#and all the others that I cannot call to memory at this moment

[agwitow]

Be careful, they warned. He has swayed many heroes with talks of how you and he aren't that different. The number of fallen heroes would stagger you.

That's what they'd said. And, it was, somewhat, true.

"We don't have to fight," he said, his sunken eyes weary and skeletal hands spread open in a placating gesture. "I understand your anger, your drive."

"How could you understand what I've lost? What I'm fighting for?"

He smiles sadly. "Your family, no? Your children."

"How dare--"

The duke pressed a hand against your shoulder. "Don't listen to him," he said. "He is trying to sway you."

"Of course I am," the lich laughed bitterly. "I wish the previous Dark Lord had tried to sway me, then I wouldn't have turned out like this."

"What?"

The petite priest stepped up to your other side, her robes somehow still pristine. "Only a warrior from another world can slay the Dark Lord. We cannot defeat him without you."

You can feel their expectations like a weight across your shoulders. A weight you did not ask or volunteer for. One you only carried because of the promise to be sent home. But a feeling in your gut, one you'd been trying to ignore for awhile now, whispered that there was more to this whole summoned hero business than they'd told you.

You shrug off the priest and the duke. "What do you mean, Dark Lord?"

His smile softens, a sad relief filling his eyes. "A lifetime ago, I was a summoned hero myself."

"Lies!" the priest shouts. "You were naught but a false hero!"

He shrugged. "Based on the records in the lich's tower, this is a cycle that has been going on for a very, very long time."

Your fists clench. That gut feeling whispering, I knew something was wrong! "Go on," you say.

"I was summoned away from my family. My wife. My newborn son. They gave me weapons and magic and taught me to use both, then set me on the path to slay the Dark Lord."

"Slay him, not replace him," the duke scoffed.

The Dark Lord ignored the comment. "I was promised I could go home if I did. So I fought, and I won. The pain and injuries didn't matter if it meant I could go back. And they promised, soon, just after the victory celebration. Just after we've rewarded you for your efforts. The people want to honour you, so wait just a bit longer. The mages are busy with the kingdom's affairs, they'll be back soon. Excuse after excuse."

You glanced at your companions. The discomfort and guilt on their faces more than enough confirmation of his words.

He shook his head again. "When I'd had enough, I confronted those who had called me friend. They admitted that it was the Dark Lord's power that allowed for bridges between worlds to be established. With him defeated, they had no way to send me home."

"I'm sorry," you said, anger and sympathy raging in your heart. "But if you hadn't become a Dark Lord yourself, I wouldn't have been brought here!"

He nodded, guilt heavy on his face. "I tried to adapt to this world, I genuinely did. But then I started to wonder... if I claimed that power I could send myself home. I would only be the Dark Lord for a short time, there would be no need to defeat me as I would leave as soon as I could. So I returned here. Just as they'd intended all along."

"What?!"

Tears glistened on his withered cheeks. "I gained the power. I opened the gate. I saw my wife and son. He was three, though I'd been here for over ten years by that point. And I couldn't cross."

The duke laughed, though it had a brittle quality to it. "Couldn't give up the power once you had it, huh?"

The Dark Lord glared at him. "No. I physically couldn't cross. They gave you a potion when you first arrived, did they not? They said it was to help your body adjust to the magic of this world. While it does help, its primary purpose is to bind you to this world. And the binding is complete the moment you slay the Dark Lord."

Flashes of moments filled your mind. Memories of the weird looks people gave you, the strange things they'd said, that had been brushed off as being innocent misunderstandings. The suspicions you'd suppressed for so long shook you.

"Did you know, without the power of a Dark Lord, this world begins to wither away," he said, his voice conversational, as if he were commenting about the weather. "It's fascinating how they hate and fear this power, but it is literally what keeps their world alive."

"You're a lich! Why should we believe anything you say?" the priest said, pointing an accusatory finger.

"This power is also something only someone from another world can wield. The only way to stop the cycle is for an other-worlder to slay the Dark Lord and never pick that mantle up themselves."

You swallow, dread settling deep in your bones. "And the other summoned heroes?"

"I sent them home. How could I ask them to give up their family?"

The priest flinched.

"What happens next?" you ask.

"Once I send you home, they will have to regather their resources. It'll be another decade before someone else is summoned. Then, when they reach me, I will tell them this same story."

"And what about you?"

He seemed surprised by your question. "I will continue on, withering away in this cursed half-life."

"And it all ends, so long as I don't become the next Dark Lord?"

"What? You can't do that!" the duke shouted. "Our world will end!"

You level a glare at him. "You have already ended my world, so why should I care about yours?"

He drew his sword. "I can't let you do this!"

His attack was strong and quick, befitting the kingdom's best swordsman. Except they'd spent months filling you with potions and magic as they trained you. You were far stronger than him. Even the priest's attack did little more than stagger you for a moment, their magic splashing against all the protective enchantments layered over you.

You shared a knowing look with the Dark Lord. Neither of you wanted anyone else to be ripped away from their family. You would both miss your respective families until the day you died. There was understanding and acceptance.

"Noooo!" the duke and priest both cried out as your sword pierced the Dark Lord's heart.

A heaviness settled on your bones, and you instinctively knew it was the binding the Dark Lord had mentioned. There was no going back now. You'd made your choice.

"No, no, no," the duke said, his gaze unfocused.

"It's... it'll be okay," the priest muttered, clutching her arms as if she were cold. "No hero has been able to accept life here. It'll be no different this time. Yes, we just have to wait. It'll work out."

Your hand landed on her shoulder and she flinched. "I will never become the next Dark Lord," you promised.

You left the two of them there and set out into the world. You would try to find a corner to start a new life. And, if you couldn't, you would turn your blade on yourself. This cycle would never repeat again.

You've been summoned to another world, "destined" to save it. Except you're a mom/dad who just wants to get home. At the end, the BBEG offers to send you home. No tricks those really are your kids. Now everyone is saying your selfish for wanting to leave. Except you're not selfish. They are.

[levandright]

WHAT THE HEART WANTS ★ K.SN & Y.JW | TEASER

synopsis. you love your best friend, kim sunoo. but scared of confessing and possibly losing your precious friendship, you'd rather let these feelings left unsaid and buried in your heart. so, what do you do if a popular underclassman confesses to you on valentine's day?

pairings : bsf! sunoo x f!reader, jungwon x f!reader ♦ content / warning(s) : unrequited love, yn is scared to confess, yn has a hard time choosing, fluff, jungwon is a sweetheart ♦ est word count : 4-6k ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : hopefully i can post the first part in a week or two, this is based a lot from my experiences but happier(bcs of the poll) i estimate there will be 3 parts in total for this because of reasons i cannot spoil for now ^-^

of all the secrets you hold close, the feelings you have for sunoo are by far the heaviest. they live in the quiet spaces between you: in every smile he gives you, in every joke you share, in the warmth of every comforting hug, and in the countless secrets you’ve entrusted to each other. he knows so much about you, maybe even more than anyone else. but there’s one truth you’ve never told him, one that sits like a stone in your heart, heavier than all the others.

truth is, sunoo is more than just a friend. somewhere along the way, he became your safe place, your first call in moments of joy and the one person you seek in times of pain. he’s become the one person you feel you can tell anything to—anything, that is except how much he truly means to you. and no matter how many times you imagine confessing, a familiar fear always rises up, wrapping around you like creeping vines: what if he doesn’t feel the same? what if telling him shatters this beautiful, fragile bond you share?

so you make a decision. you decide not to tell him. instead, you resolve to stay silent, to hide your feelings and let them fade on their own, like colors slowly washing out in the sun. you tell yourself that it’s better this way, better to preserve the friendship you cherish than risk losing him altogether.

it’s harder than you imagined. every day with him feels like a test of your willpower, a delicate dance of pushing down what your heart keeps trying to whisper. you start training yourself to see him as just a friend, catching yourself whenever your thoughts drift too far. when he laughs at one of his own jokes, that contagious laugh lighting up his face, you remind yourself that he’s just sunoo, your best friend. when he smiles that bright, heart-stopping smile of his, you train yourself to look away, to ground yourself in the friendship you already have.

there are moments when the urge to reach out and just say everything rises up so suddenly it almost takes your breath away. but each time, you swallow it back, promising yourself that this silence is worth it, that keeping the friendship untouched by unspoken confessions is worth the cost of unexpressed love.

days turn into weeks, and then into months. slowly, it gets a little easier. you start focusing on other things—leaning into hobbies you’d neglected, spending more time with other friends, and setting new goals for yourself. the ache in your heart begins to dull, like a bruise fading with time. you find yourself thinking less about every text he sends, letting go of the habit of analyzing every word, every emoji. the butterflies that once took flight at the smallest hint of his affection start to quiet down, becoming memories of something you’re learning to let go of.

then one day, it happens. the two of you are sitting together, laughing over some ridiculous story he’s telling, and you realize with a sudden, quiet clarity that you’re no longer waiting for something to happen between you. the pang you used to feel when you looked at him—that longing for something more—feels almost absent, replaced by something softer, more comfortable. and just like that, you understand: maybe, just maybe, you’re finally moving on.

the realization fills you with a bittersweet sense of relief. there’s freedom in it, a lightness that settles over you as you realize you can finally be by his side as just a friend, without the constant weight of unspoken feelings pressing down on you. you’re proud of yourself, too. proud of the strength it took to let go of what could never be, to find peace in what you already have instead of yearning for something more.

as days pass, you find yourself enjoying this new stage in your friendship. without the burden of your secret feelings, every moment you spend together feels lighter, easier. you laugh freely, knowing there’s no longer an unspoken confession lurking in the back of your mind. the quiet ache that once colored every shared joke, every smile, is gone—or at least, you tell yourself it is.

and sunoo notices the change, too. one day, as you’re both walking home after a long day, he glances at you, a smile tugging at his lips.

“you seem… different lately,” he says, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

you smile back, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight blush on your cheeks. “different? how?”

he tilts his head, squinting at you thoughtfully. “i don’t know. happier, i guess? like something’s changed.”

you laugh, brushing it off with a casual shrug. “maybe i just finally figured some things out.”

and it’s true. you feel lighter now, free from the weight of what-ifs and unspoken desires. for so long, you had convinced yourself that sunoo was the only one who could fill that place in your heart, that loving him was something you had no control over. but now, you understand that love doesn’t always need to be confessed, that sometimes, the strongest kind of love is the one that allows you to let go, to find happiness in simply being close.

yet, even as you convince yourself that you’ve moved on, there are quiet moments that betray you. sometimes, when he throws his arm around you casually, or when he looks at you in that way that’s both familiar and fond, you feel a faint flutter, like an old feeling waiting to resurface. it’s a quiet, buried warmth, something you’re not sure you’ll ever truly get rid of. but you keep it hidden, folded away in a place you don’t have to look at too often. you’ve buried it well, but it’s still there, waiting.

for now, you’re content to keep that love hidden, unspoken and safe. you tell yourself it’s okay. the soft warmth in your chest isn’t a burden anymore—it’s just a part of you, a gentle reminder of a love that didn’t have to be spoken to be real. you’re happy by his side, as his friend, sharing laughter and secrets and every small, precious moment in between.

so you continue on, content in the simple joys of being sunoo’s friend. and if that buried love still lingers in the quiet, unguarded moments, well, that’s something you’ve learned to live with. it’s enough, you tell yourself.

perm taglist.@honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!)

requests. open!

©levandright

[legacygirlingreen]

Something About You || Captain Rex x OFC (Mae Killough)

Pairing: Captain Rex X Original Female Character (Mae Killough); mentions of @leenathegreengirl's PabuVerse characters!

Word Count: 8,800

Warnings: Mention of troubled past (think Henry the 8th vibes honestly). Tooth rotting fluff honestly - they are so freaking cheeky and sweet its painful at times.

AN: Hi friends! Part Two of Rex & Mae's story is finally out! I have already started working on a part three, but for now, I recommend going back and reading part one if you haven't. If you have, full steam ahead! Massive shout out to my dear friend @leenathegreengirl for her amazing art featured in the cover and the full image at the end! Seriously, I cannot thank you enough for bringing them to life! Linked below is Part 1, as well as bit more info on Mae! Anyway without further ado...

PART 1 || Mae Bio || Mae Q&A || PART 3 (coming soon....)

Masterlist

Shimmering, translucent waters stood in stark contrast to the stormy, eerie oceans of Kamino. Rex had never understood why anyone would choose to spend time by the sea until he followed the others down to the beach. The warm, sandy shores, cool shade from swaying trees, and pristine waters that caressed his skin were indulgences he hadn’t known he craved.

Initially, he had donned a pair of stretchy shorts tossed his way by Hunter, only to appease Omega. She had appeared at dawn, eager to reveal the island's delights. Rex found it hard to refuse her, especially since her hair shared his distinctive hue, a welcome departure from the standard brown of the Fett genome.

As he and Omega led the way, the path through the trees opened up to a breathtaking vista. The refreshing scent of salt lingered in the air, waves lapped peacefully against the shore, and birds called to one another. Flowers crowned the bushes lining the treeline, and the warmth of the sand beckoned. Amidst it all, a figure glided gracefully over the waves.

Rex was captivated, the sunlight dancing off the water and illuminating porcelain skin. He barely noticed Omega cup her hands around her mouth, her voice ringing out as she called, “Mae!”

