#grinding is so meditative if you can go at it for a whole day but the resin cap means youre stuck waiting

[xx-justsomeguy-xx]

out of my 39 characters, 21 are lv 80, 6 are lv 70, and the rest are 40-60… playing kaveh simulator rn with trying to get everyone to 80 and with built talents >.< and i don’t like moving around artifacts so that’s still something to deal with

[hoshifighting]

can u do svt reaction with no nut november😋 love ur writing!!!!

seungcheol: he starts off strong, “this is easy, i’m basically a monk.” but makes it to day three, tops, before he’s in your DMs, like, “okay, you win, come over.” literally holding his head in his hands before fisting his hard cock.

jeonghan: jeonghan only joins no nut november to annoy you, trying to show off his self-control. “oh, it’s nothing. i can do this easily.” but when you start teasing him day after day, sending him nudes and flirty messages, he’s practically boiling. but he holds out until the end of the month, when December 1st 00h comes, this man is slutting you out.

joshua: tells you he’s “doing great” and that the challenge is “actually easy.” but secretly, he’s sneaking off every day, trying to relieve himself without you finding out. when you catch him, all flushed and a mess, and he’s stuttering like, “uh, i… didn’t know you’d see that.”

junhui: bro is all talk, boasting that he can last the whole month, but he’s the first one to start slipping. he tries to distract himself by going out, playing games, whatever he can, blows his cover, blow his load, by day five.

hoshi: this poor dude loses on day one. you know it, and he knows it. he tries to act tough, but if you cross from the bathroom to the bedroom only in a towel, he’s done for. he sulks the rest of the day, throwing a mini tantrum after fucking you and losing it, and when you tease him about it, he’s all pouty. “you did this to me!”

wonwoo: he thinks he can outsmart everyone, claiming he’s going to meditate his way through november. when you sleep with him in your babydoll or tiny shorts, he’s all softening up, biting his lip and fighting his instincts. he tries to be stoic, he’s grumbling under his breath, and it’s hilarious to watch. “this is unfair. can you at least stop wearing those?”

woozi: he’s stressed from the get-go. the man is rolling his eyes at everyone, snapping at the members over the tiniest things, all because he’s with a throbbing erection in his pants. you’re just fanning the flames, sending him ALL the nudes you can, and he’s getting more and more drained. “why are you like this?” he hisses, but he secretly loves the attention. by week two, he’s a complete mess, desperately trying to hide it, but he’s too transparent. every time you catch him zoning out, you know exactly where his mind is.

minghao: iron will. he goes through the whole month with a straight face, the second december hits, he’s on you. he’s using every spare second to make up for lost ground. by week’s end, he’s practically cock-sore from going at it so much, and you’re laughing, asking him if all that was worth it.

mingyu: he’s so sure he can trick his way through it, asking you to dry hump him because, technically, it’s not breaking the rules, right? but the second you start grinding down, he keeps trying to pull you off before he cums, soon, he’s begging you to stop, whispering about how he can’t take it anymore, so.. just another way losing the NNN.

seokmin: determined to stick to the rules, but struggling hard. he’ll pull you in for heated makeouts, his hands squeezing and holding you tight as he tries to discount on something. flushed and breathing hard, whispering apologies for pulling away clearly fighting himself every step of the way. he’s convinced he can make it to the end “it’s fine, i got this,” he’d insist, though his grip on you says contrary.

seungkwan: “oh my god, don’t come near me!” gets whiny about how hard he is. he’ll throw little tantrums, pouting and going on about how it’s torture whenever you tease him. by the end of the month, he’s practically begging, dropping hints that he’d break if you just said the word, making it clear he’s only “doing this for you” while clearly waiting for the green light to give in.

vernon: he's “nah, i’m good” from the start. “you’re trying too hard.” but little by little, he catches himself glancing your way, biting his lip, feeling the itch just a bit more every time you walk by. he won’t admit it, but by week four, he’s giving you these longing looks when he thinks you aren’t looking.

chan: determined, but let’s be real, he’s also a bit naive about how tough it’ll be. if you teasw him, he’s practically falling apart every time you’re around. by the middle of the month, he’s so worked up he’s stammering just being near you, you catch him blushing like crazy when you touch him, and by the end of it, he’s practically begging you to let him break the rules.

[lovelyhan]

hope you're comfy in the cold weather kai!!

speaking of cuddling with hao, i think he'd be the type who Seriously just wants to cuddle when it's cold out, but sadly for hao, his s/o is a tease and keeps grinding their ass against him until he isn't sleepy anymore and intentionally gets him worked up af

(can i be your ❄️ anon also? 🤭)

you are an insane person! criminally unwell! you deserve to be locked up without parole!

⟣ when it's cold outside ⟢ wc: 0.4k words minors do not interact!

minghao doesn't see any problems when you asked him to get under the comforter with you when he visited your apartment. it was colder than usual and he could use a quick nap before heading back to the dorms.

so here he is, face resting against the crook of your neck as the heat of your bodies permeates into each other—enveloping the two of you in warmth so inviting, it nearly lulls him to sleep right away.

though you wouldn't catch him admitting it aloud, minghao enjoys these quiet afternoons with you much more than he thought he would. he adores how your body slots perfectly against his own—like two pieces of a puzzle he's been searching for his whole life. not to mention, the scent of you both in his arms and all over your sheets easily tempers his mind into a state of relaxation.

lying with you like this isn't so different from meditating.

most of the time.

"love," he groans when you push your ass back against his groin—yanking him halfway from slumber. "why are you moving around so much?"

he could give you the benefit of the doubt that you were simply moving around to get more comfortable. but minghao has been with you long enough to know when the things you do bear no ill will and when you fully intend to make him suffer a little.

"no reason," you giggle before doing it again. another tantalizing roll of your backside that grants him friction he didn't even know he craved. "you can go back to sleep if you want to, hao. i'm just getting comfortable."

though his mind attempts to distract himself from your no-good antics, his body responds in kind—slender fingers gripping your hips deliciously tight. minghao grinds his half-hard length against the valley of your ass, sucking a sharp breath through gritted teeth. he can't believe how easily you made him succumb to temptation.

but then again, he can never hold out against you for long.

"h-hao," you whine, tilting your head around to brush your lips against the corner of his mouth. "feels so good..."

minghao half-expects you to roll back into the pillows to let him climb over you like usual. but to his surprise, you put in a bit more force into your arms when you turn to push him back down on the bed—planting your thighs on either side of his hips as you stare down at him with a needy look in your eyes.

"you'll give it to me, right?" you whisper, making him groan as you gyrate your hips slowly—his aching cock straining even further against the fabric of his sweats. "you'll make me feel good. right?"

looks like he's heading back to the dorms later than usual.

besides, who was he to deny you the pleasure?

hope you have a nice day or whatever :/// totally didn't get ME worked up when i was supposed to work on a wip :////// (also yes you can definitely be ❄️ anon! but have some mercy on my mental health next time xoxo)

[slocumjoe]

companions with stress + managing it

Cait; Exercises at an unhealthy intensity, will go days pushing herself. Avoids everyone or else she's picking a fight, really needs to be left alone. Approach only if you're offering to spar. Cait's stress manifests as a defense mechanism, regardless of the cause. Always ready to lunge at the first perceived threat. She needs to wear herself out to exhaustion and sleep it off. Tries to not drink when stressed after getting clean, feels risky. Doesn't want to get dependent.

Codsworth; Makes tea. Can't drink tea. If Codsworth keeps shoving teacups at people, he's freaking out. Will get super nitpicky and neurotic over small things, like the size consistency of leaves on a bush. Doesn't really have the biology to calm himself down, being a robot, so he settles for simply managing what he can and powering through.

Curie; Frazzled, super forgetful, tends to clam up when tense. She has proper, actually useful techniques. Yoga, meditation, journaling, yadda yadda. If it doesn't work, will take bathes, make herself a treat, read a book, self-care pampering. She's pretty good at keeping herself from getting to that state, though, where she needs to decompress.

Danse; If you thought he was a pain in the ass before, he's a whole cucumber when actually stressed out. Very curt, every other word is snapped, impatient. Doesn't talk much though, quiet, so just don't make him have to speak and you'll be spared the worst of it. Otherwise, grinds his jaw so hard you can hear the joints. Doesn't let himself manage it, really. Does whatever work needs his focus to distract himself. Doubles his training regimen. Also, used to be a chronic skinpicker when he was younger.

Deacon; Vanishes for a while, if it's possible. Just goes and hangs out in the woods, camps. Will mostly just brood and let it run its course. If not, his jokes get even more self-deprecating, but also take a barbed tone, subtle jabs. Restless legs. Can't shut up, always talking and rambling. Really, having some space and time to himself is the only thing to sort him out, so if he can't get that, just rolls with it. With...varying results.

Gage; Work-related? Fixes whatever the damn problem is, and doesn't worry too much about it. Can't fix it? Breaks glass stuff as a means of relief. Emotional, purely internal? Bottles that shit until it explodes into a mental breakdown and he's just retraumatizing himself for no damn reason. If he gets some kind of support system, gets better with it, will occasionally talk through it with someone he's close with. He's bad at talking, but good at realizing things about himself. It's expressing/processing it that's the issue.

Hancock; Absolute tornado of self-destructive behavior. Unsafe, sketchy hook ups, so much chem usage and drinking, getting into fights with anyone and everyone. Or he hides somewhere and just freezes up until it runs its course. If its a problem, tries to fix the problem, but otherwise, turns into a ball of anxiety and self-revulsion. Best thing for him, is for someone to grab him and not let him do the previously mentioned activities. No chems, no booze, no shady one night stands. Have some tea and food, a book, a blanket, and actually relax.

MacCready; Always some level of stressed, but his is...oddly productive? He's good under pressure, and he's usually pressuring himself. Worried about caps? Gets good work, makes good caps. That kind of thing. Mac is prone to bottling his feelings, but he works to allievate them as well. If it's just an emotional funk, gets low-energy and takes it easy. All in all, pretty good at handling stress. Just needs to talk about it and get outside support more often, dislikes asking for help.

Nick; Ricochets from one end of the spectrum to the other. Might have something to do with OG Nick's mental state at the time of his brain scan...basically frozen in a time of grief, anger and confusion. So, he'll be fine handling the pressures and tensions of the whole Helping This Person Find Their Kid, Oops We're Going To War Now. Then he finds out he has a brother and...well, we know how Nick was doing during that. Nick either is the calm voice of reason, or needs one before he throws someone/himself out of a window. Honestly, best thing for him would be to get a Gen 3 body, so he'd have the biology to process OG Nick's trauma. Can't really do that as a copy of a specific emotional state, frozen in that state.

Piper; Hyper. Antsy. Always on her feet. If Piper starts bouncing around doing chores like she's trying to replace Codsworth, please check on her. Talks a mile a minute and gets tongue-tied. Does breathing exercises and takes a minute to ground herself, when she catches that she's all over the place. Indulges in a lot more candy. Twirls a pen between her fingers as a nervous twitch.

Preston; Gets stress acne, stomach cramps, joint pain...If he takes painkillers when he isn't visibly injured, please check on him. Have said before, eats an absurd amount of fruit when stressed. No matter the cause, will power through and keep working. Even if he's basically melting in place, like a candle burning at both ends. Gets weird and giggly when panicking, prone to frantic humming. He gets a low, depressed mood, but hurls himself around at the speed Piper does. It's like he's his own puppeteer. It's rather disturbing to watch. Needs someone to grab him and make him take a goddamn nap.

X6-88; Rare that he gets to such a point, but when he's stressed, he's restless. Boredom, lack of stimulation, underwhelmed—he's like a Border Collie, or a Malinois. Absolutely needs something to do. Constantly. Most of his stress comes from idleness. So, he goes off into the cramped, clumped-together streets of Boston, and parkours until he's about to drop from exhaustion. Not even joking. It's an intense physical exercise that requires all of his mental focus. Perfect for a courser.

[willowbranches]

running late to work again, rushing to the most expansive place i know of, hitting the door of the bus only to have it pull away damn near right over my toes. i turn for a sympathetic glance from another bus attendant to no avail, and something about the whole thing makes me laugh.

i work in the largest gothic cathedral in the world, & my entering the workplace entails shuffling through 200 foot marble archways & speed walking through dappled pools of rainbow colored light to collect my daily allotment of papers and forms and diagrams. it’s another comedy, that i mentally sprint through a place pilgrims sojourn to find respite and meditate.

it’s all so familiar to the city & culture i find myself immersed in; people rushing towards an idealized space, a more perfected future, a haven/heaven on earth that’s always just out of reach, if only you would rise & grind & chase it harder,..,.

but im learning it’s the rest that lets you arrive, & im also wondering how we can make life a continuous practice of arrival. i think it has to do with slowness

when i lived in rural hawaii (quite different from nyc), it seemed like no one was ever in a rush. when i hitchhiked, folks would gladly go 30 minutes out of their way to get me exactly where i needed to go. there was more of a culture of just living your day knowing the moments stretch themselves & need attending as you go. so you wake up early not because there’s a grind to get after, but because there’s constant beauty going on that you know is there waiting for you

that beauty is in this cesspool, too, but it just gets compressed into these immense punctuating experiences of place. like seeing the skyline on your commute & exhaling. does that make sense? how full it can make you in a split second to have a blink of an awareness to all the humanity you’re linked to?

that’s what’s kicking around my nut today. i wanna just stretch out on the riverbed of time & let myself roll around in the magnitude. that, & to add my troops to the culture war on the grindset.

thanks for reading, little gnomes! i hope u find some more space in ur breath today. what music r u listening to today, i wonder? lmk…

[alyjojo]

January ⛸️ 2024 Monthly - Cancer

Whole of your energy: 2 Wands

Beautiful energy in the preshuffle, you’re feeling confident, attractive, ready to leap into a brand new beginning that you see as 10 Cups, everything you’ve ever wanted. The Star 💫 shows you feeling like this is your path, it’s being lit up for you by the universe, there’s no confusion or chaos, just excitement and anticipation. Possible weddings, pregnancies, & babies for some of you, or hearing news about this from someone close, like a best friend or sibling that you get to celebrate with. In meditation, it was one of my own memories, but one that makes me feel all warm & fuzzy inside. My second year married, there was a huge blizzard where we lived - it was non-stop. So we all bundled up & shoveled the driveway as a family, and laughed at our toddler climbing giant piles of snow & leaping off, she was in love with snow ❄️ We were frozen, and it was hard work (several feet!), but it was a great day. Family bonding and happiness is what I’m seeing here. Hopefully not blizzards but if that’s what floats your boat…I wouldn’t complain 🙃

You’ve had The Empress come out again, heavy Taurus energy here, along with The Hierophant, 10 Cups at the bottom. The holidays seem to have really put some pep in your step when it comes to family, marriage, relationships, the future, moving forward. 2 Wands is clarified by 7 Swords & The Magician. This is a sneaky energy, but it’s like you wanted to avoid this, maybe have been avoiding family, future talk, really committing to things, being around for holidays and even afterwards. But after you do, or have, things changed. It’s like a part of you was pretty disconnected or detached for awhile, probably in a routine or grind in your own world, didn’t even want to bother with people or holidays. Weird for Cancer, you guys are usually the more family oriented types. I see you did it anyway, showed up anyway, and in spite of any avoidance or hesitation, you’re really happy. Like Spirit is saying “told you so” 😌, with love.

What’s going on in January:

The Empress:

The same beautiful energy from the preshuffle is the first card out in your reading 🩷 Clarified by 10 Pentacles, 10 Cups on the bottom. Some of you are having babies, or someone close to you is. It’s possible someone is getting married, maybe renewing vows, there’s an anniversary, something really special that’s centered around love & family. You’re either hearing about this from whoever it’s regarding, or you’re the one sending messages to others about this, could be invitations. Everyone is getting together to celebrate happy occasions, and that’s helping you heal something. Your own marriage, relationship, maybe some past hurts where family are concerned that don’t exist anymore. If not family, definitely business, these cards can show growth being manifested into your life, a higher position or more money coming your way (or a partner’s), and celebrating that. This is a level-up, a glow-up, whatever it’s regarding.

4 Swords rev:

You’ve healed because of this situation, this group gathering, your happy family, or a business, happy news shows a happy Cancer. For some, you were single, independent, perfectly fine with that but it became a burden over time - you wanted your 10 Cups. Knight of Pentacles at the bottom can show a lot of time invested into your relationships, or having waited a long time to find what you have now. If work, you’re receiving your hard earned flowers from a long time of putting in the work. Whatever this is, you fully deserve it & should enjoy it to the fullest. I see that you are/will 💜

The Hierophant:

In love, this is deep commitment, marriage, the contractual tradition of uniting souls under God or whatever religion/culture you are a part of. In career, this is any important business/company, they are official, morally above board, this can be a role of teaching or mentoring, education, any government level positions, there’s a certain level of standards to meet and commitment necessary to be within Hierophant territory. You’ve avoided this before now, because you weren’t sure whether it would just be a repeat of the same, I do see disappointment and sadness, maybe regret, in the past. Could be this person/job, could be something else entirely. There’s a “last time” feeling, like last time you tried you got burned, maybe I don’t even want this, what if it’s the same as it was, or turns out the same way?

Knight of Wands:

Clarified by The Lovers and Knight of Pentacles. For work, something is coming in quickly that’s taken a long time to get to this point, whether an offer, you being expected to take action, having more money or getting that promotion. For love, it could be a spontaneous fling that turns into a whole family unit, - and you never saw it coming. But it’s good. Maybe you wanted to take it slower and things didn’t work out that way. Or maybe you tried to move fast the whole time and only now the other person/company is on your page…but you hesitate. Are they tricking you? Do they/you really want this? Is this real? The Sun at the bottom, no matter what lane this is regarding, I see you being happier than you’ve ever been, it’s real.

