honest. You disappeared."

A flicker of something crossed his face—an apology, rare and unexpected. "I had things to do."

Before you could ask, the headmaster rose, clearing his throat. The hall quieted.

"It is with great sorrow that I inform you of a tragedy. Earlier today, six Gryffindor students were found in the Forbidden Forest. Mauled."

Gasps. Cries. The weight of the announcement settled like a leaden fog.

You turned to him. And you knew.

He sat unmoving, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned with satisfaction. There was no remorse. No regret. Only a dark, quiet promise.

Your fingers found his beneath the table. You squeezed. He glanced at you, unreadable.

After dinner, you took his hand fully, leading him away, away from prying eyes and whispered speculations.

"I am yours."

His grip tightened, his breath ragged and uneven, as though holding onto his control by a thread. His voice broke free, raw and desperate, more a plea than an order. "Are you willing to bet your life on it? To say it again, knowing that once you do, you’ll never be able to leave my side?"

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear, your breath a soft whisper against his skin. "I will say it a thousand times more. I am yours."

That was all it took.

With a feral growl that reverberated deep in his chest, Tom’s restraint shattered. His lips crashed into yours with a hunger so fierce, so consuming, it felt as though he were trying to take more than just your mouth. His hands were frantic, tangled in your hair, dragging you closer, as if he could meld you into him, erase any distance between you.

You could taste the desperation in him, the raw need that clawed at him beneath the mask of his control. It was a kiss that bordered on violent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his body pressing against yours like he wanted to consume you whole, devour you completely.

For a moment, the world faded away. There was nothing but him. his frantic touch, his heated breath, the way his hands gripped you like he would never let go.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. His voice was strained, guttural, barely a whisper. "I will keep you—body, soul, everything you are. No one will touch you. No one will have you but me. Forever."

And in that moment, something deep and ancient stirred within him, and you realized—even gods can fall.

[letmesniffurdaddysfeet]

Forbidden Desires - my boss - Part 2

My heart seized. His face was unreadable as he turned the balled-up socks in his palm, thumb tracing the tell-tale slickness. I could almost hear the gears turning in his mind, calculating, assessing, deciding how to proceed.

"Care to explain this?" His voice was even, but held a new, unfamiliar note—something dark and electric...

My mouth opened, but no words came. My vision tunneled, the edges of the hotel room blurring as I stared at the evidence in his grip. I tried to stammer out an apology, some excuse, but the words caught, shriveled, and died in my throat.

He tossed the socks back onto the bed, still staring straight into me. "I've worked with a lot of people, but I've never had anyone pull a stunt like this," he said, stepping closer. His presence filled the room, his bulk and heat looming until I couldn't ignore the way my own body responded, shame curling in my veins.

“Lock the door,” he said. His voice was low, uninflected, but it vibrated through the air like the thrum of an engine waiting for a signal.

My hand shook as I slid the deadbolt home. For a moment, all I could do was stand with my back to the door, staring at the pattern of the carpet as if it might open up and swallow me.

He didn’t move. He just watched. The muscles in his jaw flexed, the silver in his beard catching the light. When I finally turned around, I could see what I’d missed before: the tented front of his suit pants, the unmistakable outline of arousal. There was no mistaking it—he wanted this, or at least wanted to see how far I’d go.

“Well?” he said, voice dropping even lower. “You going to stand there all day, or are you going to come over here and finish what you started?”

A fiery flush consumed my cheeks, and my legs trembled beneath me, yet I forced myself across the room, my gaze locked fiercely with his. With a commanding nod towards the floor, he barked, "You really like socks, don't you? Let's test that. Get down on the floor this instant."

I dropped, knees thudding against the utilitarian hotel carpet, pulse roaring in my ears. My boss towered above, and from this vantage his presence became a horizonless sky, heavy and suffocating, yet captivating. He cocked one foot up, slipped it from his loafer, and planted the broad, tan, sweat-shiny heel directly against my cheek. The force of it tipped my head so the threadbare carpet mashed against my lips, which parted involuntarily to inhale the deep funk of his skin.

Above me, he chuckled—a sound not unkind, but so deep it vibrated my ribs. "That's what I thought," he said, and levered his foot back, nudging my chin upward, demanding eye contact. I met his gaze through the haze of desire and humiliation; his pupils were blown dark and wide, and the bulge in his tailored pants looked ready to split the zipper.

He pressed again, not gently, this time smearing his thick heel down my jawline to rest atop my mouth, sealing it. The arch of his foot flexed above me, veins and sinew shifting as he bore down. Every atom of me thrummed with the need to yield further, to be pressed flatter, to be broken to his rhythm.

He leaned forward, the press of his weight sinking me into the floor, and let his toes splay over my lips. The sweat reek was impossible to ignore: not the sour gym-rot of panic, but a thick, animal brine, like sun-warmed leather and the ghost of cigarettes, with a coppery tang that rose off his skin in waves. My tongue flicked out, instinctual, desperate for his taste or some wordless approval. He grunted, not bothering to disguise the shiver that rippled through him.

"Jesus," he said, voice hoarse, "you like that, don't you?"

I nodded as best I could, face pinned, his toes grinding my lips open. The taste was a shock: bitter, salty, tinged with the oily tang of the sweat, but something in me twisted around it, a raw, animal hunger that made me want to gulp down every drop of his scent and grime. My cock throbbed so hard it hurt, and a whimper escaped me, muffled by his sole.

He rolled his foot, pressing the ball against my mouth until my nose flattened into his sole. My hands went to his ankle, gripping him, desperate for leverage to push deeper, harder, to bury myself in the dense funk of his skin. He let me, even flexed his toes so I could get at them, and I licked frantically at the crevices, dragging my tongue from the webbing to the callused pads, almost sobbing with the need to be closer, closer.

"Open up," he said, and his big toe forced its way between my lips, invading the warmth of my mouth with impatient authority. The texture shocked me: callused, thick with months of unfiled skin, yet I found myself slavering over it, chasing every hint of his sweat. I heard myself moan, a small pathetic sound, but he only seemed to relish it, grinding his heel into my jaw and twisting his foot so his toes stretched deep, nearly choking me.

Another toe joined the first, then another, until I was gagging on the width of him. The taste of flesh, sweat and musk filled my mouth, and the sheer brutality of it made my head spin. Each new inch scraped my tongue raw, and I couldn’t get enough. I wanted to crawl inside his skin, to merge with everything that made him so confidently, casually powerful.

He shifted his weight, letting his toes rest on my tongue, then pulled them free with a wet pop. His foot hovered above my face, slicked with saliva and shining in the yellow lamplight. I stared, breathless, as he flexed his foot and smiled—really smiled, the edge of a dimple digging through his beard—and for a moment I felt like a dog who’d just learned a new trick and craved the reward. He must have seen it in my eyes, because his own gaze softened for a second before hardening again.

“Take off the other one for me,” he said, voice flat, as if he were assigning a spreadsheet. He propped his foot on the bedspread, the second loafer dangling from his toes, and watched as I fumbled at the heel, lips trembling, tongue already desperate for the taste of him. I pulled the shoe free, and the stench hit me like a wave—richer, almost cheese-like. I pressed my face to the arch, inhaling greedily, and for the first time noticed the thick black hair that bristled across every inch of his sole. He watched the realization dawn in my eyes, and a slow, evil smile creased his face.

"Didn't think I'd be that furry, did you?" he murmured, flexing his toes so that the wiry hair quivered beneath my tongue. "Go on, see what a real man's foot tastes like."

I did as I was told. The hair tickled the roof of my mouth, tangling between my teeth, the taste saltier, more intimate, than anything I'd ever known. Every swipe of my tongue picked up a new note—damp cotton, acrid funk, the lingering trace of some dry cologne that clung to him like memory. But most of all, the tast of manliness. The hair on his instep was matted with sweat from the day, and I mouthed it, suckling at the skin until he exhaled a sharp breath, a low involuntary groan. The muscles in his calf tensed, bracing for the next assault.

He braced his heel on the mattress, raking his hairy shin against my cheek. "You really are a nasty little pig, aren't you?" His words should have humiliated, but instead they ignited something reckless and consuming. I pressed harder, digging my tongue along the deep-set creases, nose buried in the thicket of his foot hair, until the only thing I could taste or smell was him. My hands floated up to the cuff of his slacks, pawing at it, desperate to feel the bristling hair beneath. He let me, rolling his shoulders back, arms folded across his chest in silent appraisal as I debased myself in the arch of his foot. Fingers trembling, I clung to the meat of his calf, tracing the coarse fur upward until I reached the hem of his pant leg.

His eyes flicked downward, following my need. "You really want it, don't you?" he said, something softer threading through his tone. "You want to see what kind of man I am under all this."

I nodded, throat tight. I wanted it so badly it hurt. I wanted the rest of him—the dense thatch of body hair beneath his shirt, the musk that clung to his pits and groin, the cock I’d only glimpsed bulging in the fabric, never revealed. My lips worked up the length of his shin, tongue flicking at the salty skin

until my mouth reached the cuff of his pants. I hesitated, but he seized my chin and tilted my face up to his. His eyes locked on mine, a flicker of amusement melting into challenge. With one motion, he undid his belt, the metallic click reverberating through my body. He popped the button of his slacks and shucked them down, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact.

What spilled into view was pure, unfiltered boss—thick thighs dusted with steel-wool hair, and above them, a bulge that tested the taut limits of his white cotton boxer briefs. The fabric, already grayed at the seams from sweat and wear, was stamped with the faint shadow of his cock, thick and meaty and snaking down one thigh. The air changed, heavier, charged with funk and pheromone. I felt my knees dig into the carpet as he stepped out of his pants and planted himself before me, legs braced wide,looming and omnipotent, the pivot point of my universe. His cock twitched against the cotton, already leaking a dark circle of precum, the head oversized and swollen beneath the fabric. Sweat stains radiated from the base, and I could smell him from where I knelt—musky, animal, barely contained.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and yanked the boxers down. They bunched at his knees, then slid to the floor, and I was met with the full, obscene spectacle: his cock, thick as my wrist, curving up from a tangle of grizzled hair. The shaft was ruddy and veined, the head flushed and slick. His balls hung loose, heavy and veined, dappled with coarse hair. The scent hit me in the gut, a mixture of sweat, dried piss, and that same pungent, chemical masculinity that seemed to emanate from his every pore.

I didn't wait for instruction. I leaned in, mouth open, tongue straining for first contact. The taste of him—raw, brackish, utterly indecent—exploded on my palate, and I latched on with a hunger that bordered on worship. His cock was so thick I could barely take more than the head without gagging, but I fought through it, lips crammed tight around the corona, tongue swirling, desperate to give him every atom of pleasure I could muster.

He hissed out a breath, the force of it rattling through his chest, and buried his hand in my hair. For a moment he let me set the pace, let me suckle and lap and savor the salt-slick skin; then his grip tightened and he shoved forward, ramming his cock until it battered the back of my throat. My gag reflex kicked and my eyes watered, but I kept my lips locked, refused to be driven off him, even as my lungs screamed for air. He groaned again, and the sound was so deep and guttural. His hips rolled in slow, inexorable increments, feeding me inch after impossible inch, until I was choking on the taste of him, airless, eyes streaming. He fucked my face with a steady, relentless rhythm, like he was proving a point or breaking in a new piece of office furniture, and the pressure of his hand at the back of my head told me escape was not an option.

He held me there, buried to the root, until I thought I would pass out; then he yanked me back, strings of spit and precum lashing my lips, before hammering home again. The world collapsed to the mechanical clench and release of his cock in my throat, the scrape of wiry pubes against my nose, the searing humiliation and exaltation of being used. I wanted to sob, to beg, but the only sound I could make was a frantic, breathless gurgle, a desperate attempt to draw breath around the thick, pulsing shaft jamming my windpipe. My boss just laughed—a low, incredulous rumble—then pulled out and slapped his cock wetly across my cheek, smearing it with saliva and precum.

"Not bad," he said, voice softening just a fraction. "You want more?"

I nodded, dizzy and trembling, tongue lolling out, begging without words. He obliged, sliding his cockhead across my lips, letting me taste the sticky residue before plunging back in. This time, he held my head with both hands, guiding me, facefucking in short, savage thrusts that left my nose mashed against his belly and my mouth stretched to its limit. He grunted with each stroke, sweat beading on his brow, chest heaving under his shirt.

The taste, the smell, the relentless invasion—each second stripped away a layer of my self-control. I wanted to please him, to impress him, to make him proud. I bobbed my head in time with his thrusts, drool spilling down my chin, the slap of his balls against my throat only spurring me on. His hands never left my head, alternately petting and dominating, like I was some prize beast performing as expected.