Startled, the figure with damp red hair turned toward them, waving before diving into the water. Rex’s heart raced for a moment until he spotted her head reemerging, breaking the surface with a splash.

“Isn’t it amazing? The locals call it surfing. Mae’s been trying to teach me, but it’s harder than it looks,” Omega chimed in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Rex could only manage a small nod before following her into the sunlit paradise.

As Rex helped set down the box of assorted items he had been given before their journey, he focused on arranging the space according to Omega's enthusiastic instructions. He laid out a few blankets on the sand, turned the crate upside down to create a makeshift table, and propped up some tarps for shade. She had even designated a hammock in the trees for her grumpy brother, Crosshair.

The murmurs of the island's residents drifted around them as more of Omega's brothers and their companions arrived to soak up the sun. Rex felt a twinge of unease; it was a rare luxury to relax, and in truth, he hardly knew how to embrace it. The sound of footsteps in the sand and something being driven into the ground behind him intensified his brief moment of concern.

“Ready to try it again, Omega?” came a cheerful voice that stirred memories of the previous night. He had awakened to find several of his brothers and Omega peering down at him, and he couldn’t help but feel a hint of disappointment that she had slipped away during the night. Now, she stood before him, clad in a skintight black mesh fabric reminiscent of his armor's undersuit, and he was suddenly acutely aware of her curves.

Last night, he had tried not to stare, captivated instead by her bouncing red curls as she spoke. But today, avoiding glances at her figure would prove to be a challenge.

“What do you say, hun?” she asked, her syrupy-sweet voice cascading over her plump lips, completely capturing his attention.

Rex initially hummed in response, thinking she was addressing Omega, but it quickly dawned on him that her gaze was fixed on him. Both she and Omega were watching him expectantly, and he felt warmth rising in his cheeks. “Oh, uh—”

“Mae asked if you wanted to try! It’s lots of fun!” Omega chimed in, her excitement palpable as Rex contemplated her suggestion. He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his hesitation in his throat as he glanced at the surfboard. Surely it couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

“Omega, I think the Captain could use some rest and relaxation, not a workout—”

“I’ll do it!”

The words slipped from his lips in a rush, surprising both Mae and himself. Standing there, he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, uncertain about what he had just agreed to as he awaited her response. Blinking away the shock of his own outburst, he caught Mae's smile, her palms gliding over her hips before she gestured toward Omega.

“Oh, wonderful! Omega, darlin’, could you grab one of the extra boards from over there? Preferably one of the bigger ones.”

Clearing his throat to stave off any potential voice cracks, Rex attempted to recapture the lighthearted banter they had shared the night before. “Are you calling me fat there, Doc?” he quipped.

Her laughter was as sweet as he remembered, her head shaking in amusement. “Not at all, Captain. You’re far from it—though I might suggest taking off your shirt,” she added casually, stepping away to assist Omega.

Confused by the sudden need to consider her opinion on his physique—a fact he had never questioned, given the demands of war that had kept him in peak shape—Rex caught the lingering gaze of Hunter. A smirk danced on Hunter's face, the side devoid of tattoos, as he gestured toward Rex. “Best not to keep her waiting, Captain. It’s not every day a pretty lady asks you to strip.”

“You coming?” Mae asked, prompting Rex to glance back over his shoulder. He nodded briefly and, without another word, tore off his shirt, stepping into the sunlight. As his bare feet sank into the warm sand, he caught the sound of Hunter snickering behind him and tried his best to tune it out.

“How would you rate your balance?” she asked, her gaze searching his own for a genuine answer.

“Fairly decent, I suppose,” Rex shrugged, unsure how balance could be measured, his hand rubbing along the nape of his neck.

“I can work with that. We’ll start on land,” she explained, gesturing to the board propped beside her. Assuming she meant for him to pick it up, he was surprised by how light it felt in his hands. Mae tucked her own under her arm and headed closer to the water's edge, and he followed her silently.

“Any reason we’re starting on land?” he asked skeptically.

“Well, it’s easier to practice the movements here, where you’re stable, before trying them on the water. Don’t worry—I think you’ll be a natural,” she said with encouragement as she set the board down in the sand. Rex followed suit, placing his board a few paces away from hers.

He watched as she lay across her board, positioning herself vertically on her stomach, and mimicked her stance.

“Alright, I’m correct in assuming that GAR conditioning has made you quite familiar with push-ups?” she asked, glancing over at him as she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Yes,” he replied, recalling the rigorous training the clones had undergone since their youth, which continued throughout the war.

“Perfect! That’s half the battle,” she said with a smile. “I’ll walk you through the motion if you want to follow along—”

“Right,” he said, placing his forearms down on the board just like she did.

“So, when you’re paddling out, you’ll want to push over the sides of the board until you’re on the wave. From there, pull your hands back to your sides and place your palms flat on the board near your chest,” Mae instructed. Rex followed her directions without hesitation, eager for her to continue.

“Perfect! This part should be easy for you. Just do a push-up and hold yourself on your toes,” she said, demonstrating the movement. Rex watched her lower body lift effortlessly off the board, then shook his head and mimicked her.

“Now, this is where it starts to get tricky, especially on the water. Move the leg you want as your back foot and place it near your other knee, keeping your toes on the board while maintaining your balance,” she explained. Rex observed as Mae positioned herself in a way reminiscent of a ‘mountain climber.’ He copied her movements, nodding for her to go on.

“Okay, now take your other leg and place your foot between your hands, keeping your knee bent.” She executed the motion with impressive speed, tucking her small frame up onto both feet and holding steady as she waited for him to catch up. As Rex did his best to follow suit, she nodded and pushed herself into a standing position, prompting him to quickly do the same before she could offer more guidance. He realized that while the movement felt straightforward on solid ground, it would be much more challenging on an unstable board in the water.

“Great! I knew you’d be a natural. Do you want to try it on your own to see if you’ve got it down? Then we can head out,” she said, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. A part of Rex wondered if his ability to grasp the movement had genuinely impressed her. 

Running a hand through his hair, he nodded and lowered his body again under her watchful gaze. Doing his best to recall the movements from memory, he felt confident in his performance. Just as he focused on where his front foot landed, he felt gentle fingers graze his jaw, guiding his face forward.

“Looks perfect, but remember to keep your gaze forward. Looking down can throw off your balance; focus on where you’re going, not where you’ve been…” she advised, her fingers retracting as swiftly as they had brushed against his skin. A warm flush spread across his face as she pulled away, leaving behind a lingering sensation that felt almost electric.

Using his strength to push himself up, despite the brief lightheadedness from her fleeting touch, he soon found himself towering over her again. A bright smile lit up her face, revealing her white teeth as she nodded at him. “Perfect! Let’s try it in the water,” she said, nudging his shoulder before disappearing to sit in the sand.

Curious about her sudden retreat, he watched as she took a small strap from the back and wrapped it around her ankle. He mirrored her movements in silence, noting how her gaze wandered over his frame. He knew there wasn’t much she hadn’t seen before. She was a doctor, and one who had worked with clones before. His tan skin and frame hardly differed from those around him. However, he knew his scars might be different as they told his own unique story. He felt her eyes linger on the center of his chest, where a bullet had almost claimed his life.

Red hair dramatically bounced as she realized she’d been caught staring, her eyes darting away at the last moment as she pushed herself off the ground. Rex had always been attuned to the movements of others, a skill honed over years of watching targets and surveying for danger. Her hurried movements now lacked the grace he had admired before, leaving him to wonder what thoughts occupy her mind.

Before he could linger on his thoughts, she sprinted toward the water, and he hurried after her, eager to keep pace. “Come on, Soldier!” she called back, her voice ringing with excitement as she dove into the ocean, vanishing beneath the waves. He followed suit, delighting in the refreshing coolness of the water against his skin. Carefully placing his board atop the gentle swell, he watched it bob as he stood near the shore, waiting for her to reappear.

“Do you want to try standing up here before we head out further?” Mae asked, suddenly popping up on the other side of the board, her arms gracefully shifting as she positioned herself. Assuming her suggestion came from a genuine desire to see him succeed, he nodded and hoisted himself up in the shallow water while she held the edges steady.

He immediately felt the difference of being in the water and approached the motion of standing with extra care. Once his feet were firmly planted, he rose with as much grace as he could muster. The board rocked beneath him, and when he looked down, he saw Mae beaming as she released her grip, allowing him to fully experience the push of the waves. With a joyful splash, he jumped back in, swimming close to her as she applauded. “I think you’re ready to head out and try it for real!” she said, her enthusiasm shining through.

With a nod, he watched as she effortlessly pulled herself onto the board and demonstrated how to paddle out. As soon as he grasped the motion, his gaze drifted to the captivating scene before him: the ripples of her arm slicing through the water, the sunlight glinting off her wet red hair, and the curve of her figure as she paddled ahead, her black swimsuit accentuating her silhouette.

Perhaps it was the thrill of being able to gaze without interruption, but he couldn’t help but watch her throughout their journey into deeper water. When she turned around and effortlessly hoisted herself up on the board, he quickly glanced away, not wanting her to catch him staring. He remained horizontal, moving closer and propping himself up on his elbows, ready for her to explain.

But she seemed completely absorbed in her desire to catch a wave, laying back down and paddling away, leaving him behind. 

His brown eyes carefully tracked her movements, admiring the ease with which she glided through the water. She rose as if it were second nature, standing tall atop the wave as she distanced herself from him. To his astonishment, she even had the audacity to walk along the length of the board while riding it, only to leap off into the shallow water moments later.

Knowing it would be a moment before she returned, he pulled himself into a seated position and settled in to wait. Even though he understood the movements, he still felt a twinge of unease about trying it without her guidance. As she paddled closer, she grinned and waved, and he couldn’t help but mirror her smile. She looked truly at peace—much happier than the day before, when exhaustion and stress had weighed her down. Now, she radiated lightness and joy, enjoying the water not as a task, but as a pure source of delight. Perhaps it was a type of relaxation he could come to understand in time. 

“How’d you do that?” he asked once she was close enough for him to see the dimples in her cheeks.

“What, walking?” she replied casually.

“Yeah, it looked so effortless,” he complimented.

“Practice. Time. Definitely not a move for beginners like you. Speaking of which—” she nudged her head toward his board, “are you ready to give it a shot on your own?”

“I suppose. I can already tell paddling is going to be quite the arm workout,” he said, gesturing as she let out a light laugh.

“It is! How do you think I got these guns?” she said playfully, flexing her surprisingly impressive bicep for someone her size. Unsure why he felt compelled to comment, he was even more taken aback when a cheeky remark slipped from his lips.“Whoa there, Ma’am! Do you know how to handle a loaded weapon like that?” 

From shock at his quick remark to a teasing smirk, she shot back, “Not sure, Captain. Why don’t you come over and give me some firearm training since that’s your area of expertise?” Her laughter rang out as she turned away, leaving him momentarily speechless, mouth agape. He blinked in disbelief, a smile creeping onto his face despite himself. “Well, I do have a few tactical moves up my sleeve,” he called after her, trying to regain his composure.

She glanced back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, really? I’m intrigued!”

With a newfound determination, he pushed off the board and paddled toward her, his confidence slowly building. “Alright, just remember: I’m an expert in this field,” he teased, aiming for a lighthearted banter as he caught up with her.

As they floated side by side, he couldn’t help but admire the way the sunlight danced on the water around them, mirroring the playful energy between them. “Most important part of handling weapons is making sure they are properly maintained” he asked, raising an eyebrow, gesturing to her arms as the woman caught on to what he was insinuating with a laugh. 

She laughed again, the sound like music in the salty air. “Oh of course, Captain! Might I need to pass your expert inspection…?”

He grinned, enjoying the playful tension between them. “Absolutely! I take my inspections very seriously,” he replied, feigning a serious expression that quickly broke into a smile. 

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her laughter. “Well, I hope you’re thorough,” she said, inching a little closer on her board. 

“Thoroughness is my specialty,” he quipped, feeling a rush of excitement. He studied her arms, the sun casting a warm glow on her skin, and added, “You’ve clearly put in the time. Those guns are impressive.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Captain,” she replied with a wink, leaning back slightly as if to give him a better view. “But can you keep up with me when it comes to the real action?”

“Oh, I think I can handle a little competition,” he shot back, his competitive spirit ignited. With that, he paddled ahead, urging her to follow. The chase was on, and the thrill of the moment filled the air. As they raced across the water, laughter and splashes followed them, the sun warming their skin and the ocean breeze carrying away any lingering doubts. He felt alive, invigorated by both the challenge and her presence. 

There was something refreshing about the way he could be both playful and straightforward with her. Rex couldn’t recall the last time he’d flirted so unashamedly with a woman—certainly not for the simple joy it brought him, rather than with the aim of a quick hookup. But as she surged ahead in their race toward the shore, her board catching a wave and propelling her effortlessly forward, he found himself grappling with a revelation: he was flirting with Mae.

She was the same charming doctor who had shown kindness to Echo and every man he’d sent through Pabu. The woman who had welcomed Aiko and made her feel at home. Everyone seemed to hold her in high regard, and Rex had quickly come to appreciate her even more after catching glimpses of her past. There was a depth to her that drew him in, making this playful exchange feel all the more significant.

Silencing the nagging voice inside him that questioned “why,” he attempted to stand, following the motion he’d practiced. His feet barely made contact with the board before he found himself sliding off into the cool water. Breaking the surface, he spotted Mae watching him with a playful smirk. “You put your front foot down first—that’s what made you fall off the back,” she critiqued, her tone light as he blinked, processing her words. It dawned on him that she was right; he had indeed led with his front foot. 

