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temptress-writes · 2 months ago

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📜Roll Call

A/N: my favourite, moody professor. feral. he's actually such a twat.

Content Warnings: coarse language

Sexual Content: Degradation, spitting, light bondage, spanking, slapping, age gap (10 years)

Word Count: 21.5k

Now, sit straight for Professor Styles.

***

Oxford University, 1992.

“Are you actually going to put the effort into my class or do I have to get you a tutor?”

It wasn’t what she was hoping for after handing in an assignment. She fought back the hot tears that sprung into her eyes and hoped he didn’t see how wet they were. She was exhausted, overworked to the bone trying to balance her studies and a part-time job.

He’d handed back the papers at the end of his class, and not long after escaped to his office down the hall. She’d chased after him, fumbling to keep up with him while her mind was jumbled over the failed grade. She’d done plenty of assignments with him and he’d passed every single one.

“I… I don’t understand. I studied the material—“

“Well, clearly you didn’t study it enough. The years are all mixed up. If you want to be the historian that you say you do, that usually comes with not mixing up dates. I mean,” he held the paper in front of him, reciting the words she’d written. “Julius Caesar was assassinated in March, 43 BC. Incorrect. He was assassinated in March, 44 BC. You should know this, it’s basic stuff.”

“I’m sorry, I swear it was a simple mistake—“

“Simple mistakes will cost you your grade. In fact, it has.”

Her heart dropped. “Is there anything I can do? I can fact-check and write it all over again. Please. I want to pass this paper. I—I need to pass.”

He was always this mean. This… hurtful. He had no leniency towards so much as a falsely placed comma, and she could see her incorrect information pained him deeply. He was right. It was basic stuff, and internally she knew it. However, she’d been slammed with studying and had simply made a mistake.

But he had no patience, no care if anyone in his class was overwhelmed with what he pushed onto them. He’d been given the same load when he himself was studying. In his view, being pushed to the brink was what made him great at what he did. So, he showed his students the same respect as his professors once had.

“What makes you think I have the time to give you special treatment, Violet? I have enough papers to grade as is, adding yours to the pile all because you made a mistake will only set me back.”

“It’s one paper.” She begged, near on in tears again. She eyed the plaque that had his name engraved in the gold, avoiding his eyes.

Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her through his wide-framed glasses. He tapped his fingers against his thighs, clad in soft beige plaid pants. Her eyes fluttered towards his sweater, the striped shirt underneath. She lost herself in the pattern as he mulled in his thoughts.

“I want it on my desk tomorrow morning by nine o’clock.”

She could have jumped at the relief she felt. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just this once. I won’t be so easy on you if it happens again.”

“It won’t happen again.” She grinned, grabbing the paper from his outstretched hand.

"Since you're rewriting it—do you want my honest opinion?"

"Of course." She whispered, always one to accept constructive criticism. She knew he wouldn't hold back and she mentally braced herself.

"I was bored reading your paper."

She gulped, blinking in surprise but he continued, not concerned about hurting her feelings. That wasn’t what he was there for—to teach her.

"I expected more from you, Violet. To be frank, I’m disappointed. There was no depth to it. No excitement. You did the very bare minimum. You gave me a bunch of facts, with some of the dates mixed around. What’s more, is that nothing about this piece made me want to read it. Tell me, what makes history so exciting?"

"Uh, I guess learning about—"

"The stories. The stories make history so exciting. Stories of the people, their daily lives, and the fight for survival and victory. History would be nothing without the stories it tells."

"Yeah, I understand, now. You're right."

"Of course I’m right. Retelling history has to be gripping. Write it again and pull me in."

His eyes scanned over his pager, alerting him that a staff meeting was about to commence. He stretched out his neck, grabbing his folder and eyeing her as he stood.

He hated the way his eyes observed her frame. Soft corduroy pants, a graphic t-shirt of a band he had never heard of. Her hair was in a bouncy ponytail, half splayed over her shoulder as she twirled a lock between her fingers.

What he didn’t hate was how she feared him. Her eyes were wide with intimation as she stared at him. She was clearly so desperate to please him, not wanting to disappoint him or let him down.

She wanted to do this paper for him as much as she did for her grades. That’s why his tactic was to be cruel. To keep her at arm’s length, but also to keep his mind at bay from wandering into risky territory.

"Is there anything else?"

"Oh, that's all—"

"Great. I have somewhere to be."

The expectant look he gave her threw her off, but she very quickly gathered his meaning. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and gave him a soft smile, hoping to lessen his harsh expression, yet all to no avail. His expression remained the same. She turned to leave, barely getting through the threshold before his voice reached out.

“Nine o’clock, Violet.”

“Yes, professor.”

She left his office, winding her way through campus, smiling at her classmates as she passed them. Oxford University. Rich with history and success. Abundant with opportunities fit for her dreams. It knew no bounds of imagination, with its old and infamous buildings and all the tales held within them.

There was something about history that made her feel alive. Reliving the past through depictions, art, studies, and discoveries. It was what drove her.

So when she’d landed her dream Ancient History class, taught by a very highly adored historian, Harry Styles, she knew that she had a lot to prove.

She raced back to her flat after a stop at the supermarket for brainfood and energy drinks. She got stuck in, completely starting again, double and triple-checking her facts to be sure.

Her Walkman kept her company, and she cycled through her favourite CDs. She even went above and beyond, adding small details to her work that weren’t overly relevant but she knew Professor Styles would enjoy reading.

As grumpy as he was, she wouldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for him. For his focused gaze, his deep voice as he stood before the class and taught, and how his dimples flexed when he was talking or hiding his irritation.

Oftentimes, she’d allow herself to admire him. To see him as a simple man. Rich in thought and graceful in the way he so confidently carried himself. He was effortlessly smart and passionate. Young but full of experience, which she found impressive amongst the older faculty.

In his early thirties, it was remarkable how far his career had soared already.

He was gorgeous. Poised and proper, with inklings of something more unhinged that she could sometimes spy through his carefully placed mask.

But then she’d shake her head and chastise herself for thinking such thoughts about someone so above her.

He was known to be a sucker for details and personality. He hated textbook answers, even though his whole career and teachings relied purely on facts. So, she spent extra time being a little more pedantic than usual.

She wanted to impress him. He was one of the most successful historians of his impressively ripe age of thirty-two. She’d never wanted to let him down and she had to prove to him that she had what it took to be in his class and be worthy of his teachings. It was what motivated her to piston through her assignment and perfect it.

She was going over her paper, adding some final flares when her flatmate knocked on her door.

“Vi, you’ve been working on that for hours.”

“I know,” she wrote furiously, so hyper-focused on the spread of papers and books in front of her, “it’s due tomorrow.”

“You need a break, come get a drink with us.”

Violet was that person that worked herself to the bone to maintain her grades. She was a people pleaser, and that trait stretched to her professors. She clung to every word they said and took every assignment seriously.

“Due tomorrow, Alice.” She repeated, barely blinking as she wrote and mouthed the words out to herself.

“Please take a break before you lose your mind.” Alice could sense her friend falling into that mindset where she neglected everything aside from whatever assignment was due.

Violet sighed, pausing her work and turning to face her. “Who’s we?”

She soon found herself dressed in an attire that completely contrasted her university jumper and sweat pants. A tiny green dress, and a little makeup applied to her tired face to make it seem as if she were actually getting any appropriate amount of sleep.

They made their way to the local bar they often frequented, meeting their group of friends who had already started on the drinks. It was then that she realised was extremely overworked and tired.

Her study load was never-ending, piling on top of her until she was suffocating. She had to take some time for herself tonight or she’d go crazy. Her mind was constantly whirring with assignments and tests and studying.

Her paper was mostly done. She’d have a few drinks and then head home to finish it off. It was only nine o’clock, and she figured an hour or two wouldn’t hurt.

By ten o’clock, she was feeling lighter. She stayed true to her word, only having two drinks before cutting herself off. She knew she’d have to leave sooner rather than later, but her friends were renewing the energy she had been lacking. She couldn’t leave the source of such liveliness.

There was one guy in the group who had been pining after her all year. They shared a few classes together, including Ancient History with Professor Styles. He had a bright smile and a sense of humour that she enjoyed.

“Hey, Vi.”

“Hi, Charlie, how are you?”

“I’m good, yourself?”

“Not bad.”

“Glad to hear it.” He smiled. “Can I get you a drink?”

He made her laugh all night, stuck to her side to enjoy her smile up close. They flirted, sending each other sultry gazes and warm, suggestive touches.

She couldn’t even deny that she wished it was someone else she’d rather be with tonight. A certain professor who wore glasses, sweaters, and displeased frowns. Perhaps that was why she threw herself head first into Charlie, wanting to forget about her sinful desires.

She felt warm and gooey, needing something to focus on other than that damn paper and the professor who was expecting it.

So, when he led her down the hallway, kissing her lips and her neck, she didn’t hesitate to get lost in him.

Too lost to see her professor sitting at the bar watching as she pulled Charlie into a supply closet.

“I have to say, Miss Walters. I didn’t think you’d be able to do it.”

She huffed out a breath at his expression. It was like he was almost smug about it. About her having to rewrite a whole paper, work that would take weeks crammed into one night.

He was being truthful. The paper would have been difficult to complete in one night, he’d known as much when he told her that he wanted it the next morning. It was a test.

He didn’t want to be played around by his students. He was tough on them for a reason, and barely ever handed out second chances as he had done with her.

So, to know that she had been out last night when she should have been at home was an insult. She’d fluttered her eyelashes and taken advantage of the one sliver of good nature he had in him. And here she was, a pleased smile on her face with her paper before his very eyes.

She was wearing makeup as if to hide how tired she was. It wasn't because she had stayed up all night writing his paper, but he already knew that. He looked at the assignment dubiously, doubting its contents.

“Well, I did it. Correct dates and everything.”

“It’s longer.” He said, flipping through the pages and noticing that there were a few additional ones compared to the initial few she had handed in.

She absorbed her surroundings, his office was deep woods and dim lighting. His desk was large and cluttered with books and assignments to grade, and the room was framed with bookshelves, awards, diplomas, and expensive-looking knick

knacks.

“I took your advice and made it more exciting.”

He wanted to reprimand her. Tell her that adding extra fluff didn’t equal excitement or any weight to her assignment. But he swallowed his sour mood and nodded, placing the paper flat on the desk and leaning back in his chair.

His outfit was darker than his usual palette and style of light colours and unique sweaters. Instead, he donned a black shirt, a black suit jacket thrown over the top with charcoal pants. She could tell that he was in a bad mood, somehow even more irate than usual.

“I’ll review it over the weekend.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut. She very clearly wanted to say something and he raised a brow in encouragement.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the second chance. I hope you enjoy it.”

Enjoy it? He’d never had a student wish that he enjoyed something they handed in. They simply wanted to meet the criteria and pass.

She turned to leave, feeling overwhelmed by his scrutinising gaze. She’d handed in the assignment, and had a bit of time to cram in some study before her first class of the day, which just so happened to be with the grumpy professor.

"Violet."

"Yes?"

He tapped his neck, eyeing hers. "I want that covered before you come to my class."

Her cheeks flushed with heat, her hand coming up to cover the hickey on her neck. She thought she'd done a good enough job with her concealer this morning, but apparently not.

She didn't even have the nerve to reply before she left the room, utterly mortified.

He stared after her, wondering if he'd embarrassed her. Probably. He disregarded her feelings, viewing the mark on her neck as inappropriate. He wasn't sure why the hickey bothered him so much.

Perhaps it was because she'd clearly had a late night last night, and it wasn't with the company of his teachings. He watched her take that man into that supply closet and the evidence of that was staring him in the face.

He didn’t want to look at that fucking hickey on her neck because then he knew he’d have to face the reality of the fact that he was jealous.

Jealous of one of his other students putting his hands and mouth on her. His student in that tiny green dress, cheeks flushed with arousal and drink. He imagined it. How she'd taste on his tongue. The sounds she'd make. The way she felt.

He had felt pathetic about the whole thing, sitting at the bar all alone and sulking. He’d polished off his drink at the bar after watching it happen. He’d just as quickly gone to his cold and empty home to wallow with a bottle of tequila and some Aerosmith.

Fuck. He couldn’t think about this. About her soft thighs in her tiny skirt and her bouncy ponytail. Or the way she called him professor. It wasn’t right and he felt sick about it.

He checked his pager, seeing it blank and sighing. He needed something to do so he couldn’t keep thinking about her. And then she’d be staring at him during his class, her eyes wide and wandering.

Almost panicked about the prospect of being near her again, he picked up her paper and began reading it to distract himself.

Following a strenuous battle with her concealer and the sizeable hickey on her neck, Violet entered Professor Styles’ classroom. It was mostly covered, there wasn’t a lot she could do in the way of hiding it completely. However, in the back of her mind, she was perplexed that he found it his place to even say anything.

Surely he just wanted to mortify her. He had been a student once, he knew the means of getting lost in dark hallways with another warm and desperate body.

She spotted Charlie sitting in the center of the seats and he waved her over. She smiled, shaking her head. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to him just yet, especially considering he was the cause of her marked neck.

She took her usual spot up front, always wanting to bathe in the professor’s teachings, and found herself lost if she was stuck in the middle of the seats.

Professor Styles wasn’t in class yet, and she took the time to prepare her notes in an organised spread on the desk in front of her. She didn’t even notice him silently enter, setting up at his desk with a look of disinterest.

Her body felt heated. Not the warm embarrassment of him pointing out her hickey, but because his gaze was on hers as he set down his satchel. She held his eyes, right until he looked away to retrieve the folders that held the material he needed for the class.

Decidedly ready, he stood at the center of his territory up front, his suit jacket parting as he slid his hands into his pockets. He eyed the class through his glasses, noting that no one had realised he’d entered the room yet. Except for her.

He sighed, wrinkling his nose before looking down at his oxfords. He cleared his throat, somehow garnering everyone’s attention in a split second. He leaned back against his desk.

“As you’re aware, I’m obligated to drag you on a class trip abroad in the coming weeks. I’ve heard your suggestions as you’ve not so subtly given them to me.” He eyed the mouthy students in question. “However, the board and I have discussed it and we’ve come to a decision.”

Students started chattering loudly, and Violet sent a friendly smile to her friend next to her but otherwise kept her attention on Professor Styles.

“Quiet, or you’ll be staying behind while I go on holiday by myself!”

His demand was heard loud and clear, and everyone became tight-lipped and watched him. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, already dreading the idea of this trip.

The university board had been grilling him about it, and he’d been pressured into making a decision that pleased them with ridiculously limited time to sort it out.

“Pompeii.” He said simply, letting it sink in for his students.

Violet felt a rush of excitement. Pompeii—preserved in Naples, Italy, was rich with history and had been on her bucket list for as long as she could remember.

It was a monumental part of history, and she could not wait to see it in its glory and stand where devastation rocked an ancient city so long ago.

The class talked loudly, bursting and bubbling with enthusiasm. Professor Styles remained unphased by it all, waiting until the chatter had died down before he spoke again.

“We’ll be staying in Naples, however, the focus of our trip will be Pompeii. This will be your final paper and will be half your grade. This isn’t a holiday or a time to slack off. You’re here in this room for a reason, that applies to this trip as well. Think about the history there. The people, the politics, the daily life. The power of nature and the terror that it entices.” He took a slow breath, as if bored or tired. Perhaps both. “It wasn’t my first choice, naturally. But seeing as it is one of the most famous natural disasters in ancient history, the board saw it fit to touch on, considering it differs from any other material we’ve studied so far.”

“Can’t we go to Paris instead, Professor Styles?” One of the girls at the back of the glass giggled. It was clear that the only reason she took this class was for someone nice to look at. “It’s the city of love.”

“Love?” He laughed but it was void of humour. “If you want love, you’re in the wrong place. Maybe if you spent less time daydreaming, and more time paying attention, you wouldn’t be failing my class.”

Violet laughed under her breath, doodling in her notebook. His eyes went to her at the sound, wondering if she found the girl's suggestion funny or his response.

She looked up at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder. He clenched his jaw and looked away, locating the documents that contained everything regarding the trip.

He handed piles to the desks in the front row, telling them to take one and pass it back. He stopped before her, placing the papers in her waiting hands and staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“See me after class.”

“Me?”

His voice was low and deep. “Yes, you.”

She was perplexed. See him after class for what? He said that he’d go over her paper during the weekend, so she doubted it would be about that.

Maybe he wanted to torment her about her neck some more. Really rub in the embarrassment and taunt her for it.

It was hard to focus during the whole class. She jotted down notes every now and again, but her mind was honed in on him. Even more so than usual. The authority in his tone as he told her to cover her neck, his confident stance, and the way his lips caressed words.

He rambled on about the trip, what to expect, and in turn what he was expecting from them. He adjusted his glasses, searching the student's expressions and finding her eyes. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek before looking back at his notes.

By the time class had ended, she had written down things she wasn’t paying attention to. She’d been paying attention to him. Only him. And she couldn’t even fool herself into her fascination with him strictly existing just because of his teachings. It was far past that now.

She gathered her things, the room emptying of students. She stood, her gaze falling to him, stood behind his desk organising his folders.

She approached his desk, standing before it. She noticed that his jaw clenched, looking up at her from the frame of his glasses and raising his brows.

"You wanted to see me?"

“I did.”

She waited as he righted his desk, ensuring everything was in order before he finally regarded her.

“Your paper. I want to talk to you about it.”

Her stomach dropped. “The paper I just handed in?”

What would he have to say about it considering it had only been mere hours since he’d received it? She felt a flash of irritation, wondering if she’d ever be able to please this man.

“I don’t have time this week, so it’ll have to be next Monday. You’re my last class so I’ll be able to give you all of my attention.”

She felt warm at his words. At the promise of having his full attention, her body was alive with need and desire. His eyes were so intense, deep, and thick with thoughts she could see the complexity of.

But as the foggy haze of her absurd fantasies cleared, she frowned. Monday? It was Thursday now. Why didn’t he bring this up closer to the time? Did he just want her to stew in her worry until Monday?

Surely he couldn’t have read her paper already. Maybe he’d read the first paragraph only to crumble it up and lob it into his trashcan.

“Is it that bad?”

He shot her a look that she couldn’t decipher. “Monday, Violet.”

As she left the classroom, completely vexed and anxious, Charlie caught up with her.

“He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“Who?” She felt like she was barely there as she navigated the old building toward her next class.

“Styles. I mean, that paper we just did, for example. He ignores all of my hard work and focuses on the shit I’m doing wrong.”

Violet shrugged, “I mean, isn’t that what makes him a great professor? He points out what you need to improve on to do better.”

“Whatever. I feel like there’s no winning with him. At least we have this trip. You and I can ditch the group and do our own sightseeing.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes sparkled at his suggestion. And maybe if she wasn’t so hung up on someone she had no business being hung up on, she’d reciprocate Charlie’s enthusiasm.

Monday. She’d be seeing her favourite, constantly disgruntled professor on Monday.

It wasn’t hard to keep herself distracted until then. She attended her classes, her study load growing as each one passed. Her flatmate held a party on Saturday night, in which she’d spent most of it pressed up against Charlie, however avoiding his advances of something more.

He was sweet and funny but he wasn’t what she wanted and she was just a fuck to him. She felt bad that she’d even let that night happen. She’d just needed to feel something, something that wasn’t the ever-pressing crush she had on her professor.

She was wrecked with intolerable thoughts about her assignment. Was he going to fail her again? Tell that she wasn’t cut out for his class that she’d battled so hard to get into?

By the time Monday came around, she was a nervous wreck. She settled herself into a private nook in the library, her Walkman on hand and her collection of her favourite CDs.

She read every single piece about Pompeii that she could find. She wanted to be even more prepared for the trip, and have a better understanding of what it might entail.

And maybe having more knowledge of it would impress her professor.

Her last class on Monday was with him. As she entered and took her usual seat, he was setting up his material, dressed in plaid pants and a cozy looking sweater.

He used the knuckle of his pointer finger to adjust his glasses and flipped a pen in his other hand, staring over his class agenda.