6 Pentacles:

Mutual give and take, whether affections, finances, effort, communication, commitment, depends on your own story, but it’s been paused for awhile, you’ve needed to contemplate your situation. What you want, what you don’t want, how likely it is to be real, I keep getting that. Knight of Swords is communication, clear thinking, taking action on what’s known to be true and speaking your mind on things, he also cuts through any confusion to get straight to the point 💯 You could’ve been waiting on news, or someone else to tell you what you need to hear, before acting or giving to a situation. If someone’s having a baby or has good news, you could be giving them a gift, rushing towards them. There *was* hesitation, but I don’t see that continuing, whatever you’ve needed to see or hear before making your decision to move forward, has already happened, or will soon. Now it’s just moving forward.

Signs you may be dealing with:

Heavy Taurus & Libra, Gemini, Virgo, Aries & Sagittarius

Oracle: ✨

7 Reunion of Souls 🫶

There is a school of thought that says before our souls come to earth, we make contracts, or agreements, with other souls. At one point in time, we appear in each other’s lives to assist in those involved in learning a lesson, being a catalyst for a needed change, or to share in profound joy. When a person comes into your life to teach you a lesson - no matter the human form, no matter the human experience - this agreement is based in love.

The human experience may have been painful and extremely challenging - acknowledge the depth of love needed for this contract to take place and then let them go. The experience may have been profoundly moving, but ended abruptly and without reason. Again - be grateful and move on - cherish the lessons and move forward into your life the way it was meant to be. Alternately, this card signifies a profound “soulmate” relationship, whether it is between lovers, friends, or parents and children. Cherish the gift given.

We enter into January as:

Royal Purple Brick 🧱

“She resists what she clings to.”

The fear of stepping out, of being abused, has grown so great that you no longer need a wall of fear to prevent you from living - a simple brick will do. Which of course symbolizes that what frightens you is much smaller than you imagine. What we resist, we cannot heal. Royal Purple Brick appears when we are resisting something, and may indicate a loss of faith. This is a sign of fear holding you back in some way and preventing you from moving forward. If you are experiencing pain, holding on tighter will only worsen the situation. Fear may also indicate you’re trying to save yourself from a path that will not serve you! Are you following your true passion? Is it divinely guided?

This can also indicate presently using your energy in a self-defeating way. Use your courage to let go of control and allow Spirit to come in and heal you. The promise of Royal Purple Brick is freedom after surrender. In letting go you may feel some discomfort, but you’ll also allow healing in. The fear of something is always greater than the actual event. This time period will be a life changing experience for you. Accept mystery. Release the brick and be free.

What is to be learned in January:

She Shaman 🧝🏾‍♀️

“I will guide you to your muse.”

She Shaman whispers to you “Do not be like the old birch and wait for anyone else to tell you of your muse. Connect with it!” This is your destiny calling. The path you have chosen is an artistic one. The universe is waiting for you to begin your dance and express your love in a tangible art form. The time is now, the moment has arrived, it is a time for decisions to be made. Dance! Rejoice! Do not seek council outside of yourself to confirm what you know to be true inside. Do not wait for permission to act. You must trust your instinct and act from the voice within. Let go of any need for approval, your answers are within. You will not be alone, Spirit is with you.

Wine may be a lucky color 💜❤️

[iclick-blogs]

Exploring the Link Between Stress and Persistent Headaches

In the middle of a busy morning, you might notice a sudden headache, making it hard to focus and get things done. This is not by chance but shows how stress affects your body. Stress is a common cause of headaches, including tension headaches and migraines, which many people get. When you feel stressed, your body reacts, and headaches are a common result. Stress can also make other types of headaches worse, leading to a persistent headache that lingers and disrupts your day. This link between stress and headaches is especially common in children and young adults, who might be dealing with school, activities, social pressures, and maybe even early jobs. Their growing bodies and minds are particularly sensitive to the physical effects of stress.

Managing stress well is key to preventing and reducing certain types of headaches. Techniques like regular exercise, mindfulness, getting enough sleep, and eating a balanced diet can help lower the chances of getting headaches. Also, learning to spot signs of rising stress and taking steps to deal with it early can stop headaches from becoming a regular problem. Let’s look more closely at how stress causes headaches and explore simple ways to reduce stress and improve your well-being, so headaches don't get in the way of your daily life.

Causes of Persistent Headache: 

Causes of persistent headache can be a variety of factors. These include chronic stress, poor posture, dehydration, lack of sleep, and certain medical conditions such as hypertension or sinus infections. Prolonged exposure to screens, skipping meals, and even some medications can also contribute to the development of persistent headaches. Identifying and addressing these underlying causes is crucial in managing and reducing the frequency and intensity of persistent headaches.

The Daily Grind and Headaches

Major life changes can cause stress, but it's usually the daily hassles that trigger headaches. Everyday annoyances like losing your keys, sitting in traffic, or dealing with a tough project at work can lead to headaches.

Your body reacts to these stressors by tensing muscles, grinding teeth, or stiffening shoulders. These involuntary responses can intensify headaches.

Breaking the Cycle of Stress and Headaches

While you can't completely avoid daily stress, you can manage it to help prevent headaches. Here are some strategies:

Relaxation Techniques

Relaxation methods can reduce stress and alleviate headaches. Here are some activities to consider:

Meditation

Yoga

Tai Chi

Deep Breathing Exercises

Setting aside even 10 minutes a day for these activities can make a difference. Additionally, engage in enjoyable activities like listening to music, dancing, reading, playing sports, or spending time with pets.

Daily Tips for Reducing Stress

Implement these daily tips to keep stress at bay:

Simplify Your Schedule: Trim your to-do list and focus on what truly needs to be done. It’s okay to say no.

Exercise Regularly: Regular physical activity is a proven method to prevent and treat headaches. Warm up slowly to avoid triggering headaches with sudden, intense exercise.

Eat Smart: A diet rich in fruits, vegetables, and whole grains provides energy and helps manage stress.

Get Adequate Sleep: Lack of sleep increases stress and can trigger persistent headache for days. Aim for a good night's sleep to help your body cope with stress.

Seek Support: Talking to family, friends, or a therapist can help manage stress.

Manage Your Time: Update your to-do list daily and break large tasks into smaller, manageable steps.

Be Prepared: Organise your day and anticipate challenges. Keep your plans flexible to adapt if a headache strikes.

Let Go: Avoid worrying about things beyond your control.

Adjust Your Attitude: Positive self-talk and cognitive behavioural therapy can help reframe stressful situations.

Take Breaks: When overwhelmed, take time to clear your mind with a brisk walk or mental vacation.

Laugh: Humour releases endorphins and helps maintain a positive attitude. Watch funny movies or read a humorous book.

Change the Pace: Break your routine with new activities or a short vacation.

Change Your Habits: Quit smoking, reduce caffeine, and drink alcohol in moderation.

Recognizing When It's More Than Stress

Most headaches are not serious. However, if headaches interfere with daily activities, work, or personal life, consult a doctor. Sometimes, persistent headaches might indicate a more serious condition.

Seek Emergency Care If Your Headache:

Is sudden and severe

Accompanies a fever, stiff neck, rash, confusion, seizure, double vision, weakness, numbness, or difficulty speaking

Follows a head injury, fall, or bump

Worsens despite rest and over-the-counter pain medication

These symptoms could signal a medical condition requiring immediate attention.

Conclusion

Understanding the link between stress and persistent headache, including constant headaches everyday, is crucial for managing and preventing them. By adopting stress-reducing techniques and making healthy lifestyle changes, you can break the cycle of stress-induced headaches. Remember, if your headaches persist or worsen, seek professional medical advice.

Table: Stress Management Techniques and Their Benefits

Technique

Benefit

Meditation

Reduces stress and promotes relaxation

Yoga

Relieves tension and improves flexibility

Tai Chi

Enhances mental calmness and physical relaxation

Deep Breathing Exercises

Lowers stress levels and induces calmness

Simplifying Schedule

Reduces overwhelm and improves focus

Regular Exercise

Prevents headaches and improves overall health

Healthy Diet

Provides energy and reduces stress

Adequate Sleep

Improves stress resilience

Seeking Support

Offers emotional relief and practical advice

Time Management

Increases productivity and reduces stress

Positive Attitude

Helps in coping with stressful situations

Humour and Laughter

Releases endorphins and boosts mood

Changing Routine

Prevents monotony and refreshes the mind

Healthy Habits

Reduces overall stress on the body

Quick Tips to Manage Stress and Prevent Headaches

Engage in relaxation techniques daily

Trim your to-do list to avoid feeling overwhelmed

Incorporate regular exercise into your routine

Eat a balanced diet rich in nutrients

Ensure you get enough sleep each night

Seek support from friends, family, or a therapist

Manage your time effectively with a daily plan

Prepare for challenges and stay flexible

Practise positive self-talk and cognitive behavioural techniques

Take breaks and allow yourself to relax

Enjoy humour and laughter to lift your spirits

Try new activities to break routine

Quit smoking, reduce caffeine, and moderate alcohol intake

By integrating these strategies into your daily life, you can better manage stress and reduce the occurrence of persistent headaches. Remember, taking care of your mental and physical well-being is key to preventing and managing headaches effectively.

[moosemonstrous]

😃😃😃😃

Oh my god the braces are AMAZING. Seriously how much taller is he 😭 And the doodles at the bottom deep breaths - CRACK jesus 😂😂😂

Jaw-breakage def featuring in my next nightmare but then again I was warned. Love love LOVE the lightsaber light on Robbie in the screaming bit ahhhh

Do you all know how hard it was not to post anything any time a SW post was particularly ANGR-flavoured over the last week or so???? Well. Hard enough that I immediately wrote a fic about it.

~~

It takes much longer than he expected to reach the crash site.

Of course it took longer, Eli gripes, his disembodied voice as clear as ever despite the holocron being wrapped in a scarf at the bottom of his pack. I told you to leave the kid in the town, he’s slowing us down.

Robbie grinds his teeth, but doesn’t rise to the bait. Gabe is sound asleep in the little tent Robbie constructed for him on top of the trailer rig attached to his speeder. The Tatooine sand doesn’t agree with his braces - he would’ve been stuck in whatever room Robbie would’ve been able to afford for the three days he needed to reach the ship, and that’s not counting the extra rations in case he was held up. The ship parts and tools he scrounged from around Anchorage ate up most of the credits from Eli’s stash. 

Taking Gabe with him into the Dune Sea was a rational decision. He can bear being separated - it just wasn’t the best course of action in this particular case. Allowing his little brother the time to stretch his limbs and meditate in peace didn’t delay them so much - but maybe Robbie’s unwillingness to drive through known raider territory did. Taking the scenic route meant another day on the speeder. Their water supply is dwindling rapidly, and if the ship’s life support is a harder fix than Eli promised…

Life support will be fine, the ghost groans. They were trying to take me alive. Cheer up, alright? It’s just another click.

The spot marked on the map display on the speeder’s ancient HUD is indeed pulsing quicker and quicker with every second. Both of Tatooine’s suns are low on the horizon, but there is nothing here at all to cast a shadow - just sand for miles upon miles in every direction. Every swelling in the surface of the desert could be the ship, buried under fifteen years of dune migration. Robbie has enough fuel in the tank to power the oscillator to help with the digging, but it’s still going to be–

You won’t need the fucking oscillator. You lifted a larty, you can lift a GX1.

Eli always sounds very confident. Robbie doesn’t have the words to explain what it felt like to realise he could crush a ship full of people with a gesture, but he certainly knows better than to point that power at their only way off this cursed planet.

~

Gabe wakes up two hours after dusk, just as Robbie yanks the power cable out of the oscillator. 

“I could feel you get upset,” he says, struggling to stick his head through the tent flaps. “What’s going on?”

It’s getting cold - really cold - and Robbie should’ve built a fire ages ago, but he lost track of time feeling out for the ship’s exact location. 

“Found the Charger.” He nods at the shallow circular dip in the dune face in front of him. Nearly an hour of work, and the stupid machine barely managed to scratch the surface. Its vibrations are weaker than advertised, and Robbie did what he could to rig up a wind barrier, but it’s a losing battle.

Eli has been quiet. Until Gabe woke up, for a brief moment it felt like Robbie was the only living being in the whole desert.

“Can you unpack the rations?” he sighs, coming over to help Gabe out of the tent. “I’ll start a fire.”

There’s nothing to burn but what they brought with them - the last camp pack catches on with only a splash of fuel to help. Robbie is severely tempted to toss the oscillator to the fire, too, but he plans to have a word with the weequay merchant when they get back–

Get back how? You don’t have enough water to drive all the way back to Anchorage. I told you–

“Shut up,” he mutters. Gabe looks up at him from across the firepit, eyebrows drawn together. “Not– Sorry. I was talking to myself.” 

Gabe puts down his ration bar. Robbie hasn’t even touched his own yet. He can feel his brother’s presence reach out through the Force - it’s always there, just at the edges of his consciousness, and there’s nothing that would bring him more comfort than to reach right back. His bad eye prickles, a quick, sharp reminder why he won’t be doing that.

“Robbie…”

“It’s fine,” he says, too fast, too– He takes a deep breath. He needs to– has to stay calm. “It’s fine. The ship is in there. I’ll just– keep digging through the night.”

Gabe stares at him for a minute longer before wrapping his hood tighter around his ears. Robbie has never before had this much trouble reading his expression. “I should’ve stayed behind.”

Robbie’s chest goes cold, like that one sentence snuffed out the fire roaring in front of him.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m slowing you down, and I can’t help, and I know you don’t want to use the Force around me, and–”

Well, he’s not wrong.

“--and it would’ve been easier if you left me in the temple–”

 “Gabe, no–”

“It’s true!” Gabe wipes his face on his sleeve. “Master Vath said you’re gonna get sent off to the frontlines, and I need to let you go, and I– I kept saying I know, I knew, but then–”

The cold spreads into his stomach, running down his veins into his arms and legs. The sand shifts under his boots even though he’s frozen in place. The wind picks up just a fraction, pulled into Robbie’s orbit. 

When he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. What can he possibly say? He closes his eyes, and there is no telling whether it’s the holocron or his own mind supplying the memories of the creche master, of lectures on attachments, of hours upon hours of lone meditation - all to prove to her that he can control himself. To show her he and Gabe don’t need to be separated because of one outburst when he was a child–

“Robbie, you’re–”

Funny, Eli’s voice is barely audible through the rush of blood in his ears. Did she mean you were gonna join the Seps, like your traitor of a master? Or that they’ve given up on training you at all? That they were just gonna put you down, tell the kid a pretty lie about falling in battle?

His bad eye burns. The knot in Robbie’s chest that he puts so much effort into keeping down  begins to unravel. He buries his face in his hands, breathes in the smell of speeder fuel and the dry leather of his gloves - he can’t let it loose again. The wind feels hot in his hair, hot against the cold in his lungs. He just needs– he can control it, he just needs to–

Something nudges against this maelstrom, a familiar presence he used to reach out to whenever things got like this. When he looks up, Gabe is physically holding his arm out towards him, and if he was difficult to read before, his expression is very, very clear now.

He’s terrified. Gabe’s terrified of him.

Robbie scrambles up and away, but there is nowhere to go but against the dune face, and the sight of it makes him want to scream. He risked everything to get here, on a word of a fucking darksider. He’s not going to fail. He’s not going to die here. He sure as hell won’t let his brother die here, either.

The oscillator crumbles as soon as he touches it, the metal creaking and bending until all that’s left is a palm-sized ball of slag. There is more metal under the sand - durasteel and titanium and aluminium taking shape in his mind, the rust and the chipped ceramics like tiny abrasions on his own skin. Robbie pulls at all of it at once, like it’s his own arm he’s bringing to rest against his chest and not fifteen thousand tonnes of a spaceship - if there was a single thought left in his head other than away away away away he’d probably panic, drop under the weight of the sand pushing at him from all directions.

But there isn’t, and he doesn’t, and the dune trembles as the dark body of the Charger slowly rises up from its embrace. The sand gathers around his knees and halfway up his thighs, his mouth full of it, until–

“Holy shit, you did it!”

Robbie’s thrown back into his own body so suddenly it’s a sharp flash of agony all the way down his spine. His eyelashes are clumped together with grains of sand when he squeezes his eyes shut, and he can feel them in his teeth and spilling into his boots, but when the wind dies down, Gabe’s Force presence is still surrounding him like a safety net. Not close enough to touch, but not pulling back either.

Eli’s presence hovers close, too, and Robbie worms himself between the two before they can so much as sense one another. 

Killjoy, Eli scoffs. I’ll let that one slide, though. Look at her! Isn’t she gorgeous?

Robbie can’t see shit - the sand killed the fire and ate the better part of the speeder. His stomach jumps unpleasantly when he realises how close he was to trapping Gabe in the avalanche, the top of the trailer only just sticking out above the surface. 

The Charger’s nose looms above his head, still partially suspended in the dune. It’s just a black shape against the desert night, like a dead purrgil inexplicably stuck out of its element.

Robbie spits the sand out of his mouth. If he’s going to get them off this rock, he’s got a lot of work to do.

Alright whose ready to see my lose my mind over continually more ridiculous au ideas? Trick question your gonna see it happen anyway (I have. so much bullshit. i have an entire other au that I havent posted about yet and i am thinking. about the re7 au again brother. I have fallen into the pits don't come save me or I'll drag you down too).

also jesus FUCK @moosemonstrous coming in clutch again with both star wars knowlege and the ability to actually remember things beyond a day and a half of talking about them THANK YOU.

STAR WARS AU

The Jedi originally came to Tatooine looking for Gabe. Sensing his strength with the light side of the force they thought he would be a prime candidate for training. Unfortunately for them, Robbie and Gabe are a package deal. They begrudgingly allowed him to come along as well because he is also force sensitive, but a little older than they would usually let in for training. Robbie agrees to because 1. if he just says no who KNOWS if they'll just take Gabe away forcefully and 2. STEADY FOOD SOURCE. ROOF OVER THEIR HEADS. ADAQUATE MEDICAL CARE. NO MORE FUCKING SAND. He doesen't trust these people as far as he can throw them but FUCK anything must be better than here.