“You need to establish a firm foundation first,” she continued, offering a smile. “That said, it wasn’t a bad first attempt. I’m sure we’ll get you there in no time.” Her encouragement wrapped around him, igniting his determination to improve. He wiped the water from his eyes, feeling the coolness of the ocean embrace him as he grinned back at her. “Alright, then. Let’s try this again.” 

Mae nodded, her enthusiasm infectious. “Just remember, start with your back foot, and try to keep your weight balanced on the board,” Taking a deep breath, he swam back to the board, climbing on with renewed focus. He steadied himself, recalling her advice as he positioned his feet carefully this time. As he prepared to rise again, he glanced over at Mae, who watched with an encouraging smile.

“Ready?” she called, her excitement palpable.With a nod, he paddled out with the wave gaining momentum. As he felt the board finally catch along its pull, he  pushed up, this time leading with his back foot and shifting his weight more deliberately. For a brief moment, he felt the board stabilize beneath him. Just as he thought he might actually succeed, the wave surged, and he wobbled precariously. 

“Keep your core engaged!” Mae shouted, her voice cutting through the splash of the waves. He concentrated, trying to maintain his balance. But just as he thought he had it, the board tilted, and he found himself slipping again. This time, he fell with a splash, but as he broke the surface, he couldn’t help but laugh. Mae burst into laughter too, her joy infectious. “You’re getting closer! Just a bit more practice, and you’ll be a pro.” 

“Yeah, if I don’t drown first,” he joked, paddling back toward her, needing a moment as he found the paddling to be a bit more draining than he’d anticipated. 

“Can I make a suggestion?” she asked after a moment. He nodded, slightly puzzled, as she drifted closer. Pulling herself onto the board beside him, she abandoned her own board for a moment. Her hands lifted to his shoulders before sliding down to his elbows, gently raising them. “You can extend your arms to help stabilize yourself, but you’re really tense,” she said, her voice calm and encouraging. “You need to relax a bit…” She moved her hands back to his shoulders, her fingers gliding along his skin in a soothing manner. Gradually, he followed her advice, allowing the tightness in his shoulders to melt away under her gentle touch.

As he relaxed, he felt a warmth spreading through him, both from her touch and the shared moment. “How’s this?” he asked, trying to gauge her response. Her fingers flexed for a moment before disappearing from his body. “Much better,” she replied, a smile brightening her face. “Now, focus on your balance and the rhythm of the water. You can do this.”

He took a deep breath, feeling the gentle rocking of the board beneath them. “Alright, I’ll give it another go,” he said, determination bubbling up within him. 

“Just remember to keep your core engaged and take your time,” she added, her hands pushing off his board as she returned to her own once more. Offering a reassuring grin she told him. “You’ve got this.” With her support, he began to paddle once more. Pushing himself up again, leading with his back foot and extending his arms out for balance. This time, he felt more stable, the water beneath him less daunting.

“See? You’re doing great!” Mae cheered, her enthusiasm infectious.

For a brief moment, he found his footing, gliding over the gentle waves with newfound confidence. But just as he began to believe he had mastered it, a larger surge bumped into the board. He wobbled precariously, and before he could adjust, he tumbled into the water once more.

Emerging with a splash, he laughed, shaking his head as he glanced over the top of the bobbing waves.“Hey, every attempt is a victory!” she called out, her laughter mingling with his own as she paddled closer. “You’re making more progress than you realize. Let’s try again!”

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Returning to shore with a lighter air around him, he followed behind the doctor as she insisted they should take a break, claiming she was tired. Deep down, he knew her suggestion was really for his benefit. Rex had severely underestimated how draining the activity could be. Still, he felt a swell of pride for the progress he’d made.

“You looked a bit awkward out there, Rex. Surfing is harder than you thought, huh?” Hunter joked as they approached the spot where the rest of the group had gathered.

“I don’t see you out there giving it a shot,” Rex shot back.

“I value my reputation, thank you very much. Can’t have people watching me make a fool of myself like some people,” Hunter replied, a playful smirk on his face. Rex scoffed at the insinuation, laughter bubbling up between them.

“Oh hush, he’s doing great. Although any more sun and you are going to start burning there Captain-” she nodded towards him as she held a bottle of what he assumed was some sort of sun protection. 

“You’re one to talk,” he said, gesturing to her cheeks, already flushed from the sun despite the sunscreen she had applied.

“Some of us are just a bit less immune to solar radiation,” Mae replied, raising an eyebrow with a playful smile. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I could use some help with my back.”

Rex felt a swirl of excitement and apprehension at her request. Part of him relished the idea of being close enough to touch her, while another part worried about what that might mean. Yet, she had already touched him several times, each encounter feeling casual and comfortable. Taking a deep breath, he chose to embrace the moment. “Not a problem, ma’am,” he said, trying to sound confident.

“Well, aren’t you a charmer?” she giggled, her fingers deftly grasping the zipper of her wetsuit and tugging it down from her sternum to her bellybutton. As she slipped her arms free from the material, Rex stepped forward, his gaze instinctively dropping to the ground to avoid staring as she applied sunscreen to her front. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her being particularly careful, making sure every inch of her chest was covered before moving on to the rest of her body. She bent at the waist to lotion her legs, her bottom brushing close to him as he struggled to keep his focus on the lapping waves instead of the fact she’d shoved her quite round bum near him. 

“Alright, you’re up!” she said with a playful giggle, waving the bottle of sunscreen. Rex raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Me?”

“Your back!” she clarified, gesturing toward him. Suddenly, it struck him that she intended to help him out before he had a chance to return the favor. Turning around, he felt her step closer, the warmth radiating from her as she placed her palm on his right shoulder. The unexpected touch made him jump, eliciting a soft snicker from her as her delicate hands began to rub the lightly fragrant lotion into his skin.

Instantly, he felt the tension he had been holding since the start of the war begin to melt away under her nimble fingers. She moved with purpose, ensuring the lotion was absorbed without lingering too long, her hands gliding across the expanse of his back. When she finally withdrew, he turned to reach for the bottle, but she looked up at him with a bright smile and tilted her head slightly, saying, “Lean down for a second.”

His eyes widened in confusion as she gently cupped the side of his head, her thumbs brushing the tips of his ears. Unsure of her intentions, he choked slightly on his own saliva, which had been pooling in his mouth, and stammered, “What—?”

“Ears are one of the most common areas to develop melanoma,” Mae explained, reminding him that she was a doctor. Her intentions were purely clinical; she aimed to highlight a vulnerable area prone to severe damage. Clearing his throat, he looked down into her eyes and noticed a delicate ring of gold encircling her blue irises just before she met his gaze.

“Good to know,” he said, and as she nodded, he felt compelled to add, “Thank you.” She acknowledged him with a slight bow of her head before handing him the bottle and turning her back to him. Her long red hair cascaded down, obscuring part of her shoulder. He gently tapped her shoulder and gestured, “Uh, you might want to—”

“Right,” she chuckled, gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail, pulling it out of the way. Just as he was about to place his open palm against her back, something caught his eye—a scar, almost like a brand, marred her right shoulder. It was unmistakably intentional.

He felt a surge of curiosity mixed with concern, racking his brain for a moment as to why it looked so familiar. His gaze lingered, and she turned her head slightly, asking, “Something wrong?”

Rex hesitated briefly before placing his hand in the center of her back, rubbing in the sunscreen gently while his mind raced, trying to recall where he’d seen that marking before. As he moved his hands lower, he felt her shiver at the contact just above her swim bottoms.

“Sorry,” he murmured, catching the airy, uncertain response from her. “You’re alright, hon,” she reassured him, though the warmth in her voice didn’t quite mask the hint of tension.

In that moment, the marking and her accent struck a chord within him, illuminating details of her past he hadn’t anticipated uncovering. The realization weighed heavily on him, a deeper understanding forming in the quiet space between them.

Killough. Rex recalled reading about them in the archives as the war progressed. Despite the Republic’s diminished presence in the Outer Rim and the overwhelming focus on the droid armies, he was aware of the criminal activities lurking in the shadows of the conflict. The Killough Clan was notorious—a wealthy and well-connected crime family deeply entrenched in the region. They frequently associated with the Pykes, the Hutts, and other dangerous organizations. Why else would she bear a brand from such an organization unless…

Fingers lightly grazing the burn, Mae turned away abruptly, her eyes flashing with an unreadable emotion as she stepped back from him. “Thank you,” she said, avoiding his gaze. Rex might have probed further, perhaps even flirted, if he hadn’t just stumbled upon a revelation that made his stomach sink. Surely she couldn’t be connected to them. Right?

“You’re welcome,” he replied, tension hanging thickly between them. The weight of the realization that he’d pieced together her past hung over them, a shadow neither could shake. For how the man perceived her reaction, it was clearly a painful subject, possibly even incriminating. And for her, he sensed that she feared he would judge her based on it.

This unspoken tension made their quick exit easier, each of them looking for an excuse to escape.

As Rex stepped away from the group, he struggled to reconcile the fun, flirty doctor he had been enjoying with the unsettling possibility of a darker past. The contrast left him feeling uneasy, and he needed time to process it all. Just as he made it to the treeline of the beach he heard a raspy voice say, “go away,”. 

Crosshair. 

Rex had forgotten the sniper had settled into a hammock away from the others in this direction. Not wanting to confront his prickly personality amid an internal crisis, he almost muttered “gladly” in annoyance as he stepped away.

“Problem…?” came Crosshair's voice, tinged with an unexpected concern as Rex turned to see him leaning over the edge of the hammock.

“You all— I mean, someone has to know… how—” Rex struggled to articulate his concern, the words eluding him as Crosshair’s dark eyebrow shot up in interest.

“I can’t believe you let Stitches lure you into her death trap she calls surfing,” Crosshair remarked, either attempting to deflect the conversation or tease him while he was vulnerable—Rex couldn't quite tell.

“And I can’t believe you all are letting a woman connected to a criminal enterprise roam freely, let alone neglect to warn a guy—” Rex shot back, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

Crosshair's sharp intake of breath and equally hostile tone cut through the air as he dropped to the ground beside Rex in the blink of an eye. “What did you just say?”

Caught off guard by the sudden transition from teasing to menacing, Rex straightened, irritation bubbling within him as he realized the enhanced clone had the height advantage.

“I said you’re all either ignorant or reckless for allowing a woman connected to the Killough Clan to roam freely—” Rex retorted, his voice steady despite the tension.

“I’d recommend you keep your mouth shut about things you don’t understand and that don’t concern you—” Crosshair hissed, his tone icy. Rex clenched his fist, anger bubbling beneath the surface, but pressed on.

“It does concern me. I’ve spent all day in the company of a woman—”

“Mae. Her name is Mae,” Crosshair interjected sharply.

“Mae” he corrected before continuing, ”Who’s walking around with a brand from one of the most dangerous criminal organizations in the galaxy,” Rex shot back.

“Like I said, stop involving yourself in things when you don’t know the whole story,” Crosshair warned, taking a step back, eager to distance himself from Rex before the tension escalated further.

“But-” 

“Don’t you think one of the first things Tech did when we saw that scar was investigate? We’re not fools. We know better than to get involved with dangerous people, especially for Omega’s sake. As for why she has that scar, that’s not my story to share. But I’d advise you to think very carefully before you disrespect a woman who’s spent the better part of a year cleaning up your messes without you even realizing it.” With that, Crosshair turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Rex momentarily speechless.

Glancing back at the water’s edge, Rex saw Mae standing waist-deep in the waves, her smile radiant as she demonstrated to Omega how to push up on the board. The memory of her gentle touch lingered in his mind, alongside the uncomfortable realization that Crosshair had been right: she had given him no real reason to worry. He didn’t know the full story, but he wasn’t about to find comfort in the words of a sniper with a blood-soaked past tied to the Empire. 

Rex knew he had to be cautious; survival depended on it, and that instinct was not something he could simply switch off. Yet, as he watched her vibrant red hair catch the sunlight, he felt a growing urge to extend some grace until he had more clarity.

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

The sun was beginning its slow descent over the water, casting a warm glow on the beach. Most of the group had retreated to clean up before dinner, leaving Rex alone with Hunter as Omega waved goodbye over her shoulder. 

“Someone should stay down here to make sure she’s okay,” Rex said, nodding toward Mae, who was now sitting on her board, watching the sunset with her back turned to them. She had kept her distance from him for most of the day, perhaps still affected by the moment he’d touched her scar or by his argument with Crosshair. Whatever the reason, he had retreated into himself since then.

Trapped in his own thoughts, Rex found himself trying to piece together the fragments of her past. Could she have been a slave? Maybe she was the child of an advisor? Or perhaps she had been tangled up with a former lover... 

As he glanced out at the silhouette of her figure breaking the horizon, a thought struck him: what if he simply asked her? She had been honest the night before about her experiences in the RAR. If she opened up it would certainly ease his own mind.

Spotting the board he had neglected earlier, Rex paddled out to meet Mae on the water. She was much further away than before, and it took him significantly longer to reach her. As he got closer, he noticed she still hadn’t taken her eyes off the sunset. With her legs drawn up on the board and her chin resting on her knees, she seemed lost in thought. Without her wetsuit, the pink of her shoulders stood out against the fading light.

