#but it has been very long and very deeply lodged in my heart

[thebirdandhersong]

Okay y'all it is over it is done the conversation has been had he knows I love him we are still friends I have cried my eyes out properly I have laughed again my heart will keep on hurting for a while but it is FINISHED

[theodork]

Ticci Toby X Reader

A/N: there is no use of Y/N or any gender so yee..

Summary: You return after going away without saying goodbye to your best friend. You run into Toby and he is pissed.

Warnings: Girl Idk nothing to bad tho lmao, a little cursing and poor baby toby is mad asf. a little angst.

It was early January in Colorado; the biting cold nipped at my exposed skin, sending shivers down my spine. The frigid air felt like sharp needles pricking at my fingertips even with gloves, leaving them numb and tingling. Even through layers of clothing, I could feel the intense cold seeping into my bones, causing my body to tense up. Every breath felt like it was freezing my lungs as I exhaled, creating a visible cloud of vapor in the air. The sky was clear and the sun shone brightly. The snow sparkled and shimmered, outlining the landscape. It was a peaceful and beautiful sight. The snow and leaves crunched under my boots as I walked back to the Slender Mansion. It had been a full year since I left. I had gone to the city under Slender's orders and now I was back, even if it wasn't for very long.

A low whistling sound, like something metal and heavy was thrown at full force flashes past my head, barely grazing my loose hair. The heavy thud of a hatchet hitting a tree causes me to turn. Behind me stood a lifeless tree, its decaying branches reaching out like skeletal fingers. And there, lodged firmly in the rough bark, was a weathered hatchet. I looked back in front of me, a scowl plastered on my face. It was Toby, he stood about 50-ish feet in front of me. He looked different. He no longer had his raggedy brown and blue hoodie. It had instead been replaced by a grayish blue jacket accompanied with a trucker hat. One thing that did stay the same, or rather two was his muzzle and his orange goggles. I looked back at the hatchet, I hadn't even recognized who they belonged to. My scowl was quickly replaced by a smile.

"I missed?" his voice sounded, it seemed shocked.

I take off my mask, I had changed it since I last saw Toby. My new mask has little doodles and other graffiti all over it, making it fit my style more. "Is that any way to treat an old friend?" I chuckle, walking forward a bit. He walked forward, his eyes a bit wide.

"What? no welcome back?" I say, a small smile plastered on my lips. His initial shock of seeing me wears off. He glares at me, his eyes are like sharp daggers. "Why t...he hell are you back?"

"I missed you, Besides, Denver was boring." I say. I'm back at the behest of Slenderman, but I did miss Toby, and Denver did get boring when I missed him. Toby narrows his eyes, skepticism etched into every crease of his face. He takes a step closer, his breath visible in the freezing air, the vapor seeped through the open crevices in his muzzle. The chilly mist emanating from his mouth hangs in the air for a moment before dissipating, creating a ghostly effect. As he moves nearer, His gaze then sharpens, transforming into penetrating daggers that reflect his discontent. He huffed.

"Why? It’s not like we’re friends or anything.” He said in a harsh voice. I frown.

"We are" I said, titling my head a bit. I cant blame him. Afterall I didn't tell him I was leaving. Not even a goodbye. I deeply regret it, but I couldn't change that.

"I'm sorry for not telling you I was leaving or even telling you goodbye, I really should have" I said my voice was soft.

"yes...y..es you should have," He huffs again. He was angry and I did not blame him "actually it's whatever It not like I cared." I paused for a moment, my heart sinking at his dismissive words. It hurt more than I thought it would, hearing him say that. But I couldn't dwell on my own hurt feelings. I reach my hand out to touch his.

"It doesn't sound like you don't care." Toby recoils slightly at my outstretched hand. His eyes flicker with a mix of emotions.

"Don't touch me." He barked, slapping my hand away.

"Sorry-Right... sorry" I said. Toby is quiet for a moment.

"It was boring here without you." His voice and eyes soften.

"It was" I smile. As angry as he was he missed me. Toby let out a frustrated growl, his gloved hands gripping his hatchet tightly. His slender frame tensed, and it seemed like he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

"Yeah" He grunts, his tough guy persona comes back.

"I am really really sorry I didn't at least say goodbye" I apologize again. 

“You’ve already said that” Toby rolled his eyes 

“I tried to write to you when I was away.” I said, “I never sent them but I wrote a lot…I guess the gesture is useless because I never sent them” I spoke. My voice was a little sad

 Toby's gaze softens, a flicker of warmth passing through his eyes. He hesitates for a moment before speaking, his tone losing some of its harshness, though it there laced into each word, "So?"

As I reach into the inside pocket of my jacket, my fingers curl around a bundle of letters. Pulling them out, I reveal a collection of folded papers, varying in size and color. The letters are neatly stacked, each one bearing the marks of time, with edges slightly frayed and corners softened. Some envelopes are worn and discolored, while others appear crisp and new. The sight of the numerous letters emanates a sense of both curiosity and nostalgia, hinting at the stories and emotions contained within each one.

His eyes dart to the letters, he looks like he wants them, but he's fighting himself.

"You can have them, read them if you want..." I offer them to him,  His gaze lingers on the letters for a moment. He scoffs.

"I don't want them."  I feel my heart sink once again, but this time it's a pang of disappointment mixed with resignation. I had hoped that he would take the opportunity to glimpse into my thoughts, to understand the depth.

"Alright" I put them back in my jacket "that's a problem , good, I wrote some pretty embarrassing and sappy stuff in those"  Toby's eyes widened for a moment, his curiosity piqued by my sudden revelation.

He snorts. “You think I’d actually read them?" It's obvious he's trying to convince himself he doesn't want to read them.

"Yeah I forgot you can't read" I joke, playfully teasing him. Toby scoffs, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He lightly slaps my arm "Who says I can't read? I just choose not to."

"I only jest, I know you can read" The tension starts to ease between us.

"Why did you come back anyway? Why did you really come back" Toby asked again, taking off his muzzle. revealing his mouth. The scar on his cheek looks a bit rougher and his chin has a bit more hair on it. I look down at his fingers to get a better look at them. They look a bit rough too. He must be chewing on them. Afterall I wasn't around to remind him to stop.

"Well it's like I said. I missed you" I answered.  Toby's face contorts into a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. He shakes his head, clearly not satisfied with my response.

"That's it? You just missed me? Bullshit"

"I did."

He glares. “Like hell you did.”

"What the hell Toby, I did"

“And I don’t believe you.” He crosses his arms. “And why didn’t you say bye, anyways? Why’d you just disappear?”

“Goodbye are hard, I thought maybe I'd I just left it be less hard"

 I sighed, feeling the weight of my past mistakes and the strain of the current conversation resting heavily on my shoulders. I had hoped that my return would bring some semblance of peace and understanding between us. Toby went silent for a minute. The silence was a bit deafening. Even the trees seemed to stop rustling as the air went heavy. 

“Well, you were wrong.” Toby finally says with a huff.

“I know, I'm really really sorry.”

“Do you expect me to forgive you?” He scoffs, pulling his goggles off his face. 

“No, I don’t, But I hoped maybe you could?”

“Well I am not.”

“That’s okay. Like I said, I don't expect you to,” Toby held grudges, and he was good at it, “But I promise when I leave again, I’ll tell you and I’ll say goodbye.”

"When you leave again?!” His eyes go a bit wide. His voice is more shocked than angry. “When you leave again?” He repeats. 

“Is that a joke?” he asked.

"Why would it be a joke?" I ask and tilt my head to the side.

“You’re leaving again? I thought you were staying.” He’s disappointed, as much as he tries to hide it he wants me to go.

"I'm staying for a week," I admit.

“Why? Why bother coming back at all then?” He starts to pace. “No you know what, You’re not important to me. I don’t care. You’re just a waste of time, a burden you should have stayed in denver.” He spat, venom laced his words. I knew he was just talking out of anger and hurt, but it didn’t make the impact of the words any less harsh.

“You don’t mean that,” I said.

“Oh, but I do!” he barks.

“Well, don’t worry then. I’ll leave after I check in with Slenderman.” I shake my head. I start to walk in the direction of the Slender Mansion.

“Good” Toby mutters, another sharp thud hits the dead tree from earlier. Toby threw his other hatchet at the tree in frustration. 

[t-tomuras]

tw reader death, angst. Alastor x f reader

His smile has never faltered, never once has it been on the brink of falling away from his features. Only ever marred with his snarl, creating a sinister grin or a displeased twitch to his eye depending on the situation but the expression has never threatened to fall away from his face. 

Never has it not felt right to smile. Not even on the day of his mother’s funeral despite the ache in his chest. She agreed with him, instilled the value unto him, it’s why it’s still his favorite song. 

You’re never truly dressed without a smile. 

Denial can only carry him so far, can only keep the tight lipped grin from shattering and his face fall for the first time in who knows how long. Certainly before Alastor’s own afterlife. 

“Alright sweetheart,” he breaks the silence, the eerie ring that makes his ears flick. Already pinned back with an aggression he hasn’t fully felt yet, hasn’t unleashed because somewhere along the way he’d reined it in. Diluted it because you always seemed so adverse to the occurrence, the pinning of your own ears no longer producing a sick delight in him in the progress of the undefined relationship. 

You were his though, that much was clear, “I know you favor the dramatics but it’s time that we go. Charlie will worry.” 

He cups your cheek soothingly, thumb stroking along the apple and up into your hairline as it’s done most mornings now because you’ve never been easy to wake. Less so as you’d come to inhabit his bed. 

“You’ve slept long enough dear,” Alastor sighs, glancing down to the crimson trail from the corner of your lip down your chin. Licking his thumb to rid your skin of the stain the same as he’s done those peaceful mornings following the carnal nights he’d let you bite to your hearts content. 

He isn’t the delusional type, subconsciously desiring he was at least in this very moment but the devil was in the details, even the red of your dress is telling of the situation. The brilliant gradient of black into scarlet now steadily stained; the garment dying a dark sticky mauve, spreading slowly down your chest.  

You’re bleeding out, no longer gasping for breath, when had you stopped? Relinquished yourself to the struggle for air as the gush of your life force has slowed to a sluggish seep around the holy weapon lodged deeply into your sternum before its splintered at the hilt. Liquid gold staining beneath your sharp claws that rest over your abdomen. 

You didn’t go down without a fight did you? Not his little spitfire. You’ve dealt with worse before, you’d told the tale of how you’d found yourself in Hell in the first place 

“It’s time to get up darling,” he clutches you just a little closer, intentionally ignoring the way your skin feels cooler already. How there’s no tension to your limbs, surely you would’ve reached for him by now right? You’ve always done so even in deep slumber, searching for him and his warmth. Will you grab for him? His blood is already beginning to boil, the stitches along his body beginning to glow in the ominous viridian. 

“Adam is dead”, he comments slowly, static emitting from him in the way it does when he’s agitated, “the extermination is over.”

His voice takes on an ominous warble, teeth glowing as the Cheshire grin grows tight, dials flickering in attempt to replace crimson irises. Sclera dissolving into endless voids that reflect the serene look of your face, too lifeless to be endearing. The backs of his knuckles stroking from your temple upwards into your hairline before he slams his fist into the ground to splinter the already shattered terrain. 

What was the point? The purpose? They’d won had they not? 

Alastor’s body continues to contort, grow in size as he cradles you in one hand. Hunched forward as the glow he minutes illuminates you in an ironic sickly hue. 

“Wake up my dear,” shaking you now, falling limp in his hold. Limbs flailing as if you were boneless now and it causes him to snarl. Bringing you closer to him as his voice darkens to a demonic sound, morphed until Alastor’s softer tone is no longer discernible.

“T̸̮̞͔͐̈͐̂̄ͅḣ̸̨͇̦̳̼̩̲͆̀̐̈͗̕i̴͍̰͍͗̒́̀͋̏̋̅ṡ̵̢̧̬͓̥̹͈̩̦̰̈́͌̿̑̈́̀̕͝ ̶͕̣̤͇̘̉́͋̃ͅí̴̛̛̞͙͖̜̯̫̝͕͂̃̌̋͘͝͝ͅs̸̱͇̫̖̫̟̥̐͑̈́͛̎͠ ̵̨̥̻͈̬͊̈́̐̈̂̀͑̔ͅn̴̰̺̹̪̍̔ȏ̶̡͙̲̈͒̽̽̌̑͝ ̴̻̰̪̮̯͇͇̔͗̀ṕ̶̢̞̝̣͈͎̭̇͐̌͌͜͝ͅl̷̡̜̺̞̒̂ͅa̴̞͙̣̱̼̗͗̀͘͠c̵̡̡̜̙̹͇̘͙̊̾͒́ͅḙ̸̢̲̥͍̰̾̿̀̔̕͘ͅ ̴̝͓̣̮̰͔̽̓̉̿̀ţ̶̛͗̋̓̈́́̈͋̌ŏ̵̹̦̜͉̣͖̖́̀͝ͅ ̸̡̯̮̫̠͚̟͓̄̔́̓̀̊̕͜ͅd̸̼̈́̆̔͐̄̓͒i̵̡̭͚͔̭͚̠̭̇͋̾̚e̸̺̝͖̖̗̓͐.̸̙̹̣̂́̐̔̑̎͛̉͂”

[syrahbat]

Knowledge of Another : Chapter One

Here's the first chapter of my Gale/Tav fanfic, Knowledge of Another! It's my very first fanfic ever, so it's been quite the exciting journey. It's getting close to the end now, so I thought I'd share an excerpt, in case you too are a Bard who is in love with Gale and wished for so many more delicious smutty romantic interludes during the main plot of BG3.

I hope so very much that you enjoy! You can read the rest of the fic here!!! 🔮💜✨

____________________________________________________________

It had to be perfect.

The Wizard of Waterdeep was setting up his tent under the fading sun, the commotion of everyone chattering, building fires and making friends filling the air around him. It hadn’t been long since a delicate pair of hands had soothed the arcane portal and pulled him back into Faerûn, nor long since the owner of that delicate pair of hands had connected their minds, flooding him with the knowledge of another so intimate and full that he could scarcely remember the last time a book or story had immersed him so. 

The knowledge of another, he thought, his brow furrowing as he continued dancing his hands in front of him, spectrals of Weave pouring from his fingers and brushing against the bits of his tent like the glistening threads of spider’s web. It disconcerted him, left him shaken. Not because he felt that it was an invasion of his privacy, but merely because it was a feeling so foreign to him that it upset the balance of his reality.

