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

[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.

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.

[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.

[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.

[yellowbrokenblue]

The Club

Harry is the owner of a very exclusive nightclub, and when a girl he doesn’t recognise walks in, he knows he needs to have her.

cw: smut, exhibitionism, degradation

— ✶ — ✶ —

He spotted her from a mile away. Blonde bouncy curls cascading down her back, and her low cut top paired with a skirt that barely covered anything was almost too much for him to handle. He stood in the corner of the club, a drink in his hand as he watched her.

He didn’t recognise her at all, which was interesting to him as this was famously an exclusive establishment. You had to be on the list which the bouncer had at the entrance to get in. Harry approved of every one ever added to the list, but he didn’t recall adding her.

Harry didn’t do it to be a dick, or to act superior over everyone else. Making his club invite only had its reasons. For example, people came here for a good time- and it was not the ‘drink and dancing’ type of good time. He turned a blind eye to these activities, but the word spread over time about what went on inside. Not that it bothered Harry in any way. Sex was exciting. And if it made people talk, and made people more desperate to manage to get into his club, then so be it.

Curious people made him money.

He watched this girl longer, and the curiosity was clear on her face.

She was looking around, taking in the whole place, until she locked eyes with him. Harry’s eyes stared right into hers, sipping on his drink while her body froze in the middle of the dance floor.

Harry took the opportunity to place his glass on the nearest table, and walk through the crowd of people towards her.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked as he approached her.

He stood as close to her as he could, sliding a hand on her hip.

“Yes.” She replied, her eyes wide, staring into his. “I’m just looking for someone.”

Her voice was shaky as Harry used the hand on her hip to pull her closer.

“Hm?” Harry said, “And who may that be?”

Her attention shifted from Harry to the couple next to them on the dance floor. They weren’t even trying to be subtle about the fact the woman was getting fingered in the middle of a crowd of people, and the girl Harry had in front of him seemed shocked, yet pleasantly surprised at the same time.

Harry leaned down, his mouth brushing against her ear, and whispered, “I don’t remember adding you to the list of people who are allowed to come in my club, which is a shame, really, because I would’ve loved a pretty little thing like you to come in much sooner.”

Her eyes met his again.

“Now,” Harry repeated, “Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”

She swallowed.

“I’d heard people say things.” She said nervously, “I just wanted to experience it for myself.”

“Experience what?” Harry asked, a devilish smirk playing on his lips, “The drinks? The music? Or did you just wanna experience getting fucked in a crowd of people.”

Harry’s crotch pressed against her, his rock-hard cock pressing into her stomach.

She let out a gasp and pressed her hips against him, feeling her skirt ride up as she moved.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?”

“It’s uhm…” Harry tightened his grip on her waist, “It’s Maya.”

“Well, Maya,” Harry said, “Are you going to let me show you a good time?”

She nodded, and Harry was in no mood for time wasting, so immediately his lips were on hers. She tasted sweet, but the thought of fucking her was consuming him, so he began to grind his hips against her, a moan leaving Mayas lips. His mouth traveled down her neck, licking and sucking at her skin. He tasted her perfume as he kissed her, but even then it tasted sweet.

“You never told me your name.” She moaned as Harry kissed her collarbone, his erection still pressed hard against her.

“Harry.” He mumbled back. “Styles.”

His hands were exploring her body as his lips kissed her, and his fingers were slowly creeping up her short skirt.

“Listen to me, Maya. I’m going to make you cum in the middle of all of these people, right here, on my hand. And then I’m going to take you over to that corner and fuck you, because it’s all I’ve been able to think about since you walked through that door.”

She nodded in compliance, desperate to feel him.

He made quick work of finding her clit, moving in quick circles while she groaned against his skin. He slid one finger into her entrance, and then another, pumping his fingers into her while she moaned his name.

“Harry.” She cried, “Oh, yes! Just like that.”

“Can your tight little cunt take another finger?” Harry asked.

She nodded enthusiastically, and Harry inserted a third finger. She was loud, but the people around them didn’t care at all, everyone was engrossed in their own business, not caring what was going on around them.

“You’re so tight,” Harry said, “Can feel you clenching around my hand. I want you to cum now.”

“I’m close.” She moaned, her head falling backwards as Harry pumped his fingers faster.

She cried out as she orgasmed, her sticky cum coating Harry’s hand, and dripping down her leg. She moaned his name over and over, Harry keeping a hand on her waist to hold her steady.

“‘Atta girl.” Harry said, “You just came on my fingers in front of all of these people, bet it made you feel good, huh?”

She nodded.

Harry grinned, bringing his hand to his lips, and sucking on them. Licking her cum right off her fingers.

Her wide eyes watched him, audibly moaning at his actions.

“We’re not done here, yet.” Harry said, as he led her over to the back of the club, towards the bathrooms.

He took a key out of his pocket, and unlocked the bathroom specifically for staff, leading her inside and locking the door behind them again, leaving the key in the lock so no one else would be able to enter from the outside.

He could see her better now, away from the very dim lighting of the club.

Her hair was much lighter than he thought, a bleached blonde with her natural brunette hair creeping through at her roots. Her makeup was smudged from their previous activities, and her outfit was still as flimsy and revealing as it had been outside. The only thing keeping her top on her body was a small tie at the top at the back of her neck.

“You’re a pretty girl, Maya.” Harry said. “How lucky am I that a little whore like you walked into my club tonight?”

Her breathing was heavy, and her cheeks flushed.

“Pull your skirt up,” Harry said, “All the way to your hips.

She quickly done as he said, and Harry unbuttoned his pants, sliding them off.

He guided her to the other side of the bathroom, to where the sink and mirror were.

“I like to see people when I fuck them.” Harry said. “Can I fuck you, Maya?”

She nodded, enthusiastically.

Harry took her wrist and spun her around, so they were both facing the mirror.

“Say it.” He said.