She just loved watching him. There was something in his mannerisms that was so fascinating. He was mesmerising in the way he carried himself. From his large hands, which she always stared at, to his ever-expressive eyes.

The first time she’d spotted the cross tattooed on his hand, she had to go into the bathroom after class and slip her hand between her legs to quell the dampness there.

With a deep sigh, he focused on the class and ran a hand through his curls, though they fell back into the middle parting as always.

He seemed even more put off today. He spent most of his time voicing more details about the trip to Naples and running through multiple checklists before handing them out.

Where he would usually throw her a glance, he didn’t even look at her today. Not once. His seemingly permanent frown was set deeper.

Instead of his usual drabble, he had some poor soul at the front of the class read out the daily lives of those who lived in Pompeii before its demise.

She jotted down notes, but her eyes kept flickering to where he sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed as if he were being read a lullaby.

As class came to a close, he stood, telling everyone to start preparing for the trip.

“Please refer to the list I handed out, and if you have any questions…” He twisted his lips, clasping his ringed fingers together. “Don’t.”

Her nerves were running haywire, sending electric currents through every part of her body as she stood with her bag and began to approach his desk. He was busying himself with the sprawl of clutter on the expanse of the aged wood.

She stood before it, and he looked up briefly before gathering a stack of papers and sliding them carefully into his satchel.

"Not here." His voice was so low that she felt it swirl in her ears like a thick, dreamy fog.

She took a deep breath and nodded, feeling intimidated to be alone with him again. Until a student approached the desk and asked for his aid on a project, and all she could do was stand there and wait.

"I just don't know how to make the connection." The student said.

He leaned over, staring at the paper. He nodded and then looked at Violet, "go and wait in my office. I'll only be a moment."

She felt her heart drop to her stomach at the authority in his tone. He looked at her for a second before focusing on the student who needed his help.

She tried to brush off her nerves as she arrived at his office and sat in the chair in front of his desk. She had no idea what was about to happen, but since it was regarding her assignment, she was beside herself with anxiety.

He stepped into his office with a sigh, running his hands along his thighs before taking a seat. He sifted through the drawer in his desk, taking out her assignment and reading over it.

“I’ve read your paper.” His voice was void of any emotion and it made her feel uneasy.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she picked at the hem of her dress and avoided his eyes. He held up her assignment and stared at it.

“Violet… this is one of the best things a student has ever handed in to me.”

She took in a sharp breath, looking at him with wide eyes. She almost didn’t want to believe him. Or what was more believable was that he’d be jesting and then fail her. This wasn’t like the usual grumpy professor that she knew and she didn’t know what to make of it.

“I—Thank you, professor.”

“I could tell that it had potential when you handed it in. I’ve written some notes for you, but I wanted to go through them with you now.”

This was unheard of. He graded papers, jotted down brief notes behind his reasoning, and moved on. But this… this was beyond anything he’d ever done.

He was known for being insufferably unfair to his students. Yet he’d given her a second chance, and was now praising her work and wanted to express why.

“Okay.” She nodded, adjusting in her seat and trying to calm down her racing heart.

“Overall, it’s a well-thought-out paper. You have complete control of each point made and where your sources come from without sounding too recited. There are facts here, and you’ve shown how the influence that ancient Rome had in its prime is perceived nowadays… impressively. You’ve portrayed its people and politics really well.”

“Thank you.” She was struggling to believe this was actually happening.

“This is why I made you redo it. What you initially handed in was bland. But this is… you. Your authentic self and thoughts.” He gestured to the paper. “You’re passionate, and I can feel that when I read it. You’ve taken every aspect of what makes ancient history so fascinating and made it your own.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”

There was a flash of emotion across his face, his dimple appearing ever so slightly with a quirk of his lips. “Take my praise. I don’t give it often.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His tone was suddenly warm, and his gaze brushed her neck for a second before finding her eyes once more.

“Professional opinion aside,” she toyed with the question on her tongue, feeling overwhelmed, “did you enjoy it?”

There it was again. Her question made his brow furrow in thought. He rarely enjoyed reading his student's work. Oftentimes, he was too preoccupied doing his job to feel any sense of enjoyment.

Why was it so important to her that he enjoyed it? He’d praised her work, and she wanted to know if he relished in reading it.

No one was as surprised as him when he found himself nodding slowly. “I did, actually. I like that it kept me intrigued and that I could sense how deeply you feel for the past.”

She wasn’t in his class for the wrong reasons, like he could see a lot of his students were. Some weren’t interested in anything past staring at him for an hour and then bullshitting their way through every paper they had to write. But she had a reason to be there, a drive to explore the past.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Her expression was so burning and focused on him that he felt it in his gut. He remembered how she looked in that guy's arms and he swallowed, wondering if she would be just as soft in his.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the fog of her. She crossed one leg over the other and he blinked at the sight of more skin exposed under that sweet little dress she was in.

She released a breath as he stood, relieved that this whole interaction was one of positivity. She was elated that he had enjoyed her work, and moreover was elated that he had praised her as he did.

But as he stood, he rounded his desk and went behind her before he closed the door to his office.

She felt a wave of adrenaline wash over her, being alone with him. She questioned if he was even allowed to close the door, but she didn’t want to stop it from happening.

She watched as he walked in front of her, leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed.

“Why history?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, everyone has a reason for their majors. Whether you’re in it for archiving, research, or curating, you’ve got a reason for choosing history. My question is why.”

She straightened under his scrutinising gaze. He adjusted his glasses before his hands rested back on the desk, curling around the lip of it. She stared at his rings, mesmerised.

“I find it fascinating to observe how humanity has changed, to see how we’ve improved and what we still need to work on. I like studying the past, preserving the stories, the art, the structures they left for us to see their legacy.”

He was floored, although his expression remained a trained unreadable one. To meet someone with these values wasn’t uncommon. However, she had a way with words that he adored.

Like every aspect of his own passion was laid out on her tongue and given back to him in a gentle vocal caress.

“So, you’re just as intrigued by their way of life as well as learning from their mistakes?”

“In fewer words, yes.”

“You’re in it for the right reasons.”

“Are there any wrong reasons?” She frowned.

“Greed.” He said simply, not giving any clarification.

“Why do you teach?”

He tilted his head, his hands smoothing down his strong thighs. “I have a lot of experience in the field, as you may know. I wanted to extend that knowledge to people with the kind of drive I admire. The lust for research and preserving history. I’m good at it, and I have a lot to give you so that you can be just as good.”

His choice of words turned her mouth dry. I have a lot to give you. She knew he meant a lot of his wisdom and knowledge, but his eyes were sparkling with something she couldn’t decipher.

“I love your class.”

“Is that so? Is that why you asked if I enjoyed your paper?”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips. “Are you trying to impress me?”

She smiled. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. I like the assignments you give us and the way you teach. It’s informative and exciting at the same time.”

“I like that,” he said, mulling deep in his thoughts, “it’s a nice change. To have someone care about their studies as opposed to struggle through them.”

“Oh, the struggle is still there.” She laughed and she spied a hint of a smile teasing his lips before he could disguise it.

He took a step forward and her eyes followed as he gauged how close he wanted to get. She gripped the arms of the chair as he stood in front of her, a jeweled hand reaching out to brush a few strands of her hair away from her face.

She hoped he couldn’t tell how hard she was shaking. Their eyes didn’t leave one another as his fingers brushed softly down, moving her hair away from her shoulder so he could look at her neck before he retracted all touch completely.

“You covered it.” He mumbled, his voice so low that she thought she imagined it.

“I did.”

“Good gi—“ He cleared his throat loudly. “Good. It’s not professional.”

Her brows raised at his almost slip up. She wondered if he was going to say exactly what she thought he was. And she almost begged him to call her that. Just once. Just so that she could go home and think about it in the shower, alone with nothing but the memory of him.

He leaned against his desk again, his gaze searing. She couldn’t breathe and pressed her thighs together to dull the ache his touch had left.

“Do you want to impress me, Violet?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m going to give you some extra work to do for me.”

For me. Her eyes fluttered. “You are?”

“I am.” His voice was slow, dreamy. “For my enjoyment, and your benefit.”

This, he thought, is where he should stop. He could feel the vapour of arousal lick at him in warm swirls. The way she was looking at him had him near crumbling. So innocent and intrigued by the prospect of impressing him. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself again. From going too far.

“My benefit?”

“Yes. I’ll reward you, of course.”

“What kind of reward?”

“Whatever the teacher’s pet wants.”

Her entire body became warm and gooey, though her nerves did not settle. Instead, they amplified the longer he simply stared at her, unwavering.

“What does this extra work entail, Professor?”

He didn’t smile—although he wanted to, and straightened. He rounded his desk, producing a small stack of papers, the top one decorated with his sprawl. He walked back over, handing it to her.

He looked her in the eye, his face serious. “Only do what you want to do. Extra work and rewards. Do you understand?”

“Okay.” She said simply, feeling overwhelmed and heated. As if he had read her mind, viewed her deepest, darkest fantasy of being his pet and making it a reality. Her mind was buzzing with what extra work he’d have her doing.

“There are only a few things there.” He nodded to the papers. “Some extra assignments if you can do them as well as this one. Also, some preparation for the class trip if you’re up for it.”

She scanned through the list, seeing the assignment topics from subjects he’d vaguely taught them about. She felt a twinge of excitement at the idea of doing more for him.

“And my reward…?”

His lips twitched like he was amused. “Extra credit, of course.”

She felt a pang of disappointment. But then what else was he meant to offer her? She wasn’t about to turn town extra credit or the chance to impress him. She was already on his radar as someone he could count on. The thought made her all giddy and warm inside.

“I’m very grateful, professor.”

“You have potential. As you finish each one, come and see me.”

“Thank you, I will.” She nodded. She’d try her absolute hardest to complete them, and as he said, only the ones she wanted to. She eyed the list again.

He stepped forward once more, and she braced herself for the contact again. She was still spiraling from when he touched her. Her cheek still tingled from his fingers and she felt desperate to have that feeling renewed.

But then someone knocked on the door once before entering. “Hey, Harry, I—oh. Hello.”

Another faculty member she recognised from the economics department. Her cheeks flushed as he eyed her before looking at the grumpy professor in front of her.

Harry. She’d always known his name, but hearing someone actually call him by his first name made him seem more… real. Less like a history robot and more like the man she fantasised about.

“Forgive me.” He cringed, “I didn’t know you had company.”

“That’s generally why you knock.” Professor Styles grumbled, however checking his watch with a sigh.

“I did—"

“Get started on those, Miss Walters. I’ll check in with you in a few days.”

Blushing, she stood and ducked her head, leaving the room hastily. The list was crumpled in her fist as she made her way home. Alice was ready to ask her about her day, and they quickly got distracted watching reruns of some old sitcom. But the list he’d given her stayed on the forefront of her mind.

And as the week dragged on, she made her way through the few assignments he’d given her. They weren’t full-length assignments and differed heavily from the kind he handed out to the whole class, as he’d stated. She found them quite easy, the basis of them fitted her strengths.

Had he tailored these to her? Had he enjoyed her work so much that he wanted more? It was like he’d hand-picked his favourite topics they’d briefly covered in class and was now asking her to do what she pleased with them.

She spent all of her time between classes in the huge library. It was undoubtedly her favourite section of Oxford, and she spent many hours getting lost in the ornate building, the old books, and the history they shared.

She sat at one of the aged desks, a sprawl of books in front of her as she finished up her second extra assignment. She took on his advice. She double-checked her facts, and added drabble that made the paper more exciting and gripping to the reader. Him.

She’d even gotten a head start on the third assignment he’d given her. Although she knew she’d have to spend more time locating sources for the topic, she figured it would look good if he saw that she’d started it. All she wanted was to impress him. To prove herself. She knew she had the talent, and he was fully appreciating it.

As her day wrapped up, she found herself swirling through the halls towards his office, a completed assignment in hand. Considering their class trip was only in a matter of days, she figured he’d be too busy to see her.

She approached the oak door and knocked, hearing his voice on the other side telling her to come in.

She opened the door, and his eyes fell on her immediately. On her pretty yellow dress and the hem that fell to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was in its usual ponytail held together with a pale blue scrunchie. He liked watching it swish through the air as she walked.

“Hi,” she said softly, while his expression was hard. “I finished another assignment. Do you have time?”

Technically? No. He had a pressing amount of things to grade. But the hope on her face and the way she looked so fucking pretty made it impossible for him to turn her away.

He moved his work aside, clearing his mind so that she was the only thing on it. “Take a seat.”

She took a deep breath and entered the room fully, leaving the door open which was a detail he didn’t miss. She placed the assignment in his hand and he felt the urge to read it immediately. To be wrapped up in her thoughts.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” His voice rolled through her ears like a steady stream tumbling over smooth rocks.

“I felt inspired.”

“By what?” He tilted his head.

“Not what,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “Who.”

A sliver of a smile touched his lips before it was gone without a trace. “Okay, then. Who?”

“You.”

“Me.” He parroted as if he didn’t believe her.

“You always have inspired me, but hearing what drives you and how you came to teach made me want to work harder. To give history as much as you’ve given it.”

He felt something warm him. He was almost bashful at her praise, where usually it would inflame his ego. But coming from her, from her earnest and sweet heart. It was different.

“I’m glad you find my teachings useful.”

“They really helped with this paper.”

“How did you find it?”

She mulled over her thoughts. Endearing. Intriguing. Enriching. “The perfect amount of challenging. It made me think but my thoughts came naturally.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips. “I knew you’d apply all that I’ve taught you and pull through.”

“And I hope you enjoy it as much as my last one.”

“I’m sure I will. Come and see me tomorrow after your last class and I’ll give you my notes.”

She liked the idea of hearing his musings on her own work. He saw her potential and her drive. Enjoyed what she handed in and told her how much and why.

“Tomorrow.” She smiled a little, standing and slinging her bag up to her shoulder. “I can’t wait.”

There was something in her tone at the sentiment. The hue of it. A soft, wispy colour as pretty as her dress. He wondered if it was flirtation but quickly threw the idea aside.

He couldn’t wish for such things with his student, no matter what signals she sent him. But she was his little teacher’s pet now, and something about having that claim on her was driving him mad.

After a grueling study session in her well-loved nook of the library, she went home to pack for the trip to Naples. There was a checklist criteria for what to bring and what to leave behind.

She threw some of her favourite summer dresses into her suitcase, a few pairs of shoes, and a few extra outfits of baggy jeans and band t-shirts.

She had class with Professor Styles the next day, in which he’d handed out light material in preparation for the trip. Essential knowledge and ground rules.

It seemed he viewed the whole ordeal as a burden. An annoyance. He was taking twenty students away, with only one other member of the faculty joining to help him out. A teacher, who happened to be from Naples, would be staying with their family between class adventures.

He’d rather be sunbathing in Naples than traipsing around ancient ruins with students he despised. Mostly.

He didn’t acknowledge her for the whole lecture, save an initial glance as she’d taken her usual seat. But he’d almost switch off any form of warmth he had towards her when they were in the class environment.

He was his usual grumpy self, impatient with everyone and snapping at anyone who was talking when he was.

She had a free period to end her day, and she used it to finish up some assignments for her other classes as well as work on one of the extra ones he had given her. It was about half done, but she knew to prioritise her other class papers over this one.

She made her way to his office again, and this time it somehow meant more. She felt the weight of entering his space, and it was because of how he seemed to change around her.

That icy demeanour of him melted just enough for her to see the genuine man that lay beneath it.

She knocked, waiting for him to tell her to enter before opening the door. His outfit palette today was soft browns and beige, his glasses perched on his nose while his eyes gleamed behind them.

He looked at her briefly before nodding to the seat and turning back to his work, his expensive ballpoint pen twirling between his fingers. She stared at the bright yellow pen with a smile, noting how it was the exact opposite of his mood; bright, sunny, and cheerful.

She sat in the chair and realised that she felt less and less nervous with every moment she spent alone with him. She’d never felt uncomfortable around him per se, but his intimidating nature was a constant reminder that she couldn’t want him. Shouldn’t want him. But she did.

His jaw worked on a piece of gum, and he frowned as he adjusted his glasses and continued writing on whatever he was working on.

She decided to get comfortable, settling deeper into the chair, figuring he was deeply enthralled with his work. She eyed the bookshelf to her left and scanned his personal library.

She didn’t even realise that he was trying to get her attention, too focused on his book collection, searching for clues as to who he was. Who he was outside of this office, outside of his profession.

“Violet?”

“Hm?” She turned to face him.

He retrieved her assignment from under a stack of other ones he was grading. “I’m wondering why every assignment you’ve given me hasn’t been as good as these last few.”

Oh. Her brows raised. It was a compliment to her most recent work while putting down everything else she’d given him prior to these. She’d always had the drive and passion, but it was evident that something had changed.

“I guess I just felt more inspired. I’ve enjoyed these topics a lot and felt compelled to do them well.” She frowned. “I thought I’d done well with every other assignment, though.”

“You did—obviously, as I passed you. You clearly didn’t do them as well, however, hence my praise.”

“That’s very nice to hear, especially from you.”

His lips quirked at her sheer and utter adoration for him. She valued what he had to say, looked up to him, and the influence he’d had in the younger demographic of Ancient History.

“Well, you deserve it. You work hard, and you’re driven by your passion. That’s rare to come by.”

She could only imagine what he himself was like as a student however many years ago. Like her, he’d studied at Oxford, and after not too long in the field, had felt the need to come back but as part of the faculty.

“Thank you.” She replied, unsure of what else to say. She felt like she was being pinned to her seat by his searing gaze and she wriggled in it, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Help me with this itinerary for the trip.”

“The itinerary?”

“It’s mostly done. There’s a bunch of books and brochures here, if you see anything you’d particularly like to do, add it to the timesheet and make it work.”

She gawked at him like he’d grown three heads. Her? Help him with the itinerary for the class trip?

“Isn’t this your job?” She felt brave enough to ask. “Like, am I allowed to be doing this?”

“Yes it is, and yes you are.” His tone was so final that she didn’t feel a ribbon of unease lace through her mind.

She scooted forward so that she could use the desk, while he sat at the other side and graded papers. She scanned through the travel brochures and circled things she thought could be educationally beneficial, and eventually started going through the itinerary.

She loved planning and organising, and she wondered if he knew that. Maybe he’d picked up on how pedantic she was about her own class planners and thought this little job would be fun for her. He wasn’t even marginally wrong.

Over her work, she risked quick glances at him. Ones that dared to adventure over his posture, his stern, and concentrated expression. The way he chewed on the tip of his pen, how he would take off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He was so endearing and she found herself watching him more and more, getting lost in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

He was still grouchy and short with her when she asked questions, and she had smiled whenever he’d huff and grumble under his breath at whatever he was grading.

“You seem particularly melancholy today.” She observed softly, and his eyes flashed to hers before he placed his pen down and laced his fingers together, leaning forward on the desk.

“Am I always melancholy?”

“I think so.”

“And you’re always vibrant.”

As bad as his mood appeared, he seemed to enjoy her company.

She mulled over the itinerary that he’d drafted, editing bits here and there. She had a sprawl of books on his desk, scanning through top tourist spots and mapping out the best walking routes.

There was a moment where he took a break, stretching his arms high over his head with a soft groan she almost missed. She hadn’t even realised that she was looking at him, enamoured and intrigued by his display of exhaustion when he always seemed so energised.

“Stop staring.” He stared at her over the frame of his glasses, his head tilted down.

She blushed, looking down at the itinerary. “I’m not.”

“I saw you.”

“Sorry.”

He watched as she focused a little too hard on a not-so-interesting book and he smiled. He’d called her out, as if he hadn’t been staring at her, too.

She hadn’t realised the time, unknowingly lost in her work for almost two hours. His pager beeped and he checked it, flipping his pen between his fingers as he read.

He reached over, grabbing the itinerary, pretty much complete, and nodding as he scanned it. He could see the depth and excitement that she had added to it and he suppressed a smile.

“I’ll go over this tonight.”

