#☆ like casting a spell! ( wanted plots )

[mashmouths]

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[yuridovewing]

yknow i wassss gonna gut the cinderheart reincarnation plotline for razorverse because of how clumsy and insidious the original was… but i have been playing pokemon rejuvenation and now i sorta wanna take influence from that game’s reincarnation plot. where the reincarnation is actually a curse that is detrimental to both cinders and has damaging psychological effects on everyone involved

[kakusu-shipping]

The year is 2022 and I am a little guy legally married to Makarov Dreyar of the Fairy Tail Guild, as 13 year old me would have wanted.

Self Insert and just straight up Making Things Up about Fairy Tail Lore beneath the cut

So, in the world of Fairy Tail I am a Vampire, pushing 600 years old. I’m lifting a lot of this from young mes original self insert which pushed the Immortal Loli/Shota trope, so I am Makarov’s 3′nothing size.

The rest of this is more origonal

In his 600 years, Emile became the (to his knowledge) last living pure blooded vampire, as much like Dragons, Vampires were eventually hunted to near extinction by humans after catting and feeding of them for so long.

Emile survived due to his small stature and young appearance, keeping humans from believing him to be the immortal creature of the night that had been feeding from their village for years.

Now alone, Emile travels the continent, avoiding staying in one place for too long, inventing Magic Items such as The Magicmobile to assist humans, and gather a growing wealth deposited in banks across the land.

To gain access to these springs of wealth, however, he has to be a legal citizen of the country he is currently staying it. As he can’t exactly claim to be the 100+ year old original opener of the account, he instead has to play the decedent. Starting first with forged documents, he puts himself in schools, moving every other grade to avoid suspicion as he doesn’t age or grow, and ending with a big of Marriage Fraud to solidify his residency, and gain access to his accounts.

This is how he ended up with Makarov Dreyar, after all the Fairy Tail guild seems to rack up a lot of repair bills, would be rather nice to have someone with plenty of spare wealth to pay it all off.

Emile, as an ancient being, has a lot of deeper understanding of magic than most in the guild. In his time he’s had the space and practice to master most types of magics, only Celestial Magic still eludes him.

He’s more than happy to spread this magic onto others, teaching Cana card magic, Erza her requip spells, helping Mira and Elfman perfect Take Overs, he even implanted the Lighting Dragon Lacrima in Laxus when he was a mere toddler.

Early in Emile’s life in the guild he saw no problem teaching such young children dangerous magics. So long as he’d lived, he knew of human’s short life spans. Keeping the Guild strong mattered more than keeping the kids safe. Sending them on jobs alone, charging them jewel for food or rent around the guild seemed fair. They’re old enough to be part of a guild they’re old enough to work and pay for their rights to stay.

Until Lisanna died.

He hadn’t really thought himself attached to this kids, Makarov’s kids, until he stood beside him at Lisanna’s funeral, staring at a tombstone with such a young age on it.

He did that.

He let a child go on an S class quest. He taught a child dangerous magics. He told Makarov they’d be fine on their own.

Rules changed soon after. Minors were no longer allowed on S Class Quests at all. Minors also were not allowed to take monster hunting jobs without an adult in the party. S Class Quests were moved upstairs and fewer of them were accepted.

Emile started making magic items for everyone in the guild on top of making Erza’s armor and weapons. Just something to help them on quests, a little something to lean on, to keep them safe, to hold on to.

He tries not to be too protective over the kids, he knows they’re goo wizards and can handle themselves. But they’re also just so squishy, humans with such short life spans always running head first into trouble.

He understands why Makarov went bald so quickly now.

[bloodyke]

i always find it funny when people assume a lot of self insert ocs are like mary sues or the new protagonist bc when i do this my self insert is some random guy who is not involved in the main plot at all bc im not doing all that nonsense it looks like it sucks

[quartings]

The original Gravity Falls pitches and pilot just dropped!!

(Link for those who want it)

For those who don't wanna look through all of it, here are some highlights I found!

Interesting changes from the pitch (What Alex Hirsch showed Disney to make them greenlight the show):

Stan’s secret was that he’s secretly protecting the townsfolk from weirdness, nothing to do with Ford. No mention of Ford in the pitch at all. Stan also wanted Dipper and Mabel to be his successors in this version.

Mabel used to be the unhygienic one instead of Dipper.

Wendy was brunette and didn’t work as the Mystery Shack cashier, instead selling veggie juice out of her van.

As such, Soos (Jesús in this version) worked the register in addition to his handyman job in this version. He was a bit less of a hard worker here, watching telenovelas on the job sometimes, but still loves his job and is extremely loyal to Stan.

Robbie was almost exactly the same, parents’ backstory and all, but there’s an interesting note that he occasionally clashed with Gideon in this version (which we never got in the final show)

Speaking of which, Gideon’s last name in this version was Garrymore instead of Gleeful.

Gideon used to personally harass and prank Stan, going out of his way to vandalize Stan’s stuff himself.

Manly Dan was always planned to be Wendy’s dad. In this version, he hates the idea that his hipster daughter prefers conserving the environment instead of chopping down forests

(For those who wanted more Wendy episodes, I’m surprised Hirsch didn’t use this as a conflict for one of them- it makes her interesting without costing any of her “coolness”)

Sheriff Blubs was originally Sheriff “Blumps”. Durland has the same name likely because Hirsch said he’s named after a real guy.

With no Ford and no Journal mentioned, episodes were originally very different-

“The President’s Cabinet/Irrational Treasure.” Instead of via the journal, Dipper and Mabel find a record of Quentin Trembley in a box buried in the yard. No Pacifica mentioned here.

“Secret Dungeon” Dipper becomes obsessed with a recalled arcade cabinet. Mabel must try and save him by finding the original high scorer.

“Thtupid Thursday” One of the many ‘Shining Twins’ episode concepts Hirsch wanted to do. Dipper and Mabel learn ‘twin telepathy’ from some creepy twins, and soon regret it.

“Periodic Mabel” Mabel invents her own element for the science fair and Dipper is jealous.

“Only the Clonely/Boyz Crazy” The exact same episode just without Candy and Grenda. Sev’ral Timez is called “ReelBoyzzz” in this version.

“Big Dipper” With surprisingly no tie to Little Dipper, Dipper asks a fortune teller to make him older so he can win Wendy over. But she makes him 22, so he and Mabel have to undo the spell.

“Sweater off Dead” Mabel buys an antique sweater and is possessed by the soul of the granny who last wore it. Stan is terrified by the spirit because she reminds him of his ex-wife Marilyn (Deep Edalyn Clawthorne lore???) so Dipper must “Swexorcize” his sister and save her.

“Teed Off/The Golf War” With no Pacifica, this was originally a Dipper vs Gideon episode- No Lilliputtians, either. Instead, the 13th hole is cursed and traps the cast in a time loop.

Now, changes from the Production Pitch (I’m guessing for when the show was already greenlit and this was a way to brief crew members on what the show would 100% be about)

Stan’s secret (likely the portal) and the journal are now set in stone.

Emphasis on continuity and character development. Nothing gets “reset” by next episode. All plot developments are permanent.

All character names and designs are locked in. Pacifica has now been added, as well as Waddles, Gompers, Lazy Susan, Candy and Grenda, and McGucket (No mention or hint at his past here)

Interesting to note is that there is still zero outright mention of Ford and Bill in this version, even though multiple episodes were seemingly in production at this point.

Manly Dan’s conflict with Wendy from the original pitch is still here. Making it even more mindblowing that we never got it in the show

Blubs and Durland are described as a little more playful instead of mean like in the original pitch.

All episode examples made it into the show with no changes this time. They are Tourist Trapped, Legend of the Gobblewonker, Fight Fighters, Boyz Crazy, and The Land Before Swine.

[muzansfangs]

Imagine Douma’s first real emotion is jealousy and/or anger (alongside some horniness), and you being the cause of it, meaning he will be letting it all out on you.

Jealousy.

Starring: Douma x f!reader; Akaza;

Format: drabble;

Warnings: nsfw, jealousy, lust, first time Douma actually experiences a human emotion, possessive behaviour, dom!Douma, sub!reader, rough sex, biting, fear play, unprotected sex, mention to bruises, vaginal sex, dirty talk;

Plot: He had always desired to feel something. From the dreadful emotions to the blissful ones. When his multicolored eyes landed on you back then, Douma knew you might have helped him to feel less of an empty shell. Surely, he did not expect to feel sick at the sight of his ‘best friend’ conversing with you.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“What did you do to me, huh?” Douma rasped out, hands pinning your twitching ones above your head, whilst his hips smacked against yours in a steady and brutal tempo. He demanded an answer, he wanted to hear an explanation from you, he yearned for coherent words to roll out of your tongue and not those high-pitched cries and moans filling the air as he occasionally hit your cervix.

You witch, you had clearly casted a spell on him. If it was not for your human nature, he would have probably blamed it on a demonic technique. He felt so sick.

If only he knew what your proximity, what his lust over your pretty face and body would have caused to him, he would have probably ignored you at the local festival the infamous night you met. He should have devoured you. After all, it was what demons did: they ate humans. Then again, he had not felt that urge, primal desire to consume you to the bone back then. Something had stopped him and, naturally, he took it as a manna from the Heaven.

Years of clinical apathy, centuries spent in observing people interacting and chattering in ways he could not comprehend, eager to mimic their emotions, to experience them too for real. He thought he had grasped the essence of them all, the feeling they caused. Why? Faking them should have been the equivalent of manifesting them.

It all turned out to be useless, in the end. He had always wanted to feel something, whatever it was that life had gifted him with. The salty tears streaming down his face, when he pretended to be heartbroken in front of his followers, had never actually tasted bitter and found himself hoping they did now. He had never felt the typical pang of sorrow in his chest, prelude to a meltdown, or the lump in his throat hard to swallow for the very first time before bursting into a desperate cry. He had always feigned his emotions, especially the dreadful ones people tried to escape. Still, he had tried to imagine what those sensetions would have felt like for real.

But, oh dear, did it feel horrendous now that he was affected by one of them.

You writhed underneath him, squirming, sweat beading your forehead as he thrusted into you with a cold brutality he had never showed before. You knew he could not be in love with you, his heart had never been blessed with the capacity of feeling that surge of positive energy and dizzying emotions all people did. Yet, you did love him and you had chosen to stay by his side. For that, Douma lavished you, he showered you in exepensive gifts, he gave you honors, he treated you with care.

The beast hovering over you now, though, was not your loving boyfriend. It was a pissed off Upper Moon, whose fangs were bared and claws were scraping your tender flesh. His cock, engorged and twitching, was bullying your gummy, delicate walls with ferocity to get answers from you. He was going insane.

“I did n-nothing!” you choked out, screwing your eyes shut as he scoffed and shook his head.

“Don’t lie to my face! You talked to him! You sang! You treated him the way you treat me! How dare you?” Douma seethed, a vein popping on the side of his head as he brought his mouth down to yours in a searing kiss. Your blood had run cold for a split second. Those pearly fangs, sharp enough to rip out your throat, had dangerously grazed your jaw and finally bit down onto your bottom lip. The metallic taste of blood on your tongue a warning to take matters in your hands.

You knew what had happened, what was going on with him right now. It took you by surprise, but he was going through the different stages of jealousy. Currently, taking it all out on you was the last one.

The root of his envy and anger was the way you, his companion, were beaming at his so-called best friend. You had heard so many stories about Akaza that you had been dying to know him. He was a kind demon, at least to women. Striking up a conversation with him came natural to you, therefore you had offered the Upper Rank Three to sing for him like you did to Douma.

A smile, a sweet and innocent smile of yours had been the final straw.

The sound of pottery smashing, your look of concern when Douma coldly demanded Akaza to leave, and the way he had easily sliced his arm off of his body at his refusal to leave you with him in his moment of instability, were all you could recall before he had you moaning out his name onto his bed. You were struggling to endure this pleasurable torture. You had lost the count of how many orgasms he had denied you. With a blurry vision, you arched your back to lock your legs behind the small of his back.

“J-Jealousy! You’re feeling something! This— Ah! This is jealousy, D-Douma!” you blurted out, only for him to still his thrusts and push further down onto the mattress.

Jealousy. Disgusting feeling, a lame one. Out of everything he could learn to experience, Douma had been sentenced to endure such a deplorable emotion.

He snorted, hand grasping your jaw as his tongue lapped at the small cut on your lower lip, still bleeding “Jealousy, huh? If that’s the case, you can fix it, right? Be a dear and stay away from any man in the Temple, at the village, down to the cities and at the Infinity Castle” he snarled, the glint of malice making his kaleidoscopic eyes even more mystical in the dim light provided by the candles on the nightstand.

His, permanently, caged and strangled by his consuming love. This was your fate, for you were his and no one else’s.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! Oh, how dearly I had missed writing for my favorite upper moon. Thanks for this thirst, anon! I hope you enjoyed the meal!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

X O X O

TAGS: @doumadono @mrskokushibo because we started a cult with the upper moons✨

[prettyobsessed]

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ 🪐༘Temptation Whispers Home 🍵‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

⁺₊ / pairings: Xavier / fem!reader ✩ / genre: smut [nsfw 18+, mdni] ₊˚ / tags: nsfw, smut with plot, story plot smut, masturbation, mutual attraction, grinding, soft sex, slighty rough sex, cowgirl position, lots of teasing, fingering, lots of kisses, unprotected sex, mouth job, hand job, kissing, nipple stimulation, clit stimulation, neck kink, nipple kink smut, spanking, facial cumshot, mature sexual content ☾ / word count: 6.6k

✧summary✧ *ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆ Amidst the allure of Xavier's presence and the intoxicating atmosphere, the narrator grapples with their desire for intimacy and the uncertainty that shrouds their relationship. The scene pulses with tension and longing as they navigate the complexities of unspoken desires and emotional boundaries, hinting at a deeper connection waiting to be explored. ﹌﹌﹌

“I couldn’t control myself, and resisting you any longer has become increasingly difficult. It's as if you've cast a spell over me. It feels almost criminal—the effect you have on me."

☄. *. ⋆ Standing before my wardrobe, indecision settled upon my shoulders like an unwelcome guest. Meeting Tara, my best friend, shouldn't have been so complicated, yet there I was, deliberating over my outfit for nearly half an hour.

The events of last Saturday lingered in my thoughts, seemingly crept up on me—the night Xavier and I went to the club and things got… dangerously flirty.

Facing the mirror, I examined myself wearing my pastel blue thong, a reminder of Xavier lingering in my mind. "Am I wearing this intentionally with him in mind?" I paused, questioning my motives. "Stop. I’m not even meeting him today. Why bother?" I murmured to myself, shaking off the distraction, but not wanting to change out of the thong.

I was jolted back to reality when my phone notification bell rang. Glancing up at the screen, I noticed today’s date: Monday, 5th February. 2:28pm. With a resigned sigh, I selected a grey mini skirt paired with a white off-shoulder top, its thin fabric ideal for the anticipated hot day. Gathering my hair into a bun, I applied a spritz of Bare Vanilla to my neck and wrists, relishing in the comforting scent of my current favourite fragrance. Slipping into my trusty black boots and grabbing my bag, I hurried out the door, ensuring I hadn’t left anything behind and securing the automated lock. Venturing further from my apartment, a nagging thought crept into my mind. "Did I forget something?" But with Tara waiting, I pushed the thought aside and continued on my way.

"Today was a blast! Thanks for showing me around,” Tara exclaimed with enthusiasm. “Let’s go out again next week! See ya!” she chirped, waving energetically as she walked away. "Bye, Tara!” I called out with a playful pout. After bidding her farewell, I set off on my journey home, only to be caught off guard by an unexpected downpour. In an instant, I was soaked through from head to toe.

Frantically rummaging through my bag, I realised my oversight. "Damn it, I forgot my umbrella," I muttered, feeling water seep into every crevice. Drenched from head to toe, I cursed my forgetfulness as the heavy rain continued to pour down. I sprinted towards my apartment, each step weighed down by the rain-soaked clothes clinging from my hair to my body. Finally reaching my doorstep, I encountered another setback. Attempting to use my keycard, the electronic lock flashed an ominous "System error. System error." 

Recalling the maintenance warning, I hadn't anticipated it causing such immediate inconvenience. Frustration bubbled up within me as I futilely tried my security passcode, only to be met with the same error message. Feeling the urgency, I contacted the security of the building regarding the issue. They reassured that the issue would be resolved with a reboot in approximately 2 hours. 

Two hours. What am I going to do? I can't even go anywhere in this heavy downpour.

Just as despair threatened to overwhelm me, I heard the click of a door unlocking behind me. Turning, I saw Xavier, my neighbor and hunting partner, emerging from his apartment. He was clad in a cozy knit sweater, exuding warmth and an irresistible charm. "Ehem. Oh hi, Xavier," I greeted him, attempting to conceal my discomfort, yet pleasantly surprised and blushing at his appearance.

Xavier's expression shifted from surprise to concern as he observed my sodden appearance. Attempting to discreetly cover myself, the sheer fabric of my wet clothes left little to the imagination. "What happened? Are you okay?" he asked, moving closer and sensing my distress. With a sheepish smile, I explained the situation, gesturing helplessly at the malfunctioning lock and the relentless rain outside. Xavier's tense expression softened, replaced by empathy. "Ohh… hmm, would you like to come inside first?," Xavier offered, his voice warm with concern. "You need to dry off and warm up. I'll make us some tea."

Gratefully accepting his offer, I stepped into his cozy apartment with a mixture of relief and embarrassment. 

The warmth of the place enveloped me, dispelling the coldness of the rain-soaked evening. Xavier's gaze lingered on me, a mixture of concern and something more primal flickering in his eyes as he took in my drenched attire. His breath deepened, and he swallowed nervously. Quickly averting his eyes, his cheeks flushed slightly. I couldn't help but notice his expression. Was it because of that night? The memory of our encounter hung between us, adding an awkward tension to the air.

Sorry about the inconvenience," I mumbled, attempting to hide my soaked top with my hands, growing increasingly self-conscious. Xavier shook his head, offering a reassuring smile while guiding me further inside. "No need to apologise. I wouldn't want you catching a cold. Let me grab you a towel and some dry clothes," he said as his hand brushed mine for a split second before disappearing into another room.

His touch, feather-light against mine, sent a sudden chill coursing through me in response to this familiar connection. As I waited, I couldn't help but replay the memory of my (not so) drunken encounter with Xavier that night. The thought sent a shiver racing down my spine, kindling a slow, simmering heat within. When Xavier returned with a towel and a set of dry clothes, I accepted them gratefully, retreating to the bathroom to change. As I entered, I carefully place the dry clothes on the countertop.

Glancing into the mirror, I was startled to find myself drenched by the rain, the droplets clinging to my skin like shimmering diamonds. As I reached up to adjust my hair, I noticed the transparency of my top, revealing more than I intended. My heart raced as I realised the shape of my breasts was clearly outlined, a blush creeping up my cheeks at the thought that Xavier might have noticed it. A rush of embarrassment and arousal collided within me. Unable to resist the pull of memory, I tentatively traced the curve of my lips to my body, the touch reminiscent of Xavier's from that unforgettable night. His hands had possessed a magnetic power, leaving an indelible mark on my senses. ☄. *. ⋆ ﹌﹌﹌ Flashback

It was 1 am, and Xavier and I were still in the club. I remember vividly slow dancing to "Alone With You" by Alina Baraz. Xavier stood protectively in front of me, alert to any wandering eyes. "Something 'bout the look on your face, as you feelin’ a way, baby, I feel it too," I mouthed the lyrics to Xavier, my hands roaming over him, on his chest, on his neck—lost in the moment, and I noticed Xavier was smirking, looking at me, seeming to enjoy it. After spending countless hours partnering with Xavier in battle against the Wanderers, it became inevitable that I would begin to harbour feelings for him—admiring his sweetness, his mannerisms, his unwavering protectiveness, and God, that voice of his.

For months, I had been secretly listening to his voice notes, touching myself, feeling aroused by the softness of his tone. It's almost as if I am protected and safe just by listening to him.

I'm convinced that Xavier feels the same way because of all the signals he's been giving me, indicating his affection. However, despite this certainty, a hint of doubt lingers. It felt as if there was an undeniable distance—a boundary he was setting between us.

That night in the club, emboldened by alcohol’s courage, I found myself drawn closer to Xavier, scrutinising his features under the dim lights. His eyes gleamed like distant stars, captivating me with their allure. He was undeniably beautiful. As our gazes met, a mixture of confusion and intrigue danced in his eyes, shrouding him in an enigmatic aura I couldn't quite unravel.

I just want to kiss him so badly. Drawing tantalisingly close, I draped my arm over Xavier's neck as we swayed to the music, our bodies magnetically drawn together. His scent was nearly angelic, with perfume notes reminiscent of grapefruit and bergamot, further adding to his allure. Xavier's gaze lingered on me, intense and wanting, yet unable to voice his desires. Playfully, I nibbled on my lip, feeling the electric tension between us, sensing his arousal. Slyly, I guided his hands to my waist, silently granting permission as we moved to the slow rhythm.

Locked in a flirtatious exchange, I met his gaze, a silent invitation passing between us. Body to body, eye to eye, the tension was palpable. Positioning myself on my back, I purposefully initiated a sensual grind against him, daringly pushing the boundaries of the game. My fingers lingered close to his neck, and there, he reciprocated. Xavier was feeling me—his hands on my body as my hips ground against his clothed erection, causing it to grow harder.

The pulse of his arousal reverberated through me, igniting a fervent craving deep within my core. Both of us were lost in the moment, slowly moving to the rhythm of the music.

Turning my body back to him, I absorbed the expression etched on Xavier’s face. It was one I wished I could freeze forever. His endearing innocence, accentuated by a rosy blush, amplified the allure that made resisting him a futile endeavour. He exuded a captivating blend of bliss and longing, as if silently begging for more. Yet, despite his evident desire, Xavier exercised restraint. "Y/N, please," he implored softly. "You're drunk.”

With an insatiable longing, I took in every detail of his eyes, tracing the soft contours of his lips before locking eyes with him once more. "I'm not drunk...yet," I murmured softly, a breathless neediness creeping into my voice, as if daring him to push the boundaries further.

Should I take the leap and make the first move? Lost in the moment, I couldn't resist the pull any longer. Just as I was about to lean in closer to him, he beat me to it. “Then, can I kiss you...? You look so pretty, I can't resist anymore,” he asked, his tone filled with neediness and helplessness. I knew it. I knew Xavier was into me, but hearing his verbal confession still caught me off guard, filling me with a heady mix of anticipation and delight. With a seductive curl of my lips into a grin, I wordlessly granted him my consent, sealing our mutual desire with a brief but intense kiss upon his lips. The giddy sensation from the kiss lingered, but Xavier's insistence on escorting me home carried a tender urgency, his need to ensure my safety blending seamlessly with the unspoken longing that hung between us.

Did Xavier really think I was that drunk? That I was unaware of my own actions? My heart pounded with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty as I unlocked the door with my keycard and gently laid myself down on my bed. Xavier's presence beckoned irresistibly, and I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes flickered with a mixture of desire and restraint, mirroring my own conflicting emotions. Craving his touch, I reached for his hand and pulled him down beside me, my fingers trembling with anticipation. We kissed again, our bodies gravitating closer, and his touch on my chin sent a rush of warmth coursing through me, banishing any doubts or hesitations I may have had.

"You have such soft skin," Xavier murmured, his fingers outlining my shoulders to my body. His words ignited a delicious tingle throughout me as we continued to share kisses. Feeling a surge of desire, I decided to intensify the intimacy. With a bold move, I rose from my seated position and straddled him, feeling the heat of his arousal pressing against me. As our bodies aligned, I began to move with a slow, tantalising rhythm, grinding against his clothed erection with increasing fervour. Each motion sent waves of pleasure coursing through us both, heightening the intensity of our connection. Xavier's hands explored every curve of my body, his touch adding fuel to the fire.

Yet, amidst the intoxicating haze of lust, a lingering question nagged at my mind: What was holding him back? Was it fear, responsibility, or perhaps something else entirely? "You make me feel so safe," I whispered into his ear, my hands roaming over his body, eliciting soft whimpers of pleasure with both our clothes still intact.

But just as the intensity peaked, Xavier abruptly halted our exchange, reminding me of the blurred lines in our current situation. He gently grasped both of my wrists, then cupped my cheek in a tender gesture. “Stop,” he whispered, his voice laced with regret. “We can't do this. You're drunk, Y/N.” His words were both a plea and an apology, his gaze filled with admiration yet tinged with sorrow. “My god, look at you,” he continued, his tone filled with longing. “So... so pretty like this. But no, I can't... we can't—not like this. I'm sorry.”

As Xavier's lips brushed against my forehead, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions surged through me, mingling with the warmth of his affectionate gesture. I felt the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air, the lingering echo of our shared desire, and the ache of unfulfilled longing. With each heartbeat, I struggled to reconcile the tenderness of his kiss with the sudden emptiness left in his wake as he quietly slipped out the door, leaving me to grapple with the unresolved tension between us.

The morning sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow across the room as I found myself lost in a whirlwind of memories from the previous night. Each moment replayed in my mind with vivid clarity, revealing truths I hadn't fully grasped in the haze of last night. Amidst the tumult of my thoughts, a simple text message interrupted my reverie, stirring a mix of relief and anticipation within me. 'Hey, U up? how r u feeling?’ The words, though brief, carried a weight of concern and care that warmed my heart. However, amidst the exhaustion and emotional whirlwind of the night before, I succumbed to sleep before replying to Xavier. Flashback ends

﹌﹌﹌ ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

With a shaky exhale, I snapped back to reality and shifted my focus away from the mirror. Peeling off my damp clothes, I slipped into the garments Xavier had passed to me earlier—a cozy grey jumper, white sweatpants and a pair of fuzzy socks. They carried the fresh scent of recently laundered fabric, infused with the comforting aroma of rosy detergent.

Carefully, I hung my wet clothes on an empty rack and used the towel to pat my hair dry. Exiting the bathroom, I spotted Xavier seated on the couch, his eyes heavy with drowsiness. The sound of the bathroom door closing startled him, jolting him awake from the brink of sleep. Squinting against the room light, he offered a warm smile as I approached. "Hey, you're back," he greeted, stretching his arms out in a lazy stretch. I thanked Xavier for the clothes and socks, feeling a rush of gratitude for his thoughtfulness. In response, he gestured towards a steaming cup of honey milk tea he had prepared, knowing it was my favourite. Next to it were a variety of cupcakes from the bakery shop he had visited earlier. I smiled, touched by his effort to please my palate. 

Sitting beside him on the couch, the television hummed softly in the background — casting a soothing ambiance over the room. However, the silence between us grew palpable, prompting me to break the ice. Despite the flickering images on the television screen, neither of us spoke, lost in our own thoughts. "So, any good shows on TV lately?" I ventured, trying to ease the tension with a casual conversation.

Xavier shook his head, his gaze distant as he stared at the screen. Sensing his unease, I shifted closer, determined to bridge the gap between us. "Did you went out today?" I asked gently, hoping to draw him out of his reverie. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah… I went for a run, just trying to clear my head," he admitted, his voice tinged with exhaustion. Concerned, I reached out to him, offering my support. "Do you need any help? I'm here for you," I reassured him, squeezing his hand comfortingly, at the same time taking a sip of the tea. As I reached out to comfort him, I couldn’t help but notice the subtle change in Xavier’s demeanour. Before I could dwell on the intensity of the moment, Xavier broached a topic that caught me off guard.

"Do you remember anything from last Saturday?" he asked suddenly, his tone hesitant.

Startled, I choked on my tea, the liquid spilling onto my shirt in an embarrassing display of clumsiness. "Shit. Umm. I-I don't remember... anything. At all. Um, what happened?" I stammered, my attempt to hide my discomfort only adding to the awkwardness of the moment.  As I fumbled to clean up the mess, a flurry of apologies spilled from my lips, each one a feeble attempt to distract from the truth lingering beneath the surface. In reality, I remembered everything from that night, every touch and detail etched into my memory with perfect clarity. Yet, despite this knowledge, I found myself unable to speak the truth, to acknowledge the undeniable connection that had formed between us. 

Was I denying my own feelings too, or simply afraid to confront them?

Xavier’s observation of my discomfort only added to my embarrassment, leaving me at a loss for words. 

"Sounds like a lie," he teased, a mischievous grin playing on his lips as his eyes twinkled with amusement. I headed to the kitchen to fetch more napkins. Sensing my unease, he too reached to grab for more and gently dabbed at the spilled tea on my shirt. I felt a sudden chill spread through my body, causing both my nipples to harden in response. A faint blush crept onto my cheeks as Xavier's gaze lingered on my reaction. Despite my attempts to conceal my arousal, the unspoken tension between us hung palpably in the air, underscored by the knowing smile tugged at the corners of Xavier’s lips.

Embarrassed, I deflected his words once more, particularly after he had already noticed my body's response to his touch. I turned back to check for any more spills on the couch, but I was stopped when Xavier enveloped me in a comforting hug from behind. I melted into his embrace, his warmth intoxicating as it seeped into mine. "I can't stop thinking about you ever since that night," Xavier confessed softly, his lips brushing against my ear. My heart raced at his words, a dangerous sweetness enveloping me in his proximity—a rush of desire mingled with uncertainty.

As Xavier opened up further, his words poured out in a rush of honesty. He confessed that he had been unable to sleep after sending me home that night, his thoughts consumed by visions of me. He admitted to finding solace only in fantasies of me, even resorting to pleasuring himself while imagining me in his arms. His confession sent a thrill through me, leaving me flushed and craving his touch even more.

"Every time I'm with you, it's like my heart skips a beat," he confessed, his voice heavy with desire and neediness. "I've wanted nothing more than to protect you, keep you safe, be by your side, and to make you happy. So I buried those feelings deep down because I wasn't sure if you felt the same way. But that night, I couldn't fight it anymore. You were so… irresistible. You’re like an addiction I can't shake off, and I don't want to. You drive me crazy in the best way possible, and I can't get enough of you."

As his embrace deepened, Xavier tenderly nuzzled his nose against my neck before trailing his lips to my collarbone.

“I couldn’t control myself, and resisting you any longer has become increasingly difficult. It's as if you've cast a spell over me. It feels almost criminal—the effect you have on me," he continued, a slight laugh in his voice, his arms wrapping tightly around my body as he whispered into my ear. “I find myself craving your presence, your touch, and those mesmerising eyes of yours... I just can’t get you off my mind. I just wanna know if you feel the same way too.”

Feeling unable to hold back any longer, I bare my feelings for him, summoning the courage to confess how I couldn’t resist touching myself to his voice notes every night. I found myself lost in their soothing cadence, a mixture of comfort and arousal intertwining in my mind. But it's not just his voice that ensnares me; it's the tenderness and kindness he exudes, weaving a tapestry of longing and connection that I find impossible to evade.

I felt the atmosphere shift, the tension palpable between us.

Xavier’s voice caught, his tone laced with surprise. “Every night? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have offered more than just… voice notes,” he said. His smile turned playful, revealing a side of him I hadn’t seen before. I playfully nudged his arm, attempting to escape his embrace, but he only tightened his hold, and I could feel his erection growing bigger.

His refusal to release his embrace made my body quiver in anticipation. His hands explored my curves, silently pleading for more as I pressed closer against him. Pausing before speaking again, he exhaled with longing. “Do you want me to continue? Please, please say yes,' he pleaded, his lips grazing my neck before tenderly moving to my cheeks.

Yes. A million times yes. I’ve been waiting for this moment. Are you kidding me?

With a nod of approval and verbally expressing my consent, I closed my eyes, surrendering to his touch. His hands cupped my breasts, easing away the tension with each caress. I savoured his scent mingling with mine as he moaned softly, his fingers finding their way to tease and tantalise my nipples through the fabric of my shirt. Gradually, his hands ventured beneath my shirt, firmly squeezing and grabbing my bare breasts and skin, eliciting an ecstatic moan from me in response. Moved by the urge to reciprocate and heighten Xavier’s pleasure, my hands reached toward his arousal, gently palming his hardness through the fabric of his pants. I slowly ground my ass against his firm erection, deliberately driving him wild. With slow, deliberate movements, I began to rub and stroke him, intent on bringing him the same pleasure he was offering me. As I explored his size, he felt long and slender beneath my touch—leaving my core suddenly feeling empty and wet.

As Xavier's lips pressed tender kisses onto my shoulder, a gentle sigh escaped my lips as he brushed against the subtle fragrance of my Bare Vanilla perfume, very faint, nestled just below my ear. He paused, inhaling deeply, his expression transforming into one of unmistakable pleasure. "I love this scent on you," he whispered, his voice saturated with desire.

“Can't wait to taste you,” he continued, his tone low and dark, brimming with longing and need. Xavier’s movements became more fervent, accompanied by soft moans escaping his lips. In response, his hands found their way to slip into my pants and gently circle my clothed clit with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through my body. With his other arm, he pulled me closer to him, our bodies pressed tightly together. I melted into his touch, arching my back and resting my head on his shoulder, silently conveying my pleasure. His lips continued their exploration, trailing kisses along my neck and intensifying their attention on my shoulders. With a gentle yet decisive movement, Xavier turned me by my waist, now facing him. Our bodies were so close that I could feel his erection pressing against my stomach.

He then showered my neck with more kisses, his hands finding their way to grip my ass and lightly tap it. In response, I teasingly traced my fingers under his shirt, returning his kisses with passion. I love the way Xavier is making me feel. Unable to resist any longer, I halted our playfulness and took his hand, leading him to the living room where we settled onto the couch. With tender care, I nestled onto his lap, sinking into the plush cushions as we enveloped each other in a warm embrace.

As our kisses deepened, Xavier's touch grew insatiable, his fingers eagerly exploring every curve of my body as I straddled him. Each caress heightened my awareness of his growing arousal, fuelling my desire for him to be even more aroused. Yielding to my playful instincts, I decided to tease him further by rising from his lap and treating him to a seductive strip tease. With deliberate grace, I peeled away my shirt and pants, revealing myself in nothing but socks and a pastel blue lace thong, the anticipation hanging thick in the air between us.

"My favourite panties. Mmm," he murmured, his breath deepening as he swallowed, his fingers grazing the thin fabric of the thong, causing the elastic band to snap against my skin. Recollections of our initial meetings flooded my mind, vividly reminding me of the moments when his gaze lingered upon me, captivated by the sight of those particular panties. It was during one such encounter, as I leaned down to retrieve a plushie that had slipped from my grasp, that his eyes seemed unable to stray from the enticing sight. "Thank the lucky stars I have a sixth sense," I replied with a playful twinkle in my eye, savouring the anticipation building between us. He persisted in teasing and pleasuring me, eliciting gasps of desire from my lips as I yearned for more. 

I caught Xavier’s lips curling slightly at my words, a sight that filled with delight at his unbridled desire. The way he looked at me, all heated and giddy, added fuel to the fire of my own arousal. As I stood there, basking in his gaze, I couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement coursing through me, heightened by the contrast of the cool air against my exposed skin, mingling with the warmth radiating from our entwined bodies.

Xavier pulled me back onto his lap, his hands enveloping mine as he peppered soft kisses upon my palm. Moving with a tender yet urgent desire, his lips trailed from my hand to my nipples, where he sucked gently. Meanwhile, his hands eagerly gripped my ass, pulling me closer to him, eliciting a soft moan from me as I watched his lewd act unfold before me. He gasped for air after his arousing exploration of my nipples, feeling his breath hot against my skin. Cupping his face in my hands, I showered him with soft, lingering kisses, starting from his rosy cheeks, then trailing a path to his inviting lips, his cute nose, and finally, his smooth forehead. In response, he reciprocated within seconds, returning my kisses with equal passion which made me giggle due to the ticklish sensation.

My fingers then glide through his beautiful hair, allowing myself to revel in the moment. The warmth of Xavier's embrace enveloping me in a sense of security and passion. As my hands trailed down to his chest, I felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my touch. With a playful glint in my eyes, I deliberately circled my hips, relishing in the pleasure as I teased his arousal through the fabric of his pants with each subtle movement.

Xavier’s hungry eyes devoured my naked body, each glance feeling like a caress. Suddenly, his hand came down on my ass with a sharp spank, a playful punishment for my naughtiness. I gasped in surprise, but the thrill of his touch only made my core throb with anticipation.

There’s something so sexy in being the one who’s stripped down to just panties and socks, while being locked in a heated embrace with a fully clothed man.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this,” he moaned, his eyes growing darker, indicating his eagerness to do more than just kiss and spank me tonight. “You don’t have to listen to my voice notes anymore,” he continued, murmuring huskily with his hands gripping my ass as he held me close. “I can talk you through it anytime you want…from now onwards, every night.” Xavier’s gaze locked with mine.

His words made me blush even more, the heat rising in my cheeks, intensifying my need for him. Xavier offering to talk me through my orgasms? Like? Holy fuck. The mere thought made my mind dance with tantalizing fantasies and wander to all sorts of delicious scenarios, stirring a wild craving that pulsed through every inch of my being, leaving me squirming with anticipation.

“Oh really? You sure you won’t be tired?” I teased, leaning in closer and playfully biting his lower lip, a flirty glint in my eyes as I recalled his tendency to doze off during the day. “For you, I’ll stay awake all night,” he replied, his tone brimming with determination and desire. His hands reached for mine, kissing it tenderly, his expression filled with an ardent longing. I never imagined Xavier could be so utterly infatuated with me. His shy demeanour was nowhere to be found. It's surprising how unabashedly sexy he sounds. Yearning to taste him, my heart raced with anticipation as I gracefully rose from his lap, positioning myself on the ground before him —in a low kneel position. 

Looking into Xavier’s eyes, I began to explore his thighs, running my hands over the fabric of his pants until I reached his undeniable arousal. Slowly, I pulled down his pants slightly, revealing his full glory beneath. His erection stood proudly, a glistening bead of precum at its tip. 

I moaned at the sight of his long and slender erection in my hands, wondering if I could take it all inside me.

As I leaned in closer, I moistened my lips, preparing to take him into my mouth. With a gentle touch, I traced circles along his shaft, feeling him twitch beneath my touch. A low groan escaped his lips, spurring me on. With a deliberate motion, I applied a slick of saliva, ensuring smooth entry as I enveloped Xavier in warmth. Our eyes locked onto each other, maintaining unbroken contact, heightening the intensity between us.

He reached out, his fingers tangling in my hair, holding it in place to make it easier for me to pleasure him with my tongue.

The taste of him was intoxicating, his musky scent filling my senses as I savoured each lick and tease. Despite the difficulty of accommodating his sizeable erection in my mouth because of its length, I persisted. With every moan that escaped his lips, I felt a surge of satisfaction, knowing that my efforts were driving him wild. The sound of my gagging only added to the intensity of the moment, sending vibrations of pleasure humming through my throat.

“Yes…just like that. You’re doing so good” Xavier cooed, his moans like music to my ears. He lets me have my way with him, without any resistance or coercion, which only fuels my desire to engage in even more naughty, sinful acts with him.

Deciding to delay climaxing for the moment, Xavier withdraws his erection from my mouth and gently lifts me from my position. With care, he settles me back onto the couch, lying me down on it with tenderness. He shifts my leg, positioning it between his body and mine. As my legs find their place between us, he pauses to admire my beauty, playfully pinching my nipples and tracing kisses along my skin. My body shudders in response to his touch, aching for more with each caress. Xavier then firmly grasps my thighs and gently pushes them down, exposing me completely to his gaze. With my legs draped over my stomach, he continues to explore my body with his hands, his fingers eventually finding their way to my clit, concealed just enough beneath my pastel blue thong.

His voice carries a smooth sweetness, almost velvety—wrapping around me with a seductive undertone as he posed his question. “How long have you been fantasising about me?” his words hung between us, punctuated by soft kisses planted on my thighs before he continued. His relentless teasing drove me to the brink of madness. My throbbing clit yearned for the exquisite touch of his tongue, yet he tantalisingly denied me, his lips lingering maddeningly close but only grazing my trembling thighs, making my clit throb more.

"Ever since I first saw you!" I exclaimed, my voice tinged with a hint of moan. Xavier's grin widened, his pride evident as he heard my response. "That night in the club, you were teasing me so hard and grinding on me," he continued, his tone playful yet curious. "Were you intentionally trying to arouse me, or was it simply the influence of alcohol?" Xavier asked again, his gaze searching for the truth as he peppered kisses near my core, teasingly close, tempting me with his seductive proximity.

