#only one of the four assignments is (mostly) done

[vasito-de-leche]

;KPOP DEMON HUNTERS - Saja Boys Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons and analysis of the Saja Boys and other related things.

breaking my r99 streak with the new worms forming in my brain <3 my knowledge on korean mythology isn't a lot since I mostly just watch kdramas so I'll just be talking about what we got to see in the movie!

On the subject of Grim Reapers and boybands.

First of all, the Saja Boys are all presented as grim reapers (jeoseung saja), relating to their role in the movie as those who guide the fans' souls to the underworld, even if done maliciously rather than impartially as typical grim reapers do. They're demons, after all.

Here, grim reapers also retain a more humanoid appearance when compared to the rest of demons underground; aside from the Saja Boys, there are a few others spread out in the crowd. Just by looking at them, we can understand they all share the same color palette (purple tinted skin, yellow eyes) but not all of them are expected to have sharp teeth and/or protruding tusks--which explains how Mystery had extremely long tusks but Jinu only had somewhat sharp canines before their idol disguises.

The thing that stands out to me is the fact that the other four Saja Boys are shown to be sluggish and zombie-like at different points of the story, unlike Jinu and the other grim reapers in the crowd. At the top of my head, this happens twice--when they return to the underworld after their debut and right after the signing event is over, when we see them immediately slouch tiredly after throwing away the bouquets.

Initially, I toyed with the possibility that the other four Saja Boys might be something else--something lower than the generic imps and lackey demons and that they might lack individuality, existing sort of like puppets, or that perhaps they completely lost their humanity and control over themselves along the way in their life as demons. But with the amount of personality they show in their very few scenes, I like to headcanon that only Jinu is cut out for the life of an idol, and the other four are so fucking exhausted after every song, every cutesy stunt, every second of their act that they just look downright fucked up afterwards.

Which makes sense to me given the similarities between Rumi and Jinu; both being extremely driven and stubborn in their ways, pushing for their goals no matter what. On one hand, Rumi sacrifices her own health and friendships for what she believes to be the greater good, and Jinu sacrifices everyone else for what he wants. It's difficult for Mira and Zoey to keep up with their friend (think of the couch scene, when Rumi accelerates the release of their new song) and it might be difficult for the other four Saja Boys to keep up with Jinu as well.

To add to this, I also like to headcanon that Mystery and Baby are the ones who dislike being idols the most, while Romance and Abby are more tolerant of it.

Mystery straight up barks at the fans, I imagine the role of mysterious and aloof member is perfect for him because of how little he actually wants to interact with fans and play along with Jinu's boyband. I can't see him genuinely enjoying singing nor dancing either. Baby strikes me as someone who enjoys the playful aspect of the idol life--the games, the variety shows, the luxury that comes with the lifestyle--but despises the responsibilities that come with it. The meet and greets, the signings, to constantly put on a cute act in front of the camera and audience for the sake of appearances. On one hand, it's fun to have an excuse to get away with shenanigans by virtue of being the cute maknae of the group, on the other hand it's also a pain in the ass to have to stick to that.

When it comes to Romance and Abby, they do seem to have more fun with the social aspects of their idol life, especially when they get to terrorize Mira together.

Stirring up shipping drama and whatnot is definitely something we can expect out of a guy assigned as The Romantic One, but it's the fact that Abby joins in as well that makes me think it might be more than their planned out personas and schemes to mess with Huntrix--these two guys actively enjoy the attention and seeing the reactions they get from others. Abby specifically looks like he enjoys the dancing and the intricate choreographies. I can see him being the lead dancer! On the other hand, Romance could be the visuals.

On the subject of demon patterns

We know that the designs can vary just by looking at all the demons, including Rumi, not just the Saja Boys. A fun detail is that Jinu's second outfit during the spice game involves his own demon patterns!

But then we also get another recolor of these same outfits right before the final showdown, now with more demon patterns on the boys!

I like to headcanon that those are pretty much the patterns each Saja Boy has along their body. In Romance's case, his shirt lacks any distinct patterns, but we know he has just as many as the rest from the introduction they give to Gwi-ma, so I'll chalk it down to an aesthetic choice.

I also have some other headcanons about the patterns in general and how they differ from demons born in the underworld versus humans turned demons!

For demons born in the underworld, these patterns are actually scars--this is the process of their wounds healing and do not glow at all, they can also become less noticeable over the years like regular human scars. Perhaps the texture and sensitiveness is different due to how demons are much tougher physically, but it's pretty easy to understand as a concept.

For humans turned demons, these scars are a manifestation of their shame and Gwi-ma's control over them, they appear over time as the human continues to hear his voice or accept his gifts, make deals with him and so on and so forth. Because they're the embodiment of negative feelings or closely tied with them, I imagine these patterns can feel unpleasant--from pulsating faintly with all the bad vibes you've accumulated over the years to straight up burning your skin if your negative emotions spiral out of control.

We also see that patterns spreading might cause some changes in a person, since Rumi loses her ability to sing as the patterns begin to spread to her neck.

I think this is more of a consequence of one's negative thoughts and feelings than simply related to having patterns in itself--Rumi's perception of herself and her patterns was inherently rooted in self-hatred due to the way she was raised, so it makes sense to me that she would lose her voice right after seeing the golden Honmoon, something she wholeheartedly wanted to believe was the fix-it-all solution to her own existence. In her conversation with Celine after she begins her partial transformation, the things Rumi says aren't a sudden realization but shame and insecurities left to fester for years. She was basically a ticking bomb waiting to explode.

We also know that Gwi-ma let Jinu keep his voice, but it's heavily implied that his singing voice was the result of their deal--his soul for musical talent--so it has nothing to do with his patterns.

In Rumi's case, singing was a vehicle for her job--her voice allows her to make the Honmoon glow golden, and thus make everything alright--which is a vast contrast to how she uses her voice at the very end to not only accept herself and reach out to her best friends, but to create a better Honmoon that doesn't revolve around hiding one's flaws. Even with her patterns, she can still sing properly here. Of course, she's half-demon so there may be some things that only apply to her and whatnot but either way, that's for a different post entirely.

Since these patterns are related to bad feelings, I imagine a good way to counter the physical pain they bring would be good feelings, so you have to picture yourself tracing your Saja Boys bias' patterns to calm him down, you have to do it.

On the subject of the Saja Boys and their dynamics with each other.

Given Jinu is around 400 years old, and he's the one who knows how to maneuver his way around Gwi-ma, I assume he's the oldest one in the group. We don't get to see them interact a lot with each other, at least not in ways that we can fully discern as genuine, but I love overthinking so here we are.

Based only on their usual formation (Mystery, Romance, Jinu as the center, Abby, Baby) and respective roles in the band, I imagine that Romance and Abby could be the next two oldest, followed by Mystery and Baby. It would be fun if Romance was the second oldest, followed by Abby, then Mystery and finally Baby as the classic maknae with the deepest voice.

Of course, given they're demons fully covered in patterns, the actual age difference between them could range from a few decades to a few hundred years. I like the idea that Jinu specifically sought them out over his stay in the underworld for his plan, but eventually the five of them became close with each other. There is also zero indications of this, but another headcanon I like is that the other four members were also attempting to get something out of this plan, similar to how Jinu wanted to erase his memories, something to lessen the pain of existing as demons for all eternity.

As for their dynamics with each other, Abby and Baby also seem the most casually friendly, often seen leaning on other members. I've been rewatching this movie passively since it came out, and the amount of times Abby just fucking holds onto Jinu's shoulders is enough to make me raise an eyebrow. You go, clingy bisexual king. When they escape the stage after the game show, Abby is also the one giving Baby a piggyback ride.

They also clearly go in pairs (Mystery-Baby and Romance-Abby) so I like to interpret this as these specific pairs being closer with each other.

Fans perceive Baby and Mystery as the cute but secretly chaotic duo, but these two strike me as catty, petty bitches who love to talk shit or be judgemental together. They've mastered the art of putting people down with a single twitch of the mouth, the subtlest but most cutthroat expressions ever. I like to think they're the type of duo that doesn't even need to talk to understand each other with how similar or attuned they are to each other.

They also heavily contrast Romance and Abby, who are more way more chatty and bicker constantly--sometimes for fun, as a playful thing, but most of the times because their personalities mean they butt heads over small things for no reason. Most fans think they don't get along, but it's just the opposite; the bickering means they're comfortable and close enough with each other!

As for other pairs, I think Baby and Abby have a similar vibe that makes everything extremely fun when they're the center of attention--they play off each other very well, with Baby instigating shenanigans and Abby fueling him. Mystery and Romance do get along very well behind the scenes, especially when they need to unwind from Baby and Abby's antics and high energy.

When it comes to Jinu, he's often paired up with Abby simply for aesthetic purposes--they just look good together. I like to think that some fans perceive Abby as the "second in command," but in truth, that role falls on Romance. If you need to ask for something outlandish, you have to ask Jinu for permission and if he's too busy to care, he'll redirect you to Romance, but if he's ALSO too busy then you'll get immediately redirected to Abby and he'll most likely say yes if it sounds fun enough. This is how Baby used to get away with so much shit, until Romance caught on and started to keep a closer eye on him. Just in case.

I also think a lot about how possible centuries as a demon might do to someone's psyche--since Jinu mentions how demons feel negativity but amplified to horrible degrees, I imagine all of Saja Boys perceive the group as a means to an end as a result of this, even if they've clearly become comfortable with each other as found family or what have you. You can ship them for all I care, the movie gets very funny when it becomes two rival polycules.

On the subject of animal companions.

We know that Jinu has his lion and bird (apparently the lion's name is "Derpy" and it was revealed in the official roblox game for the movie?) because he's the world's specialest demon princess, but I like to think that the other boys also get their own animal companions.

To follow with the Saja Boys (Lion boys, in this case) theme then I can see them all having different felines, big or small.

Romance with a serval, one that has a few spots shaped like hearts instead. Abby with a jaguar he insists looks NOTHING like him but it literally has the exact same eyebrows. Mystery with a snow leopard, one so fluffy its fur covers his eyes just like him. Baby with an ocelot that can somehow make the exact same shit-eating smug grins he does.

Ironically, for a group whose logo is a lion, not a single one of them has a lion as a companion pet--it's considered rude to bring this up in their fandom, because their lore explained this in some obscure concert and if you're pointing it out, then you're clearly not up to date with the Saja Boys lore document being passed on through twitter DMs like a family heirloom, shaking my head.

I do imagine these animals are helpers for their actual grim reaper duties, messengers just like them! But some are a bit more rebellious than others and might not even listen to their respective master the way Jinu's tiger does.

Round of headcanons I couldn't fit anywhere else.

The other Saja Boys don't have "real" names either because their identities were lost in their respective deals with Gwi-ma OR because they're willingly concealing their former human identities out of shame. I still haven't decided which ones I want to fit in which category, hmm ...

Jinu is the only one who clung really hard to his name, initially because of his strong sense of self and selfishness; I imagine he was rather pragmatic even after joining Gwi-ma in the underworld and might've tried to find any way out to gain his soul back, if his conversations with Rumi are anything to go by, only to have the centuries wear him down and instead find a way out by playing by Gwi-ma's rules instead.

Sometimes, humans turned demons don't even need to hear Gwi-ma's voice to have their patterns flare up and relive their worst feelings, it can just happen. When it does, the Saja Boys try to redirect those negative feelings one of them might be going through towards themselves--it's easier to snap out of it if you're angry at someone who isn't yourself. They know each other well enough by now to know the exact thing to say to get each other's attention, even if it means saying some cruel and horrible things.

When it comes to who deals with these moments from worst to best, I'd say the list would be: Baby, Jinu, Romance, Abby, Mystery.

I also like the idea of them adapting easily to modern times, regardless of the era each comes from. Their interest in modern society varies, but because they've existed as demons for so long, the issues aren't "Oh, how do I use a phone?" but "How can I send a message without scratching my entire screen with these damn claws?" and so on!

[bookersebastien]

two weeks until i am done with my classes but i also have four assignments due so i'll be losing my mind if anyone is looking for me

[peachglazewrites]

𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛 ⸙ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: abby anderson x f!reader 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: medical procedures, tlou typical violence, PTSD 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜: literal sleeping together, friends to lovers, slow burn 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘: no use of y/n or any reader descriptions 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 6475k

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: Eight months ago, you sustained a life-altering injury while on patrol. Five months ago, you were officially dismissed from your unit and, after a tense meeting with Isaac, were transferred to the medical centre to train under your friend/roommate, Mel. Four months ago, you offered your couch to Abby to sleep on whenever she got kicked from her apartment for Manny's ‘sleepovers’. Two months ago, you started sleeping in the same bed. It works, this arrangement you have. She just doesn’t know that just over twelve months ago, you started to fall in love with her.

̗̀➛ master post

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ save/read the fic on ao3 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙸: 𝙸

“You good to stitch this while I wash up?”

Mel wipes at her sweaty forehead with the back of her arm, slippery blood coating her hands. The procedure got messier than expected, and with gloves being stretched thin across the different bases, you had to get real comfortable with blood on your bare skin.

“Yeah, of course. Need to practice my knots anyway.”

Malcom, the older WLF soldier, lays back on the bed, shirt cut away and blood coating his abdomen. A bullet caught him in the side, going right through his front and leaving out his back. If he got medical attention right away it would have been fine, but his thinner skin and continued combat just made the wound deeper, ripping right through his side. The two holes he would have had were now one big gash that needed to be stitched.

“Be sure you make all them bows pretty, doc.” Malcom grins at you, his chuckles stuttering into a nasty cough.

Your eyes roll as you turn to the surgical cart next to you, setting up the sutures. “Sure thing, Malcom.”

Wheeling the table over to the bedside, you grab the curved needle and sterile thread, sitting on a stool next to his bedside to get a good angle on him. You grunt and stretch your left leg out stiffly under the cot, trying to release some of the tension in the muscle.

“You know, they should give you one of those punch cards for coming in so often. Visit us five times and you get a treat on the sixth.”

He squints at you, wincing and cursing when you push the needle through his swollen skin.

“Yeah? And when’s that lesson on bedside manner comin’?”

Mel laughs from the back room, washing and disinfecting her hands. “Oh, this is as good as it gets.”

Flashing a grumbling Malcom a smile, you continue your stitching, doing a row of smaller ones that you need to cut off and tie after each knot.

You’re getting the hang of it, though tying all the small knots with the forceps was your weakest point. You were much better at doing running stitches, but for a wound like Malcom’s on such a mobile part of his body, these were the best option.  You’d obviously improved enough though, or else Mel wouldn’t have let you do them mostly unsupervised.

She’s a good teacher, Mel. You were hoping when Isaac approved your request to move to the medical centre that he would assign you to her. It only made sense. Not only was she one of the best here at the Stadium, but the two of you were already familiar with each other.

You share one of the Stadium apartments, have done for just over a year and a half. As far as roommates went, Mel was amazing. She’s friendly, respectful of your space, quiet. It was hard not to become friends with her. You spent late nights talking, would join her and her group of friends for meals. It was nice.

And then you got injured. Well, a bit more than injured—you fucked up your leg pretty bad. Mel was on call when you were dragged in and helped you as much as she could. She’s incredibly talented. Quick hands and quicker thinking. She had your broken leg splinted up and healing in no time.

Until you fucked it up again, leaving your leg to fuse itself in a weird spot. You can walk, sometimes even run for a bit if it’s a good day, but you’d be biting back the pain and severely regretting it afterwards. On a bad day? It’s a struggle to even stand for more than a couple of hours.

Now you have a limp that won’t go away, and your position as one of WLF’s many grunts taken away from you.

“We need soldiers, not bait. Next time you come asking me for your rank back, make sure you’re not shaking from your walk down the hall.”

Yeah.

Mel was the one to suggest becoming a medic. You’d spent enough time around Mel to pick up a thing or two, and those ten weeks in and out of the medical tent made you pretty familiar with the goings on. She even offered to be your supervisor, taking you under her wing to teach you all she knew.

You clip the final suture, placing the forceps and scissors back onto the metal tray next to you.

“Okay, I think we’re done. Mel,” you call over your shoulder, “Can you check this for me?”

Mel looks up from the chart she’s scribbling on, tucking it under her arm to come and lean over your shoulder.

“Nice work. You lost a bit of tension in the middle, but not too much that it wont hold.” She reaches over, ghosting over the segment in question. She brings her hand to rest on your shoulder. “Otherwise, they’re perfect. I think you’ve officially gotten the hang of it.”

You beam up at her, chest puffing in pride. It’s been good knowing that you’re good at more than combat. A relief. You don’t know what you would have done if this didn’t work out.

You’d rather not think about it.

Malcom shifts on the cot, twisting his body to look down at his stitches. He reaches a hand down to touch them, but you slap them away before he can.

“Touch them and I’ll put a cone on you like a dog.”

Malcom grins, laughing and rubbing at the red slap mark on his hand.

“You flirtin’ with me, doc?”

“Gross. Get out of here, Mal.”

His laughs once again devolve into gargling coughs, levering himself up off the bed with a hand from Mel.

She wraps him up, bandaging the wound while giving him the rundown.

“No getting this wet for twenty-four hours. After that you can shower, but no soaking. You’ll need to come back in two weeks to get the sutures out, so until then I don’t want you touching it or picking at the scabs.” She gives him a pointed look, and he has enough in him to look away guiltily, scratching at his chin.

“Yeah, I know the drill. Any sign of infection I’ll come back.”

Mel nods, stepping away from his side to grab a small bottle of pills off the counter.

“Take two of these when you need them, but wait four to six hours in between.”

“Got anything stronger?” Malcom winks.

“Not for you.” Mel’s lips twitch in a smile and she presses the bottle to his chest. “Have a good one, Malcom.”

Malcom takes the bottle and grins, bringing a hand up to tip an imaginary hat on his head. “Appreciate all you do for us, doc.” He peers around Mel, calling out to you in the next room. “And always a pleasure seein’ you. Remind me to take you up on that treat next time.”

“Goodbye, Malcom.” You call from the sink, scrubbing down on your knuckles. You stare him down as he leaves, laughing the whole way.

You roll your eyes, turning back to washing the blood off your arms. It had started to dry, making your skin tacky and gross.

Mel wanders over, leaning to rest against the sink next to you as she finishes filling out Malcom’s chart. “He’s got a point. You’ve got to be nicer to patients.”

“Malcom’s a dirty old dog. He’s fine. If he wasn’t going to be okay, then I’d be nicer.”

“The severity of someone’s injury doesn’t factor into how nice you are to them.” She’s trying to tell you off, but you can see her smiling from behind her clipboard.

You just shrug, turning off the tap and shaking out your arms. “Seems fair to me.”

She breaks, snorting and poking you in the side with the board as she walks past, placing it on a hook on the wall. She grabs the metal tray and wheels it away to be sanitised.

“You’re done for the day. Go home and relax, your leg is shaking like crazy.”

You look down at your leg, sighing as you watch the muscle of your calf twitch from the strain. It wasn’t too crazy today, but there was a lot of sitting down and standing back up. You were starting to feel it.

“You sure? If I’m sitting, I can- “

Mel cuts you off with her signature ‘excuse me?’ look, her brow raised, and her lips curled downward. That shuts you up real quick, as it does most people. Poor Owen is on the other end of that look too often, and he pouts for ages afterwards every single time.

You grab your coat from a basket under the sink, where you all put your belongings when you clock in.

“I’ll see you for dinner?”

Mel shakes her head, gathering up all the dirty tools and putting them in a metal tub for sanitation.

“I’m going to Owen’s tonight. We have the morning off tomorrow, so I think we’re going to head to the aquarium with Alice.”

You smile, throwing your coat back on. “That’ll be nice. I know Alice was antsy about getting out of the kennel when I saw her yesterday.”

Mel chuckles, “That’s how she gets you. You know she has to go on a diet because people keep giving her treats?”

You laugh along with her, the zip lock bag of jerky you save just for Alice burning in your coat pocket.

Coming up behind her, you press a chaste kiss to the back of Mel’s head as you pass. “Well, have fun. Drink responsibly. Use protection- “

“Shut your mouth right now.“ She hisses, whipping her head around to see who’s around to hear. She’s in the middle of cleaning up, but you know you’d get a punch right across your shoulder if she had a hand free.

Pulling back the tent flap you wave goodbye to Mel, grinning at her flushed face.

“I’ll see you when you get back!”

Swinging by the front you sign out for the day, writing down your reasoning for clocking off early. You only had two hours left of your shift, and you really do think you could have lasted if you were allowed to sit the rest of the day. But what Mel says goes, as both your supervisor and your doctor.

The sun is setting when you leave the tent, the November air nipping at your skin. Winter is right around the corner, and you can already feel it. You’ll need to take up Mel’s offer of making some legwarmers to wear under your clothes, knowing that the freezing temperatures are going to be hell on your leg.

Wrapping your coat further around you, you shuffle inside the stadium as quickly as you can. The caf should just be starting to serve dinner now, and if you hurry you can beat the rush before everyone clocks off.

Just as you predicted, people are already lining up at the food stations when you reach the mess hall. Each of the stalls are serving something different, though it usually all boils down to a combination of rice, meat, soup, and stew. Today it looked like everyone was lining up by the old pretzel place, which usually meant it was burritos.

You do an awkward shuffle, a small circle as you try to decide what to eat. The burritos stall is always packed for a reason, but it looks like the butchers finally got some of those pigs in-

A sharp whistle from behind you cuts through the rumble of voices.

“Hey, doc!”

You turn, looking over at the old Noodle Bowl.

A woman a bit older than you stands behind the counter, her cropped hair hidden underneath a backwards cap. Her tank top is drenched in sweat from the hot kitchen, her deep skin flushed from the heat. She holds out an opaque container, though you can already smell the rich beef stew coming from the kitchen behind her.

“Skip the line! You know medics get priority.” She grins, waving the container at you.

You smile and limp over, your leg starting to throb. You meet the woman at the counter, gently taking the container from her. It’s nice and warm in your hands, feeling them tingle as they heat up.

“Thanks, Isabella. You’re a life saver.” You sigh appreciatively. You crack the container open to peek inside, your mouth watering at the dark broth and floating chunks of potato and beef.

“You know what would be perfect with this?” You begin, looking up at her. She smirks, reaching off to the side.

“Bread?” she asks, sliding over a small parcel of tinfoil.

You gasp, reaching for it. “A woman after my own heart.” You laugh, placing the foil of bread on top of the container. “Remind me again why we didn’t work out?”

“You were way too out of my league?” Isabella teases, leaning across the counter towards you.

“Good answer.” You grin back at her.

Isabella chuckles, taking off her cap to smooth out her hair again before putting it back on.

“You take care of yourself, yeah? Enjoy.” She winks, rapping the counter with her knuckles before turning back to the kitchen.

Stew in hand, and a light blush on the highs of your cheeks, you make the long trek back to the comfort of your room. Luckily yours is only on the second floor, as opposed to being on the third or fourth, but with the escalators out of order it’s still a huge hike for you and your leg.

You end up taking your coat off to make a temporary bag for your stew, folding it up and using the arms as handles. It gives you more room to grip the rails as you need them, which becomes more and more often the higher you climb.

You’re slightly out of breath and coated in a fine layer of sweat by the time you reach your room, taking a second to catch your breath before stepping in. Maybe you couldn’t have done those last two hours. Dammit Mel for always being right.

The stew is still hot when you unwrap it from your coat, moving to hang it up on a peg near the door. If you were quick about getting changed, you could probably get away with not having to heat it back up.

Depositing the container on the dining table as you pass, you make your way over to your side of the room, having to pivot and turn back when you automatically start going down the steps.

You and Mel split the room pretty evenly, her having the slightly raised segment to herself, and you having the area in front of the window. You liked being so close to the giant windows, peeking through the curtains you both strung up when you couldn’t sleep and pressing your cheek to the cold glass on warm nights. But ever since your injury, Mel suggested the two of you swap.

It made sense, taking away as many unnecessary obstacles as possible, but you still kind of missed your old spot. Maybe if you asked ever so nicely you could swap again.

You strip in front of your wardrobe, quickly hopping into comfier clothing. It was by no means anything close to proper pyjamas, a pair of slightly more worn in cargo pants and a long sleeve henley. Something that you could feasibly run around and fight in if you needed to.

Your days as a solider are over, but old habits die hard.

The rest of your night is simple. It always is when you have the room to yourself. Having Mel around is always fun and you love staying up and talking to her, but it is nice to just be alone sometimes. It feels different, not like how it used to when you were fighting for your life before you joined WLF. You can choose to be alone now, knowing that you’re safe and warm and that your friends are just around the corner. You can enjoy it.

Setting up a CD to play some soft music in the background, you eat your dinner. Isabella had served you up richly, enough chunks of beef in your single serving to split across two. She’s always been like that, giving special treatment to those she likes and admires. Your brief but very intense history got you onto that list, and you’re thankful for every day you’re still on it.

Using the bread to soak up the last of the broth, you savour the final bite of your food. If Mel was here, you’d get to have her broth too (she only likes the chunks, apparently), but tonight you miss out.

With dinner done and nothing else to do, you decide to curl up in bed for the rest of the night, give your leg a much-needed rest. You keep the CD playing quietly and grab one of Mel’s textbooks, tossing it onto the bed.

You run through your stretches for the night, positioning yourself on the floor to bend and stretch your leg just as Pierre-- the closest thing to a physiotherapist you have around here-- showed you. It hurts like a bitch, so you give yourself some leeway tonight and stop when it gets too much.

Peeling yourself up off the floor, you practically crawl under your covers, dragging the book under with you. The book is heavy, one that would be used during school, but you’re finding it somewhat useful. A lot of what they’re talking about goes over your head, but there’s enough diagrams and things you recognise to somewhat keep up. A lot of what Mel teaches you is done through the real thing, so you don’t have a lot of time to learn the name of every single bone or nerve in the nervous system. It’s a lot more… ‘Don’t cut here’ and ‘If you don’t put pressure there, he’s going to bleed out and die’.

You fall asleep around eleven, the textbook flopping to the floor when your arms couldn’t hold it up anymore. You’ve shifted in your sleep, back facing the rest of the room and limbs tucked in. You should start looking for a thicker blanket now that it’s getting colder.

The corner of your bed dips under their weight as someone sits, trying not to squish your feet under the covers. The thumping of boots being kicked off their feet and to the floor is just enough to pull you back to consciousness, though it’s the rush of cold air under the blanket as they pull it back that wakes you up entirely.

“Abby… Cold.” You hiss, turning and trying to tug the blanket from her.

You can practically hear her eyes roll as she crawls under with you, shifting onto her side so she can press her back up against yours. It makes up for the biting cold she let in, her back strong and warm, heating you up more than your blankets ever could.

“How was patrol?” you mumble, brain still catching up.

Abby hums. “Fine. Normal.”

You nod, or think that you do. You’re so tired.

“S’good.” You yawn, burying your face into your pillow more. “Sorry Manny kicked you out.”

She shifts, her rolling muscles move against your back.

“Yeah,” she sighs, sinking into your mattress, “It’s whatever. He uh, got to the room while I was eating dinner.”

“Should talk to him. Tell him to keep it in his pants when you get home from patrols.”

You hear a ghost of a laugh, your music quiet enough for you to pick it up. It puts a sleepy smile on your face.

“I should, huh? Maybe tomorrow.”

“Mmhm.” You yawn, stretching out your legs before relaxing back into your mattress with a hum. “I’ll be your back up.”

Ever since you found Abby passed out in the library, an open copy of Lord of the Flies laid across her chest, she’s been sleeping in your room.

She rejected your offer initially, looking at you like you’d grown a second head before rolling back over to keep sleeping. Which was fair, you guessed. You weren’t exactly friends, just two people that hung out in the same group.

Not that you didn’t try to be. You knew from the moment Mel introduced you to everyone that you wanted to know more about Abby. She was intimidating, a bit rough around the edges, and more than a little cold during your first interaction. It should have been a sign to stay out of her way, to leave her alone. But unfortunately, it just made her incredibly attractive.

No matter what you did, nothing seemed to favour you to her. You eventually found out it was because of Mel, and while no one could tell you exactly what happened, you figured it was bad enough for her to dislike you through pure association.

Something must have stuck with her though, because soon after rejecting your offer she was knocking on your door, pillow tucked under her arm, ready to take over your couch.

And she did. Anytime she needed a place to sleep, and Mel wasn’t home, she would come over. You started leaving out nicer blankets, draping them over the back of the couch, switching out the throw pillows for softer, less scratchy ones. She never said anything, but you knew she appreciated it.

It wasn’t until two months ago, drunkenly collapsing on your bunk together after Manny’s birthday party, that you started sharing your bed. The nightmares you would have, that the both of you shared in common, seemed to fade away when you weren’t alone.

A silent agreement passed between the two of you then, an unspoken arrangement to slide in next to each other. Backs pressed together, sharing your warmth, getting hours of blissful sleep.

You feel a nudge to your calf.

“Go back to sleep. Didn’t mean to wake you up.” She whispers, drawing her foot back to curl into herself. The movement presses her back more firmly into yours. A contented sigh tumbles from your lips.

“You’re fine. G’night, Abby.”

“… Night.”

You both fall into comfortable silence, the soft music still playing from the corner of your room. The CD will finish soon, but you should hopefully be asleep by then. You wait for the telltale signs of a sleeping Abby before you let yourself fall back under.

While the nightmares aren’t as intense when you share the bed, all it takes is a particularly bad day for them to rear their ugly head. And while you have your own long list of issues, you’re not the one still in active duty, so you like to make sure that Abby falls asleep. That she isn’t left to stare into the dark until the sun begins to rise, or gets dragged into whatever hell her brain has fixed up for her.

Her breathing eventually slows, and while she doesn’t snore, her deep breaths are interrupted with the occasional huff and groan. The pressure of her warm back on yours builds as her muscles relax and she shifts into the divot in the mattress between you. Her foot twitches and she shuffles her legs, unconsciously nudging you to entangle your legs with her own.

Only when you are certain she’s out and her sleep is peaceful do you let yourself go back to bed.

⸙

She’s gone in the morning when you start awake, the sound of a door down the hall slamming closed making your heart leap into your throat. Shooting upright in bed, the blanket tucked gently around you falling to your lap, you reach out for your firearm. It takes feeling the lumpy, cold mattress beneath your fingers to bring you back to yourself.

You’re in your room. Not outside hidden amongst the trees.

There are no Scars here.

Knees come up to meet your forehead as you curl in on yourself, shutting your eyes and forcing deep, shaky breaths.

It’s been months since you were on any kind of active duty, yet your body wouldn’t let you forget a second of it. Once a soldier always a soldier, you guess.

Once your heartrate slows back down, the sweat that was beading along your temples cooling, you lift your head up from your knees, peaking at the curtains. The morning sun is breaking through, sending slivers of light over Mel’s bed and the couch. If you strain your ears, you can hear people shuffling in the hallway, tired grumblings as they make their way into work.

Without checking a watch you’d say it was around eight in the morning.

Mel wasn’t scheduled for work until tonight, which means that you too got to have the morning off too. Though you were really getting somewhere with your training, Isaac didn’t want you working solo until Mel had signed off on you. So, unless they were absolutely swamped or it was an emergency, you worked the same shifts as Mel.

Flopping back on the mattress you shut your eyes once more, stretching out your limbs across the entire expanse of the bed. You had absolutely no issues with sharing your bed with Abby, but this mattress wasn’t exactly a king, and often find yourself tucked right up against the wall.

You doze on and off for a few more hours, taking advantage of the free day to catch up on all the sleep you’d been neglecting. It feels like you and Mel have been working around the clock lately, being assigned long shifts at odd hours. Ideally, you’d nap until your shift tonight, but your body refuses to let you sleep peacefully after 10am.

You putter around the room for a bit after dragging yourself out of bed, getting changed into your clothes for the day and drawing open the large curtains to let the sunlight into your room. The rays warm you as you do your morning stretches, flexing and pulling your leg into repetitive positions.

You so desperately want to just laze on the couch, curl up with a book or a magazine and rest your leg, but looking around the room you spot multiple piles of belongings neither your nor Mel have bothered to tidy up. Knowing the two of you, they’ll never get done if you don’t tackle them now. And who knows, maybe Mel will be so impressed that she really will swap spots with you.

You stomach begins to rumble around lunch time, just as you’re standing up from the CD rack you spontaneously decided to reorganise. Sure, there was probably something more important to do, but now your CDs are back to being in alphabetical order. For now, atleast.

Checking the fridge, you grimace at the lack of edible food left on the shelves. A withering carrot, some marmalade, and leftover rice and beans from a few nights ago make up its contents.

Sighing, you shut the door and grab your jacket. You’ll just get something from the cafeteria. Maybe when Mel comes home you can figure out her schedule, see if she’ll be willing to split some groceries with you.

⸙

“Hey, doc! Come sit with us, huh?” A voice calls out to you as you walk past their table, a container of stir fry hot in your hands.

You swivel around, eyes roaming the few tables in front of you when you spot Manny, waving you over. He’s seated with a few other soldiers, some you recognise from prior hangouts, others that must be part of his unit.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip as you toss up between sitting in the cafeteria with company or scampering off to your room to eat in private. Not that you don’t like sitting with Manny and his friends. They can just get real rowdy sometimes without Mel or Nora around to talk to.

You open your mouth to politely decline, wanting to chill as much as you can before your shift tonight, when the person opposite Manny turns around to look at you.

