Pancake’s cosmic blessing still hummed faintly in the air when Elyra kissed Tavian.
At first, it was just that — a kiss.
Soft. Careful. Testing the shape of something new.
But then Tavian kissed her back.
And the world tipped.
He didn’t know how long it went on. It could have been thirty seconds. It could have been an hour. It could have been a decade and he wouldn’t have noticed, because every nerve in his body had turned into one continuous, vibrating string of:
ElyraElyraElyraElyra—
They stumbled past the table. Bumped the dresser. Almost knocked over a lamp.
Still kissing.
Without breaking the kiss, Elyra reached sideways and pulled the balcony shutters closed in one smooth, practised sweep.
Thud.
Then the blinds.
Thud.
Then the curtains.
Thud.
The room dimmed to a cocoon of warm candlelight — private, glowing, utterly cut off from the rest of Thornmere.
Tavian, breathless, tried to form a sentence and failed on the first syllable.
Tavian (between breaths):
“Is— is this still kiss approval or—?”
Elyra pressed a finger to his lips.
That single, slow, deliberate touch erased every functioning thought in his skull.
Elyra (whispering, close enough that he felt the word more than heard it):
“No, Tavian… this is not a kiss.”
She leaned in, voice brushing his cheek like velvet.
Elyra:
“This… is a smooch.”
The kiss deepened.
Slow at first, exploratory and sweet, like she was learning him one heartbeat at a time.
Tavian hesitated.
Paused.
She felt it — the nervous hitch in his chest — and cupped his jaw, thumb stroking the corner of his mouth.
Elyra (breathless, soft command):
“Tavian… do it.”
His eyes widened like she’d just handed him a crown.
Tavian (voice cracking):
“O-okay.”
He leaned in again.
This time when their lips met, he remembered every painfully awkward, horrifyingly explicit “lesson” Vex had given him, layered over Laz’s useless advice of “just do what feels natural, bro.”
He tried.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t smooth.
But it was earnest. Soft. Careful.
And Elyra melted.
Her fingers tangled behind his neck.
Her body arched into his, instincts and longing guiding her more than thought.
The world outside the shuttered windows vanished.
For a long, long, long moment, there was nothing but warmth and breath and the quiet, half-strangled sound Tavian made when she kissed him just a little harder.
He pulled back for air at last—
—and found Elyra staring at him with an expression he’d never seen on anyone directed at him.
Not shy.
Not startled.
Not flustered.
But—
Hungry.
Elyra (soft, playful, devastating):
“…That was good.”
Tavian blinked, stunned.
Tavian:
“R-really? I— I wasn’t sure if—”
Elyra’s hand slid up his chest, fingertips barely ghosting along his tunic, sending a full-bodied shiver through him.
Elyra:
“Tavian.”
He froze.
She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
Elyra (a whisper that rewired his entire nervous system):
“You may absolutely do that again.”
He made the tiniest, strangled, dying-inside-from-joy noise.
Then he did.
This time Elyra didn’t just melt — she curled into him, like her body had found a shape it had been waiting for all this time. Someone this gentle. This careful. This overwhelmed by loving her.
They shifted on the bed, accidentally bumping the headboard once.
Both froze.
Both burst into quiet, breathless laughter.
Smooching resumed at double speed.
Minutes slipped by.
Or maybe hours.
Eventually Tavian pulled back, just enough to actually see her.
Her cheeks were flushed and glowing.
Her braid beautifully ruined.
Her lips kiss-bitten and curved into a wicked little smile.
Elyra (low, smug):
“…I saw that fist pump.”
Tavian’s soul immediately left his body.
Tavian:
“I— I— that— that was NOT— I was just— stretching— I—”
She shut him up with another kiss.
Elyra (against his lips, amused):
“Mm-hmm. Sure.”
She tugged him down into another smooch, and another, until time stopped meaning anything at all.
More of the Smooching of Legends
At some point, they broke for air, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in short, shaky bursts.
Tavian had lost all connection to language.
His brain had shut down three smooches ago.
Elyra brushed her thumb along the corner of his mouth where her lipstick had smudged.