"I only had two shots of tequila. I just couldn’t resist teasing you," I confessed, a playful smirk tugging at my lips. "You looked so good in that lighting, and I couldn’t help it. I got so horny just thinking about how it would feel to have that dick inside me," I added, feeling a rush of excitement at his attention, my tone teasing and flirtatious.

Xavier moaned in response to my confession, visibly pleased, his hand stroking his erection as he became aroused. He gave a sudden, firm lick against the fabric of my thong, where my clit was hidden, drawing a whimper from me in anticipation. In one swift motion, he grabs the waistband of my panties and pulls them away from me, leaving me exposed to his eager gaze. With unwavering focus, he directed all of his attention to my clit, eliciting moans of pleasure from me. He lavished it with his tongue as though it were his favourite dessert. The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever felt before, far more intense than anything I could achieve alone, and I couldn't help but moan with pleasure at every lick. 

His hands gripped firmly on both my thighs, pushing them down to spread my folds even more, exposing my bare clit to his eager mouth. Xavier's expert attention had me writhing with desire, every touch sending waves of pleasure through me. I was soaked to the core, and Xavier showed no signs of stopping. His tongue danced over my folds at a rapid pace, driving me wild with each flick. The sensation was so intense that my hands instinctively ran through his hair.

When he fucked my clit repeatedly with his tongue, it sent me over the edge, and I couldn’t help but cum hard, my body shaking with pleasure as my pussy clenched in response. As I trembled from the intense climax, Xavier lifted his head, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "I wanna feel you," he whispered, his voice dripping with lust, each word sending a jolt of excitement through me.

Xavier's demeanour caught me off guard. Despite his angelic appearance, it was clear that he possessed a dark side, prompting me to reassess just how innocent he really was. While I adored both aspects of him, his freaky side held a particularly irresistible allure that turned me on. I push Xavier's face away from my clit, commanding him to get back to his seated position on the couch. The act of asserting control over him seems to intensify his arousal.

With an intense hunger in my core reserved solely for his manhood, I rise to straddle him once more—my favourite position. Perched on his lap, I ensure his throbbing erection aligns perfectly with my clit. With a teasing bounce, I let my breasts jiggle, tempting him further. "Your wish is my command, sir," I whisper, biting my lip, relishing the anticipation of being in control. I coat his shaft with my saliva several times, ensuring it's slick and ready for our pleasure. Each application of saliva is deliberate, my movements slow and teasing as I take my time to ensure he's adequately lubricated for what I have planned next.

His hands and fingers delicately traced the bottom of my feet, moving up to my legs, ensuring I felt stabilised and secure. His protective touch made my head swim with giddiness and my body ache with desire once again.

Deliberately, I glide Xavier's erection against my clit, relishing the pleasure that courses through both of us, evident in his uncontrollable moans. "You feel so good, yeah just like that… don't stop," Xavier gasped, his voice strained with pleasure. It was as if every nerve in his body had been set alight, flooding him with an intense wave of pleasure that left him breathless. The lewdness of my actions only serves to heighten my arousal, matching his fervour. As if guiding him into my pussy, I instead tease his erection with just the outer folds of my clit, luxuriating in the sensation. Xavier responds with lust-filled moans, his hands exploring my body with eager anticipation.I particularly enjoy the sensation of his thumb and index finger pinching my nipples, and I can't resist sucking on his fingers for added pleasure.

Continuing to tease him, I grind on his erection until I'm dripping wet and unable to hold back any longer. The desperate need to feel him inside me consumes me. Finally, I coat my hands with saliva once more before slowly guiding his dick inside me. The initial stretch is overwhelming, his lengthy and slender shaft momentarily causing concern, but soon I find myself accommodating him comfortably. As he fills me, a moan of relief and pleasure escapes my lips, echoing Xavier's own moans of satisfaction.

He praises me for taking all of him, his words stirring a sense of pride and determination within me, fuelling my desire to please him even more. Starting with a slow grind, I gradually increase the pace, bouncing fervently on his cock. The sensation of him filling me up completely ignites a primal need within me, urging me to move faster. With each thrust, I clench my pussy around him, feeling it throb with anticipation, aching for more of him. Xavier takes notice of my escalating desire and grips my ass firmly, his touch sending shivers down my spine. The sharp spanks he delivers heighten my neediness, each one adding a delicious sting to the pleasure coursing through me.

Feeling my fatigue from the vigorous motion, Xavier takes initiative and shifts our rhythm, thrusting into me instead. Xavier's eyes burn with desire as he pins my arms behind my back, his strength and dominance amplifying the intensity of our encounter. With each forceful thrust, he plunges deep into my throbbing pussy, driving me relentlessly towards the brink of ecstasy.

As his pace quickens, tears of pleasure well up in my eyes. 'You're doing so good, taking it in like that." I wriggled free from his grasp and instead placed my hands on his chest, using them to stabilise myself as I adjusted my position. With a subtle shift, I angled myself better, allowing me to bounce on him even more. "I can't hold back anymore, I’m going to cum,' Xavier exclaims. Just before he reaches climax, I release myself from his grip, dropping to my knees, eager for him to cover my mouth and face with his release. He then releases onto my face and tongue, his cum pouring over me in abundance.

I let him cover my face and tongue until there's no more left. With a hint of lingering desire, I decide to prolong his orgasm, swallowing his cum while gently licking his tip. It seems Xavier is overwhelmed by the sensation, almost on the verge of passing out.

"Fuck," he moans explicitly. Despite his satisfaction, he expresses a hint of apology, explaining that he didn’t want to soil my face. I offer a reassuring smile, assuring him that it's alright and that I love it. His eyes soften with gratitude, and a warm sigh escapes him, relieved by my understanding. Gently, I savour some of his warmth from my skin, the sensation still intense and lingering. Rushing to fetch a towel, Xavier wipes my face clean, his touch tender and apologetic, yet filled with care and affection. He quickly moves to support me, wrapping his arms around my waist tenderly. Pressing gentle kisses to my shoulder, he murmurs soothing words of reassurance as he catches his breath. Laying me back onto the couch, he ensures that I’m comfortable and relaxed, his concern for my well-being evident in every gesture. I invite him to join me, and as he settles beside me, I gently stroke his hair and offer him a warm embrace.

Xavier momentarily detaches, his footsteps echoing lightly against the hardwood floor as he made his way to the kitchen, a subtle spring in his step betraying the renewed energy coursing through him. As he returned with a tray of refreshments, a playful glint danced in his eyes, his grin infectious.

"You seem like you've been fully recharged," I remarked, a teasing lilt to my voice as I admired his refreshed appearance. "Did I unknowingly stumble upon the secret to your energy?" Xavier chuckled, setting the tray down with a gentle clink of glasses. "Perhaps you have," he teased in return, his tone tinged with flirtatiousness. "Your place next?" The playful banter between us filled the room, infusing our embrace with an even deeper sense of closeness and intimacy as we basked in the afterglow of our shared passion. As we snuggle once again, this time much closer, Xavier reminds me of how cherished and loved I am, reaffirming our deep connection and the intimacy we share. Throughout the aftercare, his focus remains entirely on me, ensuring my well-being and emotional comfort are prioritised above all else.

—By prettyobsessed. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚🧸🐇୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀🧷 P.S: It’s my very first time writing smut! What do you think? xx

⋆·˚ ༘ *🔭

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this content is copyrighted by @prettyobsessed. all rights are reserved. it is prohibited to replicate, imitate, plagiarise, or repost my content on any other platform without authorisation. translations are also not permitted unless proper credit is given🌷

[malleleothreesome]

Azul Ashengrotto x afab Reader - Aphrodisiac + Breeding

💜 summary: After an alchemy accident, you and Azul end up covered in an aphrodisiac potion ༶༶༶ 💜 warnings: afab reader, smut, LOTS OF BREEDING KINK, pregnancy mention, porn with plot??? ༶༶༶ 💜 word count: 8.4k words I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED ༶༶༶ 💜 song: Vapor - 5 Seconds of Summer "I wanna feel you in my veins I want to breathe you in like a vapor I want to be the one you remember I want to feel your love like the weather, all over me" ༶༶༶ 💜 inspired by: this ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

As a magicless human, Alchemy had always been your favorite class at Night Raven College. Despite lacking an innate aptitude for spell-casting, mixing and crafting potions was an artform that didn't require magic in order to bring spectacular effects into the world. Alchemy classes provided a refuge—a safe space with no barrier for entry where you could excel instead of feeling singled out for being an oddity in a sea of talented mages. You relished in the opportunity to learn about new components and elements, excitedly observing as volatile chemicals bubbled in heated pots to produce glowing, glittery pastes.

Much to your suspicion, Azul had always been particularly enthused to help you with potions, boasting how he was the most adept in the class due to his academic proficiencies, and that he was certain you'd find success with his aid. He took special interest in mentoring you, watching your delicate, nimble movements as you worked, walking you through procedures and detailed steps, and speaking knowledgeably about the ingredients in a tone that oozed expertise. His tutelage had helped you reach impressive grades on even the most challenging assignments. It wasn’t long before you found yourself spellbound by his charming intellect, deceivingly sweet demeanor, and the addictively intense gaze of his unique blue eyes.

There was always a subtle mischief hidden behind the smiling eyes and the easy charisma that suggested an ulterior motive lurking beneath his silver-tongue. Based on your observations of his interactions with other students, you assumed this was a ploy in hopes that if you had taste of the sweet, intoxicating elixir of power and success, you'd become desperate for more of his help, consequentially making you subservient and open to the idea of contracting yourself to him. In defiance of your paranoia that his motivations are not entirely altruistic, you did always feel an odd prickle in the air when he stood right behind you to monitor your actions. That sensation, a fiery buzz that hummed in your lower abdomen, always gave your heart flutters and kept you on edge as Azul's calm breaths ghosted against your hair and sent ripples of warm pleasure tingling through you. Your breath hitched in your throat as his large, gloved palms gently guided you through your motions, brushing over the bare skin on your knuckles or arms, leaving electric jolts where you felt his warmth. He smelled crisp like ocean breeze, an inviting fragrance that enveloped your mind and wrenched you out of reality and into his heady fantasy—a scene in which all you can taste are the thick, sweet notes of his dark intentions, and all you could do was choke on his cloying, dominating allure. He didn't ask permission to touch you or indicate an appropriate method to teach—no, his hands simply snaked around your waist and ran along your curves, slowly learning the feeling of your soft flesh through his gloves. Each time, you couldn't help but sink a little closer to his chest, instinctively chasing the seductive ambience radiating off of him, drowning in his captivating presence as though he was the tide pulling you under. There was no denying it—you wanted more of him.

Today's lab was no different, the air was tense and thick with charged attraction, filled with sexual tension so palpable it could be cut with a knife. The assignment was to experimentally combine various liquids, mixing and adjusting for better consistency, until you found a formula to concoct a viable, bountiful healing potion that would greatly ease the effects of injury. This assignment was a notoriously difficult, energy-draining procedure that required extreme vigilance to avoid an adverse chemical reaction that would result in a completely different type of potion, although Crewel didn’t elaborate on the exact details. After carefully pouring two compounds—one a milky white, and the other a vivid magenta—into a tall, cylindrical flask, Azul cautiously peered over your shoulder to check your concoction's progress as you stirred them. With one arm outstretched against the table to secure a good vantage point, he rested his other on your waist and leaned in closer as he studied the bubbling pink mixture. After adding an infusion of ground powder, a burst of sparkles clouded the interior of the flask, a telltale sign you were on the right track. This is the portion of the experiment where you needed to take extra caution to mix the elements together in perfect precision without faltering or taking your eyes away from your project, a delicate operation requiring the utmost concentration. Suddenly, Grim barges in and jumps on the lab station in excitement, yapping about how he wants to help, despite you and Azul explaining multiple times he has a proven history of destroying your projects.

The moment the little cat-monster attempts to extend his claws into your precious potion, Azul reacts automatically with surprising speed, his hands fly in a frenzy to scoop Grim away from your chemistry equipment. "Get off that this instant, Grim! You have no business here! Get your little paws out of that glassware this instant before you ruin another assignment! Do not interrupt us! Get away from there immediately!" Azul scolds him repeatedly while chasing him around the room, attempting to steer him to the door. "Why you foolish beast! You're far more of a liability than an asset! This experiment requires extreme care and concentration to avoid failure—a common result of your erratic, clumsy behavior!" His expression hardens with anger, eyebrows drawing into a line as Grim hisses defiantly. The little monster still hasn't relented, his hind legs clumsily scrabbling and slipping in Azul's grip as he tries desperately to cling onto the edge of the lab table, hoping for a quick paw-hold. A heavy, frustrated sigh escapes Azul's nostrils, his face morphing into one of desperation, pleading with the troublesome cat-creature to just leave you to focus your project in peace.

"How very annoying... To think he would willingly place himself in danger without even stopping to consider the consequences... what a foolish and irresponsible creature," he exhales irritably, struggling to wrestle Grim from his precarious position as his composure begins to slip, agitation creeping through his voice and shattering his typical polished and suave illusion of unflappable equanimity. He continues to scold Grim as he chases him around your station, gritting his teeth and losing his cool as the monster's cries of distress and denial ring through the entire room. Grim is an unrelenting little bastard who won't quit squirming. There isn't the slightest semblance of remorse or pity on his stupid, feline face, and Azul feels his resolve crack as he becomes utterly fed up with this spoiled brat's behavior. Grim continues to kick and howl his way through Azul's grip, determined to aid with your Alchemy project, but his clumsy movements start causing your potion to bubble and ripple in an unsettling manner. You shriek his name, begging him to just settle the hell down and be a team player.

It happens in a matter of seconds—a fizzling sound grabs your attention. You turn back around quickly and notice your reaction beginning to froth violently. Your eyes widen in horror and your mouth drops in disbelief. Azul notices your fear-wide eyes and immediately stops his futile efforts to reprimand Grim. In an instant, his gaze reflects the alarm in yours and the blood drains from his already pale cheeks. Grim runs out in a screaming huff as he exits in a frenzied flurry, knowing when to take a hint and make a clean getaway. At this point, the compound is pouring heavily from the top of the flask, spewing out onto the heating device and coating the table below. The chemical reaction is completely beyond your control now, its speed increasing exponentially, bubbling and exploding, kicking out thick, unmanageable clouds of murky pink and purple fumes. Within seconds, it covers the lab tables in an almost misty haze as you choke and sputter in a coughing fit, Azul gasping and choking right alongside you, panic flashing across his face. An eerie glow seeps through the thick liquid as a swirling mist appears from inside the glass. Without warning, it erupts directly toward the two of you before either of you have time to take cover—shattering the flask and showering the fronts of your faces and bodies in its noxious, intoxicating fluids. Both you and Azul choke out muffled yells and groans, the sticky, glittering mixture clinging to the fabric of your clothes and the exposed skin on your faces.

The next thing either of you register is Crewel's obnoxious bark as he spits out sharp commands to open the windows and clear out all the air from the room. Coughing, you gasp for fresh oxygen, suddenly becoming very aware of how fast your heart is racing. It thumps so hard and so forcefully inside of your ribcage that the noise reverberates loudly in your ears, overwhelming your senses. However, no amount of labored inhaling can free you from the toxic, vaporous gas; every molecule in your lungs has already been bombarded and completely overcome by the potion’s effects. As its intoxication takes hold of you, a wicked fever seems to roar within you, followed by a horribly slow heat that makes your limbs ache. Every orifice of your body is saturated by the miasma—liquid slips between your lips, gushing down the front of your body to coat your exposed neck and chest. You taste the surprisingly sweet potion on the inside of your mouth; its taste lingers sweet and tacky on the flat of your tongue, coating your throat. You'd panic that you just consumed some horrific cocktail with traces of corrosion or stomach-rotting acid, if it weren't for the fact that Crewel seems more frustrated than concerned for your well-being. Rather than damaging you, whatever substance was expelled seems to be having quite the opposite effect; you feel your body becoming more energetic, your head becoming lighter, and a bubbling rush of warmth seems to radiate all over from the inside out, changing your physiology into a fertile garden in need of sowing. Adrenaline rushes through you and awakens your basal instincts, forcing you to acknowledge every excruciating detail of your body in an erotic manner. Arousal slithers through your veins like venom, poisoning all remaining thoughts and rationality, as a throbbing, almost blinding wave of pleasure overtakes your body. You become intensely, achingly aware of your physical needs, and all those needs center upon an impassioned desire to be filled, stretched, and seeded full—the frantic urge to be bred nearly splits you in half and makes your lower belly cramp in a hot flash of want. For a second, you hear Azul stutter something to you, his voice wavering on the verge of cracking with the desire that the aphrodisiac had triggered. You lock eyes with Azul, pupils blown wide as lust makes his oceanic gaze shimmer. The front of his slacks have grown embarrassingly tight with the straining girth of his aroused cock. You meet his clouded eyes, almost embarrassed by your wanton thoughts and the desperate throbbing between your thighs.

It is only a split second of recognition, a blurry, sweaty haze of unfathomable passion, before your shared moment is interrupted. Crewel shouts at you to look him in the eyes, snapping you out of your sexual frenzy, even if only for a split second. He stares at you, his gray-streaked hair framing the contoured features of his face as he cocks an eyebrow. The elder gives your flushed skin and trembling body a once-over.

"Just as I thought. It's a dopamine-based aphrodisiac. At least nothing fatal or life threatening, but enough to send you both into a delirious, euphoric-fueled rut," he assesses calmly, unfazed. "What's more, the way the explosion altered the structure of the compound has made its properties even more potent and uncontrollable. In terms you incompetent pups will understand, we're past the stage of antidote or reprieve, and you both have mere moments before the hormones will reach maximum capacity and you two will need to find some private location to release the effects..." He trails off. From his expression, you can tell there is more he would like to add to the situation, yet a worrisome crinkle furrows his brow as his eyes remain on Azul, as though assessing whether the situation is really as under control as he wishes. "Both of you bad dogs listen carefully. Do not even dare to even breathe a word of what transpired here—you are to wait in isolation for five to eight hours until its effects wear off. Under no circumstances should you share physical contact with anyone else for the remainder of the day." He holds Azul's gaze longer than necessary, silently threatening him not to take advantage of this situation—but Azul seems far too caught up in the spell and too infatuated by the burning image of you, sweating, panting, and splayed before him.

"Should anyone at all realize that the two of you have taken any sort of love potion or been afflicted in this manner, it could create a massive scandal, and I'll punish you both so mercilessly for causing such an indiscretion, you'll be licking my boots in front of the entire school!" his deep voice booms in threat. "Have I made myself understood, dear pets?" Crewel snaps, the sting of his whip making both you and Azul wince and nod profusely. He leads you and Azul to the decontamination area of the lab, ushering you two into separate stalls so you can change into fresh, dry garments and wipe off the evidence of the explosion from the potion. When you both emerge, it takes Crewel less than a second to glance from the massive bulge straining against Azul's clothing, to where your heaving, quivering chest is spilling over the low neckline, your nipples hard and pressing obscenely through the thin fabric. He glares down his nose at the two of you in distaste.

"Five to eight hours," he hisses, eyes narrowing, almost sizing you and Azul up like he's waiting for one of you to give in to the pressure of the aphrodisiac. He throws open a back door, gesturing for you and Azul to disappear. Azul leaves first, a flushed, jumbled mess of conflicting emotions that are only intensified as he can feel every agonizing beat of his aroused heart pulse in the heat of his hard dick. You follow closely behind, but before you can cross the doorway, Crewel shoots his hand out to grip you by the upper arm, turning you to him as he towers over you, giving you an intense glare before sighing and pulling a small vial of bluish, iridescent potion from his bag and thrusting it into your hands.

"Since I know you won't be able to resist such a delectable temptation from that damn fishy bastard," his words drip with annoyance as he continues, "at least be safe, Pup. Go have a nice screw if that's what you really desire. The serum I just gave you is a contraceptive—just one sip and you will have full reproductive control, in case Azul isn't a decent man about his desires." You blink up at him in utter bewilderment. "Under no circumstances will I allow my star pupils to fall prey to the temptations and consequences of unprotected intimacy in the midst of this reckless hormone rush... I can't allow something like this to affect you or your ambitions. My students can only go to greater places." You feel his eyes burning with concern as he brushes your cheek, sending you a warning in his eyes and urging you to please think it through and consider it. "You are interested in Azul, are you not? I won't allow you to get involved in anything you don't consent to. If you don't feel safe, I can escort you straight to Ramshackle dorm and I will handle Ashengrotto myself." His stare, once cold and imposing, is now warm with protective care, as he looks you up and down with a gentle softness you didn't expect from your professor. The paternalistic expression on his face strikes your soul and pulls on your heartstrings a bit. After all, it's the type of support you feared was lost to you once you found yourself trapped in Twisted Wonderland with no hope of ever seeing your family again. With all the gentleness of a father, he squeezes your shoulder and gazes deeply into your eyes. You assure him that it's okay, you trust Azul. Nodding, your professor finally allows you passage out the door.

You had barely made it beyond the courtyard doors before Azul approached you with a sickly sweet, almost giddy look on his face. His steel-blue irises burned bright with anticipation, accompanied by a hint of something dark and salacious flickering in the shadows. The corners of his lips pulled taut, curling upward in a devious smile. A tremulous shudder passed through you and prickled up your spine at the thought of those hypnotizing eyes studying you while you lay enraptured beneath him, completely at his mercy. As he takes a few tentative steps toward you, his right hand glides and rests softly on your hip, making you gasp with surprise, your heartbeat fluttering and pounding deafeningly in your ears. Azul leans close to your ear, his breath coming out in hot, rapid pants, a carnal excitement that threatens to spill over and devour you whole. You swallow in nervous expectation, hardly daring to look into his lustful gaze. With his elegant index finger, he lifts your chin up and you are left gasping and flushed beneath him, lips parted to beg him for more as his gentle caress lingers. He flashes a devilishly handsome smile before tracing your lower lip with a seductive slowness. "Please, allow me to escort you back to Octavinelle where I can properly tend to you and your condition," the breathiness of his voice and his lack of composure cause your clit to throb, your inner walls pulsating, pleading to be stretched and ravaged. His lecherous advances and insinuations combined with the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins is making you so aroused, even standing close to him is threatening to make you cum. The very fabric of his essence seems to burn a shade darker—there is a terrifying intensity to his ardent desire for you, yet also a rawness and exposure you hadn't seen on his usually suave and polished facade.

Your whole body flushes when your gaze lands upon the size of his aching erection, an impressive tent straining tightly against his immaculate slacks, begging for attention through the dark material of his trousers. There is a manic, primal gleam that's spreading rapidly across his entire visage; he looks rabid with uncontainable greed, and you shudder at the thought that Azul will use your body to satisfy his own dark and twisted curiosities. "Please... It's the least I could do. After all, our most unfortunate situation is all due to my own recklessness," Azul pleads. His tone of voice is unwaveringly convincing in its sweet charm, yet you cannot escape the licentious twinkle that betrays his intentions, eyes ablaze with passion and lips quivering at the thought of making you his forever.

"Please... Just let me serve you and tend to your every whim," he begs. Even though the tone of his voice suggests innocence, you're reminded once more that Azul Ashengrotto believes the true intent in a plea is only to benefit his own ambitions—how ironic, then, that you find yourself overwhelmed with the desire to listen to the velvety cadence of his whispered sweet-nothings until you orgasm multiple times around the girth of his hard dick. Before you can speak, he reaches out and threads his fingers between your own. It was impossible to say no to the lilting honey of his tone, nor was there any will to fight as his firm and commanding hands ushered you towards the teleportation door. He practically pulls you into the mirror with him, and with a twinkly, delighted laugh, his covetous hand grasps you harder than ever as the portal draws closer, his eyes and touch almost reverential—eager, desperate, craving. The surface of the mirror swallows both of you up as the shadows distort the edges of your vision. The whole world spins around you both before the smell of the sea overwhelms your senses—the crispness of ocean air fills your lungs, and a feeling of cool relief washes over your flushed skin. In seconds, Azul is shoving you into an elevator and hitting the button to his suite. When the metal doors slide open, he gently shuffles you forward as he urges your body closer and closer toward his bedroom.

After his dorm door slams shut, your bodies mindlessly work to free the other's of their pesky and offending clothing, eager and restless fingers tearing and ripping at each article as though your lives depended on it. As each piece of clothing is discarded on the floor, new heated skin presses desperately into another as your erotic moans reverberate through the air. It feels electric, the way your sensitive, exposed bodies seek each other out, pawing and grasping at any available flesh and kissing any naked skin you can reach. Your hot, yearning mouth hungrily seeks Azul's for an urgent, feverish kiss—it is sloppy, desperate, almost savage as you share the intensity of your lusty feelings, gasping into each other's mouths, sucking, nibbling, tasting the sweet and sticky aphrodisiac concoction still lingering on both of your tongues. When Azul finally sheds his trousers, his painfully erect member juts out, throbbing and eager, bouncing happily and proudly as it quivers with eagerness. His knees weaken at the sudden release of the tension he'd suffered since the accident, the air a bit brisk against the heat of his erection, which begs to nestle itself securely into an inviting heat and fill your womb with the lusty seed it desires to spurt forth. His cock is ruddy and reddened, and his sack hangs swollen and tight with pent-up pressure. He doesn't think it possible for it to throb and swell even larger, yet its angry head and veins grow dark and twitch from his hot blood pumping. His hand mindlessly falls to his cock, and at the first stroke to his aching member, a needy whine catches in his throat. There is no time for shyness or apprehension. Whatever spell you were both under was driving you forward—like two planets caught in the gravity of an irresistible force, each gravitationally pulled toward the other with no means to stop. The rational part of his brain has been overwhelmed by an urgent instinct. Azul knows without a shadow of doubt that the only cure for this overwhelming haze of sexual depravity is to thrust himself deep inside the hot, velvety cunt of his precious lab partner.

Next thing you knew, you were pushed roughly, falling backwards before connecting against the smooth, luxurious blankets covering his mattress. He follows eagerly, letting his entire weight drop against your form and trapping your supple body beneath his. It was then, right then, when Azul found that the feeling of his aroused cock pressing against your thigh was unbelievably divine—a warm and pleasant tingling sensation spreading all over his hot, hard shaft and emanating out from his loins. With a contented hum, Azul can't resist the urge to buck his hips against your warm skin, stroking his arousal a little further, groaning at the exquisite friction. What a delicious sight you are—all nude and aroused—splayed and exposed across his bed. The effects of the potion have left you looking thoroughly wrecked, legs open, dripping and hot with an aroma so alluring, it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. You are positively lovely, just as he'd always dreamed, with your petals unfurled and beckoning, enticing him further and drawing him in as your soft moans coaxed his cock in closer. To see you writhing and panting, the flush of your skin as you burned with longing for him...it was exactly as he'd always wanted it, almost as though someone had crafted the perfect image just to fulfill his darkest wishes. A surge of erotic fantasy comes upon him, and Azul's breath hitches in his throat as he ponders, briefly, about your womb filled with his seed, his beautiful angelfish round with child. He wants nothing more than to unceremoniously bury himself as deep within as he can, to push his thick, pulsating shaft as far as you could manage and stay buried to the hilt for days. His body quivers with excitement as a particularly vulgar dream reenters his mind. He had longed, always, to possess a most lascivious power over you—the power to make you writhe and squirm in bliss, and more importantly, in total and unbreakable dependence and submission for him—the neediest, sluttiest mess imaginable. Perhaps he'd have to thank Grim later for consequentially bringing about this fortunate chain of events.

Azul begins stroking himself fully, unabashed in his view of the sight before him. You don't protest the show. In fact, a high pitched, whimpery moan escapes you as you bite into your thumb to stifle the volume, but the sound is not missed, the harsh pang in his cock proof enough. After some thought, he realizes that he much preferred when you had been writhing and moaning quite uninhibitedly a moment earlier. You shift uncomfortably underneath his heated gaze as his eyes drink in every little curve, every little wrinkle and fold of your dripping pussy. Your toes curl inward and the ache deep within you demands attention. "You're so perfect, my little angelfish. Your body is exactly as I imagined," his saccharine voice admits as he leans forward, letting his fingers dance across the swell of your breasts. His left hand cradles your jaw and throat as his right continues its delicate massage across the plush pillow of your breasts, toying with the perked nubs of your nipples as his thumbs swirl small circles against the delicate flesh.

Azul's gentle touch ignites flames under his fingertips that follow his descent down to the juncture of your legs. The first brush against your swollen bundle of nerves and slit has your spine arching upwards, making his cock throb even more painfully, stiffening under the visual of your trembling body. A whine escapes and your hips grind involuntarily, the heat building intensely as his fingers begin to experimentally spread your folds slowly, running the tip of a finger from your core to the hood of your pearl. Without warning, Azul swipes upwards, expertly pulling back the hood and exposing the raw, sensitive flesh of nerves underneath, pinching down on the fleshy bud and causing you to yelp loudly in shock. With a satisfied grin, his forefinger begins to toy and tweak the hardened bud, rubbing gentle, rhythmic patterns over and over against the bundle as a chorus of delightful, high-pitched squeals fill his dormitory. After a few more ministrations, his hands continue down, delving his fingers straight into the moistened and heated opening, swiping up the slick mess you had coated his palm in. Two long fingers deftly slip right between your folds, caressing their way around your labia, your wet walls clenching around his fingertips desperately. "This wetness, for me?" Azul chuckles wickedly, crooking his fingers upward and brushing your g-spot with a knowing curl of his fingers, sending you spasming, gasping, and writhing in ecstasy, eyelashes fluttering wildly. "Oh, my dearest—so precious, my angelfish. That's it, so beautiful, just for me..." His voice drips with lecherous intent, his body moving without even the slightest hint of hesitation as though you were merely an extension of his own and not even a separate entity. Your wetness coats his fingers easily as Azul keeps sliding his fingers into your wet heat until the pads of his fingers touch all your deepest, hidden places, causing more sweet moans to fall from your lips and echo through his room. He scissors and curls his digits inside, stroking you slowly as though wanting to feel every bump, crease, and ridge along your walls, claiming his ownership over your deepest parts with a sinister delight.

A pressure builds and teeters precariously right at the precipice—the curling of his digits work feverishly to milk every drop of pleasure he can from your shuddering body, the warm flood of wetness drenching his eager fingers and making his head fall back with a sensuous moan. He continues with his relentless assault against your pussy, whispering filthy compliments about how badly he wanted to fuck you and how sexy it is when you take his fingers so well. Your legs flutter open wider, inviting his slim and nimble digits deeper within you, fucking them vigorously as your release begins to pool, rising closer to the boiling point. The aphrodisiac grips its poisonous talons deeper into your mind, warping and bending everything into an unshakable desire to submit yourself and your pleasure to the hands of the devious sea creature above you. He leans down, his silvery eyes roving over your face in an intense appraisal, his features drawn in with concentration, mapping out how to unravel you—there wasn't an emotion or micro expression that slipped past his vision as he carefully considered all the factors of how best to please and overwhelm your body with incomparable rapture. There isn't anything else beyond the present—no outside forces, nor worries about the consequences of being intimate. There's simply no room in your mind to think at this point, the cloudiness of the effects rendering your body vulnerable—you give yourself up entirely. He drinks up every breath, every shake and shiver, as he continues calculating your climax, relishing in each tiny noise or action he drew from you, meticulous with the acquisition of your bliss.

"Yes. Give in." he laughs maniacally, his face fully consumed in the intense madness of his lustful insanity. "Give in to every sensation. Let me drive you wild... Do as I command and cum," Azul demands you through his laughter, his breathing rapid and heavy as he watches your eyes rolling back. He moans in awe as the loud, slick sounds of his hand filling your soaking cunt meet his ears and a deep flush travels across his collarbones. His own needy cock leaks, eagerly anticipating what's next as its engorged state bulges obscenely, its every vein throbbing with virile desperation. Your high-pitched moans continue for some time as his pace stays fast, until you can finally feel your entire body tensing up, the fire coiling inside your gut ready to explode any moment. Everything builds higher and higher to the peak, every muscle and nerve fiber in your body primed to receive that last push that would send you catapulting over the cliff. As he feels your walls tremble, Azul moans along with your high-pitched wailing. A deranged smile stretches across his face and his silver eyes fill with amusement and fascination. 

Azul leans into your ear, whispering sweet nothings mixed with commanding, demanding words to finally succumb, "That's it...Let go..." He twists and digs deeper, stroking the perfect places inside you, hitting the correct spots relentlessly in an overload of mind-bending, debauchery-fueled, electric-spark pleasure, forcing your senses to dissociate from reality. His thrusting hand matches the frantic racing of his own heart, unable to keep the carnal fever down. "Give in... submit yourself fully, and surrender that orgasm. It's mine. I've worked for it, and now it belongs only to me." He whispers in a devilish growl, nibbling on your ear as his strokes become rougher, harder, faster—you can hardly stand the overwhelming force of your pleasure before its sweet relief crashes like waves. A broken moan leaves your mouth, a pure exaltation of uncontrolled passion. Noises come tumbling out and spilling over until you finally dissolve into a messy orgasm, shrieking his name in pleasure as his hand slows its motions but doesn't stop, keeping its pressure steady and rocking the whole of your existence until your mind goes blank. "Such a good, obedient angelfish, giving me all of your sweet, succulent cum... all for me, yes?" Azul hums sweetly, teasingly. "Oh, this is so precious," he sighs, feeling the quaking and trembling of your fluttering walls. His expression melts into one of deep satisfaction and pride.

"There you go, my lovely angelfish. Just as I said I would," Azul croons. Without another word, his hand, wet with your desire, abandons its ministrations, pulling from your depths with a slick pop, leaving your empty cunt to tremble from his absence. Azul brings his fingers to his mouth for a lewd taste test, licking the juices from his hand as a self-indulgent smirk plays upon his lips. As he rolls the digits around his tongue, sampling the essence of your cunt, a sharp groan rumbles deep from within his chest, the vibration coursing down his spine and directly into his throbbing member. Even as his breath grows heavy from the feeling of his needy cock, the smug, triumphant smirk doesn't disappear. He enjoys the honeyed, tangy sweetness and savors the lingering sensation on his taste buds—another string attached, making it utterly impossible for him to let go. A low chuckle is heard from deep in his chest, dark and hauntingly mirthful. From his pleased sigh, you could easily read the insatiable hunger growing within his gleaming eyes—clearly the lust in his loins has only been ignited further—a starving, manic beast hungry for even more from your yielding form, an insatiable craving that can't be satiated so easily. His cock visibly twitches, begging for him to mount you and thrust his painfully aroused length as far as he can manage deep into your eager, spasming pussy. The aphrodisiac courses through his veins with all the potency of a tropical storm, whipping every nerve into a frenzy as the instinct takes hold in Azul's most primordial thoughts and drives all those cravings with an irrepressible urgency—he simply has to get your pregnant. Azul's cheeks flush with a reddish-pink shade as he fixates on you, the hunger in his gaze absolutely feral, filled with a single-minded lustful determination to breed you.

When your eyes meet his maddened, love-struck stare, you are overcome with the same desperation radiating from your womb, urging to be stuffed and claimed by his thick load. At last, the two of you had connected in this all-consuming fire—a conflagration of desire so severe and a love so encompassing that both of you could do nothing more than dance on the ashes and burn with the flames. In that moment of recognition, an irresistible, bewitching aura emanates from him and mesmerizes you as the air of mystery dissipates from his visage, the eroticized specter of the fearsome and dangerous, devious mogul melts away to reveal the raw intensity of the young man underneath, exposed in all his ardent, unfettered passions. Here stands Azul, naked with vulnerability, desiring only a love that no other has been able to truly give. He's always tried to prevent access to his real emotions, afraid of the kind of cruelty they would reap upon him if they were found. He didn't believe himself to be worthy of their regard, let alone capable of receiving someone's genuine affections. With you, though, there were none of his signature theatrics, no polite deflection, nor charming evasiveness; he gave you full permission to view him and all of his repressed feelings on full display. An open book, Azul trusts you enough to expose his heart fully, so transparent in his neediness. Since he brought you to his bedroom, there was never the slightest hint of deception in his tone—not once had he attempted to distract you, nor used a tactic or trick. Perhaps his true intentions for getting close to you were more admirable than you thought, his desperation to get close to you was merely just a pining for your love rather than a sordid trick. His earnest, loving gaze, combined with the grip of your desire, makes something finally shift within, like the turning of the tide—a sense that it was fated for you to fall and crash so desperately, madly, and completely for him—a long-awaited inevitability, just as he had already done for you long before this Alchemy accident. Azul was an adoringly gentle yet brutally powerful force, a pillar in your life you can lean into without hesitation. All of your fears, worries, and frustrations are suddenly null, evaporating into the thin air of Octavinelle, carried into the gentle waters outside the window and disappearing into the seas.

Nothing is more erotic than seeing his carefully maintained veneer crumbling before you and letting himself fall apart at the seams. No longer hiding his desires or his ambitions for you, Azul's lusty hunger has you excited, aroused, and turned on like never before. You return his lustful, hazy expression and Azul is drawn right into the softness of your inviting stare. Your mouth parts to allow a needy moan to pass as you buck your hips slightly, inviting him to finally claim your body as his, a beautiful sacrifice you're eager to make for a beautiful siren such as him. With a deep, lewd groan, Azul pushes off your trembling body, propping himself onto his knees and groping at your chest, making you mewl. There's no trace left of the smooth businessman persona, not even a hint of it lingers when his wet mouth kisses at your mounds and his large hands explore the contours of your curves, his fingertips desperately memorizing the way you're put together, tracing every bit of available flesh. His eager tongue swirls at your peaked nipples, moaning in appreciation and delight. Your mind is being swallowed by a bubbling wave of bliss that has no end as his hand trails across your hips, his touch is as gentle as a ripple in the water. With a shyly embarrassed flush and a sigh of wanton abandonment, you surrender entirely to him—letting the sea creature drown you in ecstasy, deeper and deeper, into the endless ocean. He caresses your stomach gently, the calloused pads of his fingers exploring the sensitive skin where he knows your womb lies. Your heart stumbles as his lips twist upward in an impish smirk at the thought of all the cum he's soon going to pump straight into the cavity. He palms your belly, which would soon carry his progeny as an inevitable result of this union, imagining his angelfish's stomach rounded and taut with his unborn child, perhaps, even more than once—Azul's thoughts are full of fantasies about filling you and fucking your pretty little womb over and over until he succeeds and you're blessed with his babies. Azul hums at the image of your pregnant body, worshiping the slope of your thighs and rubbing his hands up your waist and the undersides of your breasts. Azul knows that even if it doesn't work right away, he is more than prepared to breed you again and again as many times as necessary. He is more than certain you'll eventually give him a consortium of little octopus-human hybrids. After all, you'd offered yourself up in the end. Who was he not to take what was freely given?

He grasps the back of your knee to prop up your leg in the air, shifting closer. In one fell swoop, your tender thighs are flung open, revealing your glistening cunt. Azul moans, running the rough pad of his finger right up the slit of your lips. You're already a mess, his slick hand had not been able to satisfy your heat at all, it only created a further yearning deep within that could only be satisfied by his aching cock. Azul settles against the fronts of your thighs, letting the stiff heat of his bulging erection nestle against the dripping lips of your cunt, already poised and eager for insertion. The anticipation causes the two of you to tremble slightly at the intimacy, your lips wet and sticky as they run against the length, his cock drooling freely from the tip and leaking beads of sticky, precum fluid right across your folds. With one more affectionate, sweet peck against the corner of your lip, and another one right upon your forehead, Azul slowly glides inside. A shared cry of euphoria leaves your mouths simultaneously as Azul buries the full length of his throbbing cock into your sopping entrance, thrusting powerfully to hilt balls-deep. The pure, erotic rapture of finally consummating your love floods both of your veins. His dick is filling you in the most indescribable way and stretching your cunt so deliciously that stars appear behind your eyes. A glorious symphony of relief sings in your blood while his hard girth massages your innermost walls as though he were meant for no other—like he was perfectly made to be the puzzle piece filling your immaculate pussy. You both gasp sharply in unison as the sensation sends tremors down his shaft. Every vein, ridge, and inch of his length drags deeply with each thrust as he grinds you thoroughly, bringing your clits into tantric connection and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves back and forth in perfect time with the rocking motion. Each snap of his hip makes the two of you share a joyful sob as he pleasures you in the most divine manner.