“I added a few different things there. Restaurants, as well as some historical sights and important cultural landmarks.”

He nodded, impressed. “Very good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“As for the next assignment, I want that tomorrow.”

“We fly to Naples tomorrow.” She frowned,

“I know.”

His icy and cold guise returned. He was her professor demanding something, and she could hardly turn him down. The paper was half done and lucky for her, it wouldn’t be difficult to complete.

“Okay.” She nodded, standing and gathering her things. “It’ll be all yours tomorrow.”

He didn’t respond, turning back to his work. She’d learned to decipher his cues, and took his silence as her own time to leave. She had a lot to do before their trip and she took one last glance at his solemn expression before leaving.

As she closed the door, his eyes went up to the door. Then to the chair where she’d been sitting. His office now felt like a void of who he wanted to be. Influential, important, inspiring. All things that he rarely felt while he was stuck in an old classroom all day.

But then students like her came along. The ones alight with wonder and fascination that wanted to have his success touch them. They weren’t in his class simply because it was a requirement. They were in his class because they were eager to harbour influence of their own.

She spent all night going over her pack list, finalising her outfits and essentials for a couple of nights away. She dotted back to her paper often, wanting to have it complete. She struggled to wrap up her conclusion, and no later fell asleep on her bed, surrounded by her books and topic materials.

Her alarm went off, shrilling deep in her skull. She groaned, killing the sound and stretching. Checking the time, she noted that she only had a matter of hours until she needed to be at Heathrow airport.

She was in some type of trance as she got herself ready. She showered, ate a light breakfast, and readied her luggage. At the last minute, she grabbed the assignment that needed to be done and shoved it into her purse.

After securing a seat on the train, she got to work on it. Tossing back and forth between an abundance of different conclusions. Why did preservation matter? Why were artifacts archived how they were? How were stories of history pieced together?

All such basic questions to her whirring mind, and yet she struggled to encapsulate her thoughts in the unique way that she knew he loved. With a sigh, she put it away. She’d finish it on the flight.

After she arrived at the airport, she headed towards check-in, her small turquoise suitcase in tow. That's when she saw him, and she stopped dead in the hustle of travelers.

She had never seen him so paired back. He was dressed far more casual than his dress pants and sweaters and suits. But he was no less fashionable. She eyed his black, loose fitted pants, the worn vans on his feet, and yellow-stained sunglasses. As loose as his pants were, his t-shirt was anything but. A graphic white one that hugged him and left little to one's imagination.

And tattoos. Lots of them.

She'd only ever seen the cross on his hand and the inklings of something on his wrist. But she could see that his full arm was covered with them. Smatterings of ink, personal depictions, and dedications.

The ship on his upper arm rippled as his muscles flexed, his designer suitcase in his hand.

He looked grumpy, like always. However, the yellow sunnies over his eyes concealed some of his irritation.

His eyes found hers and he peered at her as she approached. She smiled, shy and suddenly nervous about this trip, and moreover, him.

She noticed that the rest of her class was already present, and Charlie wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he greeted her. Professor Styles' mouth twisted at the physical touch between the two before clearing his throat.

No one was paying attention until he stuck his fingers into his mouth and released an ear-piercing whistle, quieting down and facing him.

“Roll call. Be quiet.”

It took some time for every student to settle down, far too excited and chatty to keep quiet enough for him to call out everyone's name to confirm their presence.

As he called out Violet’s name, she raised her hand and watched his expression sour at Charlie's arm still wrapped around her.

Not wanting to be inappropriate, she slowly stepped away from Charlie, who was far too concerned with scoping out the other girls who were around.

They gathered, waiting in line to check in per Professor Styles’ instructions. He handed out the finalised itinerary that they had both worked on, and now everyone had their own copies. She wanted to approach him, but he was busy keeping everyone organised while the other teacher talked at the front desk.

It wasn’t until they were on air side, that he found her in line for coffee and pursed his lips.

“Did you finish the assignment?”

“Almost.”

He raised a brow, his arms crossed and accentuating his muscles and how inked they were. “Almost?”

“Yes, almost.” She affirmed, not missing his look of surprise at her tone, but she continued. “I’ll finish it on the flight.”

“We’ll be in the sky for five hours, Violet. I expect it to be done, so don’t get distracted.”

She almost snorted. What could possibly distract her on a flight? And right on cue, Charlie popped up next to her with a cheeky grin.

“How’s it hangin’, sir?” His grin widened as he stared at their disgruntled professor.

“Fine.” He grumbled, staring Charlie down before looking at Violet. “I want it before we land.”

As he sauntered off, Charlie released a sharp breath. “You’d think he’d crack a smile considering the fact that we’re going on holiday.”

“Of course, you’d see this as a holiday.”

“I heard our hotel has a pool.” He bumped his hip against hers.

She gave him a fake smile, worming out of his hold. “Can’t wait.”

Half way through the flight, she’d found herself polishing off her paper, just how he ordered. The conclusion was strong and unwavering, her skill and passion shining through each word.

She’d managed to avoid sitting next to Charlie, instead, she was next to two girls she enjoyed talking to, although they were a bit quiet during class and outside of it, it was so different. Everyone seemed to busy themselves with studying the itinerary for the trip, bubbling with excitement.

She read over her paper twice, thoroughly proud of it, and she couldn’t wait to have her favourite professor read it. She knew he was a few rows back, and stood, remembering that he wanted it before they landed.

Standing with a stretch, she made her way towards the back, scanning the faces for his, and finding those expressive eyes almost immediately. He was sitting alone in a row of three seats, and she wondered if he’d just gotten lucky or paid for three tickets.

His attention had been on a book before he’d found her eyes. She didn’t get the chance to study the cover of it before he was tucking it away and staring up at her expectably as she came to a halt by his row.

“Yes?”

She held up the completed paper with a look of triumph. “It’s done.”

He felt at odd sensation of pride wash over him. To be fair, he had given her quite a lot to do. And for her to finish it within such a small frame of time, while maintaining the immaculate value of her work, was an incredible feat.

So, he actually smiled. It was small but big enough that his dimples indented his cheeks a little.

“Attagirl. I knew you could do it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his praise and his smile. Two glimmeringly beautiful facets of him that she’d never seen, especially the latter. Fuck, his smile. So soft and serene and dreamy. It was verging on heartbreaking that he didn’t wear it more.

“I hope it’s good.”

“Knowing you… it will be.”

“You’re too kind.” She said bashfully.

He flipped through the assignment, nodding his head with pursed lips. He opened his mouth to say something, gesturing to the empty seat next to him before the sound that accompanied the lighting of the seatbelt signal interrupted him.

He sighed, adjusting his glasses before buckling up. “You better get back to your seat.”

She nodded, unaware that it took everything within him to not invite her to sit on his lap.

They landed in Naples in the early hours of the afternoon, and were shuffled onto a waiting bus towards their first destination of the trip. Professor Styles had done a roll call and had already lost all patience with the loud group he was stuck with.

Their luggage was sent to their hotel, where they’d be turning in after their activities. They were given a tour of the huge city. The driver pointed out landmarks as they passed them.

The expanse of the ocean was pristine cerulean, invitingly crisp, the shore framed with exquisite buildings that crawled up the steep cliffsides. It was bright. Awash with blues and yellows and pinks and reds. Hues that depicted such a lively city so well.

Violet practically had her face pressed up against her window in the bus, admiring how glorious it was. It was densely packed with culture and entertainment and history. She was itching to get out and explore, smell the fresh air and taste the experiences on her tongue.

Their first tourist spot was the National Archaeological Museum. Professor Styles separated his students into two groups, one with him, and one with the other teacher.

To her delight, she was with him, and by the look in his eyes, he was just as happy about it. Maybe he even planned it that way. What he didn’t plan on, however, was Charlie sneaking into his group so that he could be with Violet. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the flash of irritation that almost blinded him.

The museum was phenomenal. Showcasing historical artefacts that had been unearthed by many. There was an abundance of exhibitions, which they were led through by their professor.

She took photos on her disposable camera, one of which had him in the frame, and she wouldn’t realise until she got her film developed.

Following the tour of the largest part of the museum, he turned to face the group. He had noticed Charlie being a nuisance, especially towards Violet and he made a point to ask her about it if he got her alone. He cleared his mind, trying to remain professional but struggling when she was staring at him like she was.

“Archaeologists and historians work together to teach the world about history. About daily lives, historical events, and structures. They excavate the history, and we tell its story. I hope you all feel inspired by what we’ve seen today because I want you to choose a piece and include it in your assignment.”

The group murmured, gathering their notebooks and fluttering around the exhibitions, attempting to find one that could merge in with the topic seamlessly.

Violet found herself on the second floor of the impressive building, completely enamoured with how beautiful it all was. Rich with history and chronicles of the past.

She found a detailed model of what Pompeii had been in its prime. Detailed, intricate and precise. Her eyes wandered the tiny streets where people walked thousands of years ago.

It changed her perspective, seeing it all laid out in front of her gave it so much more weight in her heart. She felt the passion and interest wrap warmly around her like how the Italian sun had kissed her skin; new, inviting, and blissful.

She took a few pictures of it, wanting something to refer back to just in case. As she stared through the lens, she felt a presence behind her. Her professor, stood tall and intimidating, though his expression was composed yet warm.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” He nodded towards the model.

“It’s amazing.” She breathed, sharply aware of him standing next to her.

His shoulder brushed hers and she froze. She wanted his touch. Wanted him to out his hands on her and praise her. She hadn’t stopped thinking about when he reached out and brushed her hair away in his office.

“Is he bothering you?”

It appeared that their minds were in two separate places. Her, desperate for his attention, and him, desperate to keep Charlie’s attention off of her.

“Who—Charlie?”

“Because if he is,” he continued, frowning. “He can do his assignment back home.”

And perhaps knowing that she and Charlie shared a night together, sending him away wouldn’t be strictly for her benefit. He felt protective over her, and yeah, he was jealous. He wanted her and he hated to admit it. But seeing her here, in this city, in this room, felt like the final nail in the coffin.

“It’s fine, I can handle him.”

If only she knew how much he saw the depth in that statement.

“Okay, just let me know.”

“Why?” She was perplexed. His tone was almost… territorial. It was more than a teacher protecting his student.

“Because I want to take care of you.”

Her eyes fluttered as they found his, and she felt a rush of arousal spark between her legs at the sheer hunger on his face and in his tone. Fuck. This couldn’t happen. He was her professor.

This was far from appropriate but the way he was looking at her like he wanted to devour and savour her at the same time was driving her wild.

She didn’t know how to respond, but let him take her hand and lead her towards some shelves in the back of the room. They housed artifacts from Pompeii, preserved from excavation sites.

She barely had a chance to look before he was leading her on towards the Gabinetto Segreto. She frowned, halting.

“What is this?”

“My favourite exhibition.” His eyes told her nothing but mischief, and he made sure the coast was clear before ushering her in.

She was taken aback. His favourite exhibition threw all inhibition out of their minds. Sexually graphic paintings, carvings, molds, and statues. Incredibly erotic and lewd.

He watched her in the room, thankfully empty of any other museum visitors. She approached a particularly sensual painting, framed in deep marble, a woman on top of a man, both in seated positions.

“What do you think?” He asked her, his veins thrumming with life and excitement.

Her cheeks were warm, and she was very aware of his gaze on her in the room full of sexual depictions. “I think… people have always had fascinations about bodies. About sex. It’s humanising to see it depicted so early in human civilisation.”

Was it normal for that to turn him on so much? She was clearly feeling the intensity of the room and yet was in her mind enough to give him an answer that reflected her passion for his class.

“Mm.. and how does it make you feel?” His voice was so low as he came to stand behind her.

“Feel?”

“To be surrounded by ancient erotic art. How does it make you feel?”

She let out a shaky sigh, unsure of how to answer. She felt lightheaded and heated and knew the only way to quell it was to have some attention between her legs.

He picked up on her silence, thinking maybe she couldn’t gauge what kind of response he was wanting. “I’ll start. It makes me feel like recreating every piece of art in here.”

Her eyes widened at his confession, feeling so shocked that he would go in that direction but so pleased that he did. Was he just as deep in lust for her as she was for him?

“Me too.” She breathed out, and he swore lowly.

“These were all excavated from Pompeii and Herculaneum. They were kept in brothels, homes—anywhere, really. They had an appreciation for erotica and displaying it. So they allotted this space in the museum. For a time, they only allowed men to come in here and view it.”

She could listen to him talk for hours, and then she realised that she did. And loved every millisecond of it. How his lips caressed words, how he spoke a few octaves lower than most, but it was still a milky and warm voice that rang through her ears.

“Lucky me.” She smiled. He wondered how she truly felt. Aside from the obvious, she found it almost funny to think that people thousands of years ago were fortifying lands and yet found a common ground in sexual art.

He huffed out a laugh and her heart just about stopped at the noise. “Not as lucky as whoever had this hanging on their wall.”

He pointed to a large painting of a couple embracing, his skin golden against the woman’s fair skin. The preservation was amazing, aside from slight erosion of the colour and some cracks near the bottom.

“It’s very intimate.” She observed. It was—like everything else in the room—sexual. But the strokes of paint were soft, their hold on each other even more so. Love. Care.

He wanted to know if someone had held her like that. So gentle, savouring every inch of skin. Worshiping her like the piece of art that she was.

After a filling dinner at a nearby restaurant, they all found themselves at their hotel. They gathered their room keys, and each partnered up to share a room for the trip. As Violet and her professor were the last two standing in the lobby, they eyed each other awkwardly.

“This has to be a mistake.” He frowned, staring at the concierge. The other teacher was staying close by with family. Harry was sure that he’d requested his own room in the hotel. This couldn’t be happening. “Is there another room available?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

He sighed, clenching his jaw. He wanted to hole up in his room and order expensive wine and listen to music. Now he had to face the reality that he’d be sharing a room. With her. Maybe he’d sleep out in the hallway.

Instead of making a scene and taking out his frustration onto the person at reception, he stared at Violet, whose eyes were wide with what appeared to be apprehension.

“I can find another hotel to stay at.” He said lowly to her.

“With the number of people you’re caring for, I would advise against that, Sir. The nearest hotels are also fully booked.”

Harry glared at the concierge. The concept of staying in the same room as one of his students was a harsh pill to swallow. A jarring sensation. He was being faced with one of his deepest fantasies but now all he felt was that he was a creep.

He sighed, and met her eyes. “Come on.”

She blinked away her surprise and followed him. She could see how tense he was as his knuckle jabbed the button to call the elevator. She bit her lip and stared at him.

“Professor—”

“I swear to you I demanded a separate room.”

She frowned, seeing the worry in his eyes. He thought she saw this as something he had planned out. He felt sick about it.

“It’s out of your control. They clearly messed up the bookings, it’s fine.” She assured him, although her nerves were shooting through the roof. She had no idea how the night was going to go, or the rest of this trip, for that matter.

They arrived at their room and he took a deep breath before opening it. It was lavish, thought she expected him to book nothing less. A small seating and kitchen area, and a set of double doors that must have led off to the bedroom.

He located his duffel bag dropped off by the staff and rummaged through it. “I’ll take the couch.”

She stood awkwardly in the room. “Oh, okay.”

He took his toiletry bag, sauntering into the en suite in the bedroom. “Just gonna shower.”

Her eyes followed him, his tense body language putting her on edge. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. Once she heard the shower turn on, she quickly changed into her sleepwear, soft silk pants, and an old t-shirt.

To keep herself busy and keep her anxiety at bay, she began working on her assignment for the class trip. Taking notes and jotting down observations she’d made. She was cozied up on the window seat, overlooking the city with a soaring heart.

He came out, his hair dripping, wetting his white t-shirt. The grey sweats on his bottom half left her speechless. Now, this was the most dressed down she’d ever seen him.

“We should get some sleep.” He said, eyeing the notebook in her hand.

“Yeah, o—of course.”

“And don’t worry I… I’ll see about getting another room tomorrow. Surely they’ll have a free one by then.”

“I don’t mind.” She blurted out, worried that he thought she was seeing him as utterly inappropriate. “It’s not… I mean, it is kinda weird but this whole mix-up is out of our control. We’re adults. We’ll make it work.”

“You’re right.” He huffed out a breath, seemingly relaxed at that. They could make it work. It was going to be a mission to shelf his attraction to her, but he kept putting on his professional hat, even though her wandering gaze was warming him up inside.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She breezed past him, and he could smell her sweet scent.

“Good night, Violet.”

She paused at the door, about to close them when she turned back to look at him with a sultry expression that made his dick hard.

“Sweet dreams, professor.”

Suffice it to say, his dreams were anything but.

“Listen up! I’m not in the mood to repeat myself.”

It had been an eventful morning and they hadn’t even left the hotel yet. They were piled into a bus, and Charlie was sitting next to Violet, chatting her ear off.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off her professor's disgruntled expression. How she’d seen more of him than any student had before.

How he’d hidden his smile when she offered to make him coffee that morning, how his voice was far deeper after sleep.

How he’d effortlessly slipped back into his cold and disheartening demeanour after he’d gotten dressed. A pair of grey slacks and a light blue dress shirt. She tried to brush it off and pretend it didn’t bother her, but she wanted his warmth and all he gave her was soft glimpses of it before he shut her out again.

“Remember what we are here for. Keep your minds open and explore this unique opportunity. I won’t be supplying material when we return to class, so gather everything you need today. Is that understood?”

The students nodded, hearing him loud and clear. Violet checked that she had her notebook and disposable camera on hand, feeling inspired to make this assignment her best one yet.

Pompeii was everything she had dreamt of and everything she never knew she could experience. It was a phenomenal sight to see. To really walk the streets which had been wandered down before. Where lives had fled as Mount Vesuvius unleashed its wrath, coughing up poisonous ash and spewing deadly lava.

She trudged through the fallen streets, imagining what it must have been like. Danger looming. Harrowing screams. Grasping for valuables as they fled.

Her disposable camera seldom left her hands, and the click of her taking shots set off Charlie’s impatient streak in him.

“Let me give you a personal tour.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“I really want to focus on this.”

“Come on, Violet. You’ll have way more fun with me.”

She sighed as he attempted to take the camera from her hands. “Charlie, please. It was one night and it won’t happen again. Let it go.”

“Why the sudden switch up?” He frowned.

“I just… I want to focus on passing this assignment, okay?” And she was bored of him. Another, far more intriguing man has eclipsed her every thought.

“Fine by me. I’ll show someone else around.” He sauntered off and she glared at his back.

She rolled her eyes and tried to focus on the task at hand. At being in such a beautiful place, struck by such a disaster.

The class had all spread out by that point, and she fought to stay by herself. She worked best that way, alone with her thoughts. No pressure to fake her interest in anything aside from the historical site before her.

She sat at the edge of a small field, framed by stone arches and fallen buildings, crumbling walls. She began to sketch out the scene before her, listening to music on her Walkman, lost in her work as Duran Duran blessed her ears.

She felt the presence of someone sitting next to her, and she looked up, surprised to see her grumpy professor. His mouth moved as it formed words and she frowned, pulling her headphones off.

“I’m sorry?”

He looked amused, albeit annoyed that he had to repeat himself. “I said, I didn’t know that you could draw.”

She smiled sheepishly, staring down at her drawing. “It’s just a rough sketch. I’m a visual learner, so it helps, gives me something to refer back to if I need it.”

“It’s pretty good. You could incorporate it into the assignment.” He seemed impressed.

“That’s allowed?”

“Only because I said so.”

She bit her lip to hide her smile, although he saw her cheeks become a stunning shade of pink that he associated only with her. Like saturated carnations or his favourite ice cream, boysenberry with strawberry swirls.

She was worming her way into his brain like a rotten apple and he could only sit and watch the decay.

“I just called the hotel. They’re still fully booked—”

“Last night wasn’t horrible.” She said. “We both kept to ourselves and slept well. Unless you want a turn in the bed tonight.”

It was his turn to blush now, and she didn’t miss it.

“The couch is fine.” He grumbled, embarrassed.