Elyra (soft, teasing):
“You look… marked.”
Tavian (voice cracking):
“I— I don’t mind.”
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The look he gave her was so nakedly sincere it hurt.
It made her chest ache in a way no wound ever had — deep and sharp and somehow healing at the same time.
She leaned back on her palms, really looking at him now. Not as a flustered boy with a crush, not as the awkward lad who’d blurted things at a wedding—
But as someone she was choosing.
Elyra:
“You stayed, Tavian.
When I couldn’t move. When I was terrified of everything.
You stayed.”
He swallowed hard.
Tavian:
“Of course I did.”
She tilted her head, eyes shimmering silver-green and gold in the candlelight.
Elyra:
“But why? You barely knew me.”
Tavian met her gaze and, for once, there was no nervous flinch. Just truth.
Tavian:
“I didn’t need to know you long to care about you.
I cared the moment you spoke to me at the wedding.
I cared when you smiled at me like I mattered.
I cared when you couldn’t even move your legs and you still tried to protect me.”
Her breath hitched.
He lifted a hand — slow enough she could stop him if she wanted — and cupped her cheek.
Tavian:
“And I care now.
More than I know what to do with.”
Her heart stuttered.
Her fingers closed around his wrist, grounding herself like he was an anchor and she was suddenly, terrifyingly adrift.
Elyra (soft, trembling):
“Tavian…”
She kissed him again.
This kiss was different.
Not hungry.
Not flustered.
Not explosive.
It was slow.
Bare.
Honest in a way that made both of them feel a little like they’d stepped off a cliff together.
His lips moved with hers in a quiet rhythm that said I’m here more clearly than any words he could have strung together.
When they parted, Tavian looked absolutely wrecked in the best possible way.
Tavian:
“…is… is this really happening?”
Elyra laughed — soft, breathless, incredulous.
She nudged her forehead against his, noses brushing.
Elyra:
“Yes.
It’s happening.”
She pulled him into a hug, fitting herself against him like they’d practiced it a hundred times.
It was overwhelming — not with drama or magic or peril, but with simplicity.
She wasn’t fighting for her life.
He wasn’t defending her from monsters.
They were just… here.
Warm.
Wanted.
Held.
For a long moment they stayed like that — Elyra wrapped around him, Tavian holding her like someone had given him a priceless relic and trusted him not to drop it.
Elyra (barely audible):
“…You know you can kiss me again.”
Tavian made a tiny, helpless noise that sounded suspiciously like his soul trying to ascend plane-side.
Tavian:
“O-okay.”
She giggled — actually giggled — and pulled him back down into another smooch.
And another.
And another.
Until the candles burned low,
the shutters stayed firmly closed,
and both of them knew, with absolute, terrifying certainty:
This wasn’t a crush anymore.
This wasn’t a single perfect night.
This was the beginning of something real.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
And utterly, wonderfully theirs.
? THE MORNING AFTER
Where every single member of the Crimson Dice absolutely, definitely notices.
Dawn crept in around the edges of the shutters, thin and gold.
Elyra woke first — not from noise, not from nightmares, but because Tavian was staring at her.
Like he’d spent the last few hours watching her sleep and trying very hard not to combust.
The second their eyes met, his face went bright red.
Tavian (small, hoarse):
“Morning…”
Elyra, hair a glorious disaster, lips still a little swollen, braid half undone, smiled back.
Elyra (sleep-raspy):
“…Morning.”
Silence.
Then the previous night hit them both like a charging owlbear.
Every kiss.
Every smooch.
The shutters.
The giggles.
The headboard.
The tongue.
Elyra bolted upright, both hands over her face.
Elyra:
“Please tell me that wasn’t a dream.”
Tavian (immediate, fervent):
“No. Definitely not a dream.”
A beat.
They both turned a deeper shade of mortified.
Elyra (softly, staring at the bedsheets):
“Last night was… magical.
Special.
And also… um… a first for… some things.”
They both knew what they meant.
They both refused to say it out loud.
Tavian’s ears went scarlet.