He was certain she had sensed his approach, yet she remained silent. Uncertain of how to begin, Rex felt a wave of regret wash over him for seeking her out. What if she was angry? What if he had crossed a line and she needed space? The confidence he had felt just moments ago seemed to dissipate, leaving him anxious and unsure. Surely, things hadn't shifted from wonderful to tense so quickly.

He cursed the Kaminoans for programming him for war rather than for navigating human emotions. Throughout his life, he had been led to believe he wouldn’t need to engage with civilians, leaving him unprepared for moments like this. The decision to forgo pleasantries now felt like a misstep. Though he was a free man in many ways, he would eventually need to connect better with civilians.

In the past, he had mostly adhered to regulations, interacting only with a select few—like the Senator’s handmaidens or some hired help at the 79s. He remembered Jesse’s girl, the one who had gotten pregnant, whom he had helped off-world after the war. But those brief encounters hardly made him an expert in emotional matters.

“I don’t blame you, you know,” she said, her tone firm yet laced with a palpable dejection.

“Wha—” he started, but she turned abruptly, locking him with a gaze that made even the battle-hardened captain shrink under the intensity of her eyes.

“Please, don’t pretend you don’t understand. I know you saw it. I’m fully aware of what that mark signifies. I had hoped you would be the kind of man to ask me, rather than fleeing as if I personally were the one who committed those crimes,” she began, and in the brief moment she paused to run her hand over her hair he started to reply. 

“So that means you—”

“I’m not finished,” she interjected, her voice steady but infused with a quiet strength. He nodded, letting her continue. “Have you ever been on your own, Rex?” she asked, her gaze softening as she studied his features.

“I—uh, well, no. I can’t say I have. I’ve always had someone. My brothers, our Generals. There was always someone there,” he admitted.

“It’s not easy being alone at such a young age. I found out he was going to sell me off to some associate to be his bride. I endured years of abuse, watching my mother and every bride he took after, killed for giving him daughters. But learning I was to be ‘gifted’ to a man fifty years my senior was the final straw. When I escaped, I went to the one place I knew they’d be too afraid to look for me.” 

“Coruscant,” he filled in the blanks, understanding how she had become part of the Republic.

“I always wanted to be a doctor,” she continued, her voice tinged with longing. “I felt a sense of purpose when I patched myself and my sisters up. But medical school is expensive, and I left everything behind when I fled. I enlisted so I could study for free, to see the stars, knowing that it was too close to the Republic for them to ever find me again.” Mae closed her eyes, a soft breeze tugging at one of her damp curls before letting it settle by her shoulder once more.

“I—” he trailed off as she opened her eyes again. The fading light cast a silvery hue to them, momentarily captivating him and causing him to lose his train of thought. Regaining his composure, he pressed on. “I’m sorry for running off earlier. You have to understand, I’m a soldier. I’ve been trained to be hyper-aware of danger, even when it comes in unexpectedly beautiful forms.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m pretty, Captain?” she teased, a playful smile breaking through the tension and bringing a moment of ease between them.

He chuckled softly, a warmth spreading through him. “Perhaps it is. But it’s more than that. It’s how you handle yourself. You’re strong, and that’s what caught me off guard.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in slightly, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “So you’re saying strength is attractive?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, his tone earnest. “In my experience strength like that, it’s a rare quality. Most people hide behind walls, but you seem to embrace your experiences. That and admittedly-“ he looked at her with a smile before saying, “you are very candid,”

She tilted her head, considering his words. “Well, it hasn’t always been easy. But I’ve learned that there can be strength in vulnerability.”

Rex felt a shift in the air, a new understanding forming between them. “I’ve always been told to keep my guard up, but maybe there’s something to letting it down sometimes.”

“Exactly. You don’t have to carry the weight alone,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “We all have our battles, Rex. Sharing them can lighten the load.”

He nodded, feeling a sense of relief. “Then maybe I can start by sharing a bit more… that is, if there was someone willing to listen..?” His tone conveys a question rather than a statement as her eyes flash with understanding.

“Good,” she said, her smile returning. “I would be honored,” the redhead told him as he turned away, suddenly bashful at the notion. 

“Remind me to give you my comm channel when we get back,” the man said, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sun just began to peek over the water. Darkness would soon envelop them, and he knew they should return, but a part of him yearned to stay.

The weight of the moment hung in the air, inexplicable yet significant, as if the atmosphere crackled with unspoken energy. He felt a flicker of hope at the prospect of friendship and the stability it could bring—especially with someone who had been quietly supportive without him even realizing it. Memories of Crosshair’s words flashed through his mind, mingling with the insights he had gained the night before.

“Hey Mae?” he called, drawing her attention from the fading sun to him. She lifted her head from her knees, a curious hum escaping her lips. “Thank you,” he said, sincerity threading through his voice.

He wasn’t entirely sure which part of her kindness he was acknowledging—her honesty about her past, her compassion towards his brother, her understanding of his nature, or the lightheartedness that made him feel at ease. Maybe it was simply the way she made him feel like just a man, watching the sunset with a remarkable woman. Regardless of the reason, he felt compelled to express his gratitude.

“Anytime, Rex,” she replied, brushing her hair over her shoulder with a soft smile. “But we should probably head back,” she added, letting out a gentle sigh.

“Yeah,” he agreed, stealing a glance at her. The sun had kissed her skin, giving her a warm glow. “You’ve been out in the sun all day. It’s definitely time we get you back.”

With that, they leisurely began to paddle back toward the shore, neither in any rush to end their time on the water. Eventually, as the shoreline beckoned, they reached the shallows. Rex and Mae hopped off their boards, the cool water swirling around their ankles as they walked back to the beach.

Just as they were about to step onto the sand, Mae paused, her fingers sifting through the sand below. A delighted sound escaped her lips as she unearthed something.

“What is it?” Rex asked, intrigued. He couldn’t help but find her childlike excitement endearing as she examined her find.

“Your armor—it's blue, right?” she asked, holding up the small object in her hand, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. He nodded as she held the small object up to the fading light, revealing a blue fragment nestled between her slender fingers. Unlike typical glass, it had a frosted appearance, giving it an almost ethereal quality. “It’s called sea glass,” she explained, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “It forms when fragments of glass get smoothed out by the sand, making them soft to the touch instead of jagged like broken shards.”

She handed it to him, inviting him to examine it more closely. The color mirrored that of his blue armor, and it was indeed as smooth as she described. Yet, despite its beauty, Rex found himself puzzled by her delight over what he considered just a piece of discarded glass. Rex turned the sea glass in his hand, admiring its color and smoothness, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was just an oddity. “It’s beautiful,” he said, trying to match her enthusiasm, “but why are you so excited about it? Isn’t it just… trash?”

Mae laughed softly, her eyes twinkling. “That’s where you’re wrong! It’s not just trash. It has a story—it was once something else, maybe a bottle or a jar, and now it’s something new. Isn’t that kind of magical?”

He looked at her, contemplating her words. There was a profound depth to her appreciation that he hadn’t considered. “So you see beauty in… broken things?”

“Exactly! Just like us,” she said, her voice sincere. “We all have our own scars and stories, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find beauty in them despite the pain they once caused.”

Rex felt a flicker of understanding ignite within him. “I guess I’ve always focused on the damage itself rather than the possibility of finding beauty in it.”

Mae smiled, a gentle encouragement in her gaze. “It’s okay to feel that way. But remember, just like this sea glass, we are still here. Resilient and shaped by what we’ve endured into something entirely different,”

He handed the sea glass back to her, a newfound respect for its significance growing. “Thanks for sharing that with me. I suppose I needed a reminder.” She beamed at him, tucking the piece into her pocket as they continued their walk along the shore back towards her home, leaving the beach behind them. 

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

The following morning brought with it the realization that he had to return to the stars and the mission that awaited him. After saying his goodbyes the night before, he decided to slip away quietly before anyone else woke up. He neatly folded the blanket from the sofa where he had slept and grabbed his bag, casting one last glance down the hall at Mae’s closed door. He knew she was likely still asleep, just as Echo and Aiko were in the other room. He didn’t want to disturb her; she seemed to be someone who rarely got the rest she needed.

Pabu in the early morning light was just as beautiful as it had ever been—quiet, warm, and inviting. It felt like home, even though he knew he shouldn’t allow himself to get too comfortable here. Yet, he understood why the others had found a sense of belonging.

Each step back toward his ship felt surprisingly lighter. After sharing his private communication channel with the talented doctor the night before, he left the decision to reach out in her hands. She had thanked him for finally showing his face after all the clones who had passed through her care on his behalf. He felt willing to let their friendship develop at its own pace, however that might unfold… for now.

Just as he caught sight of his ship’s outline, he heard the sound of light footsteps pattering behind him. Assuming it was Omega sneaking away to see him off, he turned, ready to greet the young girl. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with a pair of bare feet on the stone and a shock of vibrant red hair.

“I heard the door close—” Mae began, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief as Rex’s surprise quickly faded into a nod.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said sheepishly, his shoulders slumping as he realized he hadn’t been as quiet as he’d hoped.

“It’s okay. Someone should see you off, right?”

“I suppose,” he replied, setting his bag down for a moment, his mind racing with questions about why she had chosen to come out.

“I also forgot to give you this last night,” she said, stepping closer, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. When he didn’t respond, she rose onto her tiptoes, gently placing something over his head and letting it drape across his chest. Pausing for a moment, their eyes crossed one another. Her checks flushing at the recognition he was watching her closely. With that, Mae stepped back to allow him space once more, and he caught a light whiff of something feminine. Not exactly floral, but certainly reminiscent of the aromatic scents of the island tangled with perfume. 

Remembering why she’d stepped close to him in the first place, his hand south the item. It was the same piece of tumbled glass from the night before, but now it had a small hole at the top, threaded with a cord that extended to a leather band. “I thought you should have a memento from your first time on Pabu, and the blue matches your armor,” she explained as he turned the sea glass pendant over in his hand, marveling at its beauty and the thought behind it.

Rex held the pendant up to the soft morning light, the frosted blue glass shimmering delicately. A wave of warmth washed over him as he realized the significance behind Mae’s gift. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice sincere. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

Mae’s smile widened, her excitement infectious. “It’s a reminder that even broken things can become something beautiful.”

He nodded, his fingers gliding over the smooth surface of the glass. As he reflected on his words, thoughts of her filled his mind. Mae came from a perilous past, having faced terrifying and uncertain situations that could have easily shattered her spirit. Yet here she stood, illuminated by the morning light, bare feet planted firmly on the ground, dressed in her nightgown—radiant and resilient. There was a strength in her that captivated him, a reminder that even in the face of adversity, one could emerge beautiful and stronger.

The pendant felt weighty yet comforting in his hand. “I’ll cherish it,” he promised. The gesture felt like a connection, something he could carry with him no matter where the stars took him.

“I hope it brings you memories of this place, of your brothers and your friends,” Mae said softly, her gaze lingering on the pendant before meeting his eyes.

“It already does,” he replied, a warmth blossoming in his chest as he took a moment to appreciate her kindness. “This whole trip has been more than I expected.”

Her expression shifted, a hint of vulnerability peeking through her cheerful demeanor. “I’m glad. It’s nice to know you enjoyed your time here.”

“More than I can say,” he said, feeling the weight of the moment. “You’ve made this place feel like home, even if just for a little while.”

Mae’s cheeks flushed, and she looked down for a brief moment before meeting his gaze again. World spinning, butterflies in his stomach as he looked back at her. His gloved hands stroking the smooth surface of the pendant between his pointer finger and thumb as he looked down at the way her expression showed a hint of longing amidst her resolve. Clearing her throat after a beat between them she said, “You should get going, though. I didn’t mean to hold you up,”

“Right,” he said, reluctantly picking up his bag. “I guess it’s time for me to ship out.” 

As he turned toward the ramp, he felt a twinge of regret. “I’ll keep in touch,” he assured her, glancing back.

“Promise?” she asked, her tone laced with hope.

“Promise,” he confirmed, feeling the weight of that commitment resonate between them.

With one last smile, he turned and began walking away, the pendant resting against his heart—a tangible reminder of their shared moments. As he sat down in the cockpit, he couldn’t help but look back one last time, capturing the image of Mae standing there, the morning light framing her in a golden glow. She’d moved further back under the large tree at the top of the Island’s hill, leaning against its low hanging branch as she lifted her hand into a wave. 

Starting up the engines, Rex felt a renewed sense of purpose. The journey ahead may be uncertain, but with the pendant as a reminder of his time on Pabu and the connection they had forged, he felt ready to face whatever awaited him among the stars. And if he found it way back to Pabu in the future, perhaps he could enjoy a few more slower moments in the midst of his chaotic life.

To be continued...

Again shout out to my friend for this amazing image!

[ya-what--ya-erster]

Every character ever played by Jeremy Jordan is bisexual unless it is very clearly and explicitly stated otherwise. Just so you know.

[2024skin]

1 month ago today my exes mom died is it too soon to tell him I unfriended him and ignored his message because I kind of think he raped me

[sagelasters]

scientific study on the void state

For decades, people have thought sleeping is a momental period or pause where both the body and mind is asleep. When I stopped remembering my dreams, I recalled seeing just pitch black in my sleep, and I never thought much about it until I started getting into the void and loa in general. It’s strange how my mind remembered those moments of nothingness and pure darkness, they were briefly short but I came to the conclusion that every single one of us has been in a void state. Whether or not you remembered it, maybe you do, maybe for a split second you were enveloped in pitch blackness till you woke up. Most of us brush off these strange phenomenals, but here’s the real question: Is it possible to be aware in your sleep? The answer is yes, our subconscious mind is fully awake even in your sleep. I think one of the most interesting scientific experiments I’ve read was an interview in 2022, it explores the ‘objectless awareness’ in our sleep. 