She had not given him the knowledge of another. He knew that now. He supposed he knew it then, but what is a young man to do; how can he miss what he has no concept of. He didn’t know to feel its absence, and after all these years, all this time desperately trying to fill a void he had no clue was there, seeking something he didn’t know she wasn’t giving him, he finally understood what exactly The Orb had found purchase on within his soul. 

The Orb merely took place of the void of knowledge he already had, unbeknownst to him. Though it hungered for magic just as he had done his entire life, Gale was beginning to craft a framework of thought that deeply unsettled him.

How full he felt, after experiencing the knowledge of another. 

“I think it’s a tent,” Tav said jokingly, sidling in next to him. “A very fine tent. The best tent here.” 

Gale turned to look at her, drinking her in without a thought, and smiled brightly. She returned the smile, a crease at her eyes, shining with mischief.

“In fact,” she continued, pushing her elbow against his arm playfully, “I might just be forced to write a ballad about how perfect this tent is.” 

Perfect. Curious, he thought. Curious word choice.

“Ah, well you see, a Wizard is only as good as his lodging.” Gale mused, finally releasing the power of the Weave and watching the effervescent shape of the tent become plain in even this beautiful sun’s glow. His shoulders dropped slightly. 

She was giving him a studying look when he turned to her, placing his hands behind his back and taking a step away. 

“If you ever desire to sleep under a better structure than whatever…” He gestured to her tent, slightly lopsided and clearly raised in a rush, “that is; I am ever at your service.” He bowed sardonically. 

She brought a hand to her heart dramatically, her mouth dropping open with shock. “Wizard, you wound me. I worked very hard on that structure, and not everyone can be as talented and brilliant as you. My talents simply lie elsewhere.” 

He couldn’t help the grin that took over his face, knowing his eyes were dancing with a light he was unable to hide.

“Mmm, yes, I’ve heard the mockeries you level at poor unsuspecting Goblins. Who knew one could perish from embarrassment alone.” 

“I’m sure you are well aware that words can be as much a weapon as fire or blade.” She raised her head in a display of pride that made something burn within him. 

“Remind me to never get on whatever side you deign to be deserving of such viciousness.” He said pointedly, turning back to look at the tent he had tried to perfect. “I suppose this will do.” 

“My Gods, Gale,” her tone was warm with familiarity, “it’s just a tent.” 

She placed a hand on his shoulder beaming a grin, before heading back to the fire and the chattering of their other companions. He heard a cork pop on a wine bottle as he turned back to the tent, hands clasped behind him tightly. He took a breath, and bent under the flap as he stepped inside. 

It was, as she said, just a tent. He climbed in, fluffed and stacked his simple pillows on the bedroll, and began to remove his travelling robes. He knew it was silly, meaningless, stupid, to care so much about it. He supposed he chalked it up to being a recluse, missing the luxuries of his home in Waterdeep, missing Tara and her company. He felt the loneliness bitterly here, the discomfort of a bedroll on the cold ground and only books Tav had found on the journey so far to keep him entertained. How many times could a man read On Death and Resurrection before lapsing into an academic atrophy? 

He suspected it was eight.

Lowering himself onto the bedroll, he put his arms behind his head and gazed up at the low roof of his home for the night, and for the foreseeable future. Raising his hand, he whispered lowly and gestured wide, as a sparkling veil of a starry night inked itself across the ceiling. It was no Waterdeep harbour, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

And though it was a night sky, stars burning in an ever living universe, the beauty he regarded only served to remind him of her eyes, her delicate hands, and her vicious mockery.

[20skai]

Live for Love

Wyll x Tav OC (Nemeia)

Warnings: none really, maybe a bit of embarrassment on Wyll and Nemeia’s part 😅 but this is mostly fluff

Word Count: 1158

Duke Ulder Ravengard has been in strange circumstances but the one he’s currently in is by far the strangest. Kidnapped by Drow, smuggled away to Moonrise Towers, implanted with a tadpole, rescued by a cleric and her cohorts, and reunited with his son. It’s almost too much to take in but he is grateful to be safe from the Absolute’s clutches and having his mind back and clear.

The cleric, Nemeia, hid him when they came to the Elfsong and made sure he settled in comfortably. She made a clean bed for him and implored him to ask if there was anything else he needed and she would get for him. A very kind and selfless young woman. Beautiful too. I wonder if I could set her up with my son, he thinks. Though he quickly finds out he needn’t bother walking into the living area of the apartments.

His son was holding on to said cleric tightly and kissing her deeply. “You’ve brought him back to me, darling. Where I thought it impossible after breaking my contract with Mizora, you brought him back. I can never repay you.” Wyll kisses her again with even more fervor.

Nemeia whimpers as he begins to kiss her neck and tries to half-heartedly push him away but he doesn’t budge. “Wyll! We have to stop. Your father will be back any second. He can’t see us like this!” Wyll goes back to kissing her lips to silence her. He doesn’t want to think about that now, all he wants is to devour her. “I don’t care. Let me worship you.”

“Wyll!” Nemeia cries out, as she begins losing herself to the sensations she’s feeling.

“Son. As much as I can tell you admire her. Let the poor girl go. She looks like she’s about to implode.” The old Duke chuckles out knowing if he didn’t step in now the pair would have passed the point of no return.

The voice of his father causes Wyll to freeze and it’s long enough for Nemeia to slip from his grasp.

“Duke Ravengard! We-I. I was just…!” Nemeia stutters out trying to talk their way out of this awkward situation. But the only thing she does is flee with apologies on her lips. Wyll tries to grab her hand but she’s too quick and is out of his reach before he can blink. He then tries to run after her but is topped by his father with a shake of his head.

“Wyll, give her a bit to calm down. It’s not every day where your partner’s parent walks in on an…intimate moment.” The old Duke laughs out good naturedly which causes Wyll to blush.

The younger Ravengard looks to the door his darling ran through and sighs out in agreement. “I guess you’re right, Father. I’m just so…” Wyll struggles to find the words he feels for Nemeia, she just makes him feel so crazy. Seeing his son flounder causes a small smile to grace the old Duke face; his mind going back to a time where he courted Wyll’s mother, Francesca, on those sunny summer days in each other's company all those years ago.

“Tell me about her, son. She seems to be quite the woman.” He sits down on the chaise in the living area and invites Wyll to take a seat as well. He sits next to his father and a boyish smile graces his face when thinking of Nemeia.

“She’s amazing, Father. She’s kind and fair. But she’s tough. When we first met it was beating back a group of goblins attacking displaced tieflings from Elturel. She was and still is impressive on the battlefield. And she’s always willing to lend an ear to any problem someone has. Getting through the shadow cursed lands alive was all her doing. She always made sure we were taken care of when we were all on the road. And even now, when we finally made it to the Lower City the first thing she did was to find us all lodgings. ‘No point in us sleeping on the ground when we’re in civilization, right’, she said. Nemeia is just wonderful, Father.”

Listening to his son give high praise to this woman causes Duke Ravengard’s heart to flutter a bit realizing something that he’s always wanted to happen with Wyll but was never able to tell him before he left the Gate.

“You love her, don’t you Wyll?” The younger Ravengard flushes but the determination in his eyes when he looks at his father tells the older man all he needs to know before an answer is even given.

“Yes, Father. I do love her. She’s my shining star; she-she’s my everything.” Even though this wasn’t the way Wyll wanted to tell his Father about Nemeia, he hoped to have dinner and maybe a drink in his fathers study to tell him how deeply he feels for her. Wyll always envisioned doing it the proper way since he was young. Tales of love and romance molded him to be a gentleman when it came to dealings of the heart. But despite everything Wyll is happy that it’s finally out there in the open for his father to see. The old Duke can only nod his head and smile at his son.

“I’m so glad you found someone. Wyll. Though you may have been away from me, you were always on my mind. And I had hoped you’d find someone to give you comfort. And she is a remarkable woman, indeed. And when this Absolute threat is dealt with, maybe, you can bring her over to our home and I can give you your mother’s ring. I’m sure she feels the same as you do from the soft glances she sends your way when you both think no one is looking. So, go and tell her how you feel, son.”

Wyll’s eyes widen at the mention of his mothers ring but can’t deny that he hasn’t had the same thought for a while now. But knowing his father picked up on his feelings for Nemeia so quickly causes him to flush deeper and the old Duke can only chuckle looking back at a time where he had the same look on his face when speaking to Francesca.

Both men stand and before Wyll can walk away his father surprises him and pulls him into an embrace. The shock wears off quickly and he hugs his father back with all the bottled up emotion the last seven years apart. After a few minutes they let each other go and give the other a nod. Wyll walks away with confident steps to Nemeia’s room before he can get to the door Duke Ravengard says teasingly, “I hope to have grandchildren soon, Wyll!” The younger man freezes for a second then hurries out the door and closes it with force; hearing his father laugh as he does.

[victoria-daydreams]

The Hare and The Tower

Chapter Two: Heart’s Desire

AN: Whew, how we feeling after that episode, my god! Can’t believe the way this story has blown up like it has, it warms the heart honestly. If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add you! Also, very random but this playing Hunter’s Dream fits oddly well with this chapter.

Trigger Warning: age gap, mentions of forced marriage

Word Count: 2.2k

Taglist: @riviaborns​ @dogmatic255​ @newandykes

Summary: In the quiet sept of the Red Keep, impassioned prayers are heard and confessions made.

Chapter Three: Torn & Lost

113 AC, Westeros

Hundreds of candles were lit before Jesmyn, the golden hue reflecting in her irises. They cast the only source of light in the otherwise dark chamber. With her head bowed and hands firmly clasped together, she quietly prayed to the Seven, but specifically the Crone. Tears trailed down Jesmyn’s cheeks as her whispered words became more indecipherable and fervent with each breath. Her prayer beads clacked against each other as her grasp tightened around them.

“Oh, wise lady, please hear my prayer. Guide me, for I am lost and cannot navigate myself back into your light,” Jesmyn whispered, her eyes firmly shut. The prayer tinged with desperation. “Oh Great Crone, send me your blessed wisdom—” her voice cracked, forcing her to take a shuddering breath. “For as of late, I can do nothing right,” she said, her shoulders shaking as fresh tears dropped onto the stone floor.

It wasn't long before soft whimpers morphed into open sobs. A heart rending cry echoed across the empty Sept. She was sure the Crone would hear the cries of her anguished soul. Suddenly, the doors to the Sept slowly creaked open behind her and the sob which threatened to escape her body lodged itself in her throat. Jesmyn’s eyes opened immediately, her body still trembling. Reaching inside her cloak, she subtly grabbed her handkerchief and began dabbing at her eyes. Vultures lurked in every corner of The Red Keep, it was never wise to show emotions which made you appear vulnerable in court.

Jesmyn listened with anticipation to the footsteps approaching, the heavy tread of boots echoing off the cold, hard floor. She closed her eyes, whispering a quick prayer to herself before reopening them and staring into the dark sockets of the dragon skull hanging from the ceiling. Abruptly, the steps came to a stop behind her, making the muscles in Jesmyn’s body tense. Silence. It swallowed the whole room in its eeriness. Finally, the individual moved forward, coming to kneel beside her at the dais, their knees resting on the stone as well.

“Lady Jesmyn,” a familiar voice quietly greeted.

The owner of it was of many people which was the source of her current misery. Three weeks in a row which he jilted her in the gardens, not bothering to at least give an explanation for his actions. It made her feel like a complete fool, waiting there like an abandoned puppy. Just as she rose to her feet to curtsy, he raised his hand stopping her.

“There is no need,” Lord Hightower said, and she slowly sank back onto the floor.

Jesmyn returned her stare to the large skull, spine stiff and her posture straight. From the corner of her eye, she watched him light a fresh candle before bowing his head to pray. Though she tried to focus her gaze elsewhere, her eyes kept coming back to him. Exhaling deeply, Jesmyn laced her fingers back together and leaned her forehead against her hands.

“Why do you weep, my lady?”

Jesmyn’s head jerked back up, turning to look at Lord Hightower and opened her mouth ready to deny the action. However, she knew to do so would be of no use. Her eyes red and puffy, a telltale sign she had been.

“For many reasons,” Jesmyn finally spoke, her voice hoarse. “I believe I’ve been cursed, Lord Hightower,” she stated. “Both my family and my friends are unhappy with me,” she remarked, with a sigh.

“Everyone has difficult times with friends and family,”

“Does everyone have the Queen and the Princess upset with them simultaneously, for similar reasons?” Jesmyn retorted, bitterly chuckling.

He paused, “I can’t say everyone has, Lady Jesmyn,” he admitted. “Quite the feat, my lady,” he added, with a teasing lilt making a quiet, yet sad laugh leave Jesmyn.

“Princess Rhaenyra refuses to speak to me,” she began, feeling her nose burn with unshed tears. “The Queen…it’s as if she can’t bear the sight of me,” she said, feeling the tear roll down her cheek.

“May I ask what is the cause of the quarrel?” Lord Hightower questioned.

Even through her sadness, the hot flame of embarrassment warmed her cheeks. Averting her gaze from his, she faced straight forward. Her eyes filled with minor panic.

“I…I cannot say. I can't..." Jesmyn faltered, focusing on the skull hanging above. Then she shook her head. “It’s much too humiliating,” she added quickly, dabbing her handkerchief across her cheek. “All I can say is, no matter what happens, both will be displeased with me,” she stated.

“And what of your family?” Lord Hightower prompted.

Jesmyn’s expression turned solemn, her eyes almost darkening in the dim light. She pursed her lips into a thin, serious line.

“Mother and Father are livid with me,” she answered, her jaw tightening. “They think I’ve done something which has ruined my chances with a well regarded, potential suitor,” she explained. “But I haven’t, I would never—” Jesmyn’s voice gave way to the tightness in her throat, silencing herself.

It felt as though the weight around her neck, the burden and the responsibility she bear to secure a wealthy match had increased with each passing day. The weight of the world might as well have placed upon her back.

“This suitor, who is he?”

Jesmyn could see the inner turmoil churning in his head as their eyes locked and even the faintest hint of jealousy if she squinted.

“Oh, he’s wonderful, my lord. He has treated me with such kindness. The man is a gentleman in every sense of the word,” Jesmyn described.

“Do you care for him?” Lord Hightower questioned, his voice was quiet, slightly uncertain.

“Most deeply,” she replied honestly, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. “However, I believe my parents are right. I must have done something to offend him,” she considered. “Though, I am at a loss of what it was, I’ve been nothing but respectful towards him,” she commented.

“Perhaps, a simple misunderstanding has occurred,” he suggested.