During a sparring session another padawan purposefully infuriates Robbie, causing him to reach out to the dark side. He nearly kills the other padawan with the strength of his outburst. It then becomes EXTREMELY EVIDENT that Robbie is VERY strong with the dark side of the force. As a result of this outburst, one of his eyes gets the usual 'sith look', he gets special training to try and suppress those feelings, and he gets permanent pariah status in the Jedi Temple (I have. plans. i am being vague on purpose because FUCK I want to draw this scene in my head so bad but I also want to get this out to yall in the same month so it will be coming later. my dramatic bitch syndrome demands it).

After the clone wars get started (he's around 16 at this point) the Jedi realize that they need more people to fight. Robbie, though being previously disqualified for his history, is accepted for training and assigned Jedi Knight Johnny Blaze as a master.

Unfortunately, along the way Johnny starts picking up more solo missions and eventually disappears about 6 months in and everyone thinks he's defected (he's spying on the sepratist's for the republic). Which MEGA sucks for Robbie because 'holy shit the unstable padawans master defected' is getting thrown around and thats really not great. He wanders off deep into the temple where he can hopefully find a place to throw his feelings around in peace and stumbles into the artifact room, which opened in response to sensing the dark side. Bad news, you cant use the same method to get out.

Even MORE unfortunately one of these sith artifacts starts talking to him. After telling him how to get tf out of the vault and convincing Robbie that things are about to get bad ('I FELT what you could to out there kid do you REALLY think they're gonna let you stay? You gotta get out of here. And if you take me with you I can guide us to a ship they can't trace')

So Robbie sets out to run away, fully planning on taking Gabe with him and gets second thoughts while packing to which Gabe goes 'fuck that were GOING' (he's like. 11. But he'll be damned if Robbie goes somewhere and leaves him who knows how long). While escaping via unauthorized ship takeoff, Elis holocron makes it look like Robbie has fully gone to the dark side and there are clones sent to stop him.

Robbie responds by using the force to throw another ship at them and escapes with Gabe. Now they're both on the run. Robbie wanted by the jedi council for kidnapping, and Gabe wanted back to complete his training.

Eli died as a dark side user and a wannabe Sith. He never really graduated into full sithhood and spent most of his time working for Senator Ivanov and his dealings in Hutt space. He was OBSESSED with the prospect of immortality and sought ways to survive even after death.

When he was used as a scapegoat by Ivanov (he reported Eli to the Jedi council to make him look a little less suspicious), his back up plan of imbuing a holocron with his force presence was put into use. He's been sitting gathering dust in a vault of darksided relics for the past 10 years, just waiting for his chance to get out.

Gabe is an EXCEPTIONAL student in the Jedi temple. He enjoys learning about the force and how to use it, and for the most part gets along with his peers. His mobility aid has been improved since Robbie first built it for him out of scraps he was allowed to take from working on ships on Tatooine. Some days are still better than others, and there are times when a wheelchair is more appropriate, but generally the braces are good for daily use.

He is VERY defensive of his brother and absolutely will not hear a bad word said about him (many bad words are said about him. everyone things Gabe is incredibly sweet, but also to blinded by his love for his brother to see that he poses a threat). It very much so does frustrate him, he's just better at dealing with those feelings then Robbie is.

Anakin gets his fun force choking so I think that Robbie should get something fun and funky and special too so enter: JAW BREAK!! Yes it is very ring inspired but I wanted to make it MORE. So fuck it he rips the whole jaw off its hinges I think this would also probably kill you very dead.

Plus some doodles because brainrot brainrot brainrot brainrot

[inkykeiji]

do i make you scared? baby won’t you take me back

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, shigaraki tomura

genre: smut with a bit of angst sprinkled over it

notes: the second part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back. i’m really not kidding when i say this is almost entirely smut. uhhh virgin!tomura is a nasty nasty boy, please please please heed the warnings and stay safe! <3 | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), non-consensual branding (yes, branding in the sense that something is being burned into the skin), noncon/dubcon, dacryphilia, cheating, degradation/dumbification, emotional manipulation, cumplay/snowballing, cockwarming, size difference, generally toxic relationships

words: 7.1k

synopsis:

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back.

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

To your surprise, you spend the rest of your night the day after the party texting Tomura, and every time your screen lights up with a message from him, it sends a whole flock of butterflies fluttering in your tummy. You should feel guilty, really, but you’ve never been in a situation like this before and it’s…exhilarating.

It’s risky, answering these texts when Touya’s a mere few feet from you, but it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the idea of getting caught doing something you’re definitely not supposed to, the very thought of how upset he’d be if he knew, making you feel giddy.

You guard your phone closely for the rest of the week, deleting messages exactly after you send them—Touya has taken it and gone through it in the past, so it wasn’t far-fetched to think he may try to do the same thing again. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice your nose in your phone, little giggles bubbling up from your chest as you responded to whatever was on the screen. You can see it in his eyes, the frustration building each and every time a soft laugh escapes your lips, eyes glimmering as you tap out a response.

You plan your impending visit strategically, in tandem with Tomura. He knows Touya’s unpredictable and seemingly ever-changing schedule better than you do, and you both know that there’s absolutely no way in hell Touya would ever willingly let you hang out with each other—he barely leaves the two of you alone when Tomura comes over to your house, so you can only imagine how livid he’d be if you even asked to go spend some time with him, just the two of you.

You wear your prettiest dress—Touya’s favourite dress, a deep, satiny crimson—two inches too short to be considered proper, the hem brushing your midthigh. It hides a pair of baby pink cotton panties you’re sure Tomura will like.

Your veins thrum with the combined mix of terror and anticipation as he lets you in, and the heady combination has your entire body trembling. Tomura gives you a look as you kick your shoes off, eyes narrowed as they scan your body.

“You comin’ down or something?”

“I-I’m not allowed drugs,” you admit meekly, eyes falling to your feet, toes wiggling a bit.

Tomura snorts, an amused little smirk on his lips as he mutters, “No, of course not,”

Long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist, his cold touch making you jump, giving a slight yank as he begins leading you. He lives alone, in an apartment his father pays for—which is surprisingly much tidier than you expected—and you can’t help but look around curiously, eager to learn more about him, glazed eyes searching for hints in the empty takeout containers littering the counter, in the few articles of clothing strewn around the place.

Brows knit together when he bypasses his bedroom completely—the door wide open to reveal a large bed with blue sheets tangled at the bottom—and leads you to a living room with plush couches and an ornate rug you’re positive he didn’t pick out by himself. His fingers release, and he plops down on the floor, hands curling around a gaming controller. Scarlet eyes drift to you, up your legs and to your face, and you resist the urge to shiver under his intense gaze—you’re sure he can see straight up your dress from this angle.

But he does nothing except look at you expectantly, not breaking his stare until you finally sit down next to him, daintily tucking your knees under yourself.

Then he’s shoving an extra controller at you almost aggressively, the sudden motion pulling a gasp from your throat, making you flinch away.

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, pushing the controller at you again and shaking it a little in his hand, trying to entice you to take it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, or anything,”

“You…You’re—what?”

Tomura observes you carefully, scrutinizing now, eyes narrowing a little as they scan your face. You stare back at him dumbly, lips slightly parted. “What?” he snaps.

“But I thought—I mean, I want you to—”

“What?”

“That came out wrong,” you rush to say, shutting your eyes tightly in embarrassment. “What I mean is…Um, didn’t I come over so we can like, fuck?” your cheeks burn as you force the words out, ears ringing as blood rushes to your face, so loud you almost miss his sharp intake of breath.

Tomura’s eyes widen and he stares at you for a long moment before he checks his phone, scrolling through your messages. “You said…You wanted to play video games?”

You look at him, blinking in astonishment. “And you believed that?”

Tomura frowns a little, eyebrows knitting, slightly defensive. “Well, yeah?”

You’re at a loss for words as you stare back at the man sitting cross-legged in front of you, watching you closely. This is the guy Touya so desperately didn’t want you to be around?

Powerless to stop the little giggle that bubbles up in your throat, you inch towards him on your knees. “You’re kinda cute, y’know?”

Soft notes of tiger orchid and sweet sticky toffee waft over him, your body heat clinging to his skin as you settle beside him, thigh touching his knee. He seethes at you, and his fingers twitch around the controller, a hand moving to rake his nails against his neck.

You reach out, little fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling it away from his flesh.

“Do you want to?” you ask softly, gazing at him through your lashes, bringing his palm to rest over your breast.

“Are you stupid?” he spits, fingers instantly tightening the moment they meet satin, the strength of his grip making you gasp. “Of course I fucking want to. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off to you? Christ,”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at the confession, sparking a dull heat that begins to spread deep in the pit of your stomach. You’re flattered, even though you can hear Touya’s voice in the back of your mind, sharp and condescending, reprimanding you for being so easy.

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Your voice quivers a little as you ask the question, but that doesn’t stop his ruby eyes from darkening, his free hand dropping the controller to shamelessly rub at the bulge in his jeans.

“How cute your little cunt must be, how sweet it’d taste, how good those lips would feel wrapped around my cock as I fuck your throat,” his voice drops an octave as he speaks, low and dangerous as he kneads your breast hard—too hard, but adrenaline keeps the pain from registering.

He’s reaching for you now, pale hands pawing at your hips and dragging you over, forcing you to straddle his lap. A soft whimper falls from your lips as he instantly begins rolling his hips up, like he can’t bear to wait, fingers digging into your flesh as they hold you in place.

Neither can you, apparently, because you begin wiggling a little in his grasp, trying in vain to rut against him.

“You’re a little whore, huh? Even with a virgin, you can’t help but grind on a hard cock,” he smirks, lips at your ear. “A hard cock’s a hard cock I guess, makes no difference to you, greedy little slut,”

A mewl escapes your throat as you nod, hips pushing forcefully against his, grinding your little cunt against rough denim.

Wait, virgin?

“A v-virgin?”

“Yeah, lucky you,”

His words taper off into a growl, vibrating in his chest, hands leaving your waist to cup your jaw and roughly pull your face to his, lips crashing into yours. You emit a soft, startled noise into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, tongue forcing its way through your parted lips and into your mouth, commanding your own tongue into submission almost instantaneously.

It’s nothing like kissing Touya. Your body follows your tongue, melting into him. Fingers grip your jaw, pressing crescent indents into the skin as he guides your head to exactly where he wants it to go.

It isn’t romantic. It’s harsh, and desperate, a mess of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. A hand tangles in your hair and pulls, forcing your head back and revealing your arched neck to him. His lips trail down the column of your throat, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in their wake.

“I wanna fuck you already,” he whines a little, aggressively thrusting against your clothed core. You moan out an affirmative noise, nodding.

“One rule,” you breathe out.

“Hmm? And what’s that?” his lips are against your neck, tongue painting it in glistening saliva with slow, languid strokes.

“No marks,” you yelp out just as his teeth sink into your skin. It stings, Tomura keeping his mouth latched onto your neck for a few seconds, teeth buried in the soft flesh. His tongue laves over the mark before pulling away completely, and a shiver crawls up your spine as the bite is exposed to the cool air.

He’s giggling into your shoulder, nipping at the skin superficially. “Oops,”  

“Tomura!” you whine, making no effort to pull his lips from your neck. “Touya’s going to murder me,”

He laughs again, pulling back and rolling his eyes. “And, what? He isn’t already going to kill you for fucking someone else?”

There isn’t a moment to respond, though, not a second to try and explain how weird Touya gets about marks in particular, because then he’s crushing his lips to yours again, hard, fervent, bruising.

“Gonna cum soon if you don’t fucking do something,” he practically snarls into your mouth.

The very thought of Tomura cumming in his pants just from a few minutes of dry humping makes your entire stomach flutter, a flash of pure confidence surging in your chest as involuntary words tumble from your mouth.

“Oh?” you murmur, breath hot against his lips. “Something? Like this?” you begin gyrating your hips in tiny, quick circles, giggling at the groan you rip from his throat.

And Tomura hates how fucking innocent you sound, gazing at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips and a sinful little smile.

“Stop,” it’s supposed to be a command, an order, but it comes out as a broken whine, his hands latching onto your hips again as he forces you to move even faster, rocking into you.

“Doesn’t feel like you want me to stop,” you pout a little and he huffs out a curse.

It’s intoxicating, to be in a position of power like this. It isn’t your favourite—you’re much too shy and indecisive to be in a role like this all the time—but the novelty of it excites you nonetheless. Touya never lets you do anything like this, hates being teased with a passion, but Tomura seems to enjoy it, like it’s some sort of game to him.

“Little bitch,” he breathes out, though his forehead is resting against yours, eyes shut, soft grunts spilling from his throat.

“C’mon, Tomura,” you whimper, and now it sounds like you’re the one begging. “Make a mess in your pants for me? P-Pretty please?”

That’s all it takes to have his hips stilling, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he grips you tightly, holding you in place and forcing you to grind against him ever-so-slightly as his cock throbs and twitches in his jeans.

You expect him to push you off immediately after, to shout and berate you for such behaviour, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back against the bottom of the couch, arms encircling your waist and bringing you with him.

It must be uncomfortable, to sit in those soiled jeans filled with cum, but he doesn’t seem to care, more interested in exploring your mouth with his tongue as you kiss lazily. You don’t mind, although your clit is aching and swollen, pussy fluttering around nothing every so often as his fingers explore your body, kneading your ass and tweaking nipples, your panties soaked all the way through and sticking to you unpleasantly.

And it’s due to this that your hips still manage to rock against his in minuscule movements that are more teasing than anything else, little micro-circles that have your drenched cunt grinding gently against wet denim.

It seems he has an impossibly short refraction period because, before long, his cock’s hard again, pressing up into your clothed hole. You whimper his name into his mouth and he breaks the kiss, lips red and puffy, shining with saliva.  

“Take my cock out,” he instructs, voice stern despite his slight breathlessness. You crawl off his lap and do as your told, popping the button, tugging the zipper down and pulling at the waistband of his jeans. He lifts his hips just enough to aid you in dragging them down to his thighs, cock springing free.

“Clean it up,”

It’s covered in cum, so much cum—too much cum, more than is normal—glistening in the low light of the living room. It twitches a little under your gaze, as if to say get on with it already, so you wrap a hand around the base and bring the head to your lips.

You start with kitten licks, tongue tracing around the head and playing with the slit, pulling a deep, throaty moan from him.

“Don’t—Don’t swallow it,” he rasps. “Clean me up and keep all my cum in your mouth,”

It’s difficult—his cum is much more bitter than Touya’s, and you gag a few times as it settles on your tongue, marinating in your mouth. You try your best to hold it in your cheeks and away from your tastebuds, working as quickly as possible as you lap it up, gazing up at him with teary eyes when you’re finished.

“What a good girl,” he spits in a patronizing tone, like it’s an insult. “Kiss me,”

It’s a demand you have no choice but to obey, a hand rooting in your hair and yanking you up to face him.

He all but smashes your lips together, fingers still wrapped tightly in your hair, holding you in place. His tongue forces its way through your lips and you greet it eagerly, desperate to get his cum out of your mouth.

Except he doesn’t let you pull away after you’ve passed the majority of his cum to him, the bitter taste still stinging your tongue. No, he uses the fist tangled in your hair to keep you still as he shoves his tongue into your mouth again, transferring the cum—now watered down a little with his saliva—into the warm cavern yet again.

You whine, and he chuckles, lips spreading into a grin against yours.

“Swallow it,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to watch your expression as you force it down your throat, face souring, eyes squeezed shut as your lips pucker just a little. “Open, lemme see,”

Your mouth falls open obediently, little droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you gaze up at him, waiting for approval.

“Good,” he practically purrs, eyes darkening as his fingers caress your face. “Now I want to fuck you,”

You’re nodding, but he doesn’t give you a moment to respond, beginning to manhandle you into the position he wants before he’s even finished speaking. The oriental rug is soft against your cheek as he presses your face to the ground, hands curling around your hips as he hoists them up.

“What cute little panties,” he breathes, dragging a finger along your clothed slit before yanking the material down to your knees.

It stings a little as he practically shoves his cock into your sopping cunt, not bothering to stretch you out—you’re not even sure if he knows he’s supposed to—but you’re wet enough that the breach is relatively easy, and the burning fades quickly as your little hole adjusts to the girth of his cock.

He begins thrusting immediately, and he’s rough, overeager, uncoordinated, the vicious snaps of his hips uneven and sloppy.

Truthfully, he’s only using you as a hole the first time, but you don’t mind—not really, anyway. Blazing sapphire sears through your mind, and you think about how furious Touya would be if he knew, if he could see the way you’re degrading yourself, letting yourself be reduced to nothing but a fucktoy for a nasty virgin to desperately hump away at, sacrificing your own pleasure for his.

Touya would never.

To Touya, making you cum is half the fun. He gets a rush from it, gets high off the way you go absolutely fucking stupid from his fingers and cock, how quickly he can turn your brain to soup, rendering you a dumb little blabbering mess only capable of whining out the words niichan and Touya-nii. It feeds his ever-growing ego.

But Tomura is eager to please in a different way. He’s more selfish than Touya, sure, but he’s keen to learn all he can, curious and committed.

And, once he finally gets the hang of it, confident, too.

His thrusts gain more finesse as he fucks you, but he’s unable to keep up any steady rhythm, the tight fluttering of your pussy every time he grazes a specific spot inside of you making his hips stutter, forcing needy, guttural groans from his throat.

He cums quick—not that you expect any less from a virgin—with a deep growl of your name that has your stomach swooping, cunt throbbing around him again as he fills you with thick, burning cum.

You’re exhausted by the end of it, abused body melting into the lush carpet as your cunt throbs desperately, his cum slowly oozing out of it. Tomura snorts as he looks down at you, gentle hands tugging your panties down the rest of your legs and removing them completely, discarding them a few feet away.

“Up you go,” he’s murmuring as hands snake under your armpits and haul you up. You mumble his name and he hushes you, collapsing heavily on the couch with you still in his arms. Strong hands manhandle you into straddling his lap again, leaking pussy pressed against his softening cock.

The television hums to life, quiet main menu music floating through the room as the soft clicking of buttons sounds behind you.

You should go home now. You know you should. You’ve done what you came here to do, and now you should be leaving.

Should, should, should.

But Tomura’s so warm, and you’re so tired, muscles aching despite the fact that he did most of the work.