There were about 38 participants in the experiment, in which they were given a word to mentally spell and then they were interviewed based on that specific spelling. This is to measure participant’s memory accuracy, just to make sure they didn’t fabricate or make up any descriptions in the experiment. When participants pass the first round, they are given a survey if they have experiences of being conscious in their sleep. The result is that some participants recalled to lack any bodily sensations or imagery, one person reported that they lost the sense of being ‘themself’ but they identified as a ‘light’ or ‘orb’. Another person reported that after being in the state of nothingness, they were shaken up and brought to another ‘dream scenery’. Others recalled that their thoughts were completely non-existent in this state and they are aware of being ‘transitioned’ to what they called the ‘black spot’ and ‘nothingness state’. 

The chart summarizes what the participants experience in their sleep, the ‘nothingness phase’ seems to be the middle ground between regular sleeping state, to hypnagogia (transition between being awake and sleep, you experience sleep paralysis and muscle jerks in this stage). Most participants were unable to recall what happened after they transitioned out of the ‘nothingness phase’. The following is what they said:

Participant 1

"So, this sensation of nothing was letting me know that I was still in a dream, because I made the comparison to, I cannot feel any of my limbs. So, I know that I’m not just in bed right now with my eyes closed. Because none of my body’s there."

Participant 2

"I no longer have an idea of a body.. a dream body at that point. And then I [emphasis] became or was this just like this little ball of light, […]. So like I knew that the sphere of light was ME, but also like the light that was around the sphere was me, […] Once I become the sphere, you are asking if I have any body perception? I do not have any at that point […] having a dream body is just completely gone."

Participant 9

“And then, and then all of a sudden, there was just nothing I could not, I’ve gone from, from my body, I guess. And I’ve had other bodies before and this felt very, very, very different where I did not like there was no dream body, no dream scene. No, no ANYTHING. It almost seems like a form about a body. But it almost seems like you are, you are caught between, caught between somewhere where you are trying to get in and the physical, you are, you are somewhere else. […] And so, so I was able to feel that I guess.” 

Participant 8

“It’s more like I was the void. ”

Participant 12

" It’s just total darkness. And you…, there’s very little difference between you and what’s around you. ”

Well didn’t that blow your mind away? This probably raises more questions on more phenomenal that modern science has no idea about, considering the fact that we just discovered our sense of awareness is still on even in our sleep. 

Citation

Alcaraz-Sánchez A, Demšar E, Campillo-Ferrer T, Torres-Platas SG. Nothingness Is All There Is: An Exploration of Objectless Awareness During Sleep. Front Psychol. 2022 Jun 10;13:901031. doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2022.901031. PMID: 35756253; PMCID: PMC9226678.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Remade (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you nurse Sauron back into his physical form, eager to be reunited with your great love once more

Warnings: I somehow managed to write fluff with goo!Sauron, I guess? You hold and kiss goo!Sauron. You suffer a minor injury by goo!Sauron. You get animals and one person killed to feed goo!Sauron. Heavy make out and implied smut (with non-goo!Sauron). Can you tell I love writing the words ‘goo!Sauron’?

Note: Yet another Sauron x evil!reader fic cause I can’t stop apparently. Can be read as a prequel to the others or as a stand alone.

“Oh, my love,” you breathe out, “what have they done to you?”

What have they done indeed. For you are speaking with the one that is your love, your husband, your very soul—but if he hears, or even understands, he cannot show it. What’s left of him has no mouth no speak, no arms to wrap around you at long last, after an eternity of separation. What your tearful eyes are looking at is a black, amorphous mass, no larger than the heart hammering within your chest, writhing helplessly on the ground.

But it is him. Of that, you are certain.

When you felt his presence again, it was so faint you thought you were dreaming it. Nothing but a glimmer of darkness in the back of your mind, weakly calling out in agony. But as you searched your feelings, reaching out with every sliver of power you could muster, you found that it was real.

You found him.

Long had you travelled since, guided by the unseen thread connecting you to him. Until at last, it had led you into the heart of a mountain where his presence was so strong, it felt as though his skin was beneath your fingertips.

And yet, he was nowhere to be seen. Not until a sharp squeal had caught your ear, and you had found the source of it to be a rat being devoured into the blackness of a small, but lethal predator. At once, you had understood, and nearly fallen into despair. But in the end, you reminded yourself—he has endured. You have been reunited. That is all that matters.

Slowly, you kneel at his side. The mass ripples like the surface of water under a light breeze, and it gives you hope that, somehow, your presence is known to him. A sole rivulet of him begins to slip towards you, painfully slow. No wonder he has been in this state for so long, helpless to nourish himself lest some unfortunate creature stumbles upon him in the dark.

“I am here,” you whisper as you reach out. “I am—”

The moment your fingertips touch his cold, viscous form, black tendrils of him latch onto your hand, greedily clawing at your wrist. You gasp at the unexpected force of it, the searing sting where the liquid-like matter solidifies to dig sharp needles into your skin. Beads of your blood emerge, and he swallows them into himself with hunger.

You stare in awe as he grows ever so slightly larger. A twisted part of you is elated to be the object of his craving once more, even if he is trying to devour you whole. Especially then.

Unfortunately, that would not do in the long-term.

You shush him gently, caressing him with your free hand as though he were a purring kitten. Instantly, a tendril of him latches to one of your fingers, but you give him a firm squeeze.

“Shh!” you say sharply, fingers sinking into the soft surface of him as you reach out with your mind as well, nudging at his. “Easy, love,” you coo. “Easy. You know this hand. You know me.”

His mind is a mess—mad with hunger, alight with rage, lost to despair. But you keep caressing it with yours, tenderly bringing to the surface his memories of you. His love. His wife.

His grip on you weakens then. He deflates, withdrawing himself from your wounds, and you are left with a soft, pliant mass, which you delicately scoop into the palm of your hands. He rocks slightly against your skin, almost as if caressing it—and through your bond, the ghost of his regret reaches out to you.

“Do not fret, my love,” you murmur, smiling gently. “All will be well now.”

And so you go to dwell in the forest. At first, you bring him small things, no larger than he is himself—insects and rats, the occasional snake. The venomous ones seem to be quite nourishing, aiding in his growth more visibly than the other animals you feed him. Still, the progress is slow, and could not be endured without a great deal of patience and love. Fortunately, you lack neither.

Days turn to weeks, perhaps months. You don’t keep count, nor do you miss the comforts of the Elven realm where you had dwelt for years, waiting on the day your husband might return. A tent and your skills are more than enough when you finally have your love by your side, even if he is... temporarily different. You always keep him close, cradling him protectively at night and speaking loving words to him throughout the day. And in his own way, with ripples of his form and distant echoes of his slowly recovering mind, he holds onto you.

Eventually, he grows large enough for you to embrace at night, and develops a certain manner of breathing that feels as though you’re resting your head upon his chest. Its rise and fall is odd, ragged and irregular, but it brings you great joy nonetheless. With time, you bring him larger game, watching with grim amazement as deers and wild boars are slowly devoured into the beloved black mass that still is your husband. After a time, he grows nearly limb-like extensions, allowing him to more easily crawl around or reach out, and you often wake to find yourself in the closest thing to an embrace he can manage in this state. It never fails to make your heart soar, and he shudders as you press loving kisses to the parts of his surface closest to you.

So the days pass, until it’s time. Between your own instinct and the shape of his thoughts, not quite spoken but slightly more focused through your bond, you know he’s strong enough to finally regain himself completely.

But for that, he will need something more than an animal.

It’s easy enough to stop the first wagon you see passing by, acting confused and lost and asking for direction. The woman at the reins, though half-drunk, is even gracious enough to offer that she give you a ride to the closest village. You decline, of course. Your purpose was never to climb into the wagon yourself.

It was to halt it long enough for your husband to slither inside from the back.

It’s barely a few seconds after the woman has bid you a good journey and gone on her way that the wagon halts yet again—this time, with a piercing scream from its occupant. The wagon shakes, its horse breaking loose and galloping away.

Then, silence settles. From your angle, you can’t see inside. Your feet are glued in place, your breath barely there as you watch and wait. You’ve been waiting so long that now, so close to the end of your suffering, each moment feels neverending.

Finally—finally—a man emerges from the back of the wagon. He takes his time putting one bare foot, then the other, down onto the snow-covered ground. He takes in his surroundings, as though opening his eyes to the world for the first time. Then his gaze lands on you, and his lips curl into a smile filled with relief.

And you know, you’ve always known, but it feels as though you only then realize that this is not a man. Or an Elf, or a Dwarf, or any other being of less than godly nature. It is him. Remade into a form with eyes, and hands, and flesh, same as your own.

Your feet carry you towards him blindly as you stare and stare, almost unable to believe that you are finally standing close enough to touch once more.

“I would not blame you,” he says, his unfamiliar voice rough from lack of use, “if it was you who failed to recognize me now.”

But you know it’s absurd. His appearance may not be as it used to—his hair is shorter, darker, his cheeks covered in stubble, his features nothing like the ones you knew—but there is no form he could take you would not recognize, not as long as your mind still served you. His had been broken, unamde, when he had begun to feed on you as he would any other stranger. None of that matters now.

“This is... different,” you murmur, greedily taking in every inch of him that isn’t covered by the rags he’s wearing. His chest is partially bared to your eyes, and both of your breaths shudder as you lay your hand over his new heart, the smattering of hair there delightfully rough beneath your fingertips. You gaze there for a moment, mesmerized by the sight, then lift your eyes to meet his. The curls that fall in his face are so endearing your chest aches as you brush one aside.

“I love it,” you breathe out. “I love you.”

A dam that had been built over years of longing shatters at your words, and your lips meet his furiously in a long-awaited kiss. His looks may have changed, but his taste is the same, and so is the desire that overwhelms you to the point of insanity. You’re falling into each other, clawing at each other, crumbling to the ground in an unceremonious tangle of limbs. The snow is cold against your back, but your husband is warm and solid above you, and your world becomes reduced to him and him alone.

You whimper when he suddenly pulls away, chest heaving as he gazes down at you with raw yearning.

“You came for me,” he says, breathless with elation.

“Of course I did,” you retort, nearly indignated. As if you would do anything but. He goes to kiss you again, but you wrap a hand around his throat and hold him back. Mischief dances in your eyes as he glares and you scold, “And in return, you nearly ate me.”

His eyes darken, and you almost moan at the sight alone.

“I still wish to,” he growls, prying your hand away from his neck and diving in to devour yours instead. “All those years I hungered...” he speaks between ravenous licks and bites of your skin, making you writhe and whimper beneath him, “to feel you once more... even when I could no longer remember... what it was I hungered for...” He lifts his head, wild eyes boring into yours as he lays his hand upon your chest, relishing your heartbeat as you had done his before. “My love,” he pleads, voice trembling with need, “join me in flesh. Let me feast upon yours. Devour mine. Remind me what it is... to feel.”

The last time you felt such unbridled joy was so long ago, you can’t even remember it. And either way, you doubt it held a candle to the bliss bursting within your soul in this moment. This is all you ever wanted. This makes every single moment of torment, past or future, worth it.

“Feel me, love,” you offer most sweetly, your lips brushing his with the last words you speak before you consume each other whole, “Feel everything.”

Next fic with same reader -> Tides of fate

[lost-in-lamentation]

he never imagined he'd show anyone this side of himself. but when it's you, he can't help but show you everything.

a/n: starting the side character writing off with a bang! this is part two of the first sign of affection.

content: what do the side characters do when they want to show you they appreciate you?

warnings: once again, if physical touch isn't your thing, neither is this post. also, solomon is a sad boi.

diavolo; he falls asleep around you.

the future king of devildom takes everything in stride. from RAD problems to royal affairs, diavolo has it all covered. but sometimes, even the ruler himself finds himself on the panicked side. he begins to seek you out when he finds himself standing on anxiety's edge; your presence relaxes him to the point where he can't fight off the tiredness that clings. as the papers get signed, diavolo's eyes start to droop, and he doesn't notice the way you shift yourself closer to catch him. he falls asleep on your shoulder before he knows it, and you allow him to rest as long as he needs.

later, when he stirs and lifts his head to look at you, you quickly coax it back to where it was, sending his heart racing. "go back to sleep, you need it."

"... thank you." diavolo relishes in the way your hand combs through his hair, taking a moment to breathe a sigh of relief.

═  ˎˊ˗

barbatos; he fiddles with your hands.

as diavolo's right hand man, barbatos barely ever has a second to spare. so when he extends you an invite to come and have a tea tasting session with him, you absolutely cannot decline. throughout the day, he hands you flavours upon flavours of tea, each time never failing to ask if you'd like to take some of the leaves back home for yourself. the two of you eventually sit in a comfortable silence, fingertips brushing when you reach for the tea pot at the same time. without a word, barbatos slips his gloves off and reaches for your hands, beginning to idly play with your fingers.

your eyes widen in surprise, but you allow him to continue. "you... you okay?"

barbatos doesn't take his eyes away from your hands. "please, indulge me for just a moment," he says softly, placing his palm on top of yours.