A low and sinful groan passes through your lips as your hands grip him tighter, begging him to increase his momentum and pace. Azul's hands clutch you in a tight embrace, his chest to yours with every inch of his hardness fully embedded into your velvety passage, sending white-hot sparks of pleasure shooting to the deepest recesses of your innermost being, triggering the sudden rush of a climax that is starting to rise to its precipice. Azul groans as your juices run down his balls, pooling around his sack and providing more lubrication for his relentless drive inside of you. You clench and flutter around him, squeezing your inner walls with every desperate urge for friction and movement, drawing Azul's eye right up to yours in a lusty daze. His body is coiling for release, ready to cum, and there's a glitter of utter happiness in his expression. His lips quiver with desire and he smirks as he feels you clamping and spasming around his rock-hard dick, begging him to breed you like the little slut that he secretly knows you are, all while knowing deep down you'd get so unbelievably plump and swollen with his hatchlings, he'd hardly be able to move his tentacles with all the kids crawling over him.

It's more intense, and far more electrifying than the filthy fantasies that had invaded his sleep every lonely evening whenever he gave in to his insufferable yearning for you. He'd envisioned this, over and over—what it would feel like to make you orgasm, just how satisfying it would feel to cum with you at the same time, and how heavenly it would be to stretch your cunt so snugly—and yet, in this moment, it surpasses his imagination exponentially, eliciting a complete flood of sensual pleasure all throughout his senses. Not even his wildest wet dreams had prepared him for the heady intoxication and undeniable high he experiences with you—being passionately and physically intertwined, wrapped around the most sublime euphoria that was possible—a wave so dizzying that there's absolutely no going back to life without the other once your bodies have succumbed and reached that ultimate, highest peak.

When Azul hits the point of no-return, his legs start shaking as though his limbs were going to fall off. His fingers tangle roughly in your hair as he drags your mouth closer to meet his. With each heavy thrust, he swallows every moan that erupts from your throat. His movements become less coherent, rougher, and disjointed as the strength of your cunt's embrace pulses tightly around his shaft and urges him toward the edge. Suddenly, an intense wave of satisfaction takes hold and shoots to the tip of his cock, pulsating violently in need to release its seed. Azul can't help but groan loudly into your ear as he slams his cock into you with ferocious strength, fucking the life and soul right out of your being while a high-pitched scream accompanies the splash and squelching noises of your pussy. Your mouth has gone slack, jaw dropping as you cry out his name and climax with such power that it whips you into a complete frenzy of desperation, sending your vision dancing with lights. You quake and shiver under the force of his fervor and ecstasy, writhing on the mattress and throwing your head backward to soak in your overwhelming, toe-curling rapture. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pounding you fiercely as you wail and shatter with a rush of emotions so intense, you don't know if you will ever put yourself back together. A strained whine and a few sharp pumps later, a surge of hot, wet euphoric heat shoots from Azul's balls and spurts out in ribbons of his own spent climax as he spends his load of pearly cum directly into your waiting womb, splashing your tight channel with a continuous stream—painting every crevice of your silken, fluttering, vice-like depths a glossy white. Azul is unable to help himself as his hips start grinding into yours with slow rolls, fucking and stuffing every drop of his sticky cream deeply and ensuring it remains securely nestled in your folds. Every remaining bit of sexual tension floods out as though you'd been submerged in the most heavenly waterfall of pleasure imaginable. Azul whines weakly into the pillow and your moans join, eventually dissipating into a heavenly silence as you sink heavily back to reality.

Time slows to an almost stop and your vision gets a bit hazy and bleary as the aphrodisiac magic completely pulses away. You two lay side by side on the soft blankets, still in the bed and soaked with sweat. Neither of you move for quite some time. Just in the wake of your post-orgasm, everything becomes intensely surreal. You try to breathe quietly so Azul doesn't hear and as his head rests on your breasts. He, too, is heaving with difficulty, each inhale is a conscious decision. He clings tightly against you, hands threaded together like a lifeline, afraid to let go. One last sentence leaves his mouth—a whisper that could have easily been missed by anyone except for you. It was a question.

"Are we both in love?" Azul asks with such hesitance, you think maybe you've misheard his inquiry. He is lying right by your side. His face is dangerously close to yours, and the way his stormy, ocean azure eyes reflect every emotion swirling inside allows you to see the years of hurt that's plagued him. He's absolutely enchanted, like you are the perfect dream come true—everything he'd ever imagined in one living, breathing, precious human body—a lover so magnificent he could hardly comprehend. He studies your expression with awe and reverence. A look so intensely raw it burns right through your heart and lights up the space in your soul that you never before realized was reserved just for him. "Because I love you... Truly and deeply. So much that I don't know how it was possible, even," Azul admits freely, without the least hint of apprehension or nervousness. You can feel the intensity and honesty of his words radiate through his trembling fingertips, through the places where his naked skin touched yours—he doesn't try to mask the pure unadulterated warmth and delight that leaks through the shaky but firm expression on his flushed face.

A wide, cheerful and genuine grin breaks out against your features as you nod enthusiastically, and it is almost as though a heavenly, soothing light has poured over his entire world. It feels like a dream, a fairytale that is too good to be true. Yet here you both lie, doused in the magic of the concoction, clinging to each other and to that euphoric elation after giving in to the passions and the chemical bonds. It felt incredible, it felt natural and familiar and right. This wasn't anything artificial, rather the long overdue acknowledgement of feelings that were there all along—a kindling of romance that was never forced, but rather fanned to life after many days spent as Alchemy partners. After seeing each other every day, getting to know each other's quirks, and learning of each other's daily habits, the intimacy had bloomed and nurtured into something tender and real. The closeness the potion provided simply allowed the two of you the confidence needed to step across a boundary and pursue things.

"This won't be something short lived... you understand what I am saying, yes?" His tone has a tinge of fear creeping in and you can't help but stroke the outline of his cheekbones. This feeling will not end with a simple fuck, you knew that deep in the marrow. There will be more of that to come. In fact, the thought of it has your cunt pulsing, your sex aching at the idea. "I simply won't have you anywhere else but with me, and here in my dorm. I just won't be able to be happy otherwise..." Azul's voice quivers as the vulnerable sincerity flows.

"Yes, Azul. Yes, I understand and I feel the exact same," you chuckle and cradle his head. His blue eyes crinkle slightly from the beam across his lips, and Azul can't resist pulling you in for a feverish kiss, groaning from the rush. That familiar, sinfully blissful high is starting to take hold again, the rush of the aphrodisiac stirring something fiery back into a pleasant burn. The chemical’s grip on the two of you continues. After all, nothing will stop the magic from bringing you closer together. He murmurs a seductive promise into the curve of your throat that he won't stop until his load drips and slides right out of your swollen cunt—he's going to breed you the rest of the night and spill as much of himself deep within as he can. He has no doubt you're going to give him a child that will cement this loving bond permanently.

Listen I don't know HOW this HAPPENED, I DON'T understand how I wrote this much. I am DELIRIOUS and I need to go pick up some pizza for dinner, so I wish I could say more here but I can't right now. I'll update this part when I get back home. I just needed to get this out into the UNIVERSE. THANK YOU ALL!!! HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!! <3333 Erica Malleleothreesome

[flawseer]

In your last ask, you mentioned misgivings with Book 10's ending, and especially how it pertains to Winter. I absolutely agree, and I know why, but I wanna hear your thoughts on it, too: What's up with Book 10?

The following is a (very long) examination of my personal feelings with regards to the WoF second story arc finale. While it is based on what is in the text, this analysis will be interpretive and fill in blanks with my own thoughts. Keep that in mind.

Hahhhh... okay. Since mentioning it in my last post I’ve gotten several requests to talk about my feelings regarding the second arc finale. There’s probably no way around it then.

If you haven’t read that last post (it was admittedly very long, and so will this one be), I talked briefly about why I didn’t like that part of the story. I have to warn you now, this will likely be the most negative and dour post in the history of this blog. In a few parts it will sound like I hate Wings of Fire, and I want to say now, while I still have the chance, that I don’t. I love this series, thinking about its setting and characters brings me joy.

I also—very emphatically—want to make it clear that I have no ill will against Tui T. Sutherland. I’ve looked around other people’s stuff a bit and there are a huge number of posts wishing violence upon her or threatening her for doing things to her series that people don’t agree with. That is NOT what I am doing here, shit like that is NOT okay! While I will be critical of her choices, I still respect her effort of bringing this vibrant, wonderful world of dragons to all of us.

Also, obligatory last disclaimer: If you liked the finale, that is okay. You are valid for feeling that way. I’m here to share my point of view, not to demand people agree with everything I say. Just be warned that you most likely won’t enjoy what I have to say. If you don’t think you can handle that kind of criticism, this is your guilt-free opportunity to stop reading.

Otherwise, let's get into it.

CW: Discussion of parental abuse, depression, disease, and extreme acts of violence.

In defense of the finale

Before I start to systematically disassemble this narrative and get lost in a quagmire of negativity, let’s talk a bit about the circumstances that brought forth this part of the story. The plot of this arc was a mess from the moment animus magic was unshackled from the restrictions it had in the first arc, and from then on there was no longer any conceivable way to end this story in a clean way. Sutherland had created an invincible, unbeatable, omnipotent villain; he could read minds, see the future with perfect clarity, and anything he could imagine he could conjure into existence at any time with no cost to himself and no drawbacks. She was likely wracking her brain about how to resolve this impossible conundrum. What we got wasn’t good, but I believe nothing could have been. The foundation was rotting and by the fifth book it couldn’t bear the weight of the plot anymore.

The thing about animus magic in arc 2 is that it is so potent, so all-powerful, and so free of restraint that everyone who uses it also HAS to be a simpleton, or they would be able to break the plot immediately and become god. From the moment Darkstalker broke out of that mountain, he could have said “Any and all spells that are cast with the intention to harm me, interfere with my plans, or do something I don’t consent to will not work, from now on until forever”, and he would have instantly won. The strawberry would have fizzled out. The Darkstalker-blocking earrings would not have been created, and no one could have saved the Icewings. On the flipside, Turtle or Anemone could have said “I enchant the concept of animus magic itself to no longer obey Darkstalker”, and his threat would have been neutered. Point is, powers as potent and easy to use as this really need limitations, or they will quickly eat your plot alive.

I don’t envy the situation Sutherland was in at the time at all. If you’re an author, that kind of thing is a nightmare. It really is no wonder she decided to blow up animus magic for good in her next arc, even if I would have preferred it to get more healthy restrictions instead of killing it outright.

The Darkstalker age regression thing

Everyone has talked this part to death already, but if I am to write a thorough analysis of my feelings regarding this finale, I’m going to have to talk about it as well. I’m sorry if I end up repeating a lot of things you’ve already heard.

This final fate of Darkstalker, to have his memories wiped and be reset to an infant, is really uncomfortable. As far as I am aware, though correct me if I’m wrong, Sutherland said in an interview that she didn’t want Darkstalker to die because, in her view, he did not deserve to. We can debate here about the philosophical question of whether anyone is truly deserving of death, and the merits of “justice” and “punishment”, but in general, Wings of Fire did not seem to have any issues killing off its villains prior if they committed suitably terrible acts. That makes this moment stand out as noteworthy.

Who is Darkstalker then--and if we assume villains can be “deserving” and “not deserving” of death--what about him speaks in his favor, or against? The guy had a pretty crappy childhood, coming from a broken home (there is that inadequate parent theme again). He genuinely loved his sister and felt protective of her, and whenever he liked someone he wanted them to be happy and feel affirmed. The thing that Queen Diamond does to his mother is awful and he is justified in hating her for it. He is also portrayed as rather sympathetic in Moon Rising. When he asks Moon to find his scroll for him and not to leave him, he is not manipulating her, he is sincerely begging for her help. He is stuck somewhere underground, trapped in darkness, in a space so tiny that he can’t move. He remains that way for months, lonely and sad. If you just focus on these aspects, it’s easy to understand why he has so many fans who want him to see healthy and happy.

On the flipside, while he is dedicated to the happiness of his friends, he doesn’t always go for the most ethical way to achieve it. He tries to brainwash said friends without their consent whenever they exhibit behaviors he doesn’t like, or when he thinks he knows better and wants to “fix” them. He has very little regard for other people’s autonomy, lies to his loved ones with alarming frequency, and is unhealthily attached to the idea of power. Those things are certainly not good, but they are his character flaws. These are his demons; everyone has them and they make him a person. If this was all there was to it, he might still be a villain, but I’d argue he’d not be wholly irredeemable.

But there are things about him that take him beyond the pale. Things that go beyond the realm of just being misunderstood, or easily excusable.

He is possessive. He wants Clearsight and Fathom for himself, and for them to listen to him primarily. When Indigo makes it clear she doesn’t like him and cautions Fathom against trusting him, he deceives his friends and traps Indigo in a wood carving, just so he can isolate Fathom from his support network and manipulate him easier. He alters Clearsight’s mind to make her more agreeable and stop her from holding him accountable for his actions; while he thinks he loves her, he only loves an idealized version of her that is wholly devoted to and unquestioning of him. This is why, when he later forcibly overwrites Fierceteeth’s existence to recreate her (which is another horrific thing), he tries to excise the parts he finds undesirable to create a perfect version of his lover. But this caricature he has created in his head is not and can never be Clearsight, which frustrates his attempts.

He is vengeful. Not against people who have actually wronged him, like Queen Diamond. That would be questionable, but understandable. What makes this unacceptable is his frequent targeting of innocent people who just happen to be related to the person who wronged him in some esoteric way. He enchants a secret murder knife that kills random Icewings regardless of who they are or what they think about the Queen, just because the one who took his mother from him happened to share their tribe. He hates Turtle and wishes death upon him in Moon Rising just because he is a green Seawing, like Fathom was. And then there is the big one: He tries to kill all the Icewings who are alive in the present day, where Queen Diamond is long dead and none of them have ever even met her. Even his mother, who suffered from Diamond’s actions the most and has the most reason to hate her, is horrified and calls him out on that one.

And lastly, he is sadistic. He revels in torturing those he hates. He forces his father to disembowel himself, while the latter is fully aware and powerless to resist AND the man’s traumatized daughter is watching. Later he sends a magical plague to kill every single living Icewing sans one.

It should be noted that Darkstalker possesses virtually infinite magical power; whatever he declares, with very few exceptions, will happen. Even if he wanted them dead, he had the power to prevent unnecessary suffering. He could have said “Arctic, fall dead instantaneously”, or “Every Icewing will fall asleep and pass away peacefully,” but he didn’t. He wanted them to feel pain and pass away in the most wretched, agonizing ways he could imagine.

So what he chose to do instead is—and I want you to picture this for a moment—Darkstalker sat down, calmly, and said “Henceforth every living Icewing, excepting Prince Winter and those of hybrid blood, will fall ill with an incurable disease. This disease will cause heavy internal bleeding and make its victims cough up blood and waste away for a few days, followed by certain death.”

This spell does not discriminate with regards to who its victims are. The book glosses over the implications, but imagine the ramifications. Young children are notoriously frail, how many newborns got infected and died because of this? How many families were torn apart because they couldn’t get the magic earrings fast enough? Or accidentally got one earring less than there were family members and had to decide who has to die?

Most of the Icewings were physically cured by the earrings, but an experience like that sticks with you for the rest of your life. Somewhere surely, a dragonet watched as his mother put the earring on him and then slowly wasted away because she didn’t have one for herself.

It’s really easy to overlook how horrific this spell is because it isn’t shown or dwelt on. But the trauma, grief, and suffering it caused must have been immeasurable.

And none of those victims have ever even met the person Darkstalker wanted to get revenge on. None of those deaths meant anything to anyone.

The attempted death toll and scale of the calamity here puts even Scarlet to shame. The ones who come closest to it were Queen Battlewinner and Morrowseer with their attempted Rainwing extermination. All three of those died for what they did. Gives you some food for thought for sure.

Peacemaker’s burden

Despite just airing all of his dirty laundry and declaring him an irredeemable villain, I actually do have a lot of sympathy for Darkstalker still. His story is really sad. He was a child born with an amount of power that nobody should possess, and it corrupted him to the point where it destroyed his life before it began. His parents were always fighting and no matter how good his intentions were, he was unable to understand why he couldn’t hold on to his friends and relationship. He kept making mistakes, then made bigger mistakes to fix those, until his hands were covered in blood and he couldn’t stop anymore. My belief is that, after he wakes up in the present and realizes Clearsight is dead, he loses his reason for living and becomes completely lost in his grief.

Therefore, my opinion is that it would have been appropriate for him to die. If not to punish him, then to finally grant him reprieve from all that rage and pain, and let him rest. I think that would have been a dignified end.

But instead he got turned into a baby. ... And then they decided to magically erase his father’s blood from him? I don’t know what it is, but something about that Icewing erasure makes my skin crawl?

The thing that turns this baby twist from weird into highly unsettling is the context. Darkstalker’s mind is erased, then modified into a new person via animus magic. This is the technique a lot of this arc’s villains used to victimize Hailstorm, Queen Ruby, Peril, Kinkajou, Fierceteeth, and Winter. The same technique is now used again, by the heroes, which is a dangerous thing to have your protagonists do if you want them to remain morally upright.

It is also very reckless, because in almost all of these instances, animus mind alteration has been shown to be very unreliable. The spells seem to wear down over time and are susceptible to partial breaking upon encountering certain strong stimuli. Hailstorm—while trapped as Pyrite—seems to retain trace amounts of his former memories, which is why Pyrite is subconsciously drawn to Winter and clings to him all the time. Ruby is able to ignore half of her conditioning because her familial love for her son partially overpowers the magic. Qibli is just straight up able to reason his way out of it.

The thing to note here is that spells of this nature require a very meticulous approach; you can’t half-ass your reprogramming or the victim will just think their way past it. If you alter someone’s mind, the wording of the spell must be ironclad, lest you risk it wearing down over time and even break.

Luckily we have nothing to fear in that regard, because the spell that created Peacemaker was written by a Rainwing with a total of four days of literacy training. No one better mention the name Clearsight to the new baby Nightwing, or next month is going to be rather interesting.

But that’s just speculation on my part. Let’s assume that, somehow, this spell isn’t as unstable as all the others. Somehow Kinkajou threaded all the needles, and masterfully dodged every conceivable pitfall to pen the perfect incantation, despite having been illiterate just a few weeks prior. This one is built to last and Darkstalker is sealed away really thoroughly, for good.

That is still absolutely terrible and morally dubious, because now you have Peacemaker, who for all intents and purposes is a COMPLETELY innocent little kid, saddled with this huge burden of being the certifiable reincarnation of a genocidal ancient wizard. He’s gonna grow up thinking things like “Mommy gets real quiet whenever the topic of the Icewing tragedy is brought up,” and “Why does Auntie Moon look at me like that? One time she accidentally called me a weird name, who is Darkstalker?” “What is this ‘Clearsight’ name my mind-reading friends from the village found in Mommy’s mind?”

In a village that will be full of mind-readers soon, eventually the secret will come out, and Peacemaker is going to learn what was done to him. A huge, messy load of undeserved baggage was forced onto this completely separate, innocent entity. He will be devastated. Whether he then chooses to forgive them for this remains to be seen. To be honest, he would be well within his right not to, and turn resentful.

Poor kid.

Qibli’s callousness

I love Qibli, he is one of my favorite characters. This happens to be his book, and the fact that I fundamentally dislike half of it makes me rather sad. If anything, I hope this tells you that I’m not just hating on it for my personal amusement. I really wanted to like this. I tried to, and I couldn’t.

Qibli is really weird in this one, to be honest. He is suddenly made to be co-dependent on Moonwatcher, fawning over her every third paragraph, saying how much he loves her, how he is an incomplete and dysfunctional wreck without her, how it physically pains him to be apart from her, oh if only the stars would grant his wish and split the mountains apart so that he may fly to his princess, his muse, his goddess of ebony wit. It gets so old.

And it’s not Qibli. He never acted this clingy towards Moonwatcher. It’s more intense than even Winter gets about Moon, and Winter was actually depicted with a crush on her in book 6. Qibli was always just a supportive element, eager to befriend Moon but never desperate, like he is going to keel over if he is separated from his true love five minutes longer. These very frequent love declarations feel so forced coming out of him. It strikes me like it was just written in service of the love triangle. Maybe if we make him confess his love every four seconds readers will overlook the fact that they had no proper romantic build-up.

You might rightly accuse me of bias. I have previously admitted I am fond of Qibli/Winter as a romantic pairing, on the surface this seems like I am just not happy with my pet ship being blocked by Moonwatcher. But I assure you, I am actually pretty flexible and accommodating even towards pairings that contradict my preferences. I have no issues with Winter/Moonwatcher, for example, because the possibility was properly established and they have good romantic chemistry in Winter Turning. In theory, I would have no problem with Qibli/Moonwatcher either if it was ever set up as an interesting romantic dynamic. But to me, it seems like Qibli is written as a good, supportive friend to Moon for four books, only to pivot hard into “Moon moon moon moon moon moon swoon” at the last second, and it just reads to me as obnoxious.

I got distracted. This section is called “Qibli’s callousness”, and I haven’t even talked about the main part.

Qibli and Winter have excellent chemstry together, whether you read it as romantic or platonic—both of these interpretations have merit and are set up. They’re always the highlight of any scene they’re in. Throughout the story arc you get the impression that these two really get on each other’s nerves, but they bond and grow into really strong friends who bicker a lot but have each other’s backs when it counts.

Then there is a scene where Qibli casually tells Winter that he wouldn’t object if someone wanted to mind-control away some of Winter’s more objectionable traits.

This is genuinely a terrible thing to say to your friend. Like, it crosses a line and ceases to be harmless banter; you’re just telling them that there is something you hate about them so much that you wish they were someone else. Winter actually WAS mind-controlled earlier and felt (and proably still feels) guilty about having attacked Qibli in that state. And now Qibli says “Hey, I wouldn’t mind if someone did that to you again! Hue hue!”

It is awful, BUT I don’t necessarily object to Qibli saying this here. Qibli is in the middle of his character arc at this moment, so he is expected to be flawed. He is making a mistake by thoughtlessly telling Winter this horrid thing, and it seems like a believable continuation of his current character track. This is a reasonable development as long as the plot acknowledges that it’s a mistake.

Spoilers: The plot doesn’t acknowledge that it’s a mistake. Qibli never has a scene after where he reflects upon what he said and apologizes to Winter. When Darkstalker has Qibli trapped in his mountain jail and mind-wipes Qibli’s grandfather into a toddler (hey, wait a minute), Qibli gets visibly disturbed. Like, this is so off-putting to him that he gets queasy and Darkstalker hastily changes the spell. That could have been a great way to bring this back. Like in the epilogue, have Qibli track down Winter and tell him about disturbing baby grandpa theater and how he realized that wiping people’s minds is actually messed up and should have never said that to him.

But he doesn’t. He just lets Winter go, allowing him to believe he is broken and needs magical intervention to be tolerable. It leaves me to think that maybe he’s still okay with it, and fantasizing about rewriting his friend’s mind. Great.

Moonwatcher’s character death

You will find as this goes on that, I get the impression that the second half of this book takes all of the wonderful, endearing characters I have learned to love throughout the story and replaces them with really mean, or stupid, or otherwise inaccurate caricatures.

Moonwatcher’s relationship with Darkstalker gets plenty of setup and development in Moon Rising. You get the sense that these two could be great friends if their circumstances were a little different. It does a great job at making you think maybe Darkstalker is just misunderstood; maybe Moon should free him from his predicament.

Then at the end of Escaping Peril comes the emotional gut punch. Darkstalker actually IS a villain. He callously admits to Moonwatcher that he used his magic to make his own father gruesomely disembowel himself. Moonwatcher is horrified and disgusted that he would do that. There is no circumstance in which something like that would ever be okay. She ends the scene awash in tears because the person she thought was her friend is a murderer and a sadist. This is good, that is a natural reaction to what she was just told.

A few hours from there, in Talons of Power, Turtle finds Moon again and she is completely cool with Darkstalker walking free, despite crying her eyes out after feeling so betrayed earlier. That may seem strange, but this is still good because later, Darkstalker’s mind control plot is discovered. This scene was obviously written to set that up, Moon is mind-controlled into forgetting that Darkstalker could do something that morally reprehensible, and thus forgives him. This is also completely in line with his characterization in Legends: Darkstalker. It’s a kind of stunt he would pull to get Clearsight to shut up about him slipping into villainy.

In my earlier post I alluded to a moment where Moon is set to narrative auto-pilot and says something so rampantly off-kilter that it does irreversible, permanent damage to her character. It happens here, in the second half of book 10. Qibli gives Moon the Darkstalker protection earring, and Moon, somehow, says “I’m not being mind-controlled, Darkstalker really is my friend.”

I get what the plot tries to do here. It’s taking this concept of mind-control and adding a nuance, in an attempt to flesh out Darkstalker and give his character depth. He is ready to control everyone in the world, but for Moon, who is his best friend in this era, he wants her to remain herself. Perhaps this is his attempt at attonement for playing with Clearsight’s mind and driving her away from him. It is very touching in a way, viewed in isolation.

Unfortunately, it does not work with the full context of all the books. Because Moon is in auto-pilot mode right now, her main character trait is “Darkstalker=Friend,” so naturally she would speak in support of him. But this revelation has devastating retroactive consequences. The earlier scene that was written with Moon under mind-control is now altered into her having been in her right mind! She is completely okay with Darkstalker’s admittance to cold-blooded torture and evisceration, within hours of being so shocked by it that it made her cry and ready to denounce him. That is such a quick turnaround it’s giving me whiplash. And what’s more it turns Moon from a principled, upstanding girl into a sociopath who casually accepts gruesome torture and murder if it is committed by someone she likes.

Did Sutherland forget about the scene two books ago, where Darkstalker’s actions were so inconceivably horrid for Moon to learn of that she started crying? It baffles me that this made it into the final version. Her saying she was never mind-controlled makes Moon come off as so awful. This torture-excusing lunatic is not the same kind-hearted and insightful character I followed in all the other books.

Kinkajou’s character derailment

The world is a sad place when I have to question the way Kinjajou is written. Fortunately she is mostly fine, despite her having the biggest excuse to act out-of-character since she’s the victim of a mind-altering spell. Her only real moment of “what!?” comes at the end.

I already talked about her role in casting the spell that regresses Darkstalker into an infant. But I didn’t mention how her being the source of it is questionable in itself.

The clue is in the first paragraph of this section: She herself has experienced the effects of invasive mind-alteration. She was cursed by Anemone in the previous book to be in love with Turtle, and kind of half-struggles kind of not with it, it’s really strange. Turtle is appropriately horrified and acts like really awful things are happening, but then it’s mostly played lightly for some reason. My assumption is that Sutherland introduced this plot point, but then realized how uncomfortable this premise really is and tried to downplay it until the story got to a point where it could get done away with.

But I think the takeaway is still supposed to be that this was a horrid thing to do (which it absolutely is), and that Kinkajou will have to spend a lot of time trying to untangle her real emotions from the fake ones the spell created.

The point is: Kinkajou knows first-hand how awful it is to do something like that to another person. Ideally she should never even conceive of the idea to cast a spell like that, but if we’re really set on this Darkstalker baby thing and it has to happen, she should at least be a bit hesitant about it. And afterwards she should struggle with the guilt of having resorted to it. Not celebrate it and be proud, like it’s funny.

The assassination of Winter’s future

Now we come to the part I’ve alluded to previously; the part where all of these threads converge to utterly destroy one character and drive him to the brink of ruin. Let’s talk about Winter.

Prince Winter is the son of Tundra and Prince Narwhal, hatching in the same clutch as his sister Icicle. He spent his formative years being unfavorably compared to said sister—who easily took to traits that Icewing royalty considers desirable—whereas Winter struggled greatly to embody those same ideals. He was just a little too kind, too merciful, too gentle. As a result he often had to endure abuse from his parents, who made him feel like he was defective.

Because he was young and didn’t have any other frame of reference, he embraced this abusive narrative and began to drive himself with a vigor unreasonable for someone of his age. He scraped and cloyed for every bit of credit he could get, obsessing over advancing up the circle rankings in an attempt to “purge” the wrongness out of himself. To make his parents as proud of him as they were of Icicle.

This never worked. He was always seen as the runt, poised to embarrass the family name. Whatever he did, no matter how hard he strived, there was always something he could have done better.

The only real source of love and affirmation in his life was his older brother, Hailstorm. Where everyone else only saw what Winter wasn’t, Hailstorm embraced his brother despite of his “failings” and was openly affectionate with him. When Winter was with him, it was okay to not think about rankings all the time, and just be himself for a bit. I assume Hailstorm fulfilled a similar role for Icicle as well, which is why both of them love him dearly, and Icicle destroys her own life to bring him back.

Winter also has a fascination with scavengers, possibly because they are small and perceived as useless, like he himself is. He likely feels a kinship with them and observes them being craftier and more adept than everyone else sees them. This is therapeutic for him, to see that a thing can have merit even if no one wants to see it.

One day, he and Hailstorm sneak into Skywing territory so Winter can catch a scavenger as a pet. This excursion turns hostile when they are discovered by a roaming Skywing troop and faced with the prospect of capture, possibly execution. In a gambit to save Winter from this fate, Hailstorm mirrors the words of his parents, calling Winter pathetic and useless, so the Skywings will not think of him as a threat and show mercy. His act succeeds in convincing the Skywings, but it also convinces Winter, who does not understand Hailstorm only said these things to save his life. He returns home—believing his brother hated him all along—to face the wrath of his furious family for losing them “the desirable son”.

For all of his life, these themes have repeated themselves and haunted him. “I was born wrong and defective,” “I am unlovable,” “No one wants me.”

A few months after the war ends, Winter is one of the five Icewings enrolled in the newly founded Jade Mountain Academy. Shortly after departing, he unexpectedly returns home, having successfully rescued his older brother and bringing him back. He is made to believe that this erases his mistakes, his mother even pays him a backhanded compliment, an uncharacteristically “nice” gesture. He is promoted to the top of the rankings, finally his parents are proud of him.

But of course it is all a trick. The “adoration” afforded to him was all a ploy. Secretly, his parents abused power and tradition to arrange for Winter’s death. They force him into a lethal trial they intentionally rigged against him, all to finally erase that stain on their family’s honor.

Winter finally realizes the true nature of his parents’ opinion of him. Even when he succeeds, and does everything right, he is still defective, unlovable, and unwanted. He will never be anything else to his family. And so he leaves his homeland, pretending he is dead, resigned to live in hiding forever.

During this time, while at the brink of despair, Winter is able to draw strength from one source: His new friends from the academy. He vocalizes that, for all the abuse he suffered at the hands of his birth family, he fervently believes that THEY would never do anything like that to him. They chose to stuck with him, even when he was awful, and told him he was not hopeless. He was not a mistake; he could be deserving of love.

So naturally, he returns to them; they accept him readily, are willing to be his new surrogate family. When he almost burns to death at a later point, they fear and weep for him. When Qibli sets out to confront his own abusive family, Winter, despite being mind-controlled into a placid potato at the time, feels concerned enough for his friend’s safety to insist to come along (returning the favor of them accompanying him in his time of need in book 7). When Darkstalker’s mind control forces Winter to attack Qibli, he is shown ashamed and guilty of it once the control wears off again.

They bicker and struggle, and make mistakes, they break up but always come back together again. Time and time again the one thing that is always reinforced: When the cards are down, Winter loves his friends, and they love him. They would never intentionally hurt each other, or give up on each other.

I want you to keep in mind how wholesome, and loving, and mutually supportive this ramshackle band of misfits has been portrayed to this point... Because we’re moving on to the arc 2 finale, and it will do everything it can to corrupt all of it and consign Winter to a life of misery.

We arrive at aforementioned scene, where Moonwatcher receives her earring. Just a little bit prior, Winter had learned that Darkstalker unleashed a magical plague onto his people in an attempt to wipe them out. Now here is Moonwatcher, revealing that she is not under any spell, and has aligned herself with this guy willingly, speaking fondly of him as if he was a dear friend who never did any wrong. Winter takes this badly and accidentally breaks a vase; the narrative lingers on this moment and really tries to sell us on how unreasonable Winter’s reaction is, how he is overreacting, but let’s examine that interpretation for a moment.

Moonwatcher doesn’t yet know about the attempted Icewing genocide, but she DOES know about Darkstalker being okay with casting spells to inflict immeasurable torture upon those he hates. WE know that she knows this, so her stance here is already suspect. Yet she goes on to praise Darkstalker and refer to him as a friend. Look at this from Winter���s perspective. This “friend” of Moonwatcher just tried to kill his entire tribe, and he actually succeeded in killing his aunt, Queen Glacier, a person Winter greatly respects. Winter is currently unable to return to his homeland for fear of being branded a traitor. Even if he could return, he knows his obstinate and spiteful family would prevent him from attending the funeral, meaning he is not even afforded the basic dignity of saying farewell to his aunt. The aunt whom Darkstalker murdered by making her vomit her own blood until she withered away in her bed. And here is Moon, absolving the person who did this to Glacier from his appalling actions, despite knowing full well what Darkstalker is capable of and choosing to look away.

I don’t know about you, but I think I can forgive the grieving, emotionally overwhelmed boy for shattering a little pottery after hearing his trusted friend—who held his hand when he was dying—say that the guy who makes people disembowel themselves and wipes out entire countries may be misunderstood and not so bad. I think I would have a similar reaction. In fact, I would never want to talk to her ever again.

There is no way I can read this scene in which Moon doesn’t come off as either an absolute lunatic, or critically stupid and callous. In fact, based on her earlier behavior I half-expect her to get over the news of the attempted Icewing massacre in a couple hours, saying “Eh, it’s kinda bad, but you just have to do these kinds of things sometimes, you know? I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Then there is the part where Qibli makes his off-color comment about how Winter’s brain could really use a good wash. I already went into how it could have worked but didn’t. But with the timing here, we’ve already had Moon spit on their friendship, so as Winter’s other closest friend, it naturally follows that Qibli also craps on his feelings.

Consider the context: Winter comes from an abusive household where his parents forcibly tried to change him away from who he was to purge the “wrongness” from him. When they betray him and he narrowly escapes their attempt on his life, he re-affirms his belief in his friends, and the knowledge that they wouldn’t treat him like that gives him the strength he needs to keep going. But now, Qibli asserts that Winter DOES need to be altered, thereby AGREEING with Winter’s abusive parents, rendering Winter’s affirmation from book 7 erroneous. Qibli WOULD treat him like that if it made Winter less “intolerable”.

Neither Moonwatcher nor Qibli ever make an attempt to repair this rift. Winter is left betrayed and alone.

Stuff happens, and the forces of the Nightwings and Icewings come to blows over Jade Mountain. With his two closest friends having written him off and his support network eroded, Winter relapses into thinking he is worthless, seeks validation in unquestioning patriotism, and realigns himself with his abusive family by throwing himself into the battle. Nobody wants him to, in fact his parents still hate him for it, but whatever. His father dies and his mother blames him for it.

Meanwhile Turtle, Anemone, and Qibli are cooking up a solution to the battle problem. They have the idea to make everyone’s minds connect in a huge empathy wave for a few moments, which I think is a pretty interesting idea for what it’s worth. But then they teleport both armies back to their homes, and the spell sweeps Winter up with them, taking him out of the rest of the finale and bringing him to the Ice Kingdom. The characters say “whoops” but aren’t further concerned with the situation. It’s all a big laugh.

Let me remind you that Winter is currently considered not welcome on Icewing territory. His family, whom he was sent back with, is extremely abusive and vindictive. His friends know this. Said parents have previously arranged for him to be killed, and are still on record as wanting him dead. His friends KNOW this. And now he is alone with them and a gaggle of other royal Icewings who all are extremely pissed off at him for ruining their sacred trial site.

It is very possible that he is being torn apart and mauled by an enraged mob right now. He could be forced into captivity and flayed. Maybe the interim regent is sentencing him to death and getting the rope ready. There is a million different horrible things that could be happening to Winter right now, while he is trapped alone with people who hate him, things his friends would be reasonably able to anticipate. And nobody is doing anything to get him out of there, to suggest bringing him back, even though it would only take a single spoken sentence to do so! They aren’t even concerned!

Then the climax happens, strawberry thing and all, and we get the coup de grâce. After all is said and done, the group decides that Winter is untrustworthy, and that they must protect the secret of Darkstalker’s fate from him, because they fear if he knew he would kill Peacemaker.

Moon, who read Winter’s mind in book 6 and reached out to him about how the “ruthless Icewing warrior” persona in his head is a facade and how she sees he has a gentle and good heart... Moon, who in book 7 finds out about Winter’s secret deal to kill Glory and STILL trusts him, who calls out his bullshit to his face because she KNOWS how kind-hearted Winter is and that he would never resort to murder... Moon who, again, held his hand while he was dying... thinks that the dragon she has reminded of his compassionate nature time and time again would kill an innocent child.

This is disgusting. Moon believing that is so far off the mark with regards to anything this group has embodied or done for any of the last 4 books, that my only conclusion can be that these are different characters. Maybe the Nightwing library collapsed on top of original Moon, and when Darkstalker magiced her back to health she came back wrong or something. I don’t know.

So after all of this, Winter is left alone. He somehow escaped from the Ice Kingdom; luckily there is a timeskip so we can just gloss over the horrible situation he was put in by his friends. He thinks about Jade Mountain. He reflects on everything that happened, how his parents never really loved him... How they hated him so much they tried to kill him... How he despaired, but found solace in his friends who loved him for who he was.... How those friends then betrayed him too and magiced him away... How they didn’t care about what happened to him... And he decides he is done. He won’t bother going back. A few people, probably Sunny, reach out to tell him he is welcome back, but he says “it wouldn’t be fair to other Icewings if an exile took up a bed”. The decision isn’t hard to make, after all there is nothing left for him there. Everyone has written him off, moved on and left him behind.

Kinkajou visits sometimes, tries to stay in touch, but that’s just how she is. Maybe the others sent her to check on whether he’s going to become troublesome. They don’t trust him. Better to keep an eye on him, he might kill the baby.

With nowhere else to go, Winter moves to Sanctuary, a place for rejects like him. I picture him standing there, at the edge of a cliff staring blankly into the distance. He is completely alone; no one wants to go near him or talk to him beyond the bare necessities. He could probably make new friends with the Talons of Peace if he tried, but there is no point. Why should someone like him have friends? It wouldn’t work. They’d just decide he is too inconvenient to be around. Sooner or later they would just tell him to leave anyway. It's better not to try, so he doesn't get hurt again.

And slowly it dawns on him. His parents had been right all along. It was never them, or the others, it was him. He is the problem. The Icewings said it, Qibli said it, Moonwatcher said it. There is just something fundamentally wrong with him.

He is defective. He is unlovable. Nobody wants him. He will never be anything, or have anyone. And so he stands at the cliff, looking over the broken vase fragments of his life... This is who he is. Prince Winter. A mistake.

And quietly, where no one knows or cares, he does the only thing he has left to do... he begins to weep.

As it is written, the tale of Winter is the story of a boy who is told he is wrong for being alive. He closes his ears and tries to keep walking forward, desperate to prove that he is not an error, that he has merit. But this book comes out and it unmistakably says that he doesn’t. He is nothing, and he deserves to have nothing.

And I just cannot accept that.

Why did this have to happen?

I think that the author was really struggling with the ending of this book. I’ve said before how much of a corner she wrote herself into with such an invincible villain. I think she came up with the strawberry idea as a solution to this problem. But as she was writing it, the characters kept fighting her. It was not a natural solution, not a decision the characters—as they were established—would ever make.

So concessions had to be made to force the issue. Established traits had to be bent slightly to make this plot work. The farther she went, the worse it got. The concessions piled up and turned into contrivances. Eventually the characters were no longer acting like themselves. Their bonds got stretched too far and some snapped. It’s a very tragic pitfall that occurs with long-running series.

I think Sutherland must have also been tired. Writing an entire book is a monumental task, and writing 6 connected ones even moreso. She also comes out with these things really quickly. Maybe she was burnt out? Maybe she wanted to be done and her attention lapsed. Maybe that’s why she forgot that Moon knew about the disemboweling. It seems reasonable to believe when you consider that the next story arc would make a relatively clean break from the problems of this arc, especially with regards to the magic system.