Abby.

She looks good this morning. Her usual braid is draped over her shoulder, getting long enough now to do so. It brushes the collar of her t-shirt, the sleeves of which she’s rolled up to the seam to fit her arms. She’s holding a bowl of rice up to her chest, spoon hanging out of her mouth as she looks at you.

Unable to hide the small smile that twitches your lips, you give Manny a nod and head over, weaving back through the crowded hall. Manny grins and shuffles along the bench, pushing against Jordan to make room for you next to him.

“There she is! How’s it going? Seen anything gross lately?”

You laugh, pushing yourself into your spot between him and Jordan, having to climb over the seat to get there. “Unless you count touching Malcom, then no. Not lately.”

Abby huffs a laugh around her spoon, twisting back around to face the table. You look to her as you set your container down on the table, smiling when you see she’s already looking. Her eyes flick down to your food and back to you, brows raised slightly in question.

Tilting your container you show her your lunch, the stir fry still steaming and warming your hands.

“Malcom isn’t that bad,” Manny laughs, diving back into his own food. Some sort of sandwich from the looks of it. “He’s a good shot.” He muffles through a mouthful of food.

You roll your eyes, picking up your fork and stabbing at a few vegetables, “Yeah, and a bad dodge. He keeps coming in to get stitched up, but I’m convinced it’s because he gets his chest felt up.”

“Can’t blame a man for trying his best. Not all of us are as lucky.” Manny snickers, elbowing the man beside him. The rest of the boys laugh back, the noise at the table picking up.

Abby just shakes her head, slouching over her bowl of rice to continue eating. From where you’re sitting it looks like plain brown rice. Knowing her, it probably came with a side that she’s already eaten all of, not planning out her bites ahead of time and just going right for the tasty part.

You twist to the side to face Manny, reaching up for his ear.

“Speaking of--” You pinch the top, yanking on it to bring his head down to your level. He yelps, grabbing at your wrist and swearing. “You need to stop having your play dates the same day Abby gets back from missions.”

Manny eyes you as he curses, briefly looking over at Abby before turning his attention back to you. Across from you Abby tenses, spoon pausing halfway to her mouth. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

“How’d you know I had someone over?”

You sniff, letting go of his ear and turning back to your food, getting a bite in before answering. “Caught her in the library again.” You lie, hopefully smoothly.

The two of you never agreed to keep her sleeping habits a secret, but you knew enough about her to know that she liked to keep her business to herself.

Manny grins, throwing his hands up guiltily. “What can I say? I have poor timing. Well, not all of the time...” He winks.

You fake a gag, grimacing as you pick up your food container.

“And with that, I need to go get ready for work tonight. I’ll catch you all around.”

Manny laughs, his voice booming through the hall. He playfully grabs at your sleeve, tugging it as you stand up to leave.

“Baby, don’t go! Please, I can change!” He pleads, gently trying to pull you back down to the table.

You stumble and laugh, batting his grabby hands off your clothes as you squirm away. Nearly tripping on the seat, you pry yourself free, stepping out of Manny’s range and across the table.

“Bye, Abby.”

You slide your container of food next to hers as you pass, having eaten all the vegetables and leaving her the beef. Her head whips up to yours, eyes questioning and mouth full of food. A piece of rice is stuck to her bottom lip.

Cute.

She tries to swallow her mouthful to say something, but inhales wrong in her haste, choking on rice. Manny, observing the interaction, bursts out in a fit of laughter as he slides over his canteen of water, watching Abby gulp it down to clear her throat. Some of the guys sitting next to her lean over to slap at her back, chuckling along with Manny. He’s calling her something in Spanish as she pushes all the hands away, the tips of her ears reddening as he jeers at her.

The last thing you see before the crowd shuffles and blocks your view is Abby, leaning over the table to punch Manny in the arm.

⸙

“He even said that we could decorate for Christmas. Apparently, he knows some department store that has trees and everything.” Mel gushes, setting up the surgical cart for the night.

“You two are so fucking cute.” You smile, spinning yourself in the office chair they have back here.

Mel flushes, feeling the heat of her cheeks with the back of her palms, “I just… I don’t know. I feel stupid for getting so giddy about it all but he’s just sweet, you know? Thoughtful.” She smiles softly to herself, reaching up in a cupboard for some gauze. “We haven’t even been dating a year and he’s already talking about getting new room assignments.”

“And you want that? He’s not like, pressuring you to go too fast or anything?” You slow your spin, digging your heels into the tent floor to stop to face her.

She shakes her head, laying out a handful of freshly bleached bandages and some scissors. “No, he’s been really good about it. I said that I’d like to wait until the New Year at least. Start fresh.

You nod, looking at her. Mel is a kind person, though she can be very outspoken and tough when needed -- you’ve seen this enough times when dealing with Abby or an unruly patient. But you’ve never seen her so happy. So flustered.

She giggles sometimes. Mel has never been a giggler.

Owen has been good for her. She needed someone to stop her from overworking herself, to make her feel appreciated and special, and if Owen is anything, he’s a hopeless romantic and a great distraction.

You let out a sigh, dramatically throwing you hand up to your forehead, pushing with your feet to spin on the chair.

“I can’t believe my wife is taking our child and leaving me for another! Leaving me to wallow in our shared home all alone.”

She snorts, throwing you a look over her shoulder, “Our child?”

“Alice, obviously.” You peek at her from behind your hand. “I expect visitation.”

Mel laughs, throwing her head back, “Of course. Wouldn’t dream of keeping her from seeing you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence, Mel double checking the contents of her cart.

“Maybe when I move out you can see about getting someone else to move in so you’re not as lonely.”

You shrug, leaning your head all the way back on the headrest so it hangs over. You feel something shift and pop in your neck, a pressure fizzling away.

“Yeah, no. I’ll just live it bachelor style until someone needs the space.”

Mel hums, “So you wouldn’t even offer it to your mystery woman?”

You try so hard to school your reaction, to not make it so obvious how right she is, but it’s difficult when she gets you like that out of nowhere. You tilt your head up to look at the back of her head.

“My who?”

Mel turns around, a smirk playing at her lips. She knows she’s caught you out. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’ve been having someone over while I’m gone.”

Your cheeks pink as you go to defend yourself, but for the life of you, you can’t find a non-damning answer. You’re left stuttering, gaping like a fish.

“I- Who- You don’t know that.”

“Oh? Then why do you always ask if I plan to be home or not?”

“Can’t I be invested in your safety? As your friend- “

“And, “ she cuts you off, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the sanitation sink, “We both know you have trouble sleeping alone. But suddenly on the nights I’m gone, you come into work having slept like a baby? Nuh-uh.” She points an accusing finger your way. “You’ve got someone you’re bringing home that you’re not telling me about.”

She looks triumphant. Victorious in having called you out on your sneaking around.

Your hands come up to cover your face, hiding from her gaze.

“Mel, it’s not like that,” you groan, sliding down in your chair.

“Seems like that to me.”

“No, it’s just… we’re just friends. I’m just hanging out with a friend.”

She doesn’t believe you. You don’t have to be looking at her to know that for a fact. “And you’d be content to just… stay friends?”

“Obviously I’d be fine with whatever she wants,” you rush out, getting overwhelmed with the intimate questions.

Theres a beat of silence.

“But…” she prompts.

You throw you hands up, looking up at her, “Yes, Mel. Fine. If she was interested, I would take her up on it. Happy?”

Mel nods, pleased as punch at getting you to admit this out loud. She has a bad habit of doing that.

“So,” she breaks the silence, kicking off the bench, “Are you going to tell me who it is?”

You cringe. Seeing as they aren’t exactly on speaking terms, you doubt that she’s going to be super thrilled about Abby hanging out in her home while she’s gone.

“I… I don’t know, Mel. Sorry, I just- “

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it.” She says softly, walking over and placing a warm hand on your arm. “No hard feelings. I’m not going to be mad because you don’t want to tell me who you’re crushing on.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, sagging against the backrest of the chair. “Thanks, Mel.”

“But if you ever wanted to talk about it- “

“Yes, yes,” you wave her off, unable to help yourself from smiling, “I’ll come to you about it.”

Mel smiles, pushing you on the shoulder so that you spin around in your chair.

“Come on, time for work.”

«« masterpost ꩜ next »»

[teddy06writes]

Long Day

Fiyero Tigelaar x gn!reader

Prompt: I'm tired and touch starved I don't need a prompt

Trigger Warnings: None

Summary: After a long day of boring lectures, insufferable classmates and nightmare group project assignments, you want nothing more than to curl up with your boyfriend within the sanctuary of your dorm.

(The wicked brainrot goes crazy)

{The dialogue is a little clunky but in my defense I worked a seven hour shift today}

You had resolved to never take a three hour lecture that started anytime past 4pm again long before this day, but the longer your professor droned on, the more certain of that choice you were.

The notebook in front of you was mostly bare, with only the most basic of notes scrawled across its surface. It took everything in you to keep your head up, instead of slumping down over the table as you so desperately wished you could.

You let yourself glance up at the clock that hung by the door. Only a few more minutes, and then you'd be free to join your friends in the dining hall, in the last few minutes before it closed.

By Oz, you were never taking another night class.

Finally, finally, your professor dismissed you, and you began to gather your things, all but running from the lecture hall.

By the time you arrived at your usual table, Elphaba, Galinda, Fiyero, were already nearly done with their meals. Nessa and Boq were just leaving to clear their plates as you slumped into your chair, dragging it closer to Fiyero so you could lean into his side.

"Hello darling," He pressed a chaste kiss to your temple, "Are you gonna make it?"

You let out a groan, "No, I'm dead already."

Galinda let out a chuckle, "Well, that's what you get for taking that god awful 5 o'clock lecture."

"My only other option was 8 in the morning. It was the lesser of two evils."

Elphaba smirked, "As someone in that 8am lecture, I'm not too sure."

You just let out another groan, sitting up enough to begin picking at the plate of food in front of you. Galinda went on chattering about something that happened with Madame Morrible earlier in the day.

Eventually, as dining hours came to a close, the four of you returned your dishes, and ventured back out toward the dorms.

Fiyero easily tangled his fingers with yours, pretending to think deeply on something for a moment, before turning to you, "Shall I be coming back to yours then?"

"Please?"

He smiled softly, leaning down to kiss your cheek mid stride.

No sooner had you gotten back to your dorm than Fiyero was pulling you to lie down beside him, wrapping your safely within his arms. Once your head was pillowed on his chest, he let out a hum, "Long day, Darling?"

"The longest." You sighed.

One of his hands began to lazily trace patterns up and down the length of your back, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really." You mumbled, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

Fiyero humed in response, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head, his fingers still trailing their hypnotizing rhythm up and down your skin. Your eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and tucked against Fiyero, listening to the gentle sound of his heart beat, you couldn't fight it.