She wanted to tease him. To tug that soft side of him out. But a large part of her knew he’d reprimand her for it. Use his authority on her. Not that she’d mind, but it wasn’t a way to get through to him in the slightest.

“What’s on the itinerary, then?”

He shot her a look. “You should know, considering you did it.”

She laughed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like what I chose. If I remember correctly, I put us down for an afternoon of relaxing at the beach and self-appointed activities.”

“I never did ask what self-appointed entails.”

“Well, it could entail a number of things. Exploring the city, working on papers, grading papers,” she leaned in towards him. “Anything, it’s just downtime.”

“Downtime.” He parroted.

“That’s a completely foreign concept for you, isn’t it?”

He stifled a laugh and nodded. “Any and all free time I have is spent on you,” he cleared his throat, “my classes, I mean.”

“Maybe take some time to relax today, then. Even if just for a few hours before dinner.”

“I’ll try.” He sighed, staring down at her Walkman. “You always carry that thing around.”

He was a lot more observant of her than he was ever going to admit. And they both picked up on it. He stared at her red and white sundress for a time, wondering if she’d worn it just for him to agonise over. He had been all fucking morning. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

As she opened her mouth to respond, he stood with a gruff, “I need to check in with everyone else. Keep working.”

She did, the sun browning her skin, her tiny sundress the only thing he could think about as he talked with other students and showed them around.

She ventured Pompeii some more, taking pictures, penciling quick sketches, and let her eyes wander over to him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. But he always was, and they both looked away quickly.

Charlie seemed to forget all about the rejection she’d given him by the time they were at the beach and lounging on sunbeds. Violet had taken a dip, but was mostly into reclining in her little yellow bikini.

She slipped her shades up onto her head as she took in the scene before her. Most of the students had joined them, a few had ventured into the city.

But it was a rarity any of them got to see the sun and sand like this, so they practically melted in the experience, vowing to never leave.

She let her eyes scan the beach, her book tucked into her side on a dog-eared page. She enjoyed people-watching. Seeing her fellow students thrive under the golden sun, and seeing families make memories.

And Professor Styles. Stretched out on a sunbed far from everyone else. Yellow swimming shorts, bronzed skin, decorated in tattoos, both arms flexed as he stretched them above his head.

Her mouth dried at the sight. How toned and prominent he was. She could easily imagine herself sitting on top of him, mapping out each tattoo, licking, kissing, biting. Admiring.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, he looked up, a lone finger sliding his shades down to look at her. And lip quirked up on one side in a subtle smirk that made her toes curl. So, he got especially cocky when he was half-naked.

She tried to turn her attention back onto her book, but it was an effort to think of anything else other than him. She craved his touch, even though all he had given her was a whisp of it in his office.

They were dangling themselves in front of each other, temptation and lust awry, waiting for who would take the plunge first.

Following a game of cat and mouse, trying to catch each other’s eyes, it was time to head back to the hotel and get ready for dinner at a local restaurant.

She beat him to the room, grabbing a quick shower, almost ready by the time he entered the room.

He could smell her sweet perfume as he entered the room, the air humid from a long shower. She was sitting at the vanity in the bedroom, swiping mascara on her wispy lashes.

Her eyes met his in the mirror, disappointed to find him dressed in a t-shirt, those same yellow shorts allowing her to see his tattooed thigh.

“How was your downtime?” She asked him.

He came up behind her, still watching each other in the mirror. “It was good. Although, a girl was gawking at me the whole time. Didn’t think my body was that atrocious.”

He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, and so she played along.

“I’m sure atrocious was the last thing on her mind.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe you should have asked her.”

“I thought about it.”

She held her breath. “Did you?”

“Mm. Thought about inviting her over to my sunbed… asking her what had captured her attention. I knew what she was thinking but I just wanted to hear her say it.”

“Say what?” She breathed out. His eyes were so intense. Molten and demanding, holding hers with such a ferocity that she felt it between her legs.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now Violet, when have I ever given you the answers to a test?”

She released a shaky sigh, tilting her head away from him, allowing him access to her neck.

He smirked at her eagerness. “You’re a bad girl. Finish getting ready.”

“Then stop distracting me.”

He growled deep in his chest, taking a step away from her. “Don’t talk back, Violet. Ever.”

He sauntered into the bathroom, locking the door with a click. She fanned herself with her hand, quickly slipping on a white summer dress and heading downstairs to hang with her classmates.

Everyone was unaware of the fact that she and their professor were sharing a room, and she cringed to think about how they’d react if they found out.

The attraction they had for each other was undeniable, but she saw it as harmless flirting. Until… he touched her. Until he took her into that erotic room. Until he told her not to talk back. She was fucked.

He led them to the restaurant, pointing out architectural phenomena, and different historical sites for them to make note of. He looked so pretty that it hurt. Light pink dress pants and a matching blazer, a white singlet underneath. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his curls falling down on his forehead messily.

She lagged behind, and he noticed, subtly falling back, She was stopping to take pictures of different buildings, in awe of the structures and local ways of life.

He slowed his pace, keeping close to her just in case. She wasn’t overly warm towards anyone else in the class, and it made him feel glad in the sense that she focused on his class, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she had many friends outside of class.

Perhaps that’s why he was so protective over her. How territorial and irrational he became towards her. How enamoured by her he was. Buy her words and her confidence, whether in corduroy pants or little sun dresses.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear relaxed, but he was crawling out of his fucking skin. He needed her. Wanted her. Had to have her. He just didn’t know how to do so. He sucked at talking to women, but he knew how to fuck.

Just getting them on their backs was the hardest part for him. He had never struggled with men, but women terrified him for some reason. Especially women like her.

He kept watching her like she’d drop a clue behind a step on the cobbled street.

And when he noticed that one of her sneakers had become untied, he felt his heart begin to race.

The group was further ahead, and he fell into step beside her, grabbing her hand to garner her attention.

She turned to look at him with wide eyes, her camera clicked, and as she spun around, his face fell perfectly into the frame. But the two of them were too focused on his touch to notice.

“Your lace is untied.” He explained simply, his touch gone.

She looked down, “oh.”

“Let me,” he knelt down on the ground, lifting her foot up onto his raised knee. She gasped at the feel of his fingers wrapped around her ankle. How they softly caressed her skin before they got to work tying her lace.

His ringed fingers were a wonder to watch. So precise and nimble. She felt her cheeks tinge pink as she stared down at him on his knee for her. And when he looked up, it was almost as if he was in awe. Worshipping.

His hand slid up her ankle, cupping her calf and sliding higher. And then he dropped his touch, realising how inappropriate he was being.

“Thank you, professor.”

His jaw clenched slightly before he stood, adjusting his suit jacket. “We should catch up with the others.”

They were the last to enter the restaurant, and the universe pushed them together once again with two remaining seats. Next to each other.

Her leg was still burning from his touch and she wanted to experience it over every inch of skin on her body.

It was a wonder she could even focus on eating. He was so powerful in his presence. Even when she wasn’t looking at him she could feel him. This tar-thick sensation next to her, begging to be pulled in, begging to have her attention.

He ate his meal in silence, drinking a cider, offering bits to the conversation here and there.

She was a nervous wreck. She could smell his cologne. How it was sweet and spicy and sultry all at once.

At some point, restless and on edge, she crossed her leg, her foot accidentally nudging his ankle. He shot her a look through the corner of his eye, his mouth on his drink.

She blushed, apologising to him under her breath. But he moved his leg towards hers a little before retracting. Intrigued, she extended her foot out again, letting it trace up his leg.

“Careful.” He warned lowly.

She stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Or what?”

“You don’t want to start trouble with your professor, do you?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I do.”

“I pegged you for a good student, Violet. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I’m a good girl where it counts, professor.”

“Then be a good girl and go settle the bill. We need to get an early night.”

He handed her his card, watching as she stood and went to pay. He eyed her thighs at the hem of her dress, remembering how soft she’d felt as he tied her shoelace. How lulled her expression became when she was teasing him under the table.

He thought about how it felt to be kneeling before her. How if he leaned forward just a little, he’d be able to see up her dress. See the colour of her panties. Flick his tongue out and get a long-awaited taste.

He skipped the dessert menu because he knew nothing would satisfy the sweet tooth he had. Only she could quell the craving.

Fuck. He couldn’t share a room with her tonight. Not unless he wanted to fuck her against every surface of it.

The walk back to the hotel was tense for the two of them. They tried to avoid each other, she tried to spark conversation with other students, while he conversed with the other professor who was probably triple his age and insufferable to talk to.

He felt especially creepy when he realised the most interesting conversations he’d ever held had been with a student of his. One who was ten years his junior.

The other professor split off, heading to his family home while Harry was in charge of leading everyone back to the hotel.

He was back to his short and curt self, subdued by his own thoughts. She eyed him, wondering if he regretted getting so comfortable with her. Because she sure as hell didn’t regret anything.

Everyone parted ways, heading to their designated rooms, while she lagged behind, completely on edge.

Their eyes met as they leaned on opposite walls in the hallway. Waiting. Gauging.

“I should find somewhere else to stay tonight.” His voice broke through the tension.

Her heart dropped and she started to panic at the prospect of him leaving her. “You don’t need to do that.”

He sighed, torn. “Violet…”

“I promise I’ll behave. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He watched her, internally debating. Could he behave? And would she stay true to her word? It was later in the evening now, and he hardly felt like trudging around the city until he found an available room.

He sighed again and nodded, entering the room wordlessly. She followed after him, watching as he stripped off his jacket and ran his hands through his hair.

She slipped into the bedroom, and as she went to close the door, decided to leave it slightly ajar. An invitation.

He sat on the couch, spreading his arms along the back. His mind was a jumbled mess, the only clarity were liquified swirls of violet skies that gave him a sense of constant.

His eyes found movement in the gap of the bedroom door and his mouth went dry. Violet pulled her tiny white dress over her head, her matching white bra and panties revealed to his hungry stare.

She pulled her hair free from its ponytail, the yellow ribbon falling to the ground in a tiny silk puddle.

She bent over, unlacing her sneakers before pulling them off. He knew he had to look away. But he couldn’t. He was staring directly between her legs. The softness of her hips and her thighs. His stomach clenched.

Reaching back, still facing away, she unclasped her bra and let that fall to the floor carelessly. He internally begged her to turn around. But he knew that if he saw her bare tits it would be game over. He already felt like he was going to finish in his pants.

And then she stepped out of view, appearing moments later in a white silk camisole and matching shorts. He looked away quickly as she exited the bedroom, trying to hide the fact that she’d put on that show just for him.

“Can you please help me?” her sweet voice caressed his ears.

He still didn’t look at her. “With?”

“My necklace.” She came to stand in front of him. “It’s tangled.”

He eyed the dainty jewelry around her neck and wondered how his hand would look in its place.

“Do you ever take yours off?” She nodded to the cross pendant dangling from his neck.

“No. It stays on. Always.”

“Even when you—”

“Turn around, Violet.”

She giggled and turned while he stood, his body shaking with desire. She scooped up her hair out of the way, a few strands tangled in the clasp of her necklace.

“You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Teasing me and acting oblivious to it.” His fingers began to unwork the tangles of her necklace.

“How do I tease you?”

“Well, the little show you just put on is a great place to start.”

She smirked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He growled and brought his hand around, cupping her throat and encouraging her to lean fully against him.

“Don’t make me out to be a fucking pervert, Violet. Prance around in your tiny little shorts all you want, just as long as you know that you’re doing so for me.”

“We’re not in the classroom anymore, professor. No need to boss me around.”

“Brat.” He said through his teeth. “I’m always the boss.”

She gasped out in the authority in his tone, at the sureness in his actions. His hand around her throat just like she’d imagined a million times while he taught a class.

“I know you daydream about me.” He whispered in her ear. “I can see your mind wander when you’re sitting at the front of my class. You think about all the things you want me to do to you.”

“That’s a bold assumption.” She continued to tease him.

“Mmm.” He rumbled in her ear. “And I bet you’re wet right now.”

“You’re wrong.” She whimpered.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She stepped away, staring up at him. “H—How?”

He feigned a bored expression, shoving his hands into his pockets with a sigh. “You’re a smart girl, Violet. Figure it out.”

All confidence she had was shredded away by his condescending tone and she released a shaky breath. Prove it? She sat down on the couch, finding his eyes willingly.

Fuck. This was everything the both of them had been daydreaming about. Releasing the tension that had been building between them ever since she started his class.

He would have stopped her if she didn’t want this. And she wouldn’t have given him a show if she didn’t’ want it. She slipped a hand down her shorts, her eyes lulling while his widened at the scene.

Her fingers found her core, throbbing and wet already. She whimpered, trying to look unfazed but he could see how much her legs were shaking.

“That’s a good girl. Let me see.”

She retracted her hand from the silk of her shorts and displayed her fingers, glistening with her excitement.

He grabbed her wrist, investigating the wetness. He tutted. “Now, what are we going to do about this, hm?” His eyes met hers and she melted.

“I don’t know.”

His gaze hardened on hers. “Part of your studies have been based on problem-solving, Violet. I know I’ve been doing my job right. The question is: have you been a good student?”

“Yes,” she whispered, shaking.

“Is that so? Then tell me how we solve this problem that you have.”

“Problem…?”

“You’re sitting in front of your professor, dripping for him. Tell me how we can fix it before you make a mess.”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Touch me.”

“Raise your voice when you’re speaking to me.”

She cleared her throat, mildly embarrassed. “Touch me.”

“Touch you? I could fail you for this behaviour that you’re displaying. I can’t think of one reason not to.”

“Please,” she whispered, “please, touch me.”

He sat on the coffee table opposite her. “I can’t risk it… we can’t—”

“Please. Just once, it’s all I will ever ask of you.”

He stared at her, his expression disgruntled. Like she was causing him actual annoyance by asking him such a thing.

“Fuck it.”

He took her fingers past his lips, saturated with her wetness, and sucked on them. Cleaning them and tasting her. Heavenly and sinful.

She gasped as he did so, unable to even wrap her head around what was happening before his lips met hers, his hand on the nape of her neck.

“Kiss me.” He ordered against her and she obliged, whimpering as his tongue found hers.

He stood and leaned over her, pushing her back into the couch. He pulled away momentarily, as much as it pained him.

“You want this?”

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss him but he shook his head.

“Words, Violet. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you.” She assured him, glad to finally have the words leave her mouth.

“Show me,” he breathed out. “Show me how much you want me.”

He sat back on the table again, leaving her panting and shaking while he slipped his glasses from his face. She bit her lip, finding every ounce of courage that she had before slowly slipping her shorts down her legs.

His eyes never left hers as she got herself comfortable, and he untangled her shorts from her ankle, his cock hardening further when she giggled playfully.

She spread her legs a little, her hand finding its way back between them. He hissed as she played with herself, and he could hear how wet she was as well as see it.

He leaned forward, his hands on her thighs. “Are you this wet for me during class?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Are you lying to me?” His hands smoothed up her legs and he could feel how hard she was shaking having his touch on her.

“No…”

“Mm...” His hands found her sensitive inner thighs and her legs spread further, enticing him in. “I think you’re lying, Violet.” His thumb brushed her sensitive clit and she gasped. “I think…” A little more pressure. “You sit in my class, fantasising about me.” Small circles. “And then you go home, get yourself off and imagine that it’s me doing it.”

“Please—”

“Am I wrong?”

“Fuck,” she cried out as his fingers built up speed and pressure. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“I never am.” He smirked, pulling her so that she was laying down flat on the couch.

His mouth found her cunt in a deep kiss and she rolled her hips up towards him, his hands cupping under her thighs to keep her where he wanted her.

Her back arched at the sensation of his mouth. So wet and hot and skilled. She’d known how good he was with his mouth, as she’d listened to him talk for hours. But this was something else, and she knew she’d never look at his lips the same again.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he moaned against her, loving how sweet she tasted. How she was shaking and he’d only just gotten started.

His tongue found her clit in delicate flicks, sucking and nibbling it until she was gasping.

The straps of her camisole fell down her shoulders, and her tits came into his view. Her nipples were pebbled from the cool air and he reached up, pinching and squeezing them with deft fingers.

All he could think of was the fact that she was lightyears better than anything he’d viewed in Gabinetto Segreto. But he knew that before he’d seen her naked.

His ears were ringing with how good she felt and he couldn’t wait to feel her wrapped around his cock. God, he’d grasp onto the feeling forever. He could already see himself begging shamelessly at her knees for a pity fuck.

Her hands came down and entwined with his curls, determined to make a mess of them. She had spent far too many hours admiring the perfect shape of them and the precise middle parting.

He groaned as she pulled them, his eyes finding her blissful expression. He ate her like he’d never had a satisfying meal in all his years. After tasting her, it felt like he hadn’t. And nothing would ever suffice again.

She brought Gabinetto Segreto fucking shame.

He gave her a finger, testing the waters with what she could take. Her body went lax before tightening up in pleasure. His jaw dropped at how warm and snug she was.

“Oh, pet. You’re going to get me addicted to this pretty little pussy, aren’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up in desperation. The way he was talking to her. Encouraging her and talking her through it. It was all so surreal.

“Professor…”

“What?” He pulled away, annoyed to have her interrupt.

“It’s okay.”

He frowned. “What?

“I—It’s okay. You don’t have to…”

“Don’t have to what?” He was getting pissed off now.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What, make you come?” He frowned further, bewildered.

“It’s hard for me to do that.”

His eyes softened and he crawled up her body, his hand cradling her jaw tenderly. “Has anyone ever made you come, pet?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Just my vibrator.”

He pouted a little. “That’s a shame, isn’t it? I bet you get so creamy… so relaxed and soft.”

She could feel his hands massaging her body, but she felt lightheaded with how he was talking to her.

“I can make you come, pet. As many times as you want.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You don’t have to do a thing. You just lay back and let your professor look after you, okay? You deserve it after all of your hard work. I’m very impressed.”

“Really?” Her eyes were wide.

“Really. Daddy’s going to reward you, now. Would you like that?”

Her eyes lulled the second that word fell from his mouth.

“Yes.”

“My good little pet.”

His mouth found her core again, reveling in her taste and the feel of her. He helped her relax enough that she could simply feel the pleasure and nothing else. She had been so stuck in her mind but now all she could fathom was pure bliss.

He gave her two fingers, massaging a spot inside of her that she had not discovered before. It was overwhelmingly intense. Pressure and sensitivity and euphoria.

“Relax, Violet. Can you do that for me?”

She focused on keeping relaxed, but almost laughed at his request. How could she relax with his head between her thighs?

She must have done a good enough job because he moaned, closing his eyes and kissing her cunt almost romantically.

He wanted to watch her. To guide her and talk her through it. He came up, licking inside of her mouth, sucking on her tongue.

You’re doing so well.

So sweet for me.

You’re milking my fingers, pet.

Breathe, that’s it.

He could tell she was close and he was watching her in awe. Watching her write in pleasure that only he had ever been able to entice from her. He was far too in his head to feel smug about it, but he knew he’d come back to that later.

“Oh…”

“That’s right,” he coerced. “You’re gonna come all over my fingers, I can feel it. Fuck, do it on my tongue instead.”

He swiftly placed his mouth on her again, paying all of his attention to her clit while his fingers worked inside of her. She was pulsing and it drove him to take her harder, moaning against her.

His arm tensed, the veins in it prominent, snaking around his muscles. He couldn’t fathom why the men before him hadn’t got her here like this. He was addicted to everything about her. Her body and her mind. Her jaw dropped in pleasure.

His mouth latched onto her clit ferociously, and the intensity of it knocked her over the edge of bliss. She writhed around, crying out as it overwhelmed her. He pinned her down, helping her ride the wave.

“Thaaat’s it, pet. What a good girl.” He soothed her as she came down.

She gasped out, grabbing his wrist as he slowly fucked her with his fingers.

“Fuck.” She smiled, meeting his eyes.

“How did that feel, hm?” He checked in, his mouth and chin drenched in her. He kissed her inner thighs, pulling away.

“So good.”