But I don’t know what ultimately happened, so I can only speculate. I reiterate, I bear no ill will against Sutherland for writing this. Even if I kind of hate everything about this finale, and very vocally wish it would be different, I don’t want this examination to generate (or reawaken) any hatred towards her, or to attack her personally. I understand the pain of an artist who gets trapped with something for too long and has to find the means, any means, to see it through to the end. I criticize the story, but I could never hate anyone for that.

But for me, I do not consider this half of the book as part of the story. The characters act too unnaturally for it to have happened. So to me, it didn’t. We don’t know what happened, maybe Darkstalker is still out there. Maybe they dealt with him. Maybe what actually happened is my crappy and self-indulgent rewrite of the ending which I will never show to anyone because it would be really embarrassing.

But whatever actually ended up happening, I am sure Winter never ended up at that cliff, pondering how worthless and meaningless his life was. He is currently at Jade Mountain, surrounded by friends who love him, and bickering with Qibli about the correct solution to their advanced calculus assignment that is due tomorrow.

Is there anything left to say?

Probably.

I didn’t talk about Anemone yet. You know, in the epilogue she enchants herself a bracelet that makes her “not be so mean all the time”. I find that creepy. To me it reads as Anemone voluntarily brainwashing herself with magic to erase her negative traits instead of growing past them naturally because she finds them undesirable and wants to work to change for the better. I would ordinarily assume that this is an overreaction on my part, and I’m just reading the scene wrong. But no, we just got through a part where the heroes brainwashing someone is treated as an unequivocal good and worthy of celebration, so I think my reading may actually be spot on. Why are we letting the little kid alter her own brain without supervision? Hello? Tsunami? Someone intervene maybe? This cannot be healthy.

Turtle stands out to me as the one bright spot in all of this. He (and Peril, but she’s mostly out of focus) remain as the only main characters of this arc who don’t have any mind-boggling out-of-character moments or sudden streaks of uncharacteristic callousness. I really like the part where Qibli goes to free Turtle from his captivity and plans to give him an earful about the comically unhelpful messages he’s been sending him. But when Turtle asks if what he did was helpful, Qibli sees how beaten down and exhausted Turtle is, and wordlessly drops his frustration to tell him “Yeah, they were helpful.” That is the true Qibli shining through for a moment, showing that he cares about the well-being of his friends.

Do I hate the pairing of Qibli/Moonwatcher? No. Well, I DO hate how it happened in the book, and how the story tried to assassinate Winter’s character to resolve the love triangle and make it happen. I don’t hate it on principle though. If you are a fan of Qibli/Moonwatcher and want to write fanfics about it, please do! I absolutely encourage you to do that! Maybe you can fix this mess and turn it into something that’s actually properly handled!

Mightyclaws keeps the power that Darkstalker granted him past the finale. That means all the spells that Darkstalker cast are technically still active. Does that mean the Icewings have to wear earrings for the rest of their lives? Do they get sick again if they take them off? Is Peril forever cursed to think of Darkstalker as a cool old uncle and has to somehow reconcile how everyone else thinks of him? How did the Nightwings relinquishing their powers work, do they have to wear the earrings forever too now?

And there is one more thing to mention.

My confession

You may have already intuited this, if you’ve been following the content of my blog. It is very heavily skewed towards the first and second arcs of the series. I would now like to confess something.

When I read the second half of book 10, I found it so disillusioning, Winter’s fate so upsetting... that I put down the series then and there. And I haven’t picked it back up since.

That’s right, I have not read arc 3. I don’t know if that makes me a fake fan. I know pretty much everything that happens in it, the controversial twist at the end, Pyrrhia coming back into the story later, Snowfall getting brainwashed by a piece of jewelry until she cares about a plot that had nothing to do with her or the fate of the Icewings, etc..

It’s not out of malice, or because it’s a new continent. The opposite in fact; I would have greatly prefered a clean break with a new setting—Bug-themed dragons in a slightly more contemporary, developed environment sounds fascinating and full of potential. I don’t hate Pantala or the new characters.

I just... I can’t really do this again. I can’t handle the thought of Pyrrhia coming back post-Darkstalker, with Winter showing up and talking to these guys again like nothing happened, seeming like a different person, joking around with them like his entire character wasn’t dragged through a mountain of manure to make the plot bend a certain way. I think as long as this is the ending that the story is continuing from, seeing that would just make me miserable.