You were asleep within minutes. Fiyero smiled softly, burying his face in your hair, before joining you in the land of dreams.

~~~~

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[adieutristana]

Could you write something about Jinx helping Reader study for her university entrance exam?

of course! thank you for the request <3

idk if this is something you’re actually going through but i wish you luck with your exams! :)

summary; jinx ‘helping’ her girlfriend study for her college entrance exams. she's got a unique way of helping.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, very lighthearted all around, r is applying for piltover’s academy, r is a top student, author doesn’t understand calc, r is in high school (18)

men dni.

"come on," she grumbles. "this is booooooring."

"i didn't say it would be fun."

pen scratching against paper and grunts of frustration are the only other noises present. you'd already gone through several workbooks and practice exams, mostly on the literary portion of the test. now, you're at the math and science section- and you know you're fucked.

you've been a top student your entire high school career. you studied diligently, took extra credit on every exam, stayed for school fundraising events, led clubs, even gotten involved in volunteer and charity work so your transcripts would stand out that little bit. the only thing you hadn't done was student government.

the academy was your top choice, your only choice since you were a kid. every boring homework assignment, every group project, every night spent volunteering was completed with the promise of the academy in mind. you knew entrance exams would be difficult, you knew that the academy very rarely admitted students from the undercity. but a part of you was convinced that you were the exception. your merits could charm the admissions officers.

so here you are, hunched over a table with stacks of textbooks beside you, scattered papers, empty pens, and a girlfriend who seems to want to do anything but study. transcendental functions. you'd never fully grasped it in class, but now you wish you'd studied harder. your teacher told you it wouldn't be on your midterm that year, so you didn't bother. stupid, stupid.

you barely understood the trigonometric functions, and now you're supposed to solve these during a timed exam? one that decides your path for the next four years?

"what's all this?" jinx asks, lazily toying with the edges of one of the pages. you've splayed out your workbook, scribbles in various colors around the words. highlighter and drawings of each model described.

"transcendental functions."

"huh?"

"transcendental functions."

an exaggerated huff escapes your girlfriend. she rolls her eyes and places her hands back on the edge of the table, peering over your shoulder at the words on the pages.

"i heard you. just dunno what the hell that means."

"i don't either, really." the pen falls from your grasp and onto the paper, but you don't stop to pick it back up. you've been at this for hours, and you're now at a standstill. a standstill. something so rare for you, that you don't know what to do when you're in the middle of one.

jinx seems to notice, at least. she leans back a little in her chair to look over the book, a bit more carefully now. rosy eyes skim over the words and equations, her nose scrunching. you'd think it was adorable if you didn't feel so damn defeated.

"let me look... i might know somethin'." jinx mutters, maybe more to herself than you.

the girl didn't exactly have a formal education. next to nobody in zaun did. you were one of the fortunate few who got the opportunity to go to school, and to do it long enough to graduate and have a chance to go to university.

still, jinx is a right genius. she'd figured out how to use hextech by herself before it was even established in piltover. she'd built several weapons without any outside help, she's unintentionally started a mini-revolution with her ideas. she'd invented several new contraptions out of pure boredom.

maybe jinx would see something that you're not.

dark brows knit together, and her eyes continue scanning over the pages. she makes little 'hmm' noises when she takes the time to really absorb the information on the pages. your heart is beating rapidly in your chest, and your eyes are fixed on the girl beside you. you trust her judgement and confidence, but there's a sliver of doubt. and you hate doubting jinx.

"right! so," jinx pipes, flipping back to the page you started on. "it says that you can't use algebra to solve for these... no addition or subtraction, yadda yadda."

a few notes of her own are scribbled down beside one of the models. she turns back to you, pursing her lips. "and they're used for growth and decay. you understand all that stuff?"

"kind of," you huff. you understand it in the context of algebra, but this doesn't use algebra.

"well, i don't- so we'll skip that part. but i'll try and help anyways." jinx has an amused lilt to her voice, almost as if this study session couldn't be the key to your future. "babe, this is serious."

jinx drums her fingertips on the open book. shaking her head in that way she does, so self-assured. ever the ego, jinx has.

"i know it is, toots! you've only told me a million times how important this is, that it could 'secure your spot in the freshman class' n' all that. but relax, okay? you're not gonna get a damn thing done if you're all... wound up."

your lips press together into a thin line. while jinx usually isn't the most rational person, she's right this time. maybe you are stressing a bit too much. you try to unclench your jaw and let your shoulders relax, a habit you've fallen victim to way too many times.

"you're just gonna worry yourself sick. no point in that." she mutters. jinx drives her words home with a little smack of her lips against your temple, and turns back to the textbook. "yeah.. you're right."

"i don't understand most of this, honestly," she says. though the girl leans against your shoulder, twin braids splaying out, and lets out an exaggerated hum. "but you're smart. you'll figure it out... nerd."

"shut up." you grumble. this only elicits another chortle from jinx, and she pokes you in the side.

"that tickles! stoooop!"

"nope!"

a few more minutes of jinx tickling you, peppering kisses across your face- and you're left breathless. spent. but you're much more relaxed than you had started out, and that's gotta count for something, right?

"alright, let's get back to studying," you sigh, and jinx rolls her eyes dramatically. but there's no actual annoyance to her, only fondness. she's always admired your dedication, even if she makes fun of you for the all-nighters you pull preparing for exams. even if she calls you a nerd and places herself in your lap while you're trying to do required reading for class. even if she turns your head and steals quick kisses from you while you type away, telling you that you're just so cute when you're concentrated.

looking over the words on the page again, it comes as a surprise that the words make a little more sense to you now. the models still look foreign, and the formulas are something you don't even want to think about, but you can at least make out the basic gist of these functions.

it isn't ideal, but it's a start.

"huh. it's making a little more sense now," jinx perks up at this, and lightly elbows your arm. "see? i told you that you'd figure it out! just had to relax a lil'."

you shake your head in amusement at the words, and nod. you pick your pen back up, and start jotting down your own notes on the sides of the pages.

"yeah, just had to relax a little. who would've thought?"

[maxwellatoms]

Hello Mr. Atoms, I'm an animation student in college and fan of your work. I got this assignment in which I need to ask questions to a professional in the area. Could you pretty please answer them? It'd mean a lot to me.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

Okey dokey.

1- Are you happy with your career? How it's going.

Not really, in that there seems to be no career left.

The animation industry swelled its numbers greatly before 2020. Almost immediately after that, corporate greed synergized with a pandemic to reduce animated programs and the number of people working on them to almost zero. It takes almost a year from beginning to end to make a single episode of an animated show (by the modern standard). There was nothing being made in 2020 and four years later, we''re not in a much better spot. It's going to be a long drought for (especially) Kid's TV Animation.

Recently, many of my former co-workers have hit the financial wall and can't continue, moving away after (sometimes) 20 years in the industry. I begin to wonder if I'm very far behind.

A "bounce back" a year from now would need to start today. There are still some animated shows being made now, but those are almost universally "library" properties. That means it's an existing I.P. (Intellectual Properties like Garfield/Mario/Batman/Star Wars) so as an artist you're immediately in that box. Depending on the property and the studio, it can be an unpleasantly tight box. I grew used to holding and maintaining the vision for a show, but it's less fun when it's not my vision. It's even less fun when you can't inspire someone to follow your vision because they've been so ruthlessly abused.

I'm pretty sick of how big media corporations treat their employees. If I inherit one more burnt out crew due to mismanagement, I'm gonna lose it.

Over a decade ago I fought hard to get board artists story credit for the episodes they were actually writing, and felt like I'd won a big victory for everyone. The second my back was turned, it all reverted.

Mostly... what is the point now? My career is/was developing ideas, crafting those ideas into a workable show, then managing teams of thirty to seventy people to produce a couple of dozen episodes per year. Studios actively do not want new ideas right now, and are actively searching for ways to eliminate what artists from the process. I'm not sure what my job would be under this new system, but it feels like they decided to hang onto the anxiety-inducing deadlines while removing anything remotely pleasurable from the experience.

2- What are your opinions, expectations and hopes about the independent animation industry that's developing?

It's the only way to get anything done, currently.

The current state of the industry is not sustainable. I (along with a lot of other animators I know) are trying to decide what's next, and pretty much everyone agrees that "you just have to make something".

It is (in that very specific way) a great time to be a young animator. The system was never going to treat you well anyway. If you can get something like a Hazbin Hotel happening without studio help, you can currently write your own ticket. I'm super proud of Vivsie, because that's a LOT of stuff to handle. I never had to handle my own marketing or drum up money to make Billy & Mandy happen.

There are opportunities there, but it's definitely "Hard Mode". The best idea is probably to team up with a few other people you like and like to work with.

Hopes? I hope that the young animators take over and make something new on top of the bones of the old industry, rather than just allowing that industry to patch its rotting hide with their collected works.

3- What do you think about the advent of artificial intelligence? Do you fear for the future of animators?

I suspect true AI might just peace-out like ScarJo in "Her", but we're not there yet. What we have now isn't Artificial Intelligence at all (though I do believe it may be the underpinnings of the Artificial Suconscious of what may one day become an actual Artificial Intelligence.)

The LLMs and "Generative AI" are (so far) a big dumb waste. They consume tons of energy and aren't great for doing anything creative. If you've sat down with Chat GPT for a creative writing session, you've probably run into the "out of the box" limitations which prevent it from talking about sex or violence-- which happen to be a major component of most stories.

Still, the technology has come incredibly far in an incredibly short amount of time. I imagine we're going to hit the point where we're being hazed by artificially generated political ads way before Generative AI can produce a consistent and usable character turnaround, so that'll be the test. Whatever the legal fallout is from this stuff over the next few years will set the tone.

Still, studios have a vested interest in pleasing their shareholders. Generative AI potentially has the capability of not only replacing swaths of money-eating artists, but handing that control directly to the billionaire studio heads. Mark my words: We're headed straight for billionaire-generated content.

I don't think the public at large will want to watch Elon Musk's fever dreams, so there's that. So law and general distaste might stave it off for a while, but I think there's just too much impetus for studios to continue to try to please their investors. "AI Art" is here to stay.

Eventually that will lead to millions and millions of bots generating millions and millions of songs and paintings and movies all day every day. Most of it will be utter trash. Right now (so I'm told) viewers are already burnt out, and will generally only click on what they already know. On Netflix, where there are twenty things you've never heard of and one you have, you're more likely to pick the thing that gives you comfort and gives you a guarantee you're not wasting your time. With exponentially more A.I. trash, how would you even begin to filter it out?

You'd need absolute control of an already existing distribution system. We currently have a few of those, and all of the media companies are desperately trying to merge with them to insure their own survival.

To me, the post-Gen-AI landscape looks a lot like old-school Cable, but with endless I.P. and fewer masters.

4- If money wasn't a problem, would you still do what you do?

The real question is, maybe, "What am I even doing?" These days I try to do a lot of gardening. I'm trying to learn new art skills, because suddenly twenty five years of experience managing, drawing, and writing isn't worth much. I recently worked on Jellystone until Zaslav lost 2.5 billion in the wash and had to find justification for his new yacht. The show before that? Also culled midway through to save money. The days of multi-year gigs seem to be over, and if I'm going to scrape by doing freelance, maybe I can do that somewhere else.

I'll always make art. I can't seem to help it. Ideas aren't my problem-- it's executing those ideas without the help of a structured pre-existing system. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to pull that off. My strengths are great, but were always supported by friends I worked with.

Can I start an indie cartoon with all of these cool friends? Sure, maybe. Most of those people have gone on to have other careers of their own and got used to being paid. Now nobody is getting paid and no one can pay anyone else. My immediate circle are all now middle-aged people with families and no jobs. Convincing them to give up a large chunk of their day for an idea that's not guaranteed to pay off is going to take some real effort.

I technically have fifteen years until I can claim my "retirement", assuming that still exists by then. That's a pretty big hole to fill with... I don't know what.

The difficult "What comes next" discussions at home are really just starting.

5- Any animators you admire and would like to mention?

There are a lot of cool animation people out there. I already mentioned I was proud of Vivsie. I was also reminded recently just how great C.H. Greenblatt and Mr. Warburton are. I know they're my friends. They're both just really upstanding, creative people who take good care of their crews.

The treatment of animation industry professionals by the studio system has been one of the most demoralizing and heartbreaking parts of this demoralizing and heartbreaking time.

---

So there ya go. If you want to look for someone whose attitude is a little more upbeat, I won't blame you a bit.

Wherever you are, I wish you the best of luck. For me, just climb up there and crush it. I would very much like to add you to #5 someday.

[apollabarnes]

part one

tommy probably needs therapy.

he's known this since he was discharged from active duty and assigned to train new pilots. there's a joke that goes around el segundo about how if everyone went to therapy, they'd have to change the rules — a strike, but for pilots' mental health. it's more acceptable to make a joke about how a near-miss might actually take the next time than it is to say you're having a rough go of it.

tommy's gone to a lot of exercise classes that promote mindfulness. (hot yoga was actually how he'd met victor.) he's done book clubs that only read self help books. he's popped into basically every support group that meets within driving distance.

it's basically all crap. there are a few things that tommy has found helpful, but he can get up, go to work, go out with friends, have relationships — he's pretty functional by all definitions of the term.

then he and evan break up.

there's a text he never sends to hen asking why she laughed at him instead of warning him that buck's speed was apparently hypersonic. his heart feels like it's been shredded by an x-15's engine. the rest of him feels like he's stuck hovering in the vomit comet, weightless and wondering if this is the time he loses his lunch on the way back to the ground.

it's not a great feeling.

he's gone to the mandated first responder therapy sessions after bad calls before, knows the lingo and how to fly under the radar when it comes to the therapist deciding whether or not he "needs help". he doesn't need the tips for breathing and centring yourself, or to ask for help, or to reconsider the building blocks of his coping mechanisms. tommy is cool, collected, unflappable.

ah. well. that explained why evan thought that.

going to a therapist, even without seeking a diagnosis, means that he'll probably get questions about it at his next recertification. might get grounded. flying is the one place tommy knows that he's useful. no one is as good as he is. it's not even an exaggeration to make himself feel better.

he's grabbing lunch at the local deli when he sees a flyer for an al-anon family group.

…huh. family implies that it's not him that has a problem if he runs into anyone he knows at the meeting, and the whole anonymous part of it means that anyone who wants to bring that up would also have to disclose that they were also going to those meetings. it's a gentler, kinder mutually assured destruction than he's used to.

he goes.

by the time he leaves the first meeting he's got a few more things to think about.

tommy's still not interested in actually talking about it, so he bounces between meetings every time he thinks someone is going to ask him if he wants to talk.

four months after he starts going to meetings, tommy finally talks. it's mostly about the fact that he thinks his father fucked the family up so bad he doesn't know how to have a normal relationship. it's amazing how many people feel the same way. he gets some good advice about ways to pull himself out of that mindset.

two weeks after that, he's bouncing between meetings again and when he walks into the room he sees athena grant on the other side of it. yeah, he definitely isn't going to be doing that. tommy takes a step back and disappears down the hallway, hoping that she wasn't paying attention to the people walking in. he's nearly back to his truck before he hears her voice.

"hey." it's only decades of pretending that doesn't have tommy hunching up and protecting himself — he doesn't think that athena would take him out at the ankles, but he's spent months successfully distancing himself from everyone except howie and it's just. a lot.

"first time?" she asks gently.

"here." and he's never coming back, if this is the one that athena goes to. there's the uncomfortable temptation to ask who she's here about, but he stamps out the urge. it's none of his business, it's anonymous, he should let her get back to it and try again another day.

"let's get a coffee."

part two // part three

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 8

Title: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: You're just there to help JK with his final project, so why are you being doused in water, facepaint and smoke? Art. Art is why.

Warnings: T, language, fluff, angst, honestly this one's kinda wholesome and fun, some photogrpahy jargin in there, but nothing a quick google search can't fix if you really need to <3, it's mostly surface level jargin. Also the smoke machine works cuz JK has great ventilation due to the massive windows being open, so don't worry bout that XD, some light and fun name calling, some world building. Ask if you need clarification on anything. That's all I think!

Word Count: 11,684

Release Date: September 1, 2024. 4:30PM

A/N 1: Surprise! Happy JK Day.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

PJK [7:36pm]: Saturday afternoon. my place. 11am.  PJK [7:36pm]: bring an extra set of clothes, something warm. Sweats if you have them. PJK [7:37pm]: also, Im gunna need your shirt size

The first three weeks of November have flown by and dragged on at the same time.

The weather’s getting colder. You need a thick jacket if you want to be anywhere outside, and all leaves have fallen from the trees, leaving pines the only ones left with their winter coats on. Hot chocolate from greenhouse cafe has become part of your life’s blood so you don’t freeze, and gloves with pocket warmers inside them are once again a part of your everyday. 

But November skies have returned. And you frequently set up camp on the drying grass beside the greenhouse, dressing your canvas with oil paint to their likeness as it’s the only paint that doesn’t dry the second it’s out of the tube in the cold, static air.

Jungkook told you earlier in the week the shoot would most likely be this weekend, and that he just had a few final strings to pull together before being able to confirm. So with that in mind, you intentionally tried to finish all your work before this weekend, knowing the shoot will take a while to complete.

He mentioned it may leak over into Sunday depending on how much you get done on the first day, which is fine with you considering you usually spend Sunday evenings at his place anyway. You’d consider it an extended edition of your regularly scheduled broadcast.

And speaking of regularly scheduled, you haven’t missed a single movie night since Nel left. Granted, it’s only been three weeks, but even missing the two you did because of Nel had made an impact. 

You’d gotten so used to them, having that time to destress and unwind before the week starts. A nice little routine that helps reset you both mentally and physically.

Suddenly not having that was…a weird feeling you try not to remember. 

And you are more than happy to never miss another one ever again.

You aren’t sure what Jungkook tells Adaline he’s doing during movie night, but she’s never interrupted you, not even once. And it’s something you are increasingly grateful for, because she is one of the things you destress from as your unspoken rivalry always amps up the closer to exam season you get.

It’s Thursday evening, and you’re in your room finishing up a Microeconomics 3 assignment while piano music plays on a speaker in the corner. You use it to help you focus, and it’s working its magic as you’re finishing your work in record time. 

Music has always helped you work better, and you credit it largely with how you’ve been able to keep up with everything in your schooling.

Yuri’s in her room, doing homework as well you assume. Or maybe texting Tai—the dreamy, big dicked Ilcalos island Count—you swear she’s only put her phone down for sleep and showering, as she’s constantly checking to see if he’s messaged her. And you hope it turns out well for them, Yuri deserves someone who treats her well. Especially after the whole Jungkook debacle—which you’re not allowed to bring up—and then the poor rebound you aren’t allowed to talk about either. You’re just happy she’s finally found someone worth her time.

Picking up your phone, you shoot Jungkook a text back.

You [7:40pm]: okay! saturday at 11 sounds good. I’ll bring sweats and warm socks

You message him your shirt size too, curious as to what he’ll use it for, but you’re sure you’ll find out in due time. You always do.

Subject to many of his homework assignments, you’ve been posed and lit and adjusted every which way. 

Jungkook is incredibly professional when you’re with him as a model. Light touches to correct posing, always with a ‘may I’ before he does, and he fills the room with kind words, good vibes, and fun music so you never feel awkward. 

At first you were really iffy on the whole idea when he first asked in September, because it would be the prince of your nation photographing little ol’ you. You weren’t anything special—yet—and you’re still never one for being in the spotlight, or for being on camera. At all. But if it was just for homework, and you were helping out a friend…you figured why not? 

It helped that all of your worries immediately faded when you saw the results of that first shoot.

An email from a very non-princely email address found its way into your inbox. The subject was the date of the shoot, and the only message inside being:

 thanks. Hope you like them. 

Let’s do it again sometime.

-J

When you opened the attachments you made a quick dive to catch the phone that fell from your hands in shock. 

You looked…beautiful. Like you never had in pictures before. Not in school, or at graduation, not even in the ones you took of yourself. 

You didn’t know you were capable of looking like that. 

Like how he saw you. Captured you. 

And you’ll never admit you’ve held your chin a little higher with every shoot since.

They make you feel powerful, attractive. More confident, and sure of yourself, as if you were always meant to be in front of a camera. Like you’d been in front of one since before you could walk.

They do that for you.

He…does that for you—with his pictures, of course.

Jungkook is very talented. Very skilled with his camera, and you find yourself looking forward to the concepts he comes up with every time. Trusting him and whatever his vision is wholeheartedly. 

Though a small, immature piece of you is also pleased he still wants you to model, and not Adaline. That he finds you easier to work with over her.

Your competitive streak never fails to come out, even with the smallest, secretive things.

Take that Adaline.

You gladly help him out with his homework, and he does the same for you. 

If you ever need a male reference or a profile study. Anatomy practice, features practice, likeness practice. Anything and almost everything, all you have to do is ask, and he sits still or places whatever you need in front of you while you sketch.

Hands, however, have always been a personal favourite of yours.

They’re one of those things that can be drawn a hundred different ways and never look the same. Always a new position you can put them in. Consistently able to shake things up. And one set is never like the others—like eyes. There’s little differences in all of them and that’s where their magic lies.

You do these studies at the greenhouse, it has the best light to shadow ratio. When you ask him for one, he’ll switch to working with one hand, while the other does whatever you tell it. Normally either placed on your table or if there isn’t enough room, which nine times out of ten there isn’t because of all your supplies, you stick your foot on the lower metal frame of his table and he rests his arm, wrist or palm on your up bent knee. 

Due to this, you’ve unintentionally come to find out that his hands are very strong, very calloused, and very, very warm…

Also! Aside from hand studies, you love loose figure studies because they’re great warm up sketches. And what Jungkook doesn't know is that you have dozens of warm up sketches of him. Doesn’t know you sneak pictures here and there when you can, hiding them in a hidden album on your phone entitled ‘hmwk screenshots.’ And he definitely doesn’t know that when he’s sitting at the cafe, nose deep in assignments, you doodle his features or his outfit in real time.

A nose here, a jacket there. A muscular forearm covered in tattoos also tends to find its way onto your page every so often.

He’s got a good physique. And the ridges make for excellent anatomy practice. So does the intricate line work of tattoos, and fabric rippling. Especially in drastic lighting. Consistency is key in maintaining and improving your work and it’s not like any of these sketches will ever see the light of day anyways. 

They’re just, well…practice. 

A sigh escapes you, and you refocus on finishing your microecon work. You still have two more assignments to get done before Saturday at eleven.

“And why are you working with some random girl when I’m available, again?” Adaline asks. She’s currently sitting on Jungkook's couch in your spot. He’s setting up tomorrow's materials against the big white wall by the floor length windows that showcase his balcony.

It’s why he chose to live here instead of in the dorms or on campus. His place isn’t enormous, like most people would think, it has enough room for everything a regular student needs: bedroom, kitchen, workspace, living room, bathroom, even a guest room. But the one thing he keeps different is the big white wall where a dining room would normally be. 

Jungkook’s place has high ceilings, 10 feet tall, which is higher than the average but not excessive. And the wall that connects his kitchen to the balcony is a perfect mock studio. He can even keep all his equipment there; lights, gels, backgrounds, tubs full of props, camera cases, lenses, and more all stored in neat shelving against another wall. 

“Because students volunteered for extra credit, and she’s who was assigned to me,” a small lie, one he was sure that Adaline wouldn’t dig into too deeply. 

“Why didn’t you tell me I could volunteer?”

“Because you didn’t need the extra credit?”

She pouts, and goes back to her phone.

Adaline also doesn’t know it’s you he’s photographing and that is one hundred percent intentionally planned by him. 

He could sense something between you two after you made that one comment after fall break. He notices now how you stiffen slightly every time he mentions Adaline, and the one time he mentioned you in passing to test the waters, Adaline changed the conversion topic almost immediately. A look of annoyance, or maybe even insecurity in her eyes.

So he’s been lucky that Adaline has never wanted to see any of his schoolwork prior to or after the singular shoot he did with her. 

Lucky she hasn’t seen your face fill up his screen constantly. 

And extremely lucky that she doesn’t know about the hidden folder buried deep in his desktop labeled ‘eqpmt rcpts’ filled with dozens of candid shots of you.

To be fair, you don’t know about them either. They’re random, shots taken every now and then where he thought you looked happy, focused, or just existing. True candids of the most candid person he knew.

It started that day with his first assignment from Professor Hirmer. He’d taken those quick pictures of you painting, and then simply never stopped. 

He has pictures of you in the courtyard, walking and talking to Yuri, you smiling. He has some he took on his phone when you’re over for movie night, invested in the film or talking to him. And a bunch of you painting at the greenhouse. It’s hard to take secret candids when he’s right beside you, but he manages seeing as you haven't caught him yet.

He even has a few of you and Nel, love clearly written on your face in every single one of them.

Whenever he spots you before you spot him, and he has his camera on him, he takes a couple. 

They’ve amassed into a healthy sum, but he thinks of it as a harmless habit as no one will ever know. And it’s not like he’s following you around to take them or using them for anything nefarious. 

He just likes taking your picture. Capturing your spirit, your candor. 

Your realness. 

You are wholly yourself, always, no holding back, all of the time. 

And to him, it feels like coming up for a breath of fresh air.

“Hey!” you say as you let yourself into Jungkook’s apartment. You’d knocked but no one answered and it was currently 10:56am on Saturday, so you knew he was here. Plus, his door was unlocked.

“Jungkook?” you call. 

No answer.

You take your shoes off after closing the door and locking it. He should really keep his door locked. 

Very quickly become best friends with the couch, you toss your backpack of warm clothes on the floor while you wait for him to make an appearance. 

There’s shoot equipment everywhere; lights in the corner, some with soft boxes on them, gels laid out on the coffee table, and what you’ve come to learn is a lens case sits on the couch beside you in Jungkook's usual spot. 

Jungkook has also somehow managed to find some small trees in blue ceramic pots and what you’re pretty sure is a smoke machine. 

But the most peculiar thing is what looks to be a kiddie pool up against the wall with a folded tarp at its base. 

Well that's…interesting…

You hear a door open somewhere in the apartment and running water. 

“Jungkook? That you?”

“Hey! Yep. Just give me a sec, I’m almost done.”

The water sounds cease and Jungkook makes his grand entrance as he turns the corner holding a large watering can. Your eyebrow raises.

“For the trees?” you ask.

“What?” 

You point to the watering can currently making his veins pop. 

He laughs, “Oh! No. This is for later. You’ll see,” and walks to the other side of the room by the pool. 

“Aren’t we mysterious today,” you say, following him with your eyes. He’s in ripped black jeans that accentuate the muscle definition of his thighs, and a matching baggy shirt. When his back is turned you snap a quick picture. The fabric folds on his baggy shirts are some of your favourite mindless things to cool down sketch.

“Nah, just focused. We have a lot to get through today.”  He sets down the watering can and you can see the moment the switch flips from friend to photographer. “The guest room is ready for you. There’s a clothing rack inside with each look labeled. There’s also makeup and face paint, if you could bring out the make up after you're done changing, that would be great. We’re gonna start with ‘Bright and Bold’, okay?” 

You usually use the spare room as a change room when you have to switch clothes for a shoot. But they were always from your own closet. He’d tell you the concept he was going for and you’d bring a few options to choose from.

Makeup you were used to, though. Jungkook loves abusing your artistic abilities for his shoots in the way you decorate your face or body, saying they make his works a level up from the rest of his classmates. 

They also usually make for some of the coolest pictures you have of yourself.

This is the first time he’s ever bought clothing, though.

You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, this being his final assignment for an important class, and him being as serious as he is about his work and the final product. But you can't help it, you’re excited to see everything he’s chosen for the shoot. 

For you.

For the shoot.

“Yep, sounds good. Be out in a few,” you reply. He nods in acknowledgement before moving to set something up and you don’t stick around to find out, grabbing your bag and heading towards the door lined hall. 

The guest room is modest and clean. White sheets and gray comforter with, surprisingly, two throw pillows to spruce it up. The walls are white too, but you’re pretty sure that’s because Jungkook’s not allowed to paint the apartment per his landlord's wishes—a thought that still makes you laugh.

He could buy any place he wanted, but chose to rent. ‘To get the real university experience,’ he explained when you asked him the first time you went over.

Black furniture accents the room. A comfortable looking leather chair sits in the corner by a glass door that leads to the balcony. It has a small table beside it. There’s a dresser with a mirror in the other corner and of course, in the center of the room, is the bed. It’s a nice room. However, the newest edition is what’s keeping your eye.

Four shirts hang from the rack at the foot of the bed. The first is vibrant and colourful, the second a light neutral short sleeved V neck, third is strapless and skin coloured, and the last is made from thin black fabric you assume will be skin tight by the looks of it. 

As promised, they’re all labeled with a sticker. 

You throw your bag on the bed and grab the colourful one first. Its sticker says ‘bright and bold,’ and you put it on after removing the shirt you came in, then zip it up. The material feels heavy, durable and expensive. You check the tag on the inside seam and see it’s from Ilkaya, one of the biggest and most expensive fashion designers on this side of the realm. 

Your eyes bug out of your head, and you try not to breathe too hard for fear of ruining it. Your routine of thrifting all your clothes makes you pretty damn sure you can’t even imagine how much this cost. 

It feels good though, comfortable, not itchy. Really freaking expensive.

You look at yourself in the mirror, and you have to admit you look amazing. It fits perfectly in all the right places, compliments your skin tone, and even brings out your eyes. Begrudgingly, you admit to yourself that maybe there’s some sense in what the price tag could be. But it would still be a ridiculous sum for a jacket.

With one last look in the mirror, you grab the palettes, brushes and other tools off the dresser, and leave your designated dressing room for the day in favour of returning to the living room. 

Jungkook’s got music going from your shared playlist. Insisting on making one after your second shoot together, when he decided you both agreed to the arrangement becoming a regular thing. It’s a good mix of both of your musical tastes, even though you guys figured out quickly that you liked pretty similar stuff anyway. 

“What do you think? Does it work?” You ask as you turn the corner. 

Jungkook fiddles with this camera before looking and pausing for a moment to take you in. You hope you look okay, but the weird look he has on his face makes you backtrack a bit. 

“Is this not the one you wanted? It had the label on it. But I can go back and double che- ”

“You look amazing,” is all he says, and your worry slides off you instantly. He smiles wide, the one you’ve come to recognize as genuine. 

“Thanks. But the colour’s doing most of the work for me,” you say, smiling back shyly.

He has a white background set up, and two differently coloured gel’d lights sit on opposite one another, a third, smaller floor light faces the background. A backlight, he’d call it. 

Bright and Bold indeed, though there is the matter of-

“What do you want me to do for my make up?”

“Actually,” he sets down his camera gently on a table, “Is it okay if I do it? I want it to be a little more on the amateur side and I don’t think your years of refined talent would let you get the exact look I want.” 

That’s new. But you're here to stand and look however he wants you too, so you allow him with a nod. 

“Sure, where do you want me to sit?”

“Here’s fine,” he says as he pulls a stool that was off to one side close to one of the windows. “As long as you don’t mind holding the make up. I don’t have a table to set them down on.  Should’ve thought of that, sorry.” 

You can tell he’s mentally scolding himself for forgetting something.

“No no, it’s fine,” you say, taking your seat, “I don’t mind, really.” 

Placing the balls of your feet on the bar that holds the chair legs together, you make your lap even enough to set the palettes out, and use a hand to hold all the brushes. 

Jungkook laughs, noticing your feet as you sit, “Cute socks.”

They’re light blue with a fox face on them, and little ears stick up from the elastic around the ankle. 

“Thanks,” you laugh too, they’re your favourite pair. “I call them my fox socks. They’re lucky.”

“Let’s hope so. Wish me luck fox socks,” he calls to your toes, and you wiggle them in response.

He picks a brush and chooses a colour. “Close your eyes and let me know if I’m pressing too hard. If it isn’t obvious, I’ve never done this before.”

You close your eyes and whisper, “Will do.”

It's a uniquely intimate experience having your makeup done. Willingly letting someone get up close and personal with you, allowing them to see every potential scar, blemish and pore in the name of beauty and for the sake of creativity. 

In this case, it’s also a little questionable considering where you feel the brush putting down colour: cheeks, lids, temple, nose. However, you’re simply a pawn in a well thought out plan, so you sit and wait for him to finish.

“Annnd done,” he says, making a final swipe with the brush on your cheek. “You look great! I didn’t hurt you, right?” he asks, showing you the makeup in a palettes mirror. Your face looks like it’s been attacked by a rainbow in the best way. You smile, taking the mirror from him and looking at all the little details. 

For a first timer, Jungkook did a really good job. 

“Nope, I’m good. How do you want me?”

Jungkook leads you to the backdrop, placing you in front. 

“One second,” he says, grabbing a remote and clicking a button to lower the black out curtains on the windows, and then another that turns off the apartment lights. He also clicks on all the lights he’s set up and you’re quickly illuminated by a bright red and purple as well as the back light.

“I’m good to pose?” he asks. 

“Yep.” 

You love that he always asks first. It makes you feel safe and considered, consenting to every touch prior to its occurrence. 

Jungkook instructs the first pose to have your hands on the sides of your face, making slight adjustments so that you don’t cover any of the makeup. And for the first time, his touches leave little sparks where they land. 

You’re sure it’s just because of the lights or that the shirt is thick and makes you warm. 

Or maybe you’re just nervous and need to get the first photo jitters out of your system.

Soon enough, the camera’s pointing at you and you smile the brightest you can. He’s given you the prompt of ‘you’re so excited and happy you can’t hold it in,’ and you work with it the best you can, taking the first few with the pose he gave before being given full reign. 

It’s a decent way into the first shoot when Jungkook says, “Hmm…we’re not quite there yet, I need a bit more,” and follows up with, “How about ‘you’ve just been commissioned by the Modern Art Museum to have the leading showcase for next year’.” 

You smile the biggest you think you ever have at the thought. Because that’s the dream, that is the biggest goal you could achieve. An entire gallery of your work as the primary exhibition in the Western Shores Modern Art Museum? You couldn’t go any higher. It’s every artist's dream.

“There you go! That’s it!” The camera’s capturing quickly as you imagine what it would be like to have your own showcase at the WS-MAM. Incredible is the first word that comes to mind, your work in the biggest museum on the continent? You can’t even imagine, but you want to. 

One day, you promise yourself. You’ll do it one day.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, breaking your daydream, “Let me switch out the gels for new colours and go again. These are great so far though, you're doing amazing.” 

You hold your hand out for a high five and he smacks it. “Go team!” you say, and he laughs.

An hour and a half, a makeup fix and three lighting changes later, the first shoot finishes. You collapse on the couch and rub the muscles on your thighs. 

Jungkook plops down beside you, nose deep in the pictures he’s just taken, double checking everythings good.

“This is a fantastic start, I hope we can keep it up all day and finish before tomorrow.”

“Me too,” you say, and you mean it. Shoots with him are always fun, but inevitably tiring. “I’m gonna to grab a water, want one?” 

“Yes please,” he replies without looking up.

In the kitchen, you open the fridge to grab the two bottles and notice a box, stamped with a coffee mug that has a greenhouse inside of it, on top. The greenhouse cafe’s logo. 

“Can I ask what’s inside the cafe box?” you ask as you sit back on the couch and pass him a bottle.

“Ah, caught red handed,” he says, setting his camera on the table and taking a swig. “I may have asked Vivan earlier this week to make sure there was an overstock of tarts so I could grab them for you as a thank you for today.”

...Oh

That’s so sweet. He’s never gotten you a thank you gift before, especially not in the form of the most delicious pastry to ever exist. Maybe you should get him something for all the times he’s helped you with homework? A solstice gift maybe?

There’s heat forming in your chest and you really hope it’s not the beginning stages of heartburn. Maybe Jungkook has antacids. 

“You didn’t have to do that, I’m happy to help.”

“So you don’t want them then?” his shit eating grin making a glorious comeback because he knows what your answer’s going to be.

“No! I want them. I most definitely want them.”

He chuckles and puts his water down.

“Okay Donatello, glad you accept. Let's move on to the next set up. There’s makeup remover and cotton pads in the room, and some moisturizer too if you need it.”