“Yeah?” He came over her. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

She barely had time to register what was going on before he ripped her silk camisole from her body, discarding it behind the couch.

“Hey!” She yelled out. “That was expensive.”

“Daddy will buy you another one.” He promised, his eyes falling over her bare breasts. “Fuck, look at you. Gorgeous little thing.”

She moaned as he gripped her breasts, toying with her nipples. He spat down on her chest, wiping his spit around her tits with a devilish grin.

“You’ll let me do what I want, won’t you, pet?”

“Yes.” She whispered, meaning it.

“The next time you’re in my class,” he pinched her nipple. “I’m gonna make you sit on my lap. Make you read out your paper while I play with your clit and fill your cunt with my cock. Make you cream all over me while everyone watches.”

“Professor—”

He stood abruptly, ridding of his shirt and pants, allowing her to see him as bare as she’d ever seen him. His inked torso and arms. His strong thighs and toned tummy. She felt her insides melt and warp.

He grabbed her hand and placed it over his clothed cock, hard and throbbing.

“Feel what you do to me?” He asked, wrapping his hand around her throat to hold her still while her hand felt him. “I get so hard every time I see you. I can’t fucking stand it.”

Her mouth was watering and she shifted forward, kissing along his length. He growled lowly, feeling his cock twitch and his balls tighten.

“You’re a naughty pet. Come to my class in those tiny dresses because you know I think about pinning you against the wall and slipping inside of you.”

“I wish you would.” Her eyes were wide, staring at his.

He tilted his head, gripping her hair in his fist, his rings catching. “You do, don’t you? Little whore.”

She nodded eagerly, whimpering when he pushed her face forcefully against his crotch. He leaned down, his fingers finding her pussy, slick from her orgasm. He hummed, gathering her wetness and spreading it along his covered cock.

“Messy girl. Clean me up.”

“Make me.”

He glared darkly, his nostrils flaring at her disobedience. He gripped her hair hard enough that tears formed, and he moved his hand to pinch her jaw until she opened it.

“Tongue out.” He barked and she slowly did as she was asked. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, clean me up or I’ll fuck my fist and make you watch.”

He spat on her tongue and she hummed, swallowing before leaning forward and licking off her wetness from his crotch. His brow furrowed at the sight. His feisty little pet.

She sucked on the tip of him over his boxers, and he whimpered before pushing her away. He quickly rid of his boxers, impatient. He had to be inside her. He prided himself in his ability to last but that seemed to be irrelevant when it came to her. Just looking at her naked and pouting was enough to set him off.

She reached for his cock, hard, a bead of pre-come on the tip. He throbbed in her palm, so hot and ready for him. He ran his hands through his hair, his body tingling.

She took him past her lips, her eyes fluttering. His head fell back on his neck as she took his tip, sucking and flicking her tongue against the slit. He encouraged her, his hand tangling into her hair.

“Take more.” He rasped, moaning loudly when she fit half of him in.

She used her hand to work on what she couldn’t fit yet. He was losing it, spitting down on his cock to get it nice and wet before forcing her to take all of him.

She choked on him, her eyes watering as she gagged.

“Fuck,” he gritted his teeth, his abs flexing as he pushed his hips forward.

Tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara. His thumb wiped under her eyes, smearing it further. He wanted to destroy her.

He took her throat in slow, rolling thrusts, allowing her to breathe and watching when she tapped his thigh when she needed a break.

She picked up her pace, and his knees buckled. He attempted to pull away but her hands wound around his thighs, holding him in place.

“Pet,” he whined, “you gotta stop.”

She eyed him mischievously, moving her mouth harder. Faster.

He swore, grabbing her hair and practically ripping her from him. He threw her back and slapped her cheek before gripping her jaw and pressing his face against hers.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?”

She giggled, her cheek stinging, but it fuelled her arousal.

He clenched his jaw, holding hers harder. “You promised you’d behave.”

The feral rage in his eyes made her gulp. She did not fear him, per se, but feared what he’d do to her as punishment. Feared that she’d like it too much.

She wanted him warmed up to her. But she wasn’t sure that he was capable of that.

“I am behaving, professor.”

“I don’t think you are.”

She frowned, pouting. His expression softened, loving how she looked all vulnerable when she did that little face.

He cupped her reddened cheek, looking at her wet eyes and swollen lips from his cock.

She opened her mouth to protest, to apoligise, or to plead. She wasn’t sure.

“I—”

“Shh.. sit back and take my cock, pet.”

The willingness in her eyes melted him and she fell onto her back, pressing her legs together with her knees bent and swaying them side to side.

He took a step forward, fisting his cock with a shaky breath. He had fantasised about this for so long and now that it was finally happening, he couldn’t believe it.

“You look so good.” He complimented, his voice low. His hands ran down her body, feeling every inch and every curve. He settled over her, hitching her leg high over his hip.

“So do you.” She breathed out, her hands running down his sides, feeling the muscles flex.

“You were made for fucking.” He spoke his thoughts, running the tip of his cock between her slick folds. “Made to take me. Made to be used by me.”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up. “Take me. Use me.”

He kissed her, pushing his hips forward a little. She made a soft sound as he pushed inside of her, able to take the tip of him before her body tensed.

“You’re so big.” She whimpered, wide eyes staring up at him.

“You can take it.”

He held her in place, pushing forward and breaking through her tightness. She gasped as she took half of him, and he reached down, rubbing her clit to lessen the sting.

She mewled softly, her body relaxing as he slowly took her. He pushed all the way in, and he swore quietly as she rippled around him.

“Attagirl.” He praised. “I knew you could do it.”

“Oh… my god.” She moaned, her eyes watering at how fucking good he felt. He was so big that she felt him everywhere. He was pressed snugly against that spot he’d found not long before and the pressure of it was blinding.

It was the fact that they definitely should not be doing this that made it feel so much fucking better.

“I’m going to move now.” He informed her, retracting his hips until only his head remained inside of her. He slammed back in forcefully and she cried out, her back arching.

He didn’t stop. He screwed into her relentlessly, pounding her down into the couch. She couldn’t get a single breath in with how hard he was fucking her. His touch never left her clit, until he wrapped his arms around her and stood, holding her up as he fucked up into her.

She bit into his neck, his skin warm and damp beneath her. Her nails embedded themselves into his shoulders, trying to hold on as he took her.

He pressed her against the wall, his head dropping back with a growl. She watched him in awe. The sheer power he exerted on her body was blinding. He was so in control, so feral and animalistic but in control nonetheless.

She had never had someone fuck her like this. He was confident in the classroom, but having him even more so while he was naked and inside of her was something she never knew that she’d experience.

She gripped onto his hair, near on sobbing as he took her. “Professor…”

“Harry.” He gritted out, his curls a mess.

“H—Harry, please.”

“Please, what?” He breathed out, grunting. “Tell me—fuck—tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

His hand wound around her throat, his gaze searing on hers. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, pet.”

“My clit.” She whispered out. “I need it, please.”

“Fuck, say my name again.” He huffed, staring at her desperately.

“Please, Harry. I need it.”

He groaned, pushing two fingers in her mouth until she gagged, getting them wet. Then he connected his fingers to her clit and rubbed in delicious circles. Her toes curled, her hands raking down his shoulders and sides as he took her.

“You like that?” He checked, knowing full well she loved it with how tight her pussy was around him.

She nodded, whimpering as he slapped his hips against her.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Your pretty little cunt is squeezing me like a fist. Dirty girl letting me use you like this.”

He placed her on her shaky legs, slipping down to his knees. He aided her in placing a leg over his shoulder, opening her up to him. He latched onto her core with a loud moan.

“Taste so good.” He said between licks, her core trembling around his tongue. “Love feeling how my big cock is destroying your pussy.”

He ate her, addicted. He held her up as her body became weak with pleasure. His fingers found her core, fucking her with two fingers while his mouth sucked and nibbled and licked her clit.

She looked down at his face, seeing his eyes closed as he ate her. He was enjoying it just as much as she was. Her professor was on his knees for her.

From tying her shoelace to eating her out in a matter of hours.

He loved being able to taste his cock while he ate her. Able to taste where he’d claimed her and destroyed her. His dick twitched, missing the warmth of her. Wanting to spread his cum inside of her and watch it leak out.

He grabbed her, bending her over the window seat. She stared at the view of the ocean as he stared at the view of her.

“Spread your legs.” He ordered.

She bit her lip, looking back at him. She pressed her legs together and wiggled her ass.

He glared, slapping her ass. “Whore.” Another slap, to which she cried out, clawing at the window. “I said open your fucking legs.”

He kicked her legs open forcefully, spreading her cheeks and staring at her dripping cunt. She moaned as he massaged her skin, his thumb dipping to press against the tight opening of her ass.

He spat down on it, massaging gently before he bent his knees, guiding his cock back to her drenched heat.

She held back her pleasured cries as he fucked her, his skin slapping mercilessly against hers. His thumb played with her ass, watching as she moaned and flowered open to him. His to use.

“Good girl.” He praised. “Take me so fucking well. You love having my big dick fill you up, don’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips back against her thrusts.

He slapped her side. “Don’t you?”

“Y‑Yes, Harry!”

He grabbed her by her throat, pulling her back while he kept fucking her. His lips found her ear, biting on the lobe.

“Call me daddy.” He growled. “Call me daddy and I’ll let you come again.”

She could feel the swirls of it blooming and she swore, her walls clenching around him.

“Please, daddy.” She whimpered, loving calling him something so naughty. “Please let me come.”

“You need daddy to rub your pretty little clit? Huh?”

“Fuck, please, yes I need it.” She gasped, her tits bouncing, drawing his attention to them. He played with her nipples. Twisting and tugging before his touch veered south, finding her clit with an expert touch.

She exploded around him, her body growing lax against him. He allowed her to melt onto the floor, not stopping his thrusts as he helped her through her orgasm. He screwed her on the ground, grunting animalistically in her ear.

They were sweaty messes, writing and naked on the floor as he took her, feral and obsessed. He lifted her ass up, taking her harder and harder, his hands gripped tightly onto her hips.

She clawed at the carpet beneath her, trying to hold onto anything that would keep her steady against his intense thrusts. The sheer power he had was astonishing.

He picked her up, sweeping knick-knacks and a lamp off a side table with a smash, throwing her against the newly cleared surface. Her chest was pressed against the cool wood, and he quickly began fucking her again.

Her knees betrayed her, and he spun her around, sitting her up on the side table. She wrapped her legs around his waist, their bodies pressed tightly together, sweaty and needy.

He pinned her back to the wall, his hand around her throat. They watched where they were connected before locking eyes, moaning before kissing with an intensity that made her toes curl.

He couldn’t get enough of her. His body was wound so tight with arousal, the feeling of finally having her driving him wild.

“Fuck,” he panted, “so fucking good.”

She purposely pulsed her cunt around him, his head going dizzy.

“St—god, you have to stop.”

The expression he wore was hardly an incentive to stop, and she did it more.

“Stop, stop.”

Pulling back, much to her dismay, voiced with a displeased moan, he stepped back from her. He grabbed his cock in his fist, playing with himself while she sat there watching. Desperately writhing, her chest heaving.

She whimpered as he fucked himself harder, the pleasure displayed clearly on his face. She shuffled forward a little, wanting to be the only form of bliss he felt.

He glared. “Did I say that you could move?”

“No, but—”

“Do as you’re told or I will come all over my hand while you watch.”

She bit her tongue, settling back into place with a pout. He chuckled lightly, his stomach tightening at the sight. He wanted to come so fucking bad but he wasn’t done with her.

“Get on all fours, pet.” He instructed, his fist still wrapped tight around himself.

She slowly lowered herself to the floor, on her knees in Infront of him before getting on her hands as well, on all fours just like he asked. He smiled proudly at her, watching her wait for the next instruction.

“I want you to crawl to the bedroom for me.” He purred. “Slowly.”

She bit her lip, hiding her smile, trying to remain unfazed. She did as he asked, just as she always had. Always wanting to impress him. He stalked behind her, watching the way her hips were shaped, watching how her ass swayed as she crawled, watching how her hair fell over her shoulders. She looked back to meet his eyes before picking up her pace a little.

He felt something spike in his bloodstream, and he ran after her, grunting as he picked her up and threw her onto the bed.

“You’re a fucking tease.” He chastised her as he followed. She crawled away, curled up at the top of the bed. “You want to run, pet?”

She shook her head, a mischievous smile lighting up her face as he narrowed his eyes.

“I better make sure you stay put.”

She watched as he went out to the lounge, fishing through his duffel bag before heading back to the bedroom. He began wringing a sage green tie between his hands, eyeing her.

He made his way towards her, gauging her expression. “Give me your hands.”

She did as she was told, mesmerised.

“Good girl.”

He tied her wrists up, not too tight, but tight enough that she wouldn’t slip out. Then he tied them to the white iron headboard, her arms stretched up. He couldn’t resist reaching down to bite and lick her nipples until she was whining and begging him to take her.

“You want this cock?” He shuffled forward until he was kneeling over her chest.

She nodded eagerly and he gripped the hair on top of her head. “Open your mouth. Taste your pussy on my cock before I give it to you again.”

She opened, her eyes fluttering when he pushed his dick into her mouth, all the way, not letting her adapt to his size. Just letting her taste him. Feel him.

“So pretty with your mouth full, aren’t you?”

She choked, her eyes prickling with tears that threatened to roll over before he pulled away. And then he was flipping her over, pulling her up onto her knees and elbows and fucking her so brutally that she feared the whole hotel would hear.

He made noises that were animalistic. Feral and unhinged. He fucked her so hard that neither of them could see straight. Hitting her so deep she could feel it in her throat.

He wasn’t sure he could last much longer, and he wanted to hold her. He moved her to her side, spooning behind her. He lifted her outer leg up, slipping his throbbing cock into her drenched heat with a deep, rolling moan.

His fingers found her clit again, and she reached back to kiss him messily. Their tongues met, wet and unashamed. He wanted her to come again, and his cock screwed into her relentlessly while he drew tight circles on her clit.

“Come for me.” He panted. “Please. I need it. Give me another one, all over my cock. You can do it, pet.”

She whimpered, her brow furrowed as he growled, taking her harder than he had all night. Her orgasm shattered her before she knew it was upon her.

She keeled forward, and he wound his arms around her to keep her steady while she came, crying out his name so loud that he had to give her two of his fingers to bite down on.

He swore at how tight she became when she climaxed, her walls pulsing and clenching around him. He fought to hold on, but his body was overworked and she felt so fucking good.

With a whine, he untied her hands and gently moved her onto her back, slipping inside of her with a long sigh. He took her, deep and slow and with a fluidity that had her legs shaking.

He wanted to come staring into her eyes. With her legs wrapped around his waist. His name was on her lips as he pounded into her relentlessly.

“Will you tease me again?” He asked her, his eyes searing.

“Yes.” She gasped out.

“You’re my little fuck toy.” He was a mess. “Mine to fuck and fill with my cum. Reward you for your hard work in my class. Make you come every time you pass.”

“All yours.” She breathed out, desperate to get him there. “I’m your dirty secret, professor.”

“Can’t fucking stand how you make me feel. Filthy fucking girl. Tell me you want my cum.”

“I want your cum, professor.”

“How bad do you want it?”

“I need it so bad. Please, fill me up with it.”

He growled out her name, burying his head in her neck and biting on the skin. His orgasm rocked through him, and he fucked her through it, not caring when she cried out in discomfort.

He wanted this. To fill her. Claim her. Stake his mark seeing as she’d sought after him. Teased him and poked until he gave in. He’d rip every one of those sundresses off her for a taste of how magical she was.

Like visiting all seven wonders of the world and discovering millions of new ones all at once.

***

I hope you enjoyed x

#harry styles #harry styles filth #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #hslot #harry styles fanfiction #hes #smut #hs

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billfarrah · 9 months ago

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One of my favourite things about Young Royals and its characters is how much it romanticizes being utterly ordinary.

Stories often focus on characters who are exceptionally good at something or who are more ambitious than the average person. Even in the teen shows I’ve watched, these young characters always seemed to have their dream career and dream university figured out at a young age and I could never relate to that because I had none of those things figured out as a teen. It always felt like pushing this narrative that teenagers need to have their entire lives figured out before their brains are even fully developed.

None of the characters in YR seem particularly ambitious and in fact, the main character’s journey is a story of anti-ambition. When he is introduced to Simon, it is precisely Simon’s ordinariness that draws Wille to him. Sure, Simon is a very talented singer, but it’s never indicated within the series that he has dreams of being a pop star. It’s just something he likes to do. Simon is motivated by very ordinary things - he wants to do well in school so he can have better opportunities for himself, he wants to take care of his family, he wants to hang out with his friends and play video games. He’s a dedicated student but not necessarily valedictorian. It’s not his ambition that Wille is drawn to but his integrity and kindness and warmth.

Wille had a chance to be extraordinary - to be Sweden’s first gay king - but being extraordinary has never been Wille’s ambition. Wille’s ultimate goal and dream within the series’ narrative is to be free to make his own decisions and live his life as he pleases. He just wants to kiss his boyfriend and get drunk at parties and live his life one day at a time instead of spending every moment of his life preparing for an inevitable future he doesn’t want. In the end Wille is extraordinary not for his ambition, but for his bravery to reject the expectations thrust upon him and throw himself into the unknown and see where it takes him. Wille had a whole future in front of him as crown prince and future king - he’d never have to work a day in his life and would have people advising his every move - and he rejects that. This lack of ambition is not portrayed as a moral failure, but a necessary step in Wille’s journey to personal self-discovery and fulfillment of his own desires. His desire right now is simple - be free with Simon, but that doesn’t mean his dreams end here forever. He deserves peace and tranquility after all the trauma he’s been through without having to worry about where or who he’s gonna be in a few years. He deserves time to just exist.

None of the characters know where they’re going when they drive away at the end. We as the audience don’t know what careers if any these characters will find themselves in, but that’s also not important to this story. The series is saying you don’t have to have everything figured out when you’re 17 and you don’t have to do something just because your parents think they know what’s best for you and even if you don’t know exactly what you want to do, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the agency to know what you don’t want.

It’s not a moral failing to want the simple things in life or to be ordinary, and I love that Young Royals celebrates that. It shows the beauty in simple moments that feel revolutionary to a person - touching the person you love, forgiving someone and making amends after a hardship, whooping with your friends in a car as you drive into the summer and celebrates them. Ultimately these are the moments that make life worth living.

#young royals #idk if this even makes sense but I had to get it off my chest

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starstruckgoateepuppy · 4 months ago

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looking like anne hathaway

sana x f!reader

sypnosis: you have christian parents and dont support your choices but oh how could you not love someone like minatozaki sana

warnings: death, abuse, suicide, homophobia, not proofread

genre: angst

wc: 1.4k

a/n: i read too many poetry on tiktok with sailor song 🙁 this one was actually inspired from a poetry “bloom.” by wavespoetryinc on tiktok pls read it ❤️

dating a girl as a christian girl yourself has to be the most painful experience ever. having to be super careful is not a choice.

you knew it was the biggest sin and secret you have ever done to God and your parents. you felt so guilty but it just felt so right dating her.

sana, your beautiful girlfriend has always cared for you, not caring that you were christian. you saw her in the rightest way, a way that no one else could see her.

she was so special to you, you couldn’t even imagine your life without her.

however, every good thing must come to an end.

you sneaked out in the night going to meet your girlfriend, sana, to take a walk. you have done things like this many times, you were basically a master at it.

your parents are extremely strict and would never let you leave the house without them knowing. you wished it was easy to go out, you wish life was easy. you just wanted to live your life freely, not be like a caged dog.

sana was the opposite of you, carefree and loved by everyone. no one would have guessed that she was into girls. every man that tried hitting on her failed. oh how they wished they were you. but sometimes you wished you weren’t yourself.

at first, you wouldn’t admit at all that you liked her. “just a small feeling, just friends it should be fine. the feeling will go away.” you thought to yourself.

it didn’t, it didn’t go away.

now you are doing the most unimaginable sin that you could ever do, dating a girl. you can’t imagine the looks on your parents faces if they ever find out you were dating, not just that but a girl.

somedays you begged for forgiveness, you wanted to have a less heavy heart. the guilt was creeping up to you, but you just couldn’t let go of sana.

you were carefully walking with sana around the neighbourhood. hoping no one from your church was nearby and recognised you. for sure they would tell your parents.

you two acted like the closest friends ever. sana understood your situation and felt horrible for you, that just made you fell more in love. you wanted to kiss her, wanted to give her all of your love.

you looked her in the eyes, she looked in yours. you admired every feature of her, no wonder you loved her at first sight.

you bought something for you and her from a convenience store nearby and sat down at a park to eat together. you couldn’t explain how much you adored her. she was so careful with you, you were like clay in her hands. both of you loved each other very much and would always do in every universe.