Maybe I will just stay in the parts of the story that I fell in love with. And imagine a version of reality in which Pantala is allowed to exist on its own, where Swordtail was the fourth POV character of arc 3, where Queen Wasp stayed the villain throughout, and Snowfall got her own legends book about how she reformed Icewing society and fixed all the shit that poisoned Winter’s life, so future generations don’t have to suffer through the same stuff he did.

~~~~~

If you’re still with me, thank you for reading this far. I think this is everything I ever thought about the finale of the second story arc, so now I never have to talk about it again. Writing this was difficult. I found it crushing at times. This will probably stand as the only overtly negative post I have ever made on this blog. I love Wings of Fire, and I want to celebrate it. To add to it, not tear it down.

I hope this wasn’t too boring, or painful, or frustrating, or soul-crushing to read through. I’ll see you later, hopefully with a more constructive post.

[papaya-twinks]

maybe some pride and prejudice vibes with lando but like modern, where reader works in the f1 and thinks he's arrogant and stuff but does not know he is actually shy or secretely does very sweet things for her without her noticing and arguments and accidently offending her and tension ending with confession/fluff?

Warnings: Angst (I had to remove the argument coz it wouldn’t fit the plot)

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - there’s dis photo of a letter Lando wrote to the Hungarian pottery thing where he made his helmet and like, he spelt trophy as ‘trophey’ so I’m giving y’all that reference for this fic

You’d spoken to Lando once when you were contributing to strategy, and you had it down that he was an absolute dick. Well, you had it down before you even met him, which kinda was wrong on your part, but you couldn’t help it.

He just gave of…jerk vibes. Ya know? It’s just sometimes like that you and you automatically don’t like it. And Lando definitely noticed your vague and cold demeanour to him, 100%. Which left you with the question - was he just naturally a dick or did he just adopt the stereotype you gave him?

“Y/L/N, make sure the strategy’s good,” one of the engineers said, patting your shoulder as you nodded, still jotting down figures and numbers which only made sense to you. You felt an arm brush past you as Lando walked by, not casting a single glance in your direction as he spoke to some mechanics.

Jerk. Well, you weren’t sure if you actually wanted him to talk to you. If he did, you’d probably he just as pissed. What you wanted, even if you’d didn’t understand. It was kinda of annoying in some ways. Sighing, you stood up from your table, going to the coffee maker and pressing the bright ‘on’ button, pushing al thoughts of Lando out your mind.

“What the fuck..?” you muttered to yourself, a bouquet of flowers on the desk with the words ‘you always make good strategies - lets win another trophey :)’ scrawled onto a bit of card. What was this? Did you have a secret admirer? You couldn’t deny the thought kind of intrigued you - it seemed cool, in some ways.

And then the next day, when you found the same coffee order you usually got from the machine, sitting on your desk, at the perfect temperature. Whoever was doing this, they definitely knew your exact arrival time, for the coffee to be this temperature. Oh my god. Yet no one was around. Odd.

“Lando, I need your notes from the meeting,” you said, holding your hand out as you sipped on the drink. Lando was leaning against a desk, wearing a thick McLaren coat and a beanie, some curls peeking through against his forehead. “Sure,” he shrugged, handing you the paper dismissively.

Okay dude. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you made your way back to the desk, unfolding the bit of paper and peering at his scrawls.

pit when y/n says. do whatever strategy she yaps about. make sure she don’t favour oscar all the time. try and win or get a trophey.

Well these notes weren’t very good- hey wait. Trophey? What was this guy, could he not even spell? And then it hit you. Trophey. Trophey. You grabbed the little card you’d kept tucked into the back of your phone case, peering at the spelling.

The handwriting was the same. He wrote his a’s in a certain way. There was no way, though. It was a prank surely? Lando Norris, of all people, being your secret admirer. It was bullshit.

“Lando, need to talk to you about strategy,” you said quickly, still clutching his notes as he rolled his eyes, following you to your booth. “What the hell is this?” you whisper yelled, showing him the card as his cheek reddened. “You had an admirer? Cool?” he said, trying to play it down.

“Yeah yeah,” you scoffed, “it’s you!”. He gulped as he re-read the card, silently cursing himself for not being smarter. “Yeah, okay, and what?” Lando snapped defensively as you scoffed. “Someone have a little crush?” you said, never dropping the opportunity to tease him. “Whatever,” Lando muttered, “any reasonable guy would like you anyways,”.

“Yeah?” you said with a small smile, pressing your lips to the corner of his, his scowl falling replaced by a shocked look, his eyes wide, cheeks rosy. “I love hibiscuses,” you shrugged, moving back to your own booth, leaving the driver dazed. Wow.

[meownotgood]

to admit everything / gale dekarios

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Several months after your adventure's conclusion, Gale invites you to visit his tower in Waterdeep — and finally, he finds the courage to admit his feelings for you.

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pairing: gale dekarios x reader

word count: 36.0k

tags: 18+, smut with feelings (and a fair bit of plot), reader is tav, reader is fem bodied (but no gendered terms are used), love confessions, fic takes place after the epilogue, "you fell first but he fell harder", mild sensory deprivation, inappropriate uses of magic, gale talks a Lot, slight angst (but there's a happy ending, don't worry), dirty talk, fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, oral (reader receiving), tender sex, slight mentions of blasphemy, i am not immune to his wizardly charms....

read on ao3

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this work contains explicit content intended for 18+ individuals. please read the tags and do not interact if you are a minor.

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When Gale wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace, for the first time in ages, you can finally relax. 

From your stiff shoulders, down to the ends of your toes, your weary muscles untense. It's as though he's cast a spell on you; which you know he could do, but he doesn't have to. A soft palm cradles the back of your head, and he pulls you in closer. You bury your head in his chest, the smooth velvet of his shirt rubbing your cheek. 

Slowly, deeply, you inhale. You're enveloped in the familiar scent of him: the rich smell of pine, filling your senses with something tender. Something you've missed. The breeze that wafts in from his balcony veils you in a breath of the sea. Gale always found a way to smell the same as a book's crisp pages. He'd carry the faint aroma of the scrolls he often littered his tent with, or of his library, regardless of how long you spent surrounded by nothing but wilderness. 

The intimacy of it is enough to make you dizzy. If you had things your way, you'd hug him tight like this, and you wouldn't ever think of letting him go. 

"It feels as though it's been forever since we were last acquainted," Gale says in your ear quietly. Genuinely, with the slightest exhale tacked on at the end — and still, after hearing his voice for hours, watching as he lectured his pupils on some form of magic you've barely heard of, you believe you wouldn't mind listening for a few hours more. 

"Our get-together wasn't that long ago, you know," You counter, voice slightly muffled, spoken into his chest. 

"Yes, but surely you understand." His grip on you seems to tighten as you both rock gently, back and forth, "It's rather difficult to go from spending nearly every moment you're awake with someone, to only having the pleasure of meeting them on a few select occasions. Allow me to savor this moment, please. There may not be another one like it." 

There may not be another one. 

Gods, you know he's right. Both of you are busy, now. You live in two separate cities, lead two separate lives. There's others from the party you haven't seen; not yet, anyways. The only reason you saw Gale now is because back then, you had the foresight to plan to. 

That inevitable prospect is one you aren't sure you want to think about. You don't want to imagine parting from Gale again. 

Your friends would've called you sappy. They might've gone and teased you for taking forever to meet with the damn wizard in the first place. You obviously wanted to. The hug you gave him back then was hardly a friendly one. More like a I'm glad you're here, now don't you dare leave again sort of hug. Not to mention the way Gale himself eyed you for the rest of the party — as if no-one would notice. 

Truthfully, your life has been busier than you hoped it would be, ever since your adventure's big conclusion. You did want to see Gale again. Of course you did. But simply wanting isn't good enough. The party was the first time you saw him since then, and this has been the first time after that. 

You were hoping to relax for a while. To spend time away from the stress. You definitely earned it. Unfortunately, you've wound up doing anything but. 

Make no mistake, you're unbelievably grateful to no longer be dealing with a world-ending threat, or a parasite in your brain. Helping to rebuild the city is nothing compared to the shit you've already dealt with. You're happy that you no longer have to worry over whether you'll even make it out of this alive. Whether any of you will still be alive, in the end. But you've hardly been able to settle. Not in the way you wanted to, at least. 

For as many people that revere you, that now think of you as a hero, those words seem to do nothing for you. For as big and grand of a city as Baldur's Gate still is, and for as long as you've called it your home, it's only begun to feel like the loneliest place in the world. 

And your friends — Obviously you'd wind up going your separate ways. It'd be stupid to think otherwise. You have different lives to return to, new struggles to face. You know that. It doesn't change how much you've grown to miss them. 

There won't come a time where you'll stop missing those moments, you figure. The times when things were quiet, when you worked together, grew together. That's okay. Some allegiances aren't meant to last forever. In the end, it was an idea you made peace with. Until one of your companions stubbornly refused to leave your heart. 

You peer up at him, as Gale looks down at you, before he lets go of you slowly, almost hesitantly. He pulls backward, meeting your eyes. This embrace reminds you of the one from back then. You don't fail to notice how his expression softens around the edges, how he takes your hands, gently squeezing them. Ultimately, he allows them to slip away, letting go. 

You carried your thoughts of him with you, long after you'd since parted ways. The sound of his voice, the softness it seemed to take on whenever you're the one he was speaking to. The accidental touches, the brushes of fingers. An arm placed in front of you, to usher you behind him whenever he thought you might get hurt. 

Without the ability to pry into his thoughts, you have no clue whether he fondly remembers things the same way you do. You were unmistakably close, once. In an earlier time, you brought your hands to his shoulders, you kept your eyes locked on his. Your words were shaky. Your heart was pounding, shaking against the cage of your chest. You can't lose him, you remember admitting, and Gale smiled, told you that you wouldn't. Even though you knew damn well there was more he wasn't telling you. 

Hindsight would convince you the only thing he concealed was how truly scared he was. If you did feel more for each other, if what you thought you understood wasn't a lie — No matter what ways you tried, neither of you could hide it, but you certainly couldn't talk about it either. 

It's difficult to search for the time to discuss unadmitted feelings when your lives are constantly on the line. Impossible, actually. Honestly, you weren't sure how you'd tell him, regardless of if you could. Nevermind the playful encouragement of your companions, or the listless jabs at your solitude from your undead resurrector, this sort of thing has never been your forte. Hey, I care for you more than good friends are supposed to, is that alright? 

I couldn't stand to see anything happen to you, and I hoped you might notice, might do what I'm not able to. You could look into my head with a single word, and yet nothing but distance has grown in between us. 

I'd travel it, if I was able. I want you to understand, I never hoped to part from you. I never want you to shut up whenever you're telling me about magic, or history, or any of the things you know everything about, even once you quiet down because you think I do. 

How am I supposed to tell you that? 

You can't, and you didn't. You both had the fate of the world in your hands, and the last thing either of you needed to be worrying about were your up-in-the-air feelings. 

You would ignore the elated blankness in your head whenever Gale eased the tension with a smile flashed your way. You pushed down the giddiness in your chest whenever he gave a gentle yet pragmatic comment, one you tried not to read into. Over and over, you would pretend not to be flustered by his small touches, by the glances that lasted a little longer than they should. Despite the ache of your heart in your chest, you convinced yourself that you and him were friends. Nothing more. 

Yes, friends who would sneak into one another's tents when everyone else was asleep to quietly talk, laughing together until the sun began to graze the horizon. Friends who kept each other going, who saw one another when they were weakest: torn apart by the Gods, with nothing left to do but pick up the pieces. Friends who are the only ones to know what the other is truly thinking, no spells or uncanny mind connections needed. 

You're simply mere acquaintances. Two people on the same bloody path, who just so happened to be lucky enough to meet, and managed to grow closer than acquaintances ever should be. You were pushed together by circumstance. You chose to understand each other with purpose. 

Has Gale ever yearned for more, in the way you've yearned for him? 

Gale is observant. He knows you, he'd know if there was something up with you. Likely, he already does. More so, he's ambitious; he wouldn't forget about you, everything vying to push you away be damned. You've come too far to suddenly cast each other aside. But some things are better left unspoken. 

Eventually, you expected you'd never find out the truth. You were too little, too late. The closest you ever got to a true confession was in the moments you found yourselves alone, and those are few and far between, these days. Now that you've run out of excuses, even now that everything is over, he's here and you are alive — You can't say a damn thing. 

You think it's why you haven't seen him. You've been busy, yes, leading a new life and grappling with your newfound freedoms, but given the chance, you'd put every last thing aside to make time for him. When those feelings of yours are left to build and build, they threaten to drown. And drown you did. 

It's strange, how meeting with him again can feel like finally being coaxed to breathe, and like suffocating freely, all at the same time. 

You decide to breathe in once more, and break the silence at last. 

"You're ridiculous sometimes," You scoff, shaking your head. Your tone is more fragile than you intended, as you catch yourself in your own hypocrisy. You still manage to throw him a warm glance. "I thought we were both past talking that way. We have all the time the world is generous enough to offer us. Do you really think I wouldn't plan on seeing you again?" 

Gale's lips tip upward to form his usual smile, the corners of his eyes crinkled. To a combination of your bewilderment and delight, you're already melting. 

"They say old habits die hard, I suppose," He replies, first shrugging his shoulders, and then standing up straighter. He clasps his hands together, positioning them uniformly behind his back. "And who knows? I wasn't sure how much enjoyment you drew from being an honorary professor for the day. Seemed as if you were a tad overwhelmed, actually." 

"Of course I was. Well, I was anxious, more like." You're staring off to the side while you think, crossing your arms over your chest. "I mean, you said your students think of me as a hero. I was trying not to say anything stupid." 

"In that case, I'd say you have no need to worry," Gale answers, "You sounded perfectly eloquent." 

Meeting his eyes again, you huff, "I'm glad you think so. I enjoyed today. But seriously, I came here for you, Gale. Not because I was ecstatic about teaching." 

You swear that if you were to squint, you'd see the smallest twinge of pure adoration on the normally-so-confident wizard's face. 

Gale raises a fist to his mouth and clears his throat. "I understand your qualms, but truly, you did well. No-one finds teaching to be easy- I mean, it's an unbelievably stubborn process, if anything. I've always been the recipient of lectures. Never the other way around, until my newfound position. It took me quite a while to get a good grasp of things, believe you me." 

"Really?" You raise a brow, "I, for one, thought your teaching was impeccable. I was looking forward to asking for some pointers from Professor Dekarios himself, actually." 

"Oh, come on. Your flattery is far from needed," He replies, his tone breathy and playful. You exhale a faint chuckle, and when you grin back, his own smile seems to soften at the edges. A look reserved exclusively for you. 

Gale continues, "You've seen my pupils for yourself now. You know how difficult they can be. In the face of such… stunning magic," His eyes narrow, he makes an open-palmed gesture of wonderment to illustrate his point, "Magic they themselves could learn to wield, it's rare to see them at least attempt to stay awake. I take some of the blame, of course. At certain moments, I thought you were teaching them better than I ever have." 

"Nonsense," You roll your eyes light-heartedly, placing a hand on your hip, "They do well on their tests, right? I doubt your teachings are lost on them. Besides, it's like you said. Being a teacher isn't easy." 

"True. However, I certainly think we make an impressive team." 

With one last smile, and a nod of his head, Gale turns, striding over to his small wooden desk. 

The space is surrounded by bookshelves, the desk's every surface littered in open books and scrolls of its own. He thumbs through the stack of papers he set there earlier, essays his students turned in — A paper about the history of magic was his instruction, if you remember right. Gale was less than satisfied with their results, but in his own words, he couldn't fault them. 

They are the same as I was, when I was their age. A spitting image, really. Dodging written assignments, snoozing through most lectures. They're talented, there's no denying it. Preventing them from picking up my bad habits is where matters turn difficult. 

He lifts the stack, tapping the papers against the desk to make them straight. Then, he sets them neatly aside. He clearly has a specific place for them, though you don't think you'd ever be able to make sense of the mess, yourself. 

"Either way," He starts, organizing more loose papers and scattered books while he talks. His back may be turned towards you, but you can picture his face clearly: the lightest smirk, the pinch of his brows, "I'm sure my students were pleased to hear from someone other than me for a change. Dare I say when you were speaking, they actually paid attention." 

Delicately, like the simplest of words are valuable porcelain, you mutter, "Is that so? I should come see you more often, then." 

Gale freezes for a second. His next few sentences come out much sweeter than he intended them to, but by the time he's opened his mouth, he isn't able to stop himself. 

"I'd enjoy that. I truly would," He says, and setting the books he's holding aside, he turns to face you. He swallows the lump in his throat, and when he's speaking next, he's talking with his hands as he tries — and fails, mostly — to hide his nervous cadence. 

"You don't need to come simply to help me teach," He explains, "I appreciate it, of course, but it's far from necessary. My home is always open to you. If you need to unwind someplace quiet, or if you're hoping to browse the grandest collection of tomes this side of Waterdeep, you're welcome to stay. For as long as you'd like." 

The offer means more to you than he might realize. 

"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." 

"No, thank you," Gale retorts, "I cannot overstate how much I appreciated seeing you again. Today was a delight." 

Your glance travels away, and you try to ignore the warmth prickling over your face. From his open balcony, the sun casts shimmering rays as it falls. Light glitters over the ocean's rocky waves. The sea breeze is growing sharper; it whispers in your ears, and tickles the hair on the back of your neck. When you take a deep inhale, the air seems to catch in your lungs, holding on, unwilling to let go. 

Finally, faintly, you reply, "You'll have to show me more of Waterdeep, next time. It's a beautiful city." 

"Splendid, isn't it? I could show you around tomorrow, or even tonight, if you aren't too exhausted from today. The sights are particularly breathtaking then, when they're allowed to flourish under the cover of stars and moonlight." 

Gale takes a step closer to you, and you're left to look up at him again. At the way the light caresses his skin, at his handsome features framed by a gentle smile. 

"There's so many wonders I want you to see." He confesses. 

More than that. He's longed for more than he's admitted to, more than everything he thought mattered, before he met you. There's so much he wants to show you, so much he needs to tell you, he's begun to lose track of it all. 

Ever since you parted ways, he's felt something missing. Those adventures, your company and that of your unlikely band of companions: they're all things he's grown to miss dearly. In hopes he'd move on, he overwhelmed himself with the endeavors of his new life. He focused on teaching, on studying, on magic. No matter what, he was filled with an ache he couldn't extinguish. 

You'd tease him if he mentioned it. He can imagine your voice, mumbling playfully with a flash of teeth and a sparkle in your gaze, Something missing? A tadpole in your brain, maybe? 

Very funny, he'd answer. And he'd leave it at that, because you've given him an out, a chance not to make a fool of himself. He doesn't need everyone to hear how sentimental he's become — and especially not you. If only you knew the half of it. 

You took a piece of him with you when you left, pried from the space between his ribs, fated to burn in your embers. He hasn't stopped missing you with such ferocity. With a certain kind of hunger. It's damn near worse than when the orb once gnawed at him. 

To have you now almost feels like a dream. He keeps thinking he might wake up, that this will melt away to leave him and him alone. This shouldn't be real, you both shouldn't have made it. Gale recalls with sickening familiarity when the end of his life felt so close. He can remember even clearer the moment he found a new purpose in you. 

You've been important to him from the start; he doesn't do a very good job of hiding it, does he? Those stolen glances were easily caught. His nervousness whenever you're with him concedes enough to make him obvious. 

He could have told you. Could have admitted how you make the fragile strings of his heart strum with every fond call of his name. You could have known the way he felt between soft breaths, and close bodies. During the moment when he showed you how to wield the Weave at your fingertips. It would have been terribly simple. A single thought, and you'd not only know, but you'd feel his own emotions rushing into you — A rippling river of infatuation. Isn't it unfortunate then, that you tend to make his mind so blank? 

The heart can be so cruel. No longer can he give you what he was aspiring to grace you with. He can't give you power. He can't offer you the abundances of a God, or the beauty of a plane away from this one. Only the ordinary. 

Falling for you was never the problem. You weren't someone he believed he deserved. 

His own hesitance forms a maddening sphere to be trapped in, and he knows it's his own fault; his own fear is to blame, his edge of destruction. You gave him hope. You've given him more than he ever could have desired, and that includes ascension. Is it so wrong for him to want more? 

Many times, he's certainly thought so. He doesn't need anything else. He has already touched the heavens and beyond with the time he's spent by your side. Your dumb adventures, your talks, the uncertain closeness. It was nearly all he needed to be sated. 

Nearly. 

"Gale…" 

Your soft utterance of his name snaps him out of his thoughts. Gale examines you, and you're glancing away, an expression he can't make out on your face. The setting sun bathes you in intoxicating orange light. You seem to have your own halo, your own radiance that defies reason. You defy a lot of the things he thought he knew. 

He can only answer with a small, breathy, "Yes?" 

A little while longer, and he might be ready. One night spent looking at the sky, or another time to confide in the comfort of your voice and your presence. He'll make it perfect. He'll find the courage, or the stars will witness his failure once again. 

Crossing paths with you changed everything about himself he once thought he understood, and he finds the revelation as funny as it is delightful. To have you to miss was a privilege, in and of itself. Fate was never a concept he believed in, but evidently, the threads of his fortune had more in store for him. You became more than a wish, you were tangible. You were kind, intelligent, you were defiance incarnate. You rewrote the part of his story he thought untouchable. He watched Gods kneel at your feet, and he felt your softness latch onto him like a second home. 

And he finally has time, doesn't he? 

The time to tell you, the time to spend with you. Because he is alive, and the restlessness and nervousness he still feels inside shouldn't matter. How foolish he once was, for thinking things would turn out any other way. 

In every other life, you still would've saved him. In a life where he was better, less scared, and not so temporary, perhaps you would have known he loved you already. 

"I couldn't. I… I want to stay," You're starting; regret tugs at the edges of your voice, and Gale begins to feel his heart sink with each and every word. "Maybe I could some other time, but I can't now, I shouldn't. There's business that needs to be dealt with back home, in Baldur's Gate- I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner." 

Gale huffs an impeccably dry laugh. He grins just slightly, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, and he softly responds, "Busy, aren't you? The grand savior of Baldur's Gate is needed on the field, I see. I understand. I won't hold you any longer." 

"You aren't holding me up, Gale. It's nothing important, I guess I just…" Trailing off, you inhale deeply, trying not to stumble over your own words. Your glance darts from the floor of his study to the sculptures to the trinkets — Anything to keep your eyes away from his. "I didn't want to intrude. It would feel strange if I stayed. Like I'd be taking advantage of your hospitality, I suppose." 

Gale frowns. "I promise you this, on absolutely everything left in our universe for me to promise on, you could never intrude. I meant my words, I told you that you could stay for as long as you desire, and-" 

"I know." You answer, like a frustrated plea, like a sacrificial revelation. Your hands ball up at your sides. Your voice is loud, before it goes quiet. "I know. It's my fault, alright? This doesn't have anything to do with you. I just can't stay." 

The air grows so tense it's almost suffocating. Though, for only a second or two. 

"So, becoming my honorary guest professor was that bad, was it?" Gale hums. 

Then, you're laughing weakly, you're brushing an awkward hand over the back of your neck and looking up at him, your expression now pleasantly amused. His doting gaze meets yours, framed by a few out of place strands of hair. 

"No," You mumble teasingly, stretching out the end of the word with a roll of your eyes; he always knows how to make you weak. "And I've already promised to come teach with you again. As long as you aren't worried about me showing you up, that is." 

"Oh, by all means, do show me up plenty," He eagerly replies, "I won't try to stop you." 

You huff a quick chuckle, and there it is again — Your gaze, sparkling. Gale feels the way you draw him in without trying, until his attention is fully focused on you. Until you have him right where you want him. To think of how doomed he'd be if you ever got your hands on some charming magic. 

"I've really missed you, y'know," You're admitting. Your tone is different somehow, unmistakably. "The party honestly has felt like forever ago. Back then, I thought we didn't have near enough time. Catching up was pleasant, but it felt… imperfect. And now, we spent an entire day together. You're right here in front of me, and yet, still. I miss you." 

Gale's jaw clenches, and with nothing left to stop you, you continue. 

Your throat grows tight. You expel a long, heavy sigh. "Do you want me to tell you the truth?" 

"I wouldn't shy away from it." He returns. 

"If I stay for any longer, I wouldn't have it in me to leave." Your gaze dances over his own, and he understands the uncertainty, mixed with faint emotions he doesn't. "Not ever." 

For what is probably the first time since you've met him, Gale goes completely, utterly silent. You watch him think, his expression pinching — perhaps irritated at his own loss for words — before he softens. His chest rises slowly with the deep breath he takes. Light glitters off his silver earring. Shadows form in his features, his lips part in an almost-sentence. In the end, he swallows it down, and grits his teeth together to the point of pain. 

You're standing close. So close, he can see the slight, frustrated crinkle in your brows that only seems to furrow more the longer he stays quiet. So close, he could lean in if he wanted to, and relay the depths of his longing from his hesitant lips onto yours. 

It isn't like him to be speechless this long. 

Your head tilts towards him, tender curiosity on your face. Your arm outstretches, and a hand gently begins to reach in his direction. "Gale?" 

He's about to do something foolish. Something very, very unwise. He'd attempt to stop himself, if the words weren't already forming on his tongue. He'd give up as he did before, if only the dying light wasn't so lovely on you. 

At least he knows it won't be the most nonsensical thing he's done.

Gale's gaze fills with warmth, with a devotion so resolute, you could believe you really are some form of a God. He catches your hand, and grasps it in a clumsy way; more clinging than holding, as fingers brush knuckles, folded over one another. As if you might disappear when he lets go. 

This time, there's no more room for wondering. No more hesitation, no barriers, just himself and you: his fallen star, his lovely demise. It doesn't matter what he does or doesn't do, your existence will never leave his veins, running deeper than the fear and the magic ever has. The same way the Weave crackles at his fingertips, adoring you comes naturally. You are yourself, and you, in all your love, in flesh and bone — You are worth anything, or perhaps everything. 

A little while longer. To the Hells with that. 

"I'm in love with you." 

It's easier to say those words than he expected. They just sort of happen; really, they seem natural. He's been agonizing for ages, but to hear his own voice say them aloud cements his feelings as true. He is in love with you. An honest, mortal love. 

He doesn't have the time to worry over the consequences, because you've heard him loud and clear. His heart won't stop pounding, and pounding, and pounding. 

Almost instantly, your eyes are going wide. Your own grip on his hand turns loose. Surprise washes warmly over your face, settling as a pleasant tingle in the expanse of your shoulders. For a moment, you don't speak. You take in quick, nervous breaths, feeling your lungs choked by emotion and sea salt. 

"You really- Why're you-" You sputter, stumbling back slightly and shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Your arms go slack as you expel a faint sigh, "Gale-" 

"You do not have to say anything. And you're under no obligation to stay." Gale interrupts, his tone abruptly serious. His expression reflects the same sort of solemness, his brows in a knot. He tries to hide the shake to his words, tries to chase away his worries, "You can leave, if you wish. You can leave, and we can never speak of this again. I wouldn't blame you. I couldn't blame you. I'd know better, not to chase after you and… to simply leave things as they are. Like I should have done now. If I wasn't the ass that I am." 

A brief pause. Your eyes scan him, and Gale resists the urge to let his nervousness get the better of him. 

"But I had to speak," He says. "This may be my only chance. I can't lie to you in the same way I've lied to myself." 

Your next words are spoken with conviction. You squeeze his hand, and the dizzy room around him finally begins to steady — "Then tell me, Gale. I want you to tell me everything." 

It's like the sun is shining right onto him. Heat and pure energy rushes from your hands into his, your voice a conduit for emotion. You practically give him a head rush. 

Gale swallows, steadies. Then, he speaks. 

"And what an abundance of things I could tell you." 

Grasping your hands and squeezing them back, he's smiling again, but this time, it's different. The whole moment seems different. He's wearing an excited, heartfelt sort of smile, a look you think you've never seen before. Well, perhaps you saw it once. 

You're reminded of the way he looked at you many, many nights ago. When your fates weren't assured. When you gazed upon the stars together, admiring the aurora he created — dazzling light, to pierce the sky of shadow. That memory seems so near, yet so far away. His solemness melted to gentleness back then, too. Your souls felt closer than they ever had. 

Was this what he wanted to tell you that night? 

"Let's see," Gale is continuing, and you're grinning, watching his head tilt as he puts on an air of confidence; his own form of sincerity. 

"I wonder what I should tell you first? Should I detail each intricate moment, every subtle action that made me fall so deeply for you? For your determination, your ingenuity. Your beauty. Gods, you shouldn't get me started. If you truly wanted me to describe every single thing I adore about you, well, I believe we'd be nothing but dust by the time I was finished." 

You can't help but chuckle. Gale's gaze travels over you, and you let yourself take him in. His fingertips absently run over your knuckles. His shoulders are tense with a hesitance he can't manage to hide. 

"I'll make a terribly long-winded story brief, before I bore you with my sentiments." This time, he sounds a fair bit quieter. The depths of his honeyed gaze, ever-softening, become impossible to look away from. 

"You are very special to me." He gently explains, "More than words can describe, and certainly more than anything else. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. While the world was crumbling around us, begging to be saved, I thought myself content, if only I could spend whatever remained of my time at your side." 

Carefully, Gale reaches forwards. Between his fingers, with the slightest, most exhilarating touch, he holds your chin, he tilts your head in his direction. Your heart begins to hammer in your chest to an unsteady rhythm. 

"Love does not even begin to describe it. You are wonderful. You are the special sort of magic one might spend their entire life searching for. The most divine of desires. I've no need to search anymore." 

A brush of his thumb over your mouth, and his calloused fingers are splaying back to caress your cheek, to feel the shape of your jaw, "I have the heavens right in my hands. All the spectacles and splendors of Faerûn are jealous of you." 

You relax, and when his grasp drops from your chin, you let your hand slip away from his — only to wrap your arms around him, elbows resting on his shoulders. He admires you intently, gauging your reaction, his heart skipping at your touch and the subtle flash of shyness behind your eyes. A sort of analysis you've seen him use when he was examining an artifact, or mulling over a game of lanceboard. The tender focus his face takes on makes you huff in amusement. 

With a teasing raise of your brow, you manage to ask, "How many times have you practiced saying that to me?" 

"A hundred times. A thousand times." Gale keeps his arms at his sides, despite the way you embrace him tighter. In the corner of your vision, you catch him starting to reach out. His hands hover inches away from your waist, he flexes them in thought. 

"No, I often went back and forth on the precise method I would use to confess, given I actually had the gall to do it, but," He explains, a slight playful air to his tone, "Those words were from the heart. Just a few specs of fondness from my vast nebula of love for you. If you can believe that." 

"They're very… you. In a good way." Your smile is bright. He thinks it might continue to warm him, long after the point of the sun's imminent descent. "It's a shame, though. I wasn't expecting you to beat me to it. I've been practicing how I would tell you I'm in love with you since we met." 

If there's one thing you've come to know about the wizard, it's that he's collected. 

Calm, mostly. But unperturbed always. He's optimistic to a fault, and he's never been the type to seem nervous or timid, even if he might be feeling that way. He's an honest man, but also controlled — You have to exercise a certain amount of control to wield magic. Or to keep your own body from exploding to bits, you figure. With the orb posing much less of a threat, he's clearly more relaxed, but his emotions still don't show so easily. 

You've seen him scared. But nervous? Shy? Those sorts of feelings were never in his repertoire. He's never once stumbled over his words, never been red-faced, never faltered from his confidence and his verbosity. Until now. 

"You- You have?" Gale sounds so in disbelief, you swear his voice nearly cracks. He clears his throat awfully loudly, he glances between you and something in the distance. Which proves to be difficult, considering how close you are. Has the skin underneath his collar always felt so hot? "I had no idea. I mean, clearly, but- But still." 

"I wasn't sure if you knew. You're more charming than you give yourself credit for," You clarify softly, "I thought for sure you'd make a move at that little tiefling party. Started planning what I might say and everything. Apparently, you failed to realize I was flirting with you." 

"I wasn't even trying to woo you then," Gale mumbles, thinking to himself. "Well, that's- Hah, quite the discovery, now isn't it? Care to- uhm, enlighten me on what it was you planned to say, exactly?" 

"Mmm, possibly. You seem flustered. Should I show you, instead?" 

"Show me?" 

"Yes," You stand up straighter, making his heart race faster as you move impossibly closer to him, "I'll show you what I really wanted to do back then." 

"Whatever you wish would be fine with me- Er, wrong choice of words." The breeze drifting through his study is cold enough to form goosebumps, and yet he can't seem to quit burning up. He runs a quick hand through his hair, feeling the heat from his forehead underneath his palm, "Whatever you wish is perfect, I should say. If you want to- or, well, perhaps I could…" 

Gale doesn't get the chance to say anything more. 

He expects you to lean in. Sharply, he takes in a hurried, nervous breath. Uncertain palms hover over the curve of your waist, before settling with the slightest touch. His eyes grow heavy, his head begins to tilt opposite yours. What he doesn't expect is for you to stop, your lips almost pressed to his, but not quite, leaving the distance not yet closed. 

You suspend there, for a moment. Your low breathing tickles his skin. Gale's hand finds your cheek, holding, and nothing more. 

"Are you going to kiss me?" 

There's only a half-second longer of hesitance. He closes the gap, and you fist the front of his shirt to pull him in along with you. Your eyes flutter shut. Fallen stars and glowing warmth shimmer through every inch of you. At last, your lips connect in a quaint, subtle kiss. Smooth, simple, and utterly him. 

Shoulders slumping, your pulse thrums like the unsteady flicker of a candle flame. Your head begins to spin, your heart throbs with fiery longing. This is what you were waiting for. When you burned from the inside-out, wanting nothing more than to forget reason and your lives and his cruel Goddess, you only longed to just kiss him, regardless of the consequences. Everything else melts away: the setting sun, his warmly-lit tower, and your own feet from under you. 

He's hardly done anything, and you're already overwhelmed. To your dismay, the kiss is over almost as soon as it begins. The both of you draw a breath's length apart. Gentle hands give your waist the smallest squeeze. You exhale, and Gale takes in a deeper breath along with you. Kissing him made the rest of the world fall away, or perhaps fall into place, and all you can think of is how desperately you need another. 

Maybe he can read your mind, or maybe he's thinking the exact same thing. Delicately, Gale murmurs against your lips, "Forgive me for being greedy, but… I'm not sure that'll be enough for me. Could I kiss you again?" 

As if he even has to ask. 

With urgency, you're surging forwards, you're kissing him again and he can't manage to think — The only thing running through every inch of him is you. You, kissing him the way he's wanted you to for months upon months. Pressing your lips against his over and over, stealing his breath until he's feeling dizzy, but he doesn't care. You, lovely in a way he's never deserved, with a soul entwined by his own. You told him you love him; he can hardly stand to believe it. 

Lips locked, you twist together, until Gale is guiding you by your waist. Until he's pressing your back against the edge of the nearest surface — his desk — to keep you both stable, while your hands are grabbing at his shoulders for leverage. You let a hand glide up, you tangle your fingers in soft brown hair. You grip and tug, dragging him close, and he sighs, mouth parting, allowing the kiss to turn deep. Enough to mark the point of no return. 

This is everything he's ever wanted, you are the only thing he's ever needed. He could die happy, if this was his end. What a sweet, lovely end it would be. He can't describe how otherworldly it is, to know the desire he's had to kiss you won't die along with him. To know you have plenty of kisses left. 

He could love you like this until the true end of the world. He's tempted actually, to slow down time, and savor you for as long as you will allow. You were well worth dying for, but you are priceless to live for. You and your touch, your love. Love — Gods, none of this will feel real, no matter how many times he reminds himself. 

When his tongue slides against yours, a slow, apprehensive show of tenderness, you feel a shiver careen down your spine. He hears your breath get caught in your lungs, feels you tug him closer and arch into his touch once a palm drifts to the small of your back. 

This kiss hopes to pour his devotion into you, so that you might understand. You'll know love, know the things he's always wanted to tell you, as familiar as you know yourself. He'll make sure this moment won't be forgotten. 

You reach behind you, gripping the edge of the desk when his body presses into yours. Your mind is a mess, reeling so fast you might go woozy; another smooth kiss makes you pull him in further, ushering from him a meager gasp in surprise. You're lost, losing control. The both of you are trapped in a dance of vying for more, pressing closer, kissing harder. His knee slots between your legs — unintended encouragement, you're sure — and you jolt, your thoughts now occupied with things they really, really shouldn't be. 

The smallest space between you fills with hot breath, as you pull apart just enough to get a word out. "Gale-"

"I've missed you," He murmurs, breathless and hurried, as though he doesn't wish to waste a single second, "I have missed you more than anything." 

He leans close once more, his hand moves to hold the back of your neck and cradle you like you're precious. You kiss again, and any reservations you still have remaining fly away on the breeze, to be swallowed by the depths of the sea. 

You don't want to stop. No, you know where this is leading, and still, you can't stop. You wouldn't dream of it. How long have you wanted to kiss him, wanted to have him to yourself? Wanted for him to lose his composure, and finally show you exactly how he felt? How long have you been waiting for more? 

Since you met him, surely. Since you dragged him from that portal. Since he first shook your hand, and you felt your foolish heart spark to life. Piece by tender piece, you connected in secret. Fought through darkness to emerge onto the dawn, hoped the newfound day might bring you both together. Truly, you've waited too long to let a moment like this go to waste. 

You pull apart for barely a second, you catch your breath while Gale mutters something against your mouth that sounds like your own name — And at once, you're closing the distance again. Your lips continue to learn the shape of each other, bodies shaky, rocking close. When a particularly desperate kiss causes his hips to drive into yours, you're the one left sighing. Your nerves prickle with excitement, your limbs feel weak. And a hardness, his hardness, shoves against you unmistakably, grinding into where you're terribly weak. 

Oh, you won't be stopping now. Not any time soon. 

Gale stiffens immediately, at the same moment you do. He peels himself apart from you so quickly you're left slumping, gasping into open air. You would have stumbled, if it wasn't for his hand on your waist gripping excessively tight, helping to hold you up. Faltering, he slowly lets go. Before he does, you think you can feel a slight tremble in his fingers. 

"Ah, I'm- I'm sorry, genuinely," He stutters, practically panting as he tries to establish composure, a frail waver in his voice. You grip the desk tighter, staggering to your feet. The last traces of sunlight shimmer over his face, his earring, his eyes. Strands of his hair have fallen out of place, and he reaches up to briefly push them backward. 

"You make it far too easy to get carried away." He says, sounding rough and short-winded, "That being said, it would be wise not to take things too far, that was- Well, you are-" 

"That was perfect," You gasp out, cutting him off, or perhaps taking the words right out of his mouth. You bring a hand to his shoulder, an unspoken plea for him not to move away, "You don't have to stop, Gale. Please, don't." 

Gale takes a long, slow breath. Hesitantly, he brings both hands back to rest on your waist — barely touching, his gaze scanning yours for any sign of discomfort. "Are you sure? Positively sure? Maybe it'd help if you, er, clarified, in a way." 

"I'm clarifying that I want you to keep going. You don't have to hesitate, I want this," You retort, speaking softly, squeezing his shoulder in turn. Your eyes flicker over him, up and then down. "I showed you how I felt. It's only fair for you to return the favor, no?" 

"Oh, of course. Fairness is one of the most crucial qualities to hone, in terms of forming a long-lasting bond. So says literature, anyways. But I think I'd prefer to mesh the showing with the telling, if that sounds at all pleasurable to you." 

You're smirking. "As long as your sweet voice isn't the only pleasure in store for me." 

He exhales a small huff, the faintest form of a laugh. A smile crosses his features, and he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, admiring you like you're the prettiest sight this world has to offer. You very well might be. 

His gaze comes to rest on yours: warm, complex, loving. For once, he doesn't speak. He demonstrates. 

A small kiss is pressed to your cheek, innocent yet tender. Then, a kiss to the other side. His kisses travel; one he graces to the corner of your mouth, the next he places on the angle of your jaw. Your head tilts up in obedience, and he trails wet kisses down your neck, making you sigh weakly in response. 

One more kiss is graced to your neck, then your nape, then just above your collarbone. They're weighted, in a way; heavy with an infatuation you can feel beneath his touch, and deep in your bones. His facial hair tickles your skin. His warm breath on your pulse is stifling, and it only begins to thump faster, fully at the mercy of his scattered kisses. 

Meshing the showing, with the telling — It isn't long before he's babbling again. 

"You hold so much of my heart," He mumbles; the words on your neck are a steady vibration. His palm caresses your side, his lips brush over your cheek, and then move to speak against the shell of your ear. The new depth to his voice is delightful. "Falling for you was… effortless. As effortless as one breathes. I have no regrets. Absolutely none." 

The final kiss he places on your ear has shudders running through you. He's painstakingly slow once he starts to pull back, and he shifts just far enough to meet your eyes, your foreheads almost touching. That warm gaze on yours has your heart leaping all over again. 

Strung through his tone is a thread of infatuation, a sweetness on his tongue you find oh-so endearing. 

"You begged to be admired, but that hardly scratches the surface." He squeezes your side for emphasis. "You made me feel as though I meant something. Like I was alive. I'd forgotten how it felt, just as I'd forgotten what it could mean to fight for one's future." He pauses, thinking, reminiscing, "More so, I could say you brought me back to life." 

Your mouth parts, forming the edge of a word. But Gale chooses to interrupt, tugging you in with a palm settled gingerly on your jaw, muddling your mind with a kiss. And you melt. You allow your head to tilt opposite his own, and your arm to snake between your bodies. Your hand presses flat to the center of his chest. He kisses you deeper, his heart thumps. Lingering magic strong enough to sense thrums beneath his robes, his skin. 

"There's a line of poetry I once read," He's mumbling against your lips as he leaves them. His touch slides up slowly, supporting you, holding your back. "As of late, you've made it stick in my mind. Amidst the wealth of stories I've finished, the tales of truth and fiction, when I think of you, this singular line utterly refuses to part from me. And if one moment spent lost in contemplation equates to the faintest drop of rainwater, I've thought of you enough to flood the entirety of Faerûn." 

Your eyes seem heavy. You're smiling, but your head is swirled in a dreamy fog. It's plain unfair to have to decide between hearing more, or asking him to kiss you again. 

You decide on the former. "And what might that line be?" 

Gale brushes your cheek with his thumb, "I do love nothing in the world so well as you." 

He's completely genuine, he sounds so syrupy-sweet you can barely hold back your grin. You breathe a quiet, playful tsk, and you lean back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

In the course of your adventures together, you weren't sure how Gale felt about you. 

It's rather stupid, thinking back on it now. Obviously, you had your suspicions. He was certainly warmer with you, compared to the rest of your allies. Despite knowing you could clearly take care of yourself, he regularly fussed over your safety, to the point of insisting you stick close to him whenever a fight broke out. He'd make a rash excuse, Powerful spells mean nil if you are not in the proper range for me to cover you! — or something like that. You always figured it was an exaggeration. Regardless, you weren't about to turn him down. 

You were attached at the hip for safety's sake, that's all. Your remaining companions never seemed to buy it, nor could they hold their comments about the wizard's clearly defined soft spot. The thoughtful way he spoke to you had to mean more; or so they tried to convince you, anyway. You weren't easily influenced. 

But it didn't matter. Without the courage and the time to ask, you couldn't be sure. You presumed he might like you, not love you. 

This side to Gale is making you reevaluate. You've never seen him so enamored, never thought he'd be this smitten — with you, no less. In his eyes, you're a living beacon of radiance, a miracle meant to be adored. A bright, pale moon to light his way through the darkness, shimmering on jet-black waters. And adore you he will. 

You were wrong, so very wrong. While you were busy falling for him, he was already plummeting harder. 

"That's from a romance, isn't it?" You muse, tilting your head and eyeing him teasingly, "You're reciting romance lines to me?" 

"Not just any romance, mind you. One of the greats. It's charming, very influential. Actually, the story is rather lighthearted- I'd be glad to introduce it to you, I have a feeling you'd enjoy it. But yes, in fact. I am." 

"Somehow, you didn't seem like the romance type. I'm surprised. Pleasantly, though." 

"A fine assumption. For quite some time, stories of a softer nature became subjects I rarely dabbled in." His index finger comes to rest under your chin, and your head is tilted in his direction. "But falling in love causes one to take interest." 

Warmth swells in your veins, untamed. You picture Gale, retreating into his tomes and books when you had a moment of reprieve on the road, struggling to hide his infatuation with you. He'd often read to you, when he was able. His calm voice would narrate biographies and old history novels, until you were trying not to fall asleep. Romances were never a part of it. Perhaps they weren't a part of his personal collection, either. Yet the more you contemplate, the more they seem to suit him. 

Did he read such stories to be reminded of you, to grapple with your absence? You can picture him getting lost in them, memorizing the scenes and the verses, in hopes your own tale might play out more like those novels, and different from what destiny threatened upon you. He yearned for things to be lighter, less somber. In the end, there was no world where you stopped longing for each other. 

"Besides," Gale is continuing in his usual upbeat tone, giving you little time to think as he cups your cheek in his palm, "There's nothing wrong with choosing to be well-versed in everything. Fantasy, poetry, romance. Erotica, perhaps. I'm sure I could recall some more… exciting quotes, if you preferred it?" 

"Please, there's no need," You tease, with the smallest roll of your eyes; although, your heart can't help but patter at the imagery. Gale, reading erotica, of all ridiculous things. "You're sweet. Even now, you're telling me about books. Could you be any more perfect?" 

"Possibly," He confesses. "Where you're concerned, mere perfection is far from good enough." Swallowing the dryness in his throat, his eyes mist over with a saccharine seriousness, "My intentions were always to cherish you, to give you my utmost devotion, and then some. You deserve the world. I only wish I could give it to you." 

"But you are enough for me. More than enough. I was lucky. So lucky, to have been fortunate enough to meet you. I'm not sure where I would be if I hadn't." Your fingertips drum against his shoulders, and gradually, he relaxes at your touch, from your tone. He exhales steadily, nice and slowly. 

"Do you mean it?" 

"Gale, I've never meant anything more. I want you so much. Just the way you are." 

To have crossed paths with one another, to have met you — No, he is the one who must be fortunate beyond compare. 

For a while, he stalls, deciding what to say. Each alternative comes up blank. Your fingers wrap around the neckline of his shirt, then. You feel the embroidered fabric with your thumb, the intricate pattern of swirls. You tug slightly, but Gale — still speechless, oddly enough — doesn't get the hint. 

"Your shirt." When he opens his mouth to reply, you're swiftly interrupting. "Take it off." 

He seems to freeze for a second, thinking. Then, the slightest form of a grin dawns on his face, a look of nervous contentment. He's reaching down to grasp the bottom of his velvet shirt, tugging it over his head. A messy happy trail litters from his stomach to disappear beneath his pants; it catches your attention, but not for long. Gale is pressing his palms to the surface of the desk, on either side of you, caging you in. You drift forward, and the kiss you share is a momentary distraction. 

Effortlessly languid, he kisses you as though you have infinite time, and this is the only way he wishes to spend it. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head, you hold him tight between the soft presses of lips connecting. You exhale in unison once you've both pulled away. 

Foggy breath mixes with your own. It warms your skin as he sighs slightly, leaning forward until his forehead is rested against yours. You watch him visibly swallow. He nervously brings a hand to your waist; just holding, with no intention quite yet. The faintest touch makes you melt, until you feel woven into him, soft beyond repair. 

"Do you have the slightest idea how long I've dreamt of this?" He starts, his voice quiet, shaky, "How much I've thought of you, how badly I've needed you? How long I've sought to… Gods…" 

Your palm grazes his chest, and he trails off into a shuddery sigh — eyes closing, shoulders slumping. Delicate fingertips feel the shape of the Netherese brand engraved in his skin. You trace and retrace the circular indentation. You press your palm flat to his chest, feeling the silent hum of dormant magic, measuring each fluttery beat of his heart. His chest aches, his veins sear with all the heat they can muster. 

That's right. He'd almost begun to forget the effect you have on him. 

You've never been afraid. After learning the truth, you didn't look at him differently. You refused to cast him aside, in the face of his own insistence. A miasma of blinding purple light shone from underneath your palm, pain ripped through him as he relived his self-made tragedy in one single breath — and somehow, you understood. You only pressed your palm closer, expression unwavering, and swore a gracious promise to help. 

You've helped him more than you know. He shouldn't feel this way. So sated. It hardly makes sense, from any perspective. There's many things he failed to do. He has much to learn: about himself, about this damned orb, and still, about you. 

But right now, his heart is a battering ram against the constructed walls of his chest, and your fingertips are traveling up — They're grazing the wretched mark as it twists up his nape, his cheek. Your knuckles brush the tangle of dark lines underneath his eye, you cup his face in your hand. And the orb is quiet. It should be screaming with the rest of him. Instead, it chooses silence. 