The rhythm built, relentless, inexorable, a piston-pulse that erased thought and time. My own cock throbbed untouched, leaking against the roughness of the hotel carpet. Suddenly, his grip became punishing, his fingers digging into my scalp as his hips jerked forward in short, brutal snaps. He held me flush to his groin, his cock crammed so deep in my throat I felt the pulse of his heartbeat through the shaft. The world went white at the edges.

He threw his head back and growled, "Fuck, gonna—" and then he was coming, thick ropes of it blasting directly into my esophagus.

The first pulse hit so hard it rocked my head, his cock swelling to impossible girth as the hot, viscous load flooded my throat. He didn't let up; if anything, he jammed my nose deeper into his groin, sealing me there until I had no choice but to gulp down every gout of cum he pumped into me. My eyes streamed. My chest ached with the effort to breathe. But I swallowed, over and over, feeling each obscene spurt coat my insides.

When he finally released me, I collapsed backward, coughing and gasping, cum and spit leaking from my numb lips. He stood over me, breathing hard, his cock softening but still glistening with a final smear of white. He made no move to cover himself. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. The only sound was my ragged breathing and the faint hum of the air conditioner.

He looked down at me, a new respect—or was it ownership? …

[farfromstrange]

Fictober Day 17: Face-sitting

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Face-sitting (✨)

Summary: Face-sitting. That's it.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral f!receiving, face-sitting, face-riding, dirty talk

Word Count: 846

A/n: I know I did a fic like this for another prompt, but I do kind of love this prompt.

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

His fingers dig into your hips, nails leaving crescent moon indentations in your tender flesh as you move your cunt against his tongue. 

“Sit,” he’d said and spread your legs over his head. “Ride my face until you come. Please, use me.” 

He needed to lose control. He’d had such a rough week at work and needed to just let go. When he said use me, he meant it. He meant for you to take what you need until he can’t breathe, and then some more. He needed you. 

You have a tight grip on his hair, more than eager to comply with his request. Ride my face until you come. On his tongue is your favorite place to be, after all. 

You chase the heat in your belly with abandon, wanting moans tumbling from your parted lips like an orchestra of pure and unbridled pleasure. His tongue has nowhere to go but through your folds, right where you want him to be, around your clit and inside of you. 

Your walls engulf him as he tastes you from the inside out. Goosebumps erupt on your skin; he traces his fingers over them, gently, reverently, and he hums in approval at the way your walls clench around him.

He holds you, he explores you, and you are so fucking close you might lose your battle with self-control any moment now. Matt can barely breathe with how tightly you’re holding his face against your perfect pussy, but he would gladly suffocate in this position. There is no place he would rather die than drowning in your cum, where the only sound audible to his sensitive ears is the rushing of your blood through the veins in your thighs.

Your scent in his nose, your taste on his tongue—you’re all over him. He may be drinking from you like you are the elixir of life, but you are the one consuming him. You are the one who makes the noise of the world disappear. And when you finally become the death of him, lost in pleasure like this, his headstone will read that he died doing what he loved: eating out the woman he loved as though she were his last meal.

“Touch me,” you plead. 

Matt slides his hand from your hip to your breast. Your nipples are already hard and aching for him to touch, and he greedily starts to play with those sensitive bundles of nerves he likes to wrap his lips around. Your body is his playground, his to love, and his to command. You are completely at his mercy even when he is not in control because you crave him like a dangerous drug. 

You need to inject him into your bloodstream.

“That’s it,” your moan echoes across the room. “That’s it, don’t stop.”

Your hips start to move faster, more desperately against his tongue. He flattens it against your folds, circling your clit whenever he gets the chance. Air has started to become a luxury, his face slick with the wetness pooling out of you, but he would be damned if he tapped out now. 

Time has stopped; only God knows how long he has been waiting for this—craving this.

Before long, the tight coil in your belly snaps, filling you with a warmth that goes straight to your head, and then you’re coming. You lose control of your limbs, falling forward into the mattress as you cry out his name into the void. 

Your pussy keeps dragging along his tongue to chase those electric shocks of pleasure, the feeling that curls around your core like a noose. You are so addicted to that feeling that you drive yourself into overstimulation, his beard burning marks into your thighs. You know you will be sore for days, but oh, it was fucking worth it.

Below you, Matt is groaning and moaning, drinking up every last drop of you until you have nothing left to give. His balls tighten, his cock twitches; Matt buries his teeth in the soft flesh of the inside of your thigh, muffling himself as he spills into his black boxers. You exploded like a bomb in his mouth. He couldn’t hold it back anymore, he had to come. 

It’s pathetic, he thinks, coming untouched like a teenager who never had sex before, but he had to come for you.

He had to come with you.

Matt is incredibly sensitive to what you’re feeling as though he lives inside you, and so for just a little while, he turns into a horny teenager who comes in his underwear. 

You roll off, falling to the mattress beside him. “Holy fuck,” you choke out. 

The words refuse to form. He takes a deep breath. When he exhales again after a few seconds of floating in a boneless bubble, all the tension falls from his shoulders. For the first time in days, Matt is at peace.

“You okay?” your voice reaches through to him. 

He nods, lips curling into a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay.”

And it is all because of you. 

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 8th

Day 8: Flogging // Swallowing // Cock Warming

Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Need, aggressive kissing, undressing, vaginal penetration, cock warming, comfort, angst, solace

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It’s not often that Javi doesn’t want to fuck away his frustrations or worries. To lose himself in the pure physicality of hammering into your body and pulling a satisfying orgasm from you before he cums. 

Sweaty and breathless, riding a high of endorphins and coming down from it while lazily blowing smoke up to the ceiling while smoking that post coitus cigarette. Pretending that none of the troubles from work can get to him here. 

This is saved for those days when he feels like he’s losing his soul. When he feels like his heart is about to crack open and bleed out. When he craves the closeness but he needs to just surround himself with you. 

You can always tell when he needs you. Javi comes through the door with either passion or need in his body as he finds you. Most of the time it’s a combination of both. Desperation in his kiss and his hands are almost shaking as he starts to pull your t-shirt out of your jeans. 

It’s late. He had called and said he didn’t know when he would be home, so you hadn’t really been expecting him. Not until he hit the door and you could barely see the horrors in his eyes before he swallowed you in a needy kiss. 

Javi talks with his body, it can sometimes be subtle, but often he is very straightforward with his needs. Now, he is dragging his jacket off, almost shuddering as he unclips the badge on his hip and tosses it down on the coffee table. The gun comes next, thumped down a little more delicately but then his hands are back on you again. Stripping your shirt off and swooping in for another kiss. 

He’s in too much of a hurry to even drag you into the bedroom, the sofa is as far as he can make it. Cursing as he peels your jeans down and dragging your panties down with them. His impatience makes you giggle slightly but you bite your lip, feeling the tension in his arms as you move to unbutton his shirt. 

It doesn’t take you long to get both of you stripped down and Javi is dragging you onto his lap, his fingers stroking your clit and you can hear the groan of approval when he finds you soaking wet. 

He’s adjusting your hips, pressing against your entrance and pulling you down on his length. Using his leverage to break you open on the thick, hot steel of his cock. Every quarter of an inch pulling a soft groan from you, kisses pressed to his lips. 

You let him move you like he needs, your arms wrapping around his shoulder and running up the back of his neck. That light touch is enough to make him shudder and close his eyes, leaning in and resting his head against your throat. 

This is when you know that it’s been an unusually hard day for Javi. That there’s been something that he’s seen or dealt with that is hard for him to process. He’s not taking it out on your body, railing into you until your entire body is aching and craving more. 

Instead, he’s just holding you close, breathing you in while your cunt is wrapped around his cock. Just holding him and pulsing when he twitches slightly. 

You don’t talk, you know that the words won’t help. Javier feels things deeply, holds them and buries them until they threaten to overwhelm him. Often to his own detriment when his judgment is clouded. So you don’t offer platitudes that will be brushed aside. 

The comfort of your body is what he needs. The slow, soft breathing as the two of you sit together. He feels like he is relaxed when he is buried to the hilt inside your body, cock protected by the walls of your sex and contact of skin to skin touch is soothing. 

Running your fingers through his hair, you let him hold you just as close as he needs to. There are times his arms tighten, feeling like he’s going to crush you. As if he is afraid that you will slip away if he lets you go. 

Javi sighs, unable or unwilling to do more than just sit right now. Closing his eyes and blocking out everything but the way he can feel your heart beating, the slow and steady pulse of it around his cock. Your body squeezing him tight ever so often, and the way you hold your hips, trying not to move. 

This is his solace, his peace. Everything that he has had happen to him is slowly starting to edge out of his mind. It won’t be forgotten, but it’s not a beat that is screaming in his head. It’s muted, as if had happened to someone else. His hands can’t shake when they are gripping your skin. Using you as an anchor so he doesn’t lose his mind. 

Despite there being no movement, Javi doesn’t get soft. He’s still hard and throbbing inside you. The subtle clenches of your cunt nearly have him panting and you aren’t doing anything more than just holding him. 

He feels like he can finally catch his breath, every inhale of air filled with you. Your sweet scent surrounding him and making him forget about the blood, the death. You replace that. The warmth of your body, the heat of your core wrapped around him pushes away the clammy cold hand of death. 

Minutes go by, but time is suspended right now. You don’t push him, kissing along his shoulder and your fingers move from his hair until you are caressing his back. You can feel the stress, the way his muscles are bunched up - slowly starting to unknot. 

Relaxing into your body and sighing again. His eyes are still closed, thankful that you aren’t demanding that he move. You never push him when he needs you like this. You let him bleed himself into you. You do more for him than you could ever imagine, simply by just sitting on his cock. 

[noirscript]

Runes of Escape (first look)

Pairing: Yandere!OC x Darling!OC Description: Alicia swore to protect a missing queen, but now she’s hunted, caught in a kingdom’s tangled lies. With danger closing in, she must choose—fight for freedom or surrender to fate. Warning/s: None. Note: This is written from Darling!OC's POV. It's very different from my reader-insert stories and perhaps has made the world where Callixto's story happened more expanded? Commissioned for @violetvase! Sorry if it took so long.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The forest had always been unnervingly quiet, but ever since the pregnant woman left, the silence had turned heavy—pressing on me like a lingering shadow. It felt strange being here alone, with only the faint traces of her presence in the shack to remind me of the kindness she’d shown. Weeks had passed, yet her image remained etched in my mind—the way she hurriedly packed her things, her wary glances, and the determination in her voice when she left to seek safety.

But even with her departure, peace seemed elusive. The forest carried an unnatural stillness, as though something—or someone—was coming. I had stayed in this place for too long, hesitating to move on, yet unable to shake the gnawing questions. Where was she now? Was she safe? And what could I do to repay the favor she had offered me so selflessly?

It wasn’t until the brothers appeared that I realized my borrowed sanctuary was no longer mine.

They emerged from the treeline, their presence commanding and suffocating. The tension in their stances and the darkness in their expressions set my nerves on edge. One carried a blood-stained sword, his grip tight and unwavering. Another held a lifeless horned-rabbit by its ears, its head swinging as he stepped closer. The third, though unarmed, was no less imposing—his cold, calculating stare enough to root me to the spot.

“You,” the swordsman snarled, pointing the tip of his blade toward me. “Where is she?”

My heart hammered, panic tightening in my chest. Lying would be useless—they already suspected the truth. “She left,” I said finally, forcing the words out despite the tremble in my voice. “A week ago. I… don’t know where she went.”

The unarmed man tilted his head, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “And why should we believe you?” His calm tone carried more weight than the others’ aggression.

My mind raced, but there was no convincing them with words alone. Taking a shaky breath, I summoned the faint glow of my mana—a promise of truth tied to my very being. “I swear on my magic,” I said firmly, my voice steadier now. “If I lie, let it consume me.”

For a moment, none of them spoke. The mana dimmed, sinking into the earth and leaving behind a heavy silence. Finally, the man holding the rabbit stepped forward. “Mana doesn’t lie,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying a grudging respect.

The swordsman lowered his weapon, though his expression remained hard. The unarmed one nodded slightly, granting me reluctant approval. “You can stay,” he said. “But there’s a condition.”

I straightened, wary of his words. “What condition?” I asked, my voice steady despite the tension coiling within me.

“If you meet her again,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “promise us this: you will protect her. No matter the cost.”

The weight of his words settled on me, but I didn’t hesitate. “I promise,” I said, my voice unwavering. Protecting her was the least I could do for the refuge she had provided.