“I want you to fuck me.” She said.

He grinned.

“Ask nicely, and I will.”

“Please fuck me, Harry.” She begged, “I need to feel you.”

Harry grinned, “Much better.“

He reached down to grab a condom from his jeans before throwing them back on the floor, and took off his underwear, letting his erection spring free.

He rolled the condom on, and grabbed hold of Mayas hips, quickly finding her entrance, and pushing the tip of his dick into her from behind.

Her cries of pleasure while he sunk himself deep into her probably could’ve been enough for Harry to cum right there and then, but the moans she let out of her mouth as he quickly thrusted were even better.

She gripped the sink as he fucked her. It was rough, messy. But neither of them cared.

He looked at her in the mirror, her makeup was ruined and her hair was a tangled mess from Harry’s hand gripping onto it.

“You’re taking my cock so well, Maya. So tight, my good little whore.”

She moaned at his words, and he sped up, desperate to make her cum.

The bathroom was filled with the sounds of their moans and their skin colliding, the smell of sex filling the room.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum.” She said.

He wished he had a video of this so he could remember her moans of pleasure for the rest of his life. He wanted to hear her cry out his name while he fucked he from behind forever.

“Cum with me, gorgeous.”

He’d been struggling to hold on since the moment his cock was inside of her, and as soon as she reached her own orgasm, Harry let himself release, pulling out from her and letting his cum fill the condom.

The softened nightclub music soon was the only thing either of them heard while the both caught there breath. Harry slipped his underwear and pants back on, and Maya sorted herself the best she could in the mirror, pulling her skirt back down and wiping away the smudged makeup.

“Where’s your phone?” Harry asked.

Maya turned to him.

“They took everyone’s phones off them at the door.”

“Shit,” Harry said, forgetting about the rule he had set where security thoroughly searched everyone at the entrance for mobile phones or any other recording equipment, and locking it up for the duration of your stay. It was to prevent any pervs videoing people or anyone leaking the ongoings of the exclusive club. “I forgot about that.”

“You got a pen?” Harry asked.

She shook her head, “I think I have an eyeliner pencil in my pocket?”

“Get it out, that’ll do.” Harry said.

She found the pencil, and handed it to him.

“Your arm?” Harry said, grabbing her hand and pulling her arm towards him.

She assumed this was going to be a one time thing, but when Harry began to write a phone number up her arm, she guessed that Harry hadn’t thought the same.

“I want you to come back tomorrow.” He said. “We’re not done here.”

read part two here !

[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. 

[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.

[tldix]

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”

-

[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.

[thedeviltohisangel]

Love in the Echoes: The Portrait

Summary: Lilli arrives in the Spring Court for the beginnings of her arranged marriage to Tamlin, the future High Lord. She longs for her loved ones left behind but is determined to forge the alliance her father has sent her to here to achieve; Years later, Rhysand attends Calanmai at the Spring Court for a last night of freedom. And perhaps a last reminder of the sister he has almost forgotten.

third installment in Love in the Echoes. The rest can be found in my pinned post!

The girl in the mirror looked the same as she did yesterday. She was smooth and supple. A flush to her cheeks and a natural curl to her hair. Overnight she had managed to calm the tremor in her hands. Now, they were folded gently in her lap as Akiva, the handmaiden that had been assigned to her on arrival, was brushing glitter over her shoulders and collarbone.

“Akiva?” Lilli asked without moving a muscle. The female was being very meticulous in her actions. 

“Yes, my lady?”

“Tell me a little bit about yourself.” If this was to be her home, if they were to spend every day together, she wanted to know her. Back home in Velaris, her handmaids had become something akin to her friends. A level of intimacy that could only ever be understood by the females in this world. Or so the Princess of Starlight had thought. The look of horror on Akiva’s face led her to believe it might not be as universal an experience as she thought. “Or, you don’t have to. I apologize if that was too forward-” A gentle but authoritative knock rang throughout the room. Even Celeste woke from her nap on the bed and sat up straight, a few licks to her fur to make sure she looked presentable.

“Princess Lilliwen? Might I come in?”  Lilli looked to Akiva for her approval that she looked ready enough to take on the day, to face her betrothed. The female nodded once, adjusting the skirt of her light blue dress with gold, floral accents. Akiva brushed her hair over her shoulder, showing off the glow of her clavicle and the teasing curve of her cleavage before the Princess reached the door. With one last steadying breath, she smiled and turned the knob. 

“Good morning.” She ensured there was a lilt to her voice. Something sweet and desperate and addicting. She didn’t love him. Not yet at least. But he was handsome. Rhysand said he was kind in spite of the rest of his family. He looked every bit the part of heir to the Spring Court. Carried himself the same way her brother did, both in a similarly peculiar and tenuous position. 

“Good morning.” Tamlin. The male she was set to marry in a few months time. Though the relationship between their courts had long been prickly, to put it mildly, it was an impersonal attempt by their fathers to begin a tentative understanding. The High Lord of the Night Court’s first attempt at marrying off his daughter, to none other than Eris Vanserra, had ended rather publically and rather abruptly. It had taken patience to find a new match for his youngest. The one he had always viewed as his most lethal dagger. “I was wondering if you would like to accompany me for a walk through the gardens.”

“Might these gardens also include the famed rose garden of the Spring Court?” Lilli pressed against the doorframe, maintaining the proper etiquette of staying in her room until Tamlin invited her out and Tamlin maintaining the proper etiquette of staying on this side of the threshold, but pressing the limits on the amount of space between them. She wanted something to sizzle and snap between them. Something electric and passionate. Something breathless and effervescent and worth leaving her home for. She had always dreamed of a love so consuming that it became her. A love so fantastical it made the stories around the Windhaven bonfire seem tame and commonplace. Lilli had experienced misplaced lust before. A love that was sweet and caring. A love that was unrequited. But this had to be different. He was set to be her husband. The father to her children. 