The next shoot is called ‘Regality,’ and it has you in the strapless shirt. You find out it’s quite a low cut when you put it on. There’s enough to cover you, but there’s definitely a lot of your chest showing. However, under the shirt on the hanger is a scarf to cover yourself with, which you think is very considerate.

“Makeup?” you ask as you come out again, scarf covering you.

“Neutral, but strong. Kind of like how my mother does,” the background is still white, but you have a hunch that it will remain white in this picture, unlike the last one. “This one is going to be black and white, so try to emphasize your natural beauty.”

You ignore that he essentially just said you're beautiful, surely he’s just being kind and professional. Making sure his model feels good about herself. 

Right?

Right.

You put on a coat of mascara and go light on the shadow so it won't be too dramatic on film. You also use a shade of lipstick that adds just a tint to your lips and a blush that makes your eyes pop.

Jungkook has you sit on the stool from earlier and faces your body three quarters of the way towards the camera, but keeps your head turned in profile. 

“Oh! Almost forgot, one second,” Jungkook jogs to his room, coming back with a palm sized velvet box. “I had my mother send these over for this shoot. She has better taste than me, so I let her pick them out.”

Your stomach plummets to the floor when he opens the box. 

Inside are two dangling diamond earrings, and quite possibly the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

And now you’re terrified. 

“Jungkook, I can't wear those. They look like they’re worth more than my house, my car and my tuition combined.”

He takes one out and places it in your hand for you to put in, it’s the length of your index finger. And all you can think about is the potential houses you’re holding as you look at it. 

It’s a semi-rectangular earring, encrusted with four columns of diamonds that cascade down, each column longer than the previous. Like a sparkling waterfall you can attach to your ear.

“Don’t worry about it, mum said she never wears them anyway because they’re part of a set that the necklace was lost to years ago. Please,” his face is nothing but reassurance and small smiles, “You’re giving them a chance to live again.”

You couldn't say no to those eyes even if you wanted to.

So you reply, almost breathless and still against your better judgment, “Okay.”

Placing them in one after the other, they have a significant, understandable weight to them. You take a couple deep breaths so you don't freak out, and then you return to your previously designated pose, profile set, body facing the camera.

“Can I adjust?” Jungkook asks, after taking a step back and getting a wider view. 

You nod gently, still terrified of the earrings.

He makes sure the earring is visible and untangled first, before a finger gently comes beneath your chin, and lifts it a bit higher. 

The feeling they leave behind is all you can think about as you stare at your place on the wall, Jungkook snapping away. Not even the soft light illuminating your profile is enough to make you blink.

This shoot goes by quickly, and you’re relieved to get the earrings back safely inside their box.

“It’s like 2:45, wanna break for a late lunch?” Jungkook asks. 

“Please, I’m starved,” you say, returning from the guest room after tossing on the sweater you brought. “What's on the menu?”

“Well, we have two options,” he says, looking very faux serious, “1. We order out from wherever you want and awkwardly wait for it to arrive because the next shoot is not one we can’t prep for, then eat, then shoot.  Or 2. I make use of the ingredients I bought to make Bulgogi Kimchi Fried Rice and you get lunch and a show.”

You're shocked. 

Jungkook…cooks? Oh this you absolutely must see.

“Hmm….” you say, pretending to really mull it over in the same ‘serious’ tone, “I’m thinking I’ll have to go with option two, Chef. But I’ll lend a hand where I can, no use in standing around doing nothing.”

“Every chef needs a sous.”

With both of you on task, lunch is getting made quickly. Jungkook has all the ingredients to make ‘my buddy’s famous family recipe,’ a man who you assume is a chef back at the palace. The island countertop is currently covered in them; onion, kimchi, marinated bulgogi, gochujang, cooked rice, eggs and more. 

You’re surprised at how skilled Jungkook is in the kitchen. He’s cutting the ingredients like he’s been doing it his whole life and working the pan over the stove like the proper technique has been drilled into him since birth. 

Thirty minutes pass, and after both of you shed a tear at the cut onions and evenly split the remaining tasks, you’re sitting on the couch about to take your first bite. It smells delicious. Your mouth is watering and you can’t wait to dig in, stomach painfully empty by this point.

Finally taking that first bite, you nearly die of euphoria.

“Ouhmahgaud,” you say, mouth half full. Jungkooks on the other side of the couch, trying not to cough out his own food from laughing at your reaction. His eyes are nearly shut with how wide he’s smiling.

“Good?” he asks after swallowing his food first, like a civilized person.

You’re vigorously nodding as you swallow your own helping in hopes you’re understood.

“You’re giving me this recipe. I need it. I don’t think I will survive if this is the only time I ever get to eat it.” Your bowl is almost half gone already. Thank god there’s leftovers, you will be having more.

Plus, you want to make it for your mom when you go home, she’ll love it. 

“I’ll text it to you later, don’t worry.”

You’re very sure the look on your face conveys the gratitude you feel and the rest of the meal passes in a very comfortable and satisfied silence. 

Twenty-ish minutes later, after letting your seconds settle for a couple minutes, Jungkook gets back to business. 

“Next look is the most adventurous, it uses the facepaint. Are you okay with contacts?”

“I think so, never tried them before though. Just give me a few before we start so I don’t explode when I stand up.”

“All good,” he says, before quirking a lip and adding, “I really don’t feel like explaining why there’s kimchi and bits of you all over my walls to either of our parents, so take all the time you need.”

You laugh, firstly at the visual, then at the idea of Jungkook meeting your mother. That would be something you needed on record, paper and film.

After a minute, you get up, the guest room making your acquaintance once more. 

“This one is called Enigmatic,” Jungkook calls.

“Got it!”

You take longer than normal to change, maybe eating before putting on the skin tight shirt wasn’t a great idea. But at least it was stretchy. 

It has long sleeves, a high neck, and is a very dark midnight black. There’s a matching black scarf for this one too, and a safety pin attached to the corner.

“Okay, what's the plan for this one? I hear facepaint is involved,” you say, back for round three, scarf in hand.

The background of the set is black now, a close match to your shirt. Jungkook is by the smoke machine, currently set up on the stool and plugged into a nearby outlet. 

You hold up the scarf, questioningly.

“That’s to go over your head after the paint, but let’s see if you can do contacts first, they’re in the washroom. Need help?”

“No, I'm good.”

You don’t succeed at first, but after a couple attempts you look in the mirror and see purple eyes staring back at you. You love them.

“I look like a badass,” you say, returning. The smoke machine’s been turned on and it’s created a completely different atmosphere. At your reemergence, Jungkook shuts it off and comes close to give you a look. You freeze a little at the eye contact, his browns meeting your currently violets for a prolonged moment.

“They look better than I’d hoped, this is going to be great.” 

He reaches under the gels on the table for a piece of paper. It’s a makeup model face with the look he wants drawn on. “Are you able to do something like this?”

The diagram shows the cheeks, bottom half of the nose and down all the way to the neck as black, and the eyes and up as white, bleeding down into the black like smoke. You’re going to need eyeshadow for that part. If you did that with the face paint it would just become a gray mess.

“Yep, but it’s going to take some time to get it right.”

“That’s okay, I’ll use it to get the smoke machine properly set up.”

You use one of the palette mirrors and start with the white, covering the top of your face and making a good base layer for the eyeshadow. Then fill the bottom of your face and neck with the black. Carefully, so as to not make gray, you use a large brush to cover both sides with their respective eyeshadow shades, before blending them together like the reference. Your skin starts to feel like it’s on fire by the time you're satisfied and you check your phone for the time when you finally finish. 

4:37pm. 

Not bad. You put the scarf over your head and cover your ears with it, using the safety pin to hold it in place. 

“Done.”

Jungkook takes one look at you and lights up. 

“Have I ever mentioned how talented you are, and that you make my schoolwork so much more fun? Because I feel like I should again even if I already have.” Your cheeks heat, glad he’s excited you’re able to help. “How did you manage to make it look even better?”

“I do vaguely remember mentioning something about a deal with a semi-suspicious genie,” you joke. And both of you break out in giggle fits after a second, recalling the conversation from forever ago. 

Running through the same steps of lighting, posing, and adjustments, Jungkook then flips on the smoke machine and lets it fill the room heavily before starting to take pictures. 

You’re sitting on a small box this time, so that you’re slightly lower than the camera. Jungkook tells you to keep your hands at your sides and look up, just above the rim of the camera lens. It creates a very interesting look, and you're excited to see the results. 

He has you do a couple more poses before allowing you to do your own thing once more, trying to think of what would look mysterious and enigmatic.

You try to let the music inspire you. This is a look you’ve never done before, so you’re finding it a bit difficult to get into it despite Jungkook's helpful prompts and suggestions. But you flow a bit better with it as time goes on and you become more comfortable.

An idea pops up out of nowhere and you have him do a close up from the middle of your chin to the middle of your forehead. You stare straight into the lens to really showcase the purple contacts and makeup.

“This’s the one for sure,” he says, taking a few more. “Great idea, why didn’t I think of a close up in the first place?” You know he's talking to himself at this point. 

It’s close to 6:15pm when Jungkook decides he has enough pictures for this look. You don’t mind the longer shoot seeing as you set aside the day for this, and you can’t wait to see how these ones turn out in particular.  

You’re halfway through getting the face paint off, a mountain of gray stained cotton pads beside you, when Jungkook turns the music down.

“Let’s do a light, early dinner and then shoot the last one?” he asks. “I kept this one at the end because it’s going to create the most mess and it’ll be nice to have dinner out of the way for when I have to clean up.”

“More mess than this?” you point to the cotton pad mountain.

“Much more.”

“Light, early dinner it is,” you confirm, not wanting to have to wait till late to eat. “But can we order out so I have time to get the rest of this off?”

“Sure, what’ll it be?”

Clean faced, moisturized and ramyeon filled, you and Jungkook are preparing for the last shoot. Or well, lightly arguing.

“Water?”

“Mhm.”

“On me?”

“Yep.”

“From that thing,” you point to the contraption he calls a c-stand that will be holding the very full, very large watering can over your head for an extended amount of time, “And into there?” you point again to the kitty pool on top of the tarp that’s underneath the watering can c-stand. 

“That is the plan,” he looks amused at your slight distress.

“Are you nuts? What if it falls on me? How do I know it won’t unhinge and I’ll have a nicely cracked open skull to explain to my mother on Solstice break?”

“It won’t fall and you know it won't because you trust me and trust I wouldn’t put you in unnecessary danger. But if it does, tell your mom I say hi and sorry.”

You scoff at him, unbelievable. “So you admit there’s a bit of danger!”

Jungkook sighs, and looks to the ceiling. “Yes, YN. There is a touch of danger. But that’s only if, somehow, the c-stand I have triple safety checked, duct taped twice, and quadruple secured with four fifteen pound sandbags, decides that you deserve a watering can to the head.”

You side eye his tone. This wasn’t an unrealistic worry. But you do trust him. And trust he would never intentionally put you in any danger.

The trees are set up near the backdrop that looks like a row of brick houses. The shot is supposed to be ‘The Calm after Before the Storm,’ where you look relieved and happy in an ‘outside’ setting while ‘rain’ falls over you, also in black and white.

“Fine, but if I hear one peep from that thing,” c-stand staring down the tip of your finger once more, “I’m tuck and rolling and taking you out while I do it.”

“Very fair!” he says relieved, and goes to set up the stand with the watering can. 

You’d changed into the neutral V neck after dinner, and he’s asked for no makeup. So all you have to do now is stand and pose while trying not to die from foreign objects falling from the sky while you get wet.

Easy, right?

Wrong.

It is incredibly difficult, and you’re glad he made this one last because you’re at best; slightly miserable. Only the promise of a hot shower, hot chocolate with whip cream and marshmallows and your pick of whatever you watch afterward is keeping you going.

You started this one just shy of 8pm after waiting 45 minutes for the food. And it’s nearing 9:30 now. Jungkook has had to refill the watering can four times, dump the kiddie pool twice,  and you swear if you don’t finish within the next twenty minutes, you’re going to collapse from shivering.

To be fair, he does fill the watering can with warm water, but it only stays warm for so long before freezing water is pouring on you for the millionth time tonight. 

“I have one last idea, and by the way, I’m never doing this concept again so don’t worry about that, but also… don’t shut down the idea immediately okay?” Jungkook says. 

The watering can is almost empty again and you’re relieved that your time is almost up. That in itself should make for a good picture. He snaps it.

But his tone makes you a little wary, “Okay… what is it?”

“Pretend I’m Nel and you’re seeing me for the first time in six months, like you do at the end of April.”

Well, you didn’t have that down on your photo shoot prompt bingo card. 

Are you okay with the idea? You aren’t sure, but aren’t not sure either.

“I mean, I’ll try. Maybe you could give vocal cues to try and help? But don’t make it weird.”

“I won’t, promise,” Jungkook pauses for a second before adding, “Does he call you baby?”

You nod, and you distantly hear and ‘okay’ as you slowly allow yourself to get into that headspace.

You start, and the camera starts going.

You’re in the airport, waiting for Nel, ‘smoosh’ paper in hand. The gate opens, and through all the other passengers you see him, see that he’s in one piece, see that he’s safe. 

Your face illuminates with relief at that so much so that you don’t even notice the water that starts running down your face. 

You hear a ‘hi baby’ and in your head, it’s coming from Nel’s mouth as he nears you. You smile impossibly wider at the thought of seeing him, feeling him. Having him here with you. 

You look happy to see me, ‘Nel’ says.

“I am,” you reply. 

There’s repetitive clicking in the distance, but you ignore it. It’s probably just a flight attendant's heels on the floor.

“I missed you.”

There’s a long moment of silence before Nel speaks again.

I missed you too, baby.

You’re shivering hard now, lost in thought, unaware of reality. 

YN, Nel calls.

“Yes, love?”

“YN.”

“Babe, what is it?”

“YN, hey,” you're being shaken gently.

“Hmm? What?” you slowly arrive back to the present. Strong hands grip your shoulders. They feel nice. Solid. Deliciously warm. 

A very concerned looking Jungkook comes into focus, camera dangling around his neck and reaching for you.

Oh.

He’s the one holding your shoulders, trying to get you to come back to reality.

“There she is, welcome back,” he lets go and grabs a blanket from somewhere and wraps it around you. “We got the shot, go take a shower and warm up okay?”

“Okay,” you say, still a little dazed, but present enough to function.

You step out of the pool, holding on to the hand Jungkook offers to balance—Warm. Solid. Strong—and head straight for the bathroom, making a pit stop in the guest room to grab your bag with fresh clothes. 

The hot water cements your place back in reality, letting it warm you up and cleanse you of the day. 

You have no idea what just happened with that whole Nel thing, but it was a new feeling and a new headspace and you really aren’t in the mood to analyze or acknowledge, so it’s shoved onto a top shelf in the back of your mind for a later date.  

Once you're able to return to the directory of your mind, you don’t know how long you’ve been in the shower. But you know you’re clean, no longer cold, and in the mood for hot chocolate, so you step out and dry yourself with the towels Jungkook laid out for you on the toilet seat.

They’re soft. So soft in fact you consider only for a second shoving one in your now less full bag to take home with you. However, you do rather enjoy your friendship with the prince, so you think better of it upon second thought. 

Dressing in your sweats, you exit, tossing the towels in the hamper and your bag of the clothes you arrived in back into the spare room.

“Better?” Jungkook asks as you sit down in your spot on the couch for the last time tonight, wrapping up in the blanket he left for you. He’s in the kitchen but heard you coming.

“Much, thanks,” you sniff, “Is that hot chocolate I smell?”

Jungkook returns from the kitchen, two mugs in hand. “With extra whip cream and marshmallows, as ordered.”

You carefully take it from him, giving your thanks and happily slurping away the second it’s in your grasp. 

“Alright Caravaggio, what are we watching?” he asks, sitting down on his side, sipping away on his own. 

Sometime between you leaving for the shower and coming back out Jungkook changed into his own comfy attire, and tidied up the studio space as the pool and tarp are nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve thought really hard about this, all of however long I was in the shower,” Jungkook mutters something about 35 minutes; you ignore him, “And have settled on ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

He whines just a little when he says, “But it’s November.”

“So?”

“So, Solstice isn’t until the third week of December,” he’s saying this like his point is the most obvious thing in the world. 

It’s not.

“Your point?”

“That it’s November, and you want to watch a Solstice movie.”

You’re mockingly outraged.

“Who made you town grinch? I didn’t realize we had a holiday hater in our midst.” 

You loved the holidays, all the big ones, and the small ones, but Solstice was special. 

“I’m not a grinch, I’m just not there yet, mentally.”

“Then get ready to dive in head first, because you said I could pick the movie for risking my life for you and I pick ‘A Miser Brothers Solstice’.”

Jungkook doesn’t argue further, but he does roll his eyes as he puts on your movie with a small smile hidden behind his drink.

It’s sometime during the first act, you’re lying back against your corner of the couch, feet up and under the blanket when you ask, “What are your solstice break plans?” 

Jungkook takes a moment to part from the TV, very invested for someone who was so against it half an hour ago. “I have a lot of ‘princely duties’ to do for Solstice, like standing and looking thoughtful while my dad gives his annual Solstice speech,” you snort. “Then there’s the palace dinner, the parade through the capital, and the live televised event,” he says in a tv announcer's voice, “Where my family and I light the Solstice Star. And then there’s the new year and that in itself has another long list of things I have to do. Besides things like that though? Not much, and then it’s back here.”

Right.

You often forget who he is. 

That behind those kind eyes, and small smiles, behind the greenhouse study dates, and movie nights, and photoshoots, Jungkook has an enormous responsibility constantly looming over his head, counting down the days until he finishes his schooling. One that’s just waiting to drop onto his shoulders forever. 

You often forget that Jungkook is the Prince, first in line to the biggest throne in the realm. That you spend your time with not only Jeon Jungkook, friend and photography student, but also, His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook, Heir Apparent and Future King of The Western Shores.

He just makes it so damn easy to forget.

You only asked because you thought maybe he had plans with friends or family, completely forgetting about all of the things the royal family does during the holiday season to celebrate with the nation, their people, and now you feel like an ass for even bringing it up.

But there’s something in his answer, or lack thereof, that snags your attention. 

“What about celebrating with your family and friends in private?”

“No time,” Jungkook’s stare goes distant as he brings his knees up and puts his arms around them, resting his chin. “Friends are always busy with palace preparations and dad’s not really the sentimental type. We celebrated when I was younger; big family breakfast, presents, tree decorating, whole thing. But after I turned about 13 or so, it started dwindling pretty quickly. Now it’s just me and my mom exchanging a gift with each other at midnight under the palace tree.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so heartbreaking yet beautiful in your life. 

“Your mum sounds wonderful, I’m really happy you two get that time together.” 

He looks at you, and you can tell by the look in his eyes he loves that time with her more than anything else. 

Solstice is supposed to be the time you spend with your family, blood or chosen. The time where you all gather to cook and bake, and exchange thoughtful gifts with the ones you love. The time where you truly cherish one another and count yourself lucky for all that you have. 

Solstice is your favourite time of the year.

To not spend it like that just seems…wrong. Horribly, painfully, awfully wrong.

“What about you?” he asks.

You don’t want to make him feel bad, so you tone down your answer, taking away the meat and giving the bones.

“My mum and I cut down our own tree and decorate it with the ornaments we’ve collected over the years,” you have them from every place you’ve ever visited, and your mum kept all the ones you ever made as a kid. You even get a new one every solstice to take a picture for and label with the year.  

“Then we bake solstice cookies until our hands cramp and survive off only them until solstice dinner; a turkey, honey glazed carrots, mashed potatoes with gravy, essentially if it waters your mouth, it’s there,” he chuckles at that. “We do gifts for each other too, opening them on solstice morning before making hot drinks and reading in the breakfast nook until the sun sets or till we get hungry, whichever comes first.”

Jungkook's eyes glow, radiating warmth, a lazy smile on his face as he listens to you. 

“That sounds really nice, YN.”

“It is,” you reply, looking him in those radiant eyes as you do. He looks… happy. Happy for you, that you get to have something like this that’s so special. It breaks your heart a little…maybe you can help.

“You wanna make some solstice cookies with me before break?”

His look of happy shifts to one of slight panic.

“What?” you question, and comically ask, “Have you never made solstice cookies before?”

He hesitates before answering a very quiet, “Uh…N-no.”

Your shock must be incredibly evident in the way he almost flinches at your reaction.

So you try your best to keep your voice level when you ask, “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. I’ve never made solstice cookies.”

That’s it. You can’t hold back any more, you’ve never heard anything so blasphemous in all your life.

“You’ve never what?  How is that even possible?”

He shrinks into himself a little more.

“The palace pastry chef always makes them because that’s kind of his job,” you stare at him in disbelief. “Is this really that big a deal?”

You swear there’s cog’s and smoke flying out of your ears. Solstice cookies are a religion in your household. You know dozens of recipes by heart, always finding a new one each year to try and up your game. You cannot imagine a solstice without making them. Wait no, actually you can, but it would be because you’re dead.

You held back in your answer earlier, for his sake, but you and your mom’s hands cramp up because you make enough cookies to give a box to everyone in the neighborhood. It’s one of your favourite traditions, and your neighbours even look forward to it every year, going so far as sending you both recipes to try out.

“Big dea—you’ve never fucking mad—not even when you were little? No one brought you to the kitchen and let you help? Aren't all your friends back home the pastry chefs' kids or something?” You don’t mean to sound harsh, but your tone is a little more passionate than you were intending. 

But Jungkook knows you, knows you occasionally get that passionate about things, and takes your outburst in stride. 

“Yeah, one of them is, but we don't sit around the oven and make cookies all break long. And his dad is always too busy to teach us even if we wanted to.”

You decide something. Right then and there.

“This year you are.”

“What?”

“Mark your last Saturday off because I'm going to show up here, ingredients-a-plenty and teach you how to make solstice cookies. I have a million recipes up here,” you tap your head with a finger, “But I'll choose the easiest ones. And I’ll come over early so we can spend the day making all of them. I can’t in good conscience leave for the break knowing you’ve never made them.”

He sighs. “Do I have any say in the matter?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook stares at you and you can’t figure out what he’s thinking. You’re worried he’s going to say no anyway. To say you’re crazy and that they’re just cookies and that he has more important things he has to do on his Saturday before leaving for home.

But he doesn’t. And you should’ve known he wouldn’t, not after all the time you’ve spent together. 

You know better. Know him better.

“Alright Picasso. Sounds like a plan. I’m looking forward to it,” he decides, and goes back to watching the movie. 

It’s the first time he’s ever repeated a nickname.

“Wait! The wind guy wants to replace who?!” Jungkook shouts. 

You laugh at his confusion, and rewind the movie.

Jungkook wakes up sore.

His back is killing him, which makes sense since he’s half lying on the couch, half on the ground. 

The TV’s silently playing some slideshow of movie recommendations based on recent watches. 

He checks his phone, reaching for it on the coffee tale. 

14% battery. 

4:07am. 

Shit, he fell asleep. 

After the solstice movie he wanted to watch its predecessor. You had no qualms and so on it went, but he doesn’t remember much after the brothers started fighting.

Hearing soft, even breathing next to him he turns to see you, hunched over in your spot asleep, no doubt in the process of ruining your own back.

He should go to bed.

You should go to bed. 

But you’ve never stayed the night.

What should he do? Should he wake you? 

But you look so peaceful. And it’s nearing exams. You barely sleep when it’s exams season. 

Instead, Jungkook goes to check the guest room, but it’s a mess with yesterday's comings and goings. Make-up and clothes and hangers strewn everywhere.

Quietly, making a decision he hopes you won’t kill him for in the morning, he pads back to your sleeping form. 

It’s for your back, he tells himself. No other reason.

Deja vu sets in as he scoops you up from the couch, blanket and all. Just like last time, you gain enough consciousness to know to wrap your arms around his neck, but not enough to wake up. Your head rests on his shoulder and he selfishly savours the feeling as he walks down the short hallway to his room.  

Jungkook sets you down gently on one side of the bed, and your arms release, slumber undisturbed as he tucks you in.

He goes back to the living room to retrieve your phones. Yours is still at 56%, and he places it on the table beside you when he returns.

Climbing into his side of the bed, he’s careful not to touch you.

Though he wants to. 

Desperately. 

His sleep deprived brain is too slow to block out the thoughts that start to race. Thoughts of how he wants to turn around and pull you into his chest, slide an arm around your waist, and kiss you goodnight. How he wants to wake up in the same position, you still in his arms. 

But he’s also awake enough to know that will never happen. That you’re with Nel, and happy with him. That he’s drawn that nice, big line.

He’s awake enough to know you being in his bed is a fluke, unintentional.

A one time thing.

Plugging his phone into its charger, he sets it down on his own bedside table and pulls the covers up, falling back asleep.

His back facing you. 

An exhale wakes you.

Warm and cozy, you take a deep breath and roll to your left side, stretching on the way over. The scents of clean linen and something familiar find you. It’s comforting, that smell, but you can’t place it.

Another exhale, but this time you feel it as well as hear it.

You open your eyes to see a sleeping Jungkook face not a foot from your own and you jolt in shock, falling off the bed in the process. 

You look up from your new seat on the floor, ignoring the pain in your side from landing, and peer over the covers to check on Jungkook, who, miraculously, hasn’t woken up from your tumble. 

Relieved, your mind focuses on more pressing questions like ‘how did you get here?’ And ‘why were you in his bed?’ 

The last thing you remember was being halfway through the prequel to A Miser Brothers Solstice on the couch, watching Jungkook more than the movie because of how invested he’d become in the story. 

But you aren’t on the couch now. You were in his bed. 

The bed of the Prince of the Western Shores. 

The Prince who has a girlfriend, and you, who has a very long term, very serious boyfriend.

You hear a vibration, and following the sound, you find your phone on the bedside table. 

You quickly grab it quickly and go to the living room as quietly as you can manage. 

There’s a large number of unread texts. 

SlurryYuri [11:08pm]: hey, just checking in. You didn’t get home when you said you’d try for SlurryYuri [11:31pm]: Helloooooooo? YN? You there? SlurryYuri [12:14am]: it’s getting late YN, when are you coming home? Are you on your way?

Missed Calls: (3)

SlurryYuri [2:43am]: it’s been hours, so you better be dead or have crashed in the school somewhere. Either way I’m kicking your ass when you get home

Missed Calls: (2)

(Recent)

SlurryYuri [9:36am]: you’re still not home?? YN seriously, where are you SlurryYuri [10:23am]: If you don’t message me back in an hour I’m calling the police and filing a missing persons

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. You crashed hard, the shoot must have taken more out of you than you thought, so you never texted Yuri you were going to crash in a sleep pod at school like you’d planned too. 

You make quick work of messaging her back, glad she unintentionally gave you just the excuse you needed. 

YN [10:25am]: ohmygod I’m soooooo sorry, it was the school one. I fell asleep in the school. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’ll be home soon, promise. I’m just going to grab breakfast first. Again im sorry

SlurryYuri [10:27am]: thank the gods youre okay!! Don’t ever do that to me again YN! I don’t wanna be the one who has to break news to your mom!! She’s too nice.  SlurryYuri [10:27am]: and take your time getting back if your rushing for me, I’m not at the dorm SlurryYuri [10:27am]: Tai showed up yesterday out of the blue and took me dancing. We’re out getting brunch right now, and he has plans for the rest of the day SlurryYuri [10:28am]: Im just glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere

YN [10:29am]: me too, and okay I will. Thanks for checking up on me and making sure im safe, youre my favourite

SlurryYuri [10:30am]: damn right I am, see you tn <3

YN [10:30am]: see you <3

You exhale deeply, that was fucking close. 

Your stomach rumbles and it reminds you that you actually need to get breakfast. 

What could you have? You could order in again, but that means a wait time and you are hungry now. You could raid Jungkook's pantry, or see if he has any fruit, but then you think that’s a gross invasion of privacy when it’s not movie night and you haven’t asked if it’s okay. 

Wait.

The egg tarts!

You dash to the fridge, the marvellous sight of a greenhouse inside a coffee mug comes into view. Stuffing one down before you even get the box from the fridge, you exit the kitchen, sit down on the couch, setting the box on the coffee table. Once opened in front of you, you realize there is a healthy amount of tarts inside. 

How many did Jungkook ask for?

Speaking of, a bed-headed, yawning Jungkook makes his morning debut, still in last night's clothes.

“Hey,” he says groggily, walking over and stealing a tart.

“Hey!” you say back, not nearly as friendly. 

“Overnight tax, Picasso. Room isn’t free.” He chuckles at your faux outrage, popping half the tart in his mouth as he walks to the kitchen and grabs something from the fridge. Returning, you see it’s a morning protein shake. 

Gross. 

“So is that name the one you’re sticking to now?” you ask, picking up another tart. At this rate they won’t last until lunch.

“Yeah, that okay with you? It’s your name in my phone after all.”

“It is?” You didn’t know that.

“Yeah, has been since the start.” 

You’re quickly learning that sleepy morning Jungkook is very different from morning post work-out Jungkook, friend Jungkook and photographer Jungkook. His voice is deeper, he’s a lot more relaxed, and maybe even harmlessly borderline flirty, like he’s not all there yet. Softer. 

“Picasso’s just fine. A compliment really.”

“Oh? And what am I in your’s then? Hopefully something just as nice?”

You tell him like it is.

“PJK.”

“PJK?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah? It’s obscure enough to not be recognizable if someone were to see it, but enough for me to know who it is.”

“Nah, you need something better, PJK is boring.”

“It’s your initials.”

“And boring,” he’s really not letting up on this. 

“Well...what would you save yourself as?”

He mulls it over for a minute before deflating. “Okay, fair point, but I seriously want a new one. Something that can rival Picasso.”

“Do you have any nicknames? Something not completely obvious?”

For a morning person, Jungkook sure is taking his time. Maybe he was only a morning person before 8am, and then if he got up anytime after that he became a normal person who despised mornings like everyone else.

“Uhh…Vivian calls me JK, but that’s essentially the same thing as PJK. My buddies back home sometimes call me Kook, but I don’t think that works either. My mum has one for me that I will not disclose to anyone so long as I am breathing. So I guess not.”

A lightbulb dings over your head. “What about your security? Don’t they have special code names for you when they detail you? Like bear or eagle?” 

“Yeah, but it’s not nearly as badass as either of those.”

“Fess up,” you say. Now you have to know.

“Hare.”

“Hare?” Now it’s your turn to be incredulous. “Like a rabbit?”

“Yep.”

An idea pops into your head and an evil grin spreads across your face, one you know is already setting worry into Jungkook’s still awakening brain as you change his name.

“I don’t like that look,” he confirms. “What’d you change it to?”

You flip your phone around and hold it up to him.

“Bunny?” he says incredulously once again.

“Yes.”

“I give you Picasso, one of the greatest painters of all time, and you think giving me bunny is anywhere near on par with that?”

Teasing him is far too fun, especially when he makes it this easy for you.

“Oh absolutely. In fact, I think it’s the best name I could possibly set it as.”

Jungkook disagrees, vehemently. “No, change it back. PJK is fine.”

“Too late. You dug your grave, now lie in it.”

Jungkook brings a hand to his face, pinching the crease between his brows and takes a very long, deep breath, exhaling just as dramatically. 

You take that as your victory. But you’re sorely mistaken.

He launches at you, reaching for your phone and you scream, reaching your arm to keep it away from him. You have a fox socked foot on his chest to try and keep him back. His right arm is holding him up near your hip on the couches edge and he’s reaching with his left as far as he can without breaking his sternum on your heel. 

“Give it!”

“Never!”

You try to bring up your other foot to push him away, but Jungkook is strong, and forces both it and the one on his chest down with the arm that was supporting him, temporarily keeping himself up with his left hand on the back of the couch. 

With your legs out of the way he can almost reach his phone. But in his distracted state, misses the couch when he goes to put his supporting arm down again, and flips onto the ground, taking you with him. You scream, but his arms wrap around you as he makes sure to take the brunt of the impact, landing on his back, you safely secured to his chest. 

There’s a moment of pure stunned silence, you resting your forhead on his chest while you process, him not letting go of your waist as he gets a breath into his winded self, before you’re both laughing as you take in what happened.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, you?”

He takes a second to respond. “I’m great.” 

You push to sit up, and he releases you from his hold, but that was a mistake. Because now you’re sitting on his lap. 

It takes an entire three seconds of you staring at him and him staring right back before you jump and scramble off him as fast as you can. 

“Sorry.” you say in unison, you standing and him from the ground. It’s a painfully awkward 8 seconds before you break, cackling at the whole situation, and he joins in with you again. 

Jungkook brushes off his pants as he gets up too. “Got any plans before tonight,” he asks, business as usual.

“Nope, cleared my schedule in case this went long, I’ve got the whole day.”

You swear his smile grows two sizes.

“Well in that case,” he looks to the TV, then back to you, “Wanna start movie night early?”

An entire day to relax and chill out before the hell that is exams season takes your every free second? 

Yes please.

“Solstice movie marathon?” you propose slyly, near devious.

“I’ll get the popcorn,” he confirms, already halfway to the kitchen.

You spend the day like that, on the couch watching movie after movie, both pretending the little incident never even happened. 

But you make sure to go home after movie night this time. 

Chapter Nine: Sugar Cookies and Devious Confessions

A/N 2: This chapter kicked my ass but it's here and I couldn't be more thrilled. I really like how it's ended so I hope you guys do too.

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[chaoticcupcakeee]

Chapter Four: The Dungeon Master and Depression

***BEFORE YOU READ ANY FURTHER THERE IS GOING TO BE SEX, HEAVY BDSM THEMES, AND OTHER GENERAL NSFW THINGS. IF YOU ARE A MINOR/A BLANK BLOG/ A BLOG WITH NO AGE PLEASE DO NOT INTEREACT! IF I SEE IT, I WILL BLOCK IMMEDIATELY! THANKS!<3***

Pairing: Professor! Steve Harrington x Best Friends Dad! Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Angst, alcohol consumption, Steve needs a hug, sad Steve, Eddie being the literal sexiest man on the planet, daddy kink, spit kink, spanking, cum eating, squirting, bondage, masterbation, Dom! Eddie, dirty talk, pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it folks), BDSM themes, Eddie and Steve are in their early to mid 40s and reader is in her mid 20s

Summary: Eddie shows you a side of him you haven't seen before and things with Steve take a turn for the worst

Authors Note: Hi yall, i just wanted to say thank you for all the love on this series so far, ive really enjoyed writing it! also im very nervy about posting this chapter bc the smut is intense! i prommy it wont always be this intense but anyways ENJOY :D 9k

**Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Five**

(banners and headers by @cafekitsune)

The next few days were spent mostly consoling Violet, she had made the decision to break up with Quinn. She didn’t trust them anymore and you didn’t blame her. You and Eddie took turns holding her when she cried or getting her to shower and eat food. It left little time for you and Eddie to spend time alone, never getting the chance to finish what you started after your date.

You could steal kisses here and there, but no heavy petting. It was driving you insane, it was like the universe was punishing you for dating your best friend’s dad.

After a few days she decided she needed to get out of Hawkins for a little while and went to spend a week at her mom’s. You made her promise to text her whenever she needed, and Eddie offered again to go over to talk to Quinn. She waved both of you off, reassuring you that she’d be fine. You drove her to the airport and off she went.

It made you feel guilty that you were so relieved that she had left, you felt like you were the worst best friend in the world. First dating her dad, and secondly happy she was leaving you after just having a brutal break-up.

What kind of friend are you?

You spent the next few days catching up on school, finally getting a chance to focus now that you didn’t have to worry about Violet as much. Not wanting to waste the very limited time the two of you had at Eddies, you spent the nights at his house covering the entire house in random textbooks and various versions of assignments. Sometimes the two of you would sit on the couch, he would watch tv while you studied, or you’d be in a chair out in the garage while Eddie played guitar and smoked. Or your favorite, cuddled up on his lap on his bed, Eddie silently reading a book and caressing the skin available to him.

It was perfect domestic bliss, he’d cook the two of you breakfast in the morning, and he’d come home to a homecooked meal in the evening. The only thing you were missing was his cock, mid terms were coming up and you were absolutely swamped. Spending all of your time that wasn’t spent at school, or working, was dedicated to more school. It was frying your brain.

Then one day you had finally had enough, another one of your professors had added another paper due on top of studying for all of your other exams. You had so many things you needed to get done before Thanksgiving you thought your head was going to explode.

You spent some time crying in your car that day, before walking up the driveway into Eddies house. Now a second home to you, you take off your shoes and head to Eddies bedroom and snuggling under the sheets, breathing in his scent. You hear Eddies familiar footsteps coming up the stairs into the bedroom the two of you basically shared.

“hey sweetpea-“ the rest of his greeting dying on his lips.

You feel him before you see him, he just slides into bed with you and holds you tightly against him. Then you lose it some more, crying into one of his pillows, just so stressed out. You needed all of it to go away, you didn’t want to think anymore.

He pushes the hair out of your face and wipes away your tears, “hey talk to me baby, what’s goin on? Hmm?” he questions, concern in his voice.

“It’s too much” you croak, turning over and nuzzling your face into his chest.

“Make it go away, please make it go away, my brain is so tired, I just need a break!” you sob harder into his embrace.

Eddie wrapped his arms around your body, protecting you from the outside world.

“I know baby, I know, I’m so sorry, I’m so fucking sorry” he says calmly, leaving little kisses in your hair.

The two of you tangled up together in silence, just him touching your skin and you holding on to him for dear life. It stays like this for a few minutes. You can practically hear Eddies mind working a thousand miles a minute.

“... do you really want it to go away?” Eddie asks, almost a whisper.

You nodded feverishly into his chest, grabbing his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer to you.

“Please,” you whisper into his chest.

Eddie pulls the two of you apart so you can see his face, his eyes serious with anticipation. He caresses your cheek with his hand, running his thumb across your lips.

“I wanna show you something, you don’t have to say yes. But I think it might help.” He says, waiting for your answer.

You nod your head, ready to try anything to get your brain to calm down. He takes you by your hands, carefully getting you up and on your feet. Being so gentle with you, almost like he was afraid you’d break if he moved to quick or touched you too hard. Eddie led you down the stairs into the kitchen, right in front of the basement door.