The brothers left soon after, vanishing into the forest as quickly as they had appeared. Their footsteps faded, but their warnings clung to me like an unwelcome burden.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

Driven by guilt and curiosity, I couldn’t stay idle. I set out for Azkarion, desperate for answers about the pregnant woman and her fate. The rumors I uncovered in the local taverns chilled me to the bone. A Queen-in-Waiting, once a commoner, had vanished from the royal chambers without a trace. The whispers ranged from foul play to desperate escape, each tale more unsettling than the last.

But it wasn’t long before I realized my own presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. The king’s knights were searching for me now, my face plastered on posters across town. Aurelian had offered an exorbitant reward for my capture, and the eyes of everyone I passed felt heavy with scrutiny. I fled back to the forest, my mana sputtering from overuse, and returned to the shack, the only place that still felt somewhat safe.

That’s when I made my decision. She wasn’t just a stranger anymore; she was someone whose safety I had tied to my own. I couldn’t let my guilt consume me—I had to find her.

Weeks of searching brought me to the village. Its quaint streets and friendly faces seemed untouched by the chaos beyond its borders. I rented a room at the local inn, hoping for some small reprieve. But as night fell, the unease I had carried with me since fleeing the capital returned in full force.

The tavern below grew quiet—too quiet. I stepped to the window, peering down at the street, and froze as I saw them. Aurelian’s guards entered the building, their movements calculated and predatory. My pulse quickened as I grabbed my bag, fumbling with its latch, but it was too late. He was here.

I descended the stairs, keeping my hood low, and stepped into the suffocating tension of the room. Aurelian’s presence was overwhelming, commanding the attention of everyone around him. But it was the pregnant woman who caught his eye, and my heart sank as I saw her stiffen beneath his gaze.

He spoke with cruel amusement, his words digging into the silence like daggers. “I never thought I’d find her here.” His gaze drifted lower, settling on her belly, and his smile widened. “And a bonus.”

The woman bolted to her feet, but his guards moved swiftly, blocking her escape. Trapped and terrified, she clutched at her lap as if searching for something to hold onto. My own fear mirrored hers, but I stayed hidden, frozen in place. If he saw me, if he recognized me, it wouldn’t just be her life on the line. It would be mine.

And as the weight of his gaze fell on her, I realized the awful truth—I couldn’t protect her. Not now. Not yet.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

Guilt was a strange, gnawing thing. It clung to my every thought, whispering truths I didn’t want to hear. I had brought this upon myself. Every choice I had made, every moment of hesitation, had led me back to this gilded cage. Accepting Aurelian’s so-called affections felt like penance—a way to atone for my failure, my guilt, my inability to protect those I should have. Yet, every time his hand brushed mine, every time his gaze lingered too long, I felt the chains tighten around me.

The palace was suffocating. Opulence lined every surface, yet it all felt hollow, mocking. I avoided everyone except for the one person who seemed untouched by the games and deceptions of court: the Head Chef. He was a man of few words, his gruff demeanor a shield against the pretenses around him. I didn’t trust easily, but I trusted him enough to make a request—one that sat heavy on my heart.

“If she ever comes here,” I said, my voice low as I stood in the shadowed corner of the bustling royal kitchen, “if she ever steps through those doors… please, keep her safe.”

He frowned, wiping his hands on a flour-streaked apron. “And who is ‘she’?”

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. “A woman,” I said finally. “Pregnant. She… helped me once. If you see her, just… make sure she’s okay.”

The Chef studied me for a long moment, his eyes sharp beneath bushy brows. He didn’t ask for details. Maybe he saw the desperation in my expression, the silent plea I couldn’t voice. Finally, he nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nearly enough. But it was all I could do.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

On the day Callixto and his envoy arrived at Morvaine’s palace, the air in the palace shifted. The tension was palpable, a charged undercurrent that hummed through the halls. I stood on the edges of the grand chamber as they entered, my gaze immediately finding her.

The pregnant woman.

I recognized her instantly, though she looked different now. Her movements were stiff, her body language guarded. She kept her head low, her hands fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. She was making herself smaller, trying to disappear in plain sight. But I saw through it. The subtle shifts, the quick glances—she was calculating, assessing her surroundings with the precision of someone who had lived through too much.

Callixto’s men didn’t bother hiding their disdain. It radiated off them in the sharpness of their glares, in the tightness of their fists. And yet, she endured it all with a quiet strength, her focus unbroken.

Aurelian and Callixto exchanged their usual barbs, words laced with venom and posturing. I ignored them. Their war of tongues meant nothing to me, not when she was standing there, fighting a silent battle of her own. I watched her, searching for any sign of what she was thinking. What was her plan? Did she even have one? And how could I help without drawing Aurelian’s attention?

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

On the day the envoy departed, she sought me out. I was in the eastern corridor, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the marble floors, when she approached me. Her steps were quick, purposeful, yet her expression was unreadable.

Before I could speak, she pressed something into my hand—a folded piece of parchment, worn and frayed at the edges. Her fingers lingered for a moment, her gaze meeting mine. “Keep this safe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And if you find courage… remember me.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she was already walking away, her figure disappearing down the corridor.

Back in my chambers, I unfolded the letter with trembling hands. The words were written in a hurried script, each line heavy with meaning. They burned into my mind, a mixture of warning and hope. She had left me with a choice, a sliver of bravery to cling to in the face of the suffocating fear that surrounded us both.

I knew I couldn’t let Aurelian see it. Before I could second-guess myself, I summoned my magic. The flames consumed the parchment, turning it to ash in seconds. The words remained, etched into my memory.

One day, I told myself as I watched the ashes scatter. One day, I would escape this place. One day, I would find freedom—not just for myself, but for her as well.

Some day.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger

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[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Can you do a touya/Dabi fic with shotos twin sister and just had one quirk which was fire so she was tossed aside so she resented her dad and somehow she met dabi/touya and he made her his little spy but she also desperately clings to him at times when she reports to him and stays close since she never got that affection (Btw for outfits she usually wears tank tops and bootcut jeans) please and thank you

Warnings: sorry this took forever for me to get out, been meaning to get to it cuz i miss writing for dabi x todoroki!reader, tons of trigger warnings, sibling incest, siblingxsibling relationships, betrayal, manipulation, resentment, overall dark themes, dysfunctional todoroki family ft, mind the tags, don't read if you don't like the subject matter 🖤

Inhaling deeply before letting out a slow, steady, breath, you pull open the large front door of Endeavor's agency. You could survive a few hours in the presence of your father. Or rather, lingering in the background like the little ghost you were.

No one would dare to say it out loud, but everyone and their mother knew you were the spare twin compared to your slightly older brother Shoto. He was the pride and joy of the Todoroki family, unlike you. At first you believed it to be unfair. You were in the womb at the same time as him. Why didn't you get a ice and fire quirk?

Was it really because he was the first born? That couldn't be it.

Your white flames, while hotter than even your father's, did little to impress him.

You didn't turn any heads when you enter your father's personal floor of his agency's building. This task was easy. Stealing information and sending it to your older brother and his crew became a normal thing for you.

"See, I told you we should have her around." Dabi argued in your defense while caressing the side of your face. "She's a good girl who listens to her big brother, aren't you?" Some would call his tone degrading. You felt the tenderness in his hand though as it delicately angled your face upward so he could look into your mismatched eyes. One the hue of a storm in the sky, the other the color of a raging sea. That’s what Dabi always said before you closed your eyes to go to bed.

Shigaraki and the rest of the League were less thrilled about you being anywhere near them. While you weren't popular like your father or Shoto, many still knew your face. Having you around could be more of a risk than the League were willing to pay.

You just wanted to make him happy, to keep his eyes solely on you. If it involved betraying the other members of your family (including your twin brother Shoto) then so be it. You would let Dabi’s words consume you entirely, making you his mindless slave.

The rest of the League members could chalk it up to Dabi simply using sweet words to manipulate you. He didn’t care about anything. Especially his family. What made you different?

Now that was a secret that Dabi would not utter. His praise filled words were genuine when it came to you and Dabi would be damned if he had to give you up again because of Tomura. He'd make sure you'd make yourself indispensable to the League. They'd have to let you stay.

You were just as determined as Dabi was to keep your place. You hated to even pretend to be under allegiance to your father or any superhero for that matter. They'd always looked down on you for not being like Shoto. Never being enough for them or their world. But you were enough for Dabi.

Slipping the flashdrive up your sleeve, you leave just as you had arrived: unseen. Just in case the cameras hidden throughout the building were focused on you, you'd nonchalantly picked up some of your father's paperwork in appearance of tidying up his workspace like the good daughter you were.

It made you sick to your stomach thinking that not too long ago, all you'd ever wanted was Endeavor's attention and approval. Shoto suppressed his fire ability for years, associating it with his abusive father so you thought you had a shot. You spent hours upon hours practicing with your flames to make them hotter and hotter and finally to where they could melt anything and everything. Leaving not even ash behind.

When you hand Shigaraki the flashdrive, he grudgingly accepts it with a stiff nod. He didn't want to admit that you were providing them incredibly valuable information that all other villain groups lacked.

He ignores Dabi's smug grin as he slung his arm around your shoulder, giving the top of your head a peck. "Knew you could do it." His brings his hand up for his fingers to brush against your cheek.

You felt it again.

The world stopping and all breath departing from your lungs. You wanted Dabi to brand you with his palm, to use his blue flames and scorch your skin so you would always have a piece of him.

Then Dabi leans down, lips caressing the shell of your ear and in his husky tone he calls you "Good girl."

Blushing and highly aware of how Dabi simply towered over you, you shyly duck your head. "Ha. . . it was nothing."

Everyone learned to simply avert their attention when Dabi's affections for you walked on the razor's edge of what was appropriate.

You'd proven to be their perfect spy. Shigaraki couldn't wait to see you in actual battle. That would really be the test of your usefulness.

[dragonridersandhighlords]

The Light in the Dark

The Aretian Chronicles

Summary: When Lyra’s desperate attempt for Xaden’s approval almost gets her hurt, Xaden had to show his daughter a dark part of his life to show her that he cares more than she knows.

Pairing: Xaden Riorson x OC!Briar Veyloren

Notes: 

Warnings: parental worry, fear of disappointment, past trauma, internalized guilt, Xaden simultaneously makes a great and terrible parenting choice

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist | TAC Masterlist

Xaden felt as though the very air had been stolen from his lungs, suffocating under the weight of Briar's piercing gaze. 

“She could have died!” he shouted, fists clenched on the table, the wood creaking under the force of his lean. Every word dripped with a blend of fear and fury that hung thick in the air between them.

“But she didn’t,” Briar replied, her voice a calm oasis in the storm of his emotions. She observed as Xaden’s anger roiled around him like a tempest, consuming everything in its path. 

He struggled to draw a breath, acutely aware of Briar’s eyes tracing the contours of his turmoil. The memory of their daughter, Lyra, launching herself from the edge of a cliff, played on repeat in his mind. “How can you be so calm?” he gasped, frustration leaking through every syllable. 

“Because she’s alive,” Briar said softly. “Despite how reckless that was, I know our daughter. She wasn’t trying to be foolish; she was trying to impress you.”

“I’m supposed to accept that she’d risk her life just to earn my approval?”

“No! You’re supposed to understand that she made a mistake, but she’s okay.” A sigh escaped her lips, heavy with the weight of years spent watching their daughter grapple with self-worth. “She sees you every day with the older kids—hard but fair. You respect them, and they respect you. That’s what she craves.”

Xaden’s heart twisted at the thought. “They’re preparing to leave for Valraithe.”

“She wants you to see her as one of your soldiers, someone worthy of respect,” Briar pressed. “She already believes she’s not good enough to be your daughter. In trying to be what she thinks you want, she’s losing herself.” Silence hung between them, thick and unresolved, until Briar’s voice broke through the stillness. “She wasn’t reckless; she was desperate for you to notice her.”

When Lyra failed to show up for dinner and her absence lingered like a shadow in their home, dread coiled in Xaden's stomach. As dusk turned to night and the chill seeped in, he tore himself away from the table, cloak gripped in hand, his heart pounding with the urgent need to find her before darkness swallowed her whole.

He just knew where she was—where he used to go when the world felt too heavy, a sanctuary against the storm of emotions raging within him. The hills outside Riorson House rose gently, their verdant slopes bathed in the fading light of dusk. There, under the gnarled branches of the ancient oak that had been a silent witness to their family's joys and sorrows, he found her.

Lyra was curled up tight, arms wrapped around her knees, her small frame trembling slightly against the cool evening air. Shadows danced across her face, the moonlight illuminating the tear tracks that glistened like tiny rivers against her flushed cheeks.