“Rest,” he instructs quietly when you begin to whine into his neck, fingers preoccupied with unwrapping a piece of watermelon bubblegum.

He’s so much softer than you expected—disgusting, but soft—and you can’t believe you spent months being terrified of him. You know this is probably the last time you’ll be able to see him in a long time—a fact that produces an inexplicable ache deep in your chest—so you allow yourself bask in the moment, just for a little, you promise yourself.

You obey his gentle command, snuggling up against him and permitting yourself to drift in and out of consciousness to the sound of aliens being killed and aggressive button smashing.

But then something hard is poking you—you aren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting here for now, long enough for Tomura to power through a few matches, at least—and that blistering heat flares again, beginning to coil tight in your tummy.

You shift a little, an involuntary whine slipping from your lips.

“What is it?” Tomura asks, eyes never straying from the screen, fingers never pausing. “You wanna sit on my cock, baby?”

Christ, yes. You mumble into his shoulder, nodding and rolling your hips in response.

He chuckles—a low, quiet sound rattling around in his chest—and allows you to sink down on him again, captivated by the soft moan you emit as you do so, crimson eyes gleaming and breathing slightly laboured.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters when his avatar on the screen gets shot, redirecting his attention.

And it’s…it’s nice. Surprisingly nice. He’s cozy, and comfy, his breathing slow and even with every rise of his chest, despite the alien shrieks coming from the TV behind you. He smells like cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon with just a hint of cedarwood, and you inhale deeply, letting the scent fill your lungs.

Touya rarely lets you cockwarm him; Touya doesn’t have the patience, Touya doesn’t have the time. You fall into a state halfway between asleep and awake, hips rocking against Tomura just enough to keep him hard, just enough to have you whimpering into his neck.

He could get used to this, he tells you. The confession is soft, a private little thought that just kinda slips out, mindlessly falling from his lips, but you could, too, you think.

It’s intimate, which is odd, considering you barely know him, used to be frightened of him. But it’s such a refreshing contrast to Touya’s intense, scalding flame.

Eventually, though, it isn’t enough, the teasing’s too much, and you need more.

Gazing up at him with glittering eyes, you begin to trail your lips up his neck, over his self-inflicted scars, slowly, hesitantly.

He inhales sharply, jumping a little in surprise, and you freeze, terrified you might’ve overstepped some invisible boundary you were not previously aware of.

“Keep going,” he whines, a little petulantly, hips wiggling against yours.

Lips resuming their ministrations, you place gentle, chaste kisses up the column of his throat and along his jaw, delighting in each soft sigh you manage to pull from him. The game playing on the TV suddenly halts, Tomura throwing the controller on the couch cushion next to you before large hands cup your face in a tender way you did not think him capable of.

Your mouths slot together, kissing messily, saliva glistening on your chins as you pass his watermelon gum back and forth between yourselves. It’s kinda gross, kinda filthy, juvenile and sloppy, but it’s fun, has the two of you giggling into each other’s mouths, a little breathless from it all.

“Wanna ride you,” you murmur, almost shyly, against his slippery lips.

“Yeah?” he rasps, just barely bouncing you in his lap. “You wanna use my cock to get off?”

“Yes, please,” the plead comes out as a pathetic whimper, and you squirm impatiently.

Finally, finally you get to cum. In this position, you have leverage over the angle of your hips, able to situate yourself just right, so his cockhead nudges exactly where you want it to.

He does nothing this time, just leans back and watches you with those dark, half-lidded scarlet eyes, hands idly exploring your thighs, occasionally raking his nails down them. He’s in a trance as he gazes at you, mesmerized by the way your eyes are starting to roll back, by the way each drag of his cock against that spot has you keening, by the way his name leaves your lips in broken little whines that have him gasping in response.

Your hips speed up, and you’re desperate, so desperate to cum, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders through his thin t-shirt.

“Gonna—” he starts, breathless. “Gonna cum?”

You nod a little frantically as eager hips rock against him, his hands finally finding your waist and helping you move.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Wanna feel you,”

And it’s his begging that does it, that finally sends you over the edge, pussy clenching around him, convulsing almost painfully and gushing on his cock with a sharp cry of his name. He follows immediately after, painting your insides with hot cum as a curse hitches in his chest.

Your body collapses against him, going pliant and boneless as you both pant. Everything feels heavy—you haven’t had an orgasm that intense in a while—and the absolute last thing you want to do is get up and walk home.

Tomura can sense it. He can feel it in the way your fingers are knotting in his t-shirt, in the way your hips try to scoot forward, chest pressed against his tightly, and he wraps an arm around you, trying to keep you close for just a minute more.

Silence blankets the room as the two of you calm your breathing. You’ve been anticipating a certain sense of awkwardness to finally wash over you all night, but it never comes. Instead, it’s pleasant, and you hum a little, nuzzling your face into Tomura’s shoulder as skinny fingers brush through your hair.

“I don’t wanna go,” you say, and it’s so quiet, muffled by the material of his shirt, that he barely hears it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to.

“Just stay,” he mumbles, resting his chin atop your head. “Text your dad some bullshit, or whatever,”

You want to. You’re surprised at how much you desperately want to.

“Touya will kill me,”

“Touya’s gonna kill ya either way, sweetheart,”

You suppose that’s true. Neither of you tricked yourselves into thinking that you’d actually get away with this. Touya will know the moment he sees you, will probably be able to smell Tomura all over you, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care, not in that moment, not when Tomura’s so comfy and you’re so sleepy and it’s all just nice.

Good, you think. It’s about time he gets a taste of how much stuff like this hurts.

And so you find yourself crawling into his bed, in one of his t-shirts, with bruises in the shape of his fingertips rapidly blossoming, heat seeping into your cheeks when he tells you he thinks you look cute in his clothes.

He latches onto you the moment you’ve settled into his mattress, long arms encircling your waist and dragging you towards him. One of your legs slots between his, and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Hard again, Tomura?”

“Shut up,” he says, no heat to his voice. “Can’t help it,”

His words echo your own, three simple words you’ve said so many times to Touya, and you feel a pang in your chest.

“Not my fault you’re too hot,” he continues, grumbling into your neck.

Honestly, you didn’t peg him as a cuddler, and maybe he isn’t—maybe he just wants to grind and hump against your thigh—but you welcome the warmth of his body nonetheless.

It doesn’t bother you, although it probably should, as he ruts against you, tiny broken moans and high, breathy whines being exhaled against your neck. But it’s so new, all of this is so new to you, and curiosity clouds your better judgement. While you’re pretty sure you should be shoving him away, reprimanding him for such behaviour, positive that’s what any normal person would do, you don’t. Little fingers thread in his hair instead, carding through silvery-blue fluffy tufts, reveling in the groan it pulls from him.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum, thick and sticky in his boxers, the material wet against your thigh. You’re impressed, both by how easily he cums, and how much he cums. You want to tell him, want to tease him about it a little, let him know you think it’s cute, but heavy, hazy fatigue begins to wash over you, and you fall asleep to Tomura’s soft breaths mingled with the sound of you phone buzzing, over and over and over again.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

Your phone’s dead when you wake sometime in the early afternoon, and for that, you’re thankful. Anxiety floods your stomach, bubbling up in your chest acidly as you think about what’ll be waiting for you when you recharge it.

Tomura walks you to the door, which you find to be very odd behaviour, but sweet nonetheless, and watches carefully as you slip on your shoes.

“Uh, text me later, okay?” He sounds unsure for the first time since you’ve been with him, and your expression softens.

“I will, if Touya doesn’t take my phone away,”

And you pretend to miss the look on his face, the way his eyebrows knit as a hand comes to scratch idly at his neck, the way he looks almost worried. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

He knows. The moment you step foot through the front door, he knows.

You knew he would, but it doesn’t make the glare scathing your skin any less terrifying.

He’s on you in an instant—you didn’t even know humans could move that fast—pinning you to the drywall, large hands wrapped around your wrists and forcing them above your head, keeping you trapped.

“You little slut,”

Unexpected anger flares in your chest, even though tears are already beginning to collect in your eyes, and you squirm in his grasp.

“I fuck one other person, and I’m the slut?”

You gasp the moment the words leave your lips, wide eyes searching his face and shaking your head frantically, would slap your hands over your mouth if they weren’t currently secured in his bruising grip against the wall.

The look he gives you is absolutely petrifying, blue eyes darker than the ocean—so dark they almost look black—his stare cold and hard as stone, sending sharp spikes of ice up your spine.

“You fucking reek of him,” he spits, face screwing up in disgust. You’re sure you do, too, after spending a good twelve hours in his bed, almost positive you can smell him in your hair, the remnants of cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon clinging to you.

Patronizing eyes rake over you, zeroing in on the violet that’s bloomed on your neck. His nostrils flare as he stares at it, breath beginning to come in rapid, uneven huffs. His eyes slowly drift back to yours, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

It’s shock, and disbelief, and rage, and…and sadness? It passes too quickly for you to even tell, and then he’s pulling your wrists down callously, still gathered in his hand, and dragging you towards his room.

He all but throws you on his bed face first, breathing harsh and erratic as he exhales forcefully through his nose and climbs on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. A large hand wraps itself in your hair and tugs, forcing your upper body to arch.

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back. Sure, he’s furious beyond belief, looks like he could kill you right here, right now, with his bare fucking hands—but he’s also extremely upset, if the slight quiver present in his voice is any indication.

“Yes,” you wheeze out. If it made him feel even an ounce of the emotional turmoil he’s put you through with his whores, then yes, it was absolutely worth it.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” his voice is low, threatening, calm. It’s disturbing, how quickly he can switch, and a chill of unease settles deep in your bones—once Touya stops with his growls and snarls, once his voice becomes monotonous and almost serene in a way, that’s when you know he’s really angry.

Shoving your head down into the mattress, he tells you to stay fucking put as he gets up and wanders over to his desk. He returns to the bed moments later with a tool that vaguely resembles a pen, hand tangling in your hair again as he pulls you up.

“You know what this is?”

You shake your head as best you can.

“It’s a soldering iron,” his voice is still composed and collected, sounding almost as if he’s explaining something to a child, but there’s a malevolent glint in his eye, a look you’ve never seen before. “It gets really, really hot. I just so happened to be warming one on my desk,”

He says it so nonchalantly, as if this is an object one would regularly keep in their bedroom or on their desk.

“It’s not supposed to be used on skin,” he shrugs a little, twirling the tool between his fingers. “But today, I think we’ll make an exception,”

“What?”

“Head down, ass up,” he instructs sternly, pushing your head into his pillows.

“Touya, wait—” you start, the rest of your sentence muffled by the sheets. His hand gives one firm shove—a warning to stay down—and then he begins shuffling around on the bed.

Careful to keep your cheek pressed hard against the pillow, you turn your head just enough to speak.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Your voice is trembling, thick with tears, dense anxiety building in your chest.

“I’m going to burn my name into your pretty little ass,” he responds simply as he positions himself behind you, yanking your panties midway down your thighs and sitting back on his heels. “A nice, pretty, permanent mark so you, and everyone else, never forget who you fucking belong to,”

“No!” you gasp, beginning to lift your head only to have him force it back into the pillow with a snarl. “No, Tou—niichan, I-I’ll do anything, please—”

“No, no, no, baby,” he says over your senseless babbling, voice almost gentle, thumb caressing your silky skin. “Don’t squirm, now,” he chides. “If you squirm, my hand might slip, and I might burn other parts of your body. We don’t want that, do we? Be a good girl for niichan and sit still,”

And so you do. You should feel ashamed, pathetic, revolted that he’s able to manipulate you so easily, that he knows exactly how to turn you into putty to be molded and shaped as he pleases, even when he’s about to sear his name into your skin.

It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before as he carefully carves his name into the supple flesh, saying the letters out loud as he does so. It’s a unique, stinging-stabbing type of pure agony, one that sends sharp pain radiating up to your lower back and down your thigh.  

Fingers curl in his dark sheets as you sob into his bed—chest-wracking sobs that have your entire body trembling, chest-wracking sobs that you so desperately try to hold back and swallow, to stay still, to be good for your niichan. Touya tells you to be happy, be grateful, that the temperature of his iron goes up so high.

“Otherwise, I would’ve had to go over it several times in order to make it really stick,”

It’s over quickly, though, a mere fifteen minutes later and he’s cleaning it with rubbing alcohol and gently taping thick gauze over it and uses this opportunity to take your panties off entirely.

“Good girl,” he praises as he hoists you up, manhandling you to straddle his spread thighs, careful of your now very sensitive bottom. “You did so good for niichan,”

And you can’t stand the way your heart weakly flutters at his praise. You can’t stand the way you instinctually bury your head in his chest, tiny fists forming in the material of his t-shirt as you wail, can’t stand the way he is still the only one you want comforting you.

His cock is hard through his jeans, and you can feel it pressing into your core as he shifts a little under you. It’s humiliating, but you’re powerless to stop your hips from moving in subtle little circles, grinding your cunt against the rough denim. And he lets you do it for a little, too, tender fingers petting your hair as he soothes your sobs, taming them to little sniffles and hiccups.

“Niichan’s gonna fuck you now, okay?” he asks softly, murmuring against your scalp, voice almost sickly sweet.

It takes you a moment to respond, eventually nodding your head.

A smirk spreads across his lips and he instructs you to get up, tapping the side of your thigh.

You lift yourself, walking back on your knees and giving him enough room to free his aching cock from the confines of his jeans before his hands find your hips again, dragging you back.

“Baby,” he breathes as his fingers spread your folds, his eyes darkening in a manner much different than before. “Already wet for me?”

Cheeks burning with shame, you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering a little as he pushes a finger into you.

“Don’t tell me,” he gasps tauntingly, voice dripping with artificial surprise. “You didn’t like being branded, did you?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head quickly. No, it wasn’t the branding that did it—not really, anyway. It was the aftercare. It was Touya’s cold hands gently tending to your injured bottom, Touya pulling you into his lap as he praised you and dropped kisses to the crown of your head, Touya getting hard from the punishment, from permanently searing his name into your flesh.

You should be disgusted with yourself, with how eager you are, hips wiggling a little only a few moments later as you whine out softly, “Niichan, cock,”

“Impatient,” he huffs. “Don’t get bratty with me now, you were doing so well,”

A pout forms on your face, still hidden in his shoulder.

“Jus’ want it so bad,” you mumble against him, beginning to slur your words. “Please, Touya-nii?”

He hums to himself, makes you beg just a little bit more, reveling in the way your voice begins to get desperate, all high and needy as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers, whimpering and begging with pathetic little please, niichan?’s.

“Is this how you want it? Huh? Wanna ride niichan?”

Mewling a little, you nod, rolling your hips into his palm.

“Words, sweetheart,”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “W-Wanna ride you,”

Finally, he gives it to you, lets you sink down on his cock, watching the way you wince as it stretches you, expression contradicted by your soft moans.

He forces you to begin bouncing immediately, doesn’t allow you to set the pace—he never does—smirking at those little pained cries spilling from your throat, though whether they’re because his cock or the five letters freshly burned into your skin, he isn’t sure. Maybe both; probably both.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, tone condescending. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, the threat of tears stinging your eyes.

“Yeah? Yeah?” his voice mimics yours, pitched high and whiny. “I bet it fucking does,”

A hand travels down to grope your ass—specifically, the cheek with the brand—squeezing hard as fingers dig into your skin. You cry out, tears finally leaking from your eyes, chest hitching as you sob out, “Touya-nii,”

“Don’t ever do something like that again,” he says in your ear, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever go fuck another man because you’re mad at me, do you understand?”

Heat begins to coil tightly in your stomach at his smooth, dark voice. “Y-Yes,”

“Promise me,” he growls, grip tightening on your ass.

“I promise,” you’re weeping as he gives one more harsh squeeze, pain scorching through your backside, a loud yelp escaping your lips.

“Bet his cock didn’t feel as good as mine,” he sneers in your ear, panting a little. “Wasn’t as big as mine, didn’t fill you up the way mine does,”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in time with his thrusts, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Probably could—” a low groan cuts him off as your pussy flutters around him. “Could never make you cum the way I do,”

A loud whine rips from your throat, your head nodding as he continues his relentless thrusts up into you, never once faltering. Adrenaline and endorphins rush through your veins, high off the heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

“N-Niichan,” you gasp, nails digging into his flesh through the material of his thin t-shirt. “Niichan,”

“Gonna cum? Hmm? Gonna make a mess all over niichan’s cock?” he’s asking breathlessly, slamming into you at a rapid pace and using his thighs for more leverage, hands gripping your hips.

“Uh-huh,”

“Do it, then,” he commands hoarsely. “Cum on your niichan’s cock,”

And you do, helplessly, incapable of disobeying a direct order, creaming so hard your vision blanks for a second, overwhelmed by the extreme, potent mix of pain and pleasure crashing over you.

“Who do you belong to?” Touya’s nearly keening now, hips jackhammering, making your body twitch and shudder with every sharp thrust into your sensitive pussy.

“You,”

“Tell me again,”

“I belong to you, niichan,”

And those five simple words—those five simple words have him cumming hard, hips stilling and cockhead pressed firmly against your cervix, filling your cute little cunt with his seed as broken curses fall from his lips.

You’re both panting, covered in a thin, sheen layer of sweat, your hair sticking to your face and little droplets of tears still glistening on your lash line. He all but collapses back against the bed, taking you with him, cock still buried inside of you.

“And I’m yours,” he whispers into your hair, hugging you tightly—too tightly—to his heaving chest. “I’m yours,”

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, you wonder if you’re destined to play this game for the rest of your lives.

He’s yours.

Are you stuck with him now, forever?

He’s yours.

Will you every get married? Ever get the chance to date someone else?

He’s yours.

Do you even want to?

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, knowing he’s yours, do you even want any of that?

No. With your head resting against his chest, rising and falling with his gentle breaths, slender fingers combing through your sweaty hair, you realize that this is all you want.

He’s yours, and you’re his, and that is enough.