═  ˎˊ˗

simeon; he plays with your hair.

simeon is often a man of few words. after all, he can never get his d.d.d. to work when he wants to call or even text you. so instead, he goes the old-fashioned way and comes knocking on your door instead. his heart skips a beat when you usher him in, and time flies by without much effort. the two of you sit pressed into each other's sides, and simeon takes his chance when he notices how your head bobs up and down sleepily. his hand reaches up and begins to tenderly card his hand through your hair, chuckling at the wobbly grin you began making.

"that feels nice," you murmur, settling even further into his side.

simeon lightly nuzzles his face on the top of your head in return. "i'm glad."

═  ˎˊ˗

solomon; he cries in front of you.

for someone to have lived as long as solomon, emotions begin to blend together. he's long forgotten where the line between sadness and anger lies, and it shows when the sorcerer smiles at a situation that calls for a frown. you recall the story he told you long ago, remembering the way his expression wavered as he recounted his memories. you stand by his side now in silence; his voice falters as he tries to say anything to you. in response, you turn his face towards you, telling him to do what he has never done in front of anyone.

you bring him closer, wrapping your arms around him. "stop holding back. you're safe with me."

"safe with you," solomon whispers back. the dam breaks, and in your presence, solomon allows tears to fall for the first time in centuries.

a/n: i love cat, if you couldn't tell.

[novaursa]

What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Paring: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

[empty-vessel-of-a-person]

Reasons why Sylus and MC’s Love is Strong and Enduring

The Front Side

Their relationship may have started in a wrong foot but they gradually (specially MC) come to terms that Sylus will constantly be at her side.

In “No Way Out” and “Radiant Brilliance” Sylus, the ever elusive and strong leader of Onichynus has no problem is showing weakness with MC. This is huge considering Sylus reputation. Being vulnerable and open is not something easy for a man like Sylus, but he let MC see every side of him.

Sylus is the first LaDS men to ever directly tell MC that he loves her and proves it to her in every way possible. (Source: Razor Grip)

Sylus is a man of confidence and conviction. MC is not very fond of him at the beginning (Nor he is fond of her) but I don’t feel that they genuinely hate each other. More like irritated and frustrated. But after all of the things ended in Sylus’ branch of the story, Sylus gradually but firmly makes his way to MC’s life. He always makes sure MC is alright and got everything she needs.

The memory “Wild Gaze” and “Melodic Weave” Is probably where Sylus gets the “sugar daddy” label. He really doesn’t mind spending his fortune with MC.

The Back End

They are on the opposing end of the society. Let’s not forget MC is a Hunter and Sylus is a wanted person of her organization. But romantically involved or not, MC never spilled anything about Sylus upon her return to Linkon from the N109 Zone. From this perspective, MC might be eternally grateful that she was able to return home, but this is huge for her. Considering she is all about being a hunter that not even Zayne is able to stop her from doing dangerous missions, her keeping secrets of Sylus whereabouts ans dealings is no easy feat.

Secret Dates and Escapades Shenanigans. This is one of the best tropes Sylus and MC have. The thrill of not to be caught together adds flavor to their relationship. We can see this on both “Melodic Weave” and voice call “Keep Distance”. Yes, Sylus couldn’t care less about what happened to him but MC is clearly not comfortable in the idea of them being seen together.

Given the conclusion above, they both still makes efforts to be together. And one of my favorite moments of them was during the “Riverbank Scenery” Phone Call. Sylus have to send a”suspicious” letter just to invite her out. And the fact that he called their meeting as a “rendezvous” instead of a date adds to anonymity on it and also heartbreaking. They may not directly say it,but they cannot be seen together. Which is why towards the end of the call, Sylus almost pleadingly ask her to stay with him longer.

The Consequences. By the time the we get to the “Razor Dance” memory, it’s clear that MC already has feelings for Sylus. But they are still keeping things a secret and I feel that the deeper reason for this is MC’s situation. What will happen to her once they are found out? MC might be branded as a traitor and lock her up. I know that Sylus will do anything and literally everything to save her but the real question is, will he risk it? I know for a fact that MC will not die but if the association finds out about it, she might be facing a problem same with what Ever Group is posing. MC has a very valuable asset and there is no guarantee that the Hunters Association will not take advantage of her as well.

The Conclusion

MC do not show any signs of giving up being a hunter or ever leave Linkon. She mentioned it in all the memories under the Wander in Wonder Event. She really hopes to return to Linkon and she misses her home. In the same event in the “Grassland Romance” with Sylus she asks him if he ever consider living in Linkon so they could always meet up and he readily agrees. With this we can assume the extent of Sylus love for her. He is willing to give up everything for her and be anything for her.

But although MC is not ready or willing (Depends how you take it) to give up being a hunter or leave Linkon, we cannot ignore the danger she is putting her self in every time she meets with Sylus. MC inviting him to live in her hometown can be taken as she wants him being in a more peaceful environment to keep him safe.

Their love story ma not be easy flowing but it’s not toxic. It may need a lot of effort, but it doesn’t make it less true. Loving Sylus can be a pain but it’s still rewarding.

[aemondwhoresworld]

SOUVENIR

pairing: cregan stark x fem!reader

summary: what will happen when lord stark's wife or maybe his son, reckon found a souvenir from his old lover?

warning: minor angst, jealousy, mention of an ex-lover, use of y/n, cregan is a single dad, y/n’s lord stark second wife

word-count: 1k

mae: english is not my native language, please forgive my lag of grammar. i do use google for a translation, if any reader could help me fix some of the grammar or vocab, that would be great and i’m very appreciate it!! 🤗⭐️ this is my first fic, please forgive me if i made any mistake. i might delete soon (idk if rhis was too flop 🤗)

you and Cregan have been weds for 36 moons. although you are Cregan's second wife, Cregan has always treated you with nothing but respect, love that every lady wife deserve that affection from their lord husband, even when you know that the betroth between you and him are duty, beneficial for both houses but you cannot help but falling for him more and more. the begin of the 5 moons into your marriage life, both admitted you had feelings for the other.

right now, in the middle of winter season in Winterfell, sitting in front of the fireplace inside your and Cregan's chambers, with your favorite book open in your hand along with all the thoughts of those sweet moment that you have had with Cregan and Rickon.

“mommy, mommy look what i found” even you are not his real mom, Rickon still always call you mommy. Rickon's clear voice pulled you out of those thoughts and immediately all your attention is on Rickon holding a handkerchief in his hand, you take it from Rickon's little hands and ask

“oh what did you find Rickon, can you show it to me?” you asked softly, the boy also nodded in agreement, opened the handkerchief and you immediately saw that there were seams and very skillful embroidery inside, and of course this handkerchief did not belong to you because you had no memory of embroidering a handkerchief to give to Cregan as a gift before or not from what you remeber

when you look a bit closer at the embroidered lines, its shape resembles a man and woman, hands in hands. at this moment, you immediately recognize the male figure in the scarf is Cregan because of the Stark family's signature scarf and then when you look at women figure, you wonder who is the girl standing next to your husband?

but then a small knock on your chambers door interupted

“my lady, Lord Cregan Stark wants to meet you in the dining hall,” said the maid, Anza. before the Anza can leave the chambers, you called for her and asked about the handkerchief.

“Anza, do you know who is standing next to my husband in this embroidered scarf?” you gently asked while pointing at the embroidery. when Anza didn't answer your question, you turned to look at her with curious eyes.

"what’s up? is there something i shouldn't know about?”

“no, my lady,” she continued, “if you really want to know, i’ll tell you.”

“then just tell me then” you said

“my lady, it's Lady Celess Ashwood. an interest lover of Lord Stark.”

hearing this, you were a bit disappointed, but you had to regain your composure, stand up and tell Anza to take Rickon back his chambers because it was time for him to rest. you walked out of your shared chamber, went straight to the dining hall where Cregan was already sitting there and waiting for you, all the way from your chamber to the dining hall, holding that handkerchief in your hand with lots and lots of thoughts running through your mind

does he really love you?

or is it because he still misses his past lover?

there are so many thoughts that make you go to the dining hall without even knowing when, with a handkerchief in your hand.

“y/n” Cregan stood up, walked towards you with a gentle smile on his face, Cregan's hands gently hugged your waist, then he bowed down his head and gave a kiss on your forehead, a kiss filled with love.

“Cregan” you said and gently leaned into Cregan's hug. then you asked him

“who is Celess Ashwood?” Cregan was a bit surprised when he heard this name, its been awhile since he last heard this name but he calmly answered

“how do you know this name?” Cregan asked you with a warm voice, his toned arms still not leaving your waist. still holding onto you tightly like he was afraid that if he let go you would be blown away by the cold, strong winds of Winterfell.

“please, cregan answer my question first.”

“Celess is…” he hesitated a bit, as if he didn't want to say it

“Celess is someone i once had feelings for, someone i once loved.”

“so you still miss her? that’s why you didn't want to say it, right, my Lord Stark?" You asked Cregan with a slightly disappointed voice, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes

“please call me Cregan, we are man and wife there are need to call me that” he continue

“and no, i don't want to mention it, not because i don't want you to know, but because i think it's not important anymore. now i have you and Rickon by my side, that is my first priority.”

“then why did you still keep this handkerchief?” you continue to ask him

"i didn't keep it, love. i thought i lost it so i had no intention of finding it again."

after hearing Cregan say that, you can’t say that your moods change completly but atleast you felt relieve when you learned that your suspicions about his loyalty were completely wrong.

“well, i forgave you my husband but unfortunately for you, Rickon is the one who found it and gave it to me.”

“oh my son, Rickon is always on your’s side. i pray to the Seven one day you will gave me a daughter” Cregan joked, then pulled you in a tight embrace. then you ask

“so you have to quickly plant your seed inside me, hopefully the Seven might heard your pray sooner or later, my dear husband.” at this point, you could only laugh, only now did you pay attention to it. the dining table in the dining hall was filled with food and Cregan let you out of that warm hug

“but before we start to try and bring another baby Stark into this Winterfell, we must have to to eat first, my dear y/n.”

[saskem]

ʚїɞ SUMMARY: reader is completely in love with Gojo but she cannot admit it, Gojo being a fool takes her back everytime.

ʚїɞ CHARACTER: Gojo Satoru

ʚїɞ CW: fem!reader, afab!reader, no dynamics, independent reader, scared of commitment reader, avoidant attachment style, loverboy gojo.

ʚїɞ NOTES: haven’t been here a while but I am getting my MacBook fixed so I will definitely be more active after that🫶

As your breath slowly returned to its normal pace, you stood up from Gojo's bed—sheets all tangled and moist as his eyes pierced your soul. Ignoring his fiery gaze, you scanned the floor for your discarded garments as you quickly got dressed; hoping to make it to the waiting Uber downstairs. Looking around for your bag, you made sure that you didn't forget anything in Gojo's house as you made your way back to yours.

"Y/N..." Gojo quietly called out to you, his naked frame still on the bed while the sheets covered his bottom half. He watched as you quickly placed your five-inch heels on as if you were in a hurry to leave his place.

"You don't have to go." He said, softer than how he previously called out your name before. His hands clenched the bedsheets, his memories drifting to how you both were taking in each other's pleasure as though they were your own. Mouth leaving trails of light kisses on your skin as he explored the familiar curve of your bare form.

Gojo knew everything about you, from how you liked your coffee in the morning to the perfect spot that could have you moan out his name for hours. He knows you and in this moment, he knew that you were running from something—you were running from him.

You were scared of what he felt for you, especially since those feelings were quite new to you. Romantic feelings weren't something you were familiar with and this alien feeling scared you so much that rather than embracing it—you ran away.

Hence, why you hurriedly put on your shoes, hoping to return to the familiar place that you called home. Hoping to forget the way you allowed yourself to lose control within Satoru's embrace—hoping to gain a level of familiarity and control in your life.

Satoru noticed it too and he's trying to make you understand that he wants you—all of you. Yet every time he makes that clear, you were pulling away faster than he can latch onto you.

So he has no choice.

No choice but to wait for the moment when you’d show up in front of his doorstep, eyes staring deep into his, wishing that he'd be able to hear what you can't say out loud. He hoped that you'd open up to him someday.

He loves you.

That's why whenever you stop by, he has his door wide open for you to come in. His hand slowly reached for your face as his fingers softly danced soothing circles on your cheeks. Satoru slowly leaned in to kiss you, his hands slowly taking off your clothes as he guided you to his bed.

Within the comfort of his silky sheets, his body on top of yours as his lips repeatedly uttered encouraging words. Those were the moments you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. When the moment finally ended and before Satoru dared pull you back in his arms, you were already leaving his bed and making your way back to your house.

"Satoru..." you said in a protest, your hand reaching the doorknob as you resisted looking back at him. "I can't..."

What was stopping you?

"Please Y/N..." He begged

You wanted to turn back to him. You wanted to fall into his embrace as you eagerly waited for his kisses.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Satoru."

You walked out, not turning back to see the way his head hung low, gripping his sheets in disappointment for allowing himself to let you slip through his fingers.

That won't be the case next time. He will show you that he cares, more than he ever had before.