He looked at you anxiously, you rarely if ever saw him anxious, it made your heart rate spike a little feeding off his nervous energy.

He opens the door and leads you down into the basement, immediately confused by Eddies immense anxiety. It’s just a basement, it had loads of Eddies DnD books nicely tucked away on bookshelves, a huge circular table in the middle with papers scattered all over it, and a bunch of props and miniatures that you assumed Eddie used for various DnD campaigns. Eddie meets you at the bottom of the stairs and puts his hand in yours, his eyes still timid.

“Sorry it’s a bit of a mess, I’ve been working on a new campaign.” He says while nervously scratching the back of his head. You squeeze his hand giving him some reassurance.

“Look, I know we haven’t been dating very long, but I really fucking like you. So just bear with me kay? I don’t wanna scare you off,” he states, fiddling with your fingers in his hands.

“You could never scare me off Eddie” you say plainly, having more admiration for him than almost anybody else.

With a sigh he guides you past all the DnD stuff into a hidden black door under the stairs, the door locked with a key padlock.

Eddie grabs a key off a chain that’s on his neck that he wears every day, you always thought it was just for decoration and not practical use. He turns the key into the lock and leads you into a dark room and turns on the light.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the room, not really sure what you’re seeing. The walls are blood red, various toys, whips, paddles, and a saint Andrews cross leaning in the corner between two walls. At the center of the room was a bed with black satin sheets, with a black bed frame with various hooks and chains attached to it.

You look at Eddie in surprise, you didn’t expect him to have a whole fucking sex dungeon in his basement. You were impressed, you usually only read about stuff like this in your books. Never thinking that you’d actually get to experience it in real life.

“This is uh, welcome to my dungeon” he says, grandiosely waving his hands to show off the room, chuckling nervously to himself. You smile lightly at him, still your goofy Eddie.

“You can totally tell me to fuck off, and we don’t ever have to talk about this ever again, scouts honor. I just.. I thought maybe because of the books you like to read. Maybe we had uhm similar interests,” he says, closing the door behind the two of you.

You’re still in awe of what you see before you, finding something new to look at every second, you start to feel yourself getting excited. The anxiety melting away the longer you were in this room, like it was magic.

“Please say something, anything, you’re killin’ me here darlin,” he says, pulling your hand to his lips, leaving tiny kisses in their wake.

You walk farther into the room, dusting your fingers along the various toys and instruments on the wall. Eddie follows suit, rubbing his arms up and down your shoulders while you look. You turn around and wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. He looks at you hungrily, waiting for your next move, you’ve never wanted him more.

“Turn off my brain Eds, please,” you beg, putting on your prettiest doe eyes.

Eddie curses under his breath and shakes his head trying to concentrate. He hugs you tightly as a thank you that you didn’t run out of the room kicking and screaming. He sits the two of you on a bench at the foot of the bed, holding your hands in his.

“Alright sweetness, I gotta lay down a few rules before we play, okay?” He says, clearly in his element. You nod, understanding what he means. Being familiar with the world of BDSM, but never getting to act on it before.

“First things first, safe words, If I ask you for your color, you respond with Green, Yellow, or Red. Green meaning you’re okay mentally and physically and I can keep going. Yellow meaning that you’re reaching your limit and I need to check in with you. Red meaning stop, you say this word and whatever scene we are doing will stop immediately and we will go into aftercare. I want you to feel safe during every single part of this, so don’t be afraid to stop a scene, okay? This is supposed to be fun for the both of us. Ya with me so far?” He smiles lightly trying to keep the tension light but letting know that he means business.

“With ya Eds,” you say with a nod of your head.

You can practically hear his heart swelling with pride. He continues to go through some more safety rules, what to do if you’re bound or gagged and can’t say a safe word. He goes through some walk throughs of what some of the various toys do, to see what piques your interest. He asks you if you know any of your hard or soft limits, you give him some basic ones, open to a lot considering you didn’t have a ton of real life experience in this department. You were starting to get a little nervous, hoping that you would live up to Eddies expectations.

He senses the panic inside you and squeezes your hands. “Don’t worry okay? You agreeing to try this with me is already a dream come true, I just want to help you feel better, help you let go.” He says sweetly.

You take a deep breath and lean back into him on the bench. He rubs his hands soothingly up and down your arms and then around your waist, tugging up the bottom of your shirt and lifting it over your head, and does the same with your leggings. He has you stand in front of him, leaving you in only your bra and underwear, your skin erupting in goosebumps when it hits the cold air.

“Beautiful,” he says breathlessly, his eyes scanning over every inch of your body. You look at him, you can see his cock already stiffening in the confines of his pants.

“Bend over for me baby,” he commands. Situating you over his lap, ass in the air, making your thoughts immediately cloud with want. You had never been in such a compromising position before and you loved it, showing yourself off to him.

“I’ll start slow, remember, any time you need to stop just say red and I’ll stop okay?” he reminds you one last time before he starts.

He readies you by palming each of your cheeks with his hands, increasing the pressure with each touch. You can already feel the heat rising in your body, your legs squirming together trying to find any sort of friction. Eddie seeing your desperation grabs your legs forcing them apart with his leg.

“You’re so fuckin cute, you’ll learn,” he warns, earning you a light slap across your left check. You gasp not expecting it, making your eyes roll back in pleasure, grinding your hips against Eddie’s clothed legs.

Two more light slaps come down on each cheek, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips grinding up wanting more. You can feel his length twitch underneath you with every smack, and your wetness seeping into your panties, you’d never been this desperate in your life.

“What’s your color princess, you doin okay?” he questions, genuine concern in his voice that makes your heart swell.

“Green Eds, m’ good,” you say hazily, your mind starting to cloud over.

With that confirmation he slowly increases the intensity of each slap, switching between your two cheeks. It only made you whimper louder, wanting even more. The slaps were now punishing, surely your cheeks bright pink from the abuse. You were surprised, you never thought something like this would feel so good. But you couldn’t help it, your panties now completely soaked through.

“You like that, you like when I hurt you?” he says, leaning into the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.  You nod wildly, not trusting your words.

You hear Eddie click his tongue, “Nuh uh pretty girl, down here you gotta use your words. Now I’m gonna ask again, you like it when I hurt you?” he demands, landing two more harsh slaps against your bottom.

“Yes, yes Eddie I like when you hurt me” you say desperately. Your body buzzing, every cell screaming with need. Your mind thinking of only him and the pain he gives you, mind completely blank.

“Good girl baby, doin such a good job” he praises, you smile at his praise, sinking further and further away from all the worries that had bothered you not a half hour ago.

He lands an especially mean slap on your right cheek pulling a loud moan out of your mouth, you can hear Eddies laugh vibrate through his chest.

“Fuck look at you baby, taking everything I give you. You’re my little pain slut aren’t you?” he mocks, tutting and rubbing at your now very red ass.

“Mhmm” you mutter brainlessly, trying to push your legs together, your clit on fire with need.

“Words pretty girl, I need words, that’s your last warning before you regret it,” he warns, gifting you another brutal slap.

“Y-yes, your pain slut, all yours,” you babble pathetically, desperate tears begging to spill from your eyes.

“Fuck me, yeah you are, C’mere let me look at you, get on your knees f’me” he says breathlessly, helping you off his lap and down between his legs. You lay your head against one of his knees, looking up at him between your eyelashes.

He brushes his hand across your cheek, rubbing your lips with his thumb. In your brainless state you allow his thumb into your mouth sucking on it while maintaining eye contact. You felt so free, knowing that he was going to take care of you, that you didn’t have to think anymore, giving up control gave your brain freedom that you wouldn’t have otherwise.

“Perfect” he utters, barely above a whisper, mesmerized by the way your mouth was sucking his thumb in, swirling the tip of his thumb with your tongue. Wanting more than just his thumb you tug on his pants and belt with your hand, but it wasn’t your turn to be in control. Eddie pulls the bottom of your chin up, straining your neck to meet his demand.

He pinches your cheeks together, forcing your mouth open wider. He takes his thumb out of your mouth replacing it with his pointer and middle fingers, seeing how deep you can put them down your throat. While maintaining eye contact, you suck his fingers all the way to the back of your throat until you choke lightly on them.

“You look so pretty with your mouth all full” he says as he leans down to leave a kiss on the side of your very full mouth.

All the praise becoming too much, squirming aimlessly in the air, whimpering around Eddies fingers. He seems to get a kick out of your desperation, cursing under his breath. All made more apparent by his very hard cock outlined in his pants.

“Alright sweet thing, climb up on the bed for me” he commands, tapping the silk sheets on the bed. You do as your told, meanwhile Eddie removes his shirt, belt, and pants. You look at him hungrily, with the playing field now level.

He sits down onto the bed next to you, pulling you into a deep kiss. Your bodies melt together, his hands everywhere, grabbing every inch of you. The two of you relax onto the bed, letting him kiss and nip and your skin, slowly taking off your bra and panties until you were completely bare in front of him.

He pulls your legs apart, not allowing you to hide any part of yourself from him. You were embarrassed by how wet you had gotten just from that act alone, he barely touched you.

Eddie curses under his breath, pulling apart your folds to see you dripping down your thighs.

“My needy needy girl”, he coos, dipping one of his fingers into your entrance, gathering some of your release on his fingers. He brings it up to your mouth, you suck in his fingers eagerly, wanting to please. Your release taste tangy and sweet, you moan around his fingers at the dirty act. Dipping his fingers back at your entrance, taking some of your release for himself, moaning around his fingers.

Focusing his attention back on you, he straddles you and puts your hands above your head and kisses you deeply. You feel him grind against your core making you buck up against him. Your groans filling the room, the tension becoming too much to bear.

“Need you eds, please,” you beg, the pressure between your legs driving you insane. That’s the only confirmation Eddie needed before taking his boxers off, sliding his throbbing cock in between your soaked folds. You wrap your legs around his back, pushing him harder against you.

He lines up his cock up to your entrance and slowly pushes in, his length pushing up against your cervix as he bottoms out. You whine, biting down on his shoulder, provoking a curse from his mouth.

“Color baby?” he asks breathlessly against your skin.

“Green Eds, really fucking green,” you grin against his shoulder, kissing the tattoo along his jaw.

Your words, diminishing the last of his resolve as he starts to thrust in and out of your heat slowly. Your eyes glass over, the pleasure being too much, you had never been so full. Not even your dildo doing half as much as Eddies cock.

“Shit, your pussy was fucking made for me, made to take my fucking cock,” he growls, biting down on a part of your neck, trying to contain his groans and whines.

You dig your claws into his back, wishing him deeper inside of you. Eddie using that as an okay to go faster, he grabs an edge of the bed frame for leverage. The wet sounds of his cock entering you drowning out your whimpers and moans.

“Uh, uh, uh, oh, fuuuckk E-eddie” you wail, your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open.

“You like that baby, you like it when I fuck you like the little slut you are? All you needed was a few slaps on your ass for you do go dumb huh?” he mocks, pistoning harder into your core.

“Yes, yes I fucking love it, more please,” you beg, you wanted to see how much more you could handle, the pleasure building between your legs.

Eddie takes one of his hands off the bed frame, cupping the sides of your jaw with his hand.

“Open,” he demands. You obey, all rational thoughts gone long ago. Taking the opportunity, he spits sloppily into your mouth, you swallow and take what he gives your greedily.

“Atta girl, doing what your told” he sighs proudly, going back to concentrating rocking his hips against yours with vigor. You could feel yourself getting close, all of it becoming too much, the fucking, the slapping, the dirty talk, it was all perfect. You were plummeting quickly to your release, your walls spasming in anticipation.

“If you keep squeezing me like that m’ not gonna last much longer,” he confesses, leaving little kisses on your neck.

“Eds- I- fuck- I’m gonna cum- please cum in me please, need your cum,” you beg, feeling your release threatening to take over.

“Fuck,” he curses, you can feel his pace getting sloppier, fucking you through your release. Your legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes glazed over, having the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had in your life.

Your walls clamp down on Eddie, not lasting much longer after you, spilling his seed into your waiting center. You feel his release spill out onto your thighs and sheets.

“Please tell me you’re on the pill” he mutters into your chest, sweat covering both of your bodies. You giggle and caress his hair, playing with his dark brown and greying curls.

“Yeah, ‘m on the pill,” you confirm, leaving a kiss at the top of his head. Eddie sighs thankfully on your chest, followed by a few minutes of silence from the two of you. Basking in each others after sex glow, gentle touches and light kisses.

You stay cuddled up for a while, neither of you wanted to go back to reality. The basement was like your safe place, where both of you could let go, like really let go. He saw things in you today that up until now, you had never let anyone see that side of you. He allowed you the same, taking down his walls showing you everything he had to offer.

He showed that he really cared about you, that he could take care of you even when your brain was against you. That was something you had never had before, someone who knew you and cared about you enough to help you fight the endless battles in your brain. You swore to yourself right there that you’d help him fight his battles too.

After a while he got up and got you a glass of water and a warm washcloth to help wipe you off. Your center still sensitive from your previous activities. Eddie was gentle, taking his time, making sure you were physically okay. He even put cream on your sore, soon to be bruised ass, after many many kisses that made you blush.

His teddy bear eyes looking into yours, while the two of you lay naked in bed, him painting circles on your face.

“How’s your head now baby? Better?” he asked hopeful. Tears form at the tips of your eyes, you nod your head vigorously. Your tears making Eddies eyes fill with concern.

“What baby? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asks soothingly.

You shake your head, trying to find the words for what you were feeling. “No no I’m fine, I’m just.. happy. My brain is so quiet, I can’t remember the last time my brain was so quiet.” You sob into Eddies chest, pulling him closer into you. He wraps his arms around you and shushes your tears, wiping them from your face leaving little kisses in their wake.

“It’s okay baby, I’m here, I gotcha” he says, comforting you with more kisses, squeezing you tighter against him. The two of you spend the rest of the night down in the basement, eventually falling asleep in each other’s arms, completely content.

When you wake up the following morning, you are still wrapped up in each other’s arms, Eddie still lightly snoring. You take this time to really take him in, his beautiful chocolate brown eyes, the laugh lines around his lips, his lips so pink and plush, the light wrinkles around his eyes, the dark curly brown hair that falls in front of his face, you didn’t know how you got so lucky. Not only is Eddie quite literally the sweetest man you had ever met in your life, but he’s also the most handsome.

You snuggle back into him, basking in his embrace. A little while later he wakes from sleep, stretching out, allowing you to get up and go to the bathroom.

“Hey little missy where do you think you’re goin?” he asks, pouting in bed patting the space where you were previously occupying.

“Just gotta pee,” you whisper, hoping maybe he will fall back asleep, but Eddie is stubborn.

“Just hold it, come back and cuddle,” he whines. You chuckle and kiss the top of his head before putting on his Metallica t shirt and heading out the door and up the stairs to the kitchen. You walk into the downstairs bathroom and gasp at the state you were left in. You still had mascara smudges under your eyes from crying and cumming, your hair was sticking up every which way, you looked a mess. And yet the beautiful man downstairs still wanted you, lucky you.

After you clean up a little and comb through your hair, you head to the kitchen to grab the two of you something to eat. You hear the basement door open, and the man you were just thinking about emerges, wearing only his boxers.

“I get to fuck the girl of my dreams AND she made me breakfast, I can die a happy man,” he remarks, enveloping you into a passionate kiss. You giggle against him, still not used how much he likes you.

“And you’re wearing my shirt,” he comments, taking a handful of your ass in each hand making you hiss, your butt still sore from the beating it received the day before.

“Just wanna touch base, everything yesterday was okay right? It wasn’t exactly what I picture our first time to be like but, I don’t regret it. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, definitely did not disappoint,” he expresses.

“It was better than I could’ve imagined Ed, really. You were beautiful.” You confess, going on your tippy toes to steal a kiss from him.

The two of you spend the rest of the morning cuddled up on the couch eating breakfast, before you had to part ways. You had classes most of the day and Eddie had to go into the office for work.

Leaving Eddie was the hardest part of any day, but especially today. You had Steves class today, you always dreaded going after everything went down between the two of you. You wished to stay here forever.

The two of you share way too many last kisses before the two of you leave his house in your respective cars. You needed to go to your apartment before class to change, and then Sociology 101.

You waited as long as you possibly could before going into the classroom, you’ve started a routine of avoiding Steve as much as humanly possible. But when you entered the class, instead of being met by Steves sad eyes, you were met by a balding older man with grey hair. You look around at the rest of the class as you make your way to your seat, they also seem equally as confused as you. The man in the front of the class introduces himself as Professor McCarthy, he explained that he was going to take over for Steve for the time being.

“Where is Professor Harrington?” The girl who sits behind you asks, a slight whine in her voice.

“He has taken a seemingly well-deserved sabbatical,” Professor McCarthy confesses with zero empathy in his voice.

You can barely pay attention during class, your thoughts swimming threatening to drown you.

Why did he leave?

Was it because of you?

Does Robin know?

Was he forced to take a leave?

Did people find out about the two of you?   

You hated to admit it, but a small part of your brain was trying to say something. Loud enough for you to hear it through the madness.

Is he okay?

You didn’t know why, but you still cared about Steve. Even though he hurt you, you wanted to know he was alright. After so many weeks of getting to know him, you knew how much being a teacher meant to him. You knew how passionate he is about the subject he teaches; it worried you that he could just leave. It had to mean something was really wrong.

The rest of the class goes by in a blur, the new professors voice conveniently very easy to drone out. You were the first one to leave the room once class was over. Speed walking down the hall, heading to the only place you knew you’d find answers.

You knock on the door to Robins office, hoping that she was in today.

“Come in!” she calls out.

She looks startled when she sees you standing in her doorway, expecting to see a student with questions about an assignment.

“Uh, hi.” You say awkwardly, still standing in the doorway.

“Hey Y/N, come in, why don’t you sit down,” she offers kindly, already knowing why you’re here.

“Where is he?” you ask bluntly.

Robin sighs before answering, her eyes moving, trying to think of the best way to explain it to you.

“He just needed a break, and the board allowed it,” she says plainly

“I wanna talk to him,” you confess, words leaving your mouth before you could think. Yes, you were upset with Steve, definitely hurt. But that doesn’t mean that you wanted him to leave his job, the both of you are adults. You feel guilty, like you’re the reason he left, and you needed closure.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea honey,” Robin says empathetically.

Your heart drops.

“Please? At least think about it, okay? I’m not mad anymore, I just, I wanna make sure he’s okay,” you admit, hoping to clear the air.

Robin nods and promises that she’ll think about it, but she didn’t seem very convincing. The following days after, dragged on, still piled high with homework. Made worse now because your new sociology professor is the worst, he talked too fast and without any tone in his voice, you caught a few students falling asleep in his class, it was that bad.

Eddie helped a lot, staying over at your house some nights to cuddle up with you after staring at your computer screen for hours on end. You felt guilty that you were so worried about Steve, when you had the perfect man in front of you. You convinced yourself it was just guilt, you just wanted to make sure he’s okay.

Then you got lucky, one morning when you walked into Robins classroom, where you usually sat was a note.

“Here’s his number, don’t make me regret it.” Was etched into the paper.

Your heart flutters in anticipation as hope fills your chest. You spend time after class thinking about the right thing to say, do you text him? Do you call him? You decide on a text, thinking a text is less daunting than calling him.

“Hey Steve, its Y/N. heard about ur sabbatical, hope ur okay” Not really sure what to say, your finger hovers over the send button for a few seconds before you send it. Immediately followed by you throwing your phone across the room.

What the fuck are you doing?

You spend the next couple of hours on your laptop doing your homework, sneaking peaks at your phone, triple checking that you hadn’t missed any messages from Steve. You reasoned with yourself that he might be on vacation or at least just busy. You try to get out of your head and focus on your homework.

The next few days you spent checking your phone every once in awhile looking for a text from Steve that hadn’t come. You were starting to get anxious, even a little worried. The semester was coming to a close, all your assignments turned in and only one mid term left to take. You had come to terms with the idea that Steve just wasn’t going to text you back, he didn’t owe you anything, I guess you’d just have to find closure on your own.

Until one afternoon, the day before thanksgiving, you get a text.

“I miss u”

You stare at your phone, double checking that the text was coming from the right number, Steve’s number. Concern floods your system, this is unlike him.

“Steve? R u okay?”

“I meszed it all up Y/N, im sry”

You’re heart now threatening to beat out of your chest, something was wrong, really wrong. You’re old enough to know when you’re getting a drunk text, what if he was out somewhere alone in this state? You needed to make sure he was okay, or at least somewhere safe.

“Steve tell me where u are, r u safe?”

“Come overrr” is all that is written, followed by a ping to an address. You grab your keys and your coat without a second thought. You get in your car and drive faster than what was probably safe, thoughts only on Steve.

When you finally get to the address, it takes you to a huge house on the outside of town. You let yourself through the gate and park in the huge driveway. You knock on the front door, it squeaks open lightly, you take deep breath and let yourself in. The house is massive, like really big, like old money big. The place is so big, you wander around for a little while searching the various extravagant rooms on the first floor until you find Steve in what you assume is the study.

He's slumped over onto his desk, his hand holding a fancy glass filled with amber liquid. You knock on the side of the door, jostling Steve from his drunk stupor.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” his words slightly slurred.

“Uh, you texted me, you gave me this address,” you feel your heart drop into your stomach, you knew this was a bad idea.

You see Steve’s bloodshot eyes search for the memory of sending you his address, raking his hands through his hair. Steve looked like he hadn’t taken care of himself for awhile, stains all over t-shirt and sweatpants. Your heart ached seeing him this way, guilt washed over you like a tsunami. This entire time you were thinking about yourself and your own closure, and not about the clearly broken man sitting before you.

“This was a mistake, I should go,” you admit before turning in the doorway to leave the way you came in.  

“No, p-please wait! I- fuck everything is so fucked up I don’t know what to do anymore. Just stay.” He looks up at you through his glassy red eyes, begging you to stay.

You decide to stay, you step closer to his desk to get a better look at the state he’s in. He probably hasn’t showered in days, and he reeked of alcohol.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” is all you can think to say, you can’t stand to see him this way any longer.

Steve allows you to get him up and out of the chair, the two of you half stumble while he shows you how to get to the master bathroom. You help him get out of his clothes until he’s left in just his boxers, you do your best not to stare. Even in the state he’s in, you still fought the urge to drool at the sight of him. You turn on the hot water, and look at him sitting on the toilet almost completely naked.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbles groggily.

You suck in a deep breath and let it out harshly, you had always known that. If you knew anything about Steve Harrington, you know that he couldn’t hurt a fly. But you couldn’t believe anything he was saying right now. He was still drunk, and you didn’t know how he was going to feel once he sobered up.

“Why don’t you get in the shower, and we can talk once you’re out, okay?” you reassure him, leaving the room to give him space.

His bedroom was a mess, clothes and random liquor bottles everywhere, you tidy it up the best you can before making your way back downstairs to the kitchen. The kitchen is huge, meant for a chef or someone who really likes to cook. But instead, you see containers of take out and microwave dinners piled in the over flowing garbage and more dishes crowding in the sink. You take out the garbage and do the dishes.

By the time you’re finishing up the dishes you hear footsteps pattering into the kitchen.

“Hi” he says meekly.

“Hi” you reply, placing the last dish into the dishwasher.

He stands next to you, one hand on the counter and one hand on his hip, trying to think of what to say. He opens and closes his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“It’s fine really Steve, I’m happy to help,” you confess, turning your body to face him.

Steve looks down at his hands, when he looks back up at you, fresh tears have formed on his lash line.

“I’m the worst, aren’t I?” he questions, his voice breaking.

Your heart broke with him, “No Steve, you’re not the worst. At little messed up, definitely. But far from the worst.”

He looks at you gratefully before he continues speaking.

“I- I thought you hated me. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know how I screwed things up so badly. I’m sorry I brought you all the way out here. I just... fuck I just missed you Y/N,” he babbles, his tears now flowing down his face in little streams.

You walk a few steps closer to him, not trusting yourself to touch him.

Eddie, remember Eddie.

“I don’t hate you Steve, I could never hate you. I was just hurt and confused. Honestly, I still am hurt and confused, I just. I couldn’t bear the thought of you not teaching or being upset because of me. That’s why I came,” you reassure him, hoping your eyes show him the rest. That you do care for him, and want him to be okay.

Steve nods, mulling over your words, wiping his eyes. Then you hear some buzzing on the marble kitchen counter. Steve’s phone goes off, he looks at his phone and answers it immediately. You can hear Robins worried voice on the other end of the phone anxiously babbling questions off at him. You felt good knowing that even if you weren’t in Steves life, he still had Robin.

“No, ugh Rob I’m fine, please you don’t need to come and check on me.”

“Yes, I’ve showered. NO! Don’t bring Nancy, I don’t want her to see me like this.” He rubs his forehead, probably nursing a headache.

Steve hangs up the phone and looks at you.

“Uhm, Rob is coming over, and.. you probably shouldn’t be here when she gets here” he says awkwardly, he looks like he has more to say but decided against it.

You nod your head in understanding. Steve walks you to the front door, thanks you a million more times before waving you off as you get in your car and drive away.

You pull of on the side of the road, a few blocks from Steves place. You put your arms around the steering wheel, thinking about what just happened.

He is just a friend, someone you care about who needed your help.

You shake your head out of your thoughts and head back to your apartment. As you pull into the parking lot your phone dings, you park your car and look at the notification lighting up your phone screen.

“Come over stinky butt 🍑”

You smile at your phone, of course it’s Eddie, the one who makes you feel safe. The one you don’t have to take care of or worry about, your rock. You put your car in reverse, and drive towards Eddies house. The closer you get to Eddies house, the more every loud thought of Steve was quieting to a whisper, you sigh in relief.

“Vi?!” you say cautiously, a routine you were now used to.

Eddie pokes his head out of the kitchen, “Just me babe” a smile plastered across his face. You smile back and head into the kitchen, only to immediately be scooped up into a hug and lifted off your feet. You breathe in Eddies scent, allowing it to ground you back into your reality.

“Mmm missed you,” Eddie murmurs in between kisses. You wrap your arms around his waist, deepening the kiss.

“Missed you too Eds,” Eddie groans against you, pushing you against the counter.

The two of you kiss some more, allowing yourselves to get lost in each other. When you finally pull back you look into Eddies eyes, they just seem tired. You cup your hand around his face, and his cups your hand with his; grateful for the affection.

“Can I show you something?” he asks, only admiration in his eyes. You kiss him as a yes, and let him guide you back down into the basement. You stomach doing flips remembering the last time the two of you spent time down here. But this time he leads you into the main room. The circular table previously covered in random campaign research, now completely clean except for two stacks of paper in front a chair at the head of the table.

He pulls back the chair, next to the head and ushers you into it. You sit down, looking at him inquisitively. He sits down at the head of the table, clearing his voice before he speaks.

“So, the other day, I really liked seeing that side of you. And I wanted to know if you felt the same way, and if maybe you wanted to do it again,” he confesses, searching for the answer in your eyes. His gaze lights a fire in your belly, and a growing ache between your legs, remember the previous activities down here.

You bite your lip and look at him, trying to find the right words, “I’d like that a lot, I like when you take control,” you confide in him, nudging your leg against his under the table. Eddie takes in a deep breath before speaking again, “I just wanted to go over some more safety stuff, if we are going to really do this, and not have it be a one time thing,” handing you one of the stacks of paper in front of him.

He goes onto explain to you that this is not a contract, but more of a mostly complete list of limits that he wanted the two of you to fill out before playing again. He clarifies that the reason for this is so that neither of you ever accidently make the other feel uncomfortable during a scene. Your eyes looking over the papers curiously, overwhelmed by all the different things listed. He had to explain a few of them to you, him being more experienced than you were. You could feel the tension in the room heating up, and your panties dampening.

Finally, you’re on the last page, your knee bouncing up and down in anticipation.

“Where is Violet?” you ask, a little bit too much excitement in your voice. You see his eyes darken and a smirk splay across his lips.

“She’s working night shift” he says grabbing your chair and bringing it closer to his side, grabbing your thigh harshly.

You let out a shaky breath, you needed this, him. You go to put your hand around his neck to pull him into a kiss, but he grabs your wrist.

“Finish what I’ve asked of you pretty girl” leaving a kiss at the shell of your, evoking goosebumps across your skin.

You swallow hard, all the moisture gone from your mouth. You look back down on the paper, finishing it as fast at you can before looking back up at him for more instructions.

“Good job baby, I’m proud of you. You follow instructions so well” he praises, leaving a light kiss on your cheek. He pulls his eyes away from you for a bit, looking through all of your limits or things you are willing to try. You take this time to do the same with him, shocked by a few things, but even more turned on. Once you’re done reading you look up to see him staring at you hungrily.

“Ready to play sweet thing?” he says, pupils blown in lust.

“Ready,” you say breathlessly, willing air into your lungs.

“One more thing before we start, I like Daddy and Master, just so you know,” he winks at you, and it takes everything in you to stop your knees from buckling.

He takes you by your hand and walks with you to the secret door under the stairs. Your body buzzing, wanting to touch the man in front of you anywhere and everywhere. He opens the door and lets the two of you in. Once the door is closed, he envelops you into a deep kiss, you whimper at his lips on yours.

“Mm fuck, I love your little noises” he hisses, lifting you up by your legs and guiding you to wrap them around his waist. He sits down on the bed, leaving you to straddle his waist. The sheets were changed since you were here last, now a silky maroon color. You take the opportunity to grind your hips down on his lap while he grabs at the skin available to him, the two of you moaning into each other’s mouths. His lips tasting like the last cigarette he smoked, chasing his tongue with yours. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, the way his bulge was rubbing against your clit could make you cum right now with how worked up you are. You moan a little louder into Eddies mouth, making him pull back and look at your already fucked out expression.

“Look at you baby, already so desperate” he teases, lifting you off of him for a second to slide your leggings and panties off. He guides you back onto his lap, situating his fingers at your center, swiping them through your folds.

“And already so fucking wet, such a needy little slut” he mocks. You go back to grinding your hips against his bulge, not being able to help yourself, your clit aching with need.

Eddie stills your hips with his hand, grabbing at your ass and tits roughly before taking off your shirt, leaving you naked except your bra. Eddie takes this time to kiss all the skin newly available to him. You moan loudly into the open room, trying your best to obey and not rock your hips against his.

This task became harder and harder the longer his lips were on yours, kissing that spot on your neck that you like, nipping at your lips, kissing your newly exposed nipples. It was all too much, you grind your hips into his without thinking, and that’s when he swiftly turns the turns the two of you over. You can feel the silk sheets against your back, and his hands on your hips. You whine in protest, trying to rock your hips into his once more.

“Awe, my girl just can’t stay still huh? I can help with that,” He taunts, leaving you to lay on the bed, going into the little nightstand on the side of the bed.

He comes back into view holding leather cuffs in his hands, and a sinister look on your face. He takes his time kissing each of your wrists before helping you into the cuffs, doing the same thing with your ankles. You take a look at your wrists, now partially covered by the leather material, it was tight but not too tight. You feel Eddie move around you before grabbing one of your wrists in his hand lightly hearing a clicking sound as he lays it back down on the bed. You go to pick up your wrist again, realizing you can’t. You look at the head of the bed to see your cuff connected to a restraint in the frame. He continues to do the same thing with your other wrist and both of your ankles.

His stare could bore holes into skin the way that it heated you up from the inside. You struggle lightly against the restraints, trying to test how much movement you had in each limb, which wasn’t much. He sits next to you on the bed, palming your face in one of his hands.

“Color baby?” he questions.

“Green!” you say brightly, excited for the adventure ahead of you.

“Doin’ so good for me” he coos, and then his touch is gone and he’s somewhere in the room. You can hear random rustling but you can’t lift up your head enough to see what he’s grabbing.

He comes back next to you seemingly empty handed, and then he lifts up his hands to you to show you his haul. He has a single black die in his one hand, and a vibrating wand in the other.

“So, we’re gonna play a little game, I’m going to roll the dice. Whatever number the dice lands on, is how many times you have to edge until I let you cum.” He says, he usually chocolate brown eyes now almost black with lust.

You lick your lips and think about how to respond, “Y-yes Daddy” you utter, your face heating up at the new pet name. You hear Eddie curse under his breath. He rolls the die next to your head on the nightstand and chuckles. His face coming close to yours with a wicked grin on his face.

“Can you handle three, angel?” he snickers, leaving kisses along your jaw line, nipping lightly. You nod hurriedly, wanting to be good for the man above you. With that he kisses you deeply one more time before spreading your legs, your dripping core on display for him to see.

You watch him spit messily on the wand and then once more on your heat, spreading it generously on your clit. You hiss at the contact, bucking your hips up slightly wanting more. You hear the hum of the vibrator as Eddie turns it on low, your body full of anticipation, waiting for any sort of pleasure. That’s when you feel it, the low vibration against your clit. You squirm against it at first, wanting more already.

Eddie chuckles lowly above you, “I should call you my little bunny by how much you move, would you like that sweetness? To be my little bunny?” he taunts, turning up the vibration higher, pulling a moan from your lips.

“Yes daddy, wanna be your bunny, your good little bunny” you writhe against the restraints. He rewards you by turning up the vibrator another notch, the pressure quickly building in your stomach.

You writhe against the restraints as the pressure becomes too much, coming it waves, so close to sending you over the edge. And then it’s gone, the vibration still audible in the room but you can no longer feel it. You groan in frustration, you were so fucking close.

“Two more baby, then you can cum” he reassures you. He takes this time, to let the fire inside you simmer. He takes off his shirt and his pants, leaving him in only his boxers. You see him palming himself, you bite your lip, wanting nothing more than to worship his cock.

You feel the vibration once again but this time instead of starting out slow, the vibration knocks the wind out of you. Your clit screaming at you for release, the coil inside you already winding tighter and tigher, your curl your toes, willing yourself not to cum. Then the sensation is gone once again, your body now covered in sweat from being so close twice now, your chest heaving heavily up and down.

“You’re doin so good bunny, just one more for me, kay? Still green?” he asks.

You nod your head not trusting your words, whimpers coming out instead. Eddie takes off his boxers, showing off his now very erect and hard cock, making your mouth water. Stroking it a few times before lining it up with your mouth.

“Spit Bunny” he commands.

You whimper and do as you’re told, gathering all the salvia in your mouth and spitting it onto his tip. He sighs and works your spit around his cock, moaning loudly. He’s teasing you, you’re strapped to the bed and can’t even touch him. He is evil incarnate, and you can’t get enough.

You were so entranced by watching Eddie work his hand over his cock you had forgot what the two of you were doing, until you felt the vibration on the highest setting hit your clit.

You yelp in surprise, keeping your eyes on his cock. Thinking about how his cock feels inside of you, how it stretches you out, hits a spot inside of you that you could never reach. You wanted it, no, you needed it, you needed him or you were going to explode. Your orgasm hurtling towards you like a freight train.

“D-Daddy i- please, i- im gonna cum” you gush, holding your eyes tightly closed, willing yourself not to cum before you’re given the okay. But instead, the vibration is gone, and your orgasm ruined.

You wail in frustration, tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill out, legs shaking. You were so desperate you didn’t even know why you were crying. You feel Eddie unclip your restraints, giving you full range of motion again, you rubbed your wrists thankfully. Eddie pulling you into a hug, kissing the tears out of your eyes.

“You did so good for me baby, you’re such a good girl for Daddy,” he mumbles into your skin. You allow him to hold you for a minute before the need between your legs takes over.

You let out the breath you were holding shakily. Looking at him in anticipation. You lie back down on the bed and open your legs, two could play at this game. You swirl your finger around your aching clit, moaning dramatically. Grabbing your left tit, pinching lightly between your two fingers, giving him a show.

Two firm hands grab both of your wrists putting them above your head, “You coulda just asked sweetness, not that I mind the show, I just had something else in mind” he mocks.

He climbs on top of you, lining his cock up at your entrance, swiping it through your soaked folds.

“Beg for it, beg for my cock,” he demands.

“Please, please I need your cock, please please, I’ve been good, please let me have your cock,” you whine.

With that he pushes into your core, both of you moaning in unison. His pace already quick chasing his own high.

“Fuck your pussy is so fuckin tight” he says, eyes closed trying to hold off his own orgasm. He lifts your legs, bending you almost in half, hitting a spot inside that makes you scream.

“Fuck yes, yeah right there, holy fuck!” you wail.

Doing what he’s told he pistons into you harder, making the wet noises in the room get louder and louder. You can feel pressure building inside you, but it feels different, it feels bigger.