[tennessoui]

You know one of my favorite Star Wars fic tropes? Evil, feral Anakin being horribly mistreated his whole life and hurt, and then being comforted and nursed back to health by Obi-Wan. And instantly imprinting on him, like, in a "I will kill anyone for you" way. Could be any Obi-Wan! Nice Obi-Wan for that sweet sweet hurt/comfort and kisses and turning Anakin from his murderous ways with the power of kindness! Evil Obi-Wan for sweet double trouble action and delicious obsession with each other!!

this is also one of my favorite star wars tropes!!! i love a needlessly protective and feral Anakin who distrusts everyone except for Obi-Wan.

unfortunately. um. this went a little sideways. and there is no being nursed back to health. but there's some delicious obsession and protectiveness and also future mutual obsession so i'm counting the prompt fill as like 3.5 out of 5 stars for following the prompt, which is. let's be honest, higher than most of my prompt fills. this is a bit dark and contains references to mind tricks, but there is no sex or kissing that could be construed as dub con. just like. dub con emotions i guess

(2.2k)

Quinlan has that look in his eyes, as if he’s about to say something that he knows Obi-Wan won’t like.

Carefully, Obi-Wan puts down his cup of tea and laces together his fingers in his lap. He can already feel a seed of anger blooming inside of him. Since Anakin has re-entered his life and the Temple, he’s found that this deep, swirling rage is harder to give to the Force. And easier to feel at a moment’s notice.

Like almost all the differences in his life now, this can be put on Anakin through no fault of the boy’s own.

After all, Obi-Wan thinks to himself, it is much easier to feel this sort of fury at the galaxy’s injustices when living with someone who has suffered most all of the most grievous kinds.

“Just say it, Quinlan.” Obi-Wan says.

Vos clears his throat. “Where is...your charge?”

“My charge,” he repeats, unimpressed. “You know his name.”

“I know both of his names,” Quinlan fires back. “Does he prefer Anakin or Vader?”

The anger inside of him grows larger at the mention of Vader. As if Anakin would ever prefer the name Sidious gave to him. As if he had chosen it for himself.

As if the Jedi had played no part in the birth of Vader.

“Anakin is asleep,” is all Obi-Wan says.

Quinlan makes a show of peering down the hallway of Obi-Wan’s quarters to the two closed bedroom doors. “In whose bed?”

His hands tighten into fists beneath the table. “That is a bold accusation to make.”

“Why?” his old friend’s posture is forcibly casual, slumped in his seat and hand loosely wrapped around his cup. Obi-Wan wonders if this is how he looks when he’s undercover on missions. The thought settles heavily into his stomach and makes him sit up straighter. If this is a mission to Quinlan Vos, then what is his objective? What does he want with Obi-Wan?

With Anakin?

“The boy’s legally allowed to spread his legs for anyone he wants, Obi-Wan. He's nineteen and everything.”

Obi-Wan can feel his teeth grind together. The fury in his chest is building at an alarmingly fast rate. The thought of anyone touching Anakin like that when the boy’s so obviously traumatized and in need of a tender hand--if he were a lesser Jedi, he’d snarl at Vos to leave.

“Any consent Anakin offers anyone would be dubious at best,” he snaps. “He is nineteen, but he has spent the past ten years of his life being tortured and enslaved by Darth Sidious.”

Quinlan narrows his eyes and looks over Obi-Wan’s face. “That’s not your fault,” he finally says quietly, leaning forward as if to grip his arm before he thinks better of it. “Obi-Wan, listen to me. What happened to Anakin is tragic. Awful. Despicable. But it is not your fault.”

Obi-Wan looks away, his jaw clenched tightly before he forces himself to relax. “I only blame myself for not verifying what I was told.”

“Do you blame the Jedi Council then? For sending the boy away?”

“My master begged me to train the boy, Vos. And while I was in the Halls of Healing, they sent him back to Tatooine. And no one ever checked to make sure he got there. Sidious grabbed him because we--because they allowed him to. And then spent ten years torturing and breaking down a child right under our very noses! Who would you blame, Vos?”

“Sidious,” the other man answers easily. “The Council had no way of knowing that Sidious even knew about the boy, that he was in any danger at all--”

“He was nine!” Obi-Wan roars, slamming a fist on the table, unable to swallow the dark, heavy fury anymore. “He was a child. A slave! They were going to send him back there!”

“To his mother!”

“To his chains,” Obi-Wan corrects fiercely.

Vos purses his lips and crosses his arms. “He is not a child anymore, Obi-Wan. He’s a killer. He’s dangerous. It’s worrying to me that you can’t see it. Or don’t want to see it.”

Obi-Wan wants to scoff. Anakin Skywalker is not dangerous. The boy gets night terrors, begs to be let into Obi-Wan’s bed, and can only sleep if he’s being cuddled up against his chest. He holds his blasted hand in public because he’s terrified of being separated from Obi-Wan again. He’s refused to even touch his lightsaber since the first night Obi-Wan stumbled upon him, bleeding in one of the lower levels of Coruscant. There are some days he won’t even let Obi-Wan touch him to hold him, and he shakes apart in the shadowy corner of his closet, reliving traumas Obi-Wan can’t help him with.

Dangerous. Dangerous.

“No, Obi-Wan, come on. You have to see. The boy’s turning you against the Jedi, against the Council!” “He doesn't need to," Obi-Wan says coldly. "The Jedi seem to be doing a fine job of that themselve."

“That's what I'm talking about!” Vos exclaims, waving an incensed hand. “The Obi-Wan Kenobi I knew would never say that! He would never think a bad thing about the Order, let alone say it! Let alone threaten to leave in the middle of a war if the Council didn’t grant him permission to keep the boy in his rooms! People talk, Obi-Wan! They’re not being kind!”

A thought bubbles up in Obi-Wan’s mind, vicious and sharp. Obi-Wan should not expect kindness from the Jedi. Not about Anakin. Everything they’ve ever done to and said about the boy proves that. Obi-Wan would have to abandon Anakin again to ensure the Council’s kindness and trust in him.

Obi-Wan would rather die than abandon the boy now when he needs him so obviously. He’d rather Fall than turn his back on Anakin, even if that’s what it took to stay in the Order.

“I think you should leave, Vos,” Obi-Wan murmurs quietly. “I think there is little left to say.”

His old friend stares at him from across the table in shock before he stands up without another word. At the door to his quarters, he freezes but doesn’t turn around. “You are attached, Obi-Wan. The Jedi Council will not stand for it. They will not allow it to continue.”

There’s something off with his voice, but Obi-Wan is too concerned with what he’s said to focus on anything else. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, springing to his feet.

But Vos just shakes his head and leaves.

Obi-Wan collapses back into his seat as the door slides shut behind the man, his head buzzing with thoughts. That had sounded like a warning. Would the Council be so bold, so cruel, as to separate Obi-Wan and Anakin forcefully?

Yes, the thought flashes across his mind, followed by a swell of fury.

And then there’s a sleepy little questioning tug on the bond stretching between him and Anakin. His charge must have just woken up and found Obi-Wan still missing.

Obi-Wan tugs back, helpless against the urge to comfort Anakin. The bond explodes in a tidal wave of joy, the way it always does when Obi-Wan uses their illicit connection to communicate. He hadn’t in the early days, too afraid of the Council and the Code to do something so forbidden.

Now he cannot seem to muster enough regard for the Jedi to care. It is nice to feel Anakin in his mind, where he belongs. Where he’s always belonged.

---

In the bedroom that Obi-Wan keeps on insisting is not theirs, Vader allows his eyes to open as he slips out of meditation. He had been too forceful there at the end with Vos, fed him the exact words he needed him to tell his new master.

That sort of mind trick is too sloppy and easily discovered. It is much harder to trace emotional manipulation, especially over time. He’s been doing it for months now, the Jedis’ mental shields no match for his raw power trained to be sharp as a vibroblade.

It’s all just been a matter of slowly strengthening the other Jedis’ already existing mistrust and doubt about him, all the while crying to Obi-Wan about his past and his fears. It served to highlight the Jedi hypocrisy to his new master, and when he felt that first seed of anger grow in Kenobi’s mind, he encouraged it to grow faster.

The downside, of course, has been that Obi-Wan sees him as a scared child in need of protection. Vader is working on that too though, lengthening the touches they share and letting his shields fall at inopportune moments, like when he’s playing with himself in the fresher, so his master understands that Vader is capable of bringing him pleasure of all kinds.

It’s very important Obi-Wan understands that he can get everything he needs from Vader alone. There will be no one else, for either of them.

Sidious will die soon. The Jedi will die sooner. Vader and Obi-Wan can take their proper place, as Emperors of the Galaxy.

After Obi-Wan falls, of course.

It won’t take long now though.

Joy at the thought of one day looking into Obi-Wan’s golden eyes pushes Vader out of their bed and into the common area. He rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand a few times, and then it’s Anakin who’s crossing the space separating him from his master so he can settle in Obi-Wan’s lap.

Obi-Wan accepts him into his arms immediately, and Anakin has to fight the urge to smile in victory as he squirms in an attempt to get comfortable, only stopping when he’s straddling his master, sitting directly over his cock.

He wraps his arms around his master’s neck and buries his face in the juncture between his shoulder and throat.

Feeling daring, he licks slightly at the skin there, just to feel the way Obi-Wan’s hands tighten on his hips. “Missed you,” he murmurs, inhaling greedily.

Nothing in the entire universe smells as good as Obi-Wan, holds Anakin as gently as Obi-Wan, cares as much about him as Obi-Wan does.

He’d kill everyone in the galaxy for his master, if it was asked of him. He wouldn’t even think twice about it. And one day, soon, his master will feel the same.

Especially when his pesky Order has been dealt with, an execution order stamped with Sidious’ name. The only good thing his old master has ever given him.

The Jedi will die, Anakin will be blameless, and Obi-Wan will be safe from harm’s way. That’s why he’d had to push Vos so messily at the end there. Obi-Wan needs to be safe before the planned Order #66, and there’s no telling what Sidious will do now that Anakin has escaped.

“I heard voices,” he prompts, when Obi-Wan seems content to just sit silently and trace shapes on the bare skin of his back.

Obi-Wan hums. “Yes,” he admits. “An...old friend came to visit.”

Anakin bites gently at the skin of Obi-Wan’s throat and pulls back enough to make eye contact. He doesn’t know if his eyes are blue or gold right now, but either way Obi-Wan seems entranced by them. Riveted.

He pouts. “Your old friends never stay around long enough to meet me,” he says with a tremble in his voice, as if he cares about Obi-Wan’s old friends.

Obi-Wan reaches a hand up and thumbs over Anakin’s bottom lip. Anakin holds his breath. It’ll ruin everything if he sucks at it right now, despite how much he’s craving to map the whorls with his tongue.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathes out, and Anakin changes his grasp so he’s now holding tightly to the front of his robes. “I must tell you something you may not want to hear.”

The Dark inside of him roars and snarls at this statement. If Obi-Wan has decided to make him leave, Anakin will not go quietly. Anakin will kill the entire Jedi Order himself, until this glowing angel--so warm, so bright in the Force--only has him.

“The Council will try to take you away from me,” his master murmurs.

Anakin makes his eyes go round and wet. It’s not even that much of an act: he just has to think of Obi-Wan agreeing with his stupid Council, and suddenly he’s appropriately tearful and afraid.

“No, no, Anakin, don’t cry,” his master croons, grasping the back of his neck and touching their foreheads together. Then, in a firmer tone, he says the words Anakin has been waiting to here for months. “I will not let that happen. We must leave the Order. I’m sorry, dear one. I can only imagine how much you wanted this place to be your home.”

Anakin has to rip his head out of Obi-Wan’s grasp and bury it in his neck so his dear master can’t see his smirk. Oh, Obi-Wan. The man may never understand that the only thing Anakin wants is already holding him tightly against his chest.

But Anakin will remind him. Anakin will remind him for the rest of his life.

“When do we leave?” Anakin whimpers, wondering if he’s overdoing it slightly, but Obi-Wan’s grip on his back only tightens.

When Obi-Wan speaks, his voice doesn’t waver at all. There’s not a single shred of indecision in his force signature either. “Tonight,” his master says, brushing a barely there kiss against the crown of his head. “We leave tonight.”

Vader smiles in bliss and burrows impossibly further into his master’s arms, nipping at his master’s skin again, just because he knows he will not be pushed away. This is the safest place in the galaxy, and now it will be his forever.

Victory tastes sweet. Obi-Wan’s skin tastes even sweeter.

[existslikepristin]

Please, No Virginity Puns

The most recent thing I posted before tumblr. It was on Choerry's birthday, and I am proud of that.