“It most definitely does, my princess.” They were both the product of the divine mating bond. A blessing directly from the Mother. Only their parents seemed less than suited as mates. Perhaps they were cursed to never find the bond themselves as payment for squandering the blessing they had progenated from.

“I would be honored to accompany you, my prince.” 

“Celeste may join us as well. Should that be your wish.” Lilli giggled as Akiva silently helped her into a light robe, suitable for the temperate weather and to cover any bare skin in the event she came across the High Lord during their walk. 

“It is I who does as Celeste wishes. Not the other way around. She will find us when it suits her.” She kissed the top of her fluffy head before accepting the arm Tamlin offered her, leading her out to see her new court, the one she would preside over as its Lady one day, for the first time.

The first thing she noticed was the lack of activity in the hallways of the manor. Her expectation had been a house full of commotion, faeries running about to make sure everything was perfectly in place for the High Lord and his family. Instead, not a maid or servant was in sight. “The household staff prefers to keep to themselves. They do their best work away from prying eyes.” Lilli nodded but read the meaning behind his words. The High Lord did not wish to see the members of his household staff. They made themselves scarce in his presence or his family’s. Her father was known to view the world through a specific hierarchy. But he had never believed in human servitude or the unjust punishment of those deemed lesser. He had been cruel in his own ways. In ways Lilli could never bring herself to think about.

“Is it true your father planted the roses for your mother?” she asked, the change of subject abrupt on purpose. Her fingers tightened around his arm as they exited the manor and the sun cast warmth onto their faces. 

“It is. She tends to them herself every day.” Lilli smiled. For all the talk of his father’s cruelty, the beauty and kindness of his mother was just as well known.

“Well they certainly look as though they are more than just tended to. They look as though they are loved,” she mused as he led her to the edge of the garden. Her fingers tentatively stroked over a petal. Just as Azriel’s fingers had-no. 

She jumped back into Tamlin’s chest. “Did a thorn get you?” He cradled her hands in his, inspecting the skin for any hint of a wound. Any sign of something less than perfect. Yes, she wanted to say, the thorn of an unreciprocated love. The thorn of a memory so painful I could perish where I stand and it would hurt less.

“No, no, I am okay. A bug just startled me.” She was breathless as she tried to explain it away. A smile of delight was plastered back onto her face as quickly as she could muster. With nothing but the confidence of a future High Lord, Tamlin brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles with a care that warmed her cheeks. “If a thorn had snared me, I am certain your kiss would have healed it.” He rose to his full height and took a step closer to her without ever dropping her hand.

“Is it impolite to kiss you properly, Princess?” Maybe this is what she had been asking for. A pull that was too strong to ignore. A current to sweep her under and take her away. Where she could forget the land she had come from and fully throw herself into this one. 

“Not if I ask you to.” She could do this. She’d been raised to secure power on behalf of her father, and one day her brother. She had always known she would not wed for love or happiness but for the success of her court. And if she wanted to be able to accomplish that, she would have to move on. Move on from the tentative stroke of fingers down her cheek. The absolutely electrifying feel of lips pressed to the skin of her forehead. The split second before she had winnowed away when eyes had tried to say everything lips never could. 

The gentle tug of her chest that had told her to stay only for her to go.

“Will you please kiss me properly, my prince?”

----

They kissed in the rose gardens for what felt like hours. Fully giving themselves into the budding potential that was simmering between them. He had kept his hands on her cheeks. The back of her neck. Had kept the touch on her waist as light as a feather. Lilli could have been convinced she had imagined it.

She had enjoyed it. And that felt like a betrayal to the land she had come from. From the people who had raised her and loved her. Of course she wanted to make her father proud and achieve the alliance he had sent her there to secure. It was her own fault for getting too comfortable with the warmth of the people she loved. For allowing herself to be lulled into the complacency that her mother and siblings and Rory and Cassian and…and…no.

“Tomorrow, we will sit for our official portraits.” It was after dinner, her and Tamlin enjoying their own private meal on the balcony of the Manor, and they were gently moving to the sounds of a piano as she had requested. “I’ve seen the gown my mother picked for you to wear. I have no doubt you will look absolutely stunning.”

“It would seem Spring Court colors suit me,” Lilli teased as Tamlin led her in a gentle spin.

“One would find it an impossible task to find colors that did not suit you, my lady.” She blushed and hid her shyness in his chest, feeling his smile against the top of her head. Yes, she could learn to love him. She could learn to be happy. 

“One night,” she pulled her face from his chest and took a risk by placing her hand to his cheek, “I’ll have to dance for you and your violin.”

“That sounds like quite the proposal for the first Calanmai you and my son will share together.” They jumped apart and Lilli dropped into a reverent curtsy at the sight of the High Lord of Spring. She had barely spoken to him upon her arrival, her father doing all the talking and the servants rushing her away to ensure she was settled for the courtship began in earnest.

“My Lord. A pleasure to see you this evening.” Her skin felt like it was curdling under his assessing gaze. 

“Father. We were just about to retire to our rooms.” Lilli thinks the musician in the corner was shaking but she didn’t let her eyes linger for too long.

“Very well. Was just making sure my…investment was paying its dividends.” A commodity. That was how she felt standing in this room right now. Like something to be bought and sold and never to linger. Something that no one should ever grow too attached to. “I look forward to your beauty joining the halls of the gallery, princess.” He didn’t say it with the same caramel warmth that Tamlin did. Didn’t add  my in front of it as a way to show deference or respect the way Tamlin did. 

“Yes, my Lord. I look forward to witnessing the beautiful artistry of the Spring Court firsthand.” The High Lord smirked and traced his eyes from her feet to her head one last time, her muscles frozen in preservation, before he turned and disappeared from the room.