“click” the sound of sanas camera as she took a picture of the both of you eating a club sandwich with a bottle of sweet tea.

“y/n! this picture is soooo cute! im gonna post it on my instagram” you put her hand on her lap, ruining her enthusiasm which you wished you never had to do.”sana, my love…” “ oh. right..”

you wanted to ask her that it’s alright and she could post it with her favourite songs. “i know baby, im so sorry. one day..”

you hated the fact you had to hide your relationship with her, you hated to hide the fact that you are in love with her. having to hide your love and feelings for each other.

“don’t apologise lovely, i understand” you saw her faint smile in the shallow light. so many things you wanted to do with her, without being scared.

most of the times you felt guilty for sinning, times like this, you felt like she should leave you, like you don’t deserve her. you wanted her to leave, you wanted her to have a better and happier relationship. not to struggle hiding your relationship with her from the world because of you and your parents.

her parents weren’t supportive of their daughter being a lesbian too. they didn’t like it that much but yet sana took the risk and dated you, you don't deserve her.

you went out with her once again, this time your parents knew. they were furious, raging with anger, you knew how much they would hurt you but that didn't matter. the most hurtful thing they could ever do is take sana away from you. no matter how many bruises they would give you just wanted to be with sana.

at night once again, you were in the park with sana eating. the tracking app they put on you brought them standing right in front of you as you cuddled sana. the fear in your eyes as you started thinking about everything they would do to you. sana was terrified for you too. she knew how your parents were and was scared of losing you.

you wanted to kneel down in front of your dad blazing with anger but you couldn’t. your mother grabbed your wrist tightly, letting you fall down and forced you to get up. you couldn’t look behind you as you walked away with your parents from sana, but you could hear the screams and sobbing from her. you wanted to tell her that it's okay and she doesn’t need to worry about you. but you just couldn’t bare to see her face anymore.

weeks passed, you were never seen by sana for weeks. no text, no message. she cried for days and days, she felt helpless. she wanted to go to your house and take you out of the abusive household, she knew if she did it would just get worse.

nothing seemed right anymore to sana, she stared laying on the grass for days staring at the moon for what seemed like hours.

the moon didn't seem as bright, but she knew you were staring at the same one. she felt guilty for leaving you alone. what could she do? she started imagining the things she used to do with you, she missed you. she remembered when she kissed you for the first time, catching you off guard and looking around frantically for church members.

on your side, slaps and punches were made. bruises formed on your bare skin. cuts and scars appearing, reminding how your parents wanted to kill you. all of that trauma and abuse but you still loved her.

“buzz buzz”

a notification on sanas phone.

“hey, can i come over?”

it wasn’t like your usual happy messages, but sana didn't think too much about it, just happy you were okay, or so she thought you were.

“yes! please come baby”

you wanted to tell her not to call you that anymore, but you loved it, you missed how she called you with that adorable voice.

you were in front of her door, waiting for her to open it. when she opened the door, her eyes started welling up and she cried hard, you didn’t look like yourself, you looked like someone that she would never want to see. how you were covered in bruises and cuts, she cried.

“baby…”

“im sorry i never let you get the ability to post us and letting us hold hands and do all those things in public-“ “y/n, don’t please baby the last thing you should do is apologi-“ “no, please let me say what i wanted to tell you for forever. i love you, and you will be the only person that i will love this much. you are the only person that has made me feel like i have shown my true self. all the love, kindness, joy you have given me. i love you so much and if i could say it on the top of a mountain i would.”

she sobbed, she looked into your eyes, wondering why you were saying all this. you could see her confusion, you wiped her cheek with your thumb. “ baby i love you, and in all of the universes ever existing, i loved you and only you. but this just won't work out in this universe. i love you, im sorry” you couldn’t bare seeing her cry, you turned your back on her and left. she screamed, she wanted to run to you but her legs felt weak and numb. she didn’t know what you were gonna do.

after a week, she was at the burial of your body. she wanted to stop everything and get in with you but she sniffed and shed tears. everyone there was crying, she was crying the hardest. she loved you, but you couldn’t love her.

#starstruckgoateepuppy #twice sana #twice #sana #minatozaki sana #sana x reader #wlw #twice x reader #twice x y/n #kpop gg

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year ago

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Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it.

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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firemenenthusiast · 3 months ago

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—“autumn”

jann mardenborough x fem!reader

summary: how many anniversaries could we actually get through ?

warnings: angst. read at your own risk

a/n: this has always been my favourite type of trope so rest assured, im totally fine and so excited to have written one myself (yippee😆)

“But you stuck around when I was down. And I'll owe you all my days”

anniversaries.

anniversaries is such a pure concept. a reminder of the exact day the paths of two stray souls intersect, a reminder for the beginning of a story, a reminder that maybe the universe isn’t pawning off of human misery afterall. jann loved anniversaries, he loved them so much so he went beyond his way to remind you of the day the paths of the stray soul within the both of you intersected. every single year, without fail would he plan something just to get to spend time with you, just to get to see you, in any way possible.

jann loved reliving the day he swore he was gonna spend the rest of his life with you, eventhough the two of you had just met. if he was to be offered the chance to be there again, in that park, bumping into you, he would snatch it off the offering hand so no one else would get there before him. again and again, no matter how long he’ll be stuck in the loop, no matter how much it’s violently clawing away every inch of his being. he would choose you, every. single. time, in a blink on an eye.

conveniently, today’s the anniversary of the day a really tall curlyhead made you drop the fresh pastry that was just handed to you by the nice cart uncle whom you saw almost every time you were strolling through the park. it was a major setback of your day, and you were close to erupt chaos of rage in the middle of the park seeing your pain au chocolat rolling on the ground helplessly, covered in dirt. at that time, the pastry seemed to be the only thing that could save you from a mental breakdown from a hell of a day you had just went through. so when a silly nerd decided he was gonna practise walking for the first time in his life and bumped into you, you felt like smacking him in the back of his head. if only you could actually reach it.

conveniently, the same silly nerd felt really bad about the whole situation, so much so he insisted on getting you a new one from the nice uncle’s cart. but this story would’ve ended right that moment if the nice uncle had more to offer. aparently the filth indulgent pastry on the ground was one of the few last ones he had to carry. it was in the evening after all, nobody were actually looking forward to some flaky, buttery goodness at that time. you were ready to accept everything the universe had planned for your misery that day, to just drag your feet home with slumped shoulders, tired eyes and tastebuds yearning for what could’ve been your sitting-by-the-fountain snack. and you did, but not without the silly nerd’s offer of getting you one the next day, as a repayment of his crooked steps that were the cause of the tragedy to the french, which of course, was the pastry on the ground.

conveniently, when you walked through the park the next day, on the same path you do every day after work, you saw the silly nerd again. only this time he didn’t look so silly, because in his hands were already two pain au chocolats, beautifully wrapped with a sheer paper, just in time for your arrival. it’s like he knew exactly when you were gonna come, and it’s like he knew that you weren’t gonna stood him up on that offer. in reality, it was nothing like that. he couldn’t get the nerves out of his system, and he almost bleed out his bottom lips from biting on them too hard in anticipation on whether you were gonna come.

he had every right to think that after the awkwardness and the clumsiness he displayed the day before, you were gonna think that he’s such a loser. and that such a beauty like you wouldn’t ever dare to even be in his presence ever again. he accepted that fact, he did. but he was willing to risk it, he was willing to appear stupid in that park again, holding two pastries in his hands like some kind of idiot. to his suprise, he got to see that pretty face again. the muscly organ behind his chest beat like it was gonna replace the pastry from the day before, on the ground, rolling in dirt. the universe owe him one for what happened, so what was actually displayed on his face when he saw you was a bright smile. a smile so bright that it was contagious, so bright that it jumped right onto your face too.

the two of you spent the rest of the evening by the fountain, enjoying the pastry together, realising that you enjoyed one another more than the deliciousness in your hands. the doors of your homes at that time welcomed the arrival of two people back home, separately ofcourse, noticing the obvious grins on your faces. it was almost cliche, and the story sounded like it jumped right out of a 90s romcom. only that those always end with a happy ending, making them the definition of cliche.

every thing seemed to be so conveniently sketched out in the story about the both of you, yet what actually made it all possible were the two hearts that tugged themselves towards each other, the willingness to make space for one another, and the fondness that was growing. yes, it all happened in a simple way, but what most people dont get is that simplicity is often overlooked. for the both of you, simplicity is what tied two beings together. loving you was simple for jann. it came almost like breathing for him, and it’s like he was dead for the first part of his life, before he met you. jann liked simple, but not as much as he loved you. if complexity is what he had to endure to keep you in his heart, to keep you close, then he’s willing to be demented for the rest of eternity.

jann had this routine he’d been doing since your very first anniversary, that he without fail would go over, sometimes even adding new things to the tradition he thought you’d like. walking down the pavement below his appartment, towards the cute little flowershop right beside the cafe, he already knew what he would get.

your flowers.

the flowers that he’d told you reminded him of you, and the flowers that he said represented you so well. he told you countless times whenever he’d get you those flowers that even with them beside you, you’re still so much prettier. and as corny as it might sound, you had to conceal the heat and red rushing towards your face.

jann had his way with words, particularly because they weren’t purposely formed to flatter you, they were actually a fragment of his love for you. sometimes he didn’t even realise that he was making you feel all giddy inside, and that his rosy cheeks were suddenly looking all kissable. at this point mrs. anderson from the flowershop already got the bouquet prepared for him, and it’s just the most convenient thing ever. one thing stripping him away from the whole routine is deliberately picking out each stem to build the bouquet. it was around your sixth anniversary had mrs. anderson realised that jann had been walking through her door around the same time of every year.

jann always came in to buy the exact same flowers in the fall, without fail.

so she stuck out and showed interest to the flowers jann had been getting all those years, asking about who was it for, what’s the occasion and all. she learned a lot about you from listening to jann without even having met you. that time when you actually walked into the shop with jann, you were slightly taken aback by how much the woman knew about you. jann was just chuckling in the background at the whole meeting, amusement clearly accompanying him. the both of you had become her favourite couple since then.

because of the season, the flower would become harder to obtain. it wouldn’t be found anywhere else accept mrs. anderson’s, that happened to be right at the corner of his apartment, just a walk down the pavement away. has anyone been keeping the word count on the word convenient so far ? even if the small shop around the corner didn’t carry your flowers, he would be walking to the final edge of the earth if he had to. what could you say ? jann’s a stickler for routines and when the routine involves making you happy, he’d be more than ecstatic.

on this exact date every year, your routine is to put on your best clothes, stand in your most gorgeous pair of shoes, and walk to the park where the two of you met that particular evening with your prettiest face. but that was never a problem. you’d sit on the creaking wooden hazel bench and wait for jann. only that on your anniversaries, jann wouldn’t knock your fresh pastry down to be eaten by the ground. the routine you two had for your anniversary was maybe corny and cheesy to some, but it reminds you of the silly nerd that looked like he was damn near picking up the little snack he’d accidently made you drop to lick all the dirt off of it before handing it back to you. you were forever grateful he didn’t actually do that, because you didn’t think you’d be coming back the next day to meet him in the same spot.

somewhere around your 12th anniversary, 8 years after your marriage did the park became no longer the strategic spot for your anniversary meet up, as it was no longer suitable for the picnic the both of you would set up to just bask in each other’s warmth amidst the breeze of autumn, intertwining your fingers till sometimes they get entangled. even though it was simple, yet it was the date you’d look forward to all year round. it was so special, that you promised each other that the tradition wouldn’t die down, away with one of you. every time you’d sit on the checkered blanket weighted down by the basket and both your figures, you’d talk about the future, and what the both of you hope for each other. it was nice, really nice. especially when jann would bring up the topic of having a mini you around the house, your cheeks would heat up and the cold would always expose the rosy tint away. he thought it was the cutest thing ever, which was why he swore he’d never stop teasing you about it.

it was also in that very park, on a walk the both of you decided to take on a random saturday did he first said that he loved you, to which you told him the same. it was pure, what the two of you had. you were so good for each other, a few fights ? ofcourse, but nothing could infiltrate the depth of fondness you held within your core.

it’s your 15th anniversary today, a huge number yet it feels so small. how fast time flies when you spend the entirety of your life devoted to each other. jann couldn’t help the bittersweet smile creeping onto his face as he walk on the fluffy grass, his hand swiping across the swinging wooden sign when he steps past.

“c’mon, lets go see mommy sweetheart” the little girl clinging onto jann’s large hand seemed to not have anything to protest, as she obediently arranges her new steps infront each of them, eyes focused on her little strawberry shoes.

seeing her so determined sends a tingle in his heart, how could a human this small be so precious to him ? how could a small human that he just met three years ago be so dear to him that if anything were to happen to her he’d ask the devil to lunge his sword right into his chest himself ? well maybe that’s a bit too graphic but he stands by his point.

“hey honey, we’re here” jann announces to you in a sing songy tone, to get the little girl’s attention and to tell her they’ve arrived at their destination.

crouching beside his daughter, jann holds her chubby arms to face her towards you, handing her the bouquet of your flowers the both of them had fetched from mrs. anderson so she could place it on the shiny sleek marble slab, engraved on it are your first and middle name, and ‘mardenborough’ at the end of them.

it’s true that the park was no longer suitable, as you had been forever eternalized someplace else.

“sorry we’re a bit late, someone insisted on wearing her strawberry shoes this morning instead of her favourite purple ones she makes me put on her every single day” jann informs, talking to the non-responding piece of stone with a warm smile, his large hands almost covering the entirety of the little child’s anterior. a pair of amber hued orbs stares back at him, obviously unamused knowing that her dad was talking about her.

“atleast that shows that she’s got fashion sense just like you. i mean, it couldn’t possibly be from me” the end of his sentence is accompanied by a soft laugh, before it slowly trails away. pulling a deep breath, he looks over to the little hand pulling at his curls at the side of his head. the same curls that is also on top of hers.

“hey you wanna tell mommy what we did yesterday ?” the girl nods at his offer, perking up to exercise her speech that has started to get really put together. jann’s more excited knowing that compared to last year, she gets to actually tell you what they did the day before, having only gained her speech earlier this year. they tried telling you last year, but all that came out were mumbles of the words ‘mama’ and ‘dada’. seemed to be all she knew back then.

“we went to picnic in daddy’s park, had pasty” she begins, which also seems to be the end too, earning a light chuckle from jann.

“it’s pastry, but you get it” he informs with a hand gesture, smoothing his hand over her head, the luscious curls moving back against his palm.

trailing his eyes across every inch of your stone, his hand reaches up to graze over the surface, dragging with his fingers the thin dust film. all he could do was smile, forcefully tucking away the heavy, deep longing painfully dragging down his core. the least he could do to show his love for you now is to raise his little girl to be the amazing person he once knew you were. he prays, every single day that he has what it takes to replicate such beauty from within.

the picnic tradition the both of you had changed now, for a slightest bit. instead of going on your exact anniversary date, jann now brings your daughter to the park a day before to spend the entire evening, reminiscing about you. it’s his way of keeping the memory of you always alive for his daughter. and the next day would be reserved to go see you at a totally different location, far away from the park.

seeing as his daughter wouldn’t get to grow up with the warmth of your love as much as he got to, he decided that this will be the way of him sharing what’s left of that love with her, by devoting this tradition to remind his daughter that her mother will always be looking out for her. jann wishes that the tradition of your anniversary will live forever, until the universe sends him the invitation of reuniting with you again, in a different universe.

a universe far away from the one where a love story is so conveniently sketched out, that it was too good to be true.

there’s a reason why two stray souls could only intersect, as they would eventually pass over each other at some point.

taglist: @r4vn @love-me-pls @radioloom @farleighlover @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @juniperhasfallen @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda @inglourious-imagines

divider creds: @rookthornesartistry

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euphoricfilter · 1 year ago

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seven days a week

Pairing: Genderfluid! Jungkook x afab! reader

Genre: fluff || smut || established relationship || non-idol au ||

Summary: seven days of loving you right, and you loving jungkook equally as much back.

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags/ warnings: Jungkook using he/they pronouns (which also sort of works an indicator as to what they present as each day throughout the story), just lots of fluff and domesticity, smut in the forms of: oral (f. receiving), pleasure dom! jk??, cumming in panties

Notes: if you don’t like it, don’t read it, this is all just a story!! as always, feedback is always encouraged, i love you and i really hope you like it!! :D

my main masterlist!! || you can also read it on ao3!!

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

Jungkook thinks they’re the luckiest human alive. That every morsel of glittery wonderful luck had been used in the creation of you, especially for them. And if Jungkook were to never experience such luck again, they could never find it in themselves to complain, because they would always have you, and that is all they could ask for.

Sometimes, they worry they love you too much.

Or that they don’t love you enough. Not in the sense that they don’t hold enough love within themselves to fill you with a lifetime of raw, unbridled love and adoration and that warm gentle feeling that cradles your heart ever so close to their own.

But rather, Jungkook worries you deserve so much more than what they have to offer.

And Jungkook is more than sure that you would have a few choice words you would say to them if they were to ever tell you this, because Jungkook has in the past. And your eyes had glazed over with tears—ever the sensitive little thing, and they had held you under the fluffy blanket on the bed, arms wrapped around you like you were to break if left alone. You’d both fallen asleep, both of your eyeliner smudged, cheeks tacky from tears, pressed together so tight that Jungkook’s cheek bones had ached the next day, though they wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

And it had taken a while for Jungkook to realise that you really loved them nearly as much as they loved you. Because as much as you told Jungkook over and over again, that your love was an endless pit, they would always love you that tiny bit more.

When they watch you before you wake up on warm spring mornings, where the sun slips through the gaps in the curtains that you forgot to fully close before bed, and you reach out for their hand after they’ve wandered to the bathroom and you’d woken up alone—Jungkook can’t help but thank the universe, and every single star they see in the sky of a night-time, that both of your worlds had collided.

Because there is no after you.

It will always be you and Jungkook.

Just pretty you, and pretty Jungkook and so much love between the two of you, Jungkook wonders if the stars that risk their existence and collide and to be together—even if that is the final moments of their existence—are jealous of what the both of you have.

Where you can touch one another with sensitive fingers that can feel every ridge of each other’s being, or soft lips pressed to warm skin and soft cheeks. Where you can talk to one another, and if an “I love you” isn’t enough then you can hold hands, or smile when you see one another like it were the first time all over again.

Or you’d make Jungkook a coffee in their favourite mug, or Jungkook would wash your hair with the shampoo you like.

Jungkook would pick up your socks that you leave by your slippers, because they know you don’t like the texture of the carpet. And you’d always clean away Jungkook’s make up on the days they have to rush out the door.

Or how every night, without fail, the both of you will share a sweet kiss. Often times a little minty from the toothpaste or slightly bitter from the wine you’d decided to share out of one glass.

Jungkook sometimes wonders if when the stars look down on the both of you wandering the park after dark, fingers interlaced and too many words caught on your tongue because you always had so much to say; Jungkook wonders if the stars wished they could swap places with you, so they too could experience such a strange phenomenon to the human heart that can only be love.

Because Jungkook would do anything if you asked in this lifetime and every lifetime you share after.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. monday

“Baby” Jungkook stumbles into the bathroom, smile pulling onto their lips when you tip your head back to meet their eyes from where you’re sat in the bath.