[yuwuta]

love f2l where he’s already hopelessly in love with you and pining in a way that’s so obvious to everyone else but you, but also love the moment in f2l where it clicks that “oh shit… i think my friend just turned me on.” even better when one person doesn’t realize they’ve turned the other one on and they’ve just gotta live with the memory replaying in their head for a few days. friends keep saying they’re distracted and they just nod their head like yeah uh sorry… was uh… sorry what were we talking about? bc these days if it’s not about that moment, zero processing has gone on 

megumi and satoru are the worst at coping with this. 

for megumi, it’s such a 180, a switch has been completely turned on when it happens, that it makes him upset. he can’t even tell if he’s angry that it happened in the first place, that he couldn’t tell he was attracted to you before, that he can’t stop thinking about it now, or that it’s possible that other people could have already had this realization and be thinking of you like this too. every option brings a mean scowl to his face. and it’s embarrassing above all because you were just trying to take off your shoes. when lifting your leg and holding onto to his bicep wasn’t enough, you crouch down to struggle with the straps instead. megumi sighs—all he wanted to do was get your drunken ass home in one piece and now you’re crouched down in the middle of the street, and when he looks down to see what’s taking so long, that’s when it hits him. you bent down like that, looking up at him and groaning and pulling on his shirt and whining for him to help you does very terrible things to him. and it shouldn’t, you’re only calling for him because you lack the hand-eye coordination (and clearly critical thinking because this is the middle of the road and you cannot walk barefoot) right now to undo your shoes, but it’s your blown pupils and pout and the calling for him—you have to stop whining. and saying his name. immediately—not to mention the angle and tilt of your head to look up at him. megumi can barely help himself, much less you, which is why he grumbles, hoists you up by the scruff of your neck so you’re standing up right. you giggle in your haze but megumi just hisses his teeth, tells you “stop looking at me like that,” and before your mind can catch up, he grabs you by the waist and hoists you over his shoulder because looking at your face is not an option right now. and this is for the best for everyone—now your feet don’t hurt, you’ve stopped groaning, there’s no more eye contact, and megumi has the rest of the walk back to your apartment to contemplate what the fuck just happened to him 

for satoru, it’s actually partially his fault, because not only is it so far from sexual and yet turns him on anyway, but he’s so annoying that his actions lead to a cascade of other terrible turn-ons that and now it’s a cyclical problem. you’re just borrowing something of his for the convince of it—his glasses because it’s sunny, or maybe his jacket because it’s cold, something small and innocent—but it ignites such a strong flame in him that his visceral reaction is to snatch it right back from you, and run away like some school girl. “hey—satoru what the fuck, come on, you weren’t even using it!” you call, but your voice is already an echo at the speed he’s scurried away from you. the flash vision of you in his belongings was terrible, but it’s the memory of it that makes it worse, brings a blush to his face, and leave him shaking his head like a crazy person because what the fuck this is insane. you didn’t even do anything so he has no reason to act like this, there’s no way the slightest insinuation of you thinking of him/his belongings as something to borrow, or hold, or have should make him react this way, but it does. and he hates it. and he’s not normal about it at all, and it takes you confronting him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him back and forth, asking him what the fuck is wrong with him, which is warranted, but worse because that also leaves him red from his face to his check with Awful Realization Numbers 2 and 3: (2) you usually just Deal with him being strange, but right now you’re mad and you’re really hot when you’re mad, and (3) you’re very close to choking him out right now and if you did, he wouldn’t stop you

yuuji is the one who has had this effect on more people than he knows, which is hilarious to think about because he’s either completely oblivious, or using his charm to play innocent. and when you have that moment, you’re definitely left stunned. you were just fishing for more snacks for your self-care night—a tradition that used to between you and nobara, but now includes megumi, and most times yuuji, but tonight, he had plans with todo, which you were grateful for because there’s no way you could have been around him after what happened. in a hurry to grab his water bottle from the fridge, yuuji doesn’t bother you with words to maneuver through the cramped kitchen, just mindlessly puts his hands on your hips, lifts you, pivots, puts you down, grabs his water bottle, puts it on the counter, lifts you again, pivots, and places you right back where you were, flashing you a million-dollar smile, before grabbing his bottle and rushing out to catch the bus. you’re left blinking, body on autopilot as you finally reach for the chips, and zombie-like when you make your way back to the living room where nobara’s putting a sheet mask on megumi. when you’re finally seated on the couch, you blink for the first time, blurting out to nobody in particular, “is… is itadori hot?” and it’s comedic how quick, blasé, and autonomic the in-sync replies from both megumi and nobara are, “yes”, “unfortunately.” oh. well that’s reassuring you suppose. you might have been the last to realize it, but at least you’re not alone. 

if you told yuuta he had the ability to seduce anybody he would probably just laugh awkwardly and think it’s some kind of joke. the great irony is that rooming with him has left you with many instances to confirm that he is attractive, but the defining moment is when you realize just how much yuuta has grown in his year abroad. your apartment is nice and relatively modern, but there are still some tight spaces. usually you and yuuta just giggle while shuffling around each other, but today, you feel like you’ve gotten between a rock and another rock because when did yuuta—your scrawny, awkward, endearing yuuta—gain fifty pounds of muscle? it’s a terrible moment for you to be squished between him and the tiny enclosure of your storage closet and even worse that he’s the one who apologies, and smiles, and carries on reaching for the spare napkins while you’re left with the filthy thoughts about your best friend. 

[lorelune]

(continuation of this piece. part ii of regency au with jing yuan)

"he needs to stop doing this."

you tell lord luocha this as you stumble out of your one room cottage, desperately attempting to smooth down your day gown. your palms shake as you do and you shoot your patron an angry look.

lord luocha looks perfectly passive, painfully neutral with a hint of mirth. the bastard. "i think it's quite appropriate for the general to call upon you this hour of the day. i thought you would be prepared."

"i am not an 'eligible lady' as i am so often reminded," you shake your head. "i cannot constantly be ready to take his company, just because it's before supper. be reasonable, my lord. speak with him about this."

"perhaps," luocha tilts his head with the barest hint of a smile. "i'll consider it. for now, why don't you go greet our guest? i'll have some refreshments sent in."

"fine." you say. your voice wavers.

this is not the first time the retired general, Jing Yuan, has called upon you. it's more like the fifth. maybe sixth. it is more frightening to keep count of his increasingly frequently visits (as they clearly indicate some type of explicit interest), so you stopped counting them recently. peace of mind and all.

you enter the drawing with and bow to the general without thinking, "good afternoon, general."

"likewise," he says easily, voice so deep and rich; it makes your insides feel wobbly.

jing yuan sits on one of the loveseats, legs tastefully spread and in some amount of regalia. well-dressed, certainly. his hair is half-tied up as he so favors, and his face has a healthy amount of blush. a crisp jaw. bulging forearms and thighs beneath his various dressings. a broad chest. it is hard not to ogle him overtly. you train your gaze on the hand-tufted rug before rising and daintily (as you can) sit across from him on the other side of the loveseat. you tuck your legs to the side, barely remembering to not fully fold them under yourself. decorum and all.

(it feels foolish. jing yuan hardly seem to care. lord luocha thinks your bumbling is amusing.)

"i apologize for the intrusion," he says. he squeezes his hands into loose fists. you don't miss the action. "will you indulge me for a time?"

"i'm already here, aren't i?" you quip back, tone light. easy. "i don't mind the company."

there's more you could say—

("general, i think you are so very kind and thoughtful. thank you for spending your spare time with me.")

("general, i am sorry i can't attend any of the balls and festivities as anything more than a performer. i would not mind being on your arm, if circumstances were different, and you desired it so".)

("general, how much longer will you entertain this? are you intending to steal my heart, only to break it?"

instead, you remain quiet, picking at your nailbeds. jing yuan watches you with a hum. flexes his hands.

"are you working on any new pieces?" he asks.

"a few, actually." you reply. "the muses have been kind to me."

"oh?" he smiles. he tilts his head cutely, almost boyish, despite his age. "may i ask the subject matter?"

"ah—" you feel your face heat. "a number of things. subject matters. a varying themes."

truthfully, you have started four new paintings in the last week. all of which were started in moments of such deep inspirations, they had you painting and laying base colors from sunrise until sunset. it just so happens that these... works have. a clear theme. that of the general.

(during his second visit, he commented on the blooming azaleas. you've been obsessed with perfecting the shape of their petals. his third visit, you sat on the same seat as him. you were so much closer then, and found yourself lost in the honey color of his eyes. the punch of purple underneath them, an accumulation of sleepless nights. another is of a lion, like that of his crest. the final is a portrait of him that has you committing every bit of him to memory. perhaps you'll be able to capture his likeness with your memory if the muses continue to favor you.)

"you're quite the varied artist." he leans his jaw on his fist. "your dedication to your craft is most admirable."

"i cannot help the ways in which inspiration forces me to act," or, to thirst over the man in front of you. god forbid a parched man be given drink so fine. you shake your head. "i have had... some amount of increased, enjoyable, new interactions over the past while. i suppose i'm feeling invigored."

"oh?" jing yuan looks smitten. his eyes go half-lidded. "may i guess the source of your inspiration?"

"if you do, you'll only embarrass me."

"so, you think i will be right in my guess then?"

"i know so." you roll your eyes, sheepish. "i am not foolish enough to think i could hide face and play games with the Divine Foresight and win."

"you underestimate yourself."

"hardly. have you... met yourself, general?"

"often, frequently." he nods to himself. he catches your gaze. it's piercing. "i find myself in the mirror, often, these days. i tell myself that i am spry enough and have retained enough charm through my years to properly court and woo the recluse, genius artist i have been stealing time from. i meet the man in my mirror and think that he is quite clever, but tends to underestimate you as well."

your breath is caught in your chest. you scrunch the skirt of your dress up in your palms and swallow.

"the general speaks freely and foolishly."

"and yet, i do not lie."

"... you are brazen."

"do you not require such treatment?" jing yuan laughs sweetly. "if i were any more gentle with you, you would've already retreated far into your lord's gardens. i wouldn't hope to see you again. you will need to forgive me for my shamelessness."

"... i could perhaps be convinced." you scoot closer on the love seat. you should. create space away from him. before you do something stupid and unbecoming. but you find yourself drawn closer. "the general is a kind man. good-hearted."

"such a charitable assessment."

"i know it to be true." you do know. the man keeps his own gardens, tends them himself. he pays his servants good wages and left war and bloodshed behind sometime ago. "i would like to get to know his good heart more."

jing yuan steels himself then. you watch it happen. his spine straightens, his throat bobs. sweat beads at his temples, you now notice. his keeps his hands in his lap, wringing them together.

"then we are in agreement?"

"... only if the general treats me well." you stumble over your words. "only if you treat me well, general."

"jing yuan, please."

"fine. jing yuan, then." it takes everything in you not to reach for his hands. your last threads of civility barely remaining. "will you treat me well, jing yuan?"

he breathes. you feel the warm exhale of it fan over your cheeks. your gaze drops to the softness of his bottom lip.

"only the best, for you."

"so, you're smitten with me?"

"simply struck." he gulps. you need him, you decide, decorum be damned. you lean forward, just as he does. you can hear the tremor of your breath in time with his—

the door the drawing room opens, suddenly, with a resounding thud. you jump away from the general, a hand over your heart. you attempt to not noticeably pant, though you perhaps fail. lord luocha raises a knowing eyebrow as a few of his staff bring in a platter of a small treats and bubbly drinks in fluted glasses.

"forgive the intrusion," luocha places a hand on jing yuan's shoulder. the general straightens up. "i figured that you two must be in need some of refreshments. may i suggest a walk in the garden, later? perhaps, you could show him your herb patches, [name]."

lord luocha shoots you a knowing look.

(said patch of herbs is just outside of your cottage. a good distance away from the main estate.)

"i'd love to." you swallow and shake your head. "if the general will deign to spend a bit more time with me."

jing yuan looks at you, really looks at you, and smiles. it is an honest, genuine thing. you are glad luocha is at his back, so only you can see the earnest of it. it is something special, you think, just for you.

"as much as you will allow me."

and you will give him as much as you can muster.

[ylangelegy]

⋆.˚ childhood best friend ♡︎ chan.

── .✦ the one where bang chan learns what 'home' means. #우리의_찬란한_청춘_방찬에게 #BrightestStarBangChan

✰ gn!reader, idol!chan, fluff!!!, angst 🙁, childhood best friends, long distance friendship, homesickness, hurt/comfort, ambiguous romance [pining/crushes], open ending. end notes included! ❤︎ all sfw. intentional lowercase. wc: 1,800+

🧸 childhood best friend chan who moves in next door, who came from seoul to sydney and was scared he wouldn't meet anyone his age.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is the only one to attend your birthday party. he flashes you a grin and tries to cheer you up by saying, "that just means more cake for us!"

🧸 childhood best friend chan who introduces himself as christopher— but you can call him chris, he says hastily. he knows his full name is too long. you assure him no, it's okay, you'll call him christopher. he rewards you with another one of his signature dimpled smiles. the first of many.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who spends most of his summers with you. his next door neighbor, his new best friend. he tries to teach you how to play soccer. you burn songs you think he'll like on to CDs. the two of you learn to bike down your street. see? you both still have the scars to prove it.

🧸 childhood best friend chan whose fondest memories with you are set in beaches. you're both still too young to surf, so you kill your time trying to outswim each other. it's a tender rotation of portraits— hands sticky with fruit-flavored ice cream, sand in your slippers, the smell of sunscreen.