Magic works in such strange, indecipherable ways. If someone were to tell him long ago that this is how it could work — as though in your presence, it too, is comforted — he doesn't think any part of him would ever believe them. 

His mistake will forever be a part of him. But so will you. 

Gale finds your hand, and settles his on top of your own. He places a kiss onto the bridge of your nose, his palm slides from your hip until his thumb is edging underneath your top, just barely brushing your bare skin underneath. He hesitates, but a kiss of your own placed onto his jaw has him gasping, poised to pull your shirt over your head in the same way his was discarded. 

"May I?" Gale hums, and you swiftly nod in approval. 

"Yes," You reply, "Please." 

The anticipation that settles in your gut is damn near agonizing. You were expecting him to move carefully, but not this slow. 

Gale continues at an apprehensive pace. He stops to collide his lips with yours, when the edge of your top reaches the center of your stomach. With another smooth kiss, mouths parted, breath ragged, he tugs it higher still. You only break apart to bring your arms over your head, and give him a chance to pull it off the rest of the way. 

A kiss onto your ear, and your chest is tight. His lips trail down your nape, and you're reaching up to grab a hold of his hair, your teeth gritting as you choke back a desperate noise. 

Between sighs, your voice is weak, but you still manage, "How long you've sought to what?" 

Gale mumbles a hm into your nape, he squeezes your waist and brushes his thumb over your skin. You know he's coaxing you to continue, but with his mouth on your neck, peppering kisses that wash over you like waves, it's rather hard to follow through. 

Nonetheless, you grip a fistful of brown hair to give yourself leverage. You force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. "You were saying something before. How long have you sought to do what, exactly?" 

One last kiss, and Gale is drawing back to meet your eyes. He holds your chin between two of his fingers. There's a glint in the back of his gaze, causing heat to rush over you, your limbs suddenly growing weak. 

"To take you," He admits, "To not just tell you what wondrous things you've made me feel, but to show you." 

You're sure the wild look in his eyes is mirrored in your own. "Then what are you waiting for? Show me." 

Gale smiles. He gestures with a crooked finger, and instructs with a tone that borders on smug, "Make yourself comfortable. If you could do the honor of hopping up on the desk for me, I'd be glad to get started." 

When you press your palms flat to the solid wood, pushing to lift yourself, his hands maneuver under your thighs, and he helps to plop you on top of his messy wooden desk. He makes room for you, pushing stacks of books to the edge, giving you the space you need to scooch back. His brows are furrowed slightly as he's gathering half-opened scrolls to toss on the floor — from nervousness? Concentration? You aren't entirely sure, but you think he lingers somewhere in between. 

Turning back to you, he innocently allows his palms to feel the shape of your bare sides. He smooths them over the curve of your waist, he caresses the faint indentations of the scars your journey and your previous path left. Then, not so innocently, his fingers are toying with the front of your pants. His thumb is rubbing over the button, while his gaze never leaves yours, his collected expression never once wavering. 

Sitting atop Gale's desk is far from luxurious. You're already shifting, doing your best to relax and meet his eyes, but you tense when he gives you a full once-over. You stifle your nerves. By now, you don't care where he has you, as long as he doesn't make you wait for much longer. 

Your impatience must reflect in your reaction. Gale brings his gaze back to yours, and it somehow seems much softer. 

"I thought you couldn't get any more gorgeous," He whispers, his fingertips drawing shapes you can't recognize into your skin, "But before my eyes, you've so effortlessly proved me wrong. What a fool I am." 

"A very loveable fool, at least," You counter, placing your hands on his shoulders as he glides his gentle palm up your side. The breeze still fluttering through his study tickles your skin, intensifying each faint, terribly warm touch. 

"You're too sweet. I doubt you'd be as composed if you knew the true depth to my foolishness. There is a great deal to address. Too much to fit into one short night, I'm sure." Gale's eyes narrow, adoration at the forefront of his expression, "It's arduous to simply try and think around you, you know. Well, unless one finds themselves thinking about you. You're such an unrelenting plague on my every thought- A good plague, I should add, not the, erm. Sickly sort." 

"Right. A good plague," You repeat. "Go on." 

"You are… impossible not to think of," Gale corrects, "My mind was made to study the intricacies of yours. I often found myself lost, absorbed in the fierceness of my adoration for you. Even at times where I perhaps shouldn't." 

Your eyebrow raises. "Is that so?" 

After staring at you blankly for more than a few moments, he awkwardly clears his throat and continues, "I suppose you're waiting for me to explain? If you asked our unlikely band of companions, I'm sure someone would tell you. They certainly remember how immensely I embarrassed myself with my obviousness, at our reunion and when we were still merely surviving together. But you never knew. I assumed you never knew. You failed to notice when I couldn't stop… staring at you, for lack of a better term." 

"I didn't notice that much." Briefly, your lips press into a line. "I had my suspicions, sure, but I wasn't entirely confident you felt… more, for me. More than the friendship we had already. Or maybe I found the reality of it hard to believe." 

"More barely describes it. My heart would begin to pound each and every time I saw you. Damn thing would tear into my chest like it wanted to come free, especially in the moments where we finished another battle victorious, barely making it out with lives and limbs intact. I'd watch you dust your hands. Wipe the mess of dirt, and some unlucky soul's blood from your face. Your jaw set, your eyes darkened. And I could only think of how much I wanted you." 

Apparently, he's not yet out of surprises. For a man who says so much, he picks the strangest times to keep his mouth shut, because you guarantee if you knew that then, you wouldn't have wasted this much time. No, you would've let him have you then and there, amongst the danger and against your judgment. Perhaps that's exactly what he was picturing. 

You swallow, eyeing him softly, curiously. "Were you just thinking? Or did you do something about those thoughts of me?" 

"Do something?" Gale huffs, letting go of you to return to his familiar habit of speaking with his hands, "As you know, those ideas, no matter how thrilling, could never be permitted to happen- They were forced to be kept in here, exclusively to myself. Lest they prove an unnecessary distraction. Many times, I dreamt of what it might be like to admit the truth. What I would say to you, if my feelings were returned. But I could allow these perspectives to haunt only me, and myself alone." 

He averts his eyes in fleeting nervousness. Tentatively, he mumbles, "When you, when those thoughts threatened to swallow me into their waiting jaws, and I couldn't stop thinking- Dwelling on your voice, your touch. Your beauty. I would… Hold on. Oh." 

You watch realization dawn on his face like the sun rising over the horizon. His eyes go wide and his face goes warm, he pushes away any uncertainty by breathing a small, light chuckle. He holds your side once more, and the anxiousness of his tense hand, fingers flexing, contradicts his supposed self-assurance. 

"Naughty." Gale teases, "Correct me if I've somehow veered onto the path of the mistaken, but I do believe I've discerned what it is you're getting at." 

Seems you can't hide your smirk anymore. Leaning back, your gaze locks with his, and the look on your face proves him right without the need for you to speak. Like the tressym who caught the canary, if he could describe it. 

Still, your head tilts, and you murmur, "Judging by your reaction, I doubt you need to be corrected." 

"Quite the risqué mind you have, don't you? And I thought I was the immodest one." His palm glides from your side, down to your waist, to your hip, "Though, I cannot lie, I am thrilled to indulge you. It's quite an… inappropriate matter to admit. But considering where we were already planning on taking this- Yes. I have done what you are thinking of. Shall I elaborate?" 

"I'd love it if you would." 

As you grasp his hand boldly, your fingers brush his. You guide him to the front of your pants again, until he's clutching the button, fiddling with it, feeling the shape while he tries to find his next words. 

"I was always head over heels for you," Gale explains, popping the button before pulling on the zipper, "It would be pointless to claim otherwise. You were far more than a passing fancy, and I knew I could never forget, nor forgo you. You were my sanctum, my love. I worshiped you. And so I defied my Goddess." 

You lift up when Gale begins to slide your pants from your thighs, until they're left in a pile on the hardwood floor. The surface of his desk feels cool against your bare legs. 

"Of course, you already know that much. My point- Which don't fret, we are getting to," He says, a palm nonchalantly finding your thigh. He caresses your skin, and your heart is in your throat, because his fingers are drifting ever-so slightly closer, "Is that I was restless. There's an explanation as to why I would often avoid you, why I'd slip away once dusk became night. I pushed every potent feeling down, as to not affect our mission, nor our companionship. But you- You are enthralling." 

Careful fingertips skate the inside of your thigh. And as you swallow down fragile gasps, he's only continuing, "Once I was alone, I could no longer stifle the longing I felt. Rest hardly reprieved me. I'd only dream of what we did not have the time to say, nor do. I imagined showing you everything I could give to you, the places I could take you, the marvels I wished for you to see. A snap of my fingers, and we could connect in ways you could not even envisage. We would forget our misfortunes. Our deities. Gods, it was worse when I had to watch someone else chat you up. That night, I'd be practically insatiable." 

Your head is whirling. 

His manner of speaking leaves more up to interpretation than you would have liked, but you know him well enough by now to be more than skilled at reading between the lines. And those words of his can only paint the most addictive picture. 

Gale, trying his best to impress you, to make you smile and keep you safe, only to grow a slight bit jealous when you basked in the attention of someone other than him. Gale, slipping away and "going to bed early" the first chance he got. Holing up in his tent, while you had no idea why. Trying to sleep, only to be awakened over and over again by his enticing dreams of you. Your visage overwhelming his mind, the practiced, straight-laced wizard would finally give into his vices. 

With a palm over his mouth, and a hand down his pants, his noises would be muffled as he works his deft hand over his stiff length. He'd close his eyes, silently scolding himself; he's ridiculous, moronic, pathetic. He should be able to stifle his foolish desires, and yet he couldn't stop, his jaw clenched as he visualizes what he wants, needs to do to you — For once, he'd let his hunger for you consume him. 

Perhaps he isn't as principled as you once thought him to be. 

"I- I felt the same way," You stammer, your throat tightening, making it harder to speak. His fingertips move upward to carefully graze your stomach; his gaze stays on yours, yet you're struggling to maintain eye contact. "It was hard not to daydream about you, whenever we had a moment to rest. My focus was… all over the place. I wanted you to myself. Wanted you to do whatever you wished to me." 

"It seems we are one in the same. You could ask anything of me, and I would consider it done." Gale's thumb hooks around your underwear, but freezes there, not yet moving. His volume drops to barely above a whisper; smooth, and intoxicating, "But I did not always think of you in such sentimental terms. With you as… tempting as you are, and with a wealth of unspoken affections between us, my musings would often wander elsewhere." 

A shudder racks your spine. "Elsewhere?" 

Leaning closer, Gale allows his free hand to steady on your waist. 

You've always thought him and yourself to be equal in prowess. You have fought beside him enough to respect his skill, but also to understand his weaknesses. Yet, in this moment, with his voice echoing against the shell of your ear as a low, sultry hum — If this were a fight, you would've already, most certainly lost. 

"Yes, to the comforts we hadn't yet explored. To the way your voice might sound when it strains. I pictured your hands, purely natural when they are joined with mine. Or perhaps your arms, your legs, tightly wrapped around my shoulders, and my back." 

You feel his palm, caressing your side in slow, simple circles. Your eyelids flutter, your body tremors in the wake of a pleasurable tide. Through his tone, you can practically hear the smile on his lips, "I'm sure you get the idea. I confess, I was not as grounded around you as I may have appeared to be. For saving-the-world's sake, my focus could not wane. Yet, my foolish heart only wanted to hear how you might plead to be given every last inch of me- And I would entrust it all to you. My mind, my body. My soul, if you had any use for it." 

His words have you so distracted, you almost fail to notice he currently has your underwear half-way down your thighs. 

Your gaze meets his. Something you can't read reflected in the back of his eyes, he gazes at you silently, but questioningly. As if he's waiting for your word to continue. Sighing, you force yourself to relax. You ignore the budding warmth that gnaws at your core. You shift, before you lift once more, and with a sly grin, he takes the hint to pull the garment off the rest of the way. 

"I might," You reply, shivering when his palm returns to your thigh, allowing your legs to part slightly when his touch begins to drift, "Maybe I'm a devil in disguise." 

"The sweetest devil in all of the Hells," Gale purrs. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek, and his fingers gravitate away; dizzy, your breath hitches. You can't figure out if he's teasing you on purpose, but whatever the bastard is trying, he's certainly succeeding. You tense from your shoulders to your legs, only for his lips on your nape to make you crumble again. 

"Gale-" 

He kisses the column of your neck, and your grip tightens on the desk's edge, nails practically digging into the wooden surface. Gale's fingertips achingly draw circles on the inside of your thigh, his touch coaxing them further apart. Your lungs are overwhelmed. By the lack of air, by the scent of dusk, and his books, and him. 

"Please," You plead; the sound is a sweet melody to his ears, "Touch me." 

You're more than enthralling — You are simply irresistible. 

Gale sighs, and as the held breath leaves him, he swears he feels the center of his chest thrum with such staggering tenderness. 

"You very well may be my demise." 

Bracing a hand on your waist, he hesitates. His brows pinch slightly. His palm feels clammy, almost, and you can feel the heat like untamed fire, radiating from his skin, shining through every pore. Cast upon him is a sheet of silken, fading light. You breathe, in and then out. How can he be so damn handsome? 

"It's been a while since I have done anything of this sort. I do not wish to overstep." Gale brings his fingers to rest underneath your chin — index and middle, tilting your head ever-so gently towards him. "You'll tell me if it gets to be too much? If I ever do something that you have, erm. A less than savory reaction towards?" 

"Of course," You reply simply, but the simplest of words are all he needs to be put at ease. "Do as you like. I trust you." 

And so, he does. His eyes soften, they remind you of dripping, warm honey. Yet, the palm that begins to glide over your chest, softly caressing, is somehow even warmer. 

You're nearly nose to nose, as Gale touches every curve and dip from your chest to your collarbones, admiring the lovely details. It's tender — analytical, in a way — as though he's studying exactly what forms your shape, so he may never forget. The sound of his breathing, along with your own echoes faintly in your ears. You feel revered, like the statue of some sacred God; and from study or by memory, he will learn to sculpt you. 

"Beautiful," Gale murmurs quietly, "You are made of splendor and stardust." 

Your heart intends to deny those words. You once thought differently, you believed ruin and rot were all to compose you. But if he presumes otherwise, if Gale is the one to insist you're so much greater, there isn't a single part of you left to challenge him. You are beautiful. 

At once, your veins buzz, exhilaration rippling through your system at his voice, his touch. His fingertips trail the length of your shoulder. They teasingly trace downward, only to move back up again, despite the twitch of your thighs and the purse of your lips. 

"That night," He breathes, his hand studying the column of your throat, the curve of your jaw, "Where I created the sky for you, I came right to the precipice of confessing. You were beautiful then. As you always are. I felt this… fondness, dwell within me while I looked at you. I wondered if your lips were as plush as they looked. Gods, I wanted to kiss you. Our enemies should have tore a page from your book. You know better than anyone how to reduce a former chosen to such weakness." 

Those addictive fingertips reach back, tracing up your spine, causing your whole body to tingle. From the smallest of touches, from his touch, you're rife with anticipation. You've wanted and waited so much and so long to feel this. Gale's other hand tightens on your side, reassuring while holding you still, and you wouldn't be surprised if he could tell. If he knew what he was doing to you. 

He's missed you, loved you, with every fiber of his doomed being. Now, fondness is more than within him; it's engulfing him whole. 

He swallows thickly. "It would have been delightful to pull you close. To cast aside my misgivings, and instead have you right then and there. Underneath the shimmering lights, while whispering blades of grass tickled our skin. The sight of you laid out underneath me would have been more exquisite than any flourish I am capable of creating, I'm sure. Or, the sight of you above, perhaps? I didn't mind either which way." 

"Gale." 

You mumble his name, in some cross between a hiss, a pout, and a plea. He catches your eyes with a smile. 

More than you might think, he has you figured out. The look you give him whenever he speaks: warm and soft-eyed, breath hitched, expression blissfully entranced. You've mentioned your not-so subtle weakness for his voice before. You love hearing him talk like this, don't you? 

"You're sweet, but sometimes-" You choke on a gasp, shuddering once his hand is roaming down, down. This time, brushing your stomach, your hip, your thigh. "Sometimes, I really just want you to kiss me." 

Perhaps you could listen to him forever, but he's no fool. Any request of yours he'd be happy to oblige. Especially this one. 

"Come here, then," He says, already closing the distance, "You merely have to ask." 

A hand holding your jaw, Gale pulls you in, his head tilting until you collide in a soft mess of lips and tongue. He blindly finds your thigh, gently pushing them apart; he squeezes your plush flesh, before he kisses you harder. 

Together, when you both pull apart to breathe, he meets your gaze: a question, and permission. You don't look away. Your gasps grow sharper as his touch moves closer, your nerves strung tight, your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. 

The ends of his fingers brush your slick, waiting entrance, and you whine. 

"Oh, you're… Wow," Gale sighs out. You swear with the way he sounds, he's practically in disbelief. He drags the digits up, getting them drenched and filthy in your mess of arousal, his fingertips applying slight pressure when they reach your swollen clit. You tense, swallowing down a whimper. His fingers glisten in the dying light, you watch him very obviously glance down once he drags them away. Pulling them apart, he admires the string of glossy slickness that clings in between them. 

"And I've barely just begun." He looks back to you, breathing the slightest huff, "I knew you- Well, I thought you felt strongly about me. As strongly as I feel about you. If I knew I was capable of doing this to you, of compelling you to be this… desperate, I would have divulged how I felt a great deal sooner." 

Like he's one to talk. Your affections go both ways — He made that clear when he was a stiff mess in his pants, just from you kissing him. 

Your chest heaves with your gasps, but only heaves harder once his touch leaves. His knuckles tense, his hand hovering inches away from you, and he looks over your face with brief apprehension. Right now, you can't have any of it. 

"What do you need?" Gale asks, tone smooth, low. 

"Your… Your fingers-" 

"And you need them where, to be exact? They are capable of bringing a great number of things into fruition. To have them inside of you, filling you- Is that what you're after?"

"Yes," Your voice wobbles to the edge of cracking, and you follow along, forcing yourself to get more specific, "Need them inside. Please, don't make me wait." 

He's never heard you beg before. Never thought you could get so needy, so flushed. For him, you're begging for him. 

During the path of your previous journey, your polite requests of him here and there were more than enough to get him ecstatic. This, though? He thinks he might crave to hear you plead your lovely desires for the rest of his existence. 

The same hand you've watched cast spells drifts back to you, between your legs. Gale's fingers, dexterous as they handle a fragile flicker of light in between them, masterful as they form the shape for another incantation. Delicately holding a thin quill pen, turning the pages of a worn book, crooking up to summon a hidden tome, or a detailed projection — His fingers begin to ease inside you, and all you can do is bite your tongue, and grip the edge of his desk like your life depends on it. 

They feel thicker than they look. You weren't expecting to be so full, even when they aren't entirely in, nor were you thinking he'd go this slowly. With how soaked you are, with how much you've needed him, you know his fingers — ring, and middle — would press inside you so simply, if that's what he was aiming for. They'd slide all the way in, fill you down to his knuckles, until your needy cunt is fluttering around him; you're filthy, and yet, despite the thoughts you have bouncing around in your brain, you hardly feel an ounce of shame. 

Instead though, different from what you were imagining, he takes his time. He savors this, savors you, delighting in your pretty expression, and the delicious moan you let go of as his fingers fill you just half-way. Half-way, not sinking fully in. The damn wizard is teasing you. He's dragging both digits out before they've truly given you what you wanted, leaving you disappointed once they slip away. 

As a small mercy, his fingertips move to circle your clit with the faintest touch. Right then, the entirety of you burns red-hot, impossibly sensitive. It's so much, and not enough at the same time. If he doesn't continue, you think you might cry. 

"I was intending to take things patiently, but I am more than willing to compromise," Gale suddenly murmurs, out of breath, his gasps betraying the levelness he tries to keep to his words. Clearly, this is affecting him just as much as it may be affecting you. His free hand tenses on your waist, and he drawls, "Tell me if it becomes too much. Or if you're in need of more." 

Like clockwork, you don't even wait for him to take another breath in. "More, Gale." 

He chuckles. Actually chuckles, in spite of any nervousness — and when the sound alone makes you shiver, a soft gasp in pleasure leaving your lips, you know you're absolutely done for. 

"Eager little thing." There's enough adoration in his words to devour and get drunk off of, "No matter, I'd already planned to give you everything." 

Your hand on the desk's edge clenches, and as though he knows without the need to see, Gale moves to place his palm over yours. His touch brushes your knuckles, his hand is effortlessly warm. His fingertips press to your waiting entrance; you breathe a sigh of approval, before he's working to slide them back inside you. 

They ease into your warm cunt deeper, nice and easy. As far as they'll go, until you're sufficiently full, with his palm lightly pressing against your pelvis, his knuckles barely grazing you. Gale's expression turns soft, washed over in utter lust. He mumbles the slightest swear under his breath that you almost don't catch, paired with a tender, low, That's it. 

And fuck, you're already struggling to handle this, but to hear him praise you? 

When he'd do so before, you were affected quite the same. He'd give you an earnest Excellent job! whenever you cracked another lock, or a Well done, when you downed a rather difficult foe. It was impossible not to dwell on his words, as ridiculous as you often felt. He would affectionately pat your shoulder, or place a hand on the small of your back when he was especially proud of you. You'd feel a chill run up your spine, just from that. A particularly shameful chill. 

Now though, like this? When his voice is a whole octave lower, and noticeably sultrier; when he's got two of his fingers nestled deep inside you, and his pretty gaze on yours, hair out of place as it gets stuck to his sweaty forehead — Gods help you, if he decides to say anything more. Knowing him, he will. 

He's still smiling while he stares at you, a look that speaks in pure adoration. And no matter how overwhelming, no matter the shivers that surge through your veins at the thought, or the intense pounding of your heart, you want him to speak. He's fucking right, his voice is your weakness. You want to hear all he's longed to tell you, no details spared. 

He's lucky you haven't melted into a puddle by now. Your limbs are weak, you feel like you might have. His poor scrolls. There's no doubt you're making a mess, but puddle-you would have left his desk and its important contents in shambles. 

Gale languidly pumps his fingers into you, in and then out, and your teeth grit at the sloppy noise they create. The pace he sets is slow, true to his earlier word. Ecstasy buds in your core at every draw back, and firm press in. Yet, the devotion, the listlessness to it — You're put on a pedestal right between needing less, and wanting more. It's perfectly agonizing. 

It isn't enough, you need just a sliver more of what he's not providing. But his slow, meticulous movement has you reeling. His thick fingers fuck you methodically, working you up to right where he wants you, and not an inch more. It feels like you might shatter in his arms, his hands, and he would be the one to put you back together. 

"Please," You're murmuring, your back arching, your eyes deep and hazy, utterly enchanting, "I need you- need you not to stop, fucking please." 

You make his focus shift in a mere instant. Holding onto you tighter, his fingers curl on the next press in, nudging oh-so perfectly against where you're oh-so sensitive. You're a mess, but he loves it; he relishes in admiring this lovely, desperate side to you. You practically cry out, your body tensing beneath his touch, your eyes screwing shut. And Gale, ever attentive, perpetually ambitious, crooks his dexterous fingers inside you again in a draw for more, until you're a gasping, trembling mess.

"You sound wonderful. Just perfect. Believe me, I want to stop as much as you may want to. Which, with regards to your greedy form of begging, would surely be not at all," Gale whispers, in a delicate hum. His words fill your head like clouds. "I have waited too long for this. I have wanted you far too greatly to stop now, and I do not plan to." 

You have his fingers soaked, his palm and his wrist filthy, practically dripping with your messy arousal. Between stifled whines and struggles for air, you utter his name. He falters for a moment. Ignoring his slacks growing tight and uncomfortable around him, he takes in an overly controlled breath. 

"Don't try to silence yourself," He says, "I want to hear everything." 

Your thighs quiver. They threaten to close around his arm, while precise fingers bully your sweet spot; you couldn't hold your moans for him back, not even if you were trying to. 

You toss your head back with a whine, loud and unabashed, and Gale offers your hand a gentle squeeze. His breathing is sharp, loud enough to hear, to feel as a fan of warmth against your chest and neck. The heat between you builds to something unbearable. Each thrust of his fingers is relentless: they draw gasps from you that echo in the walls of his study, your lungs aching raw. You are wet and warm and impossibly soft around both digits, you'll feel much softer and wetter around him. And you're simply stunning, from the top of your head, to the ends of your toes. Gorgeous, in a way he'll try his damndest to deserve. 

To hold you until the stars give out, to never have to let you go would be a dream made real. 

Engrossed in giving you what you need, he admires the softness present on your features when you prop yourself back up. Your chest heaves, your bottom lip trembling. He's been so focused on you, he hardly notices you've already shifted. 

You reach forward, your arm is shaky, faint gasps still slipping past your lips as his fingers massage that addictive spot deep within you. Your palm presses to his chest. Only then does he realize how quick his heart's been beating, and how strongly you've been affecting him. 

If you were a drug, or a form of charming magic perhaps, you'd be the most potent there is. Your hand glides down, gaze stuck on his — gazes locked on each other — and he lets you. He lets you move your palm down to a near dangerous degree; he shifts forward and closer, in fact, to simplify your reach. 

Impulsive, you allow your palm to travel between his legs before you've given it a second thought. You feel the firm outline of his cock, shamelessly tenting his pants, and Gale's brows pinch. He shudders, sighing softly, but he doesn't hold back from leaning into your touch. A small movement has his clothed length grinding against your palm; pure, exquisite friction. Fortunately, swarmed by your own desperations, you are wasting no time giving him more. 

For the first time since he began, or maybe for the first time ever, Gale's resolve crumbles. Your hand slips into his pants, wrapping around his hard, silky length, and he groans, the sound sweet enough to incite a heady pulse between your legs. He braces his free hand on the desk to keep steady, and his pace turns frantic as his head dips, strands of hair in his face, his fingers clumsily pistoning into you. 

He's warm in your palm, slick with dripping precum that dirties the smooth fabric of his briefs; so distinctly heavy, you start to feel dizzy, overwhelmed by a rush of blood to your head. 

"Shit," Gale swears under his breath when you grip him, then pump him, his eyelids heavy like he's woozy. Your reaction is immediate and visceral, pleasure blazing in your core, your chest heaving with quickened whines. 

His jaw clenches instinctually, your palm hurriedly swiping over his sensitive, weeping tip. It sends flurries of pleasure over him, and makes every touch much slicker, much wetter. The damp squelch made by the twists of your hand is nearly as filthy as the echo of his fingers plunging into you. 

He chokes on a moan, and he hurriedly murmurs, "Your touch is… It is unlike anything I have ever felt before, it's- oh- indescribable…" 

You're panting, your hand slowing down, the fragility and newfound pitch to his voice pooling heat in your gut, "Should I stop?" 

"No, for the love of every God still left watching over us," Gale reaches up, shakily tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips brush your skin with potent electricity, before he sets his palm back down on the desk, close enough to have your thumbs touch. "Absolutely do not stop." 

There's conviction in his voice; it makes your heart pound, and subsequently tremble. 

The way you stroke him is messy and quick, frantic to make up for the lack of space the confines of his slacks provide. Your brain is scrambled from his voice, his fingers: easing inside you, and then crooking, punching whines from you each time they perfectly nudge your sweet spot. You feel known, loved, as he studies what you need — to give it to you here, and countless times over. 

Between your sins and his, the room is drowned in the echoes of gasps, whines. In wet noises that sound disgustingly lewd when they reach your ears, sending sparks twisting up your back. Gale falls forward, his forehead rests softly against yours. He finds the curve of your waist, gripping you tight; a touch that brands, that makes you pliable. His warm hand on your bare skin is a wave of molten comfort, washing deep into your bones. 

"Back then," You mumble breathlessly, beginning a tangent of your own, "I wanted so badly to tell you how I felt. I w-wanted, needed you, I would have given up anything to be close to you. I thought of… of trying to stay quiet in your little tent, trying to make sure no-one else would hear us. You'd whisper in my ear that we have to be quiet, and cover my mouth with your palm while you rocked into me…" 

Gale stutters. He throbs, underneath your touch, and lets go of a long, shaking breath. He rolls his hips into your grip just barely, chasing another ray of pleasure. 

"Even a rudimentary spell could've… hah, solved that problem easily," He grits out, the bridge of his nose in a focused knot, "But I'm glad we weren't so hasty. This moment we have now, it is kept solely to ourselves. If we-" A groan, a sigh, "Had to account for unnecessary company, I would never have known how lovely you sound when you're pleading my name."  

"Fuck- Gale…" 

You moan in unison, syncing your breathing and the skip of your heartbeats. In the midst of your own pulse in your ears — your head swirling, drunk on him — you are freeing his cock from his slacks, making him inhale a hiss as the room's cold air hits his length. Your palm strokes all of him, from base to head: tenderly, slowly, agonizingly. He trembles, and his thumb brushes your clit while his fingers stay sheathed inside. Desire takes over what remains of you, as though his touch itself is made from magic. 

"I wanted to- I-" It's difficult to talk now; his thumb rubs slow circles onto your sensitive clit, and tension grips you tight, taut as deep in your core as his fingers reach. "I wanted to kiss you, feel you, taste you. Sometimes, I wished we could just forget everything and- Oh, Gods, I needed you, Gale. I knew I was foolish and greedy, but I couldn't lose you. I didn't want anything to ever happen to you, I love you. Just you, just as you are." 

Just as you are. 

More than anything he's once known, stronger than everything he's ever felt, those words send him spiraling into a hopeless, tender oblivion. 

You won't have to fear losing him. Not ever again. 

Despite the slight parting of his lips, he can't say anything more; he can only exhale in warm, heady pleasure, and sway forward to collapse into you. Your palm, working over his cock with soft, steady strokes, has him hurtling close to the edge with no reprieve in sight. His forehead leans into the curve of your nape, breath hot on your skin, and he can barely manage to think, let alone control the unsteady pace of his fingers; fucking into you desperately and clumsily, sending pleasure spiraling through your system. 

But your voice — Chiming in his ears, echoing with the earnestness of bells, you bring every devoted component of his attention right back to you. 

"Please," You beg, your tone quiet, on the verge of shattering like glass. Gale moves his palm to hold the small of your back as a slight comforting gesture, a silent reminder that he has you, and you feel the petals of your heart unfurl, and unwind. 

"I'm right there," You're gasping, "I'm- ah, please…" 

He can't contain himself, sweat beading at his chest and forehead as he sloppily thrusts into your now-loose grip. Every slow, choppy buck of his hips leaves him more overwhelmed. You have your head tipped back, as you jerk him off hurriedly, choking on your own moans. Euphoric flames lap at your gut, your limbs — Gale peppers your nape in haphazard kisses, and all it takes is one more touch, three more words. 

"I love you," His murmur rolls in vibrations against your kiss-sensitive nape; you melt, your back slumps. There's an intensity to his tone, a thickness to his accent and a slur between the syllables. You nearly drown him out with your own chants of his name. 

"My sweetheart," He falters, "My love- You feel perfect, and I- I'm so close- I've got you, let go, let go with me-" 

You flutter around his fingers, and he stammers with words left unsaid, murmuring faint recitations of your name as you both reach the crescendo. Frantic jerks of your palm and feverish swipes of his thumb on your clit, his touch palpable with so much love you can practically feel it — and you're slamming over the edge together. 

Gale's breathing comes from weary, bruised lungs. You feel him twitch, then pulse, and messes of moans and gasps resound onto your neck as he spills into your hand. The mess drips over your palm, coating your fingers. Your heart pounds against your chest like a drum, and the pleasant disaster of your release washes over your body — making you tense and cry out, your legs quivering as you cum for him — before setting you down, shakily and slowly. 

You can hardly think by the end of it. The aftershocks that grip you are unlike anything you've ever felt before. Finding your high while thinking of him pales in comparison to cumming for him, on his fingers. 

Neither you, nor him can speak. When Gale finally pulls apart from you, dragging his fingers from your warmth and stumbling to his feet, what makes up your tangled thoughts is still very much fuzzy. You're both panting hard; him, more than you are, perhaps. Your thighs are tense and sore, you have to force them to relax to ease some of the strain. 

Through heavy eyelids, you watch him run a palm over his face. He massages his temple, and lets go of a deep, weighted breath. The way he looks at you then, gaze settled on yours, could be enough to entrance you, all on its own. 

"Beautiful." He hums simply. His voice is still rough at the edges, quiet and strained. You aren't sure if it's a description, or a term of endearment; maybe both, you figure, so you can enjoy a taste of each. 

He reaches up to hold your jaw, his touch ever soft. You're lost for a moment. You catch your breath along with him, and feel what remains of the world around you fade away. 

"I believe I was meant to love you," He says, so earnest, his faith itself makes you shake. "You are an irrevocable destiny. My destiny." 

You offer him a smile that roots into him from the inside-out. And when he drifts forwards to kiss you at last, pulled in your direction like a fish on a line — Your lips press to his, and in his chest, arises a glow. 

This shared kiss is long, deep, and effortless. It is a waltz you both know how to follow, and yet, you lose your footing just the same. He pulls you close with an arm around your back, and you curl into his familiar touch. In turn, you clutch him tighter, kiss him harder, with your palm on his shoulder and a hand tangled in messy locks of brown hair. 

You both breathe a sigh once you've slowly pulled apart. Gale holds your chin, and speaks softly, the words akin to a secret prayer. 

"I am yours. Now, and for the eternities of lifetimes that might await us after this one." His expression deepens, and his thumb brushes your lips, carefully but simply, "I truly do love you." 

I love you. Those words still feel as soft as they are strange. They're all you've ever wanted though, natural on the tongue, despite how unrelentingly they shake you. 

Perhaps you really were meant for this, just as he believes. In this life, and in the lifetimes to follow, you will find and embrace one another. 

Standing up straight, he stretches, fixing his slacks before rolling his shoulders back. Your gaze flickers over his shape, and then down. Tenderness makes way to bristles of embarrassment, and it's hard to continue biting your tongue. Between the both of you, you've made quite the mess. Reminders of what transpired hit you like a bucket of bricks. Your heartbeat particularly spikes at the droplets of milky white that dirty the desk's smooth surface, and the flesh of your thighs. 

Gale seems to notice your staring. 

"Apologies," He clears his throat so loud the sound practically bounces around the room. His tone carries a weight of lightheartedness, and you can't explain how nice it is to hear. It lightens the load on your own shoulders, in some way. "I did not suspect I was… so pent-up. Are you alright?" 

"I'm alright," You resound, inhaling slowly, and feeling the buzz in your chest begin to settle as a result. "I feel great, honestly. How about you? Tired yet?" 

"Oh, I am anything but. Feels like I pissed off some impudent mage, and as punishment they set my nerves aflame," Gale shakes out his sweaty palms, then idly flexes his fingers, "Not any sort of punishment I've ever heard of, but I would certainly commend their creativity. It will take more than that to tire me out, I assure you. Unless you, yourself are tired, of course. In which case, I would be glad to assist in your relaxation." 

"Thank you, but there's no need. I'm not tired yet either." You shuffle closer so you can wrap your arms around him, and your hand promptly tangles in his hair, while the other brushes the back of his neck, fingertips tracing down to the space between his shoulder blades. You swear you feel him shiver. "C'mere. I haven't had near enough of you." 

"Is that so?" Gale smiles. He closes the fraction of distance between you, and steadies a hand on your jaw. "I'm pleased to say the feeling is mutual." 

This time, the kiss he plants to your lips reminds you of falling. Falling, with no worry of hitting the ground. Just infinitely drifting through a cloudless sky, while you helplessly listen to the race of your pulse in your eardrums. And as quickly as he sends you careening towards the earth, he's grounding you, with a kiss to your throat that sets your senses alight. 

His lips hover there for longer than they need to, breathing warmth onto your neck, until you reward his efforts with the sweetest of sighs. Then, his mouth trails kisses from your collarbone to your shoulder. His hand holds your side when you sway, helping to keep you steady. 

It's as though your soul is helplessly detached from your own body. The growing shadows in his quaint study envelop your vision, and cradle you in their looming embrace. You imagine the pale moon, the shimmering stars, soon to bathe you in their faint light. But for now, it's just the two of you, pleasantly alone, in the center of his universe. Truthfully, your soul is bound to him. Gale's hands, and beating heart. 

Warmly, he mutters against your shoulder, a squeeze of your side blended with slightly muffled words, "Are you comfortable?" 

"Mhmm," You nod, and you tilt your head opposite as he moves to press kisses to the other side of your nape, "We can move- If that's what you want." 

"What I want is to have you wherever it is you prefer." Placing a final small kiss to the side of your neck, he then pulls back, meeting your pretty gaze with an expression that sparkles. "My bedroom is always an option. Traditional, yes, but surely comfortable. Continuing here would be most pleasant as well. Most exciting. The choice is left up to you, although," He breathes a slight laugh, "I suppose I may picture this the next few times I am sitting here working. Might pose a slight problem to my future productivity." 

You huff, half-rolling your eyes. You playfully squeeze his shoulders, teasing palms caressing his warm skin, "In that case, I want you nowhere else but here." 

Gale smirks, his expression enveloped in unmistakable tenderness, but this time, he holds his tongue. He grasps your wrists, and when your palms follow his lead to slip from his shoulders, he is taking your hands into his. He's shifting, kneeling, sinking down in front of you until your heart is left a shaken and stuck mess inside your throat. 

"Look at me." 

Oh. You didn't notice you were starting to glance away, avoiding his eyes while you attempt to ignore the warmth burning over your face. You tear one of your hands away from his to grip the edge of the desk, steadying yourself. Hesitantly, your gaze flickers back to his own — just in time to watch Gale press a kiss to your knuckles. 

He looks at you as though you are devastation, devotion, in the softest, mortal form. Twilight shimmers in the details of his silhouette: the features of his face, the silver in his hair, and his shiny, metal earring. You once thought the symbol hanging from his ear to be some solemn, self-imposed reminder. Instead, you've grown to realize it is spite, pure and fierce. Because after everything, he is still tenderly, maddeningly alive. 

"You will not lose me, not ever, not for a moment," He says gently, squeezing your hand, resoluteness in the back of his gaze. "I promise you. I want for nothing, when you are at my side. Nothing but the privilege of seeing you smile, which I will try my very hardest to earn. No matter what we may face, perils or strife, anything that is left to try and stand in our way, we will brave it- We will defy it. And we will do so together. Just as we once did." 

Gale allows his thumb to brush over your knuckles before he lets your hand go. You eye him silently, awestricken, your chest tight and your mouth useless. Perhaps it is your silence that prompts him to gaze at you smugly, place his palms on your thighs, and shift closer until his head is inches away from dipping between your legs. 

"Now, let me have you." Voice low, he breathes the words loud enough for only you to hear, "Let me cherish you, as I have always longed to, and as you have always deserved." 

So foolish. He does have you, he has held every part of you from the moment you and him collided. 

You take a breath, deep and slow. "Then have me." 

Reaching forward, you knot a hand in his hair as encouragement. Gale holds your waist, smirking slightly, and he waits, lingering, or perhaps teasing you. When your fingers tighten on his hair and you let go of a quickened, impatient huff, the desperate look on your face causing his heart to skip, only then does he finally move. He leans close, pressing a kiss to your stomach that brims with tingling electricity. 

"Gale-" And you sigh, you melt, "I love you, I love you so much-" 

His brows knot, softness in his expression, and he begins to adore your skin with his lips. He plants messy kisses from your navel, down. When he moves from your hips to your legs, tenderness turns to hunger. His kisses are warmer, blessed onto your inner thighs as he leaves faint bites, along with soft brushes of the tongue; not enough to mark, just enough to feel. Enough to make you tremble at the subtle nip of teeth, and shake from the heat of his steady breaths on your skin. 

Both palms find your thighs to gently coax them apart. Nervousness prickles up your spine, heightened by the warmth in your gut, and by the heaviness in Gale's eyes as he looks up at you. But when he leans close, at the first swipe of his tongue over your waiting cunt — Everything melts away to nothing but sharp, pure pleasure. 

Your fingers grip his hair so tight you think you might yank some strands out. You're panting, and he isn't stopping; each little lap of his tongue makes you shake, already a whining mess, echoing the sweetest noises for him. You only make him want to hear more. 

He wants you crying happy tears for him, wants you to forget your hardships as you fall to pieces on his mouth; but for now, he'll have patience. Slight, teasing flicks of his tongue are enough to start with. Judging by the intensity of your grip on his hair, and the way your chest heaves from the force of loud, labored breathing, he isn't sure you can handle much more, despite how terribly you make him want to give it to you. You deserve all you could ever need. 

You deserve to be happy, safe, loved. He won't let you be marked by more scars. You're precious to him, more precious than anything he has once held, and simultaneously, you are damn near impossible to resist. 

From between both your thighs, he can't tear his gaze away from you above him: your pretty face, consumed by ecstasy and impatience. You, on the other hand, can barely take the way he looks at you with such tenderness, and yet, confidence. Like he knows exactly what he's doing to you. 

Gale swipes the flat length of his tongue over your entrance, then flicks the tip against your clit, and the moan you let fall from your lips captivates the entirety of his muddled mind. He huffs something of a laugh, and pulls back to give you a small chance to breathe. 

"Remarkably sweet, and ravishingly sensitive." The sultry hum to his tone settles a decadent sensation between your ribs: pleasure, and an encompassing anticipation. His lips are already wet and glistening. "You were just meant to be devoured." 

Your heart shudders, and your breath hitches. Gale grips you by your sides, his gentle touch smoothing over your skin. His hair in his face is a mess you've made. You shakily push the strands back, and as your fingers brush close to his scalp, the only signs he's affected are the shuddery inhale he takes, and the devotion that shines in the back of his pupils. 

"Spread your legs apart a little further, for me," He mumbles. When you oblige, he hums the smallest form of praise, the faintest, Very good. Then, his mouth is giving you no room for respite. 

You whimper, watching his honeyed gaze on yours go soft, before his eyes flutter shut. His hands on your sides grip you tighter, and with swipes of his tongue, he thoroughly tastes your entrance. He was right; you are sensitive. Especially when he buries his face in your cunt, every sickeningly slow lap of his tongue feeling charged, ripe with exhilarating arousal. 

When you tense, panting harder with a swallow, he squeezes your side, and he stops. He huffs in short breaths centimeters away from you. Your shoulders slowly go slack. You press both hands to the edge of the desk and hold on tight, trying to remain steady. He only dives in again once your sighs have settled, and this time, he's licking, then sucking. The sound is sloppy, terribly lewd, as he presses his lips to you and sucks softly on your clit. Infatuation surges through your veins so fast, you begin to feel yourself go numb. 

He licks a steady stripe, groaning quietly. His facial hair scratches the inside of your thighs with such bitter sweetness. He's moving one palm down to your thigh, caressing before lifting. Your leg settles comfortably onto his shoulder, and he's pressing closer, he's ever-so carefully easing his tongue inside you. It's warm, meticulous; the attention there, the sensation of being so barely filled, stretched around the end of his tongue — It makes your head spin with ferocity. 

Those sensations melt to expectancy, to a dwindling heat as he draws back; for only a moment, thankfully. He swallows, his words muffled when he mutters against your eager cunt, "You taste divine." 

On his tongue, he's sure you're the sweetest thing he's ever known. Saccharine like the stars, akin to the smooth velvet wine he remembers sampling in Calimshan. But perhaps, it's even sweeter to have you like this, to know he's the only one who can do this to you. Your limbs are trembling for him. It's his tongue you're a mess on, his voice and his touch to make you this way. 

He should never have doubted himself. If he could rewind the clock just once, it wouldn't be to change past wrongs, nor would it be to rid his chest from the orb, or abandon it entirely. He would have gone without meeting you then, still just a reckless wizard in the cold palm of his Goddesses hand. 

Rather, he would go back and tell you how he felt, he'd tell you everything — He'd have you accompany him to Waterdeep well before his proposition at your reunion, and he wouldn't have held back the words on his tongue. He doesn't want to leave you, he loves you; he'd watch your expression change, your hands squeezing his when he grabs them tight. And he knows he would kiss you right then, in the same way he already has. 

I've fallen for you he was waiting to whisper, when this universe seemed to contain just the two of you. He wanted to kiss you so softly when you smiled at him during your late-night talks, closing the inches of distance between you to feel your smile on his lips instead. He'd kiss you so desperately when you found yourselves on the edge of death, both hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs smearing blood onto your skin, because even then, all he could fathom was how deeply he adored you. 

As long as he kept you safe, he didn't need more. He no longer wished for godhood. He could greet the end with no regret — but to have lived, to be able to persist in this life at your side means the world itself to him. 

It will take a long while to make up for lost time. Though maybe, he can start here. His mouth can do more than recite poems and confessions. Much more. 

In demonstration, Gale leans into you. He relishes in the way you shake under his hold, once the practiced end of his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. He has to hold you steady, gripping tight while he kisses your clit, your thighs, and then devours you with sloppy kisses to your cunt: open-mouthed, a mess of soft sucks and rich groans into you. His lips brush every sensitive inch, shaping you as you dissolve to pliancy, like soft clay in his careful hands. 

"Feels good-" You try to mumble, biting the words; you've never felt anything this addicting. Your voice carries a noticeable shake, one you just can't swallow down, "Feels so fucking good…" 

"Not good enough to render you speechless," Gale hums against you, lust weaving through his tone. You'd almost think he was talking to himself, if it wasn't for the way he briefly looks at you, eyelids heavy, pupils blown-out. "Suppose I ought to continue." 

His mouth lavishes your cunt once more, firm sucks on your clit paired with swipes of his tongue that gently tease your needy entrance — You grip the desk tight, moving your hand to grab a fistful of his hair instead. You bite down so hard on your lip you think it might bleed. 

You can't focus, you feel weightless, his words won't leave you as much as his mouth continues to devour you. His sultry voice, his soft expressions of love; how long has he waited for this? How fiercely has he wanted you, wanted to tell you the fondness he kept captive inside? How long has he imagined pleasuring you on his tongue, until all you can manage to plead is his name? 

For longer than you were first picturing, surely. There's desperation to the new pace he's set, a wild yearning, as Gale allows his composure to slip and pleasures you with every single breath. His palm runs over the warm underside of your thigh when it twitches on his shoulder. He's relentless, even when you grip his hair so tightly it must hurt, whimpering for him and his mouth in unintelligible murmurs. 

He gives you more without the need for you to ask. He's moaning into you in turn, his tongue pressing in to taste you. And your taste is electrifying. The whine you give him is one he wishes to memorize. He feels he may yearn for this — to taste you, to have you — until the universe converges to a collapse, with all Nine Hells finally frozen over. 

Speechless, that's how he wants you, and if he continues like this, he might make good on such an objective. Ironic. For as much as he's spoken, you're the one asked to stay voiceless. You doubt he truly wants you quiet. Every moan you make at the lap of his tongue, or the brush of his lips, draws a staggered sigh from him in response. 

At least, considering how much the bastard spends talking, of course he's good with his mouth. 

He mumbles something inaudible against you, a mess where your name is the only thing you make out. His voice echoes in vibrations right onto your clit, and you're gasping, your thighs trembling. They practically close around his head, but he pushes them back apart to make room; his one hand on your thigh, the other on your waist. 

The moment you've relaxed, legs spread wide for him, he's grabbing your sides so tight it makes you go stiff in surprise. He's pulling you in, he's giving you more of his mouth, and you're rocking. You're grinding onto his tongue without forethought, focused only on the bliss that rips through your body and intensifies in your core. 

You barely catch the way his eyes flutter when you roll into him. He begins to guide your movements with his grip on your waist, pulling you closer while twirling his tongue, allowing you to use his mouth as you desire. 

And you do. You fuck yourself on his mouth and tongue between his hurried kisses, his muffled groans muttered against you. Until your high is frantically splintering towards you, your fingers flexing in his hair, your throat sore and muscles even tenser. 

"Gale," You can't get out anything but his name, lungs overtaken by gasps, the edge of your voice sore from cries of pleasure, "I-" 

You don't tell him you're there. You couldn't manage the words, but with the way he hums in approval against you, squeezing your waist in silent persuasion, his tongue focusing on your clit with tender precision — You suspect he knows, and he wants, needs you to cum for him. With your heart beating fast in your chest and your ears, the rope snaps, and you're cumming on his mouth, while his name is a stuttered mantra on your lips. 

Your thighs can't help but tense, brushing his face and smothering him; you pulse on his tongue, your grinds against him growing erratic, desperate. Everything in your body is swallowed by rocky waves, a sense of pleasure in your chest and your head and your core imploding with blistering heat. Your voice breaks. You only settle when you've fully succumbed, drowning in the aftershocks. 

After your eyes have slowly opened, and your fuzzy vision has returned, you notice you're not the only one struggling to breathe. You feel it first: the brief tickle of his warm breath on your thighs, his lips barely brushing against your skin. You hear him exhale, long but shaky: a perfectly enticing sound. 

Gale pulls apart from you while he huffs, he wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His face is flushed, lips parted, chest heaving. But fuck, he's smiling, grinning like you've never seen before, earnestly and so in love. Your heartbeat practically skips. 

You shouldn't be surprised that the first thing he does upon rising to unsteady feet is brace a hand on the desk, grasp your chin between his fingers, and kiss you. Your shoulders slump, and as you're kissing him back, you're breathing a soft exhale into his mouth. He drags you in as close as he can get you, leaving you practically smushed against his chest. Still, your heart begins to sing. Familiar feelings burn to life once more as his mouth parts, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