Tavian:
“Y-yeah. Same. Also same. Very same.”
Silence.
Elyra (suddenly fast):
“Let’s not go into detail.”
Tavian (almost shouting):
“NO— I MEAN YES— I MEAN— AGREED.”
They sat in breathless, shared embarrassment for a moment, then Tavian’s head snapped toward the door.
Voices drifted up from downstairs.
Tavian (horrified whisper):
“Elyra… someone’s up.”
Elyra froze.
Elyra:
“…who?”
He crept to the door, opened it a breath, and listened.
Tavian (quiet panic):
“Sereth. Kaer. Definitely Laz. That was definitely Laz. And… Garruk. And I heard Pancake. And—oh gods—your dad.”
They shared a look that could be summarised as:
We are so dead.
Elyra flew into motion — tugging on her dress, quickly re-braiding her hair, trying to scrub “smooched all night” off her face with sheer willpower.
Tavian frantically smoothed his tunic and realised, with the slow horror of a man about to meet his doom:
Tavian:
“Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no— I’m walking downstairs. From your room. At dawn.”
Elyra:
“…Dad is absolutely going to kill you.”
Tavian:
“He’s going to end me. This is how I die.”
She grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a quick, grounding kiss.
Elyra:
“You’ll be fine.”
Tavian:
“Elyra… I fought three bullies. I stood up to older kids. I faced mirrorborn. I watched you nearly die twice.”
He swallowed.
Tavian:
“I am not ready for your father.”
? Descent Into Chaos
Tavian descended the stairs.
He made it exactly two steps into the main room before the noise cut off as if someone had sliced the air.
Every head turned.
Garruk froze mid-bite, meat halfway to his mouth.
Kaer paused mid-sip.
Vex and Laz smiled like they’d just been handed front-row seats to the best play in Thornmere.
Pancake sat in the middle of the table, face full of pastry, watching with the quiet judgement of a tiny cosmic deity.
Sereth, still a touch pale from recent labour but very, very perceptive, raised one perfectly suspicious eyebrow.
And Elaris—
Oh gods.
Elaris’s face did a full emotional parade in three seconds:
Sleepy confusion.
Recognition.
Realisation.
Horror.
Protective fury.
Deep, bone-shaking Dad Mode.
Elaris (slow, dangerous calm):
“Tavian.”
Tavian:
“G-good morning, sir.”
Elaris:
“…Why are you coming downstairs from that direction at this time of the morning?”
Tavian swallowed so hard it might have counted as an Athletics check.
Tavian:
“I—we—nothing happened— I mean something happened but not a bad something, it was a good something but not that kind of good, I mean not too good, not that I wouldn’t want good things with Elyra— NOT LIKE THAT I JUST MEAN—”
Kaer leaned to Garruk.
Kaer (murmured):
“He’s dying in real time.”
Garruk nodded solemnly.
Garruk:
“Tiny man. Big courage.”
Vex popped a grape in her mouth.
Vex:
“I give him eight out of ten for panic monologue.”
Laz:
“Docking a point for pacing.”
Pancake raised a paw.
Pancake:
“Smooch.”
The entire room vibrated with chaotic energy.
Elaris pinched the bridge of his nose.
Elaris:
“Tavian. Did you—”
Vex cut in at maximum volume.
Vex:
“HE SMOOCHED HER.”
Laz:
“FOR HOURS.”
Pancake:
“TONGUE.”
Elaris:
“TONGUE?!”
Tavian almost fainted on the spot.
Tavian:
“IT WAS APPROVED— SHE APPROVED IT— THERE WAS SO MUCH CONSENT—”
Kaer considered.
Kaer:
“At least he understands consent.”
Sereth, meanwhile, had noticed two things:
- Tavian looked like a man who’d been drop-kicked by Cupid.
- Elyra, halfway down the stairs now, was glowing.
Her cheeks flushed, lips pink, braid slightly messy, eyes bright in a way that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with being thoroughly, properly adored.
Sereth’s expression softened.
Sereth (warm, amused):
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
Elyra (trying to sound normal, failing):
“Hi.”