Tags: TheLounge, Loona, Choerry, male reader insert, it's her birthday!, 100% butt stuff, I ate a thesaurus

~~~~~

It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you get there?

Well, moments prior, you were sitting next to Choerry at your small dinner table. She’s always insisted on sitting as close to you as possible in order to enable near-constant snuggling. It’s gotten a little annoying here and there, but you can’t help but concede to her innocent demands whenever she smiles.

Of course, and not that you’ve ever complained about this, that’s not to say that her demands aren’t always entirely innocent. Most of the time they are, but not always.

That day, for example, you woke her up with breakfast in bed. It wasn’t tradition, but you were just getting her back for the last time she did it for you. And what better day to present her, prone, with a pancake, pulverized potato, and porridge parfait platter… with toppings… than her birthday?!

It can be hard to tell if Choerry is acting or not at times, but you’d like to think that her cartoonish level of enthusiasm for the treat was entirely real. She carried that sunshine throughout the rest of your day, skipping through the park, greeting everybody on the way to, inside, and on the way out of The Lounge, at the surprise party that you helped all of her members get her with, and when she dragged you to her room.

Not a drop of alcohol had touched her lips that night, so it was all the more surprising when she shoved you onto her bed and stated matter-of-factly-but-also-vaguely that she wanted you to put a thing in her butt. Her words came out of her mouth like shimmery soap bubbles.

You had to pause for a moment to process her words. You were certainly up for some sexy times with Choerry. You had anticipated it was going to happen when she put your hand down her pants near the end of the birthday party with no attempt at subtlety. But her exact word choices had you rubbing your temples out of exasperation, even as she stripped herself down to her ridiculously cherry red lingerie.

Your chance to admire that rare view was lost to history, however. She removed the lingerie from her body while she claimed your lips. Your disappointment at not getting the opportunity to remove it yourself quickly faded when she popped back up though.

Her breasts were as perky as her attitude, and also your dick. She was quick to notice the latter and made quick work of your clothes too. She sighed satisfactorily at the sight of your sword and stooped to supply it with a suck and some slickening slobber, so you suspected the sex was starting summarily; more swiftly than standard, it seemed.

Concerned for her well being, you made sure to ask if she had lube available. Again, you weren’t going to complain about her gusto, but she lacked the anal experience that some of your mutual friends had, at least you assumed. Sure enough, there was a bottle mere feet from her reach in her drawer. She grabbed it and jumped back on top of you, pouring it generously over her ass crack and your cock with surprising accuracy for someone so engaged with a hot and heavy kiss.

You were sure you had something to say on the matter. Perhaps some additional words of caution, maybe some other words of encouragement. It didn’t matter what you had to say anymore. Choerry was already on top of you, nude and keeping you muted with her tongue. How did you-- come back around to the exact same thought that the story began with?

“It’s okay, right?”

You attempted to blink away your stupefaction. “O-okay?”

“Mhm! For me to… you know!” She leaned in and whispered directly into your ear, “Put your penis in my butt.”

Ah, yes. The demand that you had nearly forgotten in her flurry of kisses, now slightly reworded to include your dick in the equation. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just checking!”

“We’ve… done this before.”

“I know!” Choerry swooped back in to continue kissing you, implying that she had no intention of expounding further. Her fingers wrapped around your cock, massaging the whole length to ensure that the lube had maximum coverage.

Your breath caught as you felt her readjusting you, tapping you around between her legs as she tried to match you up with her intended target purely via exploration. Your cock was ground between her ass cheeks, the tip slid over her clit, and dipped briefly into her pussy. A groan was the only complaint you could give to only being given a half second of her fantastic heat.

You didn’t have to wait long to get it back. Her ass opened up to the pressure she applied against it with your dick, but exceptionally slowly. Choerry released a series of little exclamations into your mouth as she pushed. She tossed the lube bottle to the side and snatched your hand, curling her fingers into your palm.

Finally, the last pop came, and was followed by a short slide. With no more manual guidance necessary, she grabbed your other hand as well, which promptly slipped out of her grip considering the amount of lube present.

Choerry released you from your kissy bliss to look at her slippery hand, a mixture of anger and amusement on her face. She tried a couple more times to hold your hand with it, but you liked this look. You easily slithered your hand out from under hers every time she slapped down. It was like watching a cat trying to catch a laser pointer.

It was just another reminder that no matter how deep inside Choerry you may physically be, she’ll never stop bringing a goofy-ass smile to your face.

Finally, you relented and entwined your fingers with hers, locking your knuckles together so you wouldn’t fall apart. She glared down into your eyes, but a grin still crept through. “Thank you,” she said, lips tight and nose scrunched up.

With you fully in her grasp, Choerry straightened herself up, allowing you the opportunity to look up and down her sublime figure. Though her movement caused her to cause you to penetrate her a bit further which caused her to flinch slightly, she kept herself aloft on her knees to not go too far all at once. She closed her eyes and took a series of deep breaths there, as calmly as if she was meditating.

As much as you wanted to go ham on her ham, you didn’t want to hurt her, so you contented yourself with watching her chest rise and fall. “Happy birthday…” you whispered.

“You’ve already told me that today,” Choerry intoned, eyes still closed like she was drifting off into her own little world.

You laughed. “I was saying it to myself! Have you seen you?”

She smiled again, and said three words in a voice that made it seem like she was speaking to an audience on the edge of their seats, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Her fingers constricted around yours, so you questioned if she was, in fact, ready. But you wouldn’t be the one to stop her.

Choerry’s tight tush trucked its way toward the top of your tower twice to tighten her take on the task at the time, before torturously trending testicle-ward. She temporized without taking your entire tool.

So hypnotized were you with her graceful movement that you didn’t even notice the frustrated moan coming up your throat until it was too late.

Her eyes popped open. “I’m sorry!” She sounded like she meant it, too. “This is… tough.”

“Take your time,” you said, straining your voice for comic effect.

“Could have used that four paragraphs ago,” she said, continuing her extremely slow descent down your shaft.

The odd statement distracted you just long enough for Choerry to finish her drop. No longer did space separate your pelvises. You grew concerned again when she winced and bit her lip from the inside.

“Choerry, we really can do something else. Don’t hurt yourself please.”

She gave you an exaggerated, indignant gander. “Rhetorical question: Who gets to choose the cake on her birthday?”

You held in your “cake” joke.

“It’s me,” Choerry’s voice was far too chipper to make this talking-to sound as stern as you were sure she wanted it to come across as. “As birthday lady, I get to pick the cake, and I get to feed it to you if I want to.”

You held in your “cake feeding” joke.

“And tonight, the cake I pick is my bum.”

You opened your mouth to comment on her most excellent selection of the word “bum” in the midst of a scenario where your cock is fully inside of said bum, but you instead gasped a sharp breath.

Choerry ground forward, pulling your dick with her and anointing the lowermost part of your stomach with the juices being lightly sprinkled from her clit.

“Besiiides,” she continued, re-angling her hands to she could tickle the backs of yours, “We have all the lube! Even some that’s got a certain special flavor to it!”

“Just some?”

“Yeah, ooh,” she crooned, apparently quite enjoying the grind back down your pelvis, “I didn’t get it all at once. Now guess the flavor!”

You waited for her grinding to pause again to be able to think straight, “Does it start with a ‘C?’”

Her smile grew. “Yes!”

“Is it a fruit?”

“Yes!”

“Is it… cherry?”

“Failure!”

“Wha--”

“It’s coconut!”

If you weren’t so established in your hand holding with Choerry, you’d have palmed your face. Thankfully, thoughts of how she could have possibly expected you to guess that were pushed to the back of your mind as she resumed her removal of your breath with a series of fanciful body rolls.

Finally fucking her fanny felt fictional. For while not the first foray there, far-fetched was the philosophy that it was fielded often, the front being the favored fornication fissure for the foreseeable future. Unless, of course, you could make this an especially special session.

But woe was unto you. Choerry had the upper hand(s) figuratively as well as literally. But, perhaps, you thought, this was exactly what she wanted and you could wait your damn turn to take control.

And you liked letting her anally probe herself this way, so, you know, what were you to do but enjoy the ride?

Over the course of her self-imposed ravaging, Choerry’s meditative breaths became ragged. Her eyelids fluttered at regular intervals. Through it all, she held her phantasmagorical demeanor. A couple of times she reached for the lube bottle and shotgunned it somewhat inaccurately between her legs, but it did the job. You were happy to see that she was still considering her own comfort.

In fact, to your surprise, her mouth opened wide in a silent shout. Her core trembled anticipatorily. Her hands held yours with a colossally increased lewdness. And those two mystical words trickled from her tongue with a high-pitched susurration, “I’m… cumming…”

Choerry’s grinding came to a grinding halt. Her body jerked and she fell onto you. Your cock sprang free of her ass in, and as a result of, the same motion.

You untangled one of your hands to stroke her back in the most adoring fashion you could muster. After chewing on a thesaurus for the prior hour, you were sure neither of you really needed any more words.

She stayed there for a spell, and you were happy to let her. It was so late it was nearly no longer her birthday, but her birthday it still was. She deserved the rest, along with the rest of your undivided attention.

Her whole movement consisted of her back going up and down as her lungs attempted to revive her fighting spirit, and her thumb lovingly shifting over the divinatory lines on your palm. You wished she would do something about her hair plastered on your chin, but ninety-nine percent of paradise is paradise enough.

You were disappointed when Choerry rose once more, slimily straddling your stomach. She detached her hands from yours to give the hair on either side of her face a good backward flick over her shoulders, and she sighed with contentment.

It was a shock to hear her speak again after such a prolonged reticence, but her unerringly cheerful voice was entirely welcome nonetheless.

“More please.”

You couldn’t then, and you still can’t help but concede to her innocent demands. Her smile just touched the corner of her lips. Sure, some of her demands aren’t so innocent, but… How did you get here again?

[whatanoof]

Cal Kestis Headcanons that No One Asked For

So I’ve slowly been going through story mode of Jedi: Fallen Order, and I’m about to go to the Fort Inquisitorius so I haven’t even finished yet but I’m absolutely in love with Cal Kestis, so here are some hc about him, romantic and non-romantic.

SPOILERS FOR JEDI: FALLEN ORDER

Cal x female!reader

You both love it when you play with his hair. The first time was almost an accident on your part, because you were just sitting behind him on the bunk while he’s tinkering with his saber and staring at the back of his head. It’s so red, and you’d honestly rarely seen such a bright color naturally occurring, much less growing out of a human head? Your hand brushed a strand almost of its own volition, and you both just froze. He slowly turned to look at you, and you almost stopped breathing because Did you just mess up did you just fuck up the relationship oh shit shit shit--. And he just whispers, “Uh, could you do that again?” And you’re in such a state of shock and relief that you just scoot back on the bunk and gesture at your open lap. Cere walks in on the two of you later, him dopey and almost asleep with his head in your lap, your fingers running through the silky strands. She doesn’t say anything, even when Greez points out the two small braids that you left at the nape of his neck.

He’s so competitive. Like come on, this man refused to back down from  two or three separate fights against fully-fledged Inquisitors and one insane Jedi Master while he was still technically a Padawan. So he won’t let you beat him. At anything. You’re watering the latest seed that he brought back from a planet? Bam, he’s got Greez’s special plant food and he’s giving every single one of them a five-course meal. If you’re a Jedi, and you’re meditating in the back of the Mantis? You open your eyes after ten or so minutes and he’s right there in front of you, doing that little concentration face that you fell in love with so easily. If you’re a Jedi, you’re evenly matched in almost everything that you do in terms of abilities, and you teach each other where you’re not. Greez is terrified of watching you two spar, because you don’t hold back, but you’re also so equal to him in skill that it’s a whirl of light and blocking known attacks. 

Him and BD-1 were a package deal, but as soon as you were welcomed aboard the Mantis, Cal couldn’t believe how easily the little droid warmed up to you. Of course, BD sticks with Cal and is his right hand man on adventures, but Cal no longer occupies 100 percent of BD’s free time. You refuse to tell Cal exactly where, but you found a spot right behind BD’s “head” where if you scratch it, the droid is on the ground and kicking a leg in the air in happiness. If you’re a mechanic, you can usually be found in the back, tinkering with BD’s processor to make it run more efficiently, or oiling his joints again, or designing new paint jobs for the happy little droid. Either way, you’ve stolen a decent fraction of the droid’s affection, and none of the Mantis crew has any idea how you did it. It’s actually the first thing that urged you and Cal to start spending more time together, and you remember BD’s happy little hops after you’d finally kissed Cal for the first time.

There is absolutely no backing for this, but I think that Cal can sing. Nothing fancy, of course, it’s not like there are vocal lessons available on Bracca or in the Jedi Order, but he can carry a tune. It’s sometimes the only way you can fall asleep on the Mantis, because even though Greez and the crew make it cozy, it’s not home. But as soon as you’re curled up in the twin-sized bunk, and Cal starts humming to you, you’re out before he’s finished the chorus. Sometimes the songs are happy, but they’re often little ditties that he heard from the clones before Order 66, or mourning songs that fellow workers on Bracca would sing during the night when the rain was pounding on the metal and creating a natural rhythm and harmony for the tired mechanics. They’re songs of lost love, fallen brothers, and vague longings for newer, better lives. You fall asleep to his soothing voice, but you often wake with an ache in your heart for the suffering and pain that Cal has experienced and witnessed in his short life.

He’s ticklish. He hates that you know. He hates that you told Merrin, and now she can blackmail him into getting her favorite foods from supply markets. But you love the childish giggles that you’re able to pull out of him when you finally corner him and run your fingers over his neck. Tickle fights always end in make-out sessions.

+18 NSFW under the cut

So... Cal never had the chance to understand wanting intimacy before you, sexual and non-sexual. He was terrified the first time he looked at you and didn’t recognize that strange feeling in his chest. He’d never felt it before, was there something wrong with him? Was he sick? It takes a sit-down with Greez for him to figure out what’s going on, and it’s even scarier than the possibility of illness. Jedi were forbidden to love, it had always been a taboo in his mind, even if he had never had the opportunity to find out what it felt like.

He pushes it away at first. He ignores the flutters in his chest when you’re laughing with Merrin at dinner. He denies the complete shorting out of his brain when he accidentally brushes too close to you while trying to get to your shared bunk. 

He has his first wet dream, and wakes up absolutely throbbing with the memory of the dream that involved you and him and way too little clothes for his repressed childhood. He tries to grit his teeth and go back to sleep, but it’s too uncomfortable, and he can’t get the image of your body out of his mind. Jedi Masters always gave their Padawans the sex talk, and Jaro Tapal was nothing if not a good Master. So Cal knows basically what he has to do to relieve the tension so that he can get a little more sleep. He just doesn’t expect to lose control of himself to the point where he grunts your name when he comes. His heart just about stops when he hears the bed above him creak, and he yanks the sheets over his head until he’s sure that you’re not awake. He gets up early the next morning so that he can clean up without fear of you catching him.

After you get together, Cal is even more scared of the relationship. He had checked with Cere, and though she skews more traditional in her beliefs, she knows that Cal’s trauma and overcoming of it is more than she could hope to understand. Maybe this relationship could bring a stability to his life that nothing else could provide. She cautions him on the power of Dark Side, and how the fear of losing love dragged many great Jedi astray. But she also trusts you, and she knows that you would never do anything to hurt him. She hadn’t missed the lovesick puppy eyes you’d been sending his way.

You start out promising to take it slow. Neither of you had much experience in the areas of relationships and dating, much less sex, so at the beginning, you make sure to clarify that there’s no pressure to rush through anything. It’s mostly just spending more time together, slowly exploring each other. You both learn about each other’s pasts, and spend time talking through the different experiences, rationalizing and comforting each other. Before you even begin to experiment in bed, he’s become your best friend.

When you finally do, it’s short and sweet and perfect for two people who are trying to take their relationship slow. You teach him about what you like, and he gasps out in between moans what feels good and ohhh, what feels even better. 

Okay, a bit of a time skip here, but after Cal’s more experienced, he is a sucker for you riding his thigh. He’s built and strong, so the ridge of muscle beneath you and rubbing against every single spot that sparks delicious warmth in your belly brings you to climax so much more quickly than you could have expected. He loves looking up at you, mouth open and eyes half shut in ecstasy as you chase your high, your heat leaving sticky wetness on his thigh that only serves to make him harder. He’ll grind his leg up if only to hear that heavenly little squeal and whimper that he can get out of you. You’re beautiful to him even on the worst days, but when you’re above him, sweaty and on the brink of coming all over his thigh? Stars, you’re the most glorious thing he’s ever seen, and he rode a shyyyo bird over the untouched forest of Kashyyyk.

Sadcanons. Don’t read if you don’t want sad feels tonight

There is no denying that Cal’s not a whole person at the beginning of the storyline. He definitely regains some of himself back, but there are parts of him that I believe died with the clones and died with Jaro. There are times where he has nightmares, and when he wakes up, he doesn’t want to be with anyone. Even you. He’ll lapse into silence for hours and days at a time, staring at the blank wall while you try to get him to eat or drink something because damnit it’s been days and he hasn’t so much as moved. Your heart breaks at every sign of his damage, because you know that there is only so much you can do to help. This is a journey that he has to complete independently, though it doesn’t mean that you won’t be here for him when he wakes up.

You trace his scars to comfort him. He’s insecure about them, and is terrified of the memories that they bring back. But when you’re there, loving even his jagged edges, it’s all marginally better and he can bear to live with himself a little more.

He comforts you too. Whatever your background, the Clone Wars and the Purge gave everyone a little bit of damage, and you were no different. He holds you when you’re crying, and comforts you after your nightmares. He’ll purposefully pick a happy song to sing when he knows that you’re down, and he never fails to make you laugh through the tears.

His psychometry allows him to understand your trauma better than you could hope to understand his. Before you even allow him to sense your past, you make him promise to not internalize any of it. You know that he would, though it makes no logical sense. He promises. 

Oops I made myself yearn. Now back to our regularly scheduled program of single life. School’s kicking my ass right now, but this made me feel better so I can’t complain too much.

But in all seriousness, I recommend this game 10/10. The Star Wars content is absolutely impeccable, the graphics are gorgeous, it gives me a thrill in my chest to know that every single second is canon. Cal is a beautifully written character, and even though his story breaks my heart, it’s written so well. He doesn’t lash out in anger, rather internalizing his fears and pain in a way that I can relate to, and he’s scarily powerful. It’s a feel good story for me despite the pain, and I’m looking forward to finishing it this weekend!

[phoenixyfriend]

That One Fucked-Up Rexwalker AU

OKAY so people showed interest in this! Cool! This is... actually you know what, yeah, this falls into dead dove territory. It's kind of angst with a happy ending? At the very least it's hurt/comfort.

Warnings: rape as psychological torture by an enemy party, later dubious consent by parties that are at least trying to make it consensual but the situation makes it difficult to navigate

This was inspired partially by the first chapter of this collection by @the-writing-mill, which features Obi-Wan getting absolutely railed by a fucking machine set up by droids who don't understand consent. I got to thinking about the set-up and slid sideways into a slightly different context.