“Lilliwen, I’m-”

“All of a sudden I am quite exhausted, Tamlin. Might you escort me to my room?” The warmth and prickling affection had dissipated as she held his arm tightly and walked with a rigid gaze in the direction of her quarters. They reached her door without a word and when she turned to look at him, she couldn’t help but think how different she felt than she had in the same position this morning. How one interaction with his father had reminded her exactly of her place in this court. Exactly of her purpose. Exactly of her value. 

“Tomorrow, if you’d like, we can have breakfast together before you sit for your portrait. I can have the food brought here directly.”

“Just us?” Not with him?

“Yes. Just the two of us.”

“I’d like that very much.” She kissed his cheek gratefully. “Good night, Tamlin. I do hope your dreams are sweet.” He bent to kiss the top of her hand.

“They will be of you, my princess.” 

The room lit to life as she stepped through the door, Celeste bounding over to her with inquisitive meows. She scratched at the skirt of her gown and looked at her like she was waiting for answers. Waiting for information. Lilli kicked her silk slippers from her feet and collapsed onto the floor. Celeste crawled into her lap and nestled under her chin as the Princess placed gentle kisses to her fur.

“I like being with him. But I don’t like being here. Does that make sense?” she whispered. The cat licked at her chin in acknowledgement and Lilli held her tighter. “Are there any messages for me?” The reason Celeste always remained so steadfast by her side. She possessed an unexplainable magic to transmit the spoken word with her sister, Helia, whos resided with Aurora in the Dawn Court. They had found the cats in the markets of Velaris, the two girls besides themselves that the sisters could be separated, purchasing them without a second thought. Aurora took the black cat to remind her of her friend in the Night Court and Lilli took the white cat to remind her of her friend in the Dawn Court. Celeste and Helia. Lilliwen and Aurora. Sisters separated by distance but hearts closer than ever.

“Princess?” Lilli was startled by the voice of her handmaiden knocking on the door. “I’ve come for your last tending of the night.” She rose and let Akiva in, keeping Celeste close to her chest, and was much less inquisitive that she had been in the morning. Slow and steady. Her father had told her once she was too much and not enough all at once and would need to focus and think in order to mitigate that fact. Perhaps her handmaid was a good place to try and start.

Celeste lounged in the crook of her elbow and accepted all her kisses as Akiva freed her from her corset, helped her bathe and styled her hair for sleep so it would be perfectly shiny for the morning.

“Tamlin is going to bring breakfast to my room tomorrow. I’ll need your assistance readying myself and the premises for his arrival.” Akiva nodded once and gathered the soiled gown into her arms, prepared to leave. 

“I’ve left you a tray of tea on the vanity, Princess. Have a good night and I will see you in the morning.” That furrowed her brow. When had a tray of tea entered her room? 

After the door clicked shut, Lilli let Celeste run and sniff at the tray first. When the cat didn’t swat at it, she deemed it must be safe for a closer inspection at least. She sat at the vanity and lifted the cup to her lips, a soothing aroma and one that was of utmost familiarity permeating her senses. This was tea from Velaris. A brew she had every morning with her breakfast since she was old enough. A brew she had shared by the fire with her siblings and her friend. A brew that Azriel had-no. The cup clattered back to the tray at the intrusive thought. 

“Please stop making me think about him,” she whispered. It may have been a prayer or it may have been a plea. Whatever it took to shake the shadowsinger from her mind. To clear her thoughts so she could focus on her courtship and impending marriage to the heir of the Spring Court. 

She watched a tear drop from her eyes onto the paper under the tea cup and-

Paper? Why was there a slip of paper under the tea cup? Was it a note from her betrothed explaining he had gotten her the tea as a present and reminder of home? A note from the High Lord of Spring that he was watching her? A note from her father that he was already disappointed in the way she was carrying herself?

You are stronger than you know. You are braver than you know. - DS

DS. Darkstar. The code name for Azriel they had agreed upon back when he was assigned to be her shadow after the incident involving her and the Illyrian warriors of Windhaven.

Lilli clutched the paper to her chest and bit her lip to refrain a sob until blood beaded in its wake. She knew in an instant Akiva was more than just a handmaiden in the Spring Court. That there was no coincidence in her assignment to Lilli. She knew Azriel would not risk exposing one of his spies if he didn’t think it was necessary…maybe he had known her first night would be tough. Maybe he had known she’d undoubtedly feel such despair and loneliness and sadness at leaving the only place she had ever known. In a weird way she hoped he had felt it. Felt it in her chest the same way she felt everything recently. And as she tossed the paper into the fire and watched it turn to ash, she hoped he felt the love she had for him too.

----

Breakfast had been an uneventful affair just as she had hoped. She had awoken hours before the sun to ready herself for Tamlin’s arrival and ensure nothing was out of place. He had kissed her hand and told her how beautiful she looked when he entered. She quipped back that he would be quite taken aback by the gown she selected for her portrait if such a simple gown had him so enamored already.

They conversed easily. Lilli slowly learning she didn’t have to be afraid to laugh in his presence. That he wouldn’t be offended if she asked a question in response to what he had said. It was a meal she could picture herself having again and it wasn’t as dull as she had cried herself to sleep thinking it would be many moons before her arrival. It was a step forward in convincing herself she could do this. She wouldn’t let this marriage be the end of her. She would find a way to be happy in this life and maybe…maybe she could convince herself she was capable of falling in love too.

The shade of green of her gown for the portrait was nearly light enough to be mint. It draped and folded elegantly to the floor and flowed behind her in a long train. Flowers were embroidered around the hem, paneled up her legs, flowing from her waist and around the deep neckline that accentuated her youth. The Lady of the Spring Court had it tailor made for her for the occasion and she had thanked her profusely for it upon its gifting.

“You look exactly as the Lady of this court should,” she remarked as Lilli stepped from behind her dressing curtain to earn her final approval.

“Thank you, my lady. It is one of the most beautiful gowns I will ever have the pleasure of wearing.” 