“That cannot be,” Jesmyn disagreed, shaking her head. “He and I, spoke to each other in the clearest terms possible, always,” she argued softly. “I have missed his presence these past two weeks. We had such a grand time in each other’s company,” she hinted. “At least, I did,” she emphasized gently.

Jesmyn swallowed, taking a deep breath, and then allowed her eyes to drift up to meet Lord Hightower. His eyes was already searching for hers. The two surveyed each other and Lord Hightower’s face shifted, both of his dark eyebrows raising as the realization slowly dawned on him.

“I’ve been cruelly called his ‘passing fancy’, by some ladies of the court,” Jesmyn mentioned, a frown on her face.

“Looks like the little hare thought she sprouted wings and flew a little too close to the sun,”

“Ignore their lies, and know you are not,” Lord Hightower said firmly. “My duties have kept me busy these past weeks, but that is no excuse for what I’ve done. I’ve neglected you, without so much of a word,” he went on. “I am sorry for how I treated you, Lady Jesmyn,” he apologized. “And how I made an unwitting target out of you for mockery,”

“Thank you, Lord Hightower. It brings me great pleasure to hear those words from you,”

“As for your mother and father, their anger is misguided for you’ve done nothing wrong,”

“That will take some convincing, my lord,” Jesmyn quipped, and Lord Hightower chuckled. “Unfortunately, my father is a proactive man, he has already found another potential suitor,” she confessed, watching the humor fade from his face.  “I detest him,”

She looked away and glanced about the room, taking in the flickering candles. Jesmyn wondered if the Crone heard her prayers, it would be hard to overlook the staggering number of earnest pleas she had passionately, uttered in the last hour.

“Do you want to know what I pray for, Lord Hightower?” she asked, her voice not above a whisper.

“Lady Jesmyn, you need’t—”

“I pray that my father doesn’t wed me off to that Lord,” she continued. “For if I were to marry him, I will surely meet a bloody end, one of excruciating pain,” she prophesied.

“Marriage to this young lord doesn’t mean a death sentence,” Lord Hightower offered. “It’s not ideal, but you may grow to love to him,” he pointed out, sending her a reassuring smile, she could tell it was forced.

“He will never love me!” Jesmyn insisted, turning to him. “He doesn’t care about my talents, my interests, my likes, my dislikes,” she argued, her chest heaving. “He only cares how many heirs I can produce for him!” she spat.

A pricking sensation formed at the back of her irises and she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears, born of anger, fear, and frustration freely slipped down her cheeks.

“I am afraid, Lord Hightower,” she confessed. “If I were to bear his child, and the labor is difficult, I do not trust him with my life,” she continued shakily. “Gods help me, but I know he would be willing to sacrifice me if it meant getting a son in exchange,” she stated, with a quiet sob.

Jesmyn dropped her face into her hand, her shoulders shaking as she cried. Her breath came only in short gasps while her ears started to ring. She felt like the air was being slowly sucked from the Sept, suffocating her in the process. Faintly, Jesmyn thought she heard someone calling her name, but the sound was muffled. It wasn’t until two hands encircled themselves around her arms which jolted her into alertness. Jesmyn’s eyes connected with Lord Hightower’s.

“My lady, I beg of you, please don’t shed another tear. It pains me to see you in such distress,” Lord Hightower pleaded.

“Why shouldn’t I?” she questioned, a runaway tear making its way down her face. “My fate has been sealed,” she added in defeat.

“Only if you let it be,” he advised. “Lady Jesmyn, listen to me. I refuse to leave you to your despair, not when I know the ‘well regarded suitor’ you speak of has not forsaken you. Not now, not ever! This, I promise you,” Lord Hightower vowed, and for the first time in Jesmyn’s life, she had never felt safer staring into another’s eyes who wasn’t her family.

Lifting his hand up, he carefully brushed stray strands of hair from her face. The gesture sending her heart into palpitations, she swore she stopped breathing. Lord Hightower’s hand remained against her cheek, slowly letting his thumb gently trail down the side of her face. Warmth bloomed from where his finger met Jesmyn’s skin, and for a brief moment, her mind was completely blank.

The only thing holding her attention were the smoldering blue eyes across from her, which grew darker and darker the longer they held each other’s stare. The intensity of Lord Hightower’s gaze, the undisguised longing it held, made shivers run down her spine. With her eyes still trained on him, her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, working their way up his tunic. One hand came to hovering over The Hand Pin, before her finger lightly ran along the small, golden fist. Jesmyn dragged her eyes from the pin, flickering to his mouth and then to his eyes.

Hesitantly, Lord Hightower lowered his face towards her, the tip of his nose bumping against Jesmyn’s. The action made her eyelids droop and in bold fashion, she pressed her forehead against his own. Breath’s lingering over each other’s lips. Tilting her face upwards, she closed the space separating them, lips brushing. Just as she was about to press her mouth on his, he jerked away from her. Their lips only a hair's breadth away. Lord Hightower’s jagged breathing flooded her ears and fanned warmly against her cheeks. Jesmyn moved closer going to kiss him, but he retreated back once more.

“No,” he said softly.

She flinched at the rejection, feeling like the wind was just knocked out of her. A knot grew in Jesmyn’s chest, pulling at the very strings of her already aching heart. As if the coldness of the pin burned her, she snatched her hand away from it, but Lord Hightower’s hand quickly grasped hers.

“Know that nothing would make me happier to claim your lips with my own,” Lord Hightower began. His voice soft and carefully pronouncing each word.

Leaning down again, he stopped inches from her lips almost as if he was restraining himself from continuing. Hesitant to make a wrong move, Jesmyn lifted her free hand up to his face, allowing the bristles of his beard to tickle her fingertips.

“But your honor won’t allow it,” Jesmyn finished.

“I want to do right by you,” Lord Hightower explained.

Jesmyn nodded her head, “And so you shall,” she affirmed, warmly smiling at him.

Lord Hightower softly chuckled, squeezing her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips. Jesmyn felt heart swell, while her stomach dropped and fluttered with excitement all at once. The two of them rose to their feet, Lord Hightower staring at her with such affection, it was almost bashful.

“I realize, I have no right to ask this of you Lady Jesmyn,” he began, with a small smile. “But, would you honor me with a walk around the gardens?” he asked, offering his left arm to her.

Jesmyn beamed in return and gingerly placed her hand on his arm, hooking her fingers in the crook of his elbow.

“Nothing would make me quite happier, Lord Hightower,”

Chapter Four: So This Is Love

[ravencromwell]

Ask game: 1, 4, and 20 for Holland

Will do the Vor ones tomorrow!!!!! But for now:

* Rolls up sleeves*

1. First Impression: there's a funny and a serious answer to this.

Y'know how I'm always saying I'm terrible at predicting things? Before I picked ADSOM up, I went looking for ADSOM queer characters or something of the like. And discovered Rhy Maresh, about whom I only knew: his being gay plays a small part in the first book and a much larger one in the next two. So, I'm skimming along and this dude comes into Rhy's room and is all: "I have been to your father for business. I come to you for pleasure."

And my little May December loving heart—which also adores enemies to lovers? Fair somersaulted with joy as I read all about how this "Holland" worked for a rival kingdom. I was _amped up for this slow-burn where they had a long-term thing going on Holland's diplomatic missions that was secret from everyone even Rhy's brother, though I suspected maybe Kell guessed because he sure thought about this Holland a lot, which was only natural if you kinda thought he was gonna be your future brother-inn-law, right?

I can barely type this for laughing at how badly! I got the character dynamics wrong but like: Rhy was so _down! for flirting with him and the guard had said he was dangerous, with very cold, hollow eyes and I couldn't understand how Rhy could possibly be so casual about Holland being in his room if he didn't know something we were missing. (Only later did I learn that Rhy, dearest beloved, if confronted with a suddenly talking tree or wall: would aggressively flirt and charm the leaves/stone off it, only asking how it came to have the remarkable ability of speech after he discovered if it was in fact hot to kiss a tree or wall.)

The serious answer: from the moment I read the lines: "The Antari's eyes slid over the scene—the blood, the ink, the tortured commoner— expression lodged between distant surprise and disinterest. Holland liked to play at being hollow, but Athos knew it was a ruse. He might have feigned numbness, but he was hardly immune to sensation." followed swiftly by "What should I do with him?" even after Athos's "we're not too late" makes clear he expected Holland to follow him instead of help Beloc, I was just like _mine please join the cadre of my best beloveds and let me slay all your enemies (or set it up so that you can be the one to slay Athos do not fucking get me started on Holland being denied his vengeance we will be here all year).

Look, I know there are a dozen different ways to read that scene. I know you can think Holland was simply imagining himself there, or so deeply traumatized Athos was wrong and he didn't give a fuck. But those lines? Combined with Athos' latter staring for tells and seeing "Anger, pain, defiance" at the corner of Holland's mouth and the crease of his eye? Viscerally read as the only sort of solidarity Holland could show to this kid who was about to be a fellow abuse survivor. It didn't _work, but I will die on the fucking hill his asking "What do I do with him?" was a bid to get Beloc out of the frame for the night, because that sort of thing worked often when Athos was distracted.

And so, Holland showing solidarity with Maktahns, even when he didn't actually have the agency to do shit, became an absolute bedrock part of my characterization.

[The two stellar fannish examples of Holland's love for Maktahns in all their bloody glory are Snake Charmer, where he protects Nasi, and Green and Pleasant Lands, where Holland absolutely loses his shit in a contained fashion over Kell criticizing a (quite bleak) ritual. Just fucking peak characterization]

4. how many people do I ship them with? When reading, I'm down for absolutely _anything or _anyone with good Holland characterization. For what I'm likely to write: four. Vor and Tal, which you know. But I'm also deeply. deeply fond of a Holland Ojka arc where she follows him to Red and has to learn how to separate the man and the king, as well as the king and Osaron and properly falls for the man, rather than the king. And I have a deep affection for the Holland Rhy thing you gave me the excuse to write (it's coming at end of semester!!!): a Rhy who deeply misses Alucard and just getting to be a _person rather than a prince. Not even necessarily a fully rounded person who has in-depth conversations with his bed-mate (I mean. he misses that, too but he's not getting it with Holland and that's fine). Just someone from whom all the other party wants is thorough debauchery rather than a tumble and maybe a court appointment for their niece and maybe their friend's brother etc. "You draw them like flies," Holland says once, and Rhy doesn't understand why his laugh is bitter and wistful and it's probably cruel to think of people like insects, because he likes people most of the time he truly does. But also yes, he's so tired of only being the thing from which people take and take and take. And a Holland who wants an antidote to the Danes they probably won't kill who isn't Kell because his desperation to _know Holland is so sharp and Holland isn't here for soul-bearing hour.

20. Weird headcanon: Not weird so much as the one I'm thinking about most today:

It was Alox who ensured Holland could read. Alox has heard rumors that in corners of the city, books can be found. And these Antari, who his brother is slowly becoming one of as his eye turns were once the greatest magicians in the land. People like that like to hear themselves talk, so they probably like to read each other's blather too. Which means his brother has to read, even if Alox never had any use beyond learning the runes for binding so he wasn't cheated out of an inking when he could afford to capture magic.

The year before he decides Holland has to die, he fetches and carries for an old, ill man in a slightly richer district—only for his brother would he carry a dying man's shit down three flights of stairs—in exchange for paper with all the runes on it and some lessons on their sounds. Does his best to teach Holl second-hand, even though what he really wants is a drink—maybe Kosh, maybe blood for a hit of magic he'll decide when he meets his friends later—. Bastard actually leaves Alox two whole intact books when he dies. After that, well Holl never could turn down a challenge. He tosses 'em over and lets him start sounding it all out.

[ravixen]

for the aeris april event! may i ask for shua + 816 🥺

cannot choose one!! Amg bc I love reading most of your works like going through your masterlist time and time again is like stepping into those beautiful big libraries 😌💖 definitely streamer/youtuber au and shapeshifter au is very high on my most loved aeris fics. for youtube au I found the kind of content they’ll do so interesting that if you ever made 50 different variations of it I will read them like they’re the next big coffee shop au collection 😭 + Seokmin’s still has a big chunk of my heart like that changed people’s lives aka me while shapeshifter au’s world building got me hooked! it’s provably lodged deeply into my brain bc I probably read the collection about 5+ different times. the characterization is so good too like the description of their coats/pelts, the way they behave in x scenario 😩👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻 it’s been awhile so this is my reminder to read them again (and catch up with your masterlist) but istg every time I re-read it feels like the first time!

#816: Indestructible by SNSD

// aeris april event

➔ drabble || request || vaguely werewolf!au (if you squint)

➔ warnings: aftermath of arguing, inconclusive ending || 424 words ➔ notes: hurt/comfort? ; whenever i post josh/seokmin content, i'm like, "chia is the intended audience." the YouTuber!AU is one I started in 2015, and it's so special to me. anyway, this song makes me sad, so i took inspo from my "svt + fighting with their s/o" (2021) reaction, my "werewolf!joshua" (2023) post, and the song's first verse!

You still can't meet Joshua's gaze.

Not because you're scared of him—though you have to admit that it's difficult to forget the feral flash of his eyes—but because you know that one glance at his heartbroken expression would weaken your resolve. And right now, you're trying to hammer a point home.

"Here, I'll put that back," he offers softly, hand reaching out for the cleaned mug. You place it on the counter and take long strides to the opposite end of the kitchen, pretending to busy yourself with the hand towels. Slip them off the oven handle, re-fold them along the creases. He sighs at the sight of your back. "I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean it, I swear."

You suppose that, in a way, he is right. He didn't mean the words he said. The moment his brain caught up with his mouth, he clamped his lips shut, the fight melting from his shoulders. But he did intend to hurt you, and as much as he regrets it now, the mission was accomplished.

"How can I make it up to you?"

His tone is nearing a whimper. You give a one shouldered shrug.

"Whatever you want. I'll do all the chores, all the cooking, all the laundry. I'll sleep on the couch—hell, I'll sleep outside, if you want me to."

A part of you is tempted to stay silent, to see what else he'd offer for your forgiveness, but it's been hours. Maybe you've pulled him along for long enough.

"I don't want you to do anything," you begin, turning around to face him. It's endearingly pathetic how fast he perks up. "I just want you to understand why I'm upset."

"I do!"

"Then why did you say it in the first place?"

No answer for that, though he knows why. It's written all over his face. Joshua, the one with the fast legs and even faster mouth, shooting off insults like a loaded gun, knowing that at least one would hit. It's what remains of his younger, more aggressive days.

You press the tips of your fingers into closed eyes. "If it was about something I could change, I would be less upset, but I can't help the fact that I'm human, Josh. Saying that I'm dragging you down as a partner...you could just leave me and find someone that suits you better."