“Can I cum, please can I cum?” not being able to hold it off any longer, eyes pleading with Eddie.

“Yeah, baby go ahead, cum for me, cum for daddy,” he groans.

Then your vision whites out, every cell in your body imploding with pleasure, you feel your release spill out of you and onto the sheets, messily.

“Holy shit- fuck!” is the only warning you get before Eddie’s hips stutter, and he spills his seed inside of you.

“What the fuck” is all you can muster in your fucked out state.

“Yeah what the fuck indeed princess, I didn’t know you could squirt” he says breathlessly, scooping you into his arms, the two of you laying next to each other trying to catch your breaths.

“I didn’t either, I’ve never done it before” you confide, Eddies eyes shining bright with pride. You roll your eyes at him, the last thing he needed was a bigger ego.

“Don’t let it go to your head mister,” you say with a jab to his chest.

“No, I absolutely am, thanks though” he says, putting his hand over his chest like he’s accepting a badge of honor.

The two of you spend the rest of the night down there in each other’s arms, eventually, Eddie gives you his t-shirt and goes to grab the two of you a snack and a glass of water.

“Was this okay? I didn’t hurt you or make you upset, right?” he asks.

You shake your head, “No not at all, I loved every second, can’t wait to do it again,” you say with a wiggle of your eyebrows. It makes Eddie crack a smile and leave a small kiss on your head.

“I just like feeling wanted, you know how stuff like this clears your head? It clears mine too, all I need to do is be there for you, and focus on you. Then my brain is quiet, so thank you,” he confesses, stealing a kiss from your lips. You smile up at him, if you could give him the whole world you would in an instant.

“I think I want to tell Vi, I’m nervous but I’m starting to feel guilty hiding all of this from her. I like you a lot, and she deserves to know what makes me happy,” he says looking sleepily in your eyes.

“You make me happy too, we can tell Vi this weekend, okay? I don’t like hiding things from her either,” you reassure him.

He nods back at you sleepily, snuggling in closure to you like a dog. Eventually the two of you fall asleep, completely content.

Tag List! **if you want to be added to the tag list just lemme know, just need to be 18+**

@sweetblinginrose @tlclick73 @paleidiot @frogtape @too-efn-old-to-be-here @peaches-roses-sins @micheledawn1975 @untitled74745 @hellv1ra @alastorssimp @star-of-velaris @yeaiamme2 @itdobe-liza @mmaaddyy @cozyquinn

[rocketinthesky]

Bite Me

-A CarCar vague-high school/college au(?) one-shot, Rated Teen and Up, Enemies who Kiss? Inspired heavilyyy by Sumi’s lovely fanart so everyone please check it out!

-read on ao3

Oscar has had enough.

Now it’s fucking war, the only thing on his mind blood.

It’s the fourth time stupid-Spanish-meathead-Sainz has shoved him against his locker between class break in the day. Four fucking times! Oscar’s human, he’s made of flesh and bone, and said flesh and bone hurt very fucking much when constantly colliding with metal.

That stupid meathead in his stupid football (the European kind) jersey cackles loudly as he walks away, an exasperated Charles shaking his head beside him while he throws Oscar an apologetic frown.

Oscar seethes, balling his fists at his sides so hard he thinks the knuckles might pop out, jaw clenched as he fails to hide his reaction.

Carlos stops just a few meters ahead, doesn’t turn around but twists his head to the side and casts Oscar an ingratiating glance through his eyelashes.

“Baboso.”

Now, Oscar doesn’t know a word of Spanish outside of ‘hola’, but he can pick up on context clues and comprehend that he’s definitely just been insulted.

Normally, Oscar wouldn’t rise to the provocation. He would throw Sainz a nasty sneer, grab his backpack and stomp away to his next class at a very normal pace.

However—Oscar’s already been having a shit day. His English professor just handed them a ten page assignment, his Bio professor assigned a group work and paired him with possibly the last people on earth he’d want to work on anything with, and he accidentally spilled coffee on his white t-shirt during lunch break.

He’s already at his breaking point and four shoves against the locker by none other than the sadistic bastard Carlos Sainz who only wanted nothing more than to see Oscar suffer has tipped him off the proverbial edge.

At least that’s the only explanation Oscar has for why he stomps up to Carlos, teeth bared in anger as Carlos looks unfazed and simply turns around to fully face him—waiting.

It all happens a little too fast—Oscar fisting Carlos’s collars and shoving him back with enough force that it trips him up too, Sainz’s back hitting the nearest locker, eyes wide in shock. Oscar himself is a little shocked, mostly winded—a tad exhilarated—at having done this.

Carlos looks at him, eyes impossibly big from this close. Oscar’s never noticed how long his lashes are until there’s a few centimetres separating them.

Oscar’s breathing wildly now, and he’s not exactly sure if it’s all from the anger. Carlos’s breaths seem to come short, labored, surprise twisting into anger the longer Oscar holds him up against the lockers. Oscar relishes in dragging a reaction out of him—anything other than that infuriating smugness he always seems to carry.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, Piastri?” Carlos nearly growls, hands coming up to wrap around Oscar’s wrists still gripping Carlos’s collar.

The snarl on his face shouldn’t look like…that. It shouldn’t be sending a shiver down Oscar’s spine, the way they’re so close, the way Carlos’s big hands feel like brands where they circle around Oscar’s wrists in a crushing grip.

Oscar falters, tries not to show it, but he must give enough away because in the blink of an eye he’s spun around and shoved up against the locker, back colliding painfully with metal, their positions flipped.

“Carlos, just let him go.” Charles says tiredly from somewhere behind Carlos, but Oscar can’t see him, his field of vision just Carlos—all his senses overwhelmed with the scent of Carlos, the heat of his skin still wrapped around his wrists, the fire in his eyes burning through Oscar’s soul as his breath wafts against Oscar’s face.

“He started it.” Carlos bites back at Charles, still looking straight into Oscar’s eyes.

Oscar tries not to cave in on himself but it’s hard to stand tall with Carlos looming right over him. He’s never noticed how broad he is. They’re about the same height but Carlos manages to look much taller, thick neck curving into broad shoulders. Oscar has the rattling urge to touch them, feel the muscles strain against his grip.

“You shoved me first, Sainz. Four fucking times.” Oscar spits out instead, alarmed at the direction his own thoughts are veering.

They’re both breathing faster now, so close Oscar can almost feel the rise and fall of Carlos’s thick chest against his own.

Fuck him.

Carlos sneers, and Oscar’s hands flex where they’re still gripping Carlos’s collar, unwilling to let go unless Carlos does first.

The expression crawls under Oscar’s skin as if it’s a living thing, burrowing into his flesh and tightening his grip on Carlos’s jersey when Carlos says with levity, “Was just a friendly pat, cabron. It is not my fault you are so weak.”

Carlos’s eyes are glinting with challenge, with mockery, leaning even more into Oscar’s space, and Oscar can’t hold back anymore, can barely process his movements before he feels his lips sting with the force at which he clashes into Carlos.

Carlos makes a surprised sound in his throat, stilling under Oscar’s grip for a split second before his hold on Oscar’s wrists tighten impossibly, kissing Oscar back in earnest.

He distantly hears a squeak—probably Charles—but is too consumed by the plushness of Carlos’s lips, the way he kisses ravenously, all teeth and tongue and dominance.

Oscar can barely keep up, melts in his arms like putty when Carlos lets go of his wrists to instead grip his sides, fingers digging hard enough into his waist that Oscar thinks he might leave bruises.

The fact that they’re very much out in the open, hundreds of other students passing them by, watching the spectacle they’re putting on, is completely irrelevant to Oscar. He moans at a particular swipe of Carlos’s tongue over his palate, bites down on Carlos’s bottom lip and revels in the groan it pulls out.

One of his hands travel from Carlos’s jersey up his neck and into his hair, threading his fingers into the thick locks and pulling.

The kiss is as violent and all-consuming and as hot as Oscar would expect from Carlos.

“Oi, Osc, show me the assignment for Mr. Vettel’s cla—”

Lando stops dead in his approach when he looks up from his phone and finds Oscar and Carlos tangled up in each other. He balks, blinking a few times to check whether he’s seeing clearly or not. He turns his head slowly to Charles who is standing next to him, face twisted in disgust.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Charles shrugs. “Speaks for itself, I think.”

Lando barks out a laugh, a little hysterical. “I knew they’d get here eventually. Just didn’t think it’d be so…public.”

Charles bites back a laugh, patting Lando on the shoulder. “Let’s just leave them alone. I am about to puke if i watch them for long.”

Lando shrugs. “Coffee?”

Charles grins. “My treat.”

Neither Oscar nor Carlos hear any bit of the exchange as they keep kissing, only broken when a professor passing by interrupts them with a pointed cough.

“Gentlemen, I believe classes for the next period have begun?”

They jolt away from each other as if burnt. Oscar looks at Carlos, the way his pupils are blown wide, face a bright red, lips swollen and spit-slick.

He looks ruined—Oscar can’t imagine he looks much better himself.

Omggg i had so much fun writing this IM STILL GOING FERAL OVER @kolbalissh ‘s art guys SUMI UR SO TALENTED AND CRAZY FOR GIVING ME THESE BRAINWORMS AHHH ANYWAYS I HOPE THIS DRABBLE-TURNED-ONE SHOT DOESN’T DISAPPOINT 😭😭

[iamnmbr3]

I'm pretty sure I followed you a long time ago when I was in Marvel fandom and I'm delighted I found you again!

I remember that you had great fic recommendations and seeing that you're in hp fandom too just makes me so happy! I just finished the books (I would have read them long ago, but they were banned at my home) and I'm knee deep in drarry now and I completely understand the hype for those two idiots.

Do you have lists for long (I'm talking+80k) fics I could start with? Preferably gay/lesbian parring 🙏 and thank you in advance

Oh wow what a lovely ask! Thank you so much and welcome back!

You can check out my fic rec tag here for a ton of good recs. Here are a few good ones to get you started - mostly drarry with some other excellent ship and gen fics thrown in as well for good measure.

Running on Air by eleventy7 (words: 74,880 | rating: T | Drarry)

Draco Malfoy has been missing for three years. Harry is assigned the cold case and finds himself slowly falling in love with the memories he collects.

Amulette d'amour by The_Carnivorous_Muffin, Vinelle  (words: 105,428 | rating: unrated | Tom Riddle/Alphard Black)

Tom is commissioned to repair a magical amulet.

Nero su bianco by zuzallove (words 40,507 | rating: E | Drarry)

September 1997. Hogwarts is under the regime of Voldemort and the Carrows. Finding himself alienated by both his friends and his supposed enemies, Draco puts quill to parchment, and writes letters. He addresses them to the only person he can think of, as Hogwarts rapidly falls into chaos and ruin: Harry Potter. He goes to great lengths to ensure the letters are never discovered, and he’s pretty certain he’s done a great job. Until the day of his trial.

Ouroboros by Metalomagnetic (Words: 258,416 | rating: E | Voldemort/Tom Riddle)

A strange man adopts Tom Riddle and it is not his father, as Tom desperately wants to believe. Stranded in the past, Voldemort once again comes to the conclusion he's the only one he truly needs.

At Your Service by Faith Wood (faithwood) (words: 95,752 | rating: E | Drarry)

Hogwarts students are in danger; Harry is determined to save them all. There's only one thing he knows for certain: Draco Malfoy is somehow involved.

you've got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass (words: 20,730 | rating: M | Drarry)

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want. He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

The customer is always right by Metalomagnetic (words: 7,200 | rating: unrated | gen)

In the summer of 1945, Caractacus Burke hires a new assistant to help with the shop. His son doesn't know what to make of Tom Riddle, the young charismatic man that doesn't seem to mind working hard for just a handful of coins.

Your Friend, James by TedwardRemus (words: 5,330 | rating: T | Lily/James)

It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (words: 70,045 | rating: E | Drarry)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

of all my demon spirits by basketofnovas (slashmarks) (word: 1,730 | rating: T | Gen)

After the end of term, Ginny gets a new diary and struggles with the events of her first year.

War Paint by provocative_envy (word: 18,876 | rating: E | Tom Riddle/Hermione Granger)

It was small, slim, about the length of her hand; the leather cover was soft, the sewn-in binding was crisp, and the thick vellum pages were empty. 'Tom Marvolo Riddle' was printed in ancient, flaking gold leaf across the front. He had been a Slytherin, a prefect, and head boy in 1944. She had checked. [ ALTERNATIVELY - Hermione finds Tom Riddle's diary. ]

The Unwinding Golden Thread by The_Carnivorous_Muffin   (words: 50,260 | rating: T | Gen)

In his fifth year Tom Riddle discovers his destiny and meets the cold, alarming, and bizarre transfer student Harry Evans. But sometimes things unravel in ways we do not expect.

Denude by Faith Wood (faithwood) (words: 4,172 | rating: E | Drarry)

This is a HBP AU. It's set a few days after the Sectumsempra scene and takes the story in another direction, asking the question: "What if the Sectumsempra scene had a greater impact on Harry and Draco?" Harry and Draco are sixteen. In medias res beginning. Non-linear storytelling.

[jetii]

The New Deal

Part Two

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Intimacy

Pairing: Thorn x Senator Vale Ishani (OC)

Words: 14,400/27,656

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends with benefits to lovers, secret relationship, bodyguard!Thorn, protective!Thorn, accidental love confessions, so much flirting and innuendo, dirty talk, smut, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), it is the expected level of freak for these two, part 2 even more so

Summary: It's been a month since Thorn and Vale have returned to Coruscant from her home planet of Atrisia, and so far they've managed to keep their budding relationship under wraps. But Thorn can't help but want more than a few stolen moments in the dark, and he's ready to prove to Vale that it's worth it.

A/N: I don't know what it is about writing these two that turns me into a monster, but I felt like a woman possessed. There was supposed to be plot here...somewhere...

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist | Thorn and Vale Masterlist

Thorn isn't sure how much longer he can keep getting away with this.

The truth is, he knows that he's in way over his head. That this isn't a good idea. That this can only end in heartbreak, and pain, and a whole host of other problems that he really doesn't want to deal with. And yet, the temptation is too great, and he can't bring himself to walk away.

So instead, he spends his days hiding his relationship, his nights sneaking out of the barracks to spend time with Vale, and his free time trying to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do.

It's not the most productive use of his time, and Thorn knows that his brothers are starting to notice. They've asked him more than once why he's been spending so much time away from the barracks, and he's given them the same answer: extra training. He can't help but feel guilty, especially when he knows that they're not buying it, but he's not sure how else to explain what he's doing.

The truth is, Thorn's not sure he understands what he's doing.

It's been a month since the two of them returned from Atrisia, and things have only gotten more complicated. They'd managed to keep things quiet on the cruiser, but once they were back on Coruscant, the rules had changed.

Vale has been busy, dealing with the fallout of the assassination attempt and the upcoming election season, and Thorn has been splitting his time between his regular duties and acting as Vale's personal guard. The latter isn't something he would normally do, but the Chancellor has insisted, and Vale hasn't protested.

The fact that he's now in the position to protect her is a huge weight off his shoulders. Thorn had spent most of his time on the cruiser worrying about her safety and wondering if the attempt on her life would be repeated. Knowing that she has him there, watching her back, has done a lot to ease his mind.

But even with the extra time together, things have still been complicated, and they've only managed to steal a handful of moments alone together.

Today is no different.

Vale has had no less than four meetings with the Chancellor this past week, and her schedule has been filled with a seemingly endless list of events and appearances. Thorn's days have been just as busy. With the Senate in session, he's been tasked with assisting with the security detail for several events and conferences, and his nights have been filled with patrols and security checks.

Today, he's been assigned a shift in the Senate Rotunda, and while his job is mostly standing around making sure no one was plotting a surprise assassination attempt, he doesn't mind. It's an easy assignment, and he likes the view.

Vale's platform is right in his line of sight, and it's the perfect vantage point for watching her. She looks regal standing there, her hands braced on the edge of the platform, her voice echoing through the chamber. Her robes are a dark, rich blue, and her hair is twisted up into an intricate bun, the light catching the golden threads woven throughout it.

Not that he's paying attention to any of that, of course. He's not supposed to be noticing those things.

No, Thorn is supposed to be watching the room. Which is exactly what he's doing. And if his gaze wanders back to Vale every few minutes, it's not for any reason other than keeping her safe. That's his job, and he's taking it seriously.

That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

Thorn can't help but feel like he's been on a rollercoaster over the past few weeks. First, the tension, and the longing, and the frustration, and now, this. This strange, uncertain, and undefined thing that's developed between the two of them. He doesn't have a name for it, and he's not sure if he's ready to call it what he wants it to be.

He doesn't even know what he wants. Or at least, he doesn't know how to get it.

Because he knows what he wants. It's the same thing he's wanted since the day he first met her. He wants her. All of her. Not just her body, or her attention, or her time.

He wants all of her. Every last part of her.

And he's never wanted anything more.

The thing is, Thorn's never had trouble going after what he wants. If he wants something, he usually just goes for it. But with Vale, things are different. She's a senator, and the daughter of a wealthy, influential family, and she's been raised with all the privileges and opportunities that come with her birthright. She's got a whole galaxy of suitors to choose from, and Thorn's well aware that he doesn't exactly have a lot to offer.

He's a clone. An expendable soldier who was created for the sole purpose of dying for the Republic. He doesn't have any rights, or any possessions, and the only thing he has to his name is his service record. He's not a bad looking man, and his brothers have always told him he has a decent sense of humor, but when compared to the galaxy full of senators and nobles and celebrities who are throwing themselves at her, he's not exactly a prize.

And yet, here she is, standing right in front of him, her eyes locked with his, a soft smile on her lips.

It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense.

Vale tilts her head, a silent question on her face, and Thorn inclines his head slightly, a subtle nod. She nods back, and then her gaze moves back to the Chancellor, and Thorn lets out a soft sigh.

It's going to be a long day.

The sound of the bell echoes through the chamber, signaling the end of the session, and Thorn straightens up, his hands falling to his belt. The senators and their aides file out, but Vale remains seated, her attention on the datapad in her hand.

Thorn glances around the chamber before he slowly makes his way toward her, his boots clicking against the polished floor. When he reaches her, he stops, waiting patiently. She doesn't look up, but Thorn knows she's aware of him. He can tell by the way her lips twitch and the way her breathing changes, just slightly.

He waits, letting the tension build, before he speaks.

"Senator."

"Commander," she replies. She taps a few more times on her datapad and finally glances over her shoulder at him, a smile playing on her lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Thorn looks around the chamber again, tracking the movement of the other senators. Most have already left, but a few are lingering, talking in small groups or packing up their things. 

It's not unusual for him to be near Vale during a meeting. In fact, it's his job. But the idea of being seen in such close proximity, especially when there's no danger present, makes his skin prickle.

He lowers his voice, leaning in to speak in her ear. "No reason. Just wanted to check in on you. See how you're doing."

Her smile widens, and Thorn's stomach flips.

"You're sweet," she whispers. Her gaze darts from person to person, and Thorn follows her lead, his eyes scanning the room, cataloging everyone's positions. They're relatively isolated, and while he knows the cameras are watching, there's no way anyone could overhear their conversation.

"I'm trying," he murmurs, and she lets out a soft laugh.

"You didn't have to come over here just to check up on me."

"Yes I did," he tells her. "I wanted to."

"Did you now?"

"Yes."

Vale hums, turning her head to look at him, her gaze drifting over his body. His skin warms, and his heart races. He loves it when she looks at him like that. Loves it when she lets him know what she's thinking, what she's feeling. It's the closest thing to an admission he'll get from her, and it's enough. For now.

She leans back in her chair, and he swallows, his gaze dropping to her lips. She's wearing red lipstick, a shade that's a near exact match for the red of his armor. He's not sure if she chose it on purpose or if it's a coincidence, but either way, it makes him feel possessive. Like she's wearing a part of hi, claiming him in a way.

"Commander," she says, her voice a soft purr. "Do you have something to say to me?"

"I do, Senator," he breathes. He takes a step forward, rounding her chair until he's standing before her, and he clenches his hands into fists behind his back. "I have a lot of things to say."

"Oh? Like what?"

He bends at the waist, a slight bow, and she raises a brow. "Things I shouldn't."

"Well, go on. I'm waiting," she urges, and he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. She's always like this, and he's never sure if he's more annoyed or turned on by it. Probably both.

He looks over his shoulder. The room is empty, save for a handful of aides and a couple of the maintenance staff. There's no one nearby, and the chance of anyone hearing them is minimal. Still, he keeps his voice low, just in case.

"I miss you," he says. The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of them, and the coy smile on her face momentarily falters. "And I can't stand being apart from you for another minute."

She blinks, and Thorn bites the inside of his cheek. They've had this conversation before, and each time, it's ended with one or both of them frustrated and angry and wanting more than they can have. Neither of them has brought up the future. Neither of them has said the word 'relationship'. And neither of them has dared to talk about what they are. What they could be.

It's a mess, and it's only getting messier.

"I miss you too, Commander," she whispers, and he watches as the mask slides back into place, the playful, teasing facade she wears around everyone else coming back full force. Her hand slides up his thigh, her palm pressing against the inside of his leg, and Thorn sucks in a breath, his hands flexing behind his back.

"But there's nothing we can do about it. Not right now, at least," she tells him, her nails scraping lightly against his armor.

He lets out a frustrated huff, his jaw clenching. "I'm serious, Vale.” 

Her eyes widen, and her hand freezes. Thorn's not sure why he used her name, or where the sudden surge of bravery came from. But he knows that it's important, and he knows that he means it.

They've been using each other's titles since returning to Coruscant, a necessary precaution. But now, it feels wrong, almost like an insult. It's not who they are, and it's not who they are to each other. He's Thorn, and she's Vale, and the distance between them has gone too far, and for too long.

"I hate not being able to see you. I hate not being able to talk to you. It's driving me crazy. You're driving me crazy," he growls. He's not sure if he's more frustrated with her or himself, and the words pour out of him, fueled by a desperation he can't contain.

Her face softens, the teasing, coy expression replaced with a tender, understanding look. Her hand falls away, folding in her lap, and Thorn immediately misses the contact.

"I know. I'm sorry, Thorn," she murmurs. She looks around, her eyes sweeping over the chamber, and then her gaze meets his once more. Her shoulders slump, and Thorn realizes that she's just as conflicted and unsure as he is. "I'm not trying to push you away."

He shakes his head. He doesn't want an apology. He just wants to be with her. He knows it's a terrible idea, and he knows that they should end things, but he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't want to walk away. And deep down, he knows that she doesn't want to, either.

"I know," he says. "But it doesn't change the fact that I miss you."

She gives him a rueful smile, and his heart twists in his chest.

"I miss you, too," she says softly. "And I wish we could see each other more. I hate having to sneak around. It's ridiculous."

He can't help but chuckle. It's not funny, not really, but it's true. It is ridiculous. And it's getting worse. Every time he sees her, it's harder and harder to walk away. And every time he has to leave, the pain of being separated is worse than the last.

"It is," he agrees. "It's the worst."

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. "The absolute worst."

Thorn sighs, the sound heavy. He looks down at his boots, trying to gather his thoughts.

"We'll figure something out," he says. "We have to."

"I hope so," she murmurs. "Because I'm not sure how much longer I can go without seeing you."

"Me, either," he admits with a sigh. "I'm going crazy, not being able to touch you."

He feels her gaze on him, and he risks a glance. He immediately regrets it when he sees the smirk on her face.

"Touch me, huh?" she asks, a teasing note in her voice. "Is that all you want to do?"

Thorn rolls his eyes. She's always like this, and he should be used to it by now. But every time she flirts with him, every time she teases him, it's like the first time. And he's helpless to resist.

"You're the worst," he mutters. "And no, it's not. I want to do a lot more than just touch you."

"Oh, really? Like what?"

He can't help but groan. He's tempted to tell her. To whisper all the dirty, filthy things he's been imagining, all the things he wants to do to her. But the thought of saying them out loud, of risking being overheard, is too much for him.

"Like nothing, because I'm on duty, and you're about to leave," he grumbles.

"Aw, that's no fun."

"That's what you get," he replies. He straightens and adjusts his stance, his gaze sweeping the chamber again. He doesn't have much time, and he's wasting it. He should be focusing on his job, not flirting with the senator. "I should get going. I have a briefing in an hour, and I need to get ready."

Vale nods, her teeth running over her lower lip. Thorn's eyes are immediately drawn to the motion, and he forces himself to look away, a soft groan escaping him.

"You're not making this any easier, Vale," he mumbles as he turns and starts to walk away, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He doesn't make it more than two steps before her voice stops him in his tracks.

"What are you doing tonight?” she asks, her voice so quiet he almost misses it. His head whips back to her, and he sees her watching him, a small, hopeful smile on her lips.

He's confused. Normally, she doesn't ask him things like this. Normally, she tells him what time she wants him to show up, and where she wants him to meet her. And normally, he doesn't protest, because he knows he'll show up, anyway.

"I...Nothing," he says, trying to sound nonchalant, even though his pulse is pounding.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing that I can't reschedule," he clarifies quickly. He knows he's not fooling anyone. Especially not her.

"Well,” she starts, a slow, playful smile spreading across her face. "In that case, I’ll be hosting a small dinner party for some members of the Finance Committee tonight, and I could use the company for the night. And after. Interested?"

Thorn's eyebrows shoot up. This is the last thing he was expecting. But it's also the perfect opportunity. A few hours at a stuffy party as her guard, and the rest of the night together. It's the best they're going to get. But still, he can't help but tease her.

"Oh, really?" he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what kind of company are you looking for?"

"A strong, handsome man who can keep me safe," she replies. She pretends to examine her nails, and Thorn bites back a laugh. "I have a lot of enemies, you know."

"I'm aware, Senator," he replies dryly. "I've had a front row seat for most of them."

She waves her hand dismissively. "Details."

The laugh escapes from his lips, a short, sharp sound, and her eyes dart up, a grin spreading across her face.

"So you're just looking for someone to make sure no one tries to poison your wine again?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, though the memory still sends a shiver down his spine.

 Her aide had been the one to notice that one, and Thorn had to suffer a lecture from Fox on how the security at her events had better be airtight, or else. It had been a mess, and Thorn had made sure to double-check the food and drink at every single one of Vale's events after. And she complained about it. Endlessly.

"Well, that's part of the job," she says with a shrug. "But I'm also hoping you'll stay and keep me company after. If you're available, that is."

"I'll have to check my schedule," he teases, and Vale rolls her eyes. She rises to her feet, smoothing her robes, and her hands linger on her hips, the movement drawing Thorn's attention. He watches as her fingers trail over the fabric, skimming along the curve of her waist, and he can't tear his gaze away.

"Fine, I'll find someone else," she says, pretending to be offended. She reaches for her datapad, but Thorn snatches it away, holding it out of her reach. She pouts. "Rude."

"Senator, please. There's no need for such drastic measures," he tells her as he lowers the datapad, tapping the screen and opening the calendar. He pretends to scroll through her appointments, trying to keep his amusement from showing. “I'm sure I can work you in."

She gives him a sly look. "How accommodating."

"Only the best for you, Senator," he replies. He hands her the datapad, and Vale smirks.

"See that it is, Commander. I'll expect you at 18:00 tonight," she orders. Thorn snaps his heels together, and he gives her a quick salute.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she says, her eyes sparkling. She brushes past him, her hand trailing over his forearm. "I'll see you later, Commander."

"Count on it," he growls, and her lips quirk up into a mischievous grin.

"I'm looking forward to it," she says. She turns and walks away, and Thorn is helpless to do anything but watch her go, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears. 

As soon as she's out of sight, he lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep up this charade. He doesn't know how much longer they'll have, or if there's any chance of this working out. But the fact that she's willing to try means everything. And for now, that's enough.

He'll take what he can get.

Vale’s apartment is the kind of luxury that can only be afforded by a high-ranking member of the Republic Senate.

It's located in one of the most exclusive districts on Coruscant, and it's easily one of the most luxurious buildings on the planet. The furniture is expensive, the walls covered in artwork that he can't begin to understand, and the view from the windows is nothing short of spectacular. It's a far cry from his barracks, and even further from Kamino.

The apartment is huge, easily bigger than his entire squad's quarters, and yet it feels empty. Like a showroom rather than a home. It's clean, and modern, and elegant, and completely devoid of any personality.

Vale’s aide Trina, a Rutian Twi’Lek who has been working with her since before her election, and who he’s pretty sure despises him, has been running around the apartment for the past half-hour, barking orders at servers and rearranging the decorations. He hasn't been paying attention, instead opting to stand in the corner out of the way and try not to feel completely overwhelmed.

He's nervous.

It's a new feeling, and not one he's used to. He’s been here once before, but that was only for a few minutes, and the situation was far more dire. The place had been swarming with police and members of the Guard, and Thorn had spent most of his time keeping everyone from trampling on evidence and making sure that Vale was okay. Now he's standing in the living room, and there's no imminent danger, and Vale's not bleeding out on the couch.

The night’s still young, though.

He's still wearing his armor, and he’s grateful for that. It hides his nerves, and he needs every bit of confidence he can get. Vale is still getting ready, and he's not sure what to do but stand around and wait. He's already gone over the security details for the party, and he's already double checked the guest list, and now he's just trying to occupy his time.

He's never felt so out of his element, and he doesn't like it.

“Can I help?” he asks as Trina moves past him.

She glances up, her brow furrowing. He's sure that she thinks he's an idiot, and maybe she's right. But the least he can do is try. He still feels a little guilty for Vale neglecting to tell her anything about his presence until he arrived, and the last thing he wants is to make it worse.

Trina had walked into the living room and immediately dropped her datapa, a surprised, and slightly horrified, expression on her face when she saw him. Vale had quickly explained that she'd invited Thorn to be her bodyguard for the evening, and that he was staying. And from the look on Trina's face, that's not a common occurrence. Or maybe it is, and that's the problem. He's not sure.

Then Vale had disappeared into her bedroom, and Thorn had been left with her aide. And the caterers. And the servers. And the bartender. It's been an interesting evening, and it's not even started.

Trina looks him up and down. He shifts, and she lets out a huff.

"No thank you, Commander," she says stiffly.

“Are you sure? I can help with the decorations. Or moving things around.” He nods toward the dining room. “The table is crooked."

"The table is not crooked," she tells him firmly. She turns her head, and her eyes widen. "Oh, kriff."

Thorn grins. "I'll fix it."

She lets out a sigh, rolling her eyes, and Thorn walks past her, heading into the dining room. It's a massive room, the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a stunning view of the city. The table is long, easily large enough to fit a dozen people, and it's decorated with a centerpiece of flowers and candles. He aligns it properly, careful not to disturb the arrangement. When he's satisfied, he turns to Trina, who's watching him with a look of begrudging respect.

"Better?"

"Much," she says, shaking her head. She glances at the table and smiles. "Thank you, Commander."

He shrugs. "Anytime."

She studies him, and he has the sudden urge to squirm under her gaze. Her arms cross over her chest, her eyes squinting as if she can see through his helmet.

"So," she says, dragging out the word. "Why are you here?"

He blinks. That's a good question. One that he's been asking himself for the last month.

"To protect Senator Ishani," he answers, but it sounds wrong. He knows that's not why, not anymore, but he's not sure what else to say. And judging by the look on her face, she can tell.

"Protect her, huh?" she asks, raising a brow. "I thought that's what the rest of the Guard is for. Why did she need you specifically?"

"She doesn't," he says. "She wanted me here.".

"She did?" she asks, sounding surprised.

He nods. "Yes."

"Huh," she murmurs, her brow furrowing. Her arms fall, and she braces her hands on her hips, tilting her head. "Well, that's new."

"Is it?" he asks. He tries to ignore the flutter of excitement in his chest. If she's inviting him to these things, that means something, right? Even if he’s supposed to stand guard for the evening, it still means something. Right?

"Yeah," she says. "She doesn't usually have people over. Let alone ask a member of the Guard to be here. I'm pretty sure this is the first time."

"It is?"

"Yep," she says, popping the p. “She usually just sits and pretends to enjoy herself until she can go hide in her room."

Thorn feels a flash of concern. That doesn't sound like Vale. She seems to thrive off these kinds of things, the parties and the galas and the endless parade of social events. To hear her aide tell it, it's her own personal hell.

"I thought she liked this stuff."

"No, she hates it," she tells him. Her tone is casual, as if this is something everyone knows. "But she knows how to put on a show."

Thorn has no idea what to say. He's suddenly struck with the image of Vale, alone in her apartment, surrounded by strangers. Of her, putting on a show for them, for him. The thought makes his stomach churn. 

He doesn't know Vale, not really. He knows what she likes, and he knows what she doesn't like, and he knows how to make her laugh. But other than that, he's still not entirely sure what's real and what's not. Is the woman who's throwing a dinner party for her colleagues and political allies the same one who's sneaking off to cantina on the lower levels, just to talk with him? Or is she the woman who's laughing at Senator Orn Free Taa's awful jokes, all the while planning his political demise? Or is she both, and neither, and everything in between?

He has no idea, and it bothers him more than he cares to admit.

"I don't get it," she says, tilting her head.

"Get what?"

"You," she tells him.

He feels a flicker of panic.

"What do you mean?" he asks carefully, his voice even, his posture relaxed.

"You're not the usual kind of person she brings to these things," she explains, waving her hand around the room. "Usually, it's some guy she meets at a club, or a Senator, or a businessman. But you're not any of those things."

"No, I'm not," he agrees. He has no idea where she's going with this, and the fact that she's talking about Vale's love life, or lack thereof, isn't helping. He tries not to think about it, tries not to let the jealousy creep up. But he can't help it. “I’m her guard. For the night, at least."

Trina pauses, and Thorn gets the distinct impression that she's trying not to laugh.

"Commander, I've worked for Senator Ishani for five years, and the only time I've seen her happy is when you're around," she tells him. She shakes her head. "Trust me, if she could bring you to every single dinner party and gala, she would."

His heart skips a beat, and his mind races, trying to process what she's telling him.

"Really?" he asks, his voice low and hesitant.

"Really," she confirms. She glances over her shoulder, and then she takes a step closer, lowering her voice.  "I'm pretty sure that's why you're here, Commander. Not for your ability to fix tables."

"Oh," he says, letting out a weak laugh.

She smirks. "Besides, she's been happier lately. She hasn't smiled that much since she was elected."

Thorn shifts, his hand clenching and unclenching behind his back. He doesn't know what to say, or what he should say. Probably nothing, if he was smart. But he's not, not when it comes to Vale, and the way Trina's looking at him tells him that he's already in too deep.

"She deserves to be happy," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she does." She looks at him, and he swears he can see something akin to respect in her eyes. "So if you hurt her, I'll have you killed."

“I would never,” he replies emphatically, the words slipping out before he can think better of them. Trina raises an eyebrow, and Thorn quickly amends, "That is, I would never let anyone hurt her, if I could help it. I’m not—we’re not—this isn't—"

“Save it for someone dumb enough to believe you, Commander. We both know that's not true,” she interrupts with a wave of her hand, and Thorn snaps his mouth shut. He's not sure how this went from a polite conversation about furniture to him getting the shovel talk, but he has a sinking feeling that Trina knows exactly what's going on.

He’s about to protest further, but he's cut off by the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen. He and Trina look at each other, and she rolls her eyes, letting out an annoyed huff.

"Karking idiots," she mutters. She shakes her head and strides out of the room, her heels clacking on the hardwood. “Hey!”

Thorn takes a deep breath, shaking out his hands, and tries to steady his nerves. His palms are sweaty, and his heart is racing. He can't remember the last time he was this nervous.

This is stupid. This is his job. He should be calm, cool, and collected. Instead, he's standing in the dining room trying not to lose his mind over a girl. A girl who's not even his.

He takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. In, out, in, out. He closes his eyes, counting down from ten. When he opens them again, he's calmer, and his mind is clearer. He can do this. A few hours of playing bodyguard, and he gets to spend the rest of the night with Vale. It's worth it.

"Senator!" a voice calls from the kitchen.

"Coming!"

The sound of footsteps draws Thorn's attention, and he looks up to see Vale descending the staircase.

And just like that, his nerves return.

She's dressed in a black silk gown, the fabric clinging to her curves, and his eyes roam over her body, taking in every inch. The dress is simple, but stunning, and the neckline is low enough to reveal a tantalizing amount of tanned skin. Her hair is pulled back, a few loose curls framing her face, and her lips are painted the same shade of red as earlier. He's certain now that she chose the color on purpose.

He can't help but stare. He's seen her in formal wear plenty of times, but each time, it takes his breath away. This is no exception. If anything, this is the best.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she mutters as she hurries down the stairs, blowing a hair out of her face. She's not looking where she's going, her eyes fixed on the datapad in her hand, and Thorn's hands itch to reach out and steady her.

"Watch your step," he says, and she waves him off.

"I got it, Commander," she says distractedly. "Thank you."

"Vale," he says sharply, making her head snap up. Her eyes widen, and Thorn's heart skips a beat. He's usually better about using her title, especially when they're in public. But seeing her like this, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, he can't help himself.

"Sorry, Thorn," she replies, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. She descends the final step into the living room, and her eyes dart to him. "Hi."

"Hi," he says, low and soft, and he can't hide the smile in his voice. 

He looks her up and down, drinking her in, and he's hit with a wave of emotion that he's not expecting. It's more than lust, more than desire, and it's more than admiration. It's something deeper, something that's been building between them for weeks now. Something that he doesn't have a name for, something that's terrifying, and overwhelming, and intoxicating.

She stops a few feet away from him, a shy smile on her face. He can see she's not wearing her heels yet, and it's such a small thing, but it's the first time she's seemed anything other than completely put together. It's cute. And it makes his chest ache.