As he approached, Xaden noticed the way she kept her gaze fixed on the ground, the lush grass beneath her feet seemingly more interesting than the world around her. She didn't flinch when he draped his cloak over her—his heart constricted at the sight of her shivering.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely breaking through the silence that enveloped them. “I just—I thought if you saw I could do something like the older kids, you'd be proud instead of... so disappointed.” The weight of her words hung heavily in the air, each syllable laced with a desperation that twisted like a knife in his gut.

Kneeling beside her, he moved slowly, careful not to startle her like a wild creature cornered in the woods. “I’ve never been disappointed in you, Lyra,” he said softly, searching for her eyes, which remained downcast. “And I wasn’t earlier, but I was scared. I was furious because for one breathless second, I thought you might fall, and I wouldn’t be able to catch you.” 

She raised a trembling hand to wipe her face with the fabric of his cloak, her movements small and hesitant. “You never get scared,” she murmured, the innocence of her belief cutting deeper than he anticipated.

“I do. Quite often,” he replied, nudging her gently with his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. “Do you remember how your mom used to always ask me if I felt a pull when I got home from missions?” 

Lyra nodded, her big, expressive eyes finally finding his, brimming with curiosity and concern. 

“That’s because I once felt a pull, and let it drag me down,” he confessed, his tone somber yet firm, knowing he was treading into dangerous territory. 

Briar and Xaden had sworn to protect their children from the darker chapters of their past, the memories of his battle with being Venin remaining locked away, but he understood the importance of imparting the wisdom he had gained through hardship. 

“It was when the Dark Wielders planned an attack at Basgiath and they wanted Mama and Aunt Violet,” he began, the memories stirring like a tempest within him, ready to share the truth that might finally bridge the chasm between them.

Lyra's voice trembled with worry, a soft whisper barely breaking through the quiet of the twilight around them. “They didn’t hurt them, did they?” 

Xaden felt the weight of her words settle heavily on his chest, the memories of that harrowing night clawing their way back to the forefront of his mind. “No, because I felt the pull, and I followed it.” He sighed deeply, the sound escaping like a lost breath. The air around them grew thick with unspoken fears, and he could sense the flicker of anxiety in her wide, innocent eyes. “I was terrified of what that would mean—what it could unravel.” He paused, searching for the right words as the darkness of the night enveloped them, wrapping around their small haven beneath the oak like a shroud. “That I wouldn't be enough anymore for your mama, or for Sgaeyl.”

“But Mama loves you. So does Sgaeyl.” Her voice was steady, unwavering in its belief, and it pulled at his heartstrings.

“And Mama trusted me,” he continued, his voice heavy with the weight of regret. “Even when I couldn’t trust myself. Even when I almost hurt her.” The thought of that night—a tempest of chaos and darkness—lingered like a ghost in his mind, shadows of fear and remorse casting over his every thought.

Lyra shifted closer, her hope bubbling to the surface. “How’d you fight it?” she asked, her bright eyes mirroring his own, seeking solace and answers.

“I thought about Mama, and her love,” he said, feeling warmth spread in his chest at the memory of her unwavering strength. “But then Sgaeyl was in danger, and I fell.” He shivered involuntarily, the chill of recollection creeping through him like an unwelcome visitor, pulling him back to that fateful night south of Draithus.

“You turned into a Venin?” she asked, her voice laced with fear, causing him to see the shadow of dread flicker across her features. 

“I did.” The admission hung between them, a fragile thread, and he could see Lyra instinctively backing away, the fear etched in her expression making his heart ache. “I made your mom Duchess and I left her in charge of our home.” 

“But you’re not one now?” she asked tentatively, a hint of disbelief mingling with her uncertainty.

“No.” The finality of his response resonated in the cool air, but her next question pierced through the fragile peace they had begun to establish.

“But there’s no cure for Venin; that's what Aunt Violet and Uncle Aaric said.” 

Xaden chuckled softly, the sound a warm reprieve from the tension swirling around them. “The real reason that I don’t have any urges to channel anymore…” He caught her gaze, full of curiosity, as she scooted closer, eager to learn. “is because of you.”

“Me?”. 

Xaden smiled softly, his heart aching with a bittersweet warmth. “Mama said it best after she found me.” 

Your love for those close to you was enough to break the ice from under you. So let a new love be enough to make you swim. Swim for the life we created.

Lyra’s brow furrowed, her innocent curiosity still battling the shadows of fear that clung to her thoughts. “So Mama saved you?”

Her tone echoed the authoritative cadence of her mother, the same tone used in meetings when her mother was correcting someone’s misstep. It stirred something deep within Xaden—a reminder of Briar’s fierce love and unwavering strength, a love that had become a lifeline in his darkest moments. 

“Your mama found me and told me she was pregnant with you,” he began, his voice low and reverent, as if sharing a sacred truth. “And in that moment, I knew deep down that you deserved to have both parents growing up. So I resisted.” 

The shadows of that time loomed over him, a chilling reminder of the fear that had gripped his heart like a vise. “I was terrified every day after that. Terrified that I would slip up, that I’d hurt you.” 

He looked into her eyes, now shimmering with understanding and concern. “But then they placed you in my arms, and everything changed. I knew I would do anything to be there, to watch you grow up and to love you. You, my Little Star, are the light that guided me out of the darkness.” 

As he tugged her closer into his side, he felt the warmth of her small frame melt into him, a perfect fit. Her smile blossomed, illuminating the dusky shadows that clung to their small haven beneath the oak. “You’re brave, Lyra,” he said, the words spilling from his heart, each one a gentle caress. “And smart. And better than I was at your age.nBut I don’t expect you to be perfect. I don’t even want you to try. I just want you to be a kid for a little while longer, okay?” 

She nodded, her arms wrapping around him like vines seeking strength and stability. “I’m glad you’re not the bad guy anymore.”

His laughter erupted, a rich, genuine sound. He held her just a little tighter, savoring the moment, the joy of being present in her life. “Me too, Little Star. Me too.”

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo

Aretian Chronicles Taglist: @harryssyndrome @ladybirdbeetle7 @sorrybaeeeeee @lagrandeourse @littlepippilongstocking

[tazofthehollow]

started with trouble

summary: Joel doesn’t know what to expect, but it definitely isn’t you. Tess’ long time friend through the trade business. after agreeing to work with Joel & Tess, Joel quickly finds out you’re the only one who can get under his skin.

pt.1

warnings: mature 18+, TLOU content, slow burn, yearning, enemies to lovers, series

joel millerXf!reader

A/N: wow okay my first fic!! pls lmk your thoughts & expressions. i worked so hard on this, so i hope you love it as much as i do! i take recs! with all these being said, i hope you enjoy this crazy, funny, heart wrenching, amazing, piece i’m creating. happy reading 🩶

you were tess’ closest friend, other than Joel Miller of course. you heard countless stories of him, how heroic he was. how “bad ass”. you were intimidated to say the least. him on the other hand, he swore he heard your name pass through tess’ lips but he couldn’t place it. the last 20 years were a blur & he often times found himself always becoming too consumed in grief to function. most days, it seemed he lived on auto pilot. turning into his absolute worst self, someone he never imagined he could be. losing a kid will do that to you. it’s the only thought that crosses his mind, would sarah even still see him as the father she loved? he drowns these thoughts, never letting them see the light of day.

little did Joel know, you had quite the reputation. i mean hell, your nickname was trouble for crying out loud. when tess was trying to convince joel that you were the perfect choice for their need of extra muscle on this run. joel was reluctant, he didn’t like doing business with anyone new let alone side by side. was tess actually losing it now?

“cmon joel, i wouldn’t even suggest her if i didn’t think she was a good fit.”

joel grunts, placing his knife on the table aggressively as he faces away from tess, he feels the familiar feeling of rage bubbling in his stomach. he takes a deep breath & he seethes out

“what makes you so convinced she won’t turn on us the second she gets the chance?”

i mean joel couldn’t think of any other thing than this, what if you were working along FEDRA? or worse, what if you worked with the fireflies & you were just looking for resources for them? after tommy left with the fireflies, joel couldn’t help but feel even more indifferent about them.

on the way to the meet spot, tess quickly informed him of your less than pleasing reputation. sure, you were quick witted, resourceful, & a little to reckless for your own good. unfortunately this sent every alarm off in joel’s head but he remained silent, grunting occasionally to let tess know he was listening. this was insane? was he actually doing this? he sighs as his eyes meet the alley way you said you’d be in. joel met your eyes once but didn’t let them linger, he quickly averted his gaze to something seemingly far more interesting behind you. you smirked at tess

“tessy, always a pleasure”

tess pulls you into a half hug as she introduces joel

“this is joel, my partner i told you about” you offer him a tight lipped smile, one that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. he grunts in response as you offer him your name.

tess sighs

“joel we need her”

joel huffs

“we don’t need anyone”

this pulls a chuckle from you

“good thing i don’t need your approval cowboy”

joel quickly finds himself regretting tess’ convincing as he is desperate to be several paces ahead of you & Tess, finding it impossible to linger near a stranger for so long. especially one with a mouth like you had.

when tess convinced herself joel was far enough out of ear shot, she nugged you & whispered

“don’t take it personal. just don’t piss him off”

you smirk back as you whisper making sure it’s loud enough for joel to hear

“pissing people off is part of my charm tessy”

-

as they enter their usual meeting spot, their supplier robert’s ‘fortress’ as you called it when you first entered, joel was beginning to be very very annoyed with your endless antics. it seemed you never ran out of jabs or questioning every method.

“you ever think of trying a plan that doesn’t involve scowling your way through it?”

joel grunts, shaking his head as he pulls his pack back over his shoulders

“you ever think ‘bout shuttin’ up?”

you chuckle, you actually fucking chuckle at him. he rolls his eyes as he finally sees who he hopes is robert. what he doesn’t expect is the ambush.

4 men seemingly come out of nowhere, a sharp force catching joel off guard as he scrambles for a weapon. he hears tess let out a groan of pain, as he takes out the first man he frantically glances around trying to find the source. usually joel’s a man always on his toes, he hardly ever got snuck up on. if they did succeed it always ended the same, blood on joel’s hands. so to say he got taken by surprise that day twice was like telling him he’d have real coffee again. nearingly impossible. as the man finds himself on top of joel, strangling him while having joel’s arms tucked under the attackers knees, he’s helpless. he can’t shimmy out, he can’t breathe. he closes his eyes. feeling the emptiness of the lingering darkness he feels consuming him slowly, until everything comes swirling back & he feels a heavy weight slump on his chest. he opens his eyes, seeing you smirking. covered in blood with a hand extended.

“you’re welcome cowboy”

joel shoves the man off him, standing quickly as he grabs his discarded weapon & ignores your hand

he practically growls as he walks past

tess sighs

“you two are worse than children”

-

at the end of the seemingly successful mission, Tess finds herself offering for you to stay at their shared apartment until morning. joel grunts & opens his mouth to insist but he’s met with a cold glare from tess, he decided he lost enough battles today & he wasn’t doing himself any good trying to argue.

that’s how he found himself sitting in the living room as you shuffled through the books on the book shelf, tess gone to bed hours ago. joel didn’t feel comfortable, regardless if you saved his ass today you were still a stranger. maybe not to tess but definitely to him. he decided staying watch in his own apartment was probably his least favorite thing to do; he lets his mind wander to the thoughts that desperately tried their damndest too consume him but before they reach your voice pierces through

“do you ever talk, or is the silent grumpy glaring guy your default setting?”

you say as you plop down on the couch, holding a copy of pride & prejudice; one joel got on a trade a few months back. he’d been meaning to pick it up himself but he ever found the time.

joel grunts, glancing at you as he says

“talkin’ wastes energy”

you snicker as you open the book, you glance over the top as you say

“you must have a ton saved up then”

joel rolls his eyes, reverting his gaze out the window, it seemed only seconds went by. he heard your evened breathing before he glanced at you, seeing you so at peace. he felt a sense of something he hadn’t felt in a long time, hope? he couldn’t tell. maybe it was the moonlight casting your face in just the right way, maybe it’s because it’s the first time he hasn’t seen you jittery so he can finally take you in. he can’t deny, you’re painfully beautiful. he finds his eyes lingering for too long before he reverts his gaze back to the moon. his eyes grew heavy as he rested his head back, letting his eyes flutter closed.