“Turn for me. Let me see your hair.” The curly strands had been woven with flowers made of pearls. Everything about her look screamed of a wealth and opulence Lilli had always had but had never flaunted. Never quite like this. “Perfection. Let us be on our way.” Akiva gathered the train of Lilli’s skirt as they walked quickly to keep pace with Lady Spring, the winds and turns of the manor still completely new to the Princess of Starlight. She had many questions she wanted to ask as they meandered to their destination but she kept them locked away. She would save them for her next moment alone with Tamlin.

“Ah, there they are! Look how beautiful my son’s bride is, Casper.” Lilli made sure her smile was demure enough to pass the assessing gaze of the High Lord of Spring. Don’t stand out too much, she thought, keep the attention away from yourself as best as possible.

“Your son is the luckiest male in all of Prythian, my lord.”

“They make quite the pair. And I expect your portrait to capture that in exquisite detail.”

“My Lord,” Lilli greeted with a gentle curtsy as the artist’s assistant led her to a chair perfectly captured in the sunlight of the early afternoon. She sat impeccably still as his pencil sketched the outline of her figure and her dress before her betrothed entered the room to begin posing for the portrait of them together. The one that would be sent to the High Lords of Prythian as the official announcement and invitation to their wedding. It was the one her friends and family would see as the first reminder of her since she left. Lilli made sure to sit straighter and soften her eyes into a gaze of admiration and love. She wanted them to know she was okay. That she wasn’t desperately sad or lonely. She would be happy. She would be their Princess and she would be happy.

It was those eyes Rhysand was desperately looking for. Allowed one night of freedom away from Amarantha to seek out traitors to her cause. There were so many reasons for him to feel a pull to the Spring Court. The female that lingered at the edges of his dreams was out there somewhere. And he would find her. But if this was his last chance to embrace the world outside the Middle, he needed to see his sister one last time. 

The gallery door opened with ease and he strode past the centuries of Spring Court royalty and landscapes until he found it. An elegant princess who looked young and confident in colors that were not her own but with a determination behind her eyes to make them so. 

“Lilli,” he breathed. Rhysand dared to let his fingers touch the canvas before him ever so slightly in fear the image would disappear before his eyes. This image that he was committing to his memory. This image that would be all he had of his sister for the rest of his immortal life span. “I love you. And I will never stop. I’m sorry I’ve failed you,” he blinked back the tears threatening to spill over his eyes, “I’m going to keep you safe. I’m going to keep Aurora safe, I promise.” The girl whose memories he had wiped to protect the city and people he loved. The girl who told him of her dreams of starlight and a sister she never remembered having. The girl Rhysand would lie awake next to and ask to tell him about this sister. About the princess who inhabited starlight in a way that made her hope there was a world outside of this mountain. His only tether to the world of his sister. The tether he would protect with his life if he had to.

He had forgotten how Lilli sounded when she laughed. How her eyes rolled when he said something that annoyed her. How she smiled and how she danced and how she snored when she napped by the fire but not when she was lying in her bed. Seeing this portrait of her reminded him of all the things about his sister he loved. And he let his forehead rest against his briefly, to imagine the feel of hugging her one last time, to be as close to her as he could one last time. 

Turning and walking from that portrait took more strength from him than anything ever had. For the ache on the outside of his wrist reminded him he wasn’t just letting down his sister. He was letting down his mother. A bargain so powerful it remained etched across his skin even in her death. A pain he would never be able to overcome. A pain he welcomed. For it was better than not feeling anything at all.

[yanderejustforyou]

The Nightmares of Iron

Summary:

"Tony, it’s okay," Peter said, his voice soft but urgent, as he reached out to shake Tony’s shoulder gently. "You’re safe. I’m here."

The night was unusually quiet at the Avengers Tower, the usual hum of activity stilled. Peter Parker had stayed late in the lab, tinkering with a few gadgets. He was trying to distract himself, but his mind kept drifting back to the same thought: Tony Stark.

Peter had always admired Tony, but lately, his feelings had transformed into something more intense. The more time he spent around the older man, the more he craved Tony's attention and approval. It was no longer just admiration; it was something deeper and more obsessive, and Peter struggled to control these emotions.

As Peter worked on a small project, a strange sound cut through the silence—Tony’s voice, muffled but unmistakable. "No... no, please... stop..." Tony’s words were low, pained, drifting through the walls from his private quarters. Peter’s heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, he stood up from his workbench and moved toward Tony’s room. He hesitated for a moment before gently knocking on the door.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice trembled slightly, the oppressive silence wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. “Tony? Are you alright in there?”

A muffled voice broke through the silence, louder this time and filled with desperation. "No... no, please... not again..."

A knot formed in Peter’s stomach, an uneasy blend of concern and a darker, more unsettling feeling that he couldn't quite identify. With a shaky breath, he pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit room. The sight that met him was disturbing, sending chills down his spine as he took in the scene before him.

Tony was thrashing in his bed, covered in sweat, his face twisted in pain. The blankets were tangled around him, and his body jerked as if trying to escape an unseen threat. His eyes were closed, but his expression was full of terror. He was trapped in a nightmare, reliving some horrific memory or vision.

“Tony,” Peter whispered, his voice trembling. He couldn’t bear to see the man like this—so vulnerable, so broken. The urge to comfort and protect him surged in Peter’s chest. He moved closer, sitting at the edge of Tony’s bed. 

"Tony, it’s okay," Peter said, his voice soft yet urgent, as he gently shook Tony’s shoulder. "You’re safe. I’m here."

Tony's eyes shot open, wide with a raw panic that consumed him, his chest rising and falling with erratic, uneven breaths. The dim light of the room flickered as his gaze finally locked onto Peter, revealing a fleeting moment of recognition amidst the chaos. Yet, that recognition was overshadowed by a deep, haunting fear that reflected in his wide eyes.