When you separate, it's agonizingly slowly. It's just enough for him to gaze into your eyes, to see you melt, simply from the way he looks at you. Together, you remain deadlocked for a moment, catching your breath without a word. His warm eyes and soft lips are effortlessly enticing; it takes every ounce of your remaining strength to resist kissing him again, surely crumbling the composure you've worked so hard to restore. He drifts back, a complacent look on his face. His fingers stay delicately grasping your chin. 

You're going to break the silence before he can, and you'll get straight to the point. 

"I need-" You swallow, resisting the urge to glance away from him no matter how flustered you've become. He can have your composure, he can have every damn part of you — "I need more. I need you. Please." 

Gale's spine tingles with an almost-shudder. He can't resist guiding you forward by your jaw, until his lips are able to kiss the top of your head. A kiss that drips with meaningful, aching adoration. Your heart stirs, and you let go of the breath you were holding. 

"Dearest," He coos quietly, a tender edge to his voice, like a knife that twists and caresses your ribs, "You will be given all you need. Perhaps even more." 

His fingertips skate your shoulders, before his palm presses to your chest. He kisses your cheek, and against your ear, he gives the faintest muttered instruction: Lay back. You were already doing so before the command, but his words lead you to follow the slight push of his palm, until you're settling with your back hitting the desk. 

The hardwood is cool against your skin, and he shoves some books aside to give you space to rest your head. He's leaning down with you, pressing a final kiss to your nape once you're stable. As Gale pulls back, coming into view above you, heat surges through your veins. Your nerves thrum with something more than love. Something more like sanctity. 

Sweat coats both your bodies in a glimmering sheen. Gale's hair is out of place, shadows flicker over his features but pay special attention to the grooved, dark scar on his chest. The sun has long since finished its descent, the last flecks of light vanishing to nothingness. You don't notice how dark it has truly become until Gale provides a solution with words under his breath, and a snap of his fingers. 

Effortlessly, light dances in your vision, the candles that decorate his study coming to life. His lips twitch into a smirk. His hand finds your side, feeling your shape. 

It's just the two of you, now and hopefully always, in his favorite corner of the world. On his damn desk, to make matters more tantalizing. The same desk he'd spend hours alone at, reading or planning lessons, trying not to let his mind wander to you instead. And you, speaking of. You, bathed in faint light, sprawled out beneath him like poetry on a page — Without a doubt, you are gorgeous. To the point of addiction. 

"There you are," He murmurs at last, while his thumb draws circles on your side. The lighting is still dim and moody, but this feels as though it is the first time he's truly been able to see you. To see all of you. He drinks you in, admiring your shape, your marks, your scars. The details that define you, everything he loves. 

He allows his gaze to drag down, and then up, back to your eyes. You're shuffling out of nervousness, but his warm touch on your skin encourages you to relax. 

"Beautiful, aren't you? Each time I look at you, I feel my love burn ever brighter. You are the sun. A warm, incandescent sun. Most worthy of worship. Basking in the heat of my affections, I would gladly allow you to reduce me to cinders." Reaching out to you, Gale's fingers brush your cheek, before he stops. He suddenly lets go of a sigh so heavy it makes his shoulders turn slack. "My apologies. I'm chattering on again. Such a habit is proving challenging to break." 

"Don't apologize," You counter, and you bring your hand to his own. Your fingertips brush his, you press his palm to your cheek and keep it there. The soft smile you flash him begs to be lost in. "If you haven't noticed, I quite like hearing your voice. You're sweet. And you always have the sweetest things to say." 

Gale grins, "Do I? Hm, I'd hate to have to call you mistaken, especially after the kindness you've imparted to me. But I believe you're the sweet one. In a multitude of ways, for that matter. I would certainly know." 

He only smiles wider when you pout, before playfully pushing at his shoulder. As you lean backward once more, getting comfortable, he is quick to close the distance in between you. 

Your arms sprawl above your head, wrists crossed over; as much as they can manage, anyways, accounting for the limited space his desk provides. Your elbows knock against carefully placed stacks of books, legs hanging over the desk's edge. Cool air fills and settles in your lungs, and he moves closer, a knee between your thighs, a hand pressed to the desk to rest himself over you. Throat dry, you swallow thickly. 

"But your thirst has not yet been quenched, now has it?" He murmurs, eyes narrowed, his voice noticeably lower than before. The palm he's kept to your cheek holds you delicately, and his thumb just barely brushes your plush bottom lip. 

"With you as delightful as you are," Gale is continuing, "To claim you deserve everything I could offer would be… plainer than insisting the midday sky to be blue, so to speak. I am eager to satisfy you, to give you the adoration you have most definitely warranted. I'd like to make this as pleasant as it will inevitably be unforgettable." He tilts your head towards him slightly, and you feel choked by breathlessness. "I could never express the whole of my love for you. But allow me to try." 

Your hands clam up, balling into sweaty fists as you try to maintain your gaze on his. Candle flames waver in the background of your vision, flickering to their own tune. His eyes travel from yours, to your lips, and back up again. 

"I love you," You whisper, because it's all you can think of, devotion is the only force running rampant in your mind, "I truly, earnestly do. We have time. We have nothing to fear anymore. You can take me in every way you wish. I'm yours, I always have been." 

Gale's brows pinch in thought, and his gaze brims with tenderness. "Then let us make up for the time we have lost." 

His palm moves. From your cheek, his touch patiently drifts to tickle the side of your neck. Your shoulder next, and you shudder when you feel his knuckles brush your chest. His touch is home, familiar and grounding, dragging the ruin from within you amid each subtle stroke. In the same instant, your heart is heavy, and set ablaze. 

"We can drown in each other. There is nothing I have wished for more, not a soul I have wanted greater than you." Gale divulges, "I've dreamt of this. Of making love to you, as we breathe one another's names. Of hearing you confess precisely what you've just told me, that you are mine." 

He inhales slowly, shakily. His palm gently feels your stomach, your hip, the curve of your side, while his resolute gaze never departs from your own — "I love you. You deserve perfection. And although I cannot promise such a thing, I swear to give you all of me." 

Gale watches your expression start to soften; reminiscent of the same sun he has always seen in you, when it first dawns from the steady, sea-bound horizon. You shift, your legs repositioning to either side of his waist, caging him in. You're smiling, and he keeps his eyes on your hazy form. 

"I don't need perfection," You answer simply, earnestly. "I just need you." 

You. 

There's so much hidden in such a short and basic word. I need you. You've longed for more than just to stand at his side as an ally, an assistant, a friend. Now, he can see that. How foolish he was to ever believe otherwise. At last, with no more perils to stand in your way, you're together. You have time. Your hearts can finally indulge in the magnetism they have to each other, no longer ruled by uncertainty. 

Without hesitation, you need him — as you have since the start, and for all that he is. 

For his softness, his intelligence, for the change in his voice when he's rambling about something he enjoys, and for the way he looks at you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. You found yourself wishing he knew. You've grown entranced with every part of him, including flaws coalesced with ambition, regardless of your possible destruction. Falling for him was natural. Mistakes and magic and mortality in all. 

Perhaps there is time to be made up for. But falling in love, entwining your fates together until they were at last pulled back as one, was purely inevitable. 

Gale exhales. He runs his fingers through his hair, his shoulders taut, hoping to relieve some of the tension. It only helps marginally. Both hands then maneuver to grip your waist. His thumbs brush your hips, the faintest touch alighting your skin in goosebumps. 

"You are… Gods, you fill me with such potent emotions, you know?" He murmurs; your arms are locking around his shoulders, keeping him close, and as he notices the heaviness to your eyes, his breath slowly grows more ragged, "I have always loved you, I've wanted this so terribly. And yet, now that it's happening, now that you are here, and not a lifetime apart like we both once were, I don't- I cannot think. My mind refuses to allow it." 

His hands tense on your waist, his brows furrowing, fingertips pressing ever-so forcefully into your skin. When you smile in response, and drag him in to interrupt with a tender, long kiss to his lips — this time, while eyes flutter shut in unison, heads tilting, a soft groan uttered against your mouth — thinking is left to become irrelevant. 

The focused expression he was wearing melts to a warm grin once you've pulled apart from him, exhaling heated breaths against his lips. His gaze on yours glints with affection, and his mind is a beautiful mess: thoughts not finding a beginning, nor an end. Smoothly and softly, Gale cups your cheek, and as you lean into his touch, the rest of his head weakens with blooms of love. 

For you, he has always been weak. You could best him, you could threaten to destroy him. You could pull him apart at the seams with tender, blood-soaked hands, and as long as you kissed him while cleaving his heart out, he would unravel for you with a smile. 

He murmurs quietly, "So I won't. I will cast any and all thoughts of mine to the wind. Doubt has long since had its fill of me, I refuse to provide it with more satisfaction. I've never loved anyone as intensely as I love you. Nothing could sate me as you do. With fate now ours to command… I hope I won't be made to let go of you." 

"Don't, don't ever let go of me," You answer, your tone a gentle coo, your hands tensed on his shoulders, "And don't you dare pull away." 

Gale laughs, huffing slightly. Then, he surges forward, along with pulling you in, until his lips are crashing like lulling waves against your own. 

You kiss, again and again, pressed together with purpose, burning with intensity. Blindly, his grip finds your wrist when your hands slip from his shoulders. An arm falls beside you, and he adjusts the other. Fingertips drift over your palm, he presses your hand beside your head, and he laces his fingers with your own. His hand and yours fit together like lock and key; naturally, just as he'd described. Your heart must resist the desire to never let go. 

As he slowly drags apart from your lips, he's moving to kiss your jaw, your neck. Warm, soft kisses, his tongue lightly tasting your skin, guiding you to curl into him. The slightest attention has a way of feeling so intoxicating, whenever he is the one to provide it. 

Anticipation envelops you. Desire links between him and yourself, and settles deep in the pit of your stomach. It gnaws at you, wanting more, wanting what you've needed since you first found each other. His touch is so irresistible because you've been waiting to feel it. You've dreamt and imagined, hoped and fought so you both could survive, and now, he is finally yours. 

"What do you need from me?" Gale hums into your nape, his palm caressing your side while he squeezes your hand. Sultry voice muffled, his messy hair tickles your skin, and his lips brush your collarbone. "I want to hear your voice speak the words." 

So, you answer. You let his voice wrap around you, his kisses to your neck embrace you, and allow yourself to melt underneath the weight of your longing. 

"I need you," You stammer into the open air, your grip on his hand growing tight. When he hums against your throat, faint kisses twisted with heady vibrations, you know what he wants, and you'll give him much more than that: "Fuck me, please…" 

The brazenness to your own words makes your head pool with poignant visions, daydreams of Gale pinning you to his desk and taking you like you've both been craving; a hand in yours, his thumb in your mouth. Slowly, intensely, amidst hitches of breath and skin against skin. With a tenderness so acute and raw, that the press of him inside you would be divine enough to make the Gods take notice. 

Some senseless part of you almost hopes they do. 

A terribly soft kiss is placed on your cheek, and you're shivering, listening to his breath pick up and his sighs get heavier. Your ankles are locking around him, they're pulling him closer. Now, he's moving, he kisses your lips fervently as your hand grips his, and your free palm settles onto the center of his chest; as it has done many times before, as though it was meant to be there. His heart pounds, his hips shove into yours. The stiff weight of his length, confined in his slacks, grinds between your legs — and you give up on whatever shreds of sense you were still holding onto. 

After a slow drag away from your lips, your chin now held between his fingers, Gale takes a deep breath. An intense, steadying breath. Through heavy eyes, the way he looks at you earns a shiver that traverses down the length of your spine. 

His brow cocks, his lips form a tell-tale smirk; and you should know from the way he looks at you that you've lost. Still, it takes his words to truly hammer it home, while your heart hammers in your chest alongside them. 

"You're quite exhilarating. Nevertheless, I suspect you are well aware of the powerful effects your coy words often have on me. With much proficiency, you know my weaknesses." Gale draws his fingertips over your jaw, his head tilted in subtle concentration. His voice is kept level, in the same gentle tone you've come to know, but there's no doubt he has you right where he wants you. You can tell, you could always tell. His gaze darkens with familiar ambition, and he draws a slow, shaky inhale. 

Yes, you may know his weaknesses. But he knows yours. 

"Need is but a dire, hungry word. Though, I must admit, I find it terribly sweet to hear you pleading for me." Gale teases, "Brings to mind our adventures together, your small implores of please when you wanted my help. Generally with some sort of riddle. Or a particularly well-locked door, perhaps. Of course, I could never say no to you." 

"Mhmm," You hum in reply, speaking slowly to force your growing nerves to calm. You've watched Gale master spell after spell, triumph over puzzle after puzzle. You can only imagine this is what it's like to be on the receiving end. Briefly, you clear your throat, "Let me guess, it's even sweeter to hear it from me now?" 

"Oh, yes. It certainly is. But a plea must be accompanied by an acknowledgement. I'd be cruel to keep you waiting any longer." 

Your fingers tense from the absence once his hand releases yours, but the way his touch glides down, from the shape of your hips to the back of your thighs, quickly has your nails digging into your own palm. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth. He tugs you closer, close enough to have your bodies rock together again — Shuddering, he sucks in a sharp breath, freezing up completely. It takes everything he has to resist grinding against you once more, to disregard the way his cock throbs at the thought alone. 

He's teased you quite enough. You are going to have what you want, and you're going to get it properly. 

Your eyelids flutter, your voice weak, desperate, "Gale-" 

Abruptly, you cut yourself off when he smooths his palms up your sides and leans in. Distances close, his lips brush the shell of your ear and his body presses closer to your own. Feeling him against you, the weight in his slacks nudging your entrance and brushing your clit, worn fabric growing messy and glossy with your arousal — It's merely a taste, when what you truly want is to feel him inside you. 

Every inch of your skin seems to burn with flushed heat. You were hoping to get him going a little. On that front, you seem to have succeeded. But you couldn't have expected him to turn the tides right back on you. 

His voice comes out right next to your ear, reverberating through you, pulling you under to drown in fervent waters. 

"You need me, yes?" Gale murmurs, and as his lips brush your lobe, you swear you can hear his stupid smile through his tone alone, "If you are begging for me to take you, to fuck you, what sort of lover would I be if I denied you what you've been desiring?" 

Your throat aches with a high-pitched whine; the building warmth within you blisters, and all your yearning culminates to this.

To your chest heaving between his kisses to your jaw and your face, your palm snaking between your bodies, arm reaching downward as far as it can manage. You're practically panting, as you allow your fingers to graze his waistband and fumble for a better grip. He indulges you, propping above you for a moment, and then discarding his pants in a rush, pushing them down just enough to let his cock come free. 

The dusting of brown hair leading from his chest to his stomach trails all the way down, but you aren't given much of a chance to stare; his hands grab your hips, he guides you while surging forwards to place a desperate kiss to your mouth. The tip of his cock, flushed and pearled with precum, ever-so slightly brushes your waiting entrance. 

And this — The sigh that racks through you, the expression on his face when he pulls back to look at you, to admire you, lips parted as he gasps. Your bodies tremor with the same longing, the same wavelength. Love drips over your heart and your ribs, melting like long crystallized amber, warm and rich and effortlessly palpable. 

You couldn't ask for anything else. In his presence, in his comfortable tower in Waterdeep, with his hands on your skin and his heart beating to the rhythm of your own, you've found your home. This moment is more than lovely. It is perfect, and as your soul begs to be known, to be understood, he instills you with a promise of worship. 

Worship. The adoration one might give to the Gods is still not divine enough for what you deserve, Gale believes. 

Perhaps it's your sense of contentment that causes your heart to stir. When your mind starts to wander, envisioning what the future may hold as Gale is squeezing your hips and peppering sweet kisses down your neck — You'd move in with him, the moment he asked. His tower has plenty of space for the both of you. Not that you have many belongings. His tressym has practically begged you to stay, citing herself that Gale wants you to, that he'd likely ask you, if he had the courage. He's much happier whenever you're around dear, he is simply too proud to admit it. 

Hells, you'd marry him if he were to propose, you've already dreamt of how he might do it. What he'd say, as he gets down on one knee and takes your hands into his. You wouldn't even think twice before you'd be resounding with a yes, followed by those three special words. 

He wouldn't have to simply show you the spectacles of his home, you could live through them. You could enjoy thousands of days just like this one, relaxing, teaching together, and then arriving home, indulging in each other's company until the sun rises back into the sky. It would be a nice life. The calm, simple life you both have earned. 

Your thoughts grow stuck on this morning, in particular. When the both of you had no idea what would transpire, still just friends, greeting each other politely as Gale ushered you into his home. Your lungs filled with the familiar smell of books, and the fresh new scent of the sea. 

The pitter patter of your heart in your chest grew frantic when he hugged you, and once he pulled back, he flashed you a smile that could melt a long, harsh winter. You cleared your throat, you kept your musings to yourself when he began to go over your plans at Blackstaff Academy for the day. 

It seems obvious now, but in the moment, you hardly thought anything of the soft way he looked at you. With such admiration, such devotion, a gaze on yours that promised, you can have me, I would allow it. And as Gale went over various spells, some you recognized and others you didn't, you could only pay attention to the tenderness in his voice, the focus on his face, and the dexterous movement of his hands. 

You felt foolish for imagining what else his pretty hands might be capable of. If only you knew. 

A deep breath in brings you back to the present. Gale leaves one last kiss to your nape, propping over you to reach up, pushing stray strands of hair from his face. You exhale, momentarily growing lost in his gaze. You've seen the love in his eyes countless times before, but his expression this time is different. It's brutally pleading, hopelessly tender. Nervous, almost. 

His hips shift tentatively, his gaze on yours, the fat head of his cock nudging against you — Pleasure surges through him like lightning, making his jaw clench as he swallows a groan. You both breathe a set of stuttery sighs, and your fingers tremor, before your hands clench tight. 

Reaching up, you settle with holding his shoulders once more. You feel the roaring heat under his skin, the dampness of sweat when you grip them for leverage. Muttering, you start, breaking into a whimper when a rock of his hips clumsily grinds his length against your cunt without pressing inside, "Gale, oh, fuck- I'd… I'd like you to try something. Can you?" 

Moving his palm from where it was covering his mouth, helping to muffle any slight noises, you notice Gale's lips are forming a smile. Although, the sweat beading at his pinched brows gives his desperation away. 

"Funny," He replies, his voice breathless and husky, "I was just about to fling a proposal on you. Nothing too terribly important, don't," He swallows, "Don't worry. I'm most interested in fulfilling your request. Go on, what is it?" 

You can't resist gnawing on your bottom lip before you speak, your gaze shifting from his, to somewhere in the distance. Now, you're the nervous one, "The… illusion magic, the spells you showed to me earlier. This morning, if you remember, when we were going over your syllabus? I thought magic of that nature might have some… other uses, is that right?" 

Magic is no stranger to you. But the illusion magic Gale has grown well versed in since he began his teachings, the complicated spells that hinge on nothing more than the limits of one's imagination — Outside of what he has already taught you, those are a mystery. You can't decide if your interest is because of their inherent perplexity, or if you're merely entranced because Gale has taken a liking to them. 

When he was showing you a couple basic spells, you once again found yourself enamored with the wonder on his face, the awe in his voice as he explained the spell's inner workings. This one you could master quite easily, he murmured, sparkling gaze on yours as he held a projection in his hands with relative ease. A projection of a small bloom, your favorite flower. You hardly recall when you must have told him it was your favorite, nor were you expecting him to remember. As you reached out, you swore you could feel the bud's smooth phantom petals underneath your fingertips. 

His voice, speaking quiet incantations, his fingers, easily forming the shapes necessary to bring the spells to life — It was mesmerizing, as captivating as you remembered it to be, way back when. 

This wasn't back then, though. The moment itself felt newly intimate. Sparks filled the air and your lungs, flecks of lingering Weave, pleasant energy working through your body from the ends of your toes to the top of your head. His energy, Gale's magic. The spells he casts have a way of seeming like him, unique and defining, down to the very way they feel. 

You were reminded of your journey together. Of the ashes in the air on the heels of a fiery incantation, of the zeal in your veins from a protective shield, or a hastening touch. Your heart twinged with a stronger ache, held down by how much you've missed him. 

You want to be enveloped in that familiar sensation again. In his magic. In the comforting way it settles around you, the feeling it alights in your chest, and in the way it reminds you that he's here. 

Your words cause Gale to pause. His expression carries the gentlest hint of surprise. He opens his mouth to speak, before stopping. Instead, he smiles, he cocks a brow, and the only thing to betray his newfound confidence is the heavy heave of his chest. 

Unfortunately, you can't hear the way his heart is pounding. You can't sense the brilliant adoration, the foolish excitement that burns into him, affection lapping at his chest with persistent flames. But he can show you. 

"How clever. Extraordinarily clever, really. And you're only," Gale makes a small pinching gesture, "A slight bit off from what I was hoping to suggest, as a matter of fact." 

He reaches for your side then, gently caressing your skin under his palm; you relax at his touch, but stay focused on him as he speaks, "Gods, you know me all too well. Perhaps better than I know myself. Illusory magic lends itself excellently to various creative uses, I think a fair few spells could prove useful, given our current… position. As it happens, I have just the spell in mind." 

"Do you?" You shuffle, your breath hitching slightly in your lungs, while his palm continues to run over your skin, clearly relishing in the way you shiver. "I didn't know if, you know- I wasn't sure if it was something you wanted. You're really okay with this?" 

"Love," Gale hums, interrupting with a quiet instruction, "Close your eyes." 

Panting softly, you allow your arms to rest above you on the desk, and you adjust a bit to get more comfortable. You match your gaze with his for a moment, your heart only beating faster at the honeyed reverence in his eyes. Then, slowly, you take a deep breath, and let the world disappear. 

There's silence, darkness. You feel his hand squeeze your side in gentle reassurance. He shifts, pressing closer. When you hear his voice next, your nervousness is put at ease, calmness flooding through your body. Warm and especially addicting, his words are all you have to focus on. 

"You are precious. As perfect as the alluring beauty of the moon. As lovely as the sparkling sanctity of the Heavens stars," He murmurs, at a volume barely above a whisper. His breath is steady on your skin, and his fingertips trail up your side, to leave barely-there touches over your chest. "If you do not like this, tell me. We'll waste no time stopping." 

"I will," You answer, your own voice seeming to echo in your eardrums, "But it's okay. I trust you." 

This time, his breathing in your ear runs slow. You dwell in a few seconds of hesitation, wrapped in budding anticipation, before you assume you feel him pulling away. He utters a soft word laced with power, his fingers snap, and your head goes hazy. 

"Praestigium."

The invocation breathes a plea, calling upon a source, and the magic responds in turn: sharp, wild, divine. 

You can feel the comforting veins of magic flowing through you, settling around you, cradling your mind in a warm embrace almost instantly. Your eyes flutter open — Or do they? For a moment, it's difficult to tell, as your dizzy vision refocuses, and the pleasant illusion becomes part of you. 

It feels like your head is shrouded in clouds. You're soaring, floating on air, no longer able to feel the hardness of his firm wooden desk beneath you. The room melts; everything is there, but at the same time, it isn't. Shadows speckle your vision, blurry shrouds that slowly begin to melt to pure white. Gale comes into focus above you. His form is perfectly clear, his warm smile effortlessly charming. 

Energy surrounds you: satin and strength, sweetness and intelligence. The smell of sandalwood wafts through the air, flooding your lungs, then slowly starting to fade. Just like that, you are grounded. You are balanced, your mind clearer than ever, and the moment veils you, it embraces you, it is you. 

It's far from what you were expecting, but the surprise is more than welcome. You thought having illusion magic cast on yourself would be more floaty. More akin to a dream, or a living foggy memory. 

Yet, this feels real, wonderfully real, as though he's carved out a space in reality for him and yourself to call your own. Here, with him, nothing else matters. Nothing but your longing, your love, and the infinite future that stretches ahead of you. 

When he leans in to kiss your cheek, you feel his lips, his breath, and his fingertips on your jaw, with a vivid touch that shines — rolling through you like the spark of constellations, an aurora of shivering pleasure and brilliant closeness. Both hands grab your hips, and you feel them strongly, comfortingly, the intensity as he shifts them nearly too much to bear. He guides your legs to wrap around his waist again, locked at the ankles, holding him close. 

He is the only thing you can perceive, your senses are heightened, and every sensation to grip you is positively electric. This magic does more than spawn an illusion or clear your mind; it's intensifying your grip on mortality. 

You can hear his breathing as easily as it were your own. You can feel his heart, can measure each quick beat when he collides his lips with yours, his chest pressing against you. Thump, thump, thump, in your ears, in your own ribs, then the heavy thrum of his shadowy blight — so raw and intense, it nearly threatens to swallow you. 

His presence entwines yours, his magic sears through you. He pulls you closer with his palm holding the back of your head, and he kisses you like this time could be the last. Your core burns red-hot. You're enveloped in dizzying feelings you can't quite place. As he pulls away, you lean back, and you let your head sink into the clouds. His palm stays to cup your face, slightly tilting your head towards him. 

You both catch your breath, chests heaving. Gale admires you underneath him, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He places a kiss to your forehead that glimmers over you like an untamed ray of sunlight. 

Slowly, as your head grows used to the spell, you calm, becoming more relaxed. Your mind is a clear, still lake, your thoughts as crisp as cool water. When you hear him speak once more, his head tilted to breathe the words against your ear, it's as though his voice is everywhere, ebbing and flowing through your brain as an encircling echo. 

"Comfortable?" He murmurs, simply and softly. 

"Yes, very," You answer with a nod of your head. Your own voice appears muffled, reminiscent of being underwater, "This is… lovely. It's amazing. You're amazing." 

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear you aren't too overwhelmed," Gale continues. His smooth tone bounces around the walls of your skull, while his fingertips drift down, drawing shapes you can't recognize onto your nape. "Remember, what you are experiencing is merely an altered form of reality. Do not push yourself. This old desk isn't exactly a bed of roses, but I hope I've succeeded in making it a mite more comfortable for you." 

Grinning to yourself, you allow your arms to relax beside you, and you promptly shudder, growing lost in the feeling of weightlessness beneath you. Gale straightens. He props himself above your form, his gaze indulging in you. 

Although his study is mostly a blur, details meshed in flowery fog, telltale light from the candles still dances across his features. You reach up, trailing your fingers over his earring, the metal cold on your skin. Then, your fingertips brush his cheek, they caress the faded trail of dark lines burned into his skin. He smiles, and he brings a hand to settle over your own. 

His touch is warm. It is a crisp morning breeze drifting through you; his eyes flutter shut when he kisses the heel of your palm, and every inch of you flushes with tangible radiance. He pulls your wrist away, only to bring you palm to palm, fingertips to fingertips for a few moments. His hand lies flat against yours, before your fingers tightly, naturally lace. 

"In all sincerity, I must admit," He begins, shyly glancing away from you, muttering through a laugh that seems to jostle your entire system, "The spell I've cast on you is… clearly not meant to be harnessed in such a way. Or perhaps, more so, it is not often used while such, erm, satisfactions… are taking place. Even for a wizard of my caliber, it may prove difficult to control- If the spell ever snaps, so to speak, just know you have no reason to be alarmed." 

Head still heavy from the incantation's lingering effects, you were so lost in his ramblings — resounding through your mind like they never have before — you almost failed to notice he's begun to lean in. He softly guides your hand to press down, against the surface of what you can only assume is his desk. At first, you can feel the resistance, but soon softness overlaps. Clouds envelop the sensation, and you're left suspended in air once more. 

Your heart skips when he kisses you, slowly and smoothly. Innocently, at first, devotion carrying you on soft wings. And then, deeper, while his hand squeezes yours, and his tongue explores your mouth with a languid lack of urgency. 

You melt, your chest encompassed in a floating feeling. He murmurs soft groans into your mouth; every part of him yearns to pull you closer, to have you, to hold you. Gods, he loves you, and he curses himself for ever trying to push those feelings down. He won't let you go now, no matter how the world tries to pry you from each other's grasp. 

When he shifts, pressing closer, kissing you harder, the flushed and needy tip of his cock nudges your cunt — Instantly, a blistering sense of ecstasy flutters through your every pore, and you whine into him, your body going slack. 

And that was simply from a touch. Just a small press of him against you, brushing close to where you're deliciously sensitive, and you're fucking breathless. Your core is wound with preemptive pleasure; just a tease, and your mind is swimming with how badly you need to feel him inside you. You aren't sure what you'll experience once you're given more, once you're actually taking him. 

That damned spell. You should be a mess by now. Perhaps you are, and the calm cradle of the illusion is what's tethering you to the earth. Tether or not, you hardly care about keeping your composure. You don't care for your imminent disarray. In fact, more than anything, you need to have him ruin you. 

It's hard to speak. Your lungs are aching, but as he draws backward from your lips, you manage to huff, "You aren't going to hold back, right?" 

Gale smirks, exhaling in short pants. He pushes up, putting his familiar silhouette — messy hair, broad shoulders tensed, branded chest slightly heaving — back in the forefront of your vision. 

"Oh, I'm afraid I am far past the threshold of being able to do so. For you, for everything you have long awaited, my desires will remain unhindered," He replies calmly, brows slightly furrowed. "Besides, I've been sharpening my concentration as of late. This could prove an opportune time to assess the extent of my exercises. I think we're both wondering how much pressure my focus can take." 

His words ripple through you, comforting and lighthearted in their tone. They do the trick. You're sparked with delight, your mind set at ease. Briefly, you wonder if the incantation connects you together, because when you relax, he seems to as well: his breathing becoming calmer, his expression softening, and his grip on your hand relaxing. 

If you truly wanted to, you'd find escaping from the spell he's placed on you to be rather simple. You've faced much more enthralling spells than this. Magic more complex, much more wicked. You know the feeling of having a spell muddle your mind, down to your very bones; you have your little journey to thank for that. And you know how to break them, as simply as putting one foot in front of the other. 

This spell is different. It is warm and soothing, it carries none of the malice that would weigh down the charms you've felt before. It's effortlessly him, magic which caresses you as though his very arms were there to hold you. Magic that roots into you, a breath of life, a ray of moonlight. Thoughtful as always, Gale has made this particular spell weak, and you can determine so without trying. Likely to make snapping it simple, if you decided to. 

You could break the illusion. But you choose to let go. 

You breathe in, slowly and deeply, and you allow the spell to swallow every last aspect of your being. The clouds wane briefly, before you're surrounded, melting slowly into pleasure and froth. The moment feels raw, alive. You are here, you both are, finally able to love, to be loved. And love him you will. Without any regret. 

Gale, appearing clear and pure above you, pushes his hair from his face, and looks at you like you are worth dying for. Living for. His expression is painfully soft. He steadies a hand on your side, he dotes on your dips and curves and marble-carved features; every part of you was meant to be adored, akin to the statues one might bow before. He sighs slowly, inhales even slower. 

"The spell," He begins, palm caressing your side with gentle motions, "You could break it yourself, yes?" 

You nod, tone soft, "Yes, absolutely." 

"Very good." Gale's voice echoes. It splinters through your mind, it knits into your heartbeat, "Not that I had a shred of doubt. You're doing quite well." 

A squeeze of your hand, a grip on your side pulling you ever-so carefully closer, and heightened surges of intensity are shooting through you much stronger than before. Your eyes shut, your back arches, your muscles ache, but pleasure takes over to drown you, his cock brushing your entrance. Lips parted, he exhales a trembling breath, one that seems to travel through you in turn.  

"Focus, and breathe slowly. Deep breaths in, and then finally, out. I'm here with you. I won't be going anywhere." 

Your heart is pounding, but at the sound of his voice, at the feeling of his smooth tone bouncing around you, your thoughts become still. Your pulse slows, your chest gently rises, and then falls. The only thing left rushing through your veins is a wild, unfiltered need. 

"Stay with me, please," Gale breathes, words cracking at the edges. He presses closer, his eyes close and his forehead comes to rest against yours, your bodies held on the loving cusp of almost-connection. "Stay, and let me be tender for you, my dearest love." 

"Gale-" You murmur, your voice sweet in his ears like dripping syrup, as you strum the familiar notes of his name. "I love you, I need you." 

Of course, and you will have him. 

Gale gives your hand one more squeeze, reassuring you, preparing you. He swallows down the growing thickness in his throat. His head is buried in the nape of your neck as he finally gives himself to you, carefully easing into you — Everything slow, heat rushing through you in the form of a wildfire, the clouds holding you in their ethereal embrace. Pleasure pulls your every nerve taught in a tight, delightful string, and for once, your soul within you feels alive. 

His fingers go shaky, his grip tightens on your side in response. You're just barely fit around the head of him, and you feel him mutter a half-sigh, half-moan into your nape that shakes your body with the potent vibrations. 

It's like you can feel the spell itself shudder. 

"I love you," He's pressing into your warmth, his jaw clenched, hips gently rolling, filling you with more of him until you are stretching to his shape, "Could I give you more? Can you take all of me?" 

"Yes," Your throat is unmistakably sore, but still, you speak without thinking. You need more, need to feel the friction become part of your body as he fills you. Your back arches to meet him, and pleasure hums in your veins with intoxicating strength. Every one of his gasps echoes against you, then through you. The thrum of his warm cock inside you is so deliciously, impossibly perfect. 

"F-Fuck," You swear, biting down your quickened gasps, fighting through the incessant pound of your heart; lest your languor succeeds in devouring you, "Please, yes…" 

The whine that overtakes the edge of your voice makes him shiver. Gale groans softly, his shoulders growing tense. His hips lazily buck into you — until his pelvis is shoved deft against your body, sweat-soaked skin pressed to softer skin, burying him inside you down to the hilt. 

His breath on your nape is loud, hurried, and at the mercy of his weary limbs, he tries his hardest not to collapse. Silently, he must thank you for getting one high out of him earlier. With how good you feel, with how badly he's needed you, if you hadn't, he isn't sure if he'd last much longer. 

Not like you are faring any better. 

Your heart isn't just beating, but battering at your chest, tearing through your body and knocking into your ribs as though it needs to come free. You wouldn't be surprised if your gasps are resounding just as loudly as his. Thighs shaking, you struggle to keep your legs wrapped around his waist, your ankles almost slipping before he grabs your legs to readjust you. He shifts close, still sheathed inside you. The gentle movement sends small ripples of ecstasy through your core that, in the wake of his spell, instead feel like large, thundering waves. Crashing over you, swallowing you. 

You feel full, so fucking full. The depth to where you can feel him — all of him, so deep inside you — practically has your head whirling. Gale blinks, his vision blurred, causing his lashes to tickle your skin in a faint butterfly kiss. You're wobbling and teetering like a spinning top. Your eyes flutter closed, trying to steady some of your own dizziness. 

This time, he presses a real kiss to your nape. Then, he's working a palm underneath you, supporting your back, holding you close. His other hand finds its perfect place in your own again, your fingers lacing with his. Around him, you feel irresistible, so wet and warm and lovely. You are everything he has ever wanted, you are his love; the world, in the palms of his hands. 

He wants to let his hips rock, wants to hear your voice strained with lust while you're pleading in pants of his name. He needs to feel the electrifying friction blazing through him, as he fucks wave after wave of pleasure into you — Though, despite those desires, despite the way they fall into him, gripping him at his very core, he stops. He calms, and he savors you. 

You're given a chance to catch your breath, thankfully. To drift among the endless sky underneath you, and the river of magic surrounding you. In this reality, on this bed of stars and sea, his presence and yours are all to exist. Pulse still racing, you indulge in the stretch of him inside you. He feels utterly exhilarating, even without movement. For a few fleeting moments, you simply bask in each other, and nothing more. 

"You feel so good… So stunningly perfect," Gale is gasping, every word breathless, "Ah- Just this alone could sate me, drowning in your warmth around me while our bodies connect- Your soul and mine are truly one. Nothing else compares." 

Nothing in this universe compares to you. 

You are his beginning, and you will be his end. You've captured him in warmth, in an embrace that breathes velvet promises, until every part of you is left racing through his mind. 

Gale remembers the faint smiles you'd flash him whenever he caught your eyes, your nose scrunching so delightfully, your head turning away as his words made you chuckle. It's the same smile each time. The same expression, the same dance of adoration in your gaze when yours and his happen to meet. 

A love reserved only for him. His own form of love is engraved with your name. 

You float between every thought, making him think you might've become part of him. He fondly dotes on his memories of the sparkling stars in your eyes, the way you looked as you gazed up at them, admiring the constellations that have always watched over you. He can put a name to them all, because you were his reason to remember. At any time, in any place, those woven stars shone overhead, writing the twists and turns of destinies. And now, after tonight, they'll give you the privilege of viewing them together once more. 

He could never forget you. It wasn't a possibility, not when he still revels in all of your details that make him oh-so weak. His missing piece returned to him, you are his love, his home. 

Perhaps you were meant to be connected. Body and soul, with separate lifetimes worth of familiarity. You're two halves of the very same whole. To have known one another, is to be the sun and sunflower, the rain and the soil, the grand mountains, and the edge of the clouds. You'll find yourselves in everything, ultimately. 

The orb could take him, and if he became nothing but dust, taking his city of Waterdeep with him in a storm of decimation — What remains of his devotion would find its way home to you. 

But he wouldn't allow it. Not anymore. He is going to live, against everything, along with you, and beside you. No matter what it may cost him. 

With a small shift, his hips grind into you faintly, he presses into you impossibly deeper. Your bottom lip quivers, before you take it between your teeth. As you feel him throb inside you, you're sighing together in delightful unison. 

"You are…" His words are shaky, they wobble through your mind. For once, to your elation, he can hardly seem to speak, "Sweetheart, my dearest… I just- I love-" 

His sentence stays unfinished; Gale stutters into a shuddery whine when you pull him in, your legs wrapped around him, dragging him just a bit closer, but enough to enthrall both of you in powerful sparks. The pleasure that overtakes him, that overtakes the both of you, is so vibrant and love struck, so unlike anything else — You're sure neither of you will be able to hold back, not anymore. 

Good. 

"More, please," You plead, your voice needy to the point of babbling, "Fuck me, I need you, I'm- ah, please, Gale…" 

Shuddering, Gale takes an overly long breath. His grip tenses on your hand, and he softly rubs his thumb over your calloused knuckles. Cool air enters his lungs, calming his mind, steadying his heart. And when he finally begins to move, you've never felt anything more divine. 

You were made for one another, you're sure of it. You must be, when every sensation to encompass you does so with such endlessness. With tenderness that has the very forming of his name on your tongue completely intrinsic. 

His hips rock into you shallowly, careful and passionate thrusts hardly separating you. Pleasure melds within your veins so sinfully, until your heart can only believe in the inevitable bond between your two shapes. 

As he keeps up a steady pace, driving his cock inside you, you're murmuring gasps between every whine of his name. His secluded study is filled with noise. With the melody of skin against skin, and the echoes of your breathing and his. The wet sound of your arousal squelches around his length each time you take him. He keeps his head buried in the nape of your neck, his quickened breath fanning over your skin. Easing into you, he then pulls out only half-way, just to thrust in again with a slow, languid press of his hips. 

Gale has experienced wonders most mortals could only dream of. And yet, he's never felt anything quite like this. 

It's been a while. A very, very long time, in fact, since he has connected with anyone in this sort of way. So long, he's forgotten what it could feel like — Bodies pressed together in a perfect, tangled mess. Hands entwined and lungs strained. 

But he has never loved anyone quite the same as his love for you. This is different. Warm beams of intimacy fill him more and more with every buck of his hips into you, with every whimper from your lips for him. And those delicate feelings swelling in his chest — They are entirely, utterly new. 

This moment feels sweet. Carnal. There's something so filthy, yet so, impossibly loving about feeling you in such a way. Back then, against his composure and his better judgment, he imagined this. He dreamt of taking you, and hopelessly wondered if you wanted the same. Now, the ecstasy of feeling you around him practically burns. You are addicting, everything he could want in the best possible way. Intoxicatingly his, just as he's always yearned for. 

You have thousands more days and nights ahead of you, there will be countless times to come. Time for him to love you, to hold you, to show you what magic lies on his lips. That is what truly gets him. This moment will last. It won't be a dream, or a passing fantasy. Your gentle future is only just beginning. 

Gale's movement comes to steady as he pushes up, breathing one last sigh against your nape before he props over you. Your entrancing eyes are half-lidded, your lips are parted as you pant. You're pretty enough to destroy him. He already knows he would let you. 

His palm cups your cheek. You tilt into his touch, leaning back against his desk and the foggy pillows underneath you. Beneath his fingertips, the thrum of his magic clings to your skin like a flower's soft petal caught in a spider's web. He knows he must be the only figure in your vision, just as you are the center of his world. He can picture the way his voice and his touch are shining through you. His gasps are echoing in your ears, his palm drifts from your cheek to your neck to the curve of your shoulder, and surely brands light wherever it brushes. 

When his hand comes to settle on your side, holding tight while he rocks into you, he can't seem to help himself from glancing down. Gale watches as his steady movement has his cock nestling inside you, disappearing to fill you to the tune of you moaning for him, the shaft glistening in the low light once he starts to pull back. 

Gods. The thoughts that begin to race though his head are so terribly, deliciously filthy — Overwhelmed, his pace starts to falter, he's growing clumsy. His grip on your hand turns so tight it nearly hurts, his brows furrowed into a knot, as he pistons into you with newfound desperation. 

Waning sensitivity still clings to him, leftover from his previous high. In a fluttery contradiction, the intensity surging through him only seems to make him want you more. 

"I don't deserve how good you are to me," Gale hums, slightly shaking his head — Every sigh, each word bounces around your skull and glows within you from the inside out. His steady presses inside you don't relent, his skin slapping yours; they just force his words to shake, and his hand to clench much harder on your waist. 

"This… possessiveness I have for you, it's- Ah, Gods… It is damn near agonizing," He's murmuring, speaking those last few words through an almost-chuckle, "My heart has never yearned for anything more. You made me feel alive, love. Tonight, and always. And you feel-" His jaw tightens, teeth gritting, "Utterly amazing… Tell me, if you can find the strength within you to speak. Tell me how this feels." 

Right now, your mind is swimming. Stardust glitters in your veins, and your core is wound nice and tight, overwhelmed by ripples of pleasure. For a moment, words won't come to you. Instead, you reach up to press a palm to the back of his head, and you drag him close, quick enough to make him utter a faint noise of surprise against your soft lips. You kiss, slowly and deeply. You're both sighing heavily once you've pulled away to breathe. 

"S-So good, it's perfect, you're perfect," There's a desperate edge to your voice. You can feel the rawness in your throat, can make out the high tones even through the fog in your head, "Gale, don't stop- Gale-" 

Gale shudders. Your palm slips from his cheek to fall above you in a heap, and you're whining, back arching, head tossed back. You are simply beautiful. 

"I love the way you say my name. The sound is quite lovely when it is- Shit-" He chokes, breaking into a gasp when his body rocks against yours, "When it is your lips to sculpt the word, your darling voice to utter the syllables…" 

You tremble, your eyes fluttering shut, your heart thumping so fast you can hear it in your eardrums. In the wake of his hips rolling into yours, you can feel each press with inexplicable sensitivity. His cock pumps in and out of you so tenderly, and every throb of his length pulses through you. 

Softly and carefully, he kisses your forehead. Then, he's leaning back. He pulls you closer in tandem with pressing inside you, filling you. You've never been this sensitive, never felt this loved. You are melting into him, your chest heaving from your heavy sighs, your lips quivering with whines of pleasure: pretty moans breathed all for him. 

Once you feel his fingers grasp your chin, thumb briefly brushing your lips, your eyes begin to flutter. Shadows masquerade as clouds, your vision hazed by blurred edges and flickering lights. The ardent fangs of magic sink into you, trapping you in their whirlwind. Your heart pounds quickly, unrelentingly, thudding hard against the cage of your chest. 

Gale's smile is clear as day, though. Trying your best to gaze at him above you, you feel that rapid heartbeat instead begin to sing. He tilts your head a bit, guiding you towards him. And gently, breathlessly, he murmurs, "Can you look at me, my love?" 

The fuzziness in your field of view starts to fade, and your breath begins to catch. Buried deep inside you, he stops, keeping his hips still while panting hard. Sweat glistens on his skin, his hair is brushing his shoulders, and he reaches to push some strands from his face. He swallows thickly. He squeezes your hand one last time before he lets it go. 

"This," A purple thread of magical light begins to dance between his fingertips, illuminating his face in an amethyst glow, "Is what I wished to show you." 

Adoring and unwavering, his gaze stays on yours, even as he's illustrating shapes with his fingers; movements so quick and effortless, you're barely able to make them out. Swirls here, a triangle there — With one final shape, the magic hums to life. It shimmers through the air with radiance almost palpable, glowing ever brighter, reflecting lavender rays in his eyes. All it takes is an incantation to truly set it ablaze. 

"Ad astra." 

The previous spell loses concentration, and in its place, a new one takes form. 

You hadn't noticed your eyes were closed until the spell had fully finished settling upon you. A new sensation prickles at the surface of your skin, familiar and star-filled. Finally, your gaze focuses above you, after Gale's soft instruction of: Open your eyes. 

You still feel floaty, your senses less acute, your head washed over with warmth. This time though, the illusion is different. You are resting in calm grass and whispering meadows, and when colorful stars fill your vision until you're drowning in their light, the view above you seems completely real. 

Gale is atop you still, but his study remains melted away. Small flickers of candlelight have transformed into brilliant illuminations, leaving him in a backdrop of twinkling starlight and a beautiful aurora. You're gently swept through the makeshift sky. Hues of purple and green and blue wash over you, like how waves might flow over the shore. Light surrounds you, but at the same time, it shines within you. 

In a way, it reminds you of the sight he once made a long time ago, the aurora he created to shimmer through the Shadowlands. Back then, when tensions were high and words were left unspoken, you admired the stars in comfortable silence. So close — You could have reached for his hand next to yours, or closed the distance in mere moments to learn what his lips felt like on your own. But you didn't. The familiarity makes your pulse run wild. 

A canopy of beauty. This is what he once planned to admire on his last night alive, and yet, now he has an abundance of nights to spend by your side. Sprawled out beneath him, you are far more beautiful than anything in the countless shimmering skies. 

"Wonderful," You murmur, speaking under your breath. Your voice is just loud enough for him to hear. You're smiling, your gaze flickering between the messes of stars above you, lights that twinkle steadily with a gentle glow. "Reminds me of the stars from ages ago. This is gorgeous, Gale." 

"Not as gorgeous as you, of course," He replies, the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at his features. His words are smooth, they no longer flicker endlessly through your mind. Rather, when he speaks, his familiar voice captures your heart in the same way it always has. "If only you knew how truly breathtaking you are." 

His heart aches with desire, because as you look up at him — at him, not the illusion, your gaze is on his while the loveliest smile crosses your lips — in your eyes, he sees that same lovely sparkle. 

You're lost in him, for a moment. Gale's expression grows soft as he continues to admire you. When you feel gentle fingertips travel the length of your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, you tremble. A sigh leaves your mouth, his fingers lacing with yours once more. He holds your hand tightly, safely. Gale can't resist, he tips forwards to kiss you; your lips connect, with crackling electricity and still-lingering traces of magic sparking from his mouth to yours. 

Devotion is palpable in the way he kisses you. It quickly turns eager, becoming a tender mess of soft moans and tongue. And at last, everything to remain falls away. 

Heat surges through both your bodies until you're consumed by wildfire. With one more kiss, Gale grips you hard, his hips begin to move. You whine against his mouth as he slowly rocks into you, you're mumbling his name in the form of a plea — The sound only serves to make him more desperate. 

He mutters your name in turn: a low, affectionate utterance. His thrusts take on a deeper pace, as he fucks into you hard enough to make his desk shake — fervent enough to have your heart trembling, love drowning you in heavy depths. 

Your arousal and his drip down your thighs, dirtying the hardwood. It's making a mess, echoing lewd, wet noises with each clumsy movement, the slap of skin against skin sounding particularly soaked each time he pistons into you. Every echo fills his ears, curling through his mind oh-so pleasantly. It would be the most addicting melody he's ever heard, if it weren't for how sweet you sound when you're moaning for him. 

And you're loud, you're mumbling a mess of words he can't quite make out. Your sighs mix with whines, turning sharp each time he eases his cock into you. Gale breathes a shaky breath, fanning warmth over your face, before he's moving to place quick kisses to the corner of your mouth, and then, your jaw. 

His lips brush the column of your neck, where your pulse is racing for him; when his hips rut into yours, you're cooing soft pleas, quietly murmuring, Don't stop. Your back arches, and he adorns you with his tongue and teeth, sucking gently at your supple skin. 

He shouldn't. What would your confidants say, if you crossed paths with them? When you return to Baldur's Gate, what would the guild leaders who respect you, and the fancy patriars who need you think when they happened to see it? They would know he was there, know you are his. Foolishly, dizzyingly, he allows his lips and his mouth to leave a deep mark, an imprint of himself. He doesn't pull back until he's sure the bruise will take. 