-

2 months later

you found yourself to be tess & joel’s regular snuggling partner, joel still had his doubts but he couldn’t argue. he seen your commitment, you definitely lived up to your reputation. it seemed every buyer was friendlier, more generous. tess insisted it was your charm, you had a way of making people feel comfortable & joel couldn’t argue with that. as much as he refused to admit it.

what he didn’t like about your reputation was how reckless you were, he especially didn’t like when you proved your reputation to be true on it too. during this run, you found yourself running directly into gunfire over the dropped supplies the raiders had dropped. you weren’t one to turn down any chance to bring back as much as you could, tess was held up behind a crate. covering you as joel felt fear coming up his throat in the form of bile. why were you so impulsive? you could always get more supplies, he would always take the risk. why did you feel the need? he felt the rage seething through his bones. his heart stopped as a bullet wizzed by your head.

as the last man drops, joel angrily pulls you aside as tess accesses the supplies you gathered

joel seethes as he delivers the first blow

“what the hell were you thinkin? you could’ve gotten us killed?!”

you shrug, still breathless as you wipe the blood from the cut on your brow

“i got the supplies, didn’t i?”

joel’s glare could’ve killed a nun, it was a look you imagined only lucifer himself could deliver

“next time, you listen to me”

you sigh as you grab your pack

“next time, you keep up”

the tension was thick, tess was tempted to slide on the gas mask just so she could breathe through it. she turns to face you & joel as she utters

“if i have to referee one more fight, im leaving you both behind”

-

a few weeks later, you find yourself mindless walking through joel & tess’ apartment. at this point, other than living full time with your grandpa you found this being your second home. your grandpa has a shift on sewer duty today, you and absolutely nothing better to do than come pester tess. praying joel also took a similar job since your runs had to be put on pause. FEDRA agents were getting suspicious, patrolling in eras they usually avoided. it all seemed too much for joel, at first you argued he was just paranoid old man but then you took notice too & reluctantly agreed.

you found yourself visiting more, trades were all you did. with that being flushed at the moment you had endless time on your hands & enough ration cards to feed a small army. you didn’t feel the need to work horrible jobs, your grandpa did it just to give himself something to do. he was very reluctant to learn about you ‘business’.

“trouble, don’t get in somethin’ you can’t get out of. we’re fine how we’re livin”

you sigh

“grandpa, i’m safe. promise. just making sure you’re took care of”

your grandpa sighs, letting his head fall

“i should be taking care of you trouble, not the other way round”

you quickly find yourself throwing your arms over your grandpa, mindlessly fidgeting with his army tags that he proudly wears everyday

“don’t start that nonsense. you’ve kept me alive all these years, it’s the least i can do”

you didn’t expect to find joel looking so peaceful, you almost wanna pinch yourself to see if you’re dreaming but your mind catches you. not yet. joel’s humming, it sounds like “hey jude” as he mindlessly tries to repair the broken watch he wears daily. now that you think of it, does he ever take it off?

“didn’t think you were the sentimental type”

your presence obviously startled him, he glanced up quickly letting you read his expression. startled, guarded, a tiny bit grumpy but there was something more. something you couldn’t quite place.

“it’s none of your business trouble”

you push off the door frame you found yourself leaning on as a small smile falls on your face, joel tries to read your expression this time. this isn’t the playful teasing smile you usually have on display. no, this smiles the smile you reserve when you mention something you love. the smile you share with tess, the one he only gets glimpses at.

“don’t worry cowboy, i won’t tell anyone you have a heart”

for the first time, joel doesn’t snap back. he just watches you for a moment, retreating down the hall. probably going to pick up the book you’ve been reading. he shakes you from his thoughts as he glances back down to return to his work. catching a glimpse of himself in the broken glass, he sees the tinest smile grazing his face.

-

a month passes & the trio find themselves on runs again, this time with a bit of a different dynamic. joel doesn’t veer off as far now, finding himself enjoying the small talk you & tess share. this is how he learns the most about you, not because he says anything. he’s not sure what to say. he knows you live with your grandpa. that he absolutely adores you & says you’re his “second chance at being the dad he never got to be”. joel found himself questioning on what this really meant? he knew he was a vet, was he deployed when your parents were kids? did you get raised by your parents? were they even around? joel found himself wondering about you, wanting to learn more. any information he got, he held close. so the more he listened the more he learned. he knows your favorite color is green, dark forest green. not the neon “disgrace of the color”. he knows you have a brother. or had a brother. you get cold & distant when you mention him, was he still out there? like tommy? he knows you prefer old rock music, you have a huge sweet tooth. he noticed the wrinkle between your brows as you read, it seemingly disappearing as you turn the page but returning as soon as your eyes skim the new context. he noticed the way your eyes lit up whenever you passed by a group of wild flowers. of course joel would never admit it to you, any of these things to you. didn’t mean he didn’t notice.

his thoughts were so clouded, on the way back after such a successful run he was overjoyed. tess decided to take a different route to drop off some of the supplies, she was promised some aged bourbon & a cassette of led zeppelin’s V album. joel was content, he hadn’t felt this way in such a long time. he should’ve known it wouldn’t last. he was so spaced out he didn’t see the 3 FEDRA officers approaching. he also didn’t seem to hear you calling out his name, by the time he realized you were already luring them the opposite way. joel was shocked, he felt a new found rage run through his veins like ice as he refused to leave you behind. as he started your way, he realized this wasn’t rage. this was fear. fear he hadn’t felt since sarah.

he found himself sneaking around the alleyway, finding an advantage point to pounce on the officer trailing the end. he takes him out silently, pulling the officers knife from his waist, he makes his way up behind the 2nd officer. making a quick job of it, the last officer finally heard the drop of the body as he turned he was met with a furious & blood thirsty joel. as he watched the last soldier crumble he catches a glimpse of your signature green jacket, he quickly grabs you up & leads you directly to the apartment

as he quickly walks inside, dragging you along with him he finally feels a flood of relief. he releases his grip on your coat before letting out an infuriating grunt. remember that look seemingly on lucifer & now joel miller could give? yeah, it was worse than you imagined.

“what the hell were you doin’ out there?” he practically seethed.

you smirk, despite the situation. knowing you’re getting under his skin

“saving your ass miller. again.”

joel pinches the bridge of his nose before plopping down on the beat up couch & running a hand through his hair. he knows you can handle your own. he’s seen it first hand. so why was he feeling so scared? anxious even?

“you’re a pain in mine. ya know that?”

you plop down beside him, awaiting tess’ arrival as you mutter

“& yet, you keep dragging me out of trouble”

-

another few weeks pass & you start to notice joel’s gruff exterior is cracking. you notice how joel’s always ensuring you eat, that you & your grandpa both have enough. he took it upon himself to actually go meet your grandfather, informing him that you actually indeed did hold your own. that you didn’t take any shit, you were probably the strongest woman he knew. of course joel would never let you hear this words come out of his mouth. wouldn’t let tess hear them either. your grandpa gave joel a look, a look that made joel feel like he could see right through him. like he was a ghost haunting your home & your grandpa had him deciphered down to every exact pin point. since the world ended & everything went to shit after he lost sarah he never felt intimidated. never felt scared, but boy did your grandpa terrify the living daylights out of him with that wordless stare.

it wasn’t just this either, he always checked your weapons personally before any trades. making sure you had enough ammo & your flashlight had batteries before he even considered leaving the apartment. during fights, he never left your side. knowing all too well how impulsive & reckless you were, he was surprised you only ended up with a few dings & scrapes. a bullet graze twice. a couple stitches here & there. he wouldn’t let that happen again, absolutely couldn’t.

the night following a big job, you decided to crash on the well worn couch in joel’s apartment. your body swore & worn from the extensive journey. the blanket you brought over, strung over the back as you slide your boots off. the silence between you & joel carried tension, not the uncomfortable “i don’t want you here. you’re a stranger. get out” tension anymore, but something unreadable. you placed the book down as you glance over to joel, finding his eyes already lingering on you

“ya know, you care more than you let on”

joel immediately averts his gaze, staring out the window looking at the moon. he doesn’t respond but the way his jaw tightened was all the answer you needed

-

the next trade you go on, tess has a feeling about it. she doesn’t mention it of course, she just knows this buyer. Barry, was a good loyal buyer. always had the shit to spare. never really was specific, would take really anything they had to offer. but barry here has always taken a distinct liking to you. never backing down, always finding a way to smooth talk you. tess may act oblivious but she isn’t stupid. she’s realized the way joel seems happier with you around, she notices the way his eyes follow your every move. she even catches a few smiles on his face as your head turns. yeah. she isn’t stupid. so she isn’t shocked to admit this trade, may not go as expected.

you walk beside tess, talking a little about everything. from cars you used to think were cool, to asking questions like “do you think any astronauts got stuck in space when the world ended?”. tess laughed, but it wasn’t her usual laugh. you shrugged it off but joel took notice. was she nervous? tess was never nervous, on rare occasion she’d show the slightest bit of hesitation but never out right anxiety. this made joel’s mind race

what he didn’t expect, was this. raiders? sure, runners or clickers? yeah. usually a few, but no. this was far worse than any thing the end of the world brought. here this guy, bailey? barry? joel didn’t remember. as soon as he seen the guy graze your arm, all he seen was red.

“i’ve never met a woman as skilled as you are trouble, here take a few more cards. my treat”

the man winks at you, before you can say a word joel finds himself cutting in. before he can even process what he’s doing the words are already out

“she ain’t interested”

barry, whatever the fuck his name is asks

“are you sure about that?”

his eyes rake over you, joel grunts & lets the glare sink into his features

“postive.”

the man shrugs as he throws his hands up in mock defense, on the way back tess can’t help but bite back her smirk as she watches you jogging to catch up to joel

“didn’t know you cared cowboy”

you say with a smirk, of course you do. joel averts his gaze; his skin burning hot. hopefully he can just blame it on the sun, his brows are lined with sweat so it wouldn’t be completely unbelievable. he knows if he even spares a glance your way he’ll fold incredibly fast though so he thought it’s best not to chance it

he clench’s his jaw as he grunts out

“i don’t. just don’t need idiots like him fuckin’ up our deals”

you smirk to yourself as you fall back into step with tess, she glances to you then to the back of joel’s head as she shakes her head

-

it was late, if joel’s watch worked he’d have guested it was around 2am. unfortunately it was still stuck on the time his world ended. when sarah was taken from him. the bourbon tess traded for was half empty on the table. tess passed out on the corner of the couch. she drunkenly agreeing to giving you her bed for the night after you pulled her shoes off & tucked her in with the blanket you kept there.

“trouble i’m sleeping here. ain’t movin’”

she muttered out before she ultimately passed out, it was enduring but quite hilarious really. seeing your friends drinking in a world like this. let alone drunk, that was definitely a story you’d be telling every chance you got.

the night was peaceful now, the card games ended. the talk of future conquests & hopes of what you could trade for died on early in the night. it was just you & joel now, each nursing a glass of bourdon. feeling unbelievably tipsy you decided to bite the bullet & just ask joel. how would you ever know if you didn’t ask?

“tell me bout what you did before all this. what was your normal?”

you found yourself rushing it out before you gave yourself any second thoughts, you looked up at joel before shooting back the rest of the bourbon. he had a hesitant look in his eyes, the liquid courage definitely helping the sudden confidence he had to confide in you. he glanced at his watch again before he said

“had a daughter once. she was my everythin’”

joel quickly shot back the last of his bourbon as well, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. he never told anyone about sarah. not even tess knew; this was all new to him. was it too much? as he began to spiral your voice broke through the barrier

he half expected a snarky comment, something to lighten the mood but he doesn’t get that. instead he gets something he doesn’t know how to comprehend.

“she’d be proud of you, ya know? for surviving all this.”

joel finds himself glancing to the floor, hes at a loss for words. all this time he’s worried, would his baby girl be ashamed of the man he’s become? would she even love him? he never let that thought cross his mind, he doesn’t know what to say so he doesn’t say anything. you’re back in that comfortable silence. one that you only find with joel. your words stick with him, they’re now tattooed in. hoping to replace all the thoughts that are consumed with drowning him

-

as the month passed, it had been almost a year since you joined joel & tess’ team. you found yourself enjoying being over at theirs. you loved having them over for dinner with your grandpa. joel listened to every word your grandpa spoke, war stories, stories from your childhood like when you lit his shed on fire by trying to make “homemade fireworks”. joel let out a laugh, a deep belly laugh. this didn’t go unnoticed by tess, hell it wouldn’t have went unnoticed by you if you weren’t down the hall digging out some chest board your grandpa swore he still had. you enjoyed these nights, your worlds colliding. your grandpa understanding you were surrounded by good people, people that looked after you. that loved you.

the bickering between you & joel never stopped, if anything it’s at an all time high. the tensions palpable, if you’re not forcing a laugh out of joel you’re sending death threats with your eyes. it’s silly, to tess anyways. she can’t help but laugh, you find yourself in situations that are damn near humanly impossible, laughing when you get away from the 30th near death experience of the week & joels absolute seething. she’s convinced your an adrenaline junkie. that or you really wanna give joel a heartattack.

one evening though, as tess sunk into the couch she couldn’t help but think “this is how married couples fight”

you’re talking about a plan, neither you nor joel can agree on one aspect of the plan. usually by now, tess woukd intervene & agree with whoever’s sounded more logical. often times joel but occasionally you, she decided she wouldn’t cut in tonight. maybe if you were at each others throats long enough with no interruptions things could potentially progress. your words bounce off the walls as you smirk at joel

“let me guess- your plan is to glare them into submission?”

joel quips back

“& what’s yours? annoy ‘em to death?”

you roll your eyes as you turn towards the kitchen, joel sighs as he stomps over to the couch. everyone knows you care for each other in ways you won’t say out loud, trust each other. everyone but you & joel miller.