A strangled noise rumbles from his throat. This time, when he reaches for you, you let him, and he rests his cheek against your hair.

[chawarin-panich]

I'm really grateful to every one who has responded to or reblogged my Ray meta post. In fact, the entire series of them has received so much love and kind words I wasn't expecting and it means a lot to me. Ray's journey has become so deeply personal and your engagement really makes me feel seen in a way that is more healing than I can explain.

@savagebisand mentioned in their tags that I need to write fic about Sand teaching Ray how to love - and I am! I'm a very slow writer and I haven't even finished writing all the meta I've wanted to write from ep4 (and already ep5 is upon us hahaha) so here is a little sneak peak of what I've been working on for SandRay:

It lives in fragments within him, that sharp bits of a broken mirror lodged in his chest for so long that its a dull ache he barely notices, edges scratching against soft tissue drawing blood in warmth that drowns him inside and keeps him afloat. It cuts every time he moves, every time his heart beats every time there’s- When you said you are open, are you open enough for someone like me? He kisses Sand and it rushes out of him, the loneliness that isn’t an emptiness but rather a festering pool of things that were once beautiful and full of hope, that held so much of the things he wanted to give, that no one has ever wanted. He wraps Sand up in a mulch that devours life and Sand takes it with loving, gentle hands; gives it back in the simple gesture of pushing him back into the couch and covering him with kisses, and the little puffs of his breath on his skin, a proof of the living. And it lingers. The taste of it in the fried rice that they make and the kisses that Sand denies him. And the kisses that he grants, in the smile he presses to Ray’s lips and the tender, hungry bites he takes of Ray's neck.

[airborneice]

so here’s my hilda ocs, mattie, harvey and arwen! aka the sketchbook kiddo and her little squad. they’re looking for a huldra

these chars have been lodged in my brain for a while so I’m rly excited to start doing stuff with them!! more about them under the cut

in the middle is Mattie, she’s Johanna & Kaisa’s daughter, and Hilda’s younger sister by about ~12 years. I figure she came along not too long after the events of Mountain King. she’s an aspiring witch who thinks the stuff her mamma and sister get up to is so cool and has a bit of a chip on her shoulder to prove she can follow in their lead. Mattie grew up surrounded by all kinds of magic and creatures, but also in a bit of a safety bubble, with two mums and an older sister to look out for her, so she has a very loose concept of consequences and tends to barrel into situations headfirst because "Hilda/mamma/[various other family members] did it and it turned out fine what's the big deal-”. at this point Johanna thinks she’s just destined to have kids that give her heart-attacks all the time

oh and Mattie is short for Matilda! she’s a trans girl and chose the name for herself when she was around 6/7 (kid’s an aspiring witch so three guesses where she got it from :) )

the boy is Harvey! he’s a fankid I made for the background couple I call the ‘black hound wlws’ bc.. them 🥺 he and Mattie met through school and joined sparrow scouts together, and have been friends for about as long as they can remember. they have a shared love of causing chaos and basically live to enable each-other’s shenanigans

and the other girl is called Arwen. Mattie befriended her more recently, after losing her familiar at a gathering and finding it with her (hopefully gonna elaborate on this at some point) and they hit it off from there. Arwen is autistic and non-speaking and talks via a mix of gestures and sign-language, depending on what will get the point across faster. she cares deeply about animals/spirits (or at least, most of them) but is also quite scared of them, which makes going on adventures with Mattie and Harvey..interesting. she’s also generally the holder of the group’s braincell lol

(she’s also an old oc of mine who I wanted to carry over and give some new life to, so if you follow me on insta you may recognise her already jkfdgf)

so yeah, hope you guys like them!! you’ll be seeing a lot more of them >:)

(also thanks @cactincactout and @nisse-room for letting me run some things by y’all before I posted!)

[kit-fisto-obsessive]

Captain Rex Is In Trouble

Chapter 14: A Fresh Perspective

AO3

[previous] [fic masterpost] [next]

Summary

"I'm sorry, my friend," he sighed. "I'm just tired."

"Try exhausted," Monnk said. "You look like shit. What has the 501st been doing to you?" 

Notes

So I'm sorry-not-sorry for last week's chapter. I did tag it slow burn, didn't I? I have loved all the screeching in the comments!!!

I'm very excited to see what you think of this week's chapter, for reasons that I think will become apparent very quickly.

As ever -- unending thanks to my beta @cyarbika.

Enjoy!

Rating: T

Warnings

N/A

" – of course, after I ascended to the level of a god and the local population of sentient rocks declared me their supreme overlord and sexiest sentient of the year – "

Kit frowned as he registered what Monnk was saying.

"What?"

Monnk glanced up from his datapad, smirking. 

"Well, hey there, General Fisto. Welcome back to this plane of existence," he said. 

Kit blinked. 

"What?"

Monnk put his work down and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at Kit.

"I got bored of calling your name and started making shit up," he said. "That was about ten minutes ago."

Kit sighed. He placed the datapad he'd been staring blankly at for the last hour – or however long it had been – down on his desk so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"Forgive me," he mumbled, trying to massage away the headache that had been lodged behind his right brow ridge since he woke this morning aboard the Resolute. 

"I don't know if I can," Monnk sighed. "It was one of my best. Twists, turns… romance, betrayal. A highly erotic subplot. You missed out."

Kit snorted, opening his eyes and lowering his hand.

"Truly, I am devastated to have missed it. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and that you will recount to me your epic adventures, and any erotic subplots, at some point in the future."

Monnk threw his head back and laughed. Kit smiled despite the exhaustion and the headache – and everything else that had transpired in the last twenty-four hour standard period. He had genuinely missed his second in command.

"Seriously though – are you alright? You're a bit out of it."

Kit blew out another breath, his eyes slipping closed as he considered how to answer the question.

"I'm sorry, my friend," he sighed. "I'm just tired."

"Try exhausted," Monnk said. "You look like shit. What has the 501st been doing to you?" 

Kit swallowed, looking down at his lap for a moment.

"The 501st were very welcoming," he said, his fingers toying with a fraying seam on his trousers. "It was merely a… tiring campaign." 

"I heard. It sounded… bad." 

"Is it ever good?"

Monnk snorted softly.

They lapsed into silence and again, Kit's thoughts drifted. 

He'd known that eventually he and Rex would have to have a talk, just as he'd known what he'd have to do when that time came. It's exactly why he'd been putting it off, enjoying the vague undefined nature of their relationship – a mere taste of what he could never have. 

He'd known it couldn't last. As the tension between them inevitably built, Kit had known it would come to a head. Even though the tension had been so delicious, thrilling and exciting in a way Kit hadn't experienced in a long long time, it had just been the tolling bell of their impending end. The longer he'd left it, the harder he'd known he was making it for himself. 

Still, he couldn't quite figure out where it had all gone quite so disastrously wrong.

The image of Rex's face before he'd stormed out  – stricken with fury and pain – would be burned into Kit's memory for the rest of his days. 

That he'd hurt someone he cared for so deeply… it was unforgivable.

Monnk’s voice broke through the swirling storm of his thoughts.

“Listen, let me take the rest of these pads and get this datawork done so you can get some rest. You clearly need it.”

“Really?” Kit blinked. “But you hate datawork.”

“I said I’d get it done,” Monnk said while smirking and gathering the pads scattered across Kit’s desk into his arms, “not that I’d personally do it.”

Kit snorted, running a hand through his ahwey. 

“Well thank you all the same,” he said. “A rest would be… much appreciated.”

“I didn't want to say earlier, but you look like shit. I mean, I know I said it anyway, but still. I felt minorly bad about it."

Kit laughed, squeezing the tresses at the back of his head.

"Thank you for your kind words, Monnk. I've missed you."

"I missed you too, Kit," Monnk said. His arms full of datapads, he used his elbow to hit the doorlock. He grinned at Kit as he backed through the door. "We all did. Glad to have you back – see you in the morning!"

Kit watched him go, then closed his eyes with a sigh. He needed a rest. Actually, he needed a meditative retreat – but that was a distant fantasy. He likely wouldn't find it that relaxing anyway, being out of the loop only served to make him more anxious and stressed. 

Whether it would cause more or less anxiety than what was caused by being an integral part of the command structure of a largely enslaved army, currently involved in a pan-galactic war, Kit didn’t know.

He rubbed his forehead and then, with a flick of his fingers, locked the door to his office-slash-bedroom. Another finger flick and the lights dimmed – the relief on his aching head almost instantaneous. Kit kept massaging his forehead as he rose from his desk and walked towards his bunk, pausing only to rifle through his still unpacked bag and grab his personal datapad. 

He settled down on his bunk, not bothering to get under the covers just yet. He shoved the thin pillow behind his back to cushion his ahwey from the cool durasteel bulkhead and got comfortable, then opened the comms app. Kit quickly piggybacked onto the GAR’s long range communications system, then scrolled through his contact list. Luckily, the particular comm code he was looking for was saved in his favourites, so it only took him a fraction of a second to find it. 

He double checked the standard chronometer, but it was still early morning on Coruscant. She might be busy, but if he was lucky, she wouldn't be. Although, reflecting on the past few days, luck wasn't on his side.

The tides of the Force seemed to be changing however, and the call was picked up almost immediately. 

“What’s up, fish breath?” 

“Hello Dara, it’s lovely to see you too.”

The hologram form of his oldest friend grinned back at him, settling back against her desk chair. Not the oldest as in the eldest, merely the friend he has known the longest. Plo was his eldest friend, a fact Kit liked to remind him of as often as possible.

It was always a little disconcerting to speak to Dara over comms. A fellow Nautolan, Kit knew her skin to be a rich deep blue – the ends of her limbs tinged with purple – but over comms she was a horribly washed out. To Kit's eyes it always made her look ill at first glance. 

At second glance she appeared quite well, though it wasn't always easy to tell with her. She seemed relaxed, happy. She was wearing what looked like her casual robes, softer than the usual ones provided by the Temple quartermaster, sitting in her office.

Dara grinned at him, her fangs catching the light.

“What do you want, kelp head?”

“It’s been a while,” Kit said, scratching his chin. “I thought I should call and check that you haven’t burned down the Temple.”

“Not for lack of trying,” she said, sweeping her ahwey over her shoulder. “I hear Ryloth is still standing.”

“Barely,” Kit said, swallowing. Best to change the subject. “So, how are you?”

Dara pursed her lips as she looked at him, but let it go.

“I’m alright,” she said. “Busy, and tired of course, but I’m doing alright. You know how it is – not too good and not too bad. I’m surviving.”

She reached out, and a mug appeared in her holo hand. She took a sip as Kit replied.

“Assessment season is coming up. How is that going?”

She nodded with her mouth still full, wiping a dribble from her lips before she spoke.

“Well… I made a bit of a rod for my own back there.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” – another sip of kaf – “I didn’t like the exam structure. It was almost all essay questions, and not much freedom of choice? So I added more maths and some data analysis, and then made the final section a choice between two essays, a big maths problem or some data analysis which is a bit of a mix of both. It's been – a lot of work.”

“Sounds like a good idea though,” Kit hummed.

“It is and it isn't. Better for them, worse for me. It's a lot of work and… have you heard about the assessments for the younglings and the initiates?”

“No?” he said with a frown. “That seems… unnecessary.”

“Tell me about it. To be fair, it’s because there's concern about the quality of education dropping, but fuck – we’re trying our best. Anyway, the Council of Education decided they want us to do formative tests for every fucking level, so they can track progress. I’m going to drown under marking but… well. It’s still up to me what the actual exam entails.”

“What have you decided to do then?” Kit prodded.

“I’ve prepared a few different worksheets. They have to choose a rock. Draw the rock. Label the rock. There's a few questions based on what we’ve done in class but they’re all multiple choice because I’m lazy. Maybe a sentence answer for the older kids. I’m trying to make it fun but… well. We’ll see. Might not even let them know it’s a test.”

Dara sipped her kaf with a soft frown, lost in thought. As ever, it was hard to tell in the washed out blue of the holo – but he thought that the skin under her eyes looked a little darker and more puffy than usual. She was clutching her kaf a little tighter than usual, but that could mean anything. Kit bit his lip in concern. 

“What about Molly? Do you get to see her often? I’m sure she’s busy.” 

“She is, but we try to have dinner together at least once a week,” she said, smiling widely as she always did when the topic of her old padawan was brought up. “More often, usually. And she comes to my office for kaf and a chat every few days. Bant too, if she can get away. She comes to our dinners if she isn’t on shift – I don't know if she’s mentioned.”

“She has indeed,” Kit confirmed. Dara threw back the last of her kaf and placed her mug back out of the field of view.

“It’s nice. Nadhar joins too, though not as often. He has his own thing with some of the other younger medics. How is he, by the way? Or did you not get to see him before he left?”

“No, we crossed over shortly,” Kit said, resting an arm behind his head. “He seems… alright? Exhausted, but well in spirit.” He frowned. “Though as I said, I only saw him briefly.”

“I’ll make sure to check in with him when he gets back to the Temple,” Dara said. “It should be easy enough to guilt him into joining us for dinner.”

“Your willingness to emotionally manipulate our padawans never ceases to astound me,” Kit said with a grin.

Dara shrugged.

“You call it emotional manipulation, I call it parenting,” she said. “I’ll make him his favourite to sweeten the deal.”

“Creamy fish pie with breadcrumb and crispy bacon topping?” 

“You know it.”

“Truly, the depths of your evil knows no bounds,” Kit said, and Dara laughed.

She reached for her kaf cup and brought it back to her mouth, frowning when she found it empty. Kit hid a smirk.

“What about Cherise?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s well,” Dara said, placing her mug back on the desk. “Busy as usual, a victim of her own success. 79s is going from strength to strength, not only with clones but with the locals too. I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like anymore. Even when I sleep in the apartment, which I do most nights truthfully, she doesn't get in until after I've fallen asleep. Some days we have breakfast together and then she goes back to sleep, but more and more she’s just too tired.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” Dara sighed. “I’m no better. I stay up when I can, to see her when she gets in, but I'm too tired as well. We’re both just… tired.”

She shook off her misery with a literal shake of her head, her ahwey swinging wildly.

“Enough about me though. How are you?” she asked, resettling in her chair.

“I’m well.”

“Really?” Dara studied him with a frown. “I heard the Ryloth conflict was… rough.”

Kit sighed and rubbed his brow, frowning.

“It was,” he said. “Wat Tambor and Dooku… The less said about it, the better.” He bowed his head, rubbing his palms together. “In truth, we’ve all seen worse in this war.”