So Anakin, in all his shitty luck, gets captured, as one does. Whoever captures him has strict instructions to avoid physically damaging him or permanently fucking up his connection to the Force, because they'd like to use him as a weapon eventually, but to play around with his psychological damage in whatever way suits.

We'll say it's Ventress, who vastly prefers horrifying physical damage for torture, or killing/hurting people's loved ones in front of them, and now has to get creative to deal with Skywalker, because for whatever reason, she only managed to get Anakin and not any of his friends.

Obviously, Palpatine is the one saying 'don't damage the good.' She doesn't know that, though, just that Dooku said His Sith Master said to leave Skywalker intact for later.

So the easy route to psychological damage is, well, rape. But she's not into him, and there aren't really any other sentients in her little torture castle, but last she checked Skywalker is really needy? She's picked up on the fact that this guy really loves Having people.

She handles it: strip him down, strap him down, and get a fucking machine involved. Naked and cold and with a pipe leaking from the ceiling. Let a protocol droid keep an eye on things so he doesn't have some kind of permanent physical damage, but basically just have him unceasingly fucked for like a week, sometimes edging and sometimes forcing and sometimes just really digging into the oversensitivity, whether he's awake or asleep or what. Nothing but air and metal, and sometimes Ventress when she comes by to taunt him. There's magic involved to up his sexual craving without making it any easier on him.

It's fucked up but he does get saved! Eventually!

Ventress did her job, didn't enjoy it, and doesn't care that he's gone. She has people to kill, okay, she's bored.

So, you know, Anakin needs time to recover. He doesn't try to argue that he doesn't, at least partly because he's having trouble standing. He'll be fine! Stop worrying, guys! It's fine!

It's not fine, everyone tells him, because that was fucked!

It takes a while to get back to Coruscant. It's normally a few days, but there's a disruption on the hyperlane they'd use, sooooooo they're stuck.

Anakin tries to make some calls to Padme. When the calls connect, she helps. Obi-Wan was part of the rescue team, so he's there to do what he can, but Anakin keeps flinching away. Ahsoka is helpful because Anakin's hindbrain reads her as Not A Threat, but nobody's telling her what kind of torture Anakin was dealing with, because she's Designated Baby.

Anakin is alternately overwhelmed by physical touch and craving it, and the fact that he just got the Force back isn't helping.

(It later comes to light that the reason he flinches from Obi-Wan and Ahsoka is because they've got the Force and a person with the Force approaching for that week meant Ventress, and that's--not great. And it's just a LOT and REALLY BRIGHT after his time in the Force-nullifying cuffs.)

So Anakin spends a lot of time alone, craving people while being deeply unnerved by the ones he's most able to ask for that sort of thing (his master and padawan). Rex is one of a handful of clones that volunteer to check in on Anakin until they get to Coruscant. He's not the only one who walks in on Anakin shifting uncomfortably and looking red in the face, but he's the one that actually asks about it.

Anakin, with some prodding, does not admit to the problem. He does, however, admit to a different problem, and asks if Rex would be okay with a hug, or maybe putting an arm around Anakin's shoulder, or--actually, no, this is stupid, forget he said anythi-- Rex sits down next to him and pulls Anakin into his side and just lets Anakin relax into him.

Anakin starts shivering. Shuddering. Crying, after a while. Rex lets it happen and tries not to panic, just rubs an hand up and down Anakin's arm.

They don't really talk about it, but Anakin does end up cuddling with Rex for a few hours a day while they try to get everyone home, and Anakin's kind of on enforced medical leave, so he can't really help until Obi-Wan comes up with a solution that gives Anakin a job directly.

Rex finally gets an answer to why Anakin keeps looking uncomfortable and close to tears but embarrassed about it. He doesn't, for the record, press for that answer. Instead, he accidentally walks in on Anakin three fingers deep in his own ass and whining into his pillow.

Which is. Awkward.

Obviously.

Turns out whatever Ventress did to him has him feeling incredibly empty without something to plug him up! It sucks! He hates it! He's been trying very hard not to submit to this need, but it's still there and he needs to be filled up and just snapped and had to do something about it!

This is, as you can imagine, not a comfortable conversation for anyone, but Rex tries to cheer him up with "Well, Jedi have stipends, right? You can probably find, uh, a toy, right? Once we're back on Coruscant? Or the Senator...?"

Anakin doesn't want Padme to know.

Anakin is also near tears but that's. Well. Rex is used to that by now.

(Anakin isn't using shipboard fabricators to make a dildo or plug because have fun explaining that on the expense report!)

So Rex is in this awkward position of having to comfort his recently-more-traumatized-than-before superior officer, whom he just walked in on furiously and tearfully masturbating due to said trauma...

And Rex is pretty much just like "Dude, please call your wife and have her talk you through the... whole... thing... I'm just, I think you'd probably feel less upset about having to fill yourself or whatever if she was talking you through it?"

They drop the subject for a bit, but Anakin is still Fucked Up in many ways, including new and exciting ones, and it turns out he hasn't been sleeping! And only sleeps if there's someone he trusts nearby!

So obviously Rex volunteers because fuck it, it's not like there's anything about his General he hasn't seen yet, right? So, yeah! Sleepy cuddles! Intended to be platonic!

Rex wakes up hard and flushed and with a very much still asleep Anakin grinding his ass against Rex's crotch.

Which, under significantly different circumstances, he'd not be upset by... But given literally everything going on, um. No?

Rex has no idea what to do, so he just kind of lays there and tries to shift away so his back is pressed to the wall and Anakin isn't accidentally trying to fuck himself in his sleep. Which works.

For about fifteen minutes.

And then Anakin is whining and shuffling back and Rex just tries to wake him up like Dude, You Don't Actually Want This, You Told Me You Don't Want This

And they separate and avoid each other and shower, and Rex leaves to go do Things while Anakin continues to try to meditate away what trauma he can before they get back to Coruscant for extremely long mandated therapy.

Rex shows up that evening to cuddle again, but Anakin tries to turn him away because He Can't Be Sexually Assualting His Friends In His Sleep, so he should honestly just sleep alone, right? Right, okay, bye Rex, Anakin is so sorry about this morning--

And Rex interrupts that he's not actually upset about it, he's just upset about Anakin being in this position, and Anakin doesn't actually want Rex so that's kind of upsetting, and Rex would be very open to this later after the war when they're not in a position to fuck up their entire legion with a change in dynamics--

And this goes back and forth for a bit before Rex realizes that Anakin does actually want him, and did before this whole Situation happened, and Anakin realizes that Rex is interested in him and NOT just trying to 'do his duty for his Jedi' or whatever.

And anyway, it turns into some very sweet lovemaking every night where Anakin gets to fall asleep with a cock in his ass, filled with cum, with Padme's blessing, until they get to Coruscant and he can find a plug for the nights they're not together (and also some therapy).

When Obi-Wan finds out they're fucking, he's actually furious and ALSO unsure of which one's taking advantage of the other.

Initially assumes Rex is taking advantage of Anakin's recent emotional traumas. Anakin protests that he asked Rex for this, and Obi-Wan is asking in horror if Anakin ordered one of the soldier under his command to do this, and it all just kind of goes very poorly.

Everyone means well. Nobody really succeeds at it.

[dreamietarot]

November: what you need to know ✨ Pick-a-Card Tarot Reading

Featuring the Wildwood Tarot deck!

Pick a pile below and see what you need to know this coming month.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Pile 1: Aventurine

Four of Bows, Six of Vessels, Seven of Vessels

This month is going to bring up a lot of memories for you. Things might resurface from childhood or your personal + relational history - whether that’s an ex-partner re-emerging, an old friend coming to visit, or an old trauma being reopened - and how you choose to handle this is up to you. There are parts to your history that must be processed and dealt with, but there are also parts to celebrate.

Mourning things we’ve lost in life is a difficult process, but ultimately it’s one that will heal and renew us. This November, be aware of the ways you’ve been wronged or hurt - but don’t let yourself fall prey to a victim mindset. You are in control of your life now! The things from the past can’t hurt you if you don’t give them power over you. Spend time talking with a loved one or maybe a mental health professional about the ways you’ve struggled. But don’t forget the ways you’ve been resilient, too - how have you thrived despite your bad experiences? That’s what’s worth celebrating.

Pile 2: Red Jasper

Seven of Arrows, the Seer, The World Tree

For you this month I see a time of great persona growth! You have been struggling internally with insecurity and self-esteem, but it’s time to buckle down and do some self reflection. I know you want to do the hard work of self improvement, and now is the time! November will open opportunities for you to do some thinking about YOU and what you want out of life. Take those chances!

Now is an excellent time to take up mindful practices like meditation, journaling, art, or other similar endeavors. Try to track your emotions and how you feel through this month.

I think this month is going to end in a really good place for you - it’ll be a month of hard work, but you are going to get there! Self reflection is never easy, but it can be incredibly rewarding and end with us feeling more whole and happy than we could’ve imagined.

Pile 3: Tiger’s Eye

Balance, Three of Bows, and Ace of Bows

What a prosperous month you have ahead of you! I sense advancement for you in multiple areas of life, but especially in career, schooling, or personal creative endeavors. You’re going to find a lot of passion this month, and maybe make some big discoveries about what you want to do with your life! The Ace of bows in particular tells me that you are actively uncovering new pathways and opportunities towards fulfillment.

One warning for you this month is to step away from “the grind” when you need a breather, though! You can’t be working 24/7, and work life balance is incredibly important. Don’t feel guilty for setting aside “productivity” for 15 minutes, and hour, or a day! We all need time to spend with ourselves decompressing. I’m so glad you’re going to find something new that sparks passion in you this month, but don’t forget to take time for yourself, too!

[actuallysaiyan]

Hot Love(Jiraiya x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 1,443 Pairings: Jiraiya x Fem!Reader Warnings: Slight smut, oral sex Summary: Reader has been pining for Jiraiya since she first met him when she was a genin. He’s always had his eyes on Tsunade, until Tsunade plans a mission for both of them and tries to set them up. When Jiraiya sees reader naked for the first time, he can’t believe how blind he’s been all these years...

For years, you always felt like you trailed behind the three legendary sannin. You were a few years younger than them, and both Orochimaru and Jiraiya saw you as a bother when you were a child. Tsunade was the only person who actually decided to take you under her wing, and she trained you good. You grew up admiring all three of them, but truth be told, you were absolutely smitten with Jiraiya. Even if he saw you as a bother and a nuisance for years, you couldn’t help the way you felt.

And now, years later and you’re all grown up, you still had those feelings for Jiraiya. These days he was way too busy with his books to think of you as a nuisance, and Tsunade was now Hokage. You were just a jounin, spending your days training your own team and shaping up the future shinobi. You were proud of yourself, but you always wondered what your life would be like if you had pursued Jiraiya.

One day, you found yourself in Tsunade’s office with Jiraiya by your side. The years had been very good to him, as he grew to become a very handsome and sexy older man. You couldn’t help yourself by checking him out a little as Tsunade explained to you the mission you both would be going on. Tsunade was sending you and Jiraiya to a small village to gather some intel for her about the Akatsuki. You didn’t mind that at all; in fact, you were hoping to get a little alone time with Jiraiya.

Unfortunately, the first part of the mission didn’t go as planned. Jiraiya basically ignored you as he continued to plan ideas for his next book and was quiet almost the whole way to the village. You tried your best to keep your frustrations to yourself, but you weren’t sure how long you could keep your secret feelings to yourself. It was driving you mad, and you thought for sure that finally, you were going to be able to tell Jiraiya how you truly felt.

“Don’t you think this mission is a little silly for both of us to be going on? It just doesn’t seem like Tsunade to send both of her most trusted friends and some of the best shinobi in the village to go on a simple intel mission.” You said, trying to pull Jiraiya from his perverted thoughts.

“Hmmm...maybe. But I think she trusts us the most, so it would make sense to send us. She’s got a lot on her mind lately…” Jiraiya says, and he mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch.

Once you get to the village, Jiraiya suggests that you both go check into the inn that Tsunade has made reservations for. You are a little annoyed by this point, but you do like the idea of retiring for the evening. You notice that there’s a sign that says there’s an onsen at the inn, so you perk up a little.

The hostess shows you to your room, and you’re not surprised to find that you’re rooming with Jiraiya. You’re a little ticked off now, but you decide to go soak in the hot springs. Your emotions hang heavy on your heart as you watch Jiraiya start flirting with some of the women at the inn. It hurts, but you don’t want to show it. You’ve got way too much pride.

In the hot springs, you are surprised to find that the women’s side is completely deserted. You’re a little relieved to have some peace and quiet, but you’re still meditating over your feelings. You wanted this to be a chance to get close to Jiraiya after all the years you spent apart, but it looks like it wasn’t going to happen after all.

Sighing, you get undressed and sit in the hot water. It feels so good on your sore muscles. You couldn’t help but admit that you were getting old, and you weren’t as spry as you used to be. It was a little embarrassing, but you knew you were still an attractive woman.

Jiraiya, on his side of the onsen, was getting undressed as well. He was very confused to find the place deserted. Nevertheless, he figures he’ll be able to peep on the women without any interruptions from the other men. This made him that much more excited, so he slinks over to a small hole in the wall. He chuckles to himself as he prepares to get an eyeful of gorgeous, young women.

Instead, he’s shocked to see you sitting alone in the hot water. You slowly get up, adjusting your position. Jiraiya can feel his blood pressure start to skyrocket, and he’s having to hold his nose so it won’t bleed. Jiraiya can’t believe how gorgeous you are; since when did you grow into such a sexy person? He’s been so blind with all these younger girls that he’s completely ignored what’s been in front of him.

He sits in the water, trying to compose himself. It’s the first time he’s seen you naked, and he fucking loves it. You’re curvy, and slinky and your legs are so long, and your tits are huge!!! What a jackpot!

Jiraiya decides to get another eyeful, and this time, you know he’s watching. You can hear his heavy breathing and nervous chuckling, so you decided to give him the eyeful he wants.

With your hands on your tits, you squeeze them together and start massaging your own body. You blow a kiss towards Jiraiya and the old man almost has a heart attack. You can hear him panting and wheezing, trying not to have another crazy nosebleed. He hears the door to your side slide open, and he’s a little disappointed he didn’t get to see more from you…

...when you show up on his side, wearing only a small towel. Jiraiya clutches his chest, backing up towards the end of the hot springs. You throw your towel away, swaying into the water as you approach him. Finally, you have his attention.

“Y-y/n, what are you doing here?” he asks, trying to be a little nonchalant.

You just walk right up to him and press your lips to his, not answering his question at all. Your hips grind into his, earning a groan from the older man. He’s rock hard and ready to fuck you, but you want to tease him just a little longer. Jiraiya pulls away from the kiss and he growls.

“How long have you been hiding this body from me?” he demands to know. He knows he’s been stupid about not noticing you earlier, but growing up together made it a little weird between you two.

“Since you never cared to pay attention to me and only had eyes for Tsuna,” you explain, tracing your fingers over the scars on his chest.

“I’ve been an idiot this whole time then,” he says, smirking at you.

You both resume your kiss, this time his tongue slides into your mouth. You can feel a warmth bloom in the pit of your stomach as you grind against him harder, hoping to find some relief from this sexual tension.

Without warning, Jiraiya places you on the edge of the hot springs. He leans in so that his face is at the same level as your sopping, wet pussy. Jiraiya groans as he smells your juices, and this is what spurs him on to start devouring you like a starved man.

He laps at your weeping cunt like his life depends on it, while you tug at his long white locks of hair. You pull him more into your pussy, whining and whimpering as he starts to finger you. You’re both unaware that you are in public at the moment, and you can feel the coil in your stomach start to become tighter. You’re so pent up with sexual energy that you’re going to cum very soon...and very hard.

“Ahem!” you hear from the door, and both you and Jiraiya break apart. You jump into the onsen to try and hide your naked body from the hostess, who is looking at both of you with a playfully scolding look.

“Please, leave the affections for the bedroom. The onsen can be hard to clean if you were to…” she says, and then she leaves you guys to get dressed.

Jiraiya is laughing, and you can’t help but chuckle a little. Then, he pulls you in for another kiss.

“How about we take this to our room?” Jiraiya asks, and you agree.

Finally, you had his attention.

[writinglizards]

Can I be Close to You?

Summary: Geralt's been dealing with Hanahaki for a while. Jaskier comes down with it, too. 

OR, what happens when you're in love with your best friend and your best friend (apparently) falls for another?

This one is for @witcher-and-his-bard both because she’s had a blah day and because this whole fic is her fault anyway. Hope you enjoy it, darling!

Read on Ao3

Witchers don't love. They may feel more emotions than they let on, may be fond of people and places and animals, but they don't love. Not like humans do. Hanahaki isn't something witchers get.

Except Geralt is, once again, proving to be a very stunning exception to every witcher rule.

It doesn't happen all at once. A cough here, a shortness of breath there. It starts after the fiasco with the djinn, when Geralt realized he really would do anything for his bard. As he parts with Jaskier in the fall and treks up the mountain pass to Kaer Morhen, he knows something is off, but what, he doesn't know.

He spends a long winter mostly normally. There's training and chores and long nights playing gwent. He still feels a little breathless, sometimes, but it's not getting worse, so he doesn't really think about it.

He coughs up the first petal on his way down the mountain that spring. It's delicate and butter yellow and just like that, everything slots into place. Hanahaki. Buttercups. Fuck.

---------------------

Hanahaki is a slow death, everyone knows. How beautiful, to love so deeply, so completely that it consumes you. How tragic, for that love to be unspoken, unreturned. The poets, the romantics, love Hanahaki. It's the physical embodiment of that which they wish to put into words.

Geralt thinks it's fucking annoying.

For the few years following that first petal, it's...almost okay. He coughs, sometimes. His chest hurts, sometimes. He can't quite catch his breath, sometimes. But it's all rather rare. Jaskier hardly even notices, even when he's discreetly coughing petals into his fist. It hurts. It's fine.

Gradually, the coughing becomes normal. The petals get more common. It's no longer a single petal, but multiple ones. Partial blooms. Whole buds. He may be able to conceal the little buttercups still, but he won't be able to hide the illness from Jaskier much longer.

His chest hurts near constantly, the spring he comes down the mountain and knows Jaskier will find out. He'd been unable to keep it from Eskel this year and the look he'd given Geralt had been...painful. Upsetting.

Tell him, he'd said, don't make me lose another brother, Geralt. We can't do this without you.

They'll have to, eventually. There's no way Jaskier could ever love him, not like this, not like Geralt loves him--this fragile, delicate thing in his chest, slowly being consumed by flowers. Geralt wouldn't ask that of him, anyway, to love a monster.

---------------------

They meet up on the path at a no-name village at the base of the Blue Mountains, like always. He's nervous this year--he doesn't want to see the look on Jaskier's face when he finds out, doesn't want the pity he's sure will be there in his gaze. Just thinking about it makes his chest hurt, fills him with a flutter of panic.

Jaskier's already got a room at the inn, as he usually does when he beats Geralt to the little village. Geralt knows because as he'd come in, the innkeep had tipped his head towards the stairs with a smile and Geralt had thanked him, ordered their dinner, and ascended the stairs with a curling warmth in his chest. The minute he smells Jaskier's blood on the air, that warmth turns to ice.

"Jaskier?" He's already pushing the door open and marching in, muscles tight with tension. He's not sure what he's expecting, but finding Jaskier bent over a bowl, vomiting tiny white flowers, hands shaking, isn't it.

Conscious thought clatters to a stop even as he steps forward, slips a gauntleted hand into Jaskier's hair to hold the fringe out of his eyes as he heaves, tears running down his cheeks. He hears his own voice as if from under water shushing and soothing, free hand rubbing gently at Jaskier's back.