-

the following night, tess decided to pull joel aside. you went back to your grandpas, saying you’ll be there as early as possible (knowing you, it’ll be 11 the earliest). joel was reluctant. he didn’t like feeling so small under tess gaze, he wasn’t used to this. he had a feeling what this was about though he just prayed she wouldn’t dare speak on it. he knew she wasn’t stupid, he just hoped she was oblivious. joel knew better than to think that, she knew joel better than anyone besides tommy & thank god you hadn’t had to go through all that yet.

tess sighs

“you know what im gunna say miller”

joel grunts as he continues unpacking his bag, placing his new ration cards in the lose boards of the floor. tess speaks up again

“you know, she likes you right?”

joel sighs but answers just as gruffly as before, turning his back to tess as he mumbles

“she’s a pain in my ass”

tess laughs

“yeah & you’re smiling more than you have in years joel. don’t fuck it up”

-

[giveme-mysinagain]

A long-form poem about Andromache, written from a place of pure rage

PART I: ANGER

The empty space you left in our bed

Is too large;

Larger than life

Larger than you

It consumes me.

Had I the luxury of sleeping in it

Just one more time

I would be swallowed up

By the empty air to my right.

This space did not hold just you.

It is too vast even for

Your eternal height,

Your intense greatness.

No,

I’m afraid there was something else

That laid in our bed with us,

That pressed against my back as you

Wrapped me in your arms,

That trickled down my thigh

As you stared into my eyes from

Between my legs.

Your ego

Your desire for greatness

Loomed over us in every moment

And I’m afraid to say I became

Desensitized to its hulking presence.

I wish I could see you one last time

Alive and laughing behind your helmet

If only to kill you myself.

How like a man

To have seen visions of your own death,

The same dreams that possessed me

The night you stumbled home

And retired to bed long before I did,

Exhausted,

And still insist on fighting.

I tried to compromise with you.

I knew your mind like I knew your body

And I knew I could not persuade you

To stay off the battlefield.

But a reasonable man

Would have heeded my desperate word

And stayed close to the walls.

But no,

You would rather die a lionhearted hero

Than look like a coward

In front of the many men you commanded.

Part of me wonders

If you valued their word,

Their adoration,

Their approval,

Over that of your wife

Over that of your Andromache.

PART II: REGRET

Did you see me

When I kept turning back

To drink you in one last time,

My final meal on death row?

Did you see the tears

That flowed down my cheeks,

The ones you kissed a million times

And would never kiss again?

Did you hear the sobs

That wracked my body,

That never stopped

Even when I sat and wove with red string

To distract myself from your absence,

Just hours before Atropos

Snipped your own yard?

I’m sorry I shouted at you

It’s just my nature.

I’m sorry I didn’t pray harder

Or more often

If I had, maybe you would still be here.

I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough

To stop you

And I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough

To make you stay.

Oh, my Hector,

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

PART III: MOTHERHOOD

My darling Scamandrius,

It breaks my heart to say

Your soul will never see your father’s

No matter where you roam below ground.

When I look upon his helmet,

I can still hear your shrieks and cries

Because the sight of it scared you so.

You were right to be afraid.

I was not allowed a proper farewell

And I am so sorry

I do not have one now,

But I do not think I ever will.

It should not be a mother’s responsibility

To mourn her child

And though saying goodbye

Has become a second language to me,

I don’t think I will ever find the right words

To say it to you.

All I can offer is a tearful

“I will love you

Until my memories turn to asphodel”

And a “thank you” to the gods

For sparing you from

The suffering I endure each day.

PART IV: VENGEANCE

Odysseus,

I know you are a father

And I hope someday

Your heart is mutilated

By the sheer agony of

Learning you will outlive your own son.

Did he cry when you ordered him

To be slaughtered?

I hope he did

Because I hope it rings in your ears

For all eternity.

And I hope you are not

Too cold and unfeeling

To suffer.

And I hope when they praise your name

For centuries to come,

I hope the word stings their throats

And causes their tongues to bleed

As they wail mine instead.

Neoptolemus,

I hope my insides grow teeth.

I hope your limp member comes out bloody

And full of shards of glass

Each time you press me to your bed

In that same spot where

Your wife often lies.

I hope the sight of my face,

Of my nose and my eyes,

Reminds you of the boy you killed

Before he even said his first word.

I hope his screams and cries

Echo around your empty skull.

I hope it drives you mad.

Achilles,

I hope the death of your loverboy

Destroyed you beyond all repair.

I hope my husband ripped out

Whatever fossilized thing

Sits in your chest

In place of a beating heart

And smashed it on the ground

In front of you.

And I hope your hands bled

When you tried to clean it up.

I hope when you sleep at night

Alone,

Or beside whatever poor maiden

Who has to suffer a similar fate to mine,

You are kept up by the sound

Of my Hector’s body dragging behind you,

Haunted by the smell of flesh and dirt

The scrape of his bones against stone.

I hope when great heroes,

Men as great as my beloved,

The kind of men you will never be,

Look upon you

They see the scarlet trail you leave

In your wake

A trail made from the blood you spilled

Not just from Hector,

But from my father and brothers,

And shun you for what you have done.

Only the gods know

The things I would do

For a chance to rip you to shreds

With my bare hands

Bury your skin and blood under my nails,

Deaf to the sound of your frantic pleas

The final prayers of a god-loving man

With a sacrilegious ego,

And feast on your corpse.

PART V: PROPHECY

They will forget me.

They will forget the part I played

In favor of the man I still love,

The child I still adore,

The family I will never forget,

And the many men I despise

But will never have the privilege

Of seeing breathe their final breath.

Of being the reason

The light leaves their eyes.

They will all forget me

But I am a survivor;

I will never have the privilege

Of forgetting.

[galedekarios]

gale's early access dialogue transcripts - part 2 a: the deer stew scene

in early access, gale had two additional major scenes: the deer stew scene and the loss scene, both of which would happen during a long rest at camp.

the scenes in early access usually happened in this order:

-1: first night long rest scene (still in the final game) -2: mirror image scene (still in the final game) -3: deer stew scene (cut content / partially reused in act i) -4: weave scene (still in the final game) -5: loss scene (cut content) -6: tiefling party scene (ea version cut / partially reused in act ii last night alive scene)

the deer stew scene was supposed to show that gale had come to trust the protag throughout their time together and the actions they've taken, like saving arabella and mirkon, or trying to solve the tension between zevlor and aradin.

he would tell them about his condition and reveal that he needs magical artefacts of great power (idol of silvanus, sword of justice, staff of crones, shadow of menzoberranzan, etc.) in order to consume the weave within them to sate said condition. parts of that conversation have been reused and repurposed for the full release version of the game, though now this scene happens while travelling if you progress gale's approval enough.

you can watch a video of the deer stew scene here. below you'll find the transcript of the scene and all its outcomes.

the deer stew scene

Gale: Ah, there you are. How did you enjoy my deer stew this evening? Old family recipe. Protag (Option 1): It was delicious. Gale: Good. I tend to season it with spices from Kara-Tur, but given what's available to us, good old rosemary had to see us through. Not that I mean to regale you with my culinary exploits. Gale: There's, er... Well, there's actually something quite different I'd like to discuss. Protag (Option 2): I didn't have any actually. Gale: Curious time to be dieting. Especially with a chef like myself around. -> Then same as Option 1 Protag (Option 3): Should have kept it in the family. Gale: Can't argue with taste. Or the lack thereof. -> Then same as Option 1

Protag (Option 1): By all means.  Gale: We've been... -> See Option 3 Protag (Option 2): Why so tense all of a sudden? Gale: Some things are easier to explain than others. But first let me say this: We've been... -> See Option 3 Protag (Option 3):  Whatever it is, make it brief. Gale: As you wish. Gale: We've been travelling together for a while now, and during those travels I've been observing you. I want you to know that I like what I see.  The way you handled Nettie when she poisoned you. The way you defused the tension between Zevlor and Aradin. The way you got Kagha to release the girl. The way you saved that boy out of a harpy's clutches. In short: I've grown to trust you.

Protag (Option 1): That's very gratifying to hear  Gale: Now I need you to place your trust in me. Protag (Option 2): Enough of flattery. Where is this going? Gale: An exchange. I expressed my trust in you, now I need you to place your trust in me.  Protag (Option 3): Can't say the feeling's mutual.  Gale: And yet I need you to place your trust in me in turn. Gale: Our journey together is bound to last a while still. As such I feel compelled to speak. I say this because there is something I desperately need, but while I'll tell you what that something is, I won't tell you why. I have to ask you to agree to this before carrying on with this conversation.

Protag (Option 1): Very well, I agree Gale: Thank you. I see I did well to trust you. Now to the matter at hand. You see, I have a... condition. A condition different from the tadpole, but just as deadly. The only way to appease Protag (Option 2): No. It's unfair to demand blind faith in you. Gale: I understand that I'm asking for a lot, but I can't tell you everything. Not yet anyway. Please, reconsider. Protag (Option 3): [Wisdom] You sense secrecy and danger. Use your tadpole to probe Gale's thoughts. [Failure] Gale: I'm afraid that's not going to work on me. Look, I appreciate your curiosity, but don't pursue this path.  Let's agree in actions first and explanations later, yes?

Protag (Option 1):  Fine, have it your  way. / Fine, I reconsider. Tell me what you need.  Gale: Thank you. I see I did well to trust you. Now to the matter at hand... Protag (Option 2): I'm still going to say no. / No, I won't. And that's final. Gale: That's... truly disappointing. I see now that I misjudged you, so we'll dwell on the matter no longer. And at least I know where I stand. This is a part of the journey I must walk alone. Good night. Protag (Option 3): [Wisdom] you sense secrecy and danger. Use your tadpole to probe Gale's thoughts. [Success] Narrator: You become one with Gale's mind and you can feel something sinister oppressing you. It's... inside of you, a mighty darkness radiating from your chest. You could try to push further, but your hold over Gale feels brittle. It won't be easy delving deeper without him noticing. Delve deeper: [Failure] Gale: What are you... You're using the tadpole against me? This is a breach of trust that... And to think I thought you trustworthy in the first place! I'm leaving. I cannot stand to be around such betrayal a moment longer. 

Tav: [Insight] You are in mortal danger twice over. To leave would be foolish, and you are no fool.  [Failure] Gale: I am a fool. A fool to have trusted you. [Gale leaves the party permanently] Delve deeper: [Success] Narrator: You see through Gale's eyes, staring down the corridor of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It's teeth, it's claws, it's unstoppable as it digs through you and become part of you. And Gods, is it ever-hungry.

Gale: Keeping me in suspense, are you? Come on, tell me, do we have an agreement or not? It's s simple question, isn't  it? What gives you pause? Protag (Option 1): Yes, I agree. Gale: Thank you. I see I did well to trust you. Now to the matter at hand... Protag (Option 1 / Dependent on Tadpole Use): Risk telling Gale what the tadpole showed you. Gale: What? You used that thing against me? And you saw! After I told you.... This is a breach of trust that... And to think I thought you trustworthy in the first place! I'm leaving. I cannot stand to be around such betrayal a moment longer.  Protag (Option 1): [Persuasion] Be reasonable, Gale. I'm responsible for our party. I had to know.  Gale: [Success] The need remains debatable, but I recognise your responsibility. Perhaps I spoke in haste, it's just that... there are things... things I cannot speak of. Besides, what you saw... You read the opening line of a very big book, no more. The darkness you perceived, that is my primary condition. A condition different from the tadpole, but just as deadly.

Protag (Option 2): [Inisght] You are in mortal danger twice over. To leave would be foolish, and you aren't fool. Gale: [Success] I have to admit, you are right about that. Besides, what you saw... Gale: [Failure] I am a fool. A fool to have trusted you. This is where we part ways. Protag (Option 3): So be it. Gale: So be it. This is where we part ways.