“Hmm?” you hum, watching as Jungkook pulls their shirt off, socks kicked off somewhere near your forgotten underwear. An impromptu decision to join you after seeing your cheeks rosy from the water, and a wave of ease that had fallen over your shoulders at Jungkook’s arrival.

The water almost splashes over the side of the tub when Jungkook sits down. Soapy suds clinging to your chest when you sit up a little better to make space for the both of you. And you don’t miss the way Jungkook’s eyes linger over your bare skin.

“Can I borrow your eyeliner?” Jungkook asks.

You nod, Jungkook’s fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull you into their chest.

“You know I don’t mind. What’s mine is yours” you tuck a piece of hair behind Jungkook’s ear, the ends curling up a little at the humidity of the bathroom.

“You said last night you wanted to wear a skirt today, so I got it out for you, and I thought I should swear that sweater you like me in, so we match”

You interlace your fingers, and Jungkook brings them up to their mouth, pressing their lips over each one of your knuckles.

“I think I changed my mind” you tell Jungkook honestly, almost struggling to straddle Jungkook’s lap within the confined space of the bathtub. Your hands feel tacky against Jungkook’s arm when you balance yourself, pads of your fingers dancing over the tattoos on their arm.

“What made that happen?” Jungkook murmurs, and you shrug. Because you suppose it hadn’t been much more than a mind that liked to pick you apart some days. Idea that hurt your heart more than you liked to admit to Jungkook.

“Want me to help you pick something?” Jungkook’s fingers take hold of your jaw, tilting your head upwards until their eyes meet your own, “The pretty shorts you like are clean. I folded them up in the closet for you.”

Your tongue wets your bottom lip, the faintest smile on your face, because how could you not feel better when Jungkook looked at you with eyes that would surely turn to hearts if possible. Eyes that held the galaxy with dainty stars and all your wishes tucked away between stardust and other pretty parts of the universe.

“Sure. Can I wear that shirt you bleached, with the sharks on them?”

Jungkook nods, fingers slipping to hold the back of your neck, pulling you in until both your lips meet. Your tongue prods at their piercing, fingers sliding over their shoulders and down their back. Your head tilts, something close to a moan licked up by Jungkook when their tongue slips past your lips.

Your chest stutters for a breath when the both of you part; skin a little warmer under Jungkook’s hands as they side down your body. Gentle tinkle of the water sloshing about as you fidget over Jungkook’s lap.

Jungkook, less affected smiles down at you, “Oh yeah” they begin, “The ends of my hair are getting a little dry right?” you watch as they brush his fingers through their hair, “I like the length though, so I don’t wanna cut it”

You hum, fingers raking through the ends of Jungkook’s hair, “We don’t have to cut that much off. I could try and do it for you if you’re scared about going to see someone”

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, “Have you ever cut hair?”

“Maybe once. I can look online for a good place that we can trust though?”

Jungkook presses a kiss to your cheek, and then another to your jaw, “I’d like that. I don’t mind if you wanna do it though. I trust you”

Your nose scrunches up at that, “What if I fuck your hair up? It’s so pretty” you frown, and Jungkook traces your bottom lip with their thumb.

“It’ll grow back. I can always tie it up too if it looks that bad”

“I’ll do a lot of research online, promise”

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. tuesday

You stop walking, Jungkook stopping a step in-front of you.

He looks over his shoulder slightly, “what’s wrong?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing.

You slip your fingers from between his own, stepping in front of him. You pay no mind to the old woman that tuts at the both of you, probably mad that you’d decided to stop in the middle of the sidewalk.

Your fingers tugging Jungkook’s over-shirt just down his shoulder a little bit, and you bite your lip at the fresh tattoo etched into his skin. Still a little red, skin so tender and tattoo so fresh.

You can’t help but bounce on your toes, wrapping your arms around his neck. You wince ever so slightly when your shoulder knocks against his chest, your own tender skin sending a shock of tingly pain down your arm.

“You like them?” Jungkook asks, and you kiss his cheek.

His fingers trace ever so gently over your shoulder when you’re stood before him again.

Your summer dress tickles the back of your thighs as the wind caresses your warm skin.

“I love them”

“You don’t think spontaneous matching tattoos are a bad idea?” Jungkook asks, tugging you closer to his chest when a large group of people wander by. You tuck a piece of hair that had fallen out of his ponytail behind his ear.

“I don’t think anything is a bad idea with you” you say, slipping your fingers between his own, pulling him down the sidewalk and out of everyone’s way.

You press a kiss to the little stars over the protective layer when the both of you settle on a bench in the park. Air catching in your throat when you catch sight of the scar that they surround, decorated so pretty you never want to look away.

You’d always believed Jungkook to be your lucky charm. Because everything just felt right with the two of you together. And you suppose with a dainty little shooting star forever drawn onto his skin, you would never run out of wishes when it came to your pretty lover.

Jungkook runs his thumb over so gently over the stars that decorates your skin just like his own.

“Baby” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s take a picture”

You smile at that, fingers tugging at the end of your hair, pulling that little bit harder at the knotted bits.

“Gentle baby” Jungkook soothes you, dropping his phone into his lap, his own fingers brushing your hair back from your neck, tucking the front behind your ear.

“How are we supposed to get our faces in?” Jungkook wonders, bottom lip pulling out in a pout.

He looks over at you, a smile tugging at his face when you beam over at him, your shoulders lifting until they touch your ears.

Jungkook’s head tips back in laughter, bringing his phone up so the both of you are in frame. Both of your shoulders squish together, plethora of stars looking like a complete galaxy as they dance from Jungkook’s shoulder over to yours.

Your nose scrunches up, and Jungkook can’t help the pretty smile that tugs onto his lips as he takes the photo.

“My love?” he says, and you turn your head to look at him.

You think it must happen faster than you can think; his hand taking a hold of your jaw, and then soft lips pressing against your own. Your eyes slip shut, Jungkook’s phone dropping into his lap after he’d taken another photo of the two of you.

“You fiend” you laugh when the two of you part, your tongue wetting your bottom lip, cherry chapstick clinging to your tongue.

. • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. wednesday

“Kook?”

Jungkook lifts his head, menu dropped to the table, eyes widened slightly at the sudden call of his name.

“Yes?” he scoots a little closer to the table. A brief thought crossing his mind that it was fairly loud in the restaurant, and he would hate to not be able to hear you; because for as long as Jungkook has known you, not once have you raised your voice.

No matter the frustration, the bubbly anger, exasperation be it with Jungkook or yourself, not once have you raised your voice. Sometimes Jungkook wishes you would, they’d attuned their hearing just so they never missed a thing you said when put in a situation similar to this one. But it often saddens Jungkook, because instead of shouting, your emotions tend to become that little bit too overwhelming and you cry.

And Jungkook really hates it when you cry.

“If I got something different this time, can we share just in case I don’t like it?”

A laugh bubbles up Jungkook’s throat, spilling past his lips.

“Of course, baby. Tell me which one you want”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less when Jungkook comes back to the table, tray in hand, careful so both of your drinks don’t spill. You look at Jungkook’s face when you catch sight of the third plate on the tray, carefully decorated slice of strawberry cake sat between the both of you as Jungkook sits down.

Jungkook knew you enough to know that later you would surely sulk. Sad you’d gone all the way to your favourite café only to leave without eating the cake you have every time. It had caught their eye while ordering, sat perfectly next to the strawberry cake you’d wanted to try.

It hadn’t taken more than a split second for Jungkook to point to both of the cakes, thanking the woman as she picked up his own favourite pastry.

“I thought I’d still order your favourite, as well as the one you wanted to try” Jungkook tells you, jacket hung over the back of the chair.

And he can’t help but watch the smile that pulls onto your lips.

“We have to share this one then” you point the strawberry cake, “I think you’d like it too, that’s why I wanted to try” you say honestly.

“It would be nice in the summer” Jungkook hums, reaching over the table to get a fork.

“We should order take out from here one day and have the strawberry cake in the park, if it tastes good”

Jungkook hums, “We can get Ice coffee too. Or I’ll make us smoothies”

“Strawberry smoothies, okay?” you pull your plate closer to yourself, “Oh! we should make strawberry milk too, let’s stop and get some on the way home so we can make it tonight”

“You haven’t even tried the cake yet and you’re already making other plans” Jungkook’s nose scrunches up, head resting on his hand as he watches you eat.

“I already know it’s gonna taste good” you shrug. You look away from your plate for a moment, meeting Jungkook’s eyes, “Thank you”

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, “For what?”

You shrug, slouching a little back in your chair, “Being my favourite person”

Jungkook hums, cheeks pulling up into a smile, “Then I think I should say thank you too”

“For what?” you abandon your fork on the napkin beside your plate.

“For you being my favourite person. I love you”

Your feet knock against Jungkook’s, wiggling that little bit in happiness, “Love you too. More than you’ll ever know”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. thursday

Neither you nor Jungkook had ever been particularly fond of the smell of nail polish. Hence why the both of you often sat on the large windowsill, large window pushed open to let the cool night air into the room as the both of you painted each other’s nails.

“Inspo?” Jungkook lifts their head to look at you, hair a little in their face that they tuck behind their ear.

Both of your phones had been left on the bed, pictures you’d spent hours organising into moodboards long forgotten as you sit cross legged in-front of Jungkook.

You shake your head, shoving your hands in their direction, “Do whatever you want, love. I’m all yours” you grin.

Jungkook’s fingers tangle into the hair on the back of your head, pull you forward until your lips meet.

You brace your hands on their thighs, knocking over a few of the bottles balanced between the both of you on a towel when you try and close the gap between you and Jungkook.

Your arms slip over their shoulders, pelvis knocking uncomfortably against Jungkook’s stomach. They catch the both of you before they topple backwards, face barely pulling away far enough before they press a kiss to your cheek, then between your eyebrows.

“I can’t be bothered to get my phone to look at nail art” you murmur, shoulders curling into yourself as Jungkook’s fingers curl under your legs, tugging you until you’re sat more comfortably between their thighs, back resting against Jungkook’s chest.

“Me neither” Jungkook presses another kiss to your cheek, “Let’s freestyle”

You nod at that, finger running over your bottom lip as your eyes rake over what colours you should go for.

You look up at Jungkook when they take your hand, lips skimming over your palm before a warm kiss is pressed over the delicate skin. Gentle lips pressing another kiss over the pads of your fingers, and they linger that little bit longer when Jungkook reaches you ring finger.

“Kookie” you whisper like it was a secret. Like this moment was too precious to break, soft and mellow with the orange light of the lamp dousing the room in a gentle glow that makes Jungkook ever so pretty you suddenly had the most overwhelming urge to wish you could stay within this moment forever.

“Yeah?” they whisper back, pressing their final kiss over your last finger.

“Can I have your hand?”

Jungkook hums, letting yours go so you can pick up their left hand.

Your gaze flitters across the pile of nail polish piled before the both of you, fingers tapping against your thigh until you reach for the red.

And Jungkook watches as you gently hold their hand, bringing it closer to your face. Jungkook smiles when they see the little heart on their ring finger, a little wonky, a little misshapen, but ever so cute Jungkook presses another kiss to your cheek.

“My love” they say, arm wrapping around your stomach to pull you closer into their chest, and you hum, screwing the lid back onto the red nail polish, “Give me your hand a moment”

And Jungkook does the same, picking the red from your fingers before you can put it back down, left hand tugged that little bit closer to their face; and just like you had done, Jungkook paints the smallest little heart on the nail of your ring finger.

It’s later on, when you both wait for the nail polish to dry, haphazard art decorating both of your hands, where the both of you still sat curled up on the windowsill, watching the stars—does Jungkook take your hand once more.

And they press a kiss over the heart, thumb brushing over it before they squeeze you that little bit tighter.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. friday

It’s as Jungkook wanders back into the bedroom, fresh pile of laundry in hand when he spots you stood in front of the closet with your hands on your hips.

“Something wrong” he asks, clean clothes dropped onto the unmade bed as he peers over your shoulder.

You shrug, “I think we need to clean up in here. It’s messy and I have the urge to get something done”

Jungkook’s arms slip around your waist, tugging you into his chest, “It’s only 10, if we start now, we could be in bed by 3”

You look up at him through your lashes, “You’ll help me?” you wonder and Jungkook leans his cheek against the top of your head.

“I mean” he starts, thumb slipping past the waistband of your pyjamas, an unconscious habit he’d picked up, “It’s all my stuff too”

You knock your head against Jungkook’s shoulder, “Not all that” you motion to the closet, “I never hang any of my stuff up and now it’s all crinkled”

“I basically wear half of your clothes; we can do this together” Jungkook hums.

Jungkook watches as you pull out the woven basket from under the bed, “What do you want to listen to?” you peer up at him, basket of CDs a forgotten feature of the bedroom.

Jungkook sits down beside you, both of you pulling out various albums from the basket, creating more of a mess on the floor than you’d started with.

It isn’t until you stumble across the CD Jungkook had burned himself for your anniversary do the both of you start cleaning.

“Oh shit” you laugh, turning to Jungkook whose head perks up at your voice, “I forgot we had these”

You hold the shirt up for Jungkook to see, throwing his one into his lap over the sweater he’d been folding.

Jungkook can’t help the laugh that bubbles up his throat at the gift your dad had gotten for the both of you one Christmas. Two matching shirts, a photo of the two of you printed on the front.

Jungkook remembers that day well, an impromptu trip to the beach that no one had planned. Both of your cheeks are sun kissed, flushed a little red, ends of your hair wet with salt water. When Jungkook thinks back to that moment, he thought that was when he was at his happiest. But now, as he watches you throw clothes onto the floor to be folded, eyes lighting up as you find things, you’d forgotten you had, whatever happiness he’d felt back then was only the start of how he felt now.

Because this was it for Jungkook. A small apartment, both of your things filling the space, books stacked in ever corner and plants hung by the windows. Silent rules that neither of you ever set that you both followed, because words weren’t needed when you understood someone so well.

“We should wear these more often” Jungkook tells you, folding up the shirt before delicately placing it on your pile of clothes to go back into the closet.

“We should ask my dad to make some more, have one with Bam on there too. Oh—” you turn to look at Jungkook, lips tugging up into a smile, “Should we get one of those blankets, and have them put Bam’s face on it?”

Jungkook falls onto his back on the bed, “If anything we should get one with our faces on it, so he stops whining when we have to leave during the day”

Your pile of clothes is forgotten as you lay next to Jungkook, his arm your pillow as the both of you look up at the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling, neon shine almost there in the warm glow of the bedroom.

“That’s a good idea. What if he chews us up like he does his other blanket?”

“Maybe we shouldn’t have our faces then” Jungkook muses, “We should totally get a blanket with Bam on it though”

“It would look so cute, or a pillow with his face on it”

Jungkook smiles, pulling you closer into his side, “Mugs too”

“Talking of mugs” you sit up, “Should we have a tea break, I’m bored of cleaning”

Jungkook pushes himself to sit up, “I bought biscuits on the way home, let’s have those too”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. saturday

“Shit—” your finger’s tug at Jungkook’s hair, pulling them further between your thighs.

And Jungkook wraps their lips around your clit, tongue flicking ever so meanly over your little pearl. Your back arches as a particularly harsh suck, fresh wave of raw pleasure tickling up your spine, a moan slipping past your lips before you can think so bite down on your hand to silence yourself.

A press of soft lips kiss over your mound, delicate fingers parting your folds to dip inside your wet pussy; curling just how you like it. Jungkook so attuned to your body, knowing all the little places that have you writhing in pleasure, so raw and delicious you find yourself reeling so close to an orgasm.

“So pretty for me” Jungkook hums, another kiss pressed to the inside of your thighs before they work their way back where you need them most.

Jungkook’s tongue replaces their fingers, thumb working over your clit as their tongue pushes past your walls. And when Jungkook hums, vibration of the noise sending another wave of unbridled pleasure down to your toes as arousal seeps out of you into Jungkook’s mouth. They lick over your folds, swallowing down your essence like it were liquid gold.

Jungkook couldn’t help themselves but rut against the bed, sleep shirt riding up their stomach as they moan against your cunt, spike of pleasure wracking throughout their body is little spurts. Tongue laving over your folds, dipping into you before letting their saliva dribble over your wet clit before kissing it; all swollen and pretty, just for Jungkook.

Your feet dig into Jungkook’s back, fingers tugging a little harder as your orgasm starts to coil inside your stomach. Every thrum of Jungkook’s tongue flicking over your clit, the fingers teasing your entrance, and every moan of Jungkook’s own pleasure building inside of you as you reel closer and closer to release.

Jungkook slips two of their fingers into you, free hand hiking you a little closer to their mouth as you wriggle, a desperate attempt to not suffocate them with your thighs.

“Cum for me, baby” Jungkook murmurs, warm breath tickling your clit as they wrap their lips back around you.

“Fuck” your hips rut upwards into their mouth, “So close, please” your chest stutters for air.

Jungkook hums, fingers curling over your sweet spot with practiced precision.

One more flick over your clit is enough to send you over the edge, whiny little moans dripping off your tongue as you rut your hip up over Jungkook’s mouth, using them to ride out your high and prolong the addicting pleasure that is coursing through your entire body.

Jungkook’s mouth falls open in a loud moan, warm breath fanning over your sodden pussy as they cum. Hips stuttering against the bed, panties darkening, sodden with Jungkook’s release.

They lick through your folds once more, humming at the taste of your cum. Another gentle kiss pressed to your swollen clit before they push themselves to sit up, catching their breath.

You watch down the length of your body as Jungkook lifts their shirt up that little bit over their stomach. And you watch as their gaze falls down the length of their body.

“Shit, Kook” you whine, “Are those my panties?” your tongue wets your bottom lip.

Jungkook hums, “Sorry, I made them messy, my love”

The both of you eye the cum that had seeped through the cotton, pretty little bow wet with Jungkook’s seed.

You bite your bottom lip, “Come here” you beckon your lover over, pussy clenching and empty. And you can’t help the dribble of arousal that slips onto the bedsheets at the sight of your soiled panties, ever so pretty on Jungkook.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” you murmur, Jungkook pressing a wet kiss to your lips, your own slick still coating their tongue.

“You tell me a lot” Jungkook replies, pressing another kiss to your cheeks, “You’re the prettiest though”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆. sunday

It had always fascinated you how Jungkook could hold your hand while also pushing the shopping cart. You’d worried the first couple of times, because the last thing you wanted was for someone to shout at the both of you when neither of you had ever really liked grocery shopping in the first place.

But, as much as the both of you complained, shopping was reserved for Sunday afternoons. Because as much as it should be a quick ordeal, the both of you often spent hour slipping from aisle to aisle.

You made the entire experience bearable in Jungkook’s eyes. Even if you did have the tendency to wander off and leave them alone when you would see something you like.

Majority of the time spent shopping is spent stood shoulder to shoulder in the fruit and vegetable aisle.

“What do you know about girth?” Jungkook looks over at you.

Your shoulders deflate, eyeing the cucumber they were holding, and then the one in your hand.

“Enough, actually” you narrow your eyes at them, Jungkook’s lips quirking up ever so slightly at the possible double meaning to your statement.

“We eat so much cucumber, why would you pick up that little one, when we can get the thick one. You picked up the fat onions, what’s wrong with a thick cucumber”

Jungkook huffs, absolutely no hostility behind their actions, even as they cross their arms, “That one has bumpy skin”

You take another look at your contender, “Are you skin shaming the cucumber?”

Jungkook gapes, dropping their cucumber back in the box, “Can’t believe you’d accuse me of such an act when you have the audacity to fat shame my onions. We have to have your one now, so I look like the better of the two of us”

You hum, dropping the cucumber into the shopping cart, easy smile on your face at your small victory.

Jungkook slips their phone out of their pocket, your hand balancing on their arm as you peek up at the screen.

“I think that’s everything on the list” Jungkook runs a hand through their hair, tongue prodding at their lip ring as they glaze over the list.