Garruk (whispering to Kaer):
“She glowing.”
Kaer:
“She really is.”
Vex:
“She GLOWING.”
Laz:
“She GLOWING.”
Pancake:
“She smooch.”
Elyra spluttered.
Elaris looked like he was about to attempt a Counterspell on reality.
Sereth slid up beside him, smirk tugging at her lips.
Sereth (lightly):
“You know, Elaris… our first kiss involved tongue.”
Elaris:
“SERETH—”
He went scarlet from ears to collar.
Elaris:
“NOT— IN FRONT OF— EVERYONE—”
The twins howled.
Pancake clapped.
Tavian looked moments away from catastrophic system failure.
Elaris finally exhaled, dragging a tired hand down his face.
Elaris:
“Tavian… we will have a calm, measured conversation about this later.”
Tavian:
“Yes sir. Sorry sir. Thank you sir. I mean— sorry again—”
Sereth touched Elaris’s arm.
Sereth (soft):
“He looks like he’d throw himself in front of a dragon for her.”
Elaris, reluctantly:
“…He already kind of did.”
Sereth:
“Then maybe let him survive breakfast.”
Elaris grumbled something that wasn’t quite agreement and wasn’t quite refusal.
But he didn’t smite Tavian, which, for a necromancer, was progress.
? The Private Confession
Later, upstairs, behind a closed door, Sereth sat on Elyra’s bed as Elyra paced like a trapped wildcat.
Elyra:
“Mum, I’m mortified. I didn’t mean for everyone to know, I didn’t even think about the time and the shutters and Pancake and the TWINS—”
She flopped face-first onto the bed with a muffled groan.
Elyra (into the sheets):
“I survived literal hell. But this? This is worse.”
Sereth laughed softly and carded a hand through her daughter’s hair.
Sereth:
“Sweetheart. I’m not angry.”
Elyra turned her head, blinking.
Elyra:
“You’re… not?”
Sereth shook her head.
Sereth (gentle, honest):
“No. I’m happy. Truly. You’re in love. He’s gentle. He’s respectful. He looks at you like you hung the stars. And the way you’re glowing right now…?”
She smiled, bittersweet and warm.
Sereth:
“That’s how I looked after your father first kissed me on the Ember Tankard balcony.”
Elyra went very, very red.
Elyra:
“Mum…”
Sereth:
“Tell me what happened. Your version. Not Vex’s comedy re-enactment.”
Elyra sat up slowly, knees tucked under her, fingers fidgeting with the blanket.
Elyra (softening):
“It was… perfect.
We just… smooched. A lot.
And it was… really lovely.
Messy and awkward and sweet and… right.”
She swallowed.
Elyra:
“And for once I didn’t feel cursed. Or broken. Or like glass. I just felt… young. And alive. And wanted. And cared for.”
Sereth’s eyes shone.
She pulled Elyra into a hug and held her tightly, rubbing slow circles between her shoulders.
Sereth (whispering into her hair):
“You deserve that. All of it. More of it than the world can hold.”
Elyra’s voice was very small when she replied.
Elyra:
“Mum… I think I love him.”
Sereth smiled, eyes wet, heart full.
Sereth:
“I know you do.”
Elyra:
“How?”
Sereth:
“Because that’s how you look at him.
And because that’s how he looks back.”
They stayed like that for a while — mother and daughter, wrapped up in each other and the fragile, beautiful normalcy they’d fought so hard to win back.
Downstairs, Tavian sat between Kaer and Garruk like a man being guarded by two very large, very confusing statues.
Kaer nursed his drink in thoughtful silence.
Garruk was sharpening an axe for no practical reason.
Pancake hopped into Tavian’s lap and patted his arm with a tiny paw.
Pancake (calm, cosmic certainty):
“She smooch you. You smooch her. Is good.”
Tavian let out a shaky breath and, for the first time that morning, managed a quiet smile.
Tavian:
“…Yeah. It really is.”
And just like that, in the soft, chaotic peace of the Ember Tankard, the Morning After the Smooching of Legends became another cherished chapter in the ever-growing story of the Crimson Dice.