"So, what do you think?" she asks, gesturing to her dress. She turns, showing off the way the dress hugs her curves. It's an innocent enough gesture, but the way her hips sway and the way the fabric shifts has Thorn swallowing hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"You look great," he says honestly. It's not a strong enough word, but it's all he can think of.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, thank you, Commander," she says. If he looks close enough, and he is, he can see a blush staining her cheeks.

"That's a good color on you," he adds.

"Color?" she asks. She runs a hand over the skirt of her dress, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle, and Thorn's eyes follow the motion. "It's black."

He steps closer, the distance between them shrinking. He's careful not to touch her, not to let his armor brush against her bare skin, and he keeps his hands clasped behind his back.

"I meant the lipstick," he murmurs. "I like it. It suits you."

Vale looks up at him through her lashes, her gaze heated. "You noticed."

"I did," he says. His eyes dart to her lips, and then back up. "Hard not to. It's the same color as my armor."

"Oh, is it?" she asks, feigning surprise. "How coincidental."

"Yeah, funny that," he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He braces his hand on the railing next to her, leaning down, his face inches from hers. "I wonder how that happened."

"Who knows?" she says, and her lips quirk up. She's not even trying to hide the smirk. "Maybe you can get a closer look later." 

"Maybe," he rumbles, and she lets out a shuddering breath, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He can't help but grin.

"Commander, are you flirting with me?" she teases.

"Maybe," he drawls, his hand curling around the railing. He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but he knows he can't. Not yet. And especially not here. "But if I was, you wouldn't complain, would you?"

"No," she breathes.

He lets his hand trail down the banister, his knuckles brushing against the fabric of her dress, and she shivers. Her skin is warm, and he can smell her perfume, the scent filling his nose. He's tempted to bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in, but he resists. Barely.

"Good," he growls, and Vale swallows hard, her eyes dark. He clears his throat, taking a step back and clasping his hands behind his back. "Are you ready?"

She blinks, a hint of disappointment in her gaze, and her mouth opens, but she doesn't speak. She seems to remember herself, her eyes darting around the room, and he can tell she's remembering their surroundings.

"I, um, I'm almost ready," she says, shaking her head. Her cheeks flush, and Thorn's tempted to tease her. He doesn't, but he wants to. "I just need to finish my hair, and grab my shoes, and, uh, yeah. Almost ready."

She looks flustered, and Thorn can't help but chuckle. It's cute.

"Alright, well, don't let me distract you," he tells her. She gives him a mock glare, her hand finding his chest, and she pushes him backwards. He grunts, stumbling, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Give me two minutes," she says, and her hand lingers, her fingertips trailing over his plastoid armor.

"I'll give you one," he replies. "You've already taken two hours."

"Oh, please, I'm worth the wait."

"Don't I know it," he mutters, and her eyes sparkle, a smirk on her face. He lets out a sigh. "Go, before you're late to your own party."

"Be right back," she says, flashing him a smile over her shoulder as she turns slowly. He reaches out and swats her ass, and she lets out a yelp, a surprised laugh escaping her. "Commander!"

"Go," he orders, pointing toward the staircase.

"Fine," she replies as she throws her hands in the air. Thorn watches her go, his gaze fixed on the sway of her hips and the curve of her ass. When she's out of sight, he leans back against the banister, a sigh escaping his lips.

This is going to be a long night.

The dinner party is, much like every event that Vale has attended in the past six months, a complete and utter disaster.

But unlike most of the others, Thorn is not entirely miserable.

He's had worse jobs, and this one is pretty easy. There are no threats, no imminent danger, and he's mostly just standing around, which means his brain is free to wander. And it's definitely wandered.

Vale has spent the majority of the night sitting at the far end of the table, making polite conversation and pretending to be interested in the political ramblings of her guests. She's good at it, the act, but Thorn can tell she's not really paying attention. He's not, either. Not with her sitting so close.

He's standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning the room. Her guests had made a fuss when they arrived, insisting that it wasn't necessary, and he'd insisted just as firmly that it was. Vale hadn't said a word, simply nodding along. But Thorn had seen the way her lips twitched, and he had known that she was trying not to laugh as he went toe to toe with Senator Taa, who seemed convinced that the whole thing was an insult to his honor.

Now, he's just watching the people around him, doing his best to stay out of their way, his attention diverted between Vale and the servers coming in and out of the kitchen. He's keeping an eye on her, making sure she doesn't choke on a bite of food, or get poisoned, or any of the other things that could potentially kill her. But more importantly, he's also watching the way the light reflects off her tan skin, and the way her eyes sparkle, and the way her lips wrap around the stem of her wine glass.

And most importantly, he's counting down the minutes until the dinner is over and they can have some semblance of privacy.

Vale had warned him that these kinds of events would be long and tedious, but Thorn hadn't really believed her. She had given him a look when he'd told her as much, and she had promised him that it would be awful. She had been right.

It's been an hour, and his brain has officially started to melt. He's not even sure what they're talking about anymore. It's something about taxation rates, or maybe tariffs, or possibly the price of durasteel. Or maybe it's all three. Whatever it is, it's boring.

He can tell Vale is bored, too. Her posture is rigid, and her expression is tense. Every so often, she'll shift in her chair, her hand reaching for her wine glass, her lips wrapping around the rim, and he'll lose his train of thought. The movement is practiced, her movements slow and seductive, and he has no doubt that she's doing it on purpose.

She's a menace.

The senator sitting across from her, a man he can't remember the name of, is droning on about something, and Vale nods politely. Her gaze meets Thorn's, and her lips twitch, her eyes dancing with mischief. She licks her lips, and he sucks in a breath.

Karking hell.

Thorn shifts, his hands clasped behind his back, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm on his vambrace. Vale looks away, but not before her eyes roam over his body, and he's pretty sure that she's trying to kill him. He's not sure how much longer he can do this.

“Hey,” a voice whispers from the kitchen, and he turns his head slightly. Trina is standing in the doorway, gesturing for him. He glances back at Vale, but she's still absorbed in her conversation, and he moves toward the Twi'lek.

“Yeah?” he asks warily. She's been giving him weird looks all night, and he's not sure if she's plotting his murder or not. It's hard to tell with her.

She pulls him into the kitchen, and his stomach sinks. This is not a good sign.

She pushes him further into the room, and the staff members pause, looking up from their work. He's never been inside the kitchen before, and it's a lot nicer than he was expecting. It's huge, with counters and shelves lined with equipment that he's never seen before. A team of staff members are moving around the space, preparing and cooking the food, and the whole room smells amazing.

Trina leads him to a corner of the room, where the others can't hear, and his heart starts racing.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low and urgent. He can't think of a single reason for him to be here. Unless Vale is hurt. Or worse.

"You're staring," she whispers, and his brow furrows.

"What?"

"You're staring," she repeats. "At Senator Ishani."

"I'm supposed to watch her," he replies, his voice thick. "It's my job."

"No, you're supposed to watch her _back_ ," she corrects, rolling her eyes. She steps around him and opens the fridge, rummaging through the contents. "Not her front."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters. He can feel the blush rising on his cheeks, and his armor suddenly feels too tight. "I'm just doing my job."

She pulls a covered plate out of the fridge and places it on the counter. Her head tilts to the side, a skeptical look on her face, and she gives him a once-over, her eyes narrowing.

 "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying," he says, but his voice cracks.

"Yes, you are," she says. "And it's obvious."

"I'm not!" he exclaims, a little louder than he'd intended. He glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one else heard. "I'm not. I'm just doing my job, like the rest of the Guard."

“Are they as bad at lying as you are?” she asks dryly.

He frowns. She has a point. None of his brothers are particularly good liars, and Thorn has a bad habit of being too honest. It's one of the many reasons Fox doesn't trust him with any kind of covert missions, why he's the last choice for undercover work. But the idea that it's somehow obvious, that he can't hide his feelings, is disconcerting.

He tries to play it off, but his voice is strained when he says, "I'm not lying."

She gives him a pointed look, and he shifts uncomfortably, the silence stretching out between them. He looks at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but her, and the seconds drag on, the tension mounting. Finally, she sighs, and she lifts the lid off the plate, grabbing a fork and handing it to him.

"Here. Take this," she orders, pushing the plate towards him, and he takes it without thinking, the fork clutched tightly in his fist.

"Why?" he asks, his brow furrowed. 

"Because Senator Ishani asked me to," she tells him, a note of amusement in her voice. She looks him up and down. "She said you hadn't eaten, and she didn't want you to starve."

"Really?" He can't hide the surprise in his voice. Vale had mentioned that the meal would be simple, a few appetizers and a few choice selections, but nothing substantial, and he'd been expecting to wait until later to eat. The idea that she's concerned enough to have him brought a plate is...unexpected, and oddly touching.

"Yeah," she replies. "She said that you needed to keep your strength up. I didn't ask why."

Thorn feels the blush creep up his neck, his cheeks heating, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Oh, uh, right," he mumbles, his mind immediately going to all the different reasons why Vale might want him to keep his strength up. Reasons that have nothing to do with his duties as a member of the Coruscant Guard, and everything to do with what they'll be doing later.

"Right," she echoes, and her voice is thick with amusement.

He's tempted to walk out of the room, to ignore the fact that she knows, and the fact that she's obviously amused by the whole thing. But his stomach growls, the noise echoing loudly in the quiet kitchen, and he's reminded of the fact that he hasn't eaten since before his shift ended, nearly six hours ago. He'd skipped the mess hall, instead heading straight to Vale's apartment, and he'd been too nervous to think about food.

"Well, I should, uh, I should probably eat, then," he mutters, looking down at the plate.

"You probably should," she says. She leans back against the counter, a small smirk on her lips.

He glances over at the other staff, who’re all making an effort to appear busy, before he pulls off his helmet and sets it on the counter. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and he runs a hand through the curls, brushing them out of his face.

Trina studies him, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Huh. You're cute," she says, and he snorts.

"Thanks," he says dryly as he looks down at the plate in his hands. The food is a selection of cold appetizers, the same ones that were served at the start of the evening, and his mouth waters at the sight.

He's not used to having so many options, not when most of his meals consist of ration packs and protein slurries. This is a luxury, and one he doesn't often get to indulge in. Vale has been trying to change that, bringing him food, and treats, and even a cake, once, and it's nice, but he doesn't always have the time, or the appetite, for them.

He spears a piece of what he thinks is fish and pops it into his mouth, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Kriff, that's good."

"I know," Trina says smugly. "My cousin owns the place."

"It's amazing," he says around a mouthful. "Thank you."

She gives him a wry grin. "Don't thank me. Thank her."

He nods, looking over her shoulder at Vale, who's still engaged in her conversation, a polite smile on her face. Her gaze finds his, and the smile turns genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and he can't help but smile back. He gives her a wave, and she looks away, ducking her head, a blush staining her cheeks.

"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Trina asks, drawing his attention, and he nearly chokes on his food.

"W-what?" he sputters. He reaches for a glass of water on the counter and downs it, trying to regain his composure.

"How long have you and the Senator been sleeping together?" she asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and he almost chokes again.

"We're not—we haven't—" he splutters, his face flushing. He wants to say that they're not sleeping together, but the words won't come out, and the look she's giving him tells him that she's not buying it, anyway. "We're not seeing each other. I mean, not officially. Not really. We're just, uh, we're friends. Sort of. I think. Maybe."

He takes another bite, hoping to keep himself from rambling. He chews slowly, his gaze fixed on his plate, and when he finally looks up, Trina is staring at him, a bemused expression on her face.

"Huh," she murmurs. She leans against the counter, her fingers drumming on the granite. "Interesting."

"What is?"

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head, and her lekku sway behind her back. "Just...you really like her, don't you?"

He looks back at Vale, who's laughing at something someone said, her nose wrinkling. His heart aches, and he knows that his feelings are written all over his face. There's no use denying it, not to Trina, not to himself.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice soft. "I really, really do."

"That's good. She needs someone," she replies, her tone surprisingly sincere.

Thorn turns, studying her face. There's a hint of sadness in her eyes, and he can't help but wonder what she's thinking. She looks worried, her brow creased and her mouth set in a frown, and Thorn gets the sense that there's more to her concern than just his and Vale's relationship.

"Everything okay?" he asks quietly. “Is she okay?"

"No. I mean, yes. She's fine," she says quickly. She sighs, and her expression softens. "She's just...lonely. That's all."

"Lonely?"

"It's hard, being in her position," she says. She gestures around the kitchen. "All of this is hard. It's not fun. She has to put on a show, pretend to be someone she's not, just so people will like her. Just so they'll listen to her."

Thorn nods. He's seen it first-hand. He's seen the way she changes, the way she shifts, when she's speaking in the Senate, or at a conference, or at a dinner. She becomes something else, someone else, and it's not the person he knows. Or not the person he's starting to know. The one who laughs at his jokes, and steals his food, and smiles at him like he's the only thing that matters. The one he's falling in love with.

"She's been through a lot. More than most people," Trina continues. She glances back at Vale, who's now leaning forward, listening intently to a senator's rambling story. "And sometimes, it gets to her. She puts on a brave face, but it's hard."

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice hesitant. He's not sure if he's allowed to ask, or if he's allowed to pry, and he's not sure how much he wants to know. But the urge to find out is too strong, and the words spill out before he can stop them.

She gives him a look. "Commander, how long have you known her?"

"About a year, give or take a few months," he answers, his voice unsure. It feels longer, and he's not sure when it happened. When he went from not knowing her to needing her. To wanting her.

"And in that time, has she ever mentioned her family?" she asks, and his stomach twists.

"No," he admits.

"Her childhood? Her past? Anything?"

He shakes his head, feeling a twinge of guilt. The truth is, he knows next to nothing about Vale's life. Sure, he knows her favorite foods, and her favorite holofilms, and her favorite music. He knows that she likes her caf black, and he knows that her favorite color is blue, and he knows that her birthday is in two weeks. But he doesn't know where she grew up, or what her parents were like, or anything else.

He doesn't know her. Not really. And it's not for lack of asking. 

He's tried, many times, to get her to open up, but she's always managed to dodge the questions, or change the subject, or give him some non-answer. It's frustrating, and if he's honest, it hurts. He's bared his soul to her, told her things that he's never told anyone else, and yet, she still keeps him at arm's length.

"Not really," he tells her, his voice heavy with regret. "No."

She nods, as if she was expecting his answer, and a small, sad smile tugs at her lips.

"She doesn't have much left," she says softly. "Just me, and her job, and whatever this is."

She gestures between the two of them, and his throat tightens. Whatever this is.

"And you make her happy," she says, her voice firm, and her gaze flickers over his face. "So, don't screw it up."

He blinks, caught off-guard by the bluntness of her statement. "What?"

"Commander, I've known her for years, and I've never seen her smile as much as she has these last few weeks," she explains, a hint of warning in her tone. "So, whatever this is, whatever you're doing, just...don't screw it up."

"I wouldn't," he promises. He looks down at his plate, and his gaze flickers to Vale, who's laughing at something a senator said. "I would never."

"Good," she replies, nodding, and a faint smile crosses her lips. "Because, for what it's worth, I think you're good for her. And I think she's good for you. So just, be patient with her, alright? She'll come around. Just give her time."

"I will," he says. "For as long as she'll have me."

Trina lets out a laugh. "You've got it bad, don't you?"

“It’s hard not to,” he replies, unable to keep the defensiveness from his voice. He can't help it. Vale has a way of drawing him in, of making him want things he can't have. Of making him want her, and only her, and no one else. “When someone like her gives you their attention, it's hard not to fall in love with them."

Trina stares at him, and Thorn realizes, with a flash of horror, what he's just said.

"Uh, I mean," he stammers, his face flushing, and he takes a step back, bumping into the counter behind him. "I didn't—"

"Did you just say—"

"I said nothing," he interrupts quickly, his heart racing. He can feel the panic building, and his hands tremble as he reaches for his helmet, his mind scrambling for an excuse. For anything. "I didn't say anything."

"Right. Nothing," she replies, her expression a mixture of surprise and amusement, and Thorn wants nothing more than to melt into the floor and disappear. "My lips are sealed."

"Yeah, well, it was just a figure of speech, you know, uh, a phrase, so, yeah," he mutters, and he's sure that his face is beet red by now. The implications of what he's just said are hitting him, and he's starting to panic. He can't believe he let that slip. He's going to get himself killed, and his brothers will probably laugh at his funeral.

Thorn tugs his helmet back on, letting out a sigh. This was a terrible idea. The whole thing. From start to finish.

"Thanks for the food," he mumbles, and Trina smirks.

"Sure. Anytime," she replies, her eyes sparkling, and Thorn turns away, walking out of the kitchen as quickly as he can without drawing attention.

The guests have moved into the living room, and the conversation has switched from business to gossip. The group is seated on the couches and chairs, the servers moving through the room, taking drink orders. Vale is sitting on the couch surrounded by a handful of senators and business owners, all vying for her attention. They're talking over each other, their voices overlapping and filling the room, and she's staring into her near-empty glass of wine, a bored expression on her face. Thorn can't blame her. There's nothing worse than listening to politicians try to one-up each other.

Trina steps into the middle of the group, holding the bottle of wine high above her head. "More wine, anyone?"

"Yes!" a few voices call out.

"Excellent," she says, grinning.

She refills everyone's glasses, and Thorn moves to stand next to the couch, his hands clasped behind his back. He can feel her eyes on him, but he doesn't dare meet her gaze, and he focuses his attention on the wall behind her, keeping his face carefully blank. He's not sure what to say, or how to act, and he's still not over his slip-up in the kitchen.

He doesn't even know if he's in love with her. All he knows is that he can't stop thinking about her, and he's missed her when they're apart, and the idea of her dating anyone else makes him sick. He can't stop himself from wondering if she's okay, and what she's doing, and who she's with. And he can't imagine a life without her.

But he's not sure that's the same thing.

Trina passes Vale a glass of wine, and her fingers brush against her hand. The gesture is subtle, a practiced movement, and Thorn knows it's a signal. But the effect is instantaneous, and he watches as she straightens, her posture perfect, her head held high. Her face transforms, the polite smile becoming genuine, and her eyes light up, the sparkle returning to her gaze.

Thorn has never seen anything like it. It's like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly, she's not the bored politician anymore. She's someone else, someone brighter, and Thorn has the strangest urge to protect her, to shield her from the crowd and their prying eyes, and their greedy hands. To wrap her in his arms and keep her safe, from them, from herself, and from anything else that might threaten to harm her.

“Senator, a moment please," he says, leaning over the back of the couch, and Vale tilts her head back, her eyes meeting his.

"What is it, Commander?"

"Can we speak in private for a moment?" he asks, his voice low, and she frowns, a hint of concern flashing across her face. "It's urgent."

"Oh," she murmurs, her mouth forming a perfect O. She sits up straighter, her brows furrowing, and Thorn knows she's trying to decide if she should play along or not. He nods, just a slight tilt of his head, and her lips twitch.

"Oh, alright," she says. She stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress, and flashes a smile at the group. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

"By all means, Senator," one of the politicians, an older man with a long, narrow face, says. "Please, attend to your duties. We'll be here when you return."

"Thank you, Senator," she replies, a sweet smile on her face. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll try not to be too long."

Thorn takes a step back, his hand resting on the hilt of his blaster, and Vale follows, a confused look on her face. He leads her to the balcony doors and opens them, holding them open for her before turning and shutting them firmly behind him. He doesn't want any distractions, and he doesn't want anyone interrupting them.

Vale moves away from him, leaning against the railing and looking out at the city, and Thorn lets out a breath. The night is warm, the air sticky and humid, and the noise from the city below drifts up towards them. It's surprisingly quiet, despite the sounds of traffic and chatter and music floating up to them, and for a moment, he just watches her.

He's still not entirely sure why he did it, why he interrupted her. He's not even sure what he wants to say. It's just a feeling, a nagging in the back of his mind, and a need to make sure she's okay.

"Everything alright?" she asks as she turns to look at him, her arms crossed over her chest. 

Her expression is carefully neutral, a perfect mask, and he can't help but wonder how many times she's had to pretend, had to lie, had to put on a show, all for the sake of being seen. He wonders if anyone's ever noticed, if anyone's ever asked. Or if they've all just assumed she's fine, that everything is okay, because why wouldn't it be? She's Senator Ishani.

He pauses, his hand still on the door, and checks to make sure that no one is watching. As soon as he's satisfied that no one is paying any attention, he walks over to her and pulls off his helmet. 

Her eyes widen, and a slow smile spreads across her face. She doesn't try to hide her reaction, and it warms his heart.

"Hi," he says, his voice soft, and she lets out a sigh.

"Hi," she breathes.

He places his helmet on the table next to him and reaches for her hand. He tangles their fingers together, and her lips part, her cheeks turning pink. She looks up at him through her lashes, her gaze dark and heated, and he steps closer, crowding her against the railing.

"How's your night going?" he asks, his voice low, and her breath hitches.

"It's alright," she murmurs, her free hand settling on his chest plate.

"Yeah? Nothing interesting happening?"

"Nothing, really," she tells him, and her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. "A lot of talking, a lot of wine. But it's a bit boring. How was the kitchen?"

"It was fine," he says, shrugging. 

"Did you like the food? Trina's cousin is the head chef," she says, her voice light. She looks nervous, a slight tremor in her voice, and he squeezes her hand gently. "If there was anything you didn't like, you can let me know. I can talk to him, see if he can add something for next time."

"It was great," he assures her, his voice sincere, and a small smile crosses her face. "Really great. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that."

"It's the least I could do," she says, waving him off. "After all, I did drag you here against your will."

"You didn't drag me," he protests, his brow furrowing, and she arches an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. He lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of her palm.  "I volunteered."

"Yeah, but not for this," she says, glancing back into the room through the sliver of a window in the door, where they can just make out the shapes of the guests inside. He can see the tension in her shoulders, the crease in her brow, and he runs his thumb along her knuckles. "I know how boring these things can be."

"You don't have to apologize, Vale," he tells her, and her eyes dart back to his. He reaches up with his free hand and caresses her cheek with his thumb, careful not to press hard enough to disturb her makeup. She leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut, and her hand wraps around his wrist. He leans down, his nose brushing against hers. "And I meant it. You're worth the wait."

She swallows hard, a shuddering breath escaping her lips, and Thorn can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

"What did you need to tell me?" she whispers, her breath ghosting across his face, and he fights the urge to kiss her, to throw her over his shoulder and take her upstairs, to hell with the dinner party and the guests and whatever the fuck else is happening right now.

"I..." he starts, but the words die on his lips.

_I needed to make sure you're okay. I needed to see you. I needed to make sure they weren't giving you a hard time. I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I needed to hold your hand. I need you._

"Are you okay?” he asks instead.

She blinks, surprise flickering across her face, and her lips part. 

"Yeah. Why?" she asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Are you?"

He lets out a sigh. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"That doesn't sound convincing," she says. Her hand trails down his forearm and comes to rest on his waist, and he can feel the warmth of her palm through the plastoid. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I just—" he starts, but he stops, not sure what to say. How can he tell her what Trina said without breaking her trust? How can he tell her how much he cares about her, without revealing too much? How can he make her see that he's right here, that he's not going anywhere, that he's not going to leave her?

He doesn't know.

"You just looked like you needed a break," he says, the lie slipping out before he can catch it. "That's all."

"I do need a break," she murmurs. She looks over his shoulder, at the door, and her lips twist. She lets out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know why I agreed to host this thing."

"Because it'll look good," he replies. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and her eyes drift shut. He loves seeing her like this, unguarded and relaxed, and he wishes they were anywhere but here. "And because it'll help you get reelected."

She grimaces. "It's going to look like I'm trying to cozy up to the rich and powerful."

"Which you're not?" he teases.

"No, I am," she says, her nose wrinkling. She huffs and shakes her head. "It's a thin line, and I'm not always sure where it is. But sometimes, like tonight, it feels like I'm drowning in it."

He looks at her, the sadness in her eyes, the tiredness in her expression, and his stomach churns. He doesn't know much about the politics of the Senate, or the Republic, or even the Coruscant Guard, but he's learned that most people, even the good ones, are willing to compromise their values for their careers. But Vale isn't. And while it makes his job harder, and his life more complicated, it also makes him like her even more, if that's possible.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, his hand moving down her neck and settling on her shoulder. He squeezes gently, his fingers digging into the tense muscles, and she lets out a soft groan.

“What are you sorry for?”

"That you have to do this. You deserve better," he says, his voice thick, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Well, aren't you sweet?" she says, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm serious," he says, and she meets his gaze, her eyes searching his face. He runs his thumb along her collarbone, a gentle caress, and she shivers. "Vale, if you need to leave, just say the word."

"You mean, skip my own dinner party?" she asks, a teasing note in her voice.

"If that's what you want," he replies, his voice firm, and her lips twitch. "If it'll make you happy."

"You would do that for me?"

"I would do anything for you," he says. The words come easily, falling from his lips like they've been waiting to be spoken. And maybe they have. He's not sure when he decided this, or when he knew, but he does. He knows.

Her eyes widen, surprise evident in her gaze, and her mouth drops open, a soft gasp escaping her. Thorn knows he's probably said too much, revealed too much, but he doesn't care. He's tired of hiding his feelings, of pretending he doesn't want her, doesn't need her, doesn't love her.

He's never been good at lying. Not to himself, and certainly not to others, and especially not to her.

She doesn't say anything, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant noise of the city, and the pounding of his heart. He can feel her staring at him, her gaze fixed on his face, and he holds his breath. Finally, she sighs and looks down.

"Well, that's not fair. Now I really want to leave," she says with a pout, and Thorn laughs, a weight lifting off his chest.

“Then let’s go. I’ll sneak you out,” he says, grinning. He leans down, his mouth inches from hers. "We'll have a whole night to ourselves."

"You can’t sneak me out of my own apartment," she protests, her eyes darting to his lips. "And I have a dinner party to host."

"Sure, I can. Come on. You've spent enough time with these people," he says. He glances back inside. The party is still in full swing, and no one seems to have noticed that they're gone. "You've made your rounds, and you've played host. And I know you'd rather be anywhere else right now. So let's go."

"And where would we go, Commander?" she asks. She reaches up and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His arm wraps around her waist, and she smirks. "Back to your barracks? So you can show me your bed?"

"I would, yeah," he growls. 

He pulls her flush against him, his grip tightening on her waist. She lets out a little gasp, and he presses his face to her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent surrounds him, filling his nose, and his eyes flutter shut, his mouth watering at the thought of kissing her, touching her, tasting her.

"And what would you do to me there?" she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his cock twitching in his blacks.

"What wouldn't I do?" he rasps. He presses a kiss to her pulse point, his lips trailing along her skin, and she tilts her head back, her body going lax in his arms. His teeth scrape against her collarbone, and she shudders, her nails digging into his scalp. "I'd show you how good I can be. How well I can take care of you."

She lets out a little whimper, her eyes fluttering shut.

"You would, huh?" she murmurs, her breath hitching as he trails his lips down across the tops of her breasts, his tongue dipping into the valley between them. "You think you can make me feel good?"

"I know I can," he replies, his voice confident. His hand slides down her body, coming to rest on her ass, and he squeezes, eliciting a surprised squeal from her. She lets out a giggle, and his lips twitch. “If you'll let me."

"You're not going to distract me with sex, Commander," she whispers. She runs her hands down his chest, her fingertips tracing over his armor, and she pats his breastplate. "I'm a professional."

"Me too. And I don't mix business with pleasure," he replies, smirking. He leans down and presses his lips to hers, a gentle, chaste kiss that makes her let out a small noise of frustration. "Unless my charge gives me permission, that is."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yep," he says, popping the 'p'. He pulls back, looking down at her. "So are you going to let me have you, Senator?"

Her eyes lock onto his, and he feels his breath catch. Her expression is open and vulnerable, the dark pools of her irises glittering with want, and her lips part. For the first time since they met, she looks unsure, her usual confidence missing, and Thorn knows it's a big step. It's a risk, a dangerous one, and the choice is hers.

He can't take it for her, and he can't make it for her, and he would never force her to do something she's not ready for. All he can do is ask, and wait, and hope.

"Yes, Thorn. You can have me," she whispers.

His heart skips a beat.

She said his name.

_His_ name. Not his rank, or his designation, but his name. Like it's something precious, like it's something sacred, like it's something that's just hers. It's not the first time, but it feels different. More meaningful. More intimate, like a promise, a commitment.

It's everything.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice hoarse, and she nods, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she says. Her hand finds his and squeezes gently, her touch warm and reassuring. “But I can’t leave. Not yet. So if we could just..."

He nods, understanding immediately. "Want me to take care of you?"

"Would you?" she asks, her cheeks turning pink. "I wouldn't ask, but—"

"Hey," he interrupts, lifting her chin with his finger. Her gaze flits between his, and he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the worry that he'll say no. But the last thing he wants to do is deny her. Not when she's been so good to him. "Of course, I will. Always. All you have to do is ask."

She smiles. It's a shy, tentative smile, and it's one he hasn't seen before. She's always confident, always sure of herself, but there's something different about this smile. It's not the smile of a senator, or a politician, or a socialite. It's the smile of a woman who's just as scared and nervous as he is.

"Okay," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. That would, um, that would be great. Thank you."

He nods, letting out a soft laugh, and his hands drop to her hips. He lifts her easily, turning and backing her up against the wall next to the door, and her breath hitches. His hands move down, his palms brushing against her thighs, and she lets out a quiet gasp.

"Thorn," she whispers.

"I got you, baby," he says, his voice low and soothing. He reaches for the hem of her dress and pushes it up, his fingertips grazing over her skin. He can feel her shiver, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Just relax."

He drops to his knees, ignoring the twinge of pain in his back and the ache in his joints, and he nudges her legs apart. She spreads them, letting him settle between them, and he looks up at her.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hand sliding up her inner thigh. He has half a mind to remove his gloves, but the other half, the hornier half, is too impatient to bother. "Can you keep quiet for me?"

"Yes," she breathes, her head tilting back and her eyes fluttering shut. "Yes, sir."

The words send a jolt through him, and he presses his forehead against her thigh, a shuddering breath escaping him. She knows how much he likes that, how much it affects him, and she's not afraid to use it against him. And she knows that if he's not careful, he's going to end up making a mess of his blacks and be forced to spend the rest of the night uncomfortable and frustrated.

"Kriff, baby, you can't say things like that," he mutters, and she lets out a husky chuckle.

"Why not?"

He gives her a light swat on her thigh, and her laughter turns into a squeak.

"Because I can't concentrate," he grumbles, his voice thick, and he rubs the spot where he struck her, his thumb drawing small circles over the red mark that's already forming. He wants to kiss it, wants to lick and suck and bite, but now's not the time. He has other priorities.

Thorn grabs the waistband of her underwear, yanking them down and letting them pool around her ankles. He lifts one foot, then the other, helping her step out of them, and he tucks the black lace into the pouch on his belt. She looks at him, a hint of surprise in her expression, and he grins.

"Commander, are you—"

"Shh," he hushes her as he leans in, his breath hot on her thigh, his hands tugging her dress up and baring her pussy. She squirms, her hips bucking slightly, and he rests his hands on her thighs, holding her still. "Don't move."

"Don't shush me," she says, her voice strained. “I—“

Vale lets out a soft cry as he presses his lips to her, his tongue slipping between her folds. The fabric of her dress falls back over his shoulders as his hands slide up her legs, and he wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her still. She tastes sweet and tangy, and a low growl escapes his throat as he buries his face in her cunt, his tongue darting out to lick and tease and taste her.

"Kriff, Thorn," she moans. He hums, and she shivers, her body going rigid. "Yes."

He pulls her closer, his fingers digging into the pliant flesh of her thighs, and he laps at her clit, slow, languid strokes that have her gasping for air. He can hear the muffled sounds of the dinner party through the doors, and he's reminded of where they are, of who she is, and how many people would disapprove of her being caught like this, with a member of the Coruscant Guard buried between her legs. It makes him feel powerful, in a way, and he can't help but smirk against her, a swell of pride rising in his chest.

"Fuck, you're good at that," she breathes, her fingers threading through his curls, and his eyes roll back in his head.

He loves doing this, and he especially loves doing it for her. He loves the way she squirms, the way she whines, and the way her hips jerk against his mouth. He loves how wet she gets, and how she moans his name, and how she pulls his hair.

But most of all, he loves that he's the only one who gets to see her like this. The only one who gets to hear her, the only one who gets to feel her, the only one who gets to taste her. The thought alone makes him harder, and he's half tempted to pull her down onto his lap and bury himself inside her.

But he's determined to do this for her, to bring her the pleasure she deserves, and nothing more. And as soon as the party is over, he's going to take her upstairs, and they're going to finish what they started.

He pulls away, his nose rubbing against her clit, and she groans, her thighs trembling.

"Oh, fuck," she whispers.

"Yeah? You like that?" he murmurs, nuzzling her. He glances up at her, and his breath catches. Her head is tilted back, her eyes shut, and her chest is heaving, her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress. Her mouth is hanging open, a moan falling from her lips, and his cock throbs, his balls aching. "You look so pretty like this, baby."

"Shut up," she pants, and he chuckles. Her hand rests on the back of his neck, urging him closer, and her hips rock forward, grinding against his face. "Keep going."

He obeys, his tongue returning to her clit. He alternates between soft, slow licks and hard, rough ones, and she lets out a choked gasp, her grip tightening in his hair.

"F-faster," she pleads, her voice shaking. "Please. Thorn."

"Whatever you want," he breathes, and he dives back in, his tongue circling her clit, the tip teasing and flicking and rubbing. Her legs begin to tremble, and she grinds against his face, her hand clutching the back of his neck. He’s forced to tighten his grip on her thighs, holding her in place, and a low moan escapes her.

"So good," she groans, and he pulls her closer, his mouth latched onto her clit. "You're so good."

He can't help but preen a little. He loves her praise, loves the way it makes him feel, the way it fills his chest with warmth. She doesn't give it easily, and he cherishes it, savoring the words like a fine wine.

She tugs at his hair, and a strangled moan rises in his throat. He's painfully hard now, his cock straining against his blacks, and he's grateful for the layer of plastoid covering his arousal. But the friction is torturous, and he rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the inside of his leg.

"Oh, shit," she breathes, and he realizes she can see him, can see his hand wrapped around her thigh, his hips jerking. She lets out a shaky laugh. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Fuck yeah, I am," he mumbles against her. His eyes flicker up to hers, and she bites her lip. "Are you?"

She nods, her eyes locked onto his, and he grins.

"Good," he whispers.

He sucks her clit between his lips, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud, and she whimpers, her back arching. He can feel her body stiffen, and her breathing grows ragged, her chest heaving. She's close, he can tell, and he redoubles his efforts, his tongue swirling and teasing and lapping at her, his nose bumping against her clit with every pass.

"I'm...I'm..." she chokes out, her words fading into a groan, and he can feel her shaking, her muscles tightening.

She comes with a shudder, her legs threatening to buckle, and Thorn holds her steady, his hands gripping her hips. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, and he keeps licking, his tongue dipping between her folds. He can feel her pulsing under his tongue, her pussy clenching around nothing, and he lets out a low moan, his cock throbbing.

He doesn't stop until she's stopped trembling, and he pulls away, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face. He presses a gentle kiss to her clit, and she squeaks, a shiver running through her.

"There. That should hold you for a while," he says. He sits back on his heels, looking up at her.

Her chest is still heaving, her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress, and her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted. Her head rolls back, and her eyes flutter open, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She looks gorgeous, thoroughly fucked and satisfied, and Thorn has never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

She lets out a breathless, shaky laugh, and Thorn can't help but join her.

"Good?" he asks, his voice rough.

"Mhm," she mumbles, and her hand moves from his neck to his head. She runs her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down as his lips press a trail of soft kisses along her thigh. "Really, really good."

"Glad to hear it," he murmurs.

"You're good," she says, a soft giggle escaping her. She's still breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, and her eyes are glassy. "Too good."

"Nah," he says, his tone playful. He gives her hip a light squeeze and rises, his knees cracking as he straightens. He adjusts her dress, pulling it down and smoothing out the wrinkles. "I'm just trying to impress you."

"Consider me impressed," she replies, smirking.