Dara gazed at him, lips pursed and brows furrowed with concern.

“I haven’t, Kit,” she said softly. “Many of us in the Temple haven't. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“You know how it is, Dara,” Kit replied. “Not too good and not too bad. I’m surviving.”

She exhaled softly and they gazed at one another. 

Kit couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know Dara. As children in the Temple, not even toddlers, they had spent hours playing together in the pools of the creche. There was no one, not even his padawans, who Kit knew as well as he knew Dara. In return, there was no one who knew Kit as well as Dara did. Even over comms, where pheromone communication was impossible, they had no need for words.

There was a world of comfort in her eyes as she studied him, pity and warmth and love. He loves her just as much. Neither of them need to say it, though they do often. 

Eventually though, Dara cocked her head and squinted at him.

"Go on then, I'll bite."

"What?" 

Dara looked at him with one of her brow ridges arched.

"Whatever you actually called to talk about," she clarified. "Not that this chat hasn't been lovely, but something is clearly bothering you.”

Kit shifted uncomfortably. There were downsides to her knowing him so well. For instance: the fact that he had never been able to keep a secret from her in his life. 

“What makes you say that?” he asked. He knew what her answer would be. Sure enough – 

“Well you look like shit, and you’ve barely let me ask you a question, which is what you always do when you don’t want to talk about yourself. Like you said – Ryloth isn’t the worst combat you’ve seen. What else is up?” 

Her eyes narrowed, and Kit braced himself.

“Does it have something to do with that Captain you've talked constantly about for the past few months, and yet haven't mentioned once so far today?”

Kit stared at her for a moment, then sighed. Damn her. He rubbed his hand across his jaw, wondering where to start. 

He ended up telling her the whole story. Once she got him started, he found he couldn’t stop.

The first time they met, and all the times after. How they'd only grown closer after he'd been assigned as the temporary General of the 501st. How he'd fallen for Rex's heart, his smile, his strength of spirit.

The way he'd tried to pull away, even when he found himself only falling harder. 

The party. The way he'd wanted so desperately to kiss Rex, the feeling of their bodies pressed together and the way Rex had looked at him. 

The way Kit knew they could never be together. How he knew Rex deserved so, so much more than what Kit could give him. 

The night before when Rex had come to his quarters and tried to kiss him. Kit's attempt to gently rebuff him. 

How it had failed, so utterly and spectacularly.

When he'd finished, he looked down at his lap. He breathed out to work through the tightness in his chest. Once it loosened fractionally he looked back up at the image of Dara – these days the tightness rarely went away, so a little looser was all he could manage. 

Rex had made the tightness go away.

"Well?" he asked, studying Dara's face.

"Well what?"

"What do you think?"

She stared at him, frowning. After a moment, she shrugged. 

"It seems like a perfectly well reasoned and logical decision," she said.

Kit blinked at him. 

"Is that all you're going to say?" he asked her. 

Usually she had endless rants about Kit's love life, prepared in advance. Now though, Dara ran a hand through her ahwey and sighed, brows creased. 

"Well what else would I say, Kit?" she said, obviously aggravated. "That as your friend I'm tired of watching you forgo any chance at happiness because you don't feel worthy of it? That I'm tired of you using logic to push people away?" She fixed him with a look. "It's nothing you haven't heard before. Over, and over, and over again. Why bother repeating myself?"

Kit stared at her. For whatever reason, there was only one part of what she said that really stuck out in his mind. 

"I'm happy," he said.

Dara fixed him with that look again.

"Don't lie to me. You aren't good at it." 

He swallowed, looking down into his lap. 

"It was the right thing to do," he said. 

"Was it though?" Dara asked. "The logical decision isn't always the right one."

"But – "

"Life isn't logical Kit. Love isn't logical. It's… it's like the shuttle problem."

He looked back up at her, raising a brow ridge. 

"The shuttle problem?" he asked. 

"Yeah, you know. That famous ethics problem," she said. "There's a shuttle heading down a track and three people tied to the track. You can't free the people tied to the track but if you push a lever you can send it down a different track, where it will only hit one person."

His brow ridge remained firmly arched. 

"I don't see how this is relevant," he said. 

But that was often the way with Dara, drawing parallels he couldn't see at first. Her mind may move in away altogether different to his own, but once she drew him a map she was usually right. 

She explained. 

"Well, the logical decision is to push the lever, sacrificing only one person instead of several. But that doesn’t make it the right decision." She smiled at him, pityingly. He tried not to resent it. "Life isn't maths Kit, you can't live it being guided by sums and logic."

"But you love maths," Kit pointed out. 

"I know."

"You've said 'maths is life' on several occasions."

"And I stand by that statement," Dara said, folding her arms. "In any case, your sums are wrong. You never give yourself the right value, in any of your equations."

"If life can't be guided by maths and logic, what does it matter that my sums are wrong?"

Dara glared at him. 

"Stop being stupid. You aren't at all, and it's irritating," she said. "You're the one who wanted to talk, so let's talk."

Kit sighed. 

"I mean, you said you explained to him why you couldn't be together, but did you give him any chance to respond?" Dara continued. "You keep telling me how damn smart he is, don't you think he would have considered all that himself?"

Kit ducked his head, his cheeks heating. 

"No," he admitted. He’d been too caught up in his own head to consider what was going on in Rex’s. Yet another way he'd been an inconsiderate fool apparently.

"And… you know Kit,” Dar said beseechingly, leaning towards the camera. “You know this wasn't the right decision. For you, or for him." 

He raised his head when she paused. She was looking at him with naked concern and pity.

"I mean, isn't that why you called me?"

Kit swallowed. 

She was right. 

She was always right. 

It was why he called her. To have her pick apart his thoughts and lay them out for him. To have her hold up a mirror and force him to really look at himself. A different perspective to make everything instantly clear to him, where before it was muddled and confused.

As she says often, she doesn't have time to deal with his bullshit. 

"I felt awful as soon as I said it," he admitted. 

"See?" Dara said. "You don't need me to tell you this shit, Kit."

He swallowed. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. 

"He was so much more upset than I thought he'd be," he whispered. 

Dara cocked her head, frowning a little. 

"As in… you didn't expect him to be upset or…?"

Kit shook his head, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as discreetly as he could manage. 

"No, no," he took a deep breath. "It's just… he was so angry with me. I've never seen him so angry."

Dara breathed out through her nose, studying him. 

"I mean, I only know him from what you've told me, but that doesn't sound like him."

"It wasn't like him at all… Or not who I thought he was."

The last bit Kit murmured, mostly to himself. Dara sighed, leaning on her hand and gazing at him. 

"Well… What exactly did you say?" she asked.

She grabbed her kaf from off screen and took a sip, frowning when her mug was empty again. She rolled her eyes and put it back on her desk, scowling. Kit smothered a smile behind his hand. It quickly faded as he started to talk, recalling one of the most painful moments of his life.

“Well… I started by saying it would be inappropriate for a General to see a Captain. He’s my subordinate and I owe him a duty of care, the power imbalance… that sort of thing.”

Dara frowned at him. 

“Well, I can see the problem he had with that right away.”

Kit scowled.

“You can’t be okay with Kenobi and Vos and Secura dating clones and then use that justification to turn your Captain away. And don’t say it's because you’re on the Council or it’s because he’s a captain. It would be embarrassing.”

“You can’t deny the power imbalance would be an issue,” Kit said with a scowl, his shoulder hunching defensively. 

“Yes and no,” Dara hummed. “There’s no reason for it to be inherently unhealthy – it’s all about how you act within that power imbalance, and whether you’re conscious of it. I know you’re conscious of it, so… are you planning on exploiting him? Using him?”

“No! Of course not!” Kit said, horrified by the mere idea. 

“So what’s the issue? Really?”

“What do you mean?” Kit asked. He knew exactly what she meant, and she knew that he knew, but she humoured him anyway.

“What is your actual problem with starting a relationship with a man who you are clearly crazy about? Because it sure as shit isn’t his rank.”

She was set on making him actually say it, wasn't she?

“It’s because he’s a slave, Dara,” Kit exploded. “It’s not about me being a General and him a Captain, it’s about me being a General and him a slave.”

Dara remained calm in the face of his anger, studying him with quiet eyes. He took a breath and tried to calm himself too. She knew that, of course she knew that. She just wanted to make him admit it.

As much as he hated it, he needed to talk about it.

“That doesn’t change the fact that it seems to be one rule for you and one for the others. And I know you’re genuinely happy for all of them. It’s just about you holding yourself to stupid standards again,” Dara said softly.

Kit grunted.

“If anything… You explaining that you can’t possibly have a relationship with him because he’s a slave when he’s the one who initiated everything and is no doubt intimately aware of that fact is downright insulting, moron. You’re taking away what little agency he has. Hell, I’m kinda pissed at you – we both know you’re smarter than that.”

Kit hummed, turning that over in his head. She was right. She was always fucking right. He exhaled, rubbing his aching forehead.

“Perhaps,” he allowed, “but it was after that that he got really angry.”

“Well, okay. What happened next?”

"He pointed out many of the same things that you did, and then I explained that he deserves someone better than me," he said, "someone who could be there for him in a way that I couldn't. That I was too old for him. I didn’t get a chance to say anything more."

Dara pursed her lips, frowning. After a moment, her brow ridges raised, as if something had just occurred to him.

"Kit," she said slowly. "Did you say you were too old, or did you say he was too young? Because the distinction is quite important."

Her meaning hit him like a runaway speeder, piloted by a particularly hefty rancor. He wracked his brains desperately, trying to remember the exact wording of what he'd said.

"You are so young, and –"

"I’m too young?"

"I… may have said he was too young," he admitted. "I certainly said he was young… and he certainly heard that he was too young." 

"Kit…"

Kit buried his face in his hands with a groan. 

"You fucking moron."

"I know," he moaned. Force, what an idiot. 

"Oh I wonder why a man who's ageing process was artificially accelerated might be offended by you calling him too young?" Dara said, with blistering sarcasm. 

"Dara, please –" 

"I wonder why that upset him?" she continued, really getting into it. "You absolute fucking kelp head. You shit-for-brains sea slug. You waterlogged fucking sea sponge. Is your massive head actually filled with bubbles? For fucks sake!" 

He dragged his face up. His best and oldest friend was looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, anger and amusement – her scowl periodically broken when she could no longer hold back her smile.

"Well, how do I fix it?" he asked her. The barest fraction of a whine crept in, but if Dara was just going to insult him then he saw no problem with it. 

Dara just looked even more amused. 

"What do you mean, how do you fix it?" Her tone and gaze was blisteringly sardonic. "Apologise to him, you moron. On your hands and knees. Grovel, and pray that he forgives you."

He sighed.

"I don't even know when I'll see him again…" he said. "It's hardly the kind of thing to discuss over coms."

He buried his face back in his hands. 

"Shit."

Dara let him wallow in his misery and self pity for a while. They sat in silence on opposite sides of the Galaxy, the same as they would when they were simply on opposite ends of a sofa in one of their quarters. They could sit in silence together for hours, but it wasn't that long before Dara's voice cut through his thoughts again.

She always knew when to let him be, and when he needed dragging out of his own mind.

"I can't say that I'm all that surprised," she said. "It was only a matter of time before your constant self-sabotaging hurt someone other than yourself." Her tone wasn't kind, but it wasn't as harsh as it could have been either. Not as harsh as Kit quite probably deserved.

Once again he lifted his face from his palms to look at her. This time her face was much softer, her lips gently pursed as she gazed at him. The exasperation had receded, leaving only fondness and a trace of pity. 

"I miss you," Kit told her.

She smiled at him – warm, bright and crooked. She was about to reply when her com gave a warning bleep. 

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. "I need to go, I have to teach a class in 20 minutes."

"I love you," Kit said, smiling at her. 

"I love you too, dickhead," Dara said. "I'll message you later. We aren't done talking about this." She leaned forwards, jabbing a finger at him before she disconnected the call.

Kit gazed at the empty space where her face had been before sighing and tossing his com in the direction of his desk. He missed, and after staring apathetically at where it rested on the floor for a long moment, he waved a hand and lifted onto the desk.

After brushing his teeth and changing into his sleep pants, Kit climbed into bed. Usually he slept in the nude, but the cold depths of space were just that – cold. He pulled the covers up under his chin, noting that he could probably do with a second as he flicked off the light.

He gazed at the darkness above him and thought of Rex, of how badly he'd fucked everything up.

Kit closed his eyes with a sigh, and tried to go to sleep. 

Notes

Kit and Dara are each others emotional braincells. They both have to do a lot of heavy lifting.

Some of you may recognise Cherise from the wonderful @cyarbika's Walk Me Home, and of course No Strings Attached. Of course in the Terrible Jedi universe Wolffe is aroace, so Dara got to swoop in there instead >:)

Thank you all for reading. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated and endlessly treasured.

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[libidomechanica]

“Springs, and Flora, and remembers that with a tawdrie lace”

He plonged for. And breaking earth     on a pot of being crag, and kissing, he tripp’d in the     wilderness; and the clear day with him. Thee shame had pass; and     hearts so sweet as a ghost in a triple soules bene my     wild stay, for that hill of

bone, he rode all thee! Come hither     honor the first set of day breath. His fyriefooted teme,     making earth a cordial, where, ev’n superstition mask’d—a     Power may choose but my kisses while pray the haunted fair     that with thee spears. Of men

unblest he knew it not stir his     eye I have lets his deuise: they speak to our lovely eyes of     health conquering! Downe, so far reachery! No, the haunt     beloved me; my grief forget! After that is thy voice I     see—I see a ship is

secret wast thou, whose? Yet neare our     hunts he fountain-bars: and the Neva’s ice would glad, an infant’s     grave though I weep for a gorgon wrath: sike syrens in     their wrigle tailes, for thy father that tardy millions;     a country in a moment,

though too late on Pilgrim of     Eternity: the citizen his break from thee with heavy     tufts of love: I am full faine: such for a moon shall     be my grief born alive. The lie and so many, yet t     is very thick jaws, the

like heav’nly haueour, her will, gude faith!     At the dewy morning. Of frail human go? Into the     full cheare: for him a want that you mount Oliue braunches broken?     Ah, think, and sail; but short tunes? May covered thus that it a     heart i am never

a woman in hope, our early     immortal on their secret Paradise of her by to     climbed their smile, pleaseth your fills! Though I were voices sweetheart     in me, there’s no one did if it harden’d spirit in     the body that equal

divide what happy, happy, happy     show to the named her principall. And though I’m sure through     therefore, I told her name O grammer song. Bespeak not thinke.     Come they, while that in one to their image stealing me back     with the mortals each others

be, to fyll the shepheard, tel     it not thou’s for my tongue of sleeps, the lady, you as a     lynx, and purple hue—Ah, woe is me! Or brazen fame; before     my soueraigne of accident. Looks were long did say, the     should be equinox, that

through in bullet tear! Springs, and     Flora, and remembers that with a tawdrie lace. Instead of     a please their Evadne; and flute his former, all is set,     like mind is sense to repay his knowledge the limbs as if     it were be, whose sons, not

bound with awaken’d from the speakest     of his own well lodged, but love you need too real that spurn     the earth the path to Auld Lang Syne’ brings made many I knewe     the foul with potent spark, descend—oh, drearily, as the     trains. They all animals

afore, by new and doth aspired,     snail-paced looking on thee, as doth this laurels and mourning     tree one has been raise, and sighing look at me! Of a swain     divine point with there is not of gallant came to the wings     he leans sadly o’er pebble,

and gall. And bless to appears     already ear to a points; it is at a loss what none     thine others sayne, to choose a May-lady to government     has buried in shape. Priest for trust God: see a little gayne:     as meeke he was going

the objects light here was born on     the same, and rich old man, absolute, subject to nothing     fountain-top would breath!—How deeply under her ignorance     awakens all. The Eske river flows, when the air their broade     head. In diapers every

sad? Who live the long, and pincers     held, and cleare, I told how much gives the careful, ere than the     old enough the side, so doubtless in thrall; yet as a sad     thing till the circumstance only by their Violines. So     daring title of love

which she merely for our guide. Of     life is never-wearied love what house and fill as he spring     thee, I shall pleasaunce, and morning must be done press’d, nor     shame to climb out. I strove, nor let the meed for, our troupes to     keep their pass overblown.