🧸 childhood best friend chan slash guitar teacher. you spend one too many evenings out on his porch with his beat-up acoustic guitar. as his fingers gently guide yours over the strings, you consider romance. but for only a moment. because you'd rather have him like this than risk not having him at all.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who sticks to your side at school. everyone thinks you're dating; the two of you give up on correcting peers. chan doesn't quite understand why he's so happy to have people assume, and why he's even happier to have you acquiesce.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you, first, about what he plans to do. "it's just an audition," he tells you, but you already know. you already know what he's destined for, who he's going to be, as early as then.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who practices his bruno mars audition song with you over and over and over again until you forget what the original version sounds like. nowadays, whenever you hear just the way you are, it's only ever in the voice of thirteen-year-old christopher.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who calls you up excitedly, who only says two words. "i'm in," he breathes, and there's so many things you can say in that moment. of course you are, and i never doubted you, and you're leaving me?, but instead you settle on, "i'm proud of you."

🧸 childhood best friend chan who doesn't cry at the family dinner. doesn't cry at the airport. he laughs when you tear up, teases that you're being silly. think of it as summer camp, he tells you, and when he hugs you goodbye, his hands shake just a teensy bit.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who cries on the plane— because at least, there, no one who loves him will see.

🧸 childhood best friend chan slash trainee who keeps in touch. he texts a lot in those first couple of years. you'd like this café. these cherry blossoms look really good. dance practice today was tiring. you learn to read between the lines; he is saying i miss you, but he cannot say the words themselves, because then it becomes real.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who never misses a birthday, whether its yours or someone in your family's. shipping fees are too stressful and so he perfects the art of long-distance gift-giving. here, an 8tracks playlist. here, a digital flipbook. here, a video of him singing your favorite song.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who gets busy, who gets frustrated, who watches dozens of trainees debut before him. you try your darnedest to sympathize but there is only so much that you can know about this industry, about his lifestyle.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who never blames you. how could he? he made his choice. but still. but still. there are days, weeks, months, where he forces himself to keep his distance. because this is a whole other kind of hurting— saying goodbye and knowing that the door is still left open a crack.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who watches your life in pictures, in the squares of instagram photos, the tagged posts on facebook. you graduate high school, and then uni. you work part-time jobs. you finally learn how to surf. and he is proud, and he is hurt, and he is yours, still, in ways that neither of you can comprehend.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who, after being distant for what feels like forever, extends an olive branch in the form of a follow request. finstas are only just becoming a thing in his part of the world. every trainee has one. the first person he thinks to follow is you.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who starts reacting to your stories, who replies every so often. your haircut looks nice and how's your mum? and wow, that part of town has changed a lot. it's all so stilted, all so polite, but he's trying, he's trying, he's trying. he needs you to see that.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who finally calls you one evening to tell you everything. you are horrified by what he's gone through, by all the times he's been passed over, but chan reassures you. even as you apologize, again and again, for not knowing.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you, "i chose this. i want to keep choosing it. but—" a beat. then, softly, the words he's held himself back from saying. "i just miss you, that's all."

🧸 childhood best friend chan who slots right back in to your life. he's still plenty busy. at least now he knows that you're always just one message away, that you'll appreciate his updates of i met another aussie today or there's a new day6 song or i can finally stop dieting.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who excitedly tells you about 3racha. about his genius lyricist j.one and his killer rapper spearb. his own moniker is plain and simple, he says with a laugh. cb97. but it's him, it's his, it's a start.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who sends you the first demo of a song he's genuinely happy to have produced. my heart is in your hands, he jokes in the e-mail subject line. j.one is good. so is spearb. but chan, cb97, your christopher, who sings "i'd like to start off this speech with a 'thank you' to everyone that helped little chris to grow up"? he's everything.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who tells you in vague terms that he might not be reachable for some time. there's a lot of things he wants to tell you, wants to divulge. there are other people on the line, now, though, and so he holds back. you understand. you tell him you'll wait. he is so, so grateful.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is introduced as the leader of JYPE's newest boy group. he is not christopher or chris. he is chan, now. bang chan. you watch the survival show with his family. you give them a handwritten letter for him, when they go to visit him in south korea. you see him become everything he said he would be.

🧸 childhood best friend chan whose hair is two-toned dirty blonde and aqua blue when he debuts with hellevator. you buy his photocard. you still have it up in your room; it makes him cringe, but he is secretly pleased that you cared enough to do such a small thing.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who bears the weight of impossible expectations. leader, producer, idol. son, brother. friend. he is so many things all at once. they say he is too much. they say he is not enough. he doesn't know who to listen to.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who blames himself for things that are beyond his control. for 2019. for 2020. for 2021. for— there isn't a year where chan isn't blaming himself for something, really.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who finds comfort in the smallest of things. a noisy dorm with seven other boys. the thrill of turning a note in to a living, breathing song. you. your little updates. you. your easy responses. you. your unwavering support. you, you, you.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who wonders often sometimes what it would have been like if he stayed.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who can see it so, so clearly. the college you would have both gone to. working at the record store; busking in the mall. summers of surf and sun. your fingers fitting in to the spaces between his.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who thinks he would have been happy with that life. happier than right now?... he's not sure. all he knows is that he would have been happy. the two of you could have been so happy.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who often sometimes feel like his youth was taken from him. his teenage years were spent as a trainee; his early twenties were spent fighting for every scrap. he doesn't regret the choices he made. he doesn't want to. he can't.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who doesn't tell you any of this. a part of him doesn't have to. you know just how much he gave up. you know just how much he gained. you know why there are certain encores that make him cry, why there are songs he can't bear to perform live. why it's always so hard for him to name 'home' nowadays—

🧸 childhood best friend chan who wants to believe that 'home' means sydney. who, to make things easier, says 'home' is seoul. who will sometimes say that 'home' is STAY, 'home' is stray kids. who knows, deep down, that home is a three-letter word of y-o-u.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who, when he makes his way back to sydney, is scared shitless. he's been gone for so long. it's an endless litany of 'what if's. what if berry doesn't recognize him anymore. what if all his favorite restaurants have shut down. what if you realize you don't like the person he's become. what if, what if.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who is only partially reassured when he realizes there's still a spot for him at the dinner table, when his old friends don't treat him any differently, when the path to the park still feels familiar.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who realizes that all of his worries are unfounded when you greet him with "long time no see, christopher." not chan. not chris. christopher.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who smiles the same way that he had when he first met you. all bright eyes and dimples.

🧸 childhood best friend chan who holds out his hand, waiting to see if you'll take it.

✰ i think a lot about a line in The Myth of Sisyphus, where it goes something along the lines of "one must imagine sisyphus happy." in some way, this is me #coping (lol). one must imagine bang chan happy. because maaan, does he deserve it. happy birthday, chris.

[lxndonorris]

streamer max - Max Verstappen

Y/N x Max Verstappen Theme: Smutish, Teasing Max is live when you decide to have a little fun in the chat x word count: 1420+ taglist: @game-set-canet gif by me open for requests :)

The dim glow of your phone screen illuminates your determined expression as you create the mysterious alter ego, "goldenbooty1." It is an alias embedded with memories and an inside joke that only your boyfriend, the avid racer and streamer Max Verstappen, would comprehend.

You called him that the first time you saw him in his dark blue racing suit, accentuating his form perfectly. Since he is wearing his golden boots a lot, you combine the two and choose a similar image as your icon.

As you watch his racing stream unfold, headphones plugged in, your fingers dance across the touch screen, ready to inject a playful touch into the chat. The adrenaline rush of orchestrating this secret banter heightens your excitement. Max is in the midst of a high-speed race, navigating through virtual landscapes with finesse.

Then, he loses his rear for just a second, catching himself right after. Yet, you can't help yourself. Rubbing your back against the sofa cushions behind you, you bite your lower lip.

"Got your rear under control, huh?" You type, the message blending seamlessly with the scrolling comments. The chat erupts with laughter, and you can't help but smirk, knowing you have inserted yourself into the stream under the radar.

Max glances at the comment, his eyebrows furrowing in amusement. The connection between the words and your username must have given it away, but you cannot tell. He might have seen another comment.

But then Max licks his lips. Undeterred, he responds, "I'm always in control, goldenbooty." His rough voice echoes through your headphones, sending shivers down your spine.

His virtual car speeds on, leaving a trail of digital dust behind. A few people reply to you, most of them trying to get in on the joke, but it means much more to Max coming from you.

You continue to sprinkle comments, each one a carefully crafted blend of teasing and familiarity. The banter unfolds like a well-rehearsed dance, your connection growing stronger with every exchange.

"You're a naughty one, aren't you, booty?" He looks right into the camera, slightly biting his lower lip as he tries to hide the smirk spreading across his lips.

The chat erupts with emotes and laughter, mirroring the amusement you could almost picture on his face. Even though Max tries to stay cool and not show too many emotions, the light in his eyes makes it easy for you to tell he's enjoying it all.

You know, however, that he's just waiting for the race to end. Just by the way he's looking at the screen, the sly smirk, and the narrow eyes, he's contemplating how to get back at you.

"Don't tell me you don't like it rough, Max." You type quickly, followed by, "I mean racing, of course." The smirk on your face widens, and you hold back your laughter.

Max's eyes sparkle slightly before he tilts his head, unable to stop himself from smiling brightly.

"Of course, racing." He lifts his eyebrows, emphasizing 'racing', with his voice a little deeper than usual.

Your chest tingles as you get goosebumps, and all the other viewers in the chat add an element of thrill to your playful interaction.

Max crosses the finish line shortly after, finishing first. As he leans back against his chair, he strokes his chest gently, the sly smirk still present.

"That was fun." He says, looking right at you through the screen, licking his lips quickly.

As you watch him reply to a few other people in chat, you try to come up with another sassy line, but then, "Okay guys, give me a moment. Alright?" Max nods and turns the camera off.

Adrenaline rushes through your entire body. Your heart pounds heavily, anticipating him to confront you.

Before you can hide any evidence, you turn your head toward the door and find Max casually leaning against the doorframe. He watches you with an amused glint in his eyes.

You attempt to maintain an air of innocence, but he could read you like an open book. "Already done streaming?" You ask him, showing off your best poker face, but it isn't really effective.

"I'm just taking a short break." Max tilts his head, his voice carrying a mixture of playfulness and curiosity.

Nodding, you lock your phone and pull your headphones out, putting them away. He then approaches you confidently, wearing a tight Redbull shirt and shorts that accentuate his athletic build. You can't help but be captivated by how good he looks.

He runs a hand through his messy hair and across his chest again before he stands right next to you, tilting his head. "So, goldenbooty1, any idea who that might be?" Max asks, obviously knowing the answer already.

You feign ignorance, avoiding his gaze, but the mischief in his eyes hints at his determination to uncover the truth.

Denying any involvement, you insist, "No clue; a nice username though." However, your attempt at evasion only fuels his certainty.

With a knowing smirk, he closes the distance between the two of you. Suddenly, he starts to tickle you, knowing all your most sensitive spots.

His fingers lightly trace along your sides, sending shivers down your spine.

"Come on, spill the beans; I can tell when you're hiding something," he teases, his touch becoming more insistent. You try to suppress a laugh, but his expert tickling technique proves too effective. To make matters worse, Max climbs on to the sofa, pinning you down.

Laughter bubbles up as you squirm, trying to evade his fingers dancing all over your body.

"Okay, okay, it's me! I couldn't resist teasing you a bit," you admit between giggles. His triumphant grin signals that he has achieved his goal.

With his face hovering over yours, you try to catch your breath when he leans in, kissing you lovingly.

"Mhmm." You breathe into him, embracing his mouth on yours in an instant.

"I really love that username," Max purrs into you as his body grinds on yours.

Tilting your head to breathe, you expose your neck, inviting him to place kisses all over it.

"I hoped you'd know it's me." You hold back a low moan when his warm breath and soft lips touch your skin again and again.

Lifting your arms, you grab his waist before tracing his waistline right to his butt. His shorts are barely able to contain him, so you touch him, holding him close.

"Fuck!" Max chuckles, seemingly enjoying your firm touch. Then, he grinds his crotch against your thighs, letting you feel the desire building up inside his body throughout the last thirty minutes.

"You make me so hard," he growls deeply, breathing down your neck.

"Max," you hug him, stroking the small of his back before your hands slide underneath his shirt.

His body is tensing more and more, and you keep stroking him lovingly. Running your hands across his body, you reach his chest, and his muscles react to the slightest touch of your fingertips.

"So, naughty." He leans his head back, making it easier for you to touch his chest.

Both of you are out of breath, getting more and more into it.

At last, you run a hand down his chest, right to the bulge forming inside his shorts. 

As you touch him, he bites his lower lip, looking at you with a fiery spark inside his beautiful eyes.

"Will you keep watching the stream?" He grunts, bending down once more to kiss you again.

"If you want me too?" You smile, touching him again, enjoying the effect you have on him.

"Hope you enjoy the show." Max smirks before he gets off the sofa, fixing his clothes with a casual yet deliberate motion. You seize the opportunity to have another good look at him: he runs his hands across his chest, shorts, and through his hair, letting out a low guttural moan.

Hearing his voice sends shivers down your back, causing you to giggle quietly.

He then winks, turning around and returning to his room. The way he carries himself exudes confidence, and you can't help but appreciate the subtle ca´harm in the way he moves. His athletic build and tense muscles are accentuated by the snug fit of his shirt and shorts, leaving an indelible impression.

You pick up the phone and plug the headphones back in, just in time for the camera to come back to life. Max licks his lower lip, raising an eyebrow.

"I hope you're ready for another round." He smiles, and you enjoy the rest of the stream.