She leans in and presses a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes close, a soft sigh escaping him. Her hands find his belt, and he watches her, his heart pounding.

"Let me—"

"No," he says, his voice firm. He grips her wrist, stopping her, and she blinks, her eyes wide. "You don't have to do that."

"But you're..." she starts, and he shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He releases her hand, and she looks down, her cheeks turning pink. "Hey. Look at me."

She lifts her gaze, meeting his, and he smiles.

"We're good, right?" he asks, his voice soft. He lifts his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

She nods. "Yeah. We're good."

"Okay. Then I'm okay. More than okay. Really," he assures her, and she swallows, a frown tugging at her lips. "Hey, none of that. None of that sadness. Or guilt. Or whatever that look is. Okay?"

"Okay," she says. Her lips curve into a smile, but there's a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I just feel bad."

"Well, don't," he tells her. He reaches down and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. "I don't. Trust me, baby. This is the highlight of my day."

She laughs, a bright, bubbly sound that makes his chest swell with pride. "Highlight, huh?"

"Yeah. Definitely," he says, grinning. "You look amazing, by the way. Really beautiful. Did I tell you that already?"

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up. You're a flatterer."

"Nope. Just being honest," he says, his eyes drifting over her body. "Seriously. I'm the luckiest guy in the world right now."

“Stop,” she whines.

"Nah. It's true," he replies. He looks back at the door, where the muffled sounds of conversation can still be heard, and lets out a sigh. "As much as I want to stay here and keep you all to myself, I think you need to get back. Before they miss you."

"Right. Yeah," she says. She steps away, straightening her dress.

Thorn reaches up and fixes her hair, his hands moving deftly. It takes him a moment, but he manages to get it mostly back in place. She smooths out the front of her dress and adjusts her cleavage, and he lets out a small, appreciative hum. He picks up his helmet, turning it so she can see her reflection in the visor, and she wipes the smeared lipstick at the corner of her mouth before giving him a grateful smile.

"Okay. Ready?" he asks, and she gives a reluctant nod.

She steps towards the balcony doors, pausing and turning back to him. Her brow is furrowed, and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth.

"Um, Thorn?"

"Yeah, baby?"

“Can I have my underwear back?"

He smirks as he tugs his helmet back on. The taste and smell of her linger on his tongue, and he licks his lips, savoring the sweetness. He'll be breathing in her scent for the rest of the night, and the thought alone makes him giddy, his cock twitching in his blacks.

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and deep. He pulls his blaster out, checking the charge, and gestures towards the balcony doors. "I want you thinking about what I'm going to do to you later."

Her eyes widen, and a blush creeps up her neck, turning her skin a pretty shade of pink. "And what's that, Commander?"

He holsters his blaster and looks at her. "Everything."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @champagnejaig

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

[alexanderwales]

The Hero is Finally Doing my Sidequest

The party was four people, but there were twelve of us all told. Kyper was the leader, the protagonist, the Chosen One, our assigned hero, so he was always there with his sword in hand and cape swirling behind him. Gendin was a big, blocky guy with thick armor, a heavy shield, and an incongruous little kitchen knife that couldn't have been longer than six inches. Merrith was the party's cleric, light and shadow coming from the hoop on top of her staff, a second-rate healer but with a high amount of versatility.

There were a handful of people that usually occupied the fourth slot. Cardi was an archer, always there if the party was going up against fliers. Terrent was an elemental mage, mostly used to counter affinities. Against humans, it was usually Dennin, who was a skulk-thief, unless they were mind-controlled, in which case it was Tathia, who could use her martial arts to take them down without killing them. Occasionally someone who wasn't even on the roster would join up for a time, but usually not more than a day or two.

Where were the rest of us, when the four members of the party were doing their thing? Good question.

I had the sense of being there, but could never place myself. After the fact, if asked, I would say things like 'we fought the wyvrens', but if you asked me what I had done -- which no one ever did -- I would have been puzzled and unable to explain, even if I was able to recount the blow-by-blow of what the party had done, every sword stroke, every claw against shield, every shout that lingered in the air. Where was I? There, I suppose. I must have been. I traveled with Kyper, didn't I?

Whenever we stopped to rest, I was much more clearly present. Kyper would always make his rounds, and he would always speak to me, and I would feel warmth in my chest and the small hairs raising on my arms. There was something electric about him. We all felt the pull of him, and it was hard to hold back a flirtateous tone -- for me, the rest of the girls, and a few of the men. Kyper liked to give gifts, even if they were small, and whenever we broke to rest that became a part of his visits. At first it had been things I didn't know what to do with, a little acorn or one time a live frog, but on one occasion he gave me blueberries, and I had blushed and asked if he was sure. Every time after that, he had blueberries on hand for me. They reminded me of my childhood and summers spent in the hinterlands, though I never had occasion to tell him. The gift was always the same, but it never stopped giving me a warm, fuzzy feeling. He had noticed my reaction and then gone out of his way to give me something I liked, and it was that, more than the blueberries or the summer memories, that made me blush every time.

In the scheme of the world, I was special. I had been born from a crystalline fragment of a god that had fallen down to land in the woods, and been raised by the Winter King as the Lightning Princess. I had power that most people could only dream of: I could run across water without getting wet, twist myself high up into the sky, clap like a thunderbolt, and glow with pale blue arcs of electricity.

In the scheme of the roster, I was dirt. I could fight in the air and at range, and I was the fourth best person at both those roles. I could use the lightning coursing through my veins to resuscitate people in a pinch, and I was the worst of the five of us -- Barbarelle could bring a person back healthier than they'd been the day before and with their clothes repaired to boot. I could take a hit, but not that many of them, and I could fight, but not as well as the others. We were each supposed to have our niche, but I had none. Maybe that was my role, to be the all-arounder, jack of all trades and master of none, but if that was it, it was a role that consigned me to eternally sit on the sidelines.

Was I actually there for any of it? I thought about that a lot. It might have been that I only existed in those moments when Kyper was talking to me or giving me another handful of blueberries.

There was one time the team had to split in two, when we became separate parties of four attempting to achieve two mission objectives at the same time. I watched as Kyper made the parties. I wasn't on either of them. One party went north to the shield generator, while the other party went south, to the castle walls. Where was I? Both places. Neither. No one ever talked to me about that experience. I never mentioned it to Kyper. I think it was then I realized that I would never have anything to do, that my life would exist only while resting in inns or at campfires, and then only to get blueberries.

Eventually I stopped believing that I would somehow make the party. I stopped hoping for it. I was growing stronger the more we adventured, and every now and then I would find myself in a new outfit I didn't remember picking up with a collection of throwing stars that was sharper than the ones that had come before, but it was all irrelevant.

Someday, Kyper was going to complete his quest. Maybe I would know who I was then. Maybe I would be there, for one last party, before the team dissolved. I no longer had illusions that he was going to make me his wife.

And then, as it seemed like we were about to go after M'ok Tannid the Ancient and bring about the end of prophecies, I found myself standing in my hometown.

I looked with shock on the thatched-roof cottages and the fir trees that had been bent by the wind. The smell of smoke reached my nostrils, birch in the fireplaces, a faint whiff of meats being preserved. I knew this village, Thanholm. I had been here with my father, before his illness.

"Is everything okay, Titania?" asked Kyper. He was looking at me with a furrowed brow.

I looked back at him. He was looking at me. Gendin was beside him, looking at the village, and Merrith was adding yet another carving to her staff in that bored, disinterested way she seemed to do everything.

There was no one else.

I was in the party.

"I ... this is my home country," I said.

"Oh," said Kyper, seeming relieved by this for some reason. "Well you're going to be our guide then, okay?"

"Okay!" I said with an enthusiastic bark I didn't feel.

We walked into the town together, the four of us, my first time in the party since we'd met. I felt the ground beneath my feet, the wind in my hair, and the lightning in my spine. I was real, whole.

Whatever happened next, I knew I had only one goal: I wanted to make this last as long as I possibly could.

[gracklegift]

run by @varminting

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i'm ozzy, and welcome to gracklegift, a request blog! specializing in alterhuman identities, i aim to offer a few different services. these include:

shopping packages

name/pronoun ideas

recipe ideas

moodboards

pride icons

kinsiderations

alterhuman care ideas

discord/blog promos

you're welcome to make requests for nonhuman alters too, of course! animal, concept, myth- if you fit the bill, you're welcome to make a request here.

it is my Possum Promise that i will never intentionally include a.i.-generated slop in any post 👍

affiliates: none yet!

request list: here!

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more info under the readmore, ctrl+f for the info you're looking for! to be fiddled with as needed.

general guidelines

please keep your request specific. rather than 'ideas for a cloud?' let me know what it is you want! at the very least, 'self care for a cloud?' or 'name ideas for a cloud?'

keep it to three 'types / etc. per request, and one request per ask

if making a request for a media-specific thing, it's suggested you include some information about what you're looking for, as ozzy lives under a rock

i won't fulfill requests for kink / nsfw things here, just to keep things mostly family friendly

you can request, if applicable, for a character's name to be censored so it doesn't go in the tags

requests are done on a FCFS basis

shopping packages

at the very least, specify a theme; budget, shipping location, types of item you want (e.g. fashion/stim toys/trinkets/battle jacket pins/etc), things you don't want, and other specifications are encouraged

prices will be listed in USD unless requested otherwise

i obviously will not list pharmaceutical items or substances that are illegal in some places

name/pronoun ideas

let me know if you have a preference for typically masculine, feminine, or androgynous names

and, for that matter, any other limits you may have!

if you only want names, or only want pronouns, let me know that, as well

lemme know if you want emoji pronouns or not too

mod's a white boy + has no way of knowing that you aren't so. yanno

recipe ideas

PLEASE! let me know dietary limitations and allergies. i'm not trying to kill you

you're encouraged as well to let me know if you're looking for budget or low-spoon/beginner options!

you're also encouraged to let me know of any other limitations otherwise, like if you don't have an oven for example

tell me if you're looking for meals (lunch or breakfast or dinner), or snacks, or desserts, or if you have no preference - i'll just make a mix of options otherwise

moodboards

as usual give me what/who you want it based on and if at all possible a theme or color palette!

let me know any triggering images you would like to avoid as well!

one moodboard request per ask please, but you can send in multiple asks

these may take more time as i find the right images and the energy for them! i want to give you quality content!

pride icons

four flags maximum per request, or things start to get cluttered. you can make multiple requests!

if requesting a rainbow flag, let me know what version you'd like

if requesting a nonstandard identity (eg pupgender) please provide a link or image of your flag

feel free to send a specific image you'd like me to edit for you

kinsiderations

if you're having kin feelings but can't quite place them, this is the option for you! works best for animals and concepts, due to ozzy living under a rock.

send me what applicable details you've figured out - appearance, habitat, diet, real or myth - as many as you know

no vague 'assign me a kin's, i don't know you! i'm not doing that! just suggesting something you might be, or a direction to go in

if you see an ask you'd like to chip in on, feel free to reblog or leave a reply for the asker to check out!

alterhuman care ideas

what i'm calling this for now! ideas and concepts for activities and the likes relating to your alterhuman identity to take care of yourself or feel a little more connected to your 'type

gimme the identity in question and any limitations you may have! (eg allergies, physical limits, stuff you'd just plain rather avoid)

be sure to specify that you're looking for ideas rather than a shopping package! pleas

discord / blog promos

specify the age range, especially for discords

specify the purpose of your page, and applicable rules

if you're a blog similar to this one lemme know if you wanna be listed under affiliates!

be sure to leave a link in the ask or in the replies (break it up if in the ask, i'll add it to the reply)

no 'toxic 🤪' groups

[tyunkus]

nerdy jock college roommate tyun who is on the deans list and works out shirtless in the living room 🙏🙏 comes and gets you from every party you go to and get shitfaced 🙏 he’s sooo mean n u think he hates u but he’s really just trying to keep himself from fucking you stupid

lia dont play with me ✋✋ i will literally go batshit crazy ✋✋✋ THIS IS SOOOOO HOOOOOTTTTT i love unassuming hot men who dont actively try to be hot but thats what makes them hot FUCK

like god… you’re a few months into uni and while your roommate was a little aloof and distant at first you like to think hes warmed up to you at least a LITTLE bit 😭 but tbh you’re mostly just impressed and a little intimidated by how well he does in pretty much all aspects of his life .. i imagine you’d probably find out first about how well he does academically and you pin him as the regular nerd type but then… two weeks into school, when you’re walking into the kitchen to make breakfast one morning you see him in the living room SHIRTLESS,, huffing and puffing doing fuckin’ bicep curls or something and you’re like Oh!!!! OH!!!!

anyways you spend the majority of your time in his presence trying to ignore how fucking wet he makes you without even trying LMFAOOO just bc he’s so effortlessly smart, begrudgingly helping you with assignments.. and hes so needlessly hot when he tries talking to you after he’s done with a workout and his toned stomach and strong arms r covered in a light sheen of sweat HBFNFNG

AND THE PARTIES… please. at some point the way he looks at you before you head out with your friends - eyes all dark and heavy, brows furrowed slightly together, jaw clenched - gets a little too intense but youre also certain he doesnt rly like you that much so youre left with mixed signals and the urge to drink it all away. but even when he picks you up hours later when youre shitfaced and giggly and touchy and enjoying the weight of his strong arms hoisting you up a little toooo much.. and hes just murmuring about how ridiculous you are, how he’s never doing this again.. even then you’re sure you’re not imagining the way he takes a good look at you and swallows thickly.. the way his eyes rake over your figure.. the way he hesitates a bit before he turns away from you and tries to focus on getting you both back home instead..

the truth is you’ve caught him - read him like a book, really. but he won’t let you know that. how is taehyun supposed to tell you that the dress you’re wearing is making him a little crazy, the way it clings onto just the right spots, the way it shows off all the nicest parts of your body he wants to keep for himself, within the four walls of your shared dorm? how is he supposed to tell you that the way you look after parties - sleepy eyes, teasing smile, lipstick smudged at the corner of your mouth - gets him so hard so quickly it makes him feel like a stupid schoolboy again? that the past few weeks - months, even, he’s been so attentive to your every move, just watching you talk and laugh and exist makes him want you more and more every second? that the only thing stopping him from taking you by the waist and bending you over his lap, the only thing stopping him from pulling your panties down to your ankles and finally getting his hands on that perfect body and pretty pussy, is the fact that he wants you to beg for it first, beg for him like a good girl?

[ivorydragoness44]

“Blush” Part Two Morgie le Fay x Merlin’s Kid! Reader

(A/N: A collaborative piece between @where-dreamers-go and @ivorydragoness44 for a continuation of two magic users who are crushing on each other: Reader who is headmaster Merlin’s kid attending Merlin Academy and Morgie, son of Morgana le Fay. Warnings: Awkward teenage-hood, mention of snakes, and use of (Y/N) for your name. Also Lain translations: facti sunt inanimati (become inanimate) / Ego amo te multum (I like you a lot) / acceptus (welcome/pleasing) Word Count: 4,740 words)

An outdoor common area wasn’t crowded during your lunch time. Various seating and tables welcomed anyone outside of class time. The open area distributed voices into an easily ignorable murmur.

Your usual go-to reading spot in a comfy armchair was exactly what you needed after you had finished eating. Some time to yourself. Time to get a head start on assignments or study. You did neither.

A large volume on momentum spells sat upon your lap. There it laid open to the same two pages for the past ten minutes.

How did I not notice before?

You had been searching through any reliable memory for nearly twenty-four hours since Bridget had cleverly hinted of Morgie’s crush on you. In turn, you realized your own stirring feelings for him in such an odd fashion.

How could I not know my own feelings? You wondered. I know when I’m happy or anxious, impatient, sad, or surprised. Definitely surprised. These feelings were obvious.

Blinking, you retained nothing from the pages before you.

How could you?

You had such a confounding and unanticipated revelation. It was as if you were questioning everything around you as it looked fresh and altered in a way.

Am I in the beginning or all ready in the middle of these feelings? You sighed. I just want it to make sense.

Not that there was much reason for your scurrying between classes the day before. All wrapped in your own mind and hardly making so much as a glance at anyone around you.

That anxious feeling and fluctuating levels of anticipation followed you into a new day. Always on the look out for a specific magically inclined student.

Two more classes and then he’ll be in that one. It’ll be fine. It was fine yesterday.

A sway of greens and black caught your eye from further away. Passing chairs and laughing fairies.

Recognizing the figure only made your heartbeat pick up into a rhythm that made your fingers twitch.

Thoughts whirled in your mind and the large room felt too warm.

I can’t.

Picking up your belongings you dashed around the armchair and sped out into the closer hallway.

I need a quieter place to study anyway, you reasoned with yourself. Your feet took you down a familiar path and soon you had your sights set on a corner seating area. It’s totally normal to sit here, you thought, I’ve done it before. No one really comes here unless they need to. It’s a big school.

Indeed, it was a large academy.

But, who else would sit outside the Headmaster’s office to study other than his offspring? Probably no one.

You sat a bit too upright against the cushions.

I just need to focus. That’s a skill.

Yet shame rose to your cheeks and chest as you considered your escape. A move quite cowardice.

The truth was simple: You were unprepared for the new situation. Having near romantic feelings, more than friendly, towards Morgie was not something you foresaw. The weather, sure, but not a crush. Not int the least.

All you could do was hope to get through the rest of the school day as smoothly as possible…and maybe see Morgie. Maybe.

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Many questions could be asked within the halls of Merlin Academy. None were deemed silly, mostly.

Why is it called ‘butterflies’ when my stomach flips from seeing (Y/N)? Morgie thought while he strolled to class. They’re nice flips.

Hopping over someone’s school bag, Morgie chuckled and quickly surveyed the common area with its tall windows. He saw the same students chatting animatedly, practicing magic, and keeping close to those they knew.

At the sight of a familiar shade of blue, Morgie felt those butterflies.

(Y/N)! Morgie came to a halt as he watched you speed walk through a threshold with a large volume tucked against you. I wonder what spell book they’re reading now. Or history book.

Being gifted with magic himself, Morgie knew almost exactly how knowledgeable and skilled you were. Magic ran in both of your families. Strong and well-known.

A mental image of your eyes shining in magic filled him with a tickling warmth.

Very magical, he thought dreamily.

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Mathematics class; intimidating to some, aggravating for others, and a welcomed challenge by few students.

Sitting in the front row of desks made it easier for you to take diligent notes. Goodness knew how important it was for you, child of the knowledge-seeking Merlin. Especially when you continuously fought the urge to check windows’ reflection.

It was just the right lighting. The perfect cloud cover outside. A subtle way to have a look at the classroom.

So what if you were curious?

I’m just checking. That’s all, you thought as you glanced over to Morgie’s reflection.

After twenty minutes of repeating the action every so often it could no longer be considered ‘checking’. No, you were studying Morgie. Observing how he presented himself in class, a learning environment. He didn’t interrupt. Expressive, but not loud.

By the end of class, your notes could had been neater. An easy task for later.

You took your time leaving class. Slowly packing your belongings where they ought to be in your bag. Yet your eyes had began a habit.

You wanted to see him more. To see what might happen.

Is that a side effect of having a crush on someone?

Could you truly call it studying, something you were confident in doing?

Morgie squeezed passed a taller student while heading for the door. It was when he reached it that he looked over his shoulder and caught your gaze.

In the time it took you to hold back your gasp, Morgie had a flush rise up his neck.

Oh.

In a flash, Morgie left the classroom.

You blinked.

What does this even mean?

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Too much thumping. Too warm and flighty.

Morgie had never shoved and bounded down a hall so fast. Not for avoidance anyway. He had no idea what came over himself.

Eventually stopping underneath a tree, Morgie breathed in the fresh air.

Why does my face have to get so warm? He thought while fighting the urge to hit his forehead on the tree trunk.

Uliana’s words from the day before rung in through his head: “A villain shouldn’t be blushing; not over an honors student.” She had seemed so bewildered then by Morgie’s reaction to you.

It wasn’t as if it was his fault. He didn’t make himself blush on cue, nor did you. If Morgie had it his way, no one would had been able to tell how he liked you. He didn’t want them to.

But (Y/N) probably knows, Morgie thought. They’re too smart not to know I like them. His heartbeat increased steadily.

Seeing your figure ascending a set of stairs took a short gasp out of Morgie.

I could say something.

The youth leapt from out of the foliage, took a few steps, and stopped. His chest felt like it was shaking with the rapid thumps of his heart.

Morgie swallowed. Hazel eyes watching nervously as you walked out of sight.

Maybe another time.

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

A whole week passed with just as many assignments and suggested readings. Knowledge was gained and some sleep was lost. Studying for a text was involved.

Maybe I’m getting better at this, you thought.

Leaving your final class of the day, you held your head a little higher and had a slight bounce to your step. Days were looking up, more positive. Magical, one might say.

You had good news to share with your father, Merlin, and Bridget had given you a copy of a cookie recipe. All good things.

And I’m pretty sure Morgie had looked at me in class today, you thought with a giddy smile.

Oh, that crush of yours? You one hundred percent knew you liked him.

Did you figure out when those feelings started? No, and that bit irritated you. You really wanted to know in order to figure out the details. But your mind liked to keep some secrets it seemed.

On route to your dorm, you avoided the sea of students. Each gathered in various sized groups to socialize after a long day.

You wanted to put your books and all away in your room first. It was a wonder how much you could fit into one bag.

Walking into a near deserted hall with mid-afternoon lighting gave you an odd sense of awareness. No distractions moving about or unpolished enchantments to dodge. It was you, your surroundings, and your senses.

Through those senses, it was easy to notice someone trotting up behind you. Not too fast, but also with intent.

“Hey.”

Your eyes widened a fraction at the sight of Morgie slowing to match your pace.

“Hi.” You greeted lightly and did a quick glance behind him.

He came alone.

This is a bit new.

“How’d you do on the exam?” Morgie asked and gingerly bit his bottom lip.

“Better than I thought. Thankfully. I spent enough time studying for it.”

“I know.”

You looked forward briefly and asked, “How about you? How’d you do?”

“Near perfect.” He nearly smiled from ear to ear. His chest stuck out just enough.

A swell of pride unmistakably grew within you.

“That’s great.” You said, grateful to have an easy conversation. “I’m not surprised.”

Was that too much?

Walking alongside Morgie was quite new. Welcomed and almost peaceful. What blasted all that into the stratosphere was the delighted grin brightening Morgie’s face.

Oh. You could feel your heart squeezing and your own smile widening.

All major smiles dropped once the pair of you reached a staircase.

“I’ll…see you later,” Morgie took a step away.

“See you.” You gave one last smile and started the ascent. Even with eyes focused on the steps ahead of you, you were aware of Morgie’s gaze following your movements.

Definitely a more positive day.

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Time and one’s innermost desires didn’t always line up as one hoped. Not even with magic.

Morgie had thought his time was perfect, but there were other factors he forgot to take into account.

This could be better, Morgie thought, or worse.

Morgie had followed his band of fellow villains in line for lunch. Stomachs hungry and eyes trained ahead was the usual standing for the students.

For Morgie, however, his fingers twitched and he was much too aware of every movement he made. He could hardly help it. Making an impression and standing out to you kept him on his toes.

You were standing behind him talking with someone. A fairy who was asking for wand advice, apparently.

They’re a really good listener, Morgie thought as he kept waiting to hear your voice. They might be smiling. He managed not to turn around. Even teenagers with magic had some self control. More so, gaining the attention of the other villains wasn’t something he wanted at that moment.

Suddenly, inhaled sharply as he felt the slightest movement of air behind him. You had almost touched him.

Standing so close together in line felt like the best and the worst thing all at once. Morgie could hardly breathe in a normal manner.

“Hey,” Hook tapped Morgie on the shoulder.

His eyes glanced over to the pirate captain. Soon he met the others’ gazes.

“Are you sick?”

Morgie shook his head.

“The line shouldn’t take that long,” said Hades.

“It could be faster.” Uliana pointedly looked ahead.

After quiet observations of Morgie le Fay, the villains turned back around as the line moved up. He was thankful for the lack of questions. Perhas they had thoughts on the weekend ahead. Morgie sort of did.

Hearing your cheerful laughter practically roll through his nervous system reenergized him like a potent potion. He pulled at his thin scarf.

I need to do something.

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

After a rainstorm everything felt alive and…wet.

Nearing the end of your lunch period you had dried off a part of the seating at a table in a courtyard and got to work fixing your notes. Earlier in the day, one of your teachers had spoke faster than you would had preferred. At least the cramp in your hand ebbed.

If they weren’t in a rush to finish the lesson today, you thought, my notes wouldn’t look like a total lopsided disaster trying to keep up. Picking your pen up, you had an idea. Why can’t I let my pen write for me? A mixture of a locomotive spell and personification. It could work. Worth a shot, you thought and set down the pen.

A quick shake of your arms to stay loose, and you straightened your posture.

Any spell started with an intention. With yours set, you spoke clearly and allowed your gift to charge. You had done spells since you were little. This one could be considered a light exercise.

One you completely goofed up when the sight of Morgie le Fay walking by with his hazel eyes already gazing at you threw off your concentration.

“Oh, goodness.”

The pen in front of you didn’t move.

 A startled scream drew your attention to your real mistake. Across the courtyard, a stone bench scampered by a group of students.

“Blast it.” You hit the table and leapt from your seat.

“(Y/N)!” Jasmine and Aladdin shouted, both rushing away from the animated furniture.

“Sorry!” You ran after the bench as it fled form you in a gallop. “Stop!”

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Merlin Academy allowed magic in the curriculum. No question about it, with a wizard as its headmaster. It was then, expected by most, to see magic nearly everyday, given the various students’ skillsets.

“That looks like fun,” Hades commented on the running bench, Maleficent nudging his arm in disapproval.

“Maybe they like mischief after all.” Hook said to Morgie and peered to his friend. “Morgie?”

No one was beside him. Not anymore.

Moving as fast as his legs could take him, heart pounding, Morgie ran through an alcove. He had a simple plan: cut off the animated bench’s path and stop it before it caused you any harm.

If (Y/N) wanted it to be running amok, they wouldn’t be panicking. A logical thought for the teenager keeping an ear for any sign of the likely misbehaving bench.

Sunlight poured into an opening of a walkway intersection, and Morgie skidded to a halt when he heard your aggravated shouting in Latin. The corner of his lips curved up.

“Come on,” Morgie murmured in a ready stance.

Rhythmic thuds came closer and closer.

Gray stone tumbled around the corner.

“You,” he kept his hands raised, “facti sunt inanimati.”

 A jolt and stiffness hit the bench, stopping altogether. Echoes of its last movements faded into the building.

“Ha.” Morgie gave the bench a good look-over. “Nice try.”

In the next moment, you rounded the corner with determination. Your objective had been completed without you. It stood to reason why your surprise built as you slowed to a stop by the bench.

Backlit from the afternoon’s warm sun and your gaze on Morgie, he found himself speechless.

“Morgie,” you inquired between intakes of air, “did you… Did you stop it?”

He nodded, heartbeat increasing.

A grin brightened your face. “Thank you.”

Morgie stuck out his chest proudly. He could feel himself grinning.

“You, uh, you didn’t have to.” You gave the stone bench a light tap with your shoe.

“I wanted to.”

An expression and emotion came over you, one Morgie couldn’t quite read. You weren’t angry or disappointed. It was neither sadness, irritation, or disgust.

The longer he studied you the more you stood there in wonder.

Should I walk closer? He thought, glad to not be blushing.

“(Y/N),” Fay had scurried into the covered walkway. “Are you all right? Oh! You got it.”

You had turned around to face the fairy, “Actually…”

“It’s all right. I messed up with my wand again yesterday. But, perhaps, we can move the bench back. Somehow.”

“Levitation could work,” you suggested with a cute tilt of your head.

“Yeah. Excellent, (Y/N).”

Standing quietly, Morgie’s heart had a small leap of warmth whenever your name was spoken. A spark of excitement.

“Morgie,” you said looking over your shoulder, “I’m glad the bench didn’t cause you too much trouble.”

“It would’ve ran away if it knew what I can do.” He replied feeling more confident.

“I’m sure.” You smirked playfully.

Not so deep down, Morgie really wanted to keep the conversation going despite the new task ahead, Fay standing right there, and an upcoming class. He could probably come up with something.

“Uh.”

Both you and Morgie looked to Fay as she stood waiting with her wand at the ready. Patient as she was, Fay appeared confused at your interaction.

Good. She doesn’t need to know.

“I have to run.” Morgie leaned forward and allowed his magic to alter his eyes. “You can catch me later.”

After witnessing surprise on your lovely face, Morgie took his leave. Blushing was the last thing on his mind this time.

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Warm afternoon sunlight made the headmaster’s office cozy and nowhere near intimating. It could also be the familiarity and the sheer number of books in your father’s office. Not particularly a surprise for you.

The actual surprise came earlier when you decided to talk to your father about what had been nagging at the back of your mind.

If only you could get yourself to that topic.

“You heard about that?” You cringed, slouching into your seat.

“I did.” Merlin said calmly as he sipped his tea. “It’s not often a stone bench runs around the academy. Oh, don’t take it to heart. Mistakes happen. We can learn from them.” Ever the understanding and intelligent man. Anything could be a lesson in his view.

Now’s as good a time as ever, you thought apprehensively.

“I…was distracted.” You admitted quietly, nervously.

Setting down the teacup, he looked at you pointedly.

“Well now, you know better than that.” He cleared his throat, “especially with others around.”

“I know. I know. It’s just… It doesn’t make sense,” you rambled on, “it’s like one day everything’s normal and then… Oh, goodness.” You sunk further into the furniture a little embarrassed. “I have…feelings for someone.”

Merlin chuckled, “I see!”

“But I don’t know when it started so that I can know fully why.”

“Very illogical and confusing. You might never know.”

“What?”

He continued to chuckle happily. “There’s no logical explanation for this.”

You grumbled, thought half-heartedly with how your father was in such a good spirits.

“A most befuddling thing.”

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Late in the evening when crickets started chirping and owls were starting their day, villains mingled in an enormous rotting eel. An excellent place as any to hang out after school at the black lagoon.

Moods were high and shared as the motley crew recalled the chaos you enchanted bench caused. A real highlight of the day.

“I’ve never seen a fairy fall into bushes before,” Maleficent snickered with a swirl of her hair.

“Or a wave of students diving out of the way.” Hook laughed along with the others.

“Who knew (Y/N) could cause such glorious chaos.” Uliana added gleefully.

“Speaking of fleeing,” Hades turned to Morgie. “Where’d you run off to? You missed the fun.”

“I caught up with (Y/N).” Morgie replied as all attention fell to him.

“Oh, you spent time with Merlin’s goodie goodie?” Uliana teased playfully. She wasn’t oblivious to how Morgie acted around you.

Feeling more confident and a tad bashful, Morgie added, “I think (Y/N) and I could cause some mischief together.”

“Now that I’d like to see.” Uliana said positively.

“Merlin’s child without a book? How shocking,” Maleficent said and patted Hades’ arm.

“They mustn’t be afraid of the dark,” Hades said casually.

“Aye, but how much do they like it?” Hook questioned and looked to the young sorcerer.

Morgie breathed in slowly. “I’ll have to find out.”

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

Sounds of water and chirping of birds ground you after what felt like the longest class of the semester. An exaggeration of course. But being by a water feature with friends between classes helped ease your mind.

“Is there a world where you’d consider not being in honors classes? It would give you some freedom.” Jasmine smiled encouragingly. “Or do you like a challenge?”

You shook your head, laughing. “I like learning. Is that so bad?”

“You’re not trapped in expectations are you?”

“Trapped? No. Trying to ignore them? Definitely.”

“I have some experience with—No!” Her words broke into a yelp as she looked down to where you both stood.

“Oh!”

A cream colored snake slithered over your shoe. Not a large one, and it hardly had any weight to it at all.

Odd, you thought and bent down to inspect the creature.

“Be careful.” Jasmine said from a couple of steps away.

“I will,” you squinted and almost laughed once you made a discovery. “Oh? It’s paper.”

“What?”

You chuckled and held out your hand. The parchment, very much enchanted, coiled upon the palm of your hand.

“Will it bite?” She inquired.

“What bites?” Aladdin showed up, almost out of nowhere. His gaze went from Jasmine to where hers was locked. “Are you planning to trick someone?”

“No.” You Brough your hand closer to you and added, “I’ll check it out. No worrying, all right?”

“All right.” Jasmine relented. “I’ll see you in class.”

Giving a wave to the happy pair, you departed for some seclusion. It was truly a good thing that the academy was large and not a simple rectangular building.

This is not a trick, you thought as your mind quickly narrowed down who would enchant paper to be a snake. Those thoughts only made your heart rate quicken.

As inconspicuously as you could manage while not fast-walking, you ducked behind a tree full of branches to obscure yourself from view. The last thing you wanted was a nosy student popping up behind you.

“Alright,” you exhaled and held the ‘snake’ up. “Do you have a message for me?”

With a shiver and nod, the paper snake unrolled before its serpentine enchantment subsided.

“Huh.”

Heat rose to your chest and neck.

It is form Morgie.

Your eyes had looked to the signature first before reading his message in its entirety.

(Y/N), Ego amo te multum. In my chest there is a hum every time I see you and hear your name it’s fluttering and warm and all the same. It’s new and acceptus and I wish you and I were an “us”. Please reply yay or nay. If negative, destroy this letter today. Morgie

Hardly knowing if you were breathing properly or what time it was, you read the letter two more times. You had to be certain you weren’t mistaken. Your heart threatened to burst! metaphorically, of course.

Morgie le Fay did like you! It wasn’t just a misreading of situations. He liked you a lot.

Him writing in Latin may had got you a little flustered, but you’d manage.

Quickly with shaking hands, you folded the letter and stashed it into your bag.

Yup. This is new. Befuddling maybe. You thought as you attempted a few calm breaths. He likes me! A wide smile curved your lips. Oh, wait, wait. I need to reply. Reply…and say what?

⭐︎ ⭐︎ ⭐︎

As with each weekday, the rest of the school day went by. Each spare moment gave you a chance to breathe more consciously and time to contemplate what to write back to Morgie. Obviously, you would. It needed to be written just right.

Morgie liked you and you liked him. For once in your life, you needed to fully express that in words. No more avoidance. Time had come to admit your emotions.

A little intimidating, but he took a big step—a chance. I can do the same, you thought as you walked into your dorm room. Your safe place. No more hiding. It took me long enough to figure out how I feel. I can do this.

So your writing began. Many scratched out marks and revisions later, the reply to Morgie’s confession was complete.

Morgie, How could I reply with a simple Yay? My dear Morgie le Fay Ego amo te multum. I have found where the hum comes from. It’s from oneself being incredibly happy. I have it too. You may have my reply, YAY And I’m keeping your letter. Affectionately, (Y/N)

Thankful to have finally written with a steady hand, you folded the letter and enchanted it to fly as a bird. Speedy delivery for the sorcerer who would without a doubt be hoping for a reply.

Poor Morgie had to wait hours all ready. I hope he doesn’t think I burned his letter, you thought anxiously. But if he didn’t have hope or bravery that I might feel similarly, then he wouldn’t have sent the letter in the first place. Oh, goodness, how do people deal with this?

All you could do was pace the floor of your room.

What else could you do?

Your thoughts were no where settled to do anything academic. So you waited.

Waited for what exactly? You were not certain.

Anything and everything could happen. Even nothing.

Just breathe. You did your part. You leaned against your bed. Then again, there are no instructions for these sort of…illogical things.

About ten minutes since you had sent out the letter, there came an unfamiliar knock on your door. It spooked you as if you had been sitting in the dark alone.

Apprehension to disappointment of another person and nerves overcame you then. There was only one way to find out who knocked.

Be brave.

You walked up to the door.

Unless it’s Ella returning my book…

Upon opening the door, you were doubly happily surprised to see a beaming Morgie with very tidy hair, holding a single flower. The sort of flora that grew around the school grounds.

“Hi.” Morgie stood almost completely still.

“Hi. What are you doing here?” You asked with a grin.

“I wanted to see you.”

Your chest swelled with warmth and all you could do was stare at him, the body who liked you back.

Hazel eyes peered passed you and Morgie tilted his head.

“Why do you have crumbled paper all over your desk?”

Looking over your shoulder briefly, you laughed. “The first few drafts of my reply.”

“Oh,” Morgie raised his free hand to reveal a piece of paper. “Like this?”

“More rambling and messy because I was nervous, but yes.”

“Affectionately nervous?” A smirk upturned his lips slowly.

“Happily so.”

Beaming, Morgie took a step forward, but stopped as he was unsure of your reaction or preference of closeness. He looked ever so adorable. A letter from you in one hand a flower held in the other.

A hug I can handle.

Taking a step back into your room, you held out your arms and beckoned him in for a hug.

Morgie didn’t waste a second of your invitation. The two of your embraced. All nervous jitters forgotten. Enjoying the affection from the other with all the giddiness, warmth, and comfort that came with it.

“I really, really like you,” Morgie whispered onto your shoulder. His arms embraced you a little tighter, emotions shown freely.

I could hear that on repeat.

“I really, really like you,” you said, happy your voice didn’t crack. “Maybe we could do something this weekend?” Your bravery had come out full force.

Was there anything to be nervous about anymore in regards to your feelings?

Morgie leaned back to look at you with bright eyes.

“Yeah! Anything.” His excitement level escalated.

“Anything?”

“Anything,” he insisted. “A walk, a prank, trying a new spell, causing mischief, or dinner.”

“You’ve had time to think about this.”

“All day and when I ran here.”

“You ran?”

“I wanted to see you,” he repeated and finally offered you the flower.

You accepted the flower without hesitation.

Perhaps your time and future with Morgie would be something like that. Beautiful and unexpected. More than anything, you knew it would be magical.

~~~

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Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~