Gale: The only way to “appease” said condition is for me to take powerful magical artefact and absorb the Weave inside. It's been days since I last consumed an artefact, before we were abducted. It is time. By that I mean it's Imperative that I find and consume powerful strands of Weave at the earliest possible juncture. Protag (Option 1): Tell me more about that condition of yours [Saw with the Tadpole] Gale: You've already seen more than I was willing to share, remember? Best leave the darkness in darkness for now. [Did not use the Tadpole] Gale: That's part of the 'why' you agreed not to discuss. Wouldn't want to make an oath breaker out of you. Protag (Option 2): Where are we supposed to find the kind of artefacts you need? Gale: We already done the finding. The Idol of Silvanus is such an artefact. Protag (Option 1):  Are you crazy? There's no way I'm stealing the druids' idol. Gale: I'm not saying we should – I'm just pointing out it happens to be exactly the sort of thing I'm looking for. Of course we're bound to come across more artefacts during our travels. -> Continue to As luck would have it... Protag (Option 2): That sounds like more trouble than it's worth. Gale: And it might well be. It's a holy relic after all, and taking it would enrage the druids to no end. Not that I'd say no, but we're bound to come across more artefacts during our travels. -> Continue to As luck would have it... Protag (Option 3): Then let's go get it.  Gale: I'm not so sure that's advisable. It's a holy relic after all, and taking it would enrage the druids to no end. Not that I'd say no, but we're bound to come across more artefacts during our travels. -> Continue to As luck would have it... Protag (Option 4):  What happens if you don't consume any artefact? Gale: Catastrophe. Protag (Option 5): This is all madness. Gale: Define it as you will, the semantics aren't important, the condition's conditions are: I am in need of artefacts. That's all there's to it. -> Continue to As luck would have it... Gale: As luck would have it, Faerûn is full of them, though I do feel obliged to point out that items of power tend to be in the hands of the powerful. There will be danger involved – or great cost.

Protag (Option 6): So Astarion wants to suck blood and you want to suck magic. What's next? Gale: We all have our eccentricities. Ours are just more eccentric than most.  Astarion: As a matter of fact, you should feel lucky to be travelling with men of taste. -> Continue to As luck would have it...

Protag (Option 1): Danger? I wouldn't have it any other way.  Gale: Good. A bit of boldness will serve us well. -> Continue to I know the allure... Protag (Option 2): So you're saying I need to risk my life for you.  Gale: I know the allure these artefacts hold. I understand their value and their power. All this to say: I understand the sacrifice I ask of you. But if I may so bold: it's for a good cause indeed. I hope I can count on you.  Protag (Option 3): When I acquire powerful magic items, I'm not so sure I'll choose you over them.  Gale: That's your decision to make. I expect you to make the right one. Much is at stake. More than my own meagre life alone. Protag (Option 4): I can tell you right now I don't care at all for this wild Gale chase.  Gale: That's your decision to make. I expect you to make the right one. Much is at stake. More than my own meagre life alone. Gale: I know the allure these artefacts hold. I understand their value and their power. All this to say: I understand the sacrifice I ask of you. But if I may so bold: it's for a good cause indeed. I hope I can count on you.  Gale: [if the tadpole was used and told] Oh, and as far as that tadpole trickery goes, I really do trust you'll not be so untoward again.

coming up next:

-part 1: the three tadpole dreams -> completed

-part 2: major cut scenes: the deer stew scene -> completed with this post & the loss scene -> will be posted next

-part 3: minor cut scenes: abandoned temple of jergal, failed to save arabella, talking to the paladins of tyr and agreeing to go after karlach, edowin and the tadpole reveal, mayrina giving ethel's wand to her or breaking it, handing astarion over to the gur or defending him, reaching the druid grove, killing lae'zel, reaching the goblin camp & looking for halsin, killing the druids, priestess gut & the brand & the cult of the absolute, dror ragzlin and talking to the dead mind flayer, ogre couple, necromancy of thay, ethel, zhentarim chest, myconid colony

-part 4: gale's condition & the way it was treated in early access

taglist: @chainsawmascara, @randomfanner, @tacogoats, @khajiit-necromancer, @gwinharper, @galesenchantedpanties, @swampfaerie, @ardently-queer, @nirraein, @gale-enjoyer, @xiv-wolfram, @kairoswouldnever, @a-psychopathic-dream

i thought i'd tag the people i'd seen taking an interest in my original post! if you want to be taken off the taglist, please let me know!

[sillyblues]

‘pecador.’

synopsis— you bring the sinner out of miguel o’hara

cw— religious themes, blood, mild nsfw, 18+

“En el nombre del Padre,”

Miguel O’Hara was a sinner. Violence has always resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins. It was evidently clear to him and everyone, even back then when he was younger. He could barely remember his first memories of joy with his mother nor a play with his brother, but he could remember vividly when he threw a punch at somebody who told him that he and his mother and brother were dirty.

And ever since then, he has not learned of a moment filled with peace. His father berated him and punched him as well because how dare he hurt the son of his boss. Because of it, his father had been fired, and they had no money anymore. But Miguel didn’t care. How could he when that little shit insulted his mother in front of him? He let his father vent his anger and frustrations on him. 

“Y del Hijo,”

But a mother’s love was great, and his own mother couldn’t bear to see her son getting hurt, so she tried to stop him. She took her in his arms and protected him from his father. But she shouldn’t have done that. He wished his mother stayed put in place and come to him when his father was done with him. But she didn’t because her love for him was great.

His father grew furious at the sight of his wife hiding his son away from him and in wrath, he hurt Miguel’s mother as well. The slaps and the punches and the hair pulls were thrown at his mother and he knew it was painful. He tried to pull away from her as his eyes were wide and tears streamed down. He begged his father to stop and asked him to forgive him, he sobbed as he said to him to hurt him instead, just not his mom. But despite it all, his father turned a deaf ear to his pleads and his mother’s embrace was tight just so he would not get hurt.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

His father’s anger was a large fire that evaporated away his family’s water of tears but Miguel’s resentment was a burning fiery hell only reserved for his father. His rage was molten and flowed through like lava and it pulsed within his heart and consumed his rationality. His fury blinded him and he didn’t know what he had done until he regained his vision momentarily back to see his mother crying.

“Miguel, escúchame,” his mother whispered to him with a tremble as she took the bloodied knife that he didn’t know he was holding from his arms. He looked at his hands soaked in red and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“My baby boy, thank you for protecting Mama,” she hugged him and rocked him back and forth as she sobbed. Like instinct, he hugged her back weakly. “I love you so much, I want you to know that.”

“Be strong for me and for your little brother, okay? He has no one but you. Take care of him and yourself, alright?” her soft voice was full of sadness and he desperately wanted to look up to her and comfort her. He wanted to tell her that he also loved her very much and he will but like a lullaby, her voice sent a wave of sleepiness and his vision darkened.

But he couldn’t help it and then, he fainted. When he woke up in a hospital room with his little brother, Gabriel, snuggled beside him, nurses and the police greeted him. There, he knew his mother killed herself.

“Amen.”

He took his mother’s words to his heart and swore that he would protect his brother. He did not let anyone take him or his brother or relied on adults because he trusted nobody. He appealed to the court at 16 years old that he could take care of himself and his brother. Fortunately, he was approved and he took multiple jobs to sustain their needs. He didn’t go to school, no, he didn’t have any time but he made sure that Gabriel did. He worked tirelessly sleeping barely 5 hours a day just to bring food to the table and have a roof over their heads. But despite his busy schedule, he made sure to be there on Gabriel's important days.

Years went by and they had formed a mundane lifestyle. And he tried so hard to keep it that way. But violence resided in his soul and the sinner in him was rekindled once more when his brother was found dead one early morning. He received a call when he was about to go to work and rushed to the crime scene when he heard the news. When he saw Gabriel’s lifeless body and the blood that pooled around him, the remaining hope in his heart was crushed and rage once more visited him and burned fiercely. The police ruled it as suicide as he was found in an alleyway in between buildings. But Miguel knew that it wasn't because of his brother who was so happy and talked his ear off about graduating and becoming a billionaire so he could support him and would never give up on life like that.

“Padre nuestro,”

Miguel decided to join the underworld where mafias and gangs ran about. He took jobs there not only for quick cash but to form connections and information. He investigated more about his brother's death and found out that he was bullied for a long time by a group of kids his age. Apparently, they picked on him because he was sorry for being dirty and a son of a filthy murderer. There was evidence on the autopsy that was not reported that he was burned, with cuts and bruises littered all over his body. A camera evidence that was also not submitted and was deleted (but luckily saved by the corrupt authorities who tried to keep it as a blackmail opportunity) showed that they pushed Gabriel to his death and they all laughed about it. Not only that but he wasn't their only victim.

Miguel felt so angry at himself and guilty that he didn't know that behind his brother's insistence on being covered up from head to toe, lies numerous wounds. Knowing him, he probably didn't tell him so he wouldn't worry about him. He wished he did. He wished Gabriel was a little more selfish and made him worry about him instead because he would protect him better.

With this, he took his time to learn more about the arrogant pricks that murdered his brother. He moved to a different city, to Nueva York, so that he had an alibi. He stalked the conceited brats who did the same to numerous people and their rich parents who didn’t give a shit whether their children murdered someone. He learned their routine. Their schedule. And when the time was right, he put a bullet through their heads one by one when they least expected it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, come on man, I’m sorry,” they begged with tears and snot dripping, crawling backwards under his shadow. “Don’t kill me, please, I’ll give you anything.”

“Money? Do you want money? I’ll give you hundreds and thousands,” they always said the same thing, thinking that money was enough for him to forgive the suffering they had caused to his remaining family that they took away, the bruises and cuts on his brother’s body, the damage they had done on him mentally. “No? Half a billion? No, no! One billion!”

His jaw clenched. Pathetic pigs. He cocked and aimed it at them.

“No, no, no! NO—!” they stuttered and screamed but were cut off by the sound of a bullet fired by a gun with a muffler.

He wondered if they at least felt some remorse or at the very least thought about how Gabriel or the other kids they tortured and killed felt as they begged them to not hurt them. But he knew people like them, he had seen them countless times including his very own father. People like them didn’t care about anything or anyone other than themselves. These kids were just the same as them.

He made sure to clean up his tracks, deleted potential shreds of evidence, and made some story that would make their case solved and closed easily. He left the city swiftly and came back to his new home. With this, he tried to leave his old past behind and began his life anew.

“Que estás en el cielo.”

Miguel hated himself. He hated the fact that he killed his father which resulted in the death of his mother so that nobody will know that he killed him. He hated the fact that he was so ignorant of his brother's suffering that he had to be pushed to his death for him to realize that his brother was in pain. He hated the monster he turned out to be, always out for blood and killing people like it was nothing.

The sea of guilt and remorse suffocated him and he drowned himself in alcohol and women. The money he saved up which was supposed to be for Gabriel’s graduation gift was used on his vices. 

Day and night, his sins weighed heavy on his mind and not once, was he given at least a moment of peace.

“Santificado sea tu nombre.”

A knock snapped Miguel out of a trance as he smoked out of the window of his apartment. The wispy grey stench wafted in the air as he raised an eyebrow, wondering without much interest who could be knocking on his door. It couldn’t be the landlord as he just paid his month’s due. His past flings? Probably.

Knock. Knock.

He took another drag and inhaled as much as he could before he exhaled and extinguished it on the ashtray full of ashes and butts of leftover cigarettes.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

He opened the door and found nobody, but a baby in a basket with a letter sticking out of the blankets wrapped around it. The sight of the baby filled him with anxiety and dread. He looked sideways, hoping to at least find who put the baby on his door but only the sight of closed doors greeted him. He had an inch of what was happening and he did not like it one bit. 

With a shaky sigh, he took the baby and cradled it in his arms. God, he didn’t even know its gender. But the sight of him made the baby giggle and coo at him and he bit his lip. Fuck. He opened the letter with his other hand and the words written on it confirmed his suspicions.

“It’s your baby, Miguel. You were the last one I hooked up with before I found out I was pregnant and even then, it was too late. She was too grown and I cannot abort her anymore. I don’t have any papers of her because I have no money and I can’t raise her.”

Miguel could feel a migraine forming and he rubbed his forehead. The baby must have found his distress amusing because it giggled once more and tried to grab his fingers. 

No. She. Not it. 

Fuck.

Miguel wasn’t ready to be a dad, he doesn’t even think he was suited to be one because he was a piece of shit but he took another look at her that was so snug and comfortable in his arms as she looked at him with wonder, he thought it wouldn’t be so bad to try to take care after her.

“Venga tu reino.”