“Peter?” His voice cracked under the weight of emotion, strained and desperate as he struggled to push himself upright. The terror etched on his features was palpable, but it was accompanied by something equally distressing—a profound, aching exhaustion that seemed to seep into his very bones.

Before Peter could muster a response or offer comfort, Tony's hand shot out with a fierce urgency, gripping Peter's wrist with an unexpected intensity. The tremor in his grip betrayed the depth of his panic. “Please… don’t let it happen again,” Tony pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and filled with anguish. “I can’t—” He trailed off, the unspoken fear hanging heavy in the air between them, a weight that threatened to crush them both.

Peter’s heart thundered in his chest. The desperation in Tony’s voice, the way his hand gripped him, sent a thrill through Peter’s veins. He wasn’t sure if it was pity or something else that made him want to reach out and hold Tony—comfort him—but the intensity of it all consumed him.

“It’s okay,” Peter repeated, though his voice wavered. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Tony. I won’t leave.” Peter moved closer, his breath shaky, as he gently pried Tony’s hand off his wrist and took it in his own. The warmth of Tony’s skin sent a jolt through him. For a moment, he simply held Tony’s hand, unsure of what to do next. He could feel Tony’s pulse, fast and uneven, matching his own rapid heartbeat.

Tony leaned back against the headboard, breathing heavily. His eyes were wide and unblinking, but his gaze lingered on Peter, the fear still apparent. “I... I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending everything’s okay,” Tony admitted, his voice soft but strained. "The nightmares... they never stop."

Peter felt a strange sense of satisfaction as he noticed how much Tony seemed to depend on him, even if he didn't completely understand why. This moment of vulnerability was something Peter had longed for, even if he hadn’t realized it before. He wanted to be the one to save Tony—to be the one Tony relied on. He wanted to be the person who made everything right.

“I’ll be here for you,” Peter said softly, leaning forward to press his forehead against Tony’s. Their faces were so close that Peter could feel the warmth radiating from Tony’s skin. “I’ll always be here.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered, and for a moment, Peter thought he might pull away. But Tony didn’t. Instead, Tony’s fingers slowly traced the back of Peter’s hand, an unconscious motion that sent a shiver down Peter’s spine.

“You don’t have to do this, Peter,” Tony murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion and something else—something that Peter couldn’t quite place. "You don't know what you're asking for." Peter’s lips twitched into a faint smile. His heart raced, and his thoughts felt clouded. All he wanted was to be close to Tony, to make him need him. To be more than just the kid who idolized him.

“I know exactly what I’m asking for, Tony,” Peter whispered, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning. He gently cupped Tony’s face in his hands, the touch lingering longer than necessary. “I’ll stay with you tonight, okay? No nightmares. Just us.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when they reopened, they held a softness and vulnerability that Peter had never witnessed before. The depth of emotion in Tony’s gaze made Peter’s heart tighten. As Tony leaned into Peter’s gentle touch, a shaky breath escaped his lips, filled with uncertainty. “Okay,” he whispered, the word hanging in the air, fragile and tentative, as if he were testing the weight of it.

Peter didn’t require Tony to offer reassurances. He didn’t need Tony to grasp the full magnitude of what he was feeling or the complexities of their situation. What he needed was for Tony to continue seeking him out, to lean on him like a sturdy pillar in a storm. As long as Tony relied on him, Peter would hold on tightly, ensuring that he was always there to catch him.

As Tony’s breathing slowly steadied, Peter remained at his side, never once considering leaving.

[maxwell-grant]

So because I'm curious: what do you think would have happened if Francis had died of - more or less - natural causes before Sofia found out she's alive or where she is, in a way that would make it hard for Oz to spin it as her direct fault? What if for example she had died in the bath tub that day, or died in her sleep at some point? Do you think he still would have had that whole "excising his own heart and soul metaphorically and literally by killing Vic" moment?

Probably Oz wouldn't have come to that realization so quickly and brutally - the very fact that Sofia was able to attack him via his mom was a big part of why he ultimately did what he did, why he felt like he had to do it. Maybe it would take more for him to decide to kill Victor the way he did. It's hard to consider what would have happened if Francis went out like that, and took his entire justification / life's motivation from him like that. Because as is, Oswald can still lean on "Francis" for validation and justification, he can do things in her name and keep her there in the penthouse and try to keep this part of his life intact even if there is no actual love there anymore, but if Francis went out from under him, if the love Oswald believed was there never soured, with him never hearing what she actually felt the whole time or having anyone threaten his foundational lie, I think it might go one of two ways:

Either he kills Vic in the exact same way out of sheer (and far greater) heartbreak, in the moment she goes or after he "wins" and the hollowness of the victory gets to him - or his desperate and all-consuming and now, somehow far more unresolved, need for approval and validation starts to bleed more heavily into the only two people he has left, and that ultimately sours his relationship with them faster. Like they said in the podcast: if Oz had it his way, Victor would be the guy planning his funeral parade and telling Oswald Cobb stories the way he told Rex Calabrese stories. But Oz will never get things his way, never entirely, and so that was never gonna be an option for Victor. I don't think survival in Gotham City was ever an option for Victor.

No gangster in town would have taken a chance on a weak scrawny stuttering kid who tried to rob his car, no gangster in town would have let the kid who knows he murdered the new kingpin live, no gangster would have been as empathetic and understanding to him and his disability as Oz. And no gangster in town would have murdered their Number One Guy, their greatest and only ally who gave them an army and a revolution and campaign-winning rhetoric and did it all asking for literally nothing, the sole justification for everything they're doing, their most loyal and devoted henchman and partner, over such a weak and sentimental and unnecessary reason.

Even if Oz managed to completely corrupt Victor, even if Victor somehow never found out about the truth of what he's done, eventually Oz would have left him to die or sold him out as soon as it became the convenient thing to do. I don't think he was ever actually going to bond with Victor to the point of prioritizing his safety - even if they truly liked and even loved each other as family, the best thing that Victor can ever be for Oz is a brother, and we know how he feels about those.