You shudder, feeling the ghost of his mouth even once he's pulled away, cold air brushing the saliva he left on your neck and making your nerves twinge. Slow rolls of his body into yours have you shaking, but you're squeezing his hand tightly, your other palm is balling into a fist and you're begging, "Please, faster… Fucking Hells… Give me more." 

Gale sighs. His brows knot, he falls forwards and leans his forehead softly against yours. "For you, I would give the world."

He swallows, he steadies. Then, he places all the world's pleasures in the palms of your hands. 

The weight behind his thrusts, newly desperate and hurried, have him gripping you for leverage: a palm tensed on your waist, fingertips digging into your hip. He grasps your thigh to push it up and apart. His desk is knocking against the wall, the wooden legs squeaking and scraping the floor. 

Your body tenses with building intensity — Building and building and building, threatening to overwhelm you between every movement, until you aren't sure where your high begins, nor where it ends. All you know is you're close. And if he keeps fucking into you like this, filling you nice and deep, nudging against your sweetest spots only he can reach, it won't be long before you're falling apart for him. 

With one last quick kiss to your forehead, your thighs spread apart wider, Gale is propping over you; and Gods, does he look like a mess. Pools of glowing magic paint him in the most vivid hues. His hair is out of place, honey brown strands askew, the faintest pretty streaks of silver reflecting in the starlight. His skin shines with dripping beads of sweat, his chest is heaving, jaw clenched — You can't help but feel he might crumble at the smallest touch. 

So, you unclench your hand. You let your fingertips drift up, and you brush them over his cheek. As you're cupping his face, his shoulders tense, and he doesn't just crumble, he collapses. 

Gale falls into you, leaning his head into your nape. His palm fits between the desk and the arch of your back to hold you even closer to himself. His breathing is rapid, his hand takes on a distinct tremble when another rock of his body against yours has you moaning ragged gasps of his name. 

His name, you're pleading for him to take you — Grinding his teeth together until his jaw hurts, he bucks into you hard, enough to have you fluttering around him, squeezing him like a vice. He chokes back broken gasps of his own, and exhales hot fans of breath over your sensitive skin. You are going to be the death of him. 

"I have always-" Gale starts; he struggles to speak, his voice sounds close to breaking, yet his words drip with an earnestness you find enthralling, "I have always loved you. My sweetheart… Every beat of my heart is yours…" 

Yours. 

Eyes fluttering between open and closed, the aurora around you spins incessantly. You respond in turn, mumbling through fragile gasps for breath, as he works you up to a growing, intensifying peak. 

"I'm yours, Gale," Your fingers tangle in soft hair, gripping and tugging until he's groaning. Pleasure floods your every nerve, and you're a mess around his cock, tumbling through the sea of stars and alluring lights — "I'm yours, I'm yours-" 

"Oh, love-" 

All at once, the spell abruptly snaps, your focus and your senses melding into one in a dizzying, sparkling rush. You're brought back to reality. The heart of his quiet study comes into view again, his walls of books and shelves of artifacts, the colorful lights fading into nothingness. Your form is bathed in warm candlelight, the night sky treading in from his balcony. Cool air dances over you, while the pale moon is hung high in the darkness. 

Ecstasy slams through you, blissfully unfiltered. Everything is messy, perfect, and hopelessly desperate; you grip his hair tight, and his hand harder. Gale pants, his breath sharp and his lungs aching as he fucks you into the desk, pushing you closer and closer to your edge — until even without the aid of magic, you're left seeing stars. 

He is so terribly, utterly in love with you. Every one of those nights where he pushed you away, those moments where he almost left you, when he was possibly the most foolish he's ever been in his entire life — 

A slow, tender press inside you, and you're muttering his name softly once more, adoring it, pleading it. He wants to hear your voice strumming his name over and over, teasing him after his half-hearted attempts to make you laugh, begging for him to give you what you need, because he is the only one who can. Answering with, Yes, Gale, I will, when he asks you to marry him. He can't change the mistakes he's already made, but he can earn your love, and your softness. He can promise to never let you go. Not ever again. 

"I'm here, I have you," Gale mumbles in a shaky tone. He presses a soft kiss onto your nape, he squeezes your hand when your breath begins to hitch. His words are smooth and comforting, they send tingles up your spine, and they have you melting in a way you never have before. 

The edge to your high is right within reach, he's only bringing you closer. Your head won't stop spinning. As he trails kisses from your neck to your jaw, his lips are a touch from the sun, beams of warmth that shudder through you to shine over the surface of your skin. 

"Gale-" You whimper, "Fuck, I'm-" 

He presses into you deeply, gripping your hand, filling you with a thickness you'll never quite get enough of, and you can't help but stutter into a whine. His pelvis shoves against yours, skin against skin, arousal messy and wet and dripping out of you — Your thighs are shaking, and you only need one more breath before you're finding that zenith of pleasure. Warm and perfect against your nape, his words have you taking the final tumble. 

"Come undone for me." 

Your high shatters through you, you're tensing around his sloppy thrusts, your legs are slipping from around him. Your body curls into his, your eyes shutting tight. Desire drowns you, it burns from within you; throat sore, you cry out in loud, desperate moans, and everything melts around you as you let go, cumming for him. 

And Gale, normally so confident, so eloquent, a wizard prodigy, a Goddess' chosen — He buries himself deep inside you, choking down stutters and groans. With a mess of barely coherent pleas of your name, your sweet voice and the feeling of you squeezing him, fluttering in the pleasant aftershocks of your release, has him falling to pieces right there beside you. 

"Please, please, please…" Gale begs, even though he hardly knows what he's begging for. His clumsy hips roll into you with reckless abandon, echoing the sloppiest noises. His voice is broken and fragile, tender in a way you've never heard before: "I love you, I love you…" 

I love you. In this life, and every life to follow. Only to fall in love once more, all over again. 

Gasping, shaking, his body tenses, and when he falls into you, you're left to hopelessly clutch onto his hand and his hair. Pleasure racks through him, his breath getting caught in his lungs. The candles in his study flicker, the branded orb-shaped marking imprinted onto his chest glows. His hips shudder, before they still. His length pulses inside you so hard you can feel it in your core, and heat pools within your body as he fills you, giving you what's left of him. 

It takes a handful of moments for you both to come down. Gale is limp and heavy, pressing against you, his weight pinning you between him and the desk. His palm, resting on the small of your back, runs over your skin in slow, careful circles. Your heart thumps loud in your ears, hard in your chest, so forceful it nearly hurts. His gentle touch makes it slow, until gradually, your composure begins to return. 

I've got you, he's murmuring, the words barely audible in your ringing eardrums, but comforting just the same. Breathe for me, just breathe. 

In, and then out, you inhale, exhale. Gale props above you after a minute or two, and as you blink to chase away the remnants of fuzz in your vision, he comes into your view. He's smiling, because of course he is, strands of his hair sticking out every which way. The sight makes you grin, and you have to hold back your chuckle. Yet, the way he looks at you softens every last shred of your soul. 

His skin is flushed, still sweaty and warm. His gaze is so terribly, persistently gentle, coveting you with endless devotion. It wouldn't be the first time tonight, but you feel revered, like you can almost taste swelling blossoms of love — sweet on the tongue, growing untamed to flourish through your chest. 

Letting go of a sigh, he brushes his thumb over your cheek. You didn't think he could get any softer. But here he is, with a smile that entrances you, and an expression beaming with light itself. When he grasps your chin, pulling you in as he leans forwards, on his gentle lips, you feel the heat of the sun, and taste the calmness of a crisp summer breeze. 

Your heart skips. A sharp spark of electricity — traces of magic, surely — crackles on your mouth when yours brushes his. It zaps you like static, before flowing into you as a steady, dizzying wave. 

Your eyes stay shut. Gale pulls back for a moment. He breathes a small huff, a barely-there laugh. You swear you can feel the smile on his lips when he kisses you again — This time, much deeper, while his fingertips trace the curve of your jaw, and his mouth outlines the depths of his devotion onto yours. 

When he pulls away, he's moving to guide a quick hand behind your head. He supports you, before resting you back against the desk ever-so gently. He hisses slightly as he pulls out of you, adjusting you both. He's sighing with contentment while he grasps your thighs, changing your position to let them hang over the desk's edge more comfortably. 

At last, he props up over you. Still catching his breath, he tries to control the weighted heave of his chest as best he can manage. 

"I love you," Gale admits, his voice noticeably hoarse, but with a clear hint of fondness to it, "Are you alright?" 

"Please, I'm more than alright," You answer. You clear your throat, alleviating some of the dryness, and you roll your shoulders back. The hardwood surface of his desk beneath you suddenly feels a hundred times firmer than before. "You're okay too, aren't you?" 

Gale scoffs playfully, smirking, "Apart from a bit of present exhaustion and a mild ache in the knees, I am definitely, most positively fine. No, better than fine. Fantastic." 

Your eyes narrow, your head tilts curiously, gaze flickering down, and then back up. "And the orb?" 

"The orb? Oh," He huffs, placing a palm over his chest in realization. "Ha, it's behaving alright. Until now, I don't think it has ever felt so… comfortable, if that serves well to describe it. Swear I could almost feel the damn thing purring." 

You breathe a slight chuckle, and with a roll of your eyes, you press your palms to the desk and push yourself up. Gale hurries to wrap a hand around your wrist, placing the other on your back. He helps to pull you, until you're sitting up with your arms stretched to the ceiling. You stretch your back next, arching it forwards, feeling your muscles loosen and your bones pop. 

Gale's brows are suddenly knotted. His lips press into a line, his expression turns conflicted. When your gaze locks with his, you're giving him a slight, pretty smile. 

"What's wrong?" 

You watch as he looks away for a second, snapping his fingers, muttering a string of words under his breath you don't quite catch. He seems pouty, almost guilty; the fireplace in the room's adjacent corner hums to life, breathing much-needed warmth into his study. Your limbs relax, your shoulders untensing. 

"Nothing is wrong, sweetheart. Don't you worry," He reassures, offering you a warm look once his gaze returns to yours. His hand comes to steady on your side, and he squeezes you slightly, "I just… supposed I should offer you an apology. Perhaps it was rude of me not to provide you with more comfort. I promise you, next time, you will be as cushy and cozy as your heart could possibly desire. You'll find my bedroom to be rather pleasant, I'm sure. Have you ever slept on Glamerweave sheets? Hm, actually, I think I'll keep from spoiling the surprise." 

Next time? 

"Come on. It was my idea, you don't have to apologize," You reply through a slight laugh, shifting a bit on his desk, crossing one leg over the other. "Besides, I'm fine, I swear. I've dealt with much more than a little soreness, and I was perfectly comfortable, I'll have you know." Swallowing, you pause for a moment to think. "That was perfect. Truly." 

"Was it? Well, that is… quite lovely to hear, quite lovely indeed. I'm… I'm glad." Gale takes in a slow breath, before letting go of a deep, heavy sigh. Your words make his heart pound. "Gods above. I knew I was doomed, but I think I've only fallen even more in love with you." 

Arms wrapping around his shoulders, your head cocked teasingly, you murmur, "Do you know how hard it is to resist kissing you when you're this terribly sweet?" 

"Really?" His brow crooks. "I wonder how many kisses I could earn if I proposed more than mere sweet words. Sweet touches, perhaps? I could lend you a hand or two, you know. I'm more than willing to offer shoulder rubs, back massages- It wouldn't be right to leave my dearest with tired limbs and such sore muscles, now would it?" 

"On second thought, maybe my back is hurting. A massage sounds lovely." 

Gale grins. He reaches up, brushing his thumb over your cheek, before he pulls you in for a quick, precious kiss. 

"Then your wish is my command, love." His hand continues to hold your cheek tenderly, even once he's pulled back. Forehead close enough to almost rest against yours, he murmurs quietly, smoothly, "Once you are ready, I'll run you a warm, comfortable bath. With bubbles and lavender- Hm, I'm sure I have something around here you can wear, as far as clean clothes are concerned. You may have to make do with a few magically infused robes and garments… but nothing with any lasting effects, I assure you. And if you've worked up an appetite, then-" 

Biting his tongue, abruptly, he stops. His eyes narrow, gaze glancing between you and the floor. 

"I… My apologies," Gale mumbles, his tone weighed down by newfound disappointment, "How impolite. I shouldn't form assumptions, especially when your plans have already been reiterated. I won't keep you. As a matter of fact, I believe the side roads to Baldur's Gate are likely still open, if you'd prefer me to escort you there." 

"Gale, are you kidding?" 

You scoff, squeezing his shoulders and tilting your head; instantly, he feels himself begin to relax, his heart stirring, his nerves settling. You always look at him with such radiant warmth. 

"Running errands back and forth for greedy townspeople can wait," You're continuing, gazing at him through fluttery lashes. "I took care of everything urgent well before I got here. You wouldn't believe the nerves I had leading up to this- I was remarkably tense, but at least it had me working hard to distract myself. Listen, if you're so keen on going back, you're coming with me. Otherwise, I'm staying, okay? For as long as you'll have me." 

Gale swallows. His jaw clenches, his gaze goes soft. His pulse thrums in his throat and runs a mile per minute within his chest, heels pushing off the ground as he chases a burning sense of devotion — 

"You- Are you sure?" He questions, opening his mouth to speak once more, only to have you quickly interrupt him. 

"Of course I'm sure, I've never been more sure of anything. I can't begin to explain how much I've missed you, just- I don't want to be apart from you yet, that's all. Is… is that alright?" 

"Oh, yes, most definitely- You can stay. I would love for you to stay," Gale breathes in response, brushing his palm over the small of your back, holding you gently. Warmth and longing sear through him, echoing the start of something new. "To savor a new wealth of treasured moments with you… To awake, and see you still resting beside me, content and weary-eyed… I'm not sure I deserve to find myself so lucky." 

Holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger, Gale breathes in deeply. "Nevertheless, the night is young. But as for tomorrow, alas, I doubt the academy would approve, in the event of my neglection of scheduled lessons. Best to be up bright and early, you see. We should rest. You, especially." He counts with his fingers, pointing to each one, "You need the aforenamed bath, massage, and to get some much needed sleep. Doubly so, if you are to- uhm, ehem-" 

Gale clears his throat, and as you meet his eyes, you raise a curious brow. Seemingly nervous, he softly mutters, "You wouldn't mind attending the lesson tomorrow to assist me for a second time, would you?" 

All at once, you're grinning. You're laughing slightly to yourself, and you're staring at him cheerfully, with a look he finds impossible not to adore. 

"I'd love to. I had fun today, and I'm sure you have much more to teach. The depths to illusion magic are rather grand. Or so a charming wizard has told me." 

"Yes, and you have merely scratched the proverbial surface. Though, in all likelihood, illusion magic should come rather naturally to you. After all, you have no shortage of firsthand experience," He explains jovially. "But still, do not discredit yourself. You are a wonderful teacher, skilled and proficient in your own right. I'm sure my students would reflect the same sentiment. You are most captivating to them. You're the hero that kept the famous city of Baldur's Gate from falling into ruin. The one who saved my life. My closest, most beloved friend. Perhaps more than that, now." 

"Definitely more," You answer, smirking a bit to hide the warmth to your cheeks. 

"In that case," Gale hums, "I will be sure to introduce you as my partner, from here on out." 

Candles flicker, shimmering like makeshift stars in his quiet study. From the view outside his balcony, the moon glimmers, beaming faint light, as though it was made just to watch over you both. Intimacy ripples between you. Echoing in your ears, you can hear the calm rhythm of waves, the familiar lull of the sea. It's a sound you've grown comfortable with. A moment you wished to dwell in until the inevitable end of time. Perhaps now, that future will be yours. 

You decide to break the brief layer of silence: "Gale?" 

Gale brushes his fingertips from your jaw to your nape, homesickness gnawing at his chest the longer he admires you. His tower was never important to him, Waterdeep couldn't compare. You were always his home. 

"Yes, love?" 

"I'm glad you're here with me." 

Silent for a few moments, he's briefly unsure of what to say. Finally, he breathes a long, thankful sigh, and smiles wide, a sparkle in his gaze. Adoration roots into him, promising to forever grow. 

"I love you. I love you so very much," He admits, cooing, his fingertips caressing your skin; his thumb trails over the faint mark he left on you while he speaks. The imprint of himself. "I will not leave you, that I can most undoubtedly promise. There are a great deal of things I want us to experience. Thousands of moments to live for. You would grace me with the privilege of dying a happy man, if I were to combust right now, in some unfortunate, bittersweet blaze of glory. But I give you my word, I am not planning on letting it happen." 

His gaze goes resolute. Gale presses a palm to his chest, feeling magic thrum steadily, and his heart pound wildly. Still beating, despite everything. Every defiant thump has your name written into it. "This affliction will not take me. We have won against greater evils, and I won't let anything pry us apart. Not when I finally have you." 

Night may have descended, cold air bitter on your skin, but in your chest, you feel the warmth of summer: growing heat, and an exquisite softness. You can't help but let go of a quiet sigh in satisfaction. 

"Now," He's murmuring, standing up straight and taking your hand. He helps you to slide off of his desk, until you're wobbling to unsteady feet, holding onto his arm for balance. "I do believe I've yammered on quite enough. I won't exhaust you with more lengthy pillow talk. You should be given the relaxation you are owed, correct? A bath will only take a few moments to run." 

"Mhm," You reply, gazing up at him, seeming amused. He finds it damn near impossible not to get lost in your eyes. "As long as you're planning on joining me." 

"Joining? Oh, sweetheart. I would be delighted." Gale squeezes your hand, still held in his. He brings it up to his lips, he runs his thumb over your knuckles. He presses an all-too gentle kiss to them, before his fingers lace between the crooks of your own. 

"Come. What remains of tonight is ours." 

You'll smell of lavender and his soap when you crawl into his bed. You'll feel the warmth of his body pressed to yours, his arms around you, your head buried in his chest, and your dreams will be as tender as they are familiar. Your future drawn out, past lifetimes upon lifetimes. 

And once the night bleeds into morning, you will fall for him all over again. 

— 

Waterdeep becomes your new home. 

It isn't long before Gale's tower is strewn with your belongings as well as his. Your old weapons and special artifacts find themselves scattered among tomes, scrolls, and poetry collections. You do manage to return to Baldur's Gate for a while, just to collect your things from the Elfsong and say a couple of goodbyes. You've landed a job as a professor's assistant in Waterdeep, you explain, and you can't be late for your first official day. 

You grow accustomed to the sea salt in your hair, and the way the smell of the ocean soaks into your skin. Gale provides you with your own set of rooms in a secluded corner of his tower. You can watch the waves from your bedroom window, and look out over the city from the view in his library. The days are slow, a calming change of pace from the previous adventures you shared together. Your other companions come to visit you both occasionally, making for a tender reunion. Months go by, but every day is new. A new chance to fall in love. Your new form of a delicate beginning. 

Deep in his bones, Gale still remembers how to cover your weak points. The signs you show when you're closer to crumbling than you're letting on, the feeling of your spells bleeding into his when they combine on the battlefield. He believes those times, those hardships, those perils, will be ones he could never forget — and yet, why would he want to? 

They're reminders of all he has to be grateful for. Mementos of when he first fell for you. You're both safe, you no longer have to fret over dark histories, or worry about protecting one another. For once, you can indulge in a life more tender, and much more forgiving. 

Gale learns what you prefer to have for breakfast, what seasonings you favor for supper, and how you like your coffee when he prepares it for you at sunrise. Between days spent at the academy and endless lesson planning, practicing spells and grading assignments, he makes what free moments you have seem special. There's dates, picnics. Quiet, simple moments that mean the entire world. 

Your head tends to rest in his lap when he's reading; sometimes aloud, his smooth voice lulling you into enveloping comfort. When you fall asleep, limbs tangled, resting on his chest, you relish in every potent thrum of his heartbeat. 

He leaves you love notes on shared grocery lists. Poems he's written for you are left on your bedside table, folded neatly, sealed with wax. You wind up keeping each one. 

Eventually, he's able to take you to all his favorite places in Waterdeep, the extravagant, and the plain. You've no need to introduce yourself, when everyone already seems to know you. 

The wizard is star-struck every time he drones on about you, the regulars at The Yawning Portal explain. Especially once he's had far too much to drink. 

I shouldn't tell you he's planning to propose, he's quite excited about the whole thing, the elderly owner of his favorite bookstore tells you. Be sure to act surprised. 

On the days where you don't accompany him, when he returns from a long afternoon spent at the academy, he's rushing upstairs to greet you. He pulls you into a long, tender hug, one you wish would last forever. His touch breathes new life into your scars, his voice becomes your favorite daily melody. In the wake of every night you spend entwined, you find yourself melting into him, further becoming one another's fatal weakness. When he holds you for a little too long, squeezing you tight and hiding faint tears in the crook of your neck, you feel loved, like you never have before. 

Soft and perfect, you are home. 

Mornings meld into tendays which bleed into months. You treasure it all, with unending adoration. The Gods didn't bless you with this, you carved your own path. You forged your own temple to be made holy in. Before you know it, your heart and soul are undoubtedly his, and on a day no different than the others, Gale is taking you somewhere you've never been before. 

Hands clasped, fingers entwined, he's bringing you to a height above the city, a cliff between the grand mountain and the edge of the sea. Wind runs through your hair. You rest your arms on the stone railing, and sink into the beauty of the sparkling ocean, sunlight glittering on white, foamy waves. He shows you the view of the city below, your city, and his, as the sun dips into the horizon — Although, it seems the only thing he can keep his eyes on is you. 

You're turning just in time to catch him staring. Gale laughs awkwardly in the beat of awkward silence. He mumbles a quick response when you ask if he's alright, offering you an utterance of, Nothing, you're just beautiful. He smiles wider as you offer him a genuine grin and a playful roll of your eyes. Soon, it becomes quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat, prancing loudly through your eardrums. The soft sound of the ocean echoes within you. 

Gale takes a slow, steady breath, catching your attention with a call of your name. This time, when you turn towards him, it's to watch him slowly lower down onto one knee. 

The silver ring he pulls from his jacket pocket was his mother's. It sparkles off of the sun's fading rays, a poem engraved on the inside in elegant script, the surface adorned in sapphire and sunstone. Your heart skips a few beats in your chest. 

You can hardly focus on his words, his vows and his confessions. But you do notice the tenderness to his expression as he glances up at you, misty-eyed, the breeze drifting through his ash-dappled hair; in this moment, everything feels right. And as he asks you to marry him, you're kneeling down as well and you're throwing your arms around his shoulders. You lean your head into his nape, you hold him as tight as you can manage, and you utter just the words he was hoping to hear. 

He is perfectly, endlessly yours. 

You say yes. 

[prettymuchteddy]

People who say that House Hightower destroyed the Targaryen dynasty are kind of silly because House Strong is right there. Like House Strong really apparently wanted to get in on the action and just helped bring down a monarchy.

Harwin straight-up had illegitimate children with the crown princess. And yes I know it takes two to tango but Harwin could have stopped it, though as we see in episode 6 he is more than down with this arrangement. The fact that the children just kept coming out looking nothing like her and he still kept seeing Rhaenyra. After Jace he should have taken a step back, I guess he wanted to see if things would change with Luke? Clearly not. The rumors about Rhaenyra's children just tarnished her reputation and put a target on their children's backs. This was him supporting Rhaenyra too and all he was doing was making things worse.

Larys is a whole nother level. The man flipped sides more than a pancake on a stove. The man was plotting against everyone, I swear. He was undermining anyone who wasn't outright helping him. He even got some personal hits in by helping force Rhaenyra out of King's Landing and then poisoning Aegon. This man was made for chaos and he happened to be born in the right time for it.

Lyonel is rarely talked about but it needs to be said, if Viserys neglected the growing problems so did Lyonel. He watched for years as his son, the commander of the city watch, got close to the princess and her having children who looked suspiciously like him yet said nothing. It's not until Criston Cole mentions it that he confronts Harwin. Like just because no one has had the guts to say doesn't mean no one was thinking it. He said it himself Harwin is committing treason that can result in the exile/death of Harwin, Rhaenyra, and the children but again why say it this late?

Just when you thought all the Strongs were dead after Aemond's attack on Harrenhal, enter Alys Rivers. Whether you believe that she cast a spell on Aemond or not, she followed her family tradition of messing with the Targaryens. Intentionally or not, she led Aemond to Daemon and was there to witness them kill each other. Single handily, she killed two Taragryens as well as two dragons: Vhagar and Caraxes. Then she ran off with baby Aemondcito to vibe at her vacant family home.

Say what you will about the Hightowers, I have never seen such a collected group effort by one family (unintentional or not) to cause so much chaos to another family. They were on opposing sides at some points yet still through every step were petty and screwed over the Targaryens. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk. This was mostly me highlighting how weirdly funny it is how involved House Strong was in taking down the Targaryens before they themselves went extinct as a house. No hate to anyone just weird how connected they are with everything.

[rafesslxt]

SUPP IM BACK WITH ANOTHER REQUEST!! How about professor riddle marks ur work but u didn't get good grades so he punishes u? xoxo mattheosslut22

omg i smiled at this like a fool and my boyfriend asked me what I was smiling about hahaha - yes my real boyfriend, not mattheo duh

thank you for requesting doll 🫶🏻 I‘m already writing a professor one shot right now but with more plot, just have to finish it 👀

Bad student | Professor!Mattheo Riddle

summary: Professor Riddle and you have a special agreement.

warnings: professor x student so don‘t read if you don‘t like, kissing, teasing, fingering, unprotected p in v

words: 2,4k

I looked down at the paper I got back from Professor Riddle. I got an F. Fuck. My gaze wanders up as he looks at me with raised eyebrows and a kind of disappointed look on his face. "You might want to come to me after class." he says in a chilli tone.

Professor Riddle and I have an agreement. A secret one. If I continue to write bad notes, he stops fucking me. As a motivation. And If I get good ones, I get a reward - which is his dick. As a motivation of course.

I sigh and nod but he already left to give the rest of the students their papers back, which of course were all better than mine.

He continues with class and tries to explain everything but I only can concentrate on what‘s going to happen after this class. It is the last one I have today which means I have time and don‘t need to rush out, which is good. Or bad? I don‘t know yet and that‘s exactly what worries me.

The ring interrupts my thoughs and brings me back to the reality. That I‘m alone with him. I swallow the clump in my throat down and gather my things together.

As I walk to the front of the classroom and towards his desk he doesn‘t even look at me. I breath out, loudly. " Sooo.." i start and try to get him to look up but he still doesn‘t.

While correcting another test and sqribbling something on it he talks " You know what our arrangement was,right? " "Mattheo I - I mean Professor I‘m really sorry okay? I promise it won‘t happen again!" I almost begged. I couldn‘t imagine losing him and our sessions, they got me addicted.

"Yeah you said that the last few times you got a bad grade but now an F? No y/n." "Pleease, fuck there has to be something that I can do! I‘m literally begging you."

I saw him smirking a little and I knew he loved to hear me beg like this, litte fucker.

"I swear I‘m always paying attention I just - I didn‘t have had time to study with quidditch and everything." I wasn‘t even lying on that.

"Prove it. I‘ll ask you Questions and you‘ll have to get at least.. 8 out them right. If not, you can come back when you write good once again after the holiday‘s"

I looked at him in shock. "Holidays?!“ "Yeah, the next test we write is after the holidays." I shook my head, not able to live that long without that dick. I know how desperate I sound, but that was exactly how good he fucked me. I tried to forget him, tried to find fun somewhere else but It was useless with these boys at school. He just knew every single move to get me trembling under his touch.

"Okay okay.. give me those questions." "Sit down." I did as soon as he told me to and looked up at him as he stands up and walks to the desk I‘m sitting on.

"First question: Let‘s start with a easy one.. Which spell will cast a body bind upon an enemy?" he asks me, looking directly into my eyes. I lick my lips before answering. "Petrificus Totalus."

"What‘s the strongest love potion in the world?" I started smiling when the memory of him showing it to us last week came back. "Amortentia." I answered him. "What did you smell?" he asks curious as he slowly places his hands beside me on the table, getting closer to my body. "Does that count as a question?" i ask him in a teasing tone. "Answer." he says in a demanding one but I didn‘t miss the excitement in his eyes." So I answer him. "You."

"Smelled you too.“ he mumbles as he gets closer to my neck which leaves me nervous and with goosebumps all over my body.

"What is your only defense against the Imperius Curse?" I felt his lips brush against my skin but still not kissing it which made me even more desperate. "There is no defense.." i answer lost. "Wrong." he whispers and bites the skin on my soft spot. I whine and squeeze my eyes shut. "M-maybe I need a little motivation.." i started and looked down at his shirt.

He rolled his eyes but still smirked a little as my hands found the buttons to his shirt. While I opened them he took out his wand from his back pocket of his jeans and spelled the door shut.

When I opened the last button I pushed the material to the side and let my hands glide over his abs which he knew i love so much. "Don‘t get too eager baby. You already got one wrong." Now I rolled my eyes as my fingers followed the contour of his abs. "Won‘t happen again."

"No matter how many legs you have, they'll all dance if you're cursed with what jinx?" I snort and answer "Tarantallegra. Easy." He nods and asks his next question, his face now on my throat again. "Which potion acts as a truth drug?" I swallow as I feel his soft lips now ghost over my skin again. I open my mouth a few seconds before answering. "Veritaserum."

His lips now meet my skin and I moan. "Correct." He murmurs, leaving wet and passionate kisses all over my throat. His hands find their way to my knees, leaving them there.

"One side effect of the Draught of Peace, If done incorrectly?" he asks me while letting his hands wander up my legs towards my tights slowly. I press my lips together as I feel myself getting wetter.

"Answer, I know you‘re a smart girl." he grins, kissing along my jaw, sending shivers down my spine.

"Irreversible sleep. " "That‘s right, good girl." he starts playing with the hem of my skirt.

"Who created the main ingredient in the Elixir of Life?" "Nicolas Flammel." He nods and wanders towards my mouth with his lips. I start to get impatient and shift slighty on the table, making him smile again. "3 more baby."

"What is the final ingredient needed for Polyjuice Potion?" " Hair." As I answer correct, his lips connect with mine. My mouth almost opens itself when it feels his tounge gliding over my bottom lip. His hand moves further under my skirt, his fingers now right in front of my underwear. "I can already feel the heat from you." he groans against my lips before his tounge explores my mouth.

I let my hands wander to his back, where I scratch his skin slighty, sending shivers down his spine this time. "Hmm love when you do that." "I know."

He pulls away from my mouth a few inches and looks into my eyes. God his eyes. "When must Wolfsbane Potion be taken to be effective?" Shit. I really don‘t know. I think he saw it in my eyes when he lifted his eyebrows at me. "Uhm –" "Come on. We had this topic only a few weeks ago." "The week leading up to a full moon?" I ask more than answering.

I see a smirk forming on his lips and his head shaking. "So much for 'i listen to your classes', huh?" I groan in frustration. "Are you enjoying the thought of not fucking me for that long?" I ask him almost a little mad.

"No baby, my hand doesn‘t feel like you. But I know you‘ll feel even better after weeks of not riding my cock like you love to do." Wait. His hand? Doesn‘t he have like a tons of women at his feet? But I didn’t have that much time to think about it.

"Name me all of the Unforgiveable Curses." "Uhm – Avada Kedavra, Imperio and .. Crucio." He nods in approval and suddenly I can feel his fingers ghost over my damp underwear.

"Fuck baby, are you always this wet while answering your tests? Maybe I should help you next time so you don‘t write F‘s in my class hm?"

"Ask the last one." I say in a desperate voice. If I get this one right I can fuck him, If I get it wrong, these holidays will be the longest I ever had.

"Okay baby, now concentrate yeah? We had this last potion lesson. How long does Felix Felicis take to prepare?" I smile brightly at him as I instantly knew the answer to it. "6 months." i answer.

"Fuck thank god." he groans and pulls me closer to his body, my legs wrapping around his hips. "10 would have been enough." I answer him, my hands already in his soft curls, tugging at the ends which made him groan even more.

He picks me up and sits me down on his desk, pushing my upper body back. "Gonna give you your reward now baby. You were such a smart girl." he starts praising me. "Well, have a good teacher." "Oh yeah?" he smirks and pulls my skirt off. "Hmm, Professor Snape is actually really nice." Suddenly I feel pain flowing through my thigh, making me hiss.

I look down at him as he starts to kiss the skin he just bit. "Careful baby, don‘t forget who‘s in charge here." he mutters against my thigh, nibbling on it and preppering it with wet kisses. My hands find their way into his curly hair. "Please.." i whisper as he does the same to my other thigh.

"I would miss those little begs so much If I wouldn‘t have had them to hear over holidays." he mumbles against my skin, his lips now on my underwear. He groans as he pulls it down and sees my glistening folds.

And just like a starving man he pushed his fingers through my folds before lapping at my clit, making me bite down on my lip instantly. "Shit.." I breath out, closing my eyes too. "Nuh uh baby, look at me while I eat that sweet pussy of yours." he smirks when my eyes opened up again.

I look down at him, seeing just his eyes and a bit of his nose. Not once does he look away while eating me out and I can see the desire he's holding back right now clearly.

I feel him sliding two fingers inside me without a warning, groaning when they just slipped inside like nothing.

"Fuck me, please.." I beg, not being able to wait any longer. He lets go of me, his mouth and chin glistening from my wetness. I see him licking his lips, with half a smile, almost making me come just from the sight.

"Gonna pound that pussy numb, baby. Just preparing you for what will happen over the holidays." Since we had that agreement, I stayed almost every holidays here so I could spent them with him. "You're staying, right?" he asks as he sees me in thoughts. I start smiling and nod. " Of course." "Hmm good girl."

He pulls me closer to him again until my legs wrap around his hips. His hands open his belt, pushing his jeans and boxer shorts down, revealing his already throbbing cock.

He lets the tip glide over my clit teasing me. His mouth is open, breathing heavy and looking at me through his lashes. "Ready Baby?" "Uh-huh." I mumble, nodding before he finally pushes inside me.

"Fuck yes, so fucking tight." he groans as he slowly pushes inch for inch inside. I let my head fall back and bite down on my bottom li to not moan too loud.

He starts thrusting forward with his hips, making the table squeak against the floor and echoing through the classroom. "I swear I will never get tired of this pussy." he smirks down at me while his words send butterflies down my stomach. I let out a little whine as his right hand wanders up to my throat, cocking me just so slightly but good.

"You still gonna write bad grades, huh?" he ask me, thrusting harder now. "N-no?" I answer but it sounds more like a question. Suddenly he pulls out and turns me around so I'm laying flat with my stomach on the desk. He spreads my legs and pushes inside me again, putting his whole weight on me.

A moan slips past my lips but he puts his hand over my mouth, grinning arrogant. "Let me guess, 'oh daddy it's too much', right?" he mocks while rocking my whole shit into the table.

He pulls his hand away from my mouth and wraps it around my throat again, squeezing with more pressure than before. "Shit Mattheo" I groan, letting my eyes roll back into my head.

"What is it baby? Thought you're able to handle it hm? Should I stop?" "No, no don't stop." I whine out at the though of losing the feeling of him.

Suddenly I feel a sharp pain going through my body. I look behind me over my shoulder and see Mattheo smiling at me like a innocent angel. Yeah, right. He slaps my ass again, this time harder.

"What? Did you think this is gonna be all nice and shit? You still wrote a bad grade. Gonna have to punish you at least a little hm."

He does it again, over and over again until my whole ass is fire red. His thrusting of course continues without faltering. "Fuck I'm close." I groan, my eyes already shut. His hand slides under my body towards my clit and starts rubbing circles on it with his fingers.

"Come around my cock baby." And shit, I did. I feel my walls clenching around him, milking him almost. I hear him groan behind me and his thrust getting more uneven. "O-oh fuckk.." I feel him coming inside me, his head falling down against my shoulder.

"Shit, you always do this to me." he says before kissing my skin. "What do you mean?" "You always pull me in, would have fucked you no matter what grade you got. You just got me wrapped around your finger." I smile at his words, knowing damn well he got me hooked too.

The end was Kida rushed I'm sorry, let me know If you liked it 👀

Taglist: 💞💗💕

@justarandomcanadiantransdude @sofa-couch26 @nevereverthem @little-miss-naill @kolsangel @atadoddinnit @auxcordlawd @helena-1105 @itsarajr @jolly4holly @hisparentsgalllery @slytherinscreamqueen @mixvchelle @miribenh26 @azalea3leaza @littlemadamred

thank you for every support 🫶🏻

Sorry it took so long but had a writing block

xoxo sarah <3

[dokidokitsuna]

The Diary of Penny Polendina

The other day I was inspired to try working on a different NeverFell Projects installment, one that would probably be a lot shorter and quicker to write, because it's not like I care that deeply about Penny, right??

Well, I was incredibly wrong. ^^; So wrong that I'm actually having trouble with this story now...essentially, Penny goes through a bit of a 'rebellious phase' (gross oversimplification, but that's all you get for now) and there are, surprisingly, a lot of aspects of that character arc that I want to explore. Plus, a pivotal connection with Pyrrha, the climax of which I haven't quite figured out yet...

God only knows if I'll be able to finish, or if I'll just write the first 2/3rds of the story and leave it at that. But I figured I might as well warm up by talking about the designs. ^^

Penny's new look is basically 'Disney's Pinocchio, color picked from Arthur Watts' character design'~

I didn't necessarily want her to look evil, just...bolder. Like she specifically picked 'daring' items that maybe her father or Ironwood's PR team would rather she didn't wear, at least not compared to the more innocent frilly pastels she had on before. Between the chest window, midriff, and short sleeves, she's actually showing a lot more skin than before, despite still being 90% covered up. ^^;

Those multicolored wrist accessories are prototype weapons invented by Dr. Watts, that mix and pressurize Dust from the cartridges to cast "artificial magic". This way I get to do a bit of the 'Winter Maiden Penny' stuff in this Vol. 3-locked AU~

Penny's magic usage is one of the things that stumped me when writing this story...In NeverFell, magic isn't just glowy rainbow lasers or weather powers-- it essentially allows the user access to any conceivable semblance at any time; its potential is limitless. Being a beginner, Penny would probably just come up with one signature 'spell' to use in tandem with her Floating Array...but I can't decide what I want her to do. ^^; I think I'd like for her to do something connected to dance, because I feel like that's something unique to her, the way she dances with her weapons before striking. Nobody ever points out how the "robot" in the cast is the one who chooses to spend energy on unnecessary movements that aren't even used to maneuver around an enemy; they're just cute and fun. ^^ I think that's a great encapsulation of who Penny is~

Redesigning Pyrrha is always super difficult, because her original design is so perfect. But I like this end result a LOT. ^^ I may need to adjust the pant legs a bit, but overall it feels like a very believable alt outfit that keeps the spirit of the character.

Pyrrha is another one of the stumbling blocks in this story, because I'm now forced to create at least one malleable personality trait for her-- i.e. one that isn't intrinsically tied to Jaune and/or the plot. Something that she could actually take into a meaningful relationship with a different character... I had the idea to expand her "I'm sorry!" gag into a real guilt complex, where she has trouble letting go of instances where she's made mistakes or hurt someone. In this case, dismembering Penny 1.0 and essentially ending her life. :T She seeks out 2.0 in a desperate effort to make things right, and ends up helping her with ...things, and growing as people or whatever, and all that other stuff I have yet to write. ^^;

I just realized that Pyrrha could use her polarity semblance to pull Penny towards her in a situation where they need to reach each other...that's so cute. ^^ I gotta remember that~

[operationslipperypuppet]

Fantasy High: Junior Year predictions that aren’t as much based in things I think will logically happen, but ones that either should happen or would be very fun/funny

Loose Duke reminiscent perception checks from Lou, constantly looking for Chungledown Bim.

Related, the return of Chungledown Bim, but they successfully escape him yet again.

Either a wedding between Hallariel and Gilear, or them having a kid. I just think Fig and Fabian would make great older siblings but also that they’d have a real hard time handling it.

Garthy O’Brien is at Mordred and it’s immediately clear that there’s something poly happening between them and Jawbone and Sandra Lynn.

Riz has some serious beef with another young licensed PI. This beef is mostly shown through Riz hissing at someone on the street, and they don’t meet this other person until episode 15. They’re pretty normal and the beef does not make sense.

A reveal that Porter is not evil or plotting something but that he was a member of Sandra Lynn’s adventuring party that she got kicked out of. Bonus if he was a deciding vote or the one who pushed her to leave. This would be fun to justify Fig’s paranoia a bit, but her reasoning was completely wrong. The best way for this reveal to happen would be for him to apologize (sincerely) to Sandra Lynn.

Adaine actually tries to include Alewyn in a lot of things, and they actually learn some important lore from Alewyn and she doesn’t put it forward in a condescending way.

Gorgug rolls up to Riz’s office, drags him out, and they go throw rocks at the river (like Riz wanted in Boys’ Night).

Another crab party live stream. That’s actually how the season opens. Kristen is crowned Crab King.

Someone suggests they go to a Drisden party. The boys scream “no” at the proposal.

Kristen succeeds in her first ever divine intervention roll (#BeardsleyBlessed)

Aguefort says something to Gorgug in the first episode about how difficult he finds him.

Gorgug changes his subclass. We had a lot of subclass changes at the end of fhsy and I think him focusing on artificing a bit more may cause him to refocus and not be as lost in rage as berserker works. The I’m going into a worry helps me think this lol

they start at level 11, there were talks of them double leveling post nightmare king forest but that wasn’t what happened with the one shots (which logistically makes a lot of sense to me). I also just think Adaine should get 6th level spells.

And finally, Brennan homebrews the spell Ice Feast, but only Adaine can cast it.

[eternaldecisions]

˙ . ꒷ slytherin!matt . 𖦹˙—

slytherin ! matt spots you at a party.

"Are you sure I should go to that party? I mean..." the words hang in the air, your hesitation palpable. The idea of the party itself wasn’t dreadful; it was what—or rather, who—you might stumble into that made you hesitate. The very thought of running into Matt sent a shiver down your spine. You opened your mouth to say his name, but before you could, Sarah cuts in, her voice a sharp contrast to your uncertainty.

"Please! It’s going to be fun, I swear. I’ll stick by your side the whole time," she promises with a grin that you recognize all too well. You wanted to believe her, but you knew better. The moment she caught sight of Regulus Black walking thru the door, the promise would dissolve faster than mist in the morning sun. Still, a small part of you clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this time she’d keep her word.

“And then, what should I wear?” you sigh, your voice carrying the weight of resignation. Your wardrobe isn’t exactly brimming with choices, and the thought of rifling through the same old options feels as tiresome as the decision itself.

Sarah, as the fashion enthusiast she, lights up at the question. "Let’s go for something that screams 'effortlessly cool,'” she suggests, already pulling ideas out of thin air. “How about those black plain skirt you love? Pair them with that silky white green top—it’ll make your eyes pop. And those ankle boots with the silver buckles? Perfect balance between edgy and chic.”

you picture it in your mind: the way the white would contrast against the dark material, how the boots would give you that extra edge of confidence. Suddenly, the idea of the party doesn’t seem quite so daunting.

the music thrums through the air, vibrating against your eardrums—louder than you'd prefer, but not unbearable. It’s a Hogwarts party, after all, and despite your initial reservations, it’s not as bad as you’d imagined. The Great Hall has been transformed into a pulsing sea of lights and sound, the usual grandeur swapped for a more chaotic energy that somehow suits the occasion.

tables are laden with a array of food—everything from pumpkin pasties to chocolate frogs—and a few scattered bottles of butterbeer and beers, a tame selection considering the strict no-hard-liquor rule for students. Not as that stops the Slytherins, you spot a few of them huddled in a corner, undoubtedly plotting their next heist from the staff’s private stash. But that’s a problem for another time.

“I’m going to grab us drinks, alright?” you say, your voice a little more confident than you feel. You make your way to the long, enchanted table draped with a velvet cloth that shimmers like the night sky. On it, bottles of Butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and goblets of ice-cold pumpkin water are laid out, each drink sparkling under the floating candles that light up the Great Hall. You pick a goblet of pumpkin water for yourself and a frothy Butterbeer for Sarah—simple, but comforting.

as you reach for the drinks, your eyes wander, almost by instinct, to a corner of the hall where Matt stands. He’s draped in a black oversized hoodie, the silver horse pendant hanging from his neck catching the soft light, his black baggy pants and boots give him a rebellious edge that you can’t help but notice. You find yourself staring a second too long, admitting, despite your efforts to resist, that he’s not just good-looking—he’s more than that.

you find yourself drawn in, unable to look away, as if a spell has been cast upon you.

his eyes, sharp and almost hypnotic, suddenly catch yours. A jolt of panic rushes through you—how long have you been staring? Blood rushes to your cheeks, the warmth of embarrassment spreading as you realize you've been caught. His lips curl into a smirk, one that’s as much a challenge as it is an invitation. With deliberate steps, he begins to close the distance between you, his presence growing more potent with every inch.

the air seems to thicken as he approaches, the ambient magic of Hogwarts itself reacting to the silent tension. As he draws near, you can almost feel the energy radiating off him, a subtle mix of mischief and something deeper, something that pulls you in even as it warns you to stay away. His eyes never leave yours, and that smirk, oh, that smirk, it tells you everything and nothing all at once.

“How nice seeing you again, starer,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet drawl, smooth yet edged with teasing. He steps closer, far too close, the space between you shrinking to nothing. You roll your eyes at his comment, trying to mask the flutter of nerves his proximity forming within you.

“Does the cat always bite your tongue around me, sweetheart?” he mocks, his tone light but laced with something deeper, something that sends a shiver down your spine. With a practiced ease, he reaches up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing your skin just long enough to make you tense.

annoyance flares within you, and you swiftly bat his hand away, breaking the brief contact. His touch lingers in your thoughts even as it leaves your skin. He chuckles, a dry, knowing sound that only deepens your frustration. The sound seems to echo in the quiet corridor, a reminder of the power he holds in these fleeting moments.

but beneath that chuckle, there’s something else—a challenge, a dare hidden in his eyes as he watches you, waiting for your next move.

you steady yourself, refusing to let him get under your skin any further. With a dirty look, you meet his gaze, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you reply, "I'm sorry, did you say something worth responding to?”

his smirk falters just for a moment, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes before he recovers. “Feisty today, aren’t we?” he remarks, clearly amused by your defiance. But there's a spark of something else in his eyes now, curiosity, or maybe respect.

You cross your arms, standing your ground as you add, "I’m just not in the mood for your games, so if you’re looking for entertainment, you’ll have to find it somewhere else."

for a second, he studies you, as if reassessing the situation, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface. Then, with a low chuckle, he steps back slightly, giving you a sliver of space. “You’re a tough one, I’ll give you that,” he concedes, though the playful gleam in his eyes tells you he’s far from done. “But don’t think I’m letting you off that easily.”

his words hang in the air, a promise or a threat—you can’t quite tell. But as he turns to leave, that smirk still playing on his lips, you can’t shake the feeling that this is far from over.

you stand there for a moment, watching him walk away, the echo of his footsteps fading down the corridor. His parting words linger in your mind, swirling like a potion brewing with too many unknown ingredients.

but you’re not one to let things slide so easily. You take a deep breath, your resolve hardening as you call out after him, your voice clear and steady. “If you think this game of yours is going to get you anywhere, you’re sorely mistaken.”

he stops mid-step, slowly turning back to face you, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise. It’s clear he didn’t expect you to push back, at least not so quickly. You can see the calculation in his eyes, the way he’s weighing his next move.

“Is that so?” he drawls, his tone teasing, but there’s a hint of something more serious beneath it now. “You think this is just a game?”

you step forward, refusing to let him regain the upper hand. “I think you like toying with people. But I’m not here to play along.”

for a moment, there’s a silence between you, thick with unspoken challenges. Then, to your surprise, his smirk softens into something almost genuine—almost.

“Maybe you’re right,” he admits, his voice lower now, more thoughtful. “But it seems to me, you’re just as interested in the outcome as I am.”

you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat. There’s something in his gaze that’s different, something that makes you pause. It’s not just arrogance or amusement anymore, it’s curiosity, a genuine interest that catches you off guard.

he waits, as if daring you to deny it. But instead, you meet his gaze evenly, refusing to back down. “Don’t mistake my curiosity for anything more than it is,” you reply, your voice firm. “I don’t play by your rules.”

his eyes glint with that familiar mischief again, but there’s a new respect there, too. “We’ll see about that.”

with those final words, he turns and walks away, but this time, it feels less like a retreat and more like a promise—one that you’re not entirely sure you’re ready for, but one you know you won’t be able to resist.

as your gaze follows him, lingering on the spot where he disappears around the corner, you barely notice Sarah slipping up beside you until she speaks.

“Hey—the drinks!” she chirps, her voice pulling you back to reality. You blink, shaking off the lingering thoughts as you turn to face her.

“Sorry, got a little distracted,” you say, forcing a smile as you give her one. You can still feel the tension from the encounter thrumming in your veins, but you push it down, trying to focus on the warmth of the drink in your hands.

Sarah tilts her head, her brow furrowing as she follows your gaze to the now-empty corridor. “Distracted by what? Or should I say, by who?” she teases, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Let me guess, someone from Slytherin?”

you let out a light laugh, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, really. Just some…annoying conversation.”

“Annoying, huh?” Sarah raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Well, whoever it was, they’ve definitely got you all riled up. Should I be worried?”

“Worried? No,” you reply, shaking your head, though you can’t quite banish the image of that smirk from your mind. “Just…caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Sarah takes a sip of her butterbeer, her eyes still studying you curiously. “Well, whoever it is, just remember: don’t let anyone mess with you, okay? Especially not some smug Slytherin.”

you smile, her words bringing some much-needed reassurance. “I won’t, promise.”

“Good,” she says, clinking her goblet lightly against yours. “Now, let’s get back to the common room before Filch decides we’re breaking curfew again.”

as you walk away, side by side with Sarah, you can’t help but glance back one last time, the faint echoes of your earlier encounter still playing at the edges of your thoughts. He has you in a trance, and you can’t deny ir.

a/n: i have no idea if this is good sorry baes

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