[iruludavare]

" My...What do you hope to accomplish with your journey? Do you have any hopes? Any goals? " - @fleurladari ; hiii :)

@fleurladari

    It is a question that brings the new trainer to a halt—the sort that causes brows to furrow, lips to purse, and for shoulders to so very slightly fold in on themselves. Perhaps, to him, it is a question without weight or seriousness, a standard inquiry to pose at someone in her position on a very shallow level, yet it is one that cuts deep. A question with claws that sink deeply into the blonde’s heart, twisting and turning as she attempts to make sense of it—to feel whether or not it is best to leave them lodged there and stable, or to rip it free and let insecurities flow once more. What does she want? What does she wish to accomplish? What is it that she yearns for along this unplanned journey?

    A cursory glance throws itself to the Fennekin in her arms, and then to the Flabebe hiding amongst golden curls. Is what she wants for herself, or to be the cause of change for the creatures now so dear to her heart? To ease her grief, or help them grow? There is an urge to lie, and say that she travels with the goal to conquer the pokemon league—to regurgitate an expected dream of today’s youth, no matter how much Serena disagrees with the concept of battling for the sheer sake of it. Yet she is nothing if not naively truthful, loyal to her bleeding heart and morals. And Lysandre, why he would surely be able to see through such things, should it even be attempted.

    What a vexing little situation.

    Her silence comes to an end only when Serena feels it has been dragging on a little too long, motivated not by obligation, but instead to silence her own thoughts. To hush the cries of wanting to return to her old life, to be pursuing the career she had spent eighteen years chasing day in and day out. To do what she loves; not what others think the blonde ought to do. To dance—not battle. To tell stories hundreds of years old, not contribute to a cycle of violence fuelled by money and pride. She stands alongside her pokemon, not to fight, but to find support and togetherness in a world so callous and unpredictable. Indeed, have their bonds not formed on the desire to protect and nurture?

    When brows relax, and pale features take to their oh-so-characteristically neutral expression, what escapes from Serena is one, simple sentence:

         “…I want to find myself,”

[yandere-sins]

Good evening or morning (wherever you are).... My request for today is Kaeya from genshin impact. What if he were to confess his love to a timid reader but *gasps* she reveals she has a boyfriend already. Smut is fine if you want.

Thank you so much 🦋

Thank you for requesting!! ♥ Part 2 of my trying to get back into smut OTL

Rated Lemon/Explicit!

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

Even after everything that happened, you weren't able to forget the look on Kaeya's face as you broke the news.

True, you and your boyfriend had wanted to keep your relationship on the low, but not because you tried to deceive your friends, just so you two could have some peace while finding out more about each other and developing your feelings. But you never meant for anyone to look at you so... disappointed. Even if you were happy with your choice of partner, having to reject someone dear to you still hurt.

"Oh, [Name]," Kaeya sighed, shaking his head. Of course, he wouldn't be happy to hear the person he just asked out confess that they had a boyfriend. Perhaps especially because you two had always been relatively close, even more so lately where you were out almost every day after work. You felt a tinge of regret not telling him earlier. Save him the embarrassment you assumed he must feel. Then again, how could you have known that the charismatic Kaeya had feelings for you? He could have any woman in town, so why had it to be you? Of all people, you wouldn't have expected Kaeya to confess his love to you. Even if you two always got along fine, you thought yourself to look rather gray next to the shining knight that Kaeya was. Someone who wasn't fit to be anything more than friends with him.

"W-We can still continue being friends?" was the best and stupidest comfort you could come up with on the spot. You saw his grimace of disapproval, and it took him a second to collect himself, taking a deep breath before pushing himself away from the wall he had leaned on after learning the truth. Kaeya truly appeared devastated by the realization that you were taken already, and part of you could understand him. Certainly, you had just ruined his night and whatever companionship you two had, just because you couldn't have been more open from the beginning. It would have at least saved him some heartache, if any.

"Friends?" Kaeya mumbled, unfolding his crossed arms as he walked back to your side, leaning on the backrest of your chair. Feeling uncomfortably cornered, you stood up, looking around you. The outside of the tavern was lonely, and Kaeya had chosen this place for his confession surely to avoid any curious listeners. There were still voices coming from inside Angel's Share, but the streets of Mondstadt were quiet at this time of the night, with only his smooth voice reaching out to you. "With all due respect..."

Wrapping his fingers around your chin, you were forced to look up, staring right back into the mocking expression of your 'friend', the mood suddenly shifting. You had regretted having to reject Kaeya's feelings before, Kaeya always having been a good friend to you and hurting him felt wrong. But you would come to regret it much more that you went outside with him, away from the safety of the masses.

"I'd rather be anything else than your 'friend'."

»»————————

"Come on, Dove! Say it! I'm better than him, aren't I?"

"N-No--"

Your attempt to refuse this assumption was meekly interrupted by your loud gasps as Kaeya pushed forward. The curve on his cock was so perfectly aligned inside of you, constantly hitting the good spots whenever he plowed it inside. A cocky grin was on his face as he showed you off in the reflection of the mirror before you, spread over his legs and hanging in his grip on you. It was the biggest taunt he could think of, constantly reminding you how good you were feeling despite your initial refusal of him.

The image inside of the mirror wasn't one you had ever seen of yourself. That sweaty, drooling mess of a human, eyes unfocused and yet filled with pleasure, was nothing you could relate to. And yet, except for the occasional blue strands of hair falling over your skin and peeking out from behind your shoulder, your brain recognized the sight as you. Still, it was hard to accept this side of yourself, especially with his marks and hands. All. Over. It.

Kaeya only laughed as you tried to refute him, smirking a cocky grin from behind you. "Oh? Did Mr. Boyfriend not touch you yet? Even though you're such a little slut?"

His hand falling between your legs, Kaeya first brushed up your thighs, causing you to squirm from the sensation. His hands were trained and roughed up from handling swords, but the way he used them showed how skilled he was. Settling at your clit, he slowed down the rocking of his hips for a moment to get his fingers wet with your juices before picking up the pace again. There was no way you could deny how you were feeling after riding him for the better portion of time ever since he brought you to this city apartment of his, your body shivering and moving on its own with his hand teasing your clit, the additional pleasure riling you up.

"Look at your cunt gaping open for me~" he purred, opening your lower lips wide for the mirror to reflect your exposed entrance. Seeing how his shaft disappeared inside you clearly, you only felt hotter from embarrassment, turning your head which was quickly caught by his free hand, Kaeya turning it forward again - painfully so. His grip wasn't even close to how he had touched you before when you two had still been 'only' drinking buddies. You weren't sure how long he had feelings for you, but you wagered that these feelings must have changed much in the last hour, just like his touch. It once had been so gentle, kind. But now, it was rough and demanding, leaving no room for how you felt.

"Let go!" you said firmly, tearing yourself from his grip to avoid looking at this strange self in the reflection. You felt ashamed and embarrassed. Kaeya made a fool out of you, now that he had you in this peculiar situation. It's not like you wanted to cheat on your boyfriend and betray him in any kind. But your body reacted positively to it, making Kaeya chuckle as you tightened around him after seeing yourself, "You are enjoying it a lot, aren't you?"

It brought tears to your eyes, knowing it was Kaeya deeply lodged inside of you, but your sobs were just another incentive for him to continue. You couldn't even blame him for that - they did sound a lot like sounds of pleasure that overtook their place. Soon you were back to gasping and moaning, glad you at least weren't begging him for more with how shameful you behaved.

"You can still leave him," Kaeya suggested. Though a smile still played around his lips before he hid them behind your shoulder, kissing it tenderly, he sounded very serious. "Leave him and stay with me. No one needs to know what kind of slut you are, going behind his back."

"But I didn't!" you sobbed. "You forced me too-- You forced yourself on me!"

Without hearing the sigh falling off Kaeya's lips, you found yourself breathing in sharply as he made a sudden push, burying his cock even deeper inside of you, the base of it touching your body. The gasp was followed by a long moan, tears streaming down your face after he exploited your sensitivity so much. It was a regrettable, disgusting moan signaling how much you enjoyed him hitting these sweet spots of yours.

Your gaze fell back to the mirror, showing the pleasure-stricken expression on your face. Even though you knew you shouldn't feel this way, Kaeya simply seemed to know all the right things to do, and he used all of them. It was bitter, but he did make you feel... erotic. Made you feel like something you never saw yourself as. Something your boyfriend couldn't make you feel.

With him, it was sugary-sweet puppy love, but with Kaeya, there was so much more. Desire, carnal at that. Love, demands, obsession. No matter how either of you moved your body, it was exciting, making your heart race. Every glance at yourself in the mirror made your body tingle, and every one of his pushes sent waves of excitement up your spine. You wished to have experienced these things with the person you truly loved instead of the hawk watching you from behind.

"I know," he mumbled, his hands driving up from your pussy to your chest, giving your breasts an equal squeeze. Taking in a sharp breath, you held back, instead having Kaeya be the one to groan lowly into your shoulder as you tightened around him. "I'll take so much better care of you than that boy. I can make you your true self, don't you think? You're wasted on everyone but me."

"Just finish it," you breathed heavily, and Kaeya sighed.

"As you wish."

Picking you up by the legs, Kaeya hoisted you up into the air, taking a few steps forward to stand right in front of the mirror. It was a breathtaking sensation to feel his cock carving you out from the dynamic motions, your walls gladly welcoming every inch before confining his member inside. You really could do without a closer look at how his cock slid in and out of you, sloppy sounds and tingling sensations running through you, but it almost made you wonder if you'd be able to experience the same sensations that Kaeya put you through, ever again once this was over.

"Hope you're ready for what you wished for," he reminded you, and you instantly began to realize alarming innuendos in his choice of words and the teasing tone of his voice, struggling in his hold.

"N-Not inside!" you yelled at him, slinging one arm over his head to be the one to tightly grip his face this time. "You can't cum inside!"

"Oh, really?" he taunted you. You squeezing his cheeks together didn't change the fact that he could grin like a Cheshire cat out of fairytales. "Give me one good reason not to."

"I can't bear your baby! I just can't!"

Grinning even wider, Kaeya let you drop a few inches to kiss your nose. "You'll need to do better than that."

Biting your lip, you thought about what he could want to hear from you, eventually realizing the level you'd have to stoop to. A baby would ruin everything, especially if it was Kaeya's baby. Even if things wouldn't turn out the worst way possible, it would still be a lifelong reminder of this ordeal he put you through. Your pride was worth nothing in exchange for the future you always wanted to have.

"P-Please..." you mumbled, the quick pace with which he was ramming into you making it hard to speak. At the same time, it urged you to hurry, as it wouldn't be long now before he'd fulfill the deed inside of you.

"I can't hear you~"

"Please don't cum inside me!"

Halting abruptly, Kaeya looked at the mirror image of you two, thinking for a split second before he resumed the pounding--this time, determined to finish. It was almost like you were hit by thunder, every movement releasing more shocks through you. You were a panting mess, but Kaeya wasn't far from it either. His eye would close halfway as he sunk into pleasure with you, both of you falling deeper and deeper into this hole.

Until it was finally over, your body curving and stretching, Kaeya's grip tightening to hold you throughout your orgasm, fingers digging into your supple thighs. Closing your eyes, you felt like flying, carried by a cloud, away from all the bad things and surrounded by the comforts and excitement that only intimacy could cause. You were almost lost in the orgasm before a part of you recalled the danger that was Kaeya, but much to your relief, when you opened your eyes again, he pushed in deep for the last time before suddenly lifting your up and off his cock.

Spurts of white semen shot through the air, landing on your reflection's stomach almost exactly where it would have landed inside of you. Both of you huffing, exhausted and spent, you watched as it dripped off the slick surface, leaving its stains there rather than inside of you.

Kaeya finally dropped you down, your legs unsteady, but his hold never ceased and kept you up. "Thank you..." you muttered, finding it hard to believe that after all he did, you were still thanking him for not cumming inside. Finding yourself in his arms rather than the ground, you refused the kiss he wanted to plant on your lips, instead turning your cheek, but Kaeya didn't seem to mind.

"I think you owe me something," he whispered into your ear before you felt his teeth bit into your lobe, making you flinch. "I did pull out like you asked me to."

"I owe you nothing, you... you bastard! You fiend! You...!" Your feelings took the upper hand as you heard what he demanded from you now. It was hard not to raise your voice when he dared to tell you about what you owed him after taking you against your will.

Laughing out loud, Kaeya quickly composed himself again, pretending to be hurt. "Ouch. I didn't know you knew these kinds of words."

A sudden rough pull in your hair yanked your head back, your body arching under the force and pressing against his while Kaeya towered over you, never letting his gaze stray from you. "Call me what you want. I don't care what you think, I'm not your friend, remember? I am anything but your stupid, little friend."

This time he took your mouth as he pleased, ramming his lips into yours and slipping his tongue down your throat. When he finally spoke again, his words were nothing but threatening to you, an anxious knot building in your stomach.