[justporo]

A Night of Song and Laughter (Part 16)

In which Astarion and Tav do enjoy each other's company very closely indeed but Tav has the upper hand for once and lives out the moment to its full potential.

The middle of the day is a fine time to just drop a dirty little chapter full of smut, don't you think? (At least here it's the middle of the day, good timezones to you)

This felt actually a lot more naughty and intimate than the first real smut chapter in this - at least while writing. But I'll let you be the judge of that...

Two songs for this: Kiss Me You Animal - Burn the Ballroom and Shirt - SZA

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You) Warnings: Explicit content

You were riding Astarion languidly in your ginormous bed, chasing the third high of the night. You had taken him up on his words to make you think about other things and other things just happened to be straddling him and slowly driving him into madness. Another sudden change in mood that was by now probably fueled by more than just a tinge of hysteria from the seemingly unending night.

When you had expressed to him that you were inclined to go for yet another round after you had laid down on your bed with your towels still covering you up, his lips had curled into the most lewd and seductive smile: “I see, you might be taking on yet another one of my qualities accordingly: an insatiable need to devour you over and over. Your wish be my command, my love!” You had been immediately charmed by his words and his admission about his carnal and desperate needs for you, but you still had grabbed his hands which had immediately started to eagerly wander again. A thought had crossed your mind that you needed to voice: “I… Astarion… When you say stuff like that last part… I – just want to make sure that you know that I would never want you to do this were it not what you wanted as well. I mean, even if you wanted to turn your back on sex altogether because you’re done with it, that would be fine for me too, because being with you and loving you is the most important part and…” Astarion put a finger on your lips to softly silence you: “Love, you are rambling again.” He dragged you onto his body, so he was on his back and you were laying on your stomach on top of him – your towel holding on for dear life.

“Since you are worried about me, which, really, I cannot express how much I appreciate, my heart - ”, Astarion continued and let his hand drag through your hair, almost making you purr in approval “- I will have you know, that I am never getting on my back again if I do not deliberately choose to do so. And,” – he grabbed your fingers that had begun to tap an idle tune on his chest and kissed them “as far as I am concerned my hunger for you might be greater than you might yet realize.” The looks he threw you went from playful lust to sincere love in a heartbeat. “I’ve never had something like this, it might be almost as new to me as it might be to you. But” – his gaze turned hungry again – “if I were to unleash the full vastness of my needs and feelings for you, I fear I might actually break you or scare you off for good.” The sparkle in his eyes saying that let delicious shivers run down your spine – others might’ve been scared by a confession like this but considering the range of thoughts and emotions about this man that kept consuming your every waking thought… you’d probably just made the perfect pair.

You smirked at him and simply hummed contentedly now reassured that you were on the same page. “Now”, Astarion said raising his voice and giving you a light slap on your butt “be a good girl and sit on my lap!” You happily obeyed and basked in the admiring looks he threw you, when you sat up and slowly unraveled your towel to reveal your naked form beneath it.

Then you went to take his towel off from around his hips and immediately discovered that he must’ve enjoyed the view so far and was more than prepared for you to fulfill your needs.

So, there you were: sitting on his lap, grinding against him, his dick hitting deep inside you every time you lifted up your hips, simply to let them slam down again, while he kept desperately moaning and cheering you on with praise. He had his legs propped up to help you aid to get the most traction out of every single roll of your hips that he was holding onto, his thumbs lazily rubbing circles on your pelvic bones. The silk sheets were messily bunched up all around you and a sheen of sweat made your skin glisten in the light of the oil lamps on your nightstands.

You were ecstatic. His words of admiration and naughty praise in a deep and husky voice, while he was interrupted by his own moans and his voice kept breaking while worshipping you, turned you positively feral and made you feel powerful. Just knowing what power you held over this ethereal man that must’ve seen almost everything already but still seemed to lose his mind at you gleefully crying out his name. It took you to newly known heights; you’d never felt this good in your life.

You slowly picked up the pace and started moaning louder while you lifted your arms over your head and dragged your hair up while throwing your head back and arching your spine – very well aware that it would draw Astarion’s attention to your chest. “Gods, your breasts look amazing when you’re moving like that, love”, Astarion wasted no time to say and silently gasp in admiration.

You smiled mischievously at him, still toying with your hair and moved harder to give him more of the desired movement. “Gods”, he moaned and arched his head back with a hiss from the sensation of you coming down hard around him and enjoying the view of your jigging boobs that felt deliciously heavy with lust.

While the attention was on them you let your hair fall down again and moved your hands to squeeze your breasts, making yourself moan with the sensation and sending electric jolts down between your legs when you started to twist one of your hardened peaks.

Astarion lifted one of his hands and gave you a slap on your behind which made you gasp and clench your core which then made him gasp in return and arch his back. He looked almost completely out of it by now, his tone almost pleading, when he said: “You’re a goddess.” "Then keep worshipping me!"

You kept squeezing your breasts with one hand while you let your other hand wander down your body, over your stomach, then deeper, over your clit, but only remaining there shortly before letting it wander onto Astarion’s body. You noticed the markings on your arm glowing and pulsating slightly but kept focusing on the vampire’s prone body beneath you.

You hungrily drank in the shapes, lines and angles of his body. The muscles of his abdomen tensed under your gentle caress. You took him and his body in while you lazily kept rolling your hips to ride him: his well-toned upper body, his arms just as muscular, holding you firmly, those sinful long and elegant fingers on your hips and most of all: his beautiful face with its sharp red eyes that watched you eagerly and hungrily.

Astarion bucked his hips, making you gasp as much from the sudden movement as from the delicious friction it created. Seemingly you had gotten too lost in his features and slowed down too much for his liking, so he had opted to show you who was actually in charge. “Come, love, giddyup.” Excuse him? You clenched your core and earned a desperate moan from Astarion in response – just as you thought.