A few years passed by and Miguel accepted his role as a father. He named the baby Gabriella after his late brother. He got into therapy and went back to work so he could raise her with no financial problems and so that he wouldn’t be a bad father to her. Gabriella was a handful child. He slept countless sleepless nights, often waking up early in the morning because she was crying. Sometimes it was because she was hungry, sometimes she just needed help to digest the milk, and sometimes there wasn’t any particular reason for her cries. But still, he cradled her in his embrace and sang lullabies to her softly.

It felt like it was just yesterday Miguel opened the door and found her on his doorstep. Gabriella has grown into a bright young child. She took after his looks as she inherited almost all of her genes from him. 

Oh, she was so lovely. She was the best of him, better than him and Miguel liked that because she deserved better. She made him believe that he wasn’t the worst piece of trash and that he wasn’t useless. She made him feel loved and he made sure she felt loved as well.

She was very much into soccer and he was so proud of her. He attended all of her games without a miss, winner or not. He was there with her by her side, teaching her how to be kind enough to not hurt anybody and allow herself to be hurt. He taught her to be emotional yet to also remain logical. He taught her to tell him anything yet also let her remain her own privacy.

Miguel loved her very much and she loved him very much as well. 

“Hágase tu voluntad en la tierra como en el cielo.”

But he was a sinner and there will be time that his sins would catch up to him. He understood this one day when he got home one afternoon as he got home after work and was greeted by his child, his precious baby, his Gabriella’s lifeless body in her blood.

The tears came fast and thick. He immediately cradled her into his arms and rocked her back and forth. He begged her to wake up, to open her eyes for Papa. To surprise him that this was just a prank. Or a dream. Anything.

Please, wake up. You can’t die yet. I haven’t lived the rest of my life with you yet. I haven’t seen you on your quinceañera yet or your graduation or the first time you get a job. I haven’t seen you get married or surprise me with grandchildren. 

I haven’t seen you live your life yet.

Please. Don’t do this to me.

“Danos hoy nuestro pan de cada día.”

Violence has always resided in his soul and with his daughter’s death, he committed his one last vengeance. He visited his old life once more. He got back with his connections and his trusted friends gave him whatever he needed in exchange for nothing and as their condolences.

The killers of his daughter were related to his previous crimes. They were related to the families of the people he killed and they decided to kill his daughter as their revenge.

And in return, hunted them all down. He hunted all families down and despite all the scars, all the sharp cuts, all the black and blue bruises, and all the bullets that pierced him, he never gave up and killed them all. Multiple mafia familias were down and he made sure that they couldn’t even think of getting revenge and that all they could do was bow before him.

“Hahaha, you son a bitch,” one cackled as he spat on him, “you deserve it all.”

“You heartless bitch, you’re the reason why all your family’s dead. Fucking cunt, you think you can revive them? Dream on.” he babbled his useless mouth on and wheezed.

“I know.” How could Miguel not know? For not one second that had gone by, he could never ever forget how he killed his family.

“Your death will not bring my family alive but it will make sure that any other families won’t be killed.” And with that, he pulled the trigger and let the loud sound of the gun resonate through the room. His head spat out red and some solids of his brain decorated the wall behind him. His blood dripped down and it joined the pool of the blood of the other corpses that lay dead in the room. The rays of the rising sun shone through the window and it gleamed on the pool of red. Silence filled the room and only the sound of his breaths remained.

Miguel’s eyes gave up suddenly and he fell to the ground on his knees with a harsh thud. With a tear, his shoulders loosened.

Finally. It’s over. Everything’s over.

Miguel should be glad that all of his enemies were gone and nobody would even dare to hurt him anymore but what does it all matter when everyone he held dear was gone?

“Perdona nuestras ofensas,”

Due to the rules of the underworld, the top dogs with Miguel O’Hara leading, their identities would be hidden and they would not be allowed to surrender themselves to the government as it could overthrow the black society altogether. Partly because of this, he turned to God and moved to a quaint town. He became a priest with the sole purpose of repentance and earning forgiveness for his sins. He didn't know if he was asking God to forgive him or his family who died because of him to forgive his carelessness in protecting them.

It was ironic really because he never really believed in God despite the nightly mass he, his brother, and his mother used to have. The words he uttered were redundant, merely sounds he couldn't understand nor tried to. When his mother died, he and Gabriel did the nightly mass in honour of their late mother. And when he died, he could only attend Sunday mass in the church with Gabriella because of the ache of missing his mother and brother yet still continue the tradition of being faithful to God. He wanted her to grow up good and kind so he taught her the values and morals of being a Catholic despite not fully believing in God.

A hypocrite, that's what he was and usually thought about as he led the mass during his schedule.

And he still was when a quiet mysterious woman moved into town. 

You.

“Como también nosotros perdonamos a los que nos ofenden.”

You appeared so suddenly out of nowhere in this town. He lived in the Church but in such a small town, words tend to spread easily. In just two days of your arrival, he already heard of a young woman who had just moved in. 

Miguel was a bit wary as this town barely had any people. Most residents were grandparents or older parents who were already retired and their children who left to move to the cities for bigger opportunities and education. He didn't know what you were thinking about coming here. Were you sent here by the underworld? No, it can't be. He was protected by his friends who ruled the underworld now. Did you have a past like him? Were you running away from something? He sighed as he shook his head. Then again, it was none of his business and it was most definitely not his right to pry.

The next Sunday was the first time he saw you. You sat there at the back, ushered by your neighbours, he presumed. In rows of people, you stood out so brightly. Your back was straight, there was elegance so blatant despite the plain clothes you wore. He met your gaze one too many times and noticed the way you hung onto every word he uttered.

And when the mass had ended he stayed around longer this time and talked with the locals a bit more. And without a doubt, your new friend introduced him to you.

“Oh good morning, Father O’Hara! Wonderful mass, by the way, I loved the homily, well, as usual, it really reflected my situation now with my son in college. Do you still remember?” Mrs. Lorraine greeted him with a handshake.

“Oh for God’s sake, Lorraine, yes Father still remembers that and I’m sure he appreciated that you love it. Don’t forget you’re here to introduce [Name] to him.” Mrs. Eleanor said, cutting Miguel off before he could even reply.

“Oh! Dear me, why yes,” with widened eyes, she laughed, “Yes, forgive me.”

“Father, this is [Name]. They just moved in here and I invited them to join the church.” she moved her body to show your figure and Miguel finally had a close look upon you. Your eyes stared at him and for a second, he felt like there were just the two of you. You looked at him with wonder and curiosity and Dios mío, you looked so innocent and he was reminded of the darkness that exists from within him. He felt like one touch and he could corrupt you easily. He clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow, desperately hiding any tremor in his composure.

“[Name], this is Father Miguel O’Hara. He moved into this town a little while ago and clearly, one of our only priests.”

“Oh, good morning, Father Miguel.” Christ, your voice was soft as a wind that tickled his heart. You held out your hand to him. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Good morning.” He nodded stiffly. He took your hand and shook it.

Even your palm was smooth and he forced the thought down to hold your hand longer.

“No nos dejes caer en tentación y líbranos del mal.”

You were kind. Endlessly so. You sponsored this town’s community event alongside donations to the church anonymously but everybody knew it was you. Everyone just decided to keep their silence to respect your decision in keeping your identity. 

You preferred to listen to others and learn more about them rather than talk about yourself. You always asked how everyone was doing and gave them gifts under the excuse of it being old despite it polished brand new. Whenever children or the grandchildren of the locals visited, you always stopped by their house and gave them little gifts as well.

Miguel had seen you interact with children multiple times whenever he was doing groceries and pass by at yours, he saw you giggling along with the children. He saw you reading books to them under the shade of a tree and rays of sunlight would gently decorate your faces and the winds would play with your hair. He saw you happy and the children happy with you as well.

And his heart throbbed at the sight of you each time but he swallowed the feelings forcibly down as his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Amén.”

He hated you.

He hated the way you invoke feelings in him. He hated the way you tempt him unknowingly and he cannot blame you to take any responsibility for the way you make him feel. He hated the way you make him want to sin again, to unleash the beast inside him he had caged for so long but for another different reasons entirely which was you.

He was a priest, someone who he tried so hard not to sin but you make him falter in his beliefs so effortlessly.

So he hid himself who had become a sinner once more just at the thoughts of you.

“En el nombre del Padre,”

But he was so weak for you.

After a mass one sunday morning, you asked him if you could have a talk with him just the two of you and somewhere private. Miguel knew he should have said no. He should have turned you away and pretend he has not been watching you from afar and from the corner of his eye. But he was weak for you and before he knew it, he let you in on his office room.

“Father Miguel, why are you ignoring me?” you asked so suddenly and he knew it was coming. He has turned away from you, pretending he doesn’t see you coming and would walk the other way. But he was still caught off guard. You leaned closer to him he could smell your delicious scent. He leaned away because his patience with you was just so little he might lose his hard-earned control.

“Pardon me, but you’re getting too close.” He said with gritted teeth and tight fists. You looked hurt at that. With widened eyes that were soon filled with dejection, you slowly rubbed your arm. Guilt flooded his being and as much as he wanted to apologize, he couldn’t. Any second with you drove him insane and he could only take so much of this. He didn’t want to lose his reason, his morals, his values as a Priest. He couldn’t bear to. But any more second with you, he just might lose it all for you. You bit your lip.

“Why do you hate me so much?” you whispered with small tears welling up your eyes and Miguel hated himself more. There was nothing more he wanted to do at the moment than to hold you and wipe your tears away himself. But he can’t. It’s wrong. Priests don’t get close like that to their fellow believers. 

“I don’t hate you—” he sighed as he looked away but you cut him off.

“Then why do you look away from me? Am I so undeserving for you to not look me in the eye? Am I so disgusting for you to get close to me? Am I so inadequate and worthless for you to treat me like you treat others?” you said harshly at him while tears slipped your eyes. You took a step at him with every word you said and he took a step back in every step you took until his back was pushed to the wall behind him. “So do not tell me that you don’t hate me when all you did made me feel like you despised my entire being.”

For fuck’s sake.

He grabbed your arm and turned your body, switching positions with his. He made sure to cover the back of your head so it wouldn’t hit the wall too hard and he growled under his breath.

“I do not hate you.” he said with gritted teeth. “I want you.”

Your eyes widened at that.

“What?” you confusingly and breathlessly asked.

“Every time I see you, there is nothing more than I want than to be with you. I look at your pretty face and I want to kiss you so bad. I look at your nice figure and I want to hold and caress you. I want you.” he panted silently, the words he never dared to even utter to himself outloud was finally out of his chest. And now that they were free, he looked at your eyes to see how would you react. Would you push him away and slap his face? Would you be disgusted with him you’d never want to see him anymore?

He would understand but he didn’t know if he could bear with your hatred.

“Then take me.” your hand encircled his neck and the other gently stroked his cheek.

No.

“I’m right here.”

I can’t.

“Show me you don’t truly hate me.”

It’s wrong.

“Show me how much you want me.”

In an instant, he captured his lips with yours as his hand slid to the back of your neck. At the touch of your lips, the hidden lust for you blossomed. He pressed his face to yours and yours closer to his deeper, his kiss burning so passionately and fiercely. You opened your mouth with a moan and he invited his tongue in, and he nearly groaned at your fragrance hynotizing him and your sweet taste that ignited a new kind of hunger for him. His tongue swriled with yours and together, they danced a dance that left him breathless.

He pulled away slightly and a web of both of your saliva disappeared. He stared at you as you panted. You looked at him pleadingly and your stare sent a rush of blood down in his pants. He wanted more and he knew you wanted the same.

And with that, he plunged to the roaring sea and its waging waves of lust.

“Y del Hijo,”

For you, he threw his title as a Priest and became just Miguel.

All for you, he returned to his origins and became a sinner once more.

“Y del Espíritu Santo,”

Each day and night, you invited him into your temple and he worshipped you. What once was just thoughts that tortured him became reality that gave him a glimpse of heaven. Your aroma engulfed him and filled his never-ending greed of you and your flavor satiated his endless glutton for you.

“Amen.”

As he finished his prayer, he stood up from kneeling and bowed to the Cross of the Lord. He fixed his clothes and the sounds of his footsteps against the tiles of the Church rang as he left with thoughts of you.

He wanted to hear your melody that was akin to the trumpets of the angels again. He wanted your soft and supple skin to be against his dark and rough ones. He wanted to be pressed under you with your legs on the either side of his head and your juices spill in his mouth. He wanted your warm cavern envoloped around him and to feel you come undone by him.

With a silent chuckle, he thought about how he tried so hard to not corrupt you by with his wicked thoughts only to be corrupted by you instead.

For Miguel O’Hara was a sinner and no matter how much he tried to change that, he will always be one. Violence has resided in his soul, along with anger that bubbled in his veins but time changed him and has now become lust that occupied his being along with the infinite greed and glutton that only wanted you.