When the fit seems to have passed, Jaskier shoves the bowl of bloody flowers away, leans heavily against Geralt's chest, breathing ragged. Geralt wants to ask so many questions. Instead, he waits, holds him upright, lets his breathing calm, lets him wipe the tears from his eyes.

"Ask," Jaskier rasps, not moving.

"Hm?"

"You want to ask, ask." He sounds so, so tired. Geralt wants to bundle him up in his cloak, take him back up the pass to Kaer Morhen, tuck him into his bed. There are so many reasons why he can't do that, but gods does he want to.

"How long?" Hanahaki's a slow disease. For Jaskier to be hacking up whole little buds, tiny unfurled flowers? This is advanced.

The smile Jaskier gives is sharp and painful. His teeth are bloody. "Six months," he says. And that's...that's too fast. It would have started just before the harvest festival and...fuck. Jaskier had been a little too pale, a little too quiet, hadn't he? Had Geralt really missed this?

"Jaskier--"

"I know," he cuts off, finally pushing out of Geralt's hold, crossing the room to the water pitcher. "I know. It's--I've always been one to fall hard, you know?" He does. "And by the time I realized, well--" he shrugs.

He watches as Jaskier rinses his mouth out, spits the now pink water into the ruined bowl, overly casual, and realizes...he can't do this.

"Who is it?" he asks, because he is not about to watch the man he loves die. Everyone loves Jaskier. Whoever this is the bard is pining for? They'll love him back. He's sure of it. They'd be a fool not to.

Jaskier stiffens. "I'm not--Geralt," he sighs hard, doesn't turn around. "Geralt, I'm not going to tell them. It's--it would upset them. It's fine."

"No," he grinds out, "it's not fine." He presses up into Jaskier's space, spins him with a hand on his shoulder. "I refuse to watch you die, Jaskier."

The look he gives him is painful in its hopelessness. It doesn't belong on his face, makes Geralt's chest tight. He can feel the tickle of a cough in response, thinks about how poorly timed a coughing fit would be right now and suppresses it, only just. "Geralt," Jaskier says, voice patient and still a little raw, "They won't love me back. Telling them would only hurt both of us. It's...I'd be okay. Dying for them."

"You shouldn't have to," he says, voice gravel rough.

"It is what it is, Geralt," he sighs, "I just--I just want us to have a normal year, okay? Just a normal year." Geralt hears what he isn't saying. I won't make it to the next one.

---------------------

Despite his reservations, Geralt lets Jaskier talk him into setting out on the path. A normal year, despite the fact nothing about this is normal.

Those differences make themselves known long before the end of the first day. Geralt quickly realizes that Jaskier's lung capacity has been greatly diminished--he struggles to keep up with Roach at even the most relaxed pace, needs frequent and long breaks. Geralt's tempted to offer Jaskier his spot on Roach's back but he has a feeling the offer will be ill-received. A normal year would not involve Geralt catering to Jaskier's wants or needs.

Instead, Geralt deliberately slows their pace, takes frequent breaks, and doesn't point out Jaskier's wheezing or the exhausted way he collapses at the end of the day, even though watching him push himself like this is painful. As if to add insult to injury, he isn't singing, either. He still carries his lute, but it's clear his lungs are too burdened to accomplish even the most gentle of singing. It's...upsetting. And Geralt can see how it weighs on him.

The only silver lining is that Jaskier's so fatigued he doesn't catch on that Geralt's not quite well, either. He's frequently passed out cold when Geralt has his worst fits first thing in the morning, buttercups coming up in clusters, stems and leaves attached. And if his voice is a rougher, a little lower, a little more torn up? Jaskier doesn't seem to notice.

It takes them almost three times as long to reach the next town as it should and it's making Geralt jittery. There's no contract posted, but Jaskier looks bad and Geralt's worried. His own chest is overly tight, his own breathing much shallower than normal, but it doesn't matter when Jaskier looks ready to faint on the spot, too pale, too quiet. He spends the last of his coin from the previous fall on a room and a meal and hopes a day's worth of rest will be enough.

---------------------

"Geralt? Do you have a contract?" Jaskier asks the next morning from where he's curled up in the single bed, groggy and hardly awake.

"No."

"Uh, okay...?" Jaskier yawns, which devolves into a coughing fit. Geralt's head snaps up from where he's sitting with his steel sword balanced on his knees, partially meditating. He's about to cross the room and do...something when Jaskier holds up a hand in placation. Geralt stills, watches with a sick feeling in his chest as Jaskier coughs and coughs and coughs. It subsides only when he spits out another fistful of tiny jasmine flowers into his hand, collapsing back on the bed.

"Okay?" Geralt asks, can hear the tightness in his own voice.

"Mm-hm," Jaskier groans, sounding anything but.

Geralt takes a deep, steadying breath in preparation to start the argument again--who is it, Jaskier? Let me help you--but Jaskier starts talking again before he can.

"Why'd you let me sleep in if there's no contract?" He sounds like he's been gargling with rocks. Geralt watches as he thrusts the balled-up fist of flowers over the edge of the bed, lets the bloody, torn things drift to the floor. They look the way Geralt feels--ruined, discarded. His own chest aches.

"You need the rest," he says. Jaskier tenses. Geralt knows it's the wrong thing to say but it's the truth.

"I don't need you to baby me, Geralt. You've never cared before."

That's not true, he thinks but doesn't say. He cares so, so much.

"Jaskier--"

"No," he cuts Geralt off, pushing up onto an elbow to level him with a look that cuts like a knife, "you don't get to do this to me. I choose this, Geralt."

"I--"

"This is where I want to be. On the Path." The with you goes unsaid, but Geralt can feel it hang in the air, the shape of it. He sucks in a breath that catches in his throat, throws him into a coughing fit.

"Geralt?" The worry in Jaskier's voice, the sudden tone shift, is painful. He wants to reassure him, but he's choking on buttercups and blood, stems and leaves. He hears him rise from the bed, stumble over beside him. Gently, Jaskier shifts his sword out of the way, sets it aside. He runs his hand down Geralt's back in a soothing gesture. "Geralt, what's--?" He spits the first of the flowers, still hacking. Jaskier goes very, very still. The hand on his back slows before balling into the fabric, grip tight.

"Ask," Geralt rasps between coughs, an echo of Jaskier's own words a few weeks prior.

"How long." His voice is hauntingly devoid of emotion. Geralt coughs again, chest aching as he brings up another bloody bouquet. He pants through it, gasping for air.

"Since the djinn," he breathes out weakly. Jaskier makes an awful noise.

"Oh, that's--" he cuts himself off, makes that same strangled little sound in the back of his throat again. "That's a long time," he says finally. He thinks Jaskier sounds strange, but his head is spinning from the lack of oxygen and it's hard to tell.

He doesn't respond, just focuses on calming his breathing. He doesn't want another coughing fit if he can help it. The back of his neck feels hot and he knows he's flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.

"I didn't know witchers could get Hanahaki," he says, voice still a little off.

"We don't," Geralt answers. His throat feels on fire, his chest hurts like he's been thrown around by a leshen.

"You do," Jaskier says slowly, "apparently."

"Hm."

It's silent for too long. Geralt finds himself staring blindly at the bloody little buttercups. This is it. Jaskier has to know.

The bunched fist in the back of his shirt eases, carefully. Too carefully. Geralt feels the strain in it. "We need to go see Yennefer," Jaskier says. His voice is also too careful. Carefully controlled, like it usually is when he's performing. Or putting on an act.

"Okay," Geralt agrees. He knows what Jaskier must be thinking--mages can cure Hanahaki, sometimes. It's...painful. Awful. Not something most people want. It's ripping a part of yourself away, the part that loves. Geralt's terrified of it, but he'll do it, if that's what Jaskier wants from him. He knows Jaskier must hate the idea of Geralt being in love with him, especially now that he's in love with another, no way to return it. Geralt's often been ashamed of feeling too much, but this is...worse.

"She'll fix this," Jaskier says, and Geralt can smell the salty tang of unshed tears in the air, "she'll fix this."

---------------------

They spend the rest of the day at the inn. Geralt knows Jaskier's upset, but at what exactly, it's hard to say. He’ll hardly look at Geralt for more than the briefest glances and keeps himself well outside of casual touching distance, which is strange for the normally tactile bard. He's either upset Geralt kept this secret from him, or he's upset Geralt's in love with him. Probably both.

Despite the distance he seems to be forcing between them, he bullies Geralt into bed beside him for the second night, doesn't let him meditate or sleep on the floor as he'd planned.

"Geralt, I know mornings with this are worse when you sleep on the floor. Sleep on the fucking bed."

"What happened to 'don't baby me'?"

"Fuck you, witcher. Get your ass on the bed. And don't hog all the sheets."

They settle, finally. Geralt lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to be hyperaware of Jaskier, curled on his side, back to him.

He dozes off, eventually, to the quiet wheeze of Jaskier's breath, a bubble of anxiety in his chest.

---------------------

He wakes an indeterminate amount of time later to find the bed beside him empty and cold, the tremble of suppressed sobs and the salty tang of tears on the air. He lays very, very still.

"--'s not fucking fair," Jaskier gasps, sucking in a harsh breath that turns into a hiccupping little sob. "Fuck."

Geralt listens to the hitched breathing that turns into a round of coughs, the wet, hacking sound of little snow-white flowers leaving Jaskier's lips. The way he tries to muffle the sobs, the coughs, with a hand over his mouth. Geralt feels cold. He hates that he's done this to Jaskier, made him this upset. He wishes he could take it back, keep this awful, painful love to himself. Jaskier shouldn't suffer because he can't return what Geralt feels.

After the third coughing fit in the last fifteen minutes, Geralt gives up the pretense of sleep and rouses, rises from the bed.

"'m sorry," Jaskier croaks when Geralt rubs his back, pours him a glass of water from the pitcher. It hurts that Jaskier thinks he needs to apologize. This isn't his fault, after all.

"Back to bed. We've still got a few hours." Jaskier follows, quiet and subdued. He's exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks still wet.

They settle, that sliver of space between them as always. Geralt's just starting to drift when--

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Um--" he trails off. Geralt cracks his eyes open, tips his head to look at Jaskier. He looks miserable. Tired. "--nevermind."

"What do you need, Jask?" he asks, quiet.

"Hold me?" he whispers, eyes fixed firmly on the edge of the sheet. Geralt's heart clenches. "I know it's not fair to ask that of you, but--"

"Come here," Geralt says, voice rough. Jaskier shuffles over, awkward. Geralt curls his arm around Jaskier's back, tugs him over so his head rests on Geralt's chest, ear pressed just above his too-slow heartbeat. He settles his hand on the curve of Jaskier’s hip, tries not to enjoy holding him too much--it’s about comfort, not Geralt.

They're still and quiet for a beat. "Thank you," Jaskier mumbles, voice thick with something Geralt can't name. "I know it's not--just. Thank you."

"Shh. Sleep."

They do.

---------------------

They leave the inn bright and early, after only a single round of awful coughing on Geralt's part. Jaskier's stiff and rigid, watching him hack up the flowers, and Geralt hates that Jaskier knows. This was so much easier to bear when there was still a ghost of a chance he returned Geralt's affections. Now--

"So how are we going to find her?" Jaskier asks, during one of the numerous breaks early in the morning.

"We're not," he says. Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, brow pinched in unhappiness. Geralt speaks again before he can get the words out, "We're going to see Triss. She'll know how to find Yen."

"Oh," he deflates. "Don't you, I don't know," he gestures vaguely, "have some magic way of getting ahold of her?"

"A xenovox?" He asks. Jaskier makes a 'whatever' kind of noise that makes Geralt's lips twitch in the ghost of a smile. "No. Triss does, though."

"Ah." He doesn't looks happy, per se, but-- "Okay."

---------------------

"Yes, I can get ahold of her for you," Triss says when they track her down. She's still in Temeria, still serving the king. "Or at least, I can leave her a message. She doesn't much care for answering, usually," she laughs.

"Hm." That sounds like Yen.

"Tell her it's urgent," Jaskier pipes up, expression pinched.

"Is there anything I can do? If it's urgent, I mean."

Triss might actually be the better option, Geralt thinks, if he wants this love torn out of him. She's a healer; he knows first hand she has quite the skill. He could--

"No," Jaskier's already shaking his head, "we appreciate your offer, Triss, darling, but it's got to be Yennefer." His voice is strained. He coughs, a tiny thing he suppresses with difficulty. Geralt can hear him holding his breath to stave off the fit.

"Yes," he agrees slowly. He's...not sure why Jaskier's so insistent on it being Yennefer. They don't even like each other, and he's always liked Triss well enough. "Sorry, Triss."

She corners him before they leave. "He's not well." She'd obviously taken notice of the coughing.

"I know."

"I can--" she winces, gestures vaguely. She's offering to tear it out, the love. He knew she'd be the better bet.

"You can ask him, Triss, but I don't think he wants that. He told me he was...okay. Dying for them."

She makes a strangled noise. "Geralt--"

"We're not talking about it."

She's quiet for a long time. "At least take this." She shoves a bottle of something dried at him, "it won't fix anything long term, but it will help. Mix it with some tea." He takes the little bottle, tucks it into his things.

"Thank you, Triss."

---------------------

Geralt's still trying to figure out where to go from here when Yen tracks them down at an inn they've been staying at a few weeks later. He's just finished an easy drowner hunt and they're planning to pack in the morning. The dried herbs from Triss have helped, but they're not a miracle cure. And Jaskier refuses to take them unless Geralt does too.

"Now what about this is urgent?" she asks, stepping out of the crowd to settle at their table beside Jaskier without invitation. The bard splutters, choking on his ale. It sends him into a coughing fit. His hand flashes out across the table and Geralt reaches back automatically, lets him grip him hard as he shakes his way through the hacking. Yen watches silently, eyes wide.

"Shh," Geralt soothes, slips up from his seat to crouch beside Jaskier when he doesn't recover quickly enough, hands still linked. They're starting to draw attention, so Geralt uses his bulk to shield Jaskier from the scrutiny of the room, "it's okay, Jask." Geralt doesn't breathe easy until Jaskier spits up the little fistful of bloody jasmines, panting.

"Oh," Yen says, voice strange.

"'M not--" Jaskier breaks off, clears his throat, grimacing. He flexes his grip around Geralt's hand once before letting go, "It's not about me."

"It should be," she says. Her gaze cuts over to Geralt, the look in her eyes hostile and reprimanding.

"No, Yennefer--" he starts, gaze jumping fast between her and Geralt, "can I talk to you? Alone?" Geralt startles, tries not to show it. Yen glances up at him where he's still standing.

"Go, Geralt. Your bard and I need to have a talk."

"Hm," Jaskier won't look at him, "I'll go check on Roach."

---------------------

He takes his time brushing her down for the second time that day and forces his mind quiet, focuses on getting her hair all laying the same direction. He's...not trying to listen for the swirl of their conversation in the mix from the tavern. It just...kind of happens.

"Jaskier--"

"He knows and he doesn't feel the same, Yennefer. It's...fine."

"He's an idiot, bard. Did you--"

"No, doesn't matter."

"Then why--"

"He's in love with you."

Geralt's focus breaks when his breath catches and dissolves into another coughing fit. The buttercups are painful little reminders, bright and beautiful, even splattered in blood. He gathers them up, tucks them into his pouch for a lack of anything else to do with them. Jaskier thinks he's in love with Yen? Why--

"Geralt," Yen hums, appearing as if summoned by his thought (she very well might be).

"Yen." He turns to face her, leans his weight against the door of Roach's stall. He's still a little short of breath, knows he looks a sight.

She sighs, long-suffering. "I'm only going to ask you this once--why do you think your bard wanted me here?"

He's...not sure what game they're playing here. "He's...unhappy. With me." Her expression pinches and he can tell she's hanging on to her patience with him by a thread.

"Why?"

"Because--" he sucks in a deep breath, hates that he has to say this out loud, "--because I'm in love with him, and he's in love with another," he finishes quietly.

She makes an awful noise, patience snapping, "And how do I factor into that, Geralt?" She's pissed, but Geralt's not sure who at, honestly.

"He wants the Hanahaki gone...doesn't he?" He can't help make the statement a question. Yen looks like she's going to strangle someone (maybe him).

"You're both fucking idiots," she seethes, "and I would normally refuse to have anything to do with this but I promised your fucking bard, so--" she gestures viciously behind her, "lead the way to your room, witcher."

Geralt does, feeling like he's missing something.

---------------------

When they make it up to the room they're renting for the night, Jaskier is there, looking drawn and highly uncomfortable.

"Yen, I told you I didn't need to be here," he mutters. He won't meet either of their gazes.

"No," she says, voice firm, "you do. Now, Geralt," she turns on her heel to face him, "the only way to get rid of Hanahaki--no, don't interrupt me, we're not doing that--the only way to get rid of Hanahaki is to confess your love to the person the flowers are for." He shifts his weight, gaze jumping to Jaskier whose eyes are still downturned, before settling back on Yen. "Who are your flowers for, Geralt?"

He feels breathless, like he might be about to have a coughing fit again. "I'm--"

"I told you they're for you, Yennefer. Don't make him say it. Please."

"Jaskier, I told you to be quiet," she snaps, "who are they for Geralt?" Her gaze never leaves his, a sharp, angry challenge.

"They're not for you," he tells her. It's obviously not quite what she wants to hear, from the way her scowl deepens.

"You're fucking impossible," she tells him, the same time Jaskier makes a harsh little yelping sound. Geralt's gaze snaps to him.

"Geralt, you can't--" he's scrambling up, crossing the room, "you have to tell her, Geralt, or you'll die. Don't make me watch that." The scent of his worry, his panic, is heavy on the air, sour milk and fruit gone rotten. "She'll love you back, Geralt. It's okay."

His chest hurts. It's only partly from the coughing. "Jaskier--"

"Geralt, where are they? Your little flowers?" Reluctantly, he pulls the little handful of buttercups from his pouch, not sure where she's taking this. "Jaskier, they're buttercups," she says, tone harsh. He just makes a painful little noise.

"I know," he says, voice strained, “It’s hardly fair, is it?” His tone is light but obviously forced. Yennefer sighs, changes tactics.

"Jaskier, who are your flowers for?" She asks, gentle. He makes another little noise.

"Yennefer--"

"Did he tell you what he thought you wanted? Why you wanted him to see me?" She doesn't wait for an answer, "he thought you wanted his Hanahaki gone, Jaskier. Ripped out. He was going to let me do that."

"What? Geralt, I wouldn't--why would I--?" There are tears brimming in his eyes, "I'd never ask that of you, Geralt. Why would you think I would?"

"Why do you think I love Yen?" he asks in return. Yen makes a disgusted sound.

"This is enough. Figure yourselves out; I'm leaving. Don't have Triss call me again unless it's a real emergency." In the next breath, she's stepped through a portal. Gone.

"Geralt?" Jaskier's quiet question draws his attention back. He looks-- "Geralt, who is it?"

"Who else would it be?" he finds himself saying, "They're buttercups, Jaskier."

"I thought--" there are tears rolling down his cheeks, "I thought it was so cruel. For destiny to give you buttercups."

"I'm sorry," Geralt murmurs, reaches up to brush the tears away, "I know you don't--"

"You idiot," Jaskier laughs, a wet sound, "mine are for you, too."

Geralt feels the tightness in his chest fade, like heat leeching away in the cold. He hadn't realized how oppressive the blooms had become until they were gone.

He doesn't know what to do with Jaskier looking at him so full of love and relief. It's overwhelming and he can't help himself--he pulls him in for a kiss, slow and gentle, arms around his waist. Jaskier's fingers slip up into his hair, tilt his head to a more satisfactory angle. They only break when their lungs begin to burn, and then it isn't to go very far. Jaskier presses lingering kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his throat. Geralt shivers.

"I'd always known you'd kill me, darling," he breathes. Geralt slips his arms a little more securely around his waist, presses a palm flat to the small of his back, kisses down his throat to the open vee of his doublet and the ties of his chemise, temptingly on display.

"'M sorry it took me so long," he says, voice low. Jaskier presses closer in his embrace, winds his arms around his neck. "I was so afraid--"

"I know," Jaskier cuts him off gently, tugs him up for another kiss, slow and unhurried. "I know." When they pull away, Jaskier cups his face in his hands, rubs his thumbs across the arch of his cheekbones, "I was terrified too, love. What a pair we make, hm?"

Geralt hums in response. Jaskier laughs.

"Love you too, darling." He says it light and teasing, but the flowers, the look in his eyes, belie how much he means it.

Geralt swallows hard. "You too," he says, voice rough. He clears his throat, tries again, "I love you too, Jaskier." It comes out a little stilted, but the look on Jaskier's face--

He tugs Geralt down into another kiss. "You're entirely too sweet," he murmurs against his lips. And well. Maybe it's not so bad, loving Jaskier when that love's returned. He presses him backward towards the bed, listens to the delighted burst of laughter Jaskier makes as the back of his knees hit the mattress and he collapses backward, dragging Geralt down with him.

No, it's not so bad at all.