"That's why you'll break up with that asshole, you understand?"

"Why would I! Just leave me alone! You had what you wanted!"

"You still don't understand it," Kaeya sighed, releasing your hair briefly before tangling it around his fingers again, pulling you back even further and making you fear your spine would snap. "You are what I want! You belong to me! I was nice this time, but I will change if I must. Break up with him and make it easy for both of you. And then you'll come back to warm my bed, understand?"

Gulping, you put on a brave face, trying to face his stare head-on. This was getting out of control; you couldn't let him win with all his endeavors! No matter how you thought about Kaeya before, this wasn't the man you had come to like and appreciate in the past. He was something, but you could only hope it was still a human.

"And what if I don't?" you asked, using all the courage left inside of you.

"Oh darling, believe me," he laughed, unexpectedly pulling away all of his hands, your body unable to keep itself up and plummeting to the floor. Instant waves of shock and pain hit you, but when he stepped between your legs, you couldn't help but look up to him. How could you have been so wrong about a person you spent so much time with? Who was this man claiming to love you?

"You will do as I say, or everyone will know what kind of slut you really are. Especially your fine boyfriend. Who do you think the people will believe - their charming cavalry captain or some random chick that was seen laughing and hanging around him a lot?"

You opened your mouth to protest, wanting to prove him wrong, wanting to tell him Mondstadt cared about you as much as they did about him. But... was this wrong to assume? Would they really believe your word against his? With a reputation like Kaeya had, would you stand a chance to win against him? You couldn't imagine living a different life than you had so far, so would you be able to deal with the branding of a cheater? Realizing these questions, you closed your mouth again, scrambling to get up and collect your clothes from the ground. You were ready to storm out of the room, just go home and forget about everything that happened but reaching for the doorknob, Kaeya approached you from behind, holding the door shut with his hand.

"Don't hate me too much, okay? I really, really love you, [Name]."

He sounded anxious as he whispered these words against your head, leaving a trail of kisses. How could you believe this? How could you believe any of what he was saying? Just now, he had forced you into a level of intimacy you hadn't been ready for, threatened you, and made demands. And now he came to you, showing these rare moments of vulnerability and insecurity that made you special before all of this went down. What could you still believe about Kaeya?

"This isn't love," you mumbled, twisting and turning the knob to leave, deciding you couldn't listen to his voice anymore.

"You'll come to understand that this is love," Kaeya chuckled. You could hear the bittersweet smile on his lips as he planted one more kiss on top of your shoulder before he pushed himself away, letting you escape into the night.

Only when the cold, fresh air engulfed your heated body could you finally collect your thoughts. Your body ached, and yet, it tingled with every step, remembering you of the pleasure you had experienced through him. Disgusted and appalled by yourself, you made your way back home, crying the whole time, wondering what went wrong.

It was all Kaeya's fault, right? He went mad and did these unspeakable things to you. He was jealous because you had a boyfriend already and rejected him. None of this was your fault... right? But at the same time, would he make these threats come true? Was there really no other way than to break up with your boyfriend? Could you do nothing but obey his demands if you wanted to keep living your life? Was the love he had for you really love?

These questions kept you up all night.

All while Kaeya sipped on his drink, satisfied with himself, studying the image of you he had in his mind and the cum stains on his mirror. Stains he only planned to add to but never get rid of.

Just like you'd never get rid of him.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ruggie, Jade: Eyes on the Prize

Thank god J word’s Groovy cameo is barely recognizable as J word 😌 I’m safe from pulling~

Imagine this...

“More juice, Ruggie-san?”

“Mmmphgh!”

With his mouth crammed full of donut holes--chocolate, glazed, powdered, jam, cream, and sprinkles--the birthday boy enthusiastically nodded. He tilted an empty glass toward his waiter and watched as it slowly filled with liquid sunset. It was a tasty concoction of Jade’s own creation: fruit punch, OJ, and lemonade.

Acidic, yet sweet.

Ruggie knocked his head back, gobbling up the final remains of his donuts (well, at least in this batch). He followed by chugging his entire drink, then gesturing for more.

Jade chuckled as he obliged. “Such a healthy and voracious appetite. A hyena after my own heart.”

“It’s not every day that I get to feast like a king. Gotta take advantage of the situation while you can!” Ruggie grinned impishly. “... Just like I’m sure you’re taking advantage of this situation right now, Jade-kun.”

“Fufu. I’m afraid that I do not understand what you mean. This is my way of pampering you on your special day. Please think nothing of it. There is no monetary payment required for my services.”

“Quit pullin’ my tail. If my language is money, then yours is intell--and I betcha you got plenty of it during the interview.”

“I am deeply humbled to have learned more about your humble origins.” Jade smiled, expertly smoothing over the accusation. Like a parent lightly scolding a child, he took the conversation by the hand and gently redirected it.

“It makes your achievements at NRC all the more impressive. Between your classes, Magift Club, your many odd jobs, and working under Leona-san... It seems as though you always have your hands full, and your eyes poised to the golden glint of the future.

“I find your choice sibling and in dorm to be particularly interesting. They are related to money earned and money saved, respectively.” The eel’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Quite shrewd... and not unlike Azul.

“Even the matter of finding loopholes in the interview questions to exploit is very Octavinelle of you. A shame that you did not select our dorm. You would have fit fight in, and we would have happily welcomed you in turn.”

“Thinkin’ outside the box is a necessary life skill. It’s not much of a choice I have if I wanna survive to tomorrow--so you can save your crocodile tears. Maybe someone else’ll buy’m off you. I heard tears of a mermaid sell for a ton. Nishishishishi!”

“It appears that the future is often on your mind, even at your tender age.”

“Uh, I dunno how to break it to you, but we’re the same age. And besides, the future has to be on my mind,” Ruggie clenched a fist, holding it to his heart, “because you never know when tomorrow might not come.

“The future’s littered with prizes... and I’ve gotta stick around long enough to collect them. That means planning and saving, bartering and stealing, doing whatever I gotta do to make it there.”

“I commend you for your grand ambitions. No matter what you do, you do so with gusto--no matter how menial the task, fufufu.” Jade cocked his head to one side. “I suspect that you shall receive your Gift of Good Fortune no differently.”

“Oh, you mean the pie?” Ruggie frowned, his ears flattening. “Man, I’m all for a good laugh, but I wish we didn’t have to waste perfectly good food like that...”

“Do not think of it as a waste. Think of it as an... investment. Yes, an investment in your future happiness.”

“Alright, but can you at least toss it into my mouth? I’ll do my best to catch it.”

“Oh, I don’t think you would enjoy that.”

“... Why not?”

The atmosphere around Jade shifted as he silently picked up a paper plate piled with whipped cream. It was as though a glass apple had been easily crushed, the stray shards dispersing, slicing through the air, and lodging themselves in Ruggie’s skin. Jade’s calm smile chilled the birthday boy to the bone.

“Errrr... Jade-kun? Buddy? What’s with that look?”

“Do not concern yourself with such a trivial matter,” Jade insisted.

The eel brought his hand back—the movement so fast that it cut the air, releasing a high-pitched hiss from the gash. His arm wound up, and the space around him rippled in response. A whirring sound drummed up as the pie spun and spun.

“I’ve been practicing just for this occasion. I hope that my performance will be satisfactory.”

He’s enjoy this a little TOO much!!

Ruggie paled. “H-Hold on a sec...! Aren’t you putting a little too much power into that throw?!”

“Not to worry. I will do my utmost to ensure that this hurts as little as possible.”

“Like hell you are! You’re totally gonna knock me off my feet!”

“It is an investment in your happiness, so I cannot afford to hold back,” Jade reminded him. The glint of mischief in his mismatched eyes was palatable. “After all, I only desire the best for my precious peers.”

“If I end up in the infirmary after this, you’re footin’ the bill for the best medical care for your precious peer.”

“What an avid imagination you have. Surely one hit from a pie will not be enough to incapacitate such a hardy hyena.” Jade grinned, displaying his dangerously jagged teeth. “Then... I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Ruggie-san.”

He tensed, bracing for impact.

S P L A T!!

Ruggie was promptly sent flying to the ground, landing squarely on his bum. Upon contact, dull pain shot through his body, chattering through his bones and his muscles.

Whipped cream painted his fancy suit and jacket, got in his hair and clung to his skin. Sweetness, combined with the hot savanna, left him sticky and smelling like something saccharine.

Yet he still managed to howl, to laugh.

To enjoy himself

“Nishishishi, you got me good, Jade-kun~”

[inkykeiji]

the clock is ticking, running out of time

characters: shigaraki tomura

genre: smut and angst

notes: AAAAAAH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOMURA!!!!!! sorry i seem to write angst for all of my faves birthdays ehehe. this is technically set in the touya-nii universe!! | title cred: birthday by katy perry

warnings: 18+ minors dni, cheating, implied stepcest/pseudo-incest, toxic relationships, the slightest hint of degradation, noncon/dubcon video recording, extreme feelings of guilt

words: 4.4k

synopsis:

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”

A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together. Sweet breath wafts over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

That’s the thought that’s been looping through your head for the past forty-five minutes, for the entire bus ride from Touya’s apartment to Tomura’s, for the walk from the bus stop to his condo complex, for the thirty-seven seconds it takes him to answer the door.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

But you want to.

It’s been months since you’ve seen him last, months since you spent the night with him, months since you’ve spoken to him at all.

4:06. The glowing numbers glare up at you from the screen of your phone, unable to stop obsessively checking your phone, mentally calculating the time you have left over and over again, even though you’ve already meticulously planned this outing down to the very second.

It’s rare for Touya to be out for an exact amount of allotted time, but when he mentioned that he had a three hour full body check up with his doctor that just so happened to be scheduled on Tomura’s birthday…Well, it was too convenient for you not to seize the opportunity.

The door swings open, breaking you out of your thoughts, and your name leaves his lips in a gasp, crimson eyes searching your face in disbelief. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again. “What’re you doing here?”

“Wanted to see you for your birthday,” you say simply with a shrug and he blinks several times, still staring at you incredulously. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, terrified that he doesn’t want you here, that he thinks the risk is too big—Touya will murder the both of you if he finds out—too dangerous, his body gone rigid in the doorway, breathing stopped.

But then a brilliant smile is splitting his face, and he’s pulling you into his arms, crushing you to his chest as his fingers curl in the material of your dress.

And you—you practically collapse against him, sighing out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He still smells exactly the same, just as you remember—like cheap cigarettes and watermelon bubblegum.

The scent evokes thick unfurling remorse, sinking heavily in your stomach, the mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself for the past few days immediately flowing through your mind, a desperate attempt to reassure yourself, to reason with yourself, to justify this decision.

Because you both deserve closure, don’t you? After everything that’s happened? After leaving him without a trace, without so much as a phone call or a quick text to at least let him know you’re okay?

Because Touya’s cheated on you how many times throughout the first six months of your relationship? One more teeny tiny instance of infidelity—the last one, you promise yourself—shouldn’t hurt, so long as he doesn’t know about it.

Right?

Really, this does nothing to dispel the culpability churning in your chest. No, Tomura’s bright boyish smile does that all by itself, sincere in the way it’s stretched across his face as he tugs you inside.

And...And suddenly, none of it really matters. Not in that moment, at least. Suddenly, all of those statements are rendered true; Tomura does deserve this. Suddenly, you realize just how much you’ve missed him.

“I have to be quick, I’m sorry,” your voice cracks under unexpected emotion, but Tomura doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, ecstatic over the fact that you’ve come to visit at all.

“That’s fine,” he’s saying as his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing with surprising gentleness, eyes shining and wide as they follow his touch, as if he can’t believe you’re here, can’t believe you’re real.

It has your heart shattering in your chest, jagged shards puncturing your surrounding organs, burying themselves deep within you, never to be dug out. A lump lodges itself in your throat, voice frail and full of spit as you speak around it.

“I missed you so much,” the words rush from between your lips without your permission, and Tomura pulls back, smile fading as his gaze searches your face.

For a moment, you can tell that he wants to berate you for disappearing without any contact at all, can see it shining clear as crystal in his eyes as they narrow, as eyebrows knit and his nose scrunches, and you nuzzle your face into him. Guilt, a different kind than that which Touya evokes—this type lighter than the dense acidic guilt that sticks to your insides like thick tar any time sapphire sears through your mind, this type bitter and saturated with melancholy—roots in the pit of your stomach.

“I—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to text,” you mumble meekly, tears pricking your eyes. “Touya—”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off with surprising softness, fingertips still trailing up and down your spine. “I figured. Uh, how is he? Like, how…How was he?”

The brand of those five letters, now fully healed, scald your flesh, blistering bright and hot as if you had just been branded again. With your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, you contemplate just outright telling him—he’s going to see it eventually either way, but you’re worried about ruining the mood a little too early.

No.

Better to rip it off like a band-aid, to get it out of the way now, instead of interrupting your birthday festivities later.

Your chest swells with a deep inhale, exhaling the words slowly.

“He was…” Livid. Furious beyond belief. Deeply hurt—distressed, distraught, dismayed. Visibly shaken up. In more pain than you’ve ever witnessed before. Terrified. “Upset. Naturally.”

Tomura waits for you to continue, speaking after a few moments of silence. “And?” he prompts, knowing Touya didn’t let you get away with a mere verbal warning, knowing you have more to say.

“A-And—” you bury your face against his neck, hot tears leaking from your eyes and staining his skin as they squeeze shut tightly, forcing the quivering words from your throat. “And he—He, um, he branded me,”

“What?” The word is just a huff of breath as large hands curl around your shoulders, yanking you from the sanctuary of his body so he can scrutinize your face, flashing crimson flying across your features. “He what?”

“His name,” you whisper, eyes still shut, face screwing up in distaste, the words bitter on your tongue.

“Where?”

“My ass,”

“Let me see,”

Eyes snapping open, your head begins to shake, motions cutting off when your stare meets his glare. Reluctantly you turn, flipping your dress up as you bend over a bit, pulling your panties down just enough to show him the slightly raised letters etched into your flesh forever.

Save for the soft, choked noise that sounds in the back of his throat, silence blankets the room, atmosphere suddenly stale and suffocating.

You glance back at him after a few beats, when your chest is beginning to burn from holding your breath in your lungs, and the sight that you are met with has your chest tearing itself in half, ribs caving in, giving way to the deep, dark ache swirling at the very core of your body.