“Touch yourself for me, darling”, he demanded sinfully with a deep tone. You clenched around him again, ripping yet another groan from his lips. But you still obeyed and picked up the pace again, letting your hand wander from his body to yours again and this time remaining on your clit, starting to add to your own pleasure while you kept working your boobs with the other hand.

Things started to really move quickly from there on out. You could feel your orgasm coming up on the horizon being fully aware that after two very successful rounds already this one would really bring down the house around you. Astarion felt it too, his body almost painfully tensed and his hands on your hips motivating you to go more aggressively.

“Harder, my love, come on, destroy me”, he requested pleadingly but with just the right amount of authority in his voice that you couldn’t resist.

You rode him harder while his fingers pressed pleasantly painfully into your hips. There was no more space for chit-chat, only for heavy breathing and moaning and the sound of your two bodies coming together again and again. You held his gaze while you kept touching yourself and could see that he was trying desperately to hold on and not get lost before you did.

But you wouldn’t give him this pleasure this time. You moved yet harder and faster, arching your back and clenching around his hardness inside you while you could feel yourself starting to get lost.

But Astarion went over the edge first, his eyes rolling back into his skull while he moaned helplessly with opened lips that bared his fangs. Your own orgasm had you closing your eyes and throwing your head back while searing hot white light exploded inside you and made you cry out Astarion’s name again - loudly.

You rode out the waves and kept moving your hips lazily until you heard the vampire wince slightly. “Love… Please, stop?”, he said and coughed suspiciously. But you weren’t over enjoying having the upper hand for once. You rolled your hips again and giggled. Astarion winced again and made to lift you off of him, but you quickly did it yourself and moved out of his reach.

“Come back here, you disobedient woman”, Astarion shouted after you teasingly angry with furrowed brows, but you were already out the door.

You quickly walked downstairs – butt naked of course – and grabbed another bottle of wine from the kitchen and two goblets to drink it from.

When you returned to the bedroom, Astarion was still laying there in the middle of the bed where you had left him. He had one arm over his face, his breath still a tad faster than normal. You stood in the doorframe for a moment just taking in the gloriousness of this moment and this man. Then you tiptoed back in while casually offering: “You wanted me to destroy you.”

Astarion lifted his arm and only opened one eye to look at you: “Oh, consider me thoroughly destroyed, my love, a job well done.” You smirked at him, then put down the bottle and goblets on the nightstand next to your side of the bed. Astarion sat up again and leaned back on his hands watching you.

“What I did not want was you being such an insolent little thing in this precious moment of my weakness”, he spoke slowly and the grabbed you quickly from where you were just relaxedly standing next to the bed. He hauled you over it and made you kneel on the bed while on all fours and positioned himself over and behind you. He leaned on his one hand placing it next to yours and let his other wander slowly from your breasts, down your stomach in which lust already started to coil again, to the sensitive spot between your legs and finally down your thigh, causing you to shiver.

Astarion leaned over to one of your pointy ears and silently whispered: “And I’ll make you answer for your crimes, my pet.”

Tags: @daedriclys @angelofthorr @starved-kitten

[bluerose5]

I am just having so many thoughts about this because idk, I've seen people say before that Gale and Anders wouldn't get along, and while I agree that Anders wouldn't be all for Gale's ambition and leniency towards forbidden magic, I think it's a little telling because I've been playing Anders as in-character as I can (from my perspective) and his approval with Gale without really exploring anything besides the Grove yet? High. The only companion at that point as of yet, even with Wyll in the party too. I know people sometimes joke that it's easy to gain approval with Gale, but here's the thing. It's easy when you're making a lot of the good-aligned choices at the beginning, and Anders?

Anders, at his core, is a good character.

Take a step back from his "defining" moment at the Chantry explosion because it truly doesn't define him as a whole. One major act of desperation (one that was only done in the name of revolution anyways) doesn't erase years of service in terms of his character.

Of course, all of this has been said and done before, but Anders was a healer for years without expectation of any payment. In Lirene's words, he helped deliver people's children, tended their wounds. His influence was so widely felt in Kirkwall that he had Ferelden refugees ready to throw hands for him, all because Hawke started sniffing around for him. He worked in the Mage Underground. He tried peacefully appealing to those in positions of authority for years about mages' rights, putting so much effort into a manifesto that other characters were always quick to dismiss, before taking a violent approach. He became a vessel for Justice, in short, because he was his friend and thought that they could make real change together.

So then, why wouldn't he help those in need in Faerûn? Why wouldn't he save a kid from some harpies? Why wouldn't he help a traumatized bard heal a little through her music? Even though we know he is atrocious at playing the lute. Why wouldn't he step between an arrow and a defenseless prisoner, warning how vengeance could consume a person? A fact that he knows all too well. Why wouldn't he save a girl, even one who stole, from a viper's fangs? Because that is not just punishment. Why wouldn't he help Gale, who chose to confide in him (no matter how vaguely at the moment) about his condition?

Not to say that Anders doesn't have his biases, some prejudices and flaws that would surely carry over, but at his core? He is as good as he knows how to be.

And while I do think he and Gale would have that typical rivalry that Gale has with almost every spellcaster class, if given the chance, every time Gale would stop and tell stories of his past...

I didn't take the smartass options, tempting as that may be, since Anders can also be a humorous character. No, instead, I chose the options where Anders would genuinely listen.

Because Gale lives in a realm where Anders' impossible is possible, a place where mage oppression doesn't exist. Because Gale lived a life, had a childhood, that Anders could have only dreamed of having.

And why do I ship it, personally? In a way different from Hawke/Anders, mind you.

Well, Anders said it best himself.

"Ten years. A hundred years from now. Someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart."

Only, with Gale, that time is now, and that hope —that dream— is a reality.