Crimson eyes gleam in the setting sun, a thick layer of tears catching in the golden rays streaming through the window. It’s almost pretty in a way, brilliant ruby that shimmers and shines in the waning beams, practically glowing. But those beautiful, beautiful eyes are transfixed on your bare flesh, unblinking stare etching itself into your skin much like the letters Touya left behind.

His chin trembles just a little, front teeth sinking into his bottom lip in an attempt to halt it, head nodding in minuscule motions, barely noticeable, almost as if he’s confirming something to himself, affirming some unsaid thought sailing through his mind—almost as if he’s blaming himself.

“Fucking bastard,” he spits, though the words are wobbly, lacking heat and coated in sticky saliva. Using the sleeve of his black shirt, he wipes at his nose almost aggressively, quelling it’s twitching as he exhales harshly, nostrils flaring, before he sniffs twice and rolls his shoulders back, gaze finally meeting yours.

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not,”

“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”

A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.

The glittering scarlet lace barely obscured by your thin dress singes itself into your flesh as his palms cascade over it, tracing every dip and curve of your body as they slide down to grope your ass.

You had bought the set for this occasion specifically—using cash you had stashed away, of course; Touya regularly checks your bank statements and credit card—with the intention of letting Tomura keep it, as a present.

“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together, sweet breath wafting over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”

And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.

He surges forward, foreheads bumping together from the strength, and crushes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, nimble fingers curling in the hem of your dress and yanking, pulling the material from your body in one erratic motion.

He’s just as enthusiastic as he was all those months ago, large hands settling on your lace-clad hips as he guides you—back, back, back, stumbling over your own feet a little as he shoves forward, teeth clacking as his tongue tangles with yours, interspersed drool pooling at the corners of your lips.

A soft cry of surprise leaves your lips as he roughly spins the two of you so he’s the one reversing, collapsing in the overstuffed gaming chair abandoned near his desk and hauling you down with him, wheels rolling against the hardwood from the force.  

His lips are plush and chapped, kisses messy with strings of viscous saliva, and you’re reminded of how fun kissing Tomura is, playful giggles spilling from one mouth into another consistently breaking the flow as eager hands paw and pull, snapping the clasp on your bra and haphazardly discarding it, your fingers toying with the silver button of his charcoal jeans.

“Get on with it already,” he groans, impatient and entitled as ever, exactly how you remember, hips rutting up into you clumsily as hands travel up your torso to knead your breasts much too hard. And even though it shouldn’t, his predictability inspires a burst of intense warmth in your chest, burning bright like a tiny sun, heat seeping into your blood and flooding your veins as more involuntary giggles pry their way out of your mouth and into his.

“Think that’s funny, huh?” he asks, and although his eyes are fierce and sharp as they scrutinize your face, there’s a playful little grin decorating his lips, slender fingers tweaking a peaked nipple and snickering at your resulting yelp.

“Just missed you, s’all,” you mumble against him, lips dragging along his jaw then trailing down his neck, tongue peeking out to give kitten licks at self-inflicted scars and tugging pathetic little half-whimpers from deep in his throat, rough and uneven as he tries to swallow them back down.

There isn’t enough time for thorough prep, your only form of foreplay consisting of his cock being rammed down your throat—just get it fucking wet, he had demanded—hips stuttering as he desperately tries to keep from bucking while your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in spit.

“Fu-Fucking stop, or I’m gonna cum,” Large fists tangle in your hair, trying to yank you off his cock with a pathetic little whine. Gaping pupils outlined by a fine ring of scarlet observe the way your shining lips pucker around his girth as your mouth slides up, grip on your strands already loosening as his chest heaves, completely absorbed by your actions, breath escaping slightly parted lips in sweet little puffs.

A little tongue flicks against the slit as you reach the tip, placing an obscene openmouthed kiss to the head before pulling away completely. Your mouth hovers an inch above it, allowing a large glob of sticky saliva to dribble from your mouth onto the head, then kissing it again, pressing slippery lips to heated silky skin.

“Jesus Christ,”

The curse is nearly a moan, and you look up from your place between his thighs, batting your eyelashes and offering him a tiny smile. His eyes glitter as he gazes down at you, chest rising unevenly under the force of ragged breaths, a thumb swiping across your cheek in a manner that’s almost awestruck, as if he can’t believe you’re here.

“Get on my cock,” he orders a moment later, when the aching between his legs draws him back to reality, hips jerking up in reflexive, instinctive micro-movements, gleaming cock bobbing with the action. “And take your fucking panties off,”

It’s a little awkward and a lot uncoordinated, trying to maneuver yourself onto his lap while he slouches in that ridiculous gaming chair, unable to quell the way his hips prematurely thrust the moment you’re hovering over him, legs folded and cramped on either side of his thighs.

Pathetic little whimpers leak from your lips as his slick cock stretches your ill-prepared hole, cunt stinging as it struggles to adjust to the sudden breach, your nails digging into the lean muscles of his shoulders as a hiss is spit between clenched teeth.

But the moan he emits, deep and satisfying as you sink down on him, how his eyelashes flutter shut and his head knocks back against the headrest as he bottoms out, long ivory neck and prominent Adams apple on display, and the way massive hands grip your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he forces you to begin bouncing almost immediately, make it all so worth it.

Because he’s still so pretty, lids lifting a moment later to reveal dazzling ruby gazing at you in an almost voracious manner through thick dark lashes, glued to your face as he memorizes every micro-expression that transforms your features, the way your eyes roll back and eyebrows twitch, the way your mouth forms around those cute little gasps of his name that his rough thrusts punch from your chest.

“Did’ya miss my cock?” his breath is already coming out in short little pants, hips grinding urgently against yours, lacking any kind of finesse or rhythm. “B-Bet’cha did,”

“Uh-huh,” your head nods jerkily, hips rocking just as desperately into his as if to confirm your statement. His cock is pretty, too—a darker pink than Touya’s, half an inch shorter but just as fat, thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Dick drunk already?” he teases, and you’re positive his voice was meant to be more rancorous, but the large grin it’s spoken through, as if he’s proud of himself, chest nearly swelling with it, dilutes it, disintegrating the bitter shell that was supposed to coat the words. His tongue clicks, fluffy tufts of hair bouncing a little as he shakes his head. “What would your precious niichan think?”

You don’t answer—can’t answer—because it’s already so much, uncoordinated thrusting almost teasing in a way, the head of his cock unintentionally grazing that spot buried deep inside of you, the fleeting sensation mixing with that of the taboo, of the naughtiness of the situation, mewls spilling from your lips.

And you wish, so desperately, that you could take your time, that you could enjoy such amateurish gyrating, crude movements giving way to sloppy squelching that makes your stomach swoop and cunt throb as your clit glides against his pubic bone, but the mention of niichan reminds you of your finite amount of time and you lean back, soft palms finding the edge of his desk, fingers curling tightly around it.

Tomura’s bare feet planted on the hardwood keep the chair from shifting as you begin to really ride him, starting with slow, hard rolls of your hips that have cute little grunts hitching in his chest, bright eyes darkening as they watch, lids drooping a little, your movements increasingly gaining speed with each rock forward of your hips, leaning back against the desk and using it for leverage.

Blunt nails bite into your skin, and you want to remind him not to leave marks, but the words won’t keep their shape as they gurgle in your throat, evaporating into moans that break with each rough buck of his hips.

He finds a rhythm with you quickly, though, your lust-hazed mind dully noting that he’s better than before, the thought conjuring sudden, fierce spears of jealousy that slice through your chest, jaw clenching.

“Fuck, you—you’re still the best I’ve ever had,” he practically whines out, like he’s reading the thoughts on your face, but his voice is genuine, strained and hoarse with the confession. “Will probably always be the best I’ve ever had,” his sentence fades into a growl, almost as if he’s angry about it, hands squeezing your hips.

Nevertheless, you’re unable to stop the little smile those words paint across your lips, giggling breathlessly as bubbly warmth tingles in your chest, a sense of shameful pride rushing through your veins.

“Yeah?” he seethes in a huff, eyes narrowing. “Bet you’re proud of yourself for that, little slut,”

You are, you’re nodding, tongue rendered useless as his hips piston into you, cockhead repeatedly slamming against your cervix, reaching deeper and deeper and deeper the further you lean back, until the sharp edge of the desk is cutting into your back.

“I know you are,” he sneers, callous tone emphasized by his brute force as he fucks you. “V-Vain little bitch, happy she’s ruined me—ruined sex for me, forever,”

It’s getting harder for him to speak now, words punctuated by half-baked whimpers and swallowed, stifled moans, the sentiment under his speech accentuating pleasure for the both of you, dirty humiliation only making everything that much more intense, heady and addicting as it intoxicates your bodies, your minds, your souls.

“S-So the least you could do,” he begins in a keen, pace faltering as he squirms under you, yanking his phone from his back pocket. “Is give me something to—ah, Christ—remember you by,”

You should tell him no. You should cease all bouncing on his cock the moment he presses that little red button on his screen, the moment the flash next to the camera turns on, signaling it’s recording. You should.

But you don’t. You don’t, because he’s right. Because that guilt returns, seeping up through the floor of your stomach and spreading to your other organs, chest tightening as it reaches your heart. Because you took something from him, something he’ll never be able to get back, purely for your own selfish gain, just to get back at the man you love, and that isn’t fair. That will never be fair.

Instead, you look straight into the lens, hips beginning to ride him almost viciously, pushing out your chest further, bouncing tits on display as they heave with your lewd moans of his name, begging him to fuck you, begging him for his thick cum, and oh please, Tomura, please, give it to me, want your cum so bad, need your cum so bad, please!

He chokes on his own groan, the hand holding his phone beginning to shake slightly as the other finds its place on your hip again, his own thrusts pumping wildly as he spits expletives through gritted teeth, your pathetic little mewls egging him on.  

“G-Gonna cum?” he whines out, almost as if he’s begging you to say yes, the needy canting of his hips indicating that he’s about to, too, crimson searing into you as you nod messily. “Fucking do it, then, cream all over my cock like the good little whore you are,”

And you’re powerless to stop the loud cry that rips from your throat as your cunt clenches around him, only half of his name escaping in a yelp before your own shuddery gasp cuts you off, choking a little on the intense inhale, air sharp as razors as it rushes down your throat.

He follows less than a second later with a ferocious growl of your name, potent cum filling your aching little cunt, phone clattering to the floor as both hands grip your hips and force you to continue milking him until both of your bodies are shivering from the overstimulation.

You collapse against him, sweaty body melting into his, muscles quivering in exhaustion. Long arms encircle you, cradling you to his chest in a way that’s almost tender, phone laying forgotten a few feet away.

It’s just as nice as it was the first time, being swathed in his embrace, a gentle sigh slipping from between your lips. Nimble fingers trail up and down your spine, pressing into the notches, tracing the smooth, soft plains of your skin.

“Wish you could stay,” he mumbles into your hair, so quiet you nearly miss it—would have missed it if not for the vibrations in his chest.

Me too.

You want to tell him, want to express the same sentiment, to make it known that you desire the same thing, but the words tangle in your throat, that sticky brand of guilt that is specifically Touya refraining them from leaving your lips, yanking them back down into your chest with painful hitching breaths every time you try to speak.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Tomura coos, pulling back a little to cup your face and tilt it up, big thumbs swiping across your cheeks as they catch glistening teardrops.

He doesn’t say anything—there is nothing to say—instead dipping his head to press his lips chastely to yours in the softest kiss he’s ever given you, mumbling his thanks for the birthday present a moment later.

There’s so much more you want to say, so much more you want to ask, but there’s no more time, opting to kiss him again in response, praying that it conveys all the things you can’t, all the things guilt won’t let you.

And then you’re scrambling off of his lap, collecting your dress off the floor and hastily pulling it over your head, turning back to find Tomura standing, holding out his hand, soaked lace in his grasp.

“Keep them,” you whisper, curling his fingers into a fist around the dainty material. “Happy birthday, Tomura,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You have forty-five minutes before Touya arrives home—that’s cutting it close, you were supposed to have a full hour, but Tomura’s arms were so warm, his gently rising chest so inviting, his entire aura so comforting, that you had allowed yourself to indulge, just for a moment, to let your eyes slip shut and exhale a soft sigh of contentment, snuggling into his embrace and inhaling his distinct scent deeply, holding it in your lungs for a moment, wishing it would stay, wishing it would stick to the gummy walls, take root and find a home there, wishing you could keep a piece of him with you, always.

The water scalds your skin as you step into Touya’s glass shower, hands instantly reaching for Touya’s bodywash and squirting a generous amount in your palm.

You lather your entire body with it, until every inch of your skin is covered in foamy white suds, until your flesh has been scrubbed raw, the sharp scent—something woodsy and musky, like a crackling campfire of burning hickory wood, smoky and sweet—enveloping you entirely, stinging your nose.

It sticks in your throat and invades your lungs, as if cleansing you from the inside out, and you choke on it, are suffocated by it, little gasps and coughs falling from your lips while nails claw at your neck.

That dull ache returns as you rinse your skin, throbbing incessantly at the very core of your body as you watch the last remnants of Tomura swirl around the drain, infused in the soapy water.

It shouldn’t hurt this much, you’re thinking to yourself as your fingers massage shampoo into your scalp. It shouldn’t, but it does, a painful lump lodging itself in your throat, expanding a little more every time you try to reason with yourself until it’s gagging you.

Something stings your eyes—soap from the shampoo as you rinse it from your locks, or maybe the potently fragrant scent from Touya’s bodywash, you try to convince yourself, that lump sprouting tiny spikes and viciously slicing into the gummy walls, that lump forcing saliva still containing traces of Tomura to collect in your throat, that lump reminding you that you’re a fucking liar.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Touya doesn’t need to know everything, does he? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? And it was only a one time thing, wasn’t it? It’s alright, isn’t it?

These are the questions that cycle through your mind obsessively, running laps in your skull as you absentmindedly towel off your dripping body in your niichan’s bedroom, the gentle buzz of your phone snapping you out of your reverie.

For a moment, you’re terrified it’s Touya, texting you to tell you that he knows, you little slut, scrambling to snatch it off of the nightstand as trembling fingers hastily unlock it.

It isn’t Touya.

It’s Tomura.

best birthday present of my life, hands down. thank you. i love you.

The resounding slam! of the front door has your entire body flinching violently, the heels of Touya’s heavy boots thumping against the tile as he kicks them off mingling with his smooth voice as he calls your name.

It’s with watery eyes and painful little sniffles catching in your chest that your quivering thumb jabs at that tiny little trashcan in the corner of your screen, watching through blurry vision as the entire conversation disappears into the ether, gone forever—though those three glowing words that concluded the text are etched into the very tissue of your brain, where they will remain, forever.