“Ah—” Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, widened ever so slightly, “Can’t forget the beer”

You scrunch your nose up at that, “I’m gonna go look at the ice cream, don’t be too long”

And Jungkook startles when you tug at their shirt, footsteps always so quiet they never hear you sneaking up on them.

Your eyes flick down to the alcohol Jungkook was holding, smile tugging at both your cheeks when you thrust the box of ice cream into their face.

Jungkook peeks around the box, smile matching your own.

“Pretty” they say.

You nod, “Aren’t they so cute? I’ve never seen ice cream shaped as flowers before” you say, dropping them on top of the cereal.

Jungkook nods, pulling out the child seat of the shopping cart so the cans of beer don’t squash any of your groceries, “I’ve seen them as cartoon characters before”

“They had those too” you interlace your fingers with Jungkook’s, “But the orange flower reminded me of your tattoo. So, you have to have that one, okay?”

Jungkook stops pushing the shopping cart, pulling you that little bit closer by your interlaced hands, “You’re so cute”

Your bottom lip juts out ever so slightly, and Jungkook uses that as an opportunity to pull you into a gentle kiss.

You chase after Jungkook’s lips, mind completely else ware, forgetting for a split second the both of you were still in the supermarket.

Jungkook’s thumb brushes over your cheek, “You don’t want the orange one, that’s why you want me to eat it right”

You pull back from their face ever so slightly, “Not true”

“No?” Jungkook challenges and you push at their chest.

“No” you shake your head, “It actually did remind me of your tattoo. The fact it’s orange flavour is simply a coincidence”

Jungkook’s head tips back as they laugh, “I love you so much”

You nudge them with your shoulder, “Love you too”

#bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook #bts #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook scenario #jungkook jeon #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts imagines

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miaoua3 · 3 months ago

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Heyyy girl I hope ur doing well. Thank u for the amazing works ur doing it never fails to make my day and I love u for that 💗 anwys I'm so excited to ask u this...could u do a girl and boy dad cheol hcs(or whatever u called it) or one shot or both?! It's up to u which one u want to do first. Thank uuu in advance mwahhh 😚🤭

hii! first of, im so glad to hear that you enjoy my work, it always makes me happy when you guys say something like that, it’s the bigger part why i do this😭🫶 and sure i can, i will do hcs because at this point it’s my trademark haha. anyway i hope you enjoy this!❤️

Girl/Boy Dad! Seungcheol Headcanons:

girl dad! seungcheol who cried like a baby when they first placed his little girl in his arms, who cried even harder when she immediately stopped crying once she was placed on his bare skin, as if she knew that it was her papa who was holding her❤️

boy dad! seungcheol who made it a competition with you to make your son say “dada” as his first word, always whispering to his son “say ‘dada’, can you say dada? hm? cmon, make daddy proud son, if you say it dad will buy you every toy that you want to” he’s so…ijbol i can’t with him lmao

girl dad! seungcheol who can go nights without sleep if it means he can stay next to her crib the whole night every night, looking at her with eyes filled with so much love, gently rubbing his finger against her chubby cheeks, softly humming to her until he gets discovered by you and dragged back to bed because it is the third night in the row he has done this

boy dad! seungcheol who put hours and hours of work into decorating his son’s nursery, making his own stencils to paint on the wall, putting on those glow in the dark stars all over the ceiling❤️ (if you’re wondering the theme of the nursery is the universe, with little rockets and planets painted all over the walls)

girl dad! seungcheol who cries more than his daughter on her first day of school, who literally had to call in sick because he couldn’t stop crying, wailing to you how much he misses his little princess and how she isn’t ready for the real world (read: it’s not her that isn’t ready, it’s him)

boy dad! seungcheol who puts so much effort into his son’s interests-if he’s into football count on seungcheol to have a whole day reserved just for his baby where they will play football and he will show him how to do some tricks, he knows all his favourite characters, knows all the names of his plushies, knows everything about his son, he’s just so attentive with him it’s so-😭

girl dad! seungcheol who has his first ever heartbreak when his girl comes home from school and admits that she has a crush on a boy from her class, he will literally go to the bathroom and stare at his reflection, trying so hard not to cry😭 that night you will have to assure him so much that he’s still her number one man and that she still loves him the most while he’s crying quietly (so so dramatic)

boy dad! seungcheol who has a talk with his son before he gets together with his first girlfriend about how he should treat women correctly and to not even think about doing anything stupid like cheating on her or something like that or he will be very disappointed in him

girl dad! seungcheol who cries like a baby on his daughter’s wedding day because what do you mean she officially won’t be sharing his last name with you two anymore? what do you mean she’s all grown up? what do you mean she now will have her own family and she won’t be able to pick up every call of his anymore because she will be busy with her own kids? he will cry so much on his day that the daddy-daughter dance will actually kill him

boy dad! seungcheol who is his son’s best friend and biggest fan and supporter, as well as his son’s biggest idol, so it’s only natural that his son makes him his best man on his wedding day, and what an honour it is to see how well his son has grown up to be, what a blessing it is that he turned out to be just as he predicted he would-and even more

dad! seungcheol who loves his kids unconditionally and raise them to be good people, who teaches them to choose their own happiness every day of their lives❤️

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

this was so much fun to write! if you liked this and want to see the same about the other members pls request it, i would love to do it for all of them!

#seventeen #svt #svt x reader #fypシ #tumblr fyp #fypage #scoups #choi seungcheol #fluff

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lisbeth-kk · 7 months ago

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May Prompts (23) Apology

The Luckiest Girl in the World (chapter23)

Summary: Rosie shares a surprise with her parents and uncle. All of them have different thoughts about this unexpected development, and silent negotiations are carried out.

Twenty-Three Years Old

I knew that Papa not fully understood my reason for studying international politics and data, but to his credit he didn’t for one second try to convince me to give it another thought and opt for something science related instead. Dad was just relieved that I’d finally had found a path to walk, after several failed attempts. Uncle Myc, well he tried to hide how utterly pleased he was with my choice, but by now I knew him well enough to read the signs. Truth be told, said signs weren’t that subtle.

“Bien choisi ma chérie,” he beamed at me, while Papa scowled at him.

“Merci oncle,” I retorted. “I can’t wait to start this and go to Paris.”

The three-year BA degree was taught by The University of London Institute in Paris. We would be taught in English, but if we had an A level in French, we could also take French courses. I’d learned French in school for years, and uncle Myc and I often conversed in French when uncle Greg wasn’t around.

I think it’s needless to say that my security and comfort in France was well taken care of. Papa and uncle Myc had a conversation using their eyes only when I spilled the beans. Dad knew exactly what was going on and went to make tea while negotiations were carried out. Once the brothers were satisfied, uncle Myc took out his phone and sent several texts or emails. By now, I knew it’ll be futile to pester any of them of what was going on. I was just relieved that no one had tried to talk me out of it, making me feel uncertain or guilty for leaving the country; actually, moving out of my childhood home.

My reasons for choosing this subject were multifaceted. I’d always enjoyed learning facts, obscure and otherwise, about different countries and cultures. Having had a relatively unorthodox upbringing, containing all sorts of people, played a big part too. The cherry on top was that the school was abroad. Nana’s tales of her experiences overseas and how educating it is to have lived some time in another country and society, had always seemed enticing to me.

***

The university was situated close to the Invalides and the Seine, while my lodgings were in the Charonne area in the 11th arrondissement on a cosy cobble street, with a nearby metro station. My landlady, Marguerite Vachon was one of uncle Myc’s acquaintances, from where, I still have no idea.

Marguerite preferred that I used her given name instead of the formal, Madame Vachon.

“Je ne suis pas ancient,” was her favourite line and reminded me quite a lot of Nana.

“I am not ancient, dear,” was a statement Nana had used every so often.

Marguerite was a petite and elegant woman. Her hair was cut in a bob, coloured black with a few red stripes. I never saw her without lipstick or makeup. She always wore bespoke dresses and high heeled shoes. I deduced that she was far more than a landlady. When I left for school in the morning, I could hear her sing or talk on the phone, and when I returned, she always opened her door and inquired about my day.

“She’s clearly spying for Mycroft,” Papa’s voice told me.

And there was something about her, which I couldn’t put my finger on. Something mysterious, secret, perhaps even dangerous.

***

It seemed like Marguerite had my schedule memorised. Not that I’d given her the information, but when she slipped, I got my suspicions confirmed. To be fair, it wasn’t slipping per se. She couldn’t have known that class was dismissed early that day.

Luckily, I spotted her and was able to hide behind a wall before she saw me. I’d almost missed her, because she wasn’t wearing her normal dress and high heels, but red trousers, a white and blue-striped jumper, and white trainers. Instead of one of her posh handbags, she had a dark blue canvas bag diagonally draped over her chest.

Papa had taught me a few tricks when it came to the fine art of following people without being discovered. I’ve never had much use of them obviously, but now I saw an opportunity. How I would explain this and apologise if I was caught, never crossed my mind.

I was sceptical when Marguerite walked to the metro station, but I was able to get into the same carriage as her, and it seemed that she had no idea she was being followed. She got off three stops later and walked in the direction of the big Père-Lachaise cemetery.

A fitting location for obscure and shady affairs.

Marguerite knew where she was going, walking briskly but not hurried. I had walked the premises several times before and knew where she was headed when I saw the grand tomb of Sir Richard Wallace, the British baronet who contributed millions to the Parisian poor during the Siege of Paris in the early 1870s.

This reeked of another posh Brit I knew.

When Marguerite had placed a folder by the tomb and another woman picked it up five minutes later, I had a hard time keeping myself composed. The woman picking up the folder was the French equivalent of Anthea.

I sent uncle Myc a text when both women were out of sight.

Thanks for keeping track on me, but this thing is like being part of a French noir film. You can tell Papa I think you’re both growing sentimental, and I demand an apology!

Also available on AO3

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @raina-at @helloliriels

More tags in the replies

#may prompts 2024 #may 23: apology #sherlock fandom #rosie watson #sherlock #john watson #mycroft holmes #johnlock #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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estrella-zoe39 · 7 months ago

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i love dumping random shit onto my tumblr anyway weird discussion of the most random fandoms combined go! mostly discuses love as core themes of stories.

i think my favourite pieces of media are those that just dont make sense if you dont view them as a love story. i came across this discovery as i was watching code geass ep 17 when lulu goes insane when he realises the one thing thats in his way is also the person he trusts completely. there is no other genuine explanation other than love for the reasoning of his reaction in that scene. with shirley he had this mellow yet sorrowful reaction when he realised he couldnt be with her anymore. not saying there wasnt a part of him that didnt love her but with suzaku? he goes berserk. whatever he felt couldnt have happened if he didnt love suzaku.

other good examples of this are frieren, orv, and house. there are more my brain is just kinda fried rn and i think these three are good examples of like. varying levels of how explicit the message is. (theyre all obvious af tho)

ill start with frieren because i think if youve even like. heard about it youll know but himmel and frierens relationship really is the core of like the entire story. a boy who loved too soon and a girl who loved too late. frieren just isnt. frieren when you take that away. frieren at its like core is about love you cant just remove that because then the story wouldnt be the same it probably wouldnt even exist!!! and im sure everyone knows this its just surprising how frieren isnt officially a romance manga considering its entire premise

another example is orv which is a bit harder to know if youve only read the webtoon. orvs story just wouldnt exist if hsy didnt love kdj. if she didnt write yjh and then kdj wouldve died, plain and simple. and if kdj didnt love the story back then he wouldve also died. hsy, yjh, and kdj at their core are their love for each other. hsy spent 12 years writing a book everyday just for kdj to keep on living and in kaizenix she waited 50 years for him. yjh spent the entirety of orv learning how to love from kdj, through fighting alongside him, through protecting him, through seeing him die, even when he learned he wasnt real he still believed him, and in the end yjh was the one who let kdj be known in every universe. his mission was something that he only could brave through if he loved kdj. and he did. speaking of kdj, i think its very obvious to everyone but his self-sacrificial nature is due to him only knowing that as a love language. something else is how without kdjs love, orv also just wouldnt exist. if his love for twsa, for the chars, for STORIES, didnt exist, he wouldnt be alive. if he didnt keep on molding twsa, to be alongside every yjh and co, to suggest new plot points, he wouldve never came to love it.

onto my last example, house. now i think you gotta be a very specific type of person to catch them (its called not being homophobic) but man are house and wilson like. house the show itself. their love defines the show, from the first scene to the last. he only took that first case which started everything because of wilson. half of his stupid antics are because of wilson. his love starts and ends at wilson because he knows wilson will be the one person who will always be there consistently for him. because no matter what happens, like house getting sent to trial by tritter, or house failing to save amber, they will be together, whether they want to or not. so when wilson is diagnosed with cancer, he breaks. the one person who he thought would always be there for him. isnt. in fact, he'll die first. and so, he does everything. he listens to wilsons stupid fucking ideas because he needs wilson to be there for him, he needs wilson at his grave, not him at wilsons. thats why he gives everything to wilson, his vicodin, his attention, and even his life. the only reason he dies is so he can be with wilson. none of this actions can be done without love in them, absolutely none. i think my favourite quote of them is "if house chops down a tree, and wilson isnt around to hear it, did it really fall?" it just sums up their stupid, needy, insane, and romantic dynamic so much.

all of these pieces of media need love in them to be them, so i hope ive loved them more than they could ever want, despite some of their flaws 🩷🩷🩷

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whatthefishh · 1 year ago

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the adults are talking

Rydal Keener x f!reader

Warnings: p in v, swearing, cream pie, car sex, possibly bad banter idk I love these idiots, daddy issues, just PWoP but part of the Oxford Comma universe

Words: 1.4K

This was not a good idea, and yet here you were trying to make it work.

You were in Rydal’s car, on his lap in the front seat, knees bracketing his hips while you shared the same breath. Chest to chest, you could barely move in the tight space. He had told you the seats reclined back but clearly the vintage vehicle wasn’t designed to fit the two of you, least of all two people trying to fuck in the front seat.

It started when you were in class together, his hand resting on your thigh innocently. You were paying attention, diligently taking notes in the back of the lecture hall. Rydal was losing interest, you could tell by the swirls he was drawing with his finger on your bare leg, the skirt you were wearing one of his favourites. He always lost his damn mind when you showed a bit of leg, and to add to his agony you were actually being studious today.

After inching his hand upward every few minutes, going unnoticed, you nearly yelped when his index finger brushed the gusset of your panties. Forcefully dragging his hand away, you hissed at him to stop. He tried to stare at you convincingly but it still failed to work on you. He tried to pout, leaning in closer to grab your attention and you still didn’t give in.

Eventually you told him you’d let him have his way with you after class but that you needed him to be patient. As soon as class ended, he packed up your stuff for you, quickly shoving it into your bag and pulling your hand towards the exit. Your dorm was closer than his, and he made a beeline heading in that direction, expertly weaving his way through the crowd of students and pulling you behind him. Upon opening your door, you saw your roommate essentially eating her boyfriend’s face on her bed and immediately turned around to leave before they broke apart for air.

Rydal was quick to offer his own dorm, now not as far away, which found the two of you in the hallway before his neighbour decided to let him know his father was waiting for him inside his room. Looking at him with a bit of humour and a bit of pity, you brushed some of his hair back and told him maybe it just wasn’t his day. He was pouting again, using those big beautiful brown eyes of his to pull at your heartstrings before they lit up again.

Which brought you to the present, your back pressed against the steering wheel as he sat back and groaned at the sight of you without your top on.

“What the fuck kind of name is Cerberus anyway?”

“Why are you so hot when you’re mean to me?” He replied back, not even looking up from the expanse of your skin he was touching on your tummy.

Reaching up to pull the cups of your bra down, he didn’t have to strain his neck at all to put his mouth on you, tongue swirling around your nipple in small circles before flicking it, pulling a soft moan from you. You were rolling your hips against his pants, the space so tight even with the seats moved back, you couldn’t even get your panties off. Your hands were in his silky hair while he sucked a bruise onto your sternum, on his way to your other breast.

Rydal’s one hand was gripping your hip and preventing you from grinding on him while the other was trying to open his pants, shaky movements giving away his desperation.

“Help,” he mumbled over your skin.

Sniffing out a laugh, your hands slap his away before unzipping his pants for him and pulling his hard cock out, gripping the base of it teasingly.

“Always need my help—“

“—trying to fuck you right now, it’s so not the time—“

“—when are you not trying t-to fuck me, let’s be real—“

“—so mean, baby, is it because you want me so bad, huh?”

At that, he pulled your panties aside and without warning started pushing his length into your dripping core, effectively silencing any comeback you had for him. Throwing your head back on a moan, he pushed on your sternum so you were laid in front of him, as far as you could go.

Your skirt was still on. He looked at where you were joined, secretly, like a little secret kept between you two, the way he was grinding his hips up into you, the way he made you absolutely come apart for him— not so secretive by the way the windows were fogging up — enough to make you forget your retort.

Rydal’s hands were squeezing everywhere he could reach, watching you barely lift yourself on his cock and then drop back down, moaning unabashedly. The range of motion you had was limited but his cock was filling you up so deeply from this angle, hitting that spot inside you that made your mind go numb repeatedly.

His mouth was slightly open, ragged breath only adding to the heat your bodies were producing, bucking his hips up every few seconds into your warm and wet pussy. Seeing you ignoring him and swatting his hand away in class, biting your pencil before scribbling notes and just being so fucking smart in general had him hard for so long before he even attempted to get his hands on you. Watching you go stupid when he filled you up was something he’d never get enough of.

You’d barely been riding him for a few minutes before you were coming, the slow grind and whiny pants coming from Rydal had you falling over the edge quicker than you anticipated. Head falling back behind the steering wheel, your back arched so your breasts were in his face. He was delirious from how bad he wanted you today.

Kissing whatever skin he could reach, he left a spit trail on your body, roughly pulling you down onto his cock and fucking up into you at the same time. Your body heaved forward, curling into his chest as you were still riding out the waves of your pleasure while Rydal chased his own. His grunts and whines were close to your ear now, his sounds so debauched to have your stomach muscles tightening in response.

Leaking more for him, Rydal’s thrusts were more and more sloppy, the noises of your coupling as well as his whimpers made you clench around him, the stirrings of desire once again catching you by surprise. Your own moans were probably loud enough for anyone who happened to be within fifty metres of the car to know exactly what was happening, let alone the fogged up windows.

Your hand shot out to steady yourself, imprinting in the condensation as you met his thrusts, slamming your hips on his to reach orgasm again. His hand moved to the front of your panties, pressing on where he could feel himself inside you and you gasped at the sensation. His thumb slipped around the flimsy material, rubbing at your wet bundle of nerves until you shuddered.

“F-fuck, harder! Mmmph—“ you cried.

The way his hands were indenting your flesh was utterly obscene, the way the car was probably rocking, the tightness of the space, Rydal’s own whines and whimpers — all of it made your second time coming that much more intense.

You cried out loudly, unknowingly causing Rydal to find his own release inside your sweet pussy.

“S’good, so — fucking — good, shit baby,” he groaned, licking a stripe up your neck before attacking your lips with his own in a sloppy and desperate kiss.

He softened inside you, plugging you full of him while he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. The two of you probably alerted the whole school as to what you were up to, regardless of the parking lot being somewhat empty when he made the rash and cliche suggestion of using Cerberus for his “personal emergency”.

Finally pulling apart to breathe, Rydal’s shapely nose brushed against yours before reality hit him again.

“What do you think my dad wanted?”

“Yeah, okay let me just—“

Sliding yourself off him before he started talking about his father while still inside you, you fell gracelessly in the front seat and started getting dressed.

Once you were proper again— as proper as you could look, your hair and face were giving freshly fucked but —you turned to him, smiling at the contemplative look on his face.

“Okay Rydal, tell me what’s on your mind.”

#rydal keener #yes this is about rydal keener #rydal keener fanfiction #rydal keener x you #rydal keener x reader #rydal keener smut #the two faces of january fanfiction #the two faces of january #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac characters

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sailorsallyart · 8 months ago

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I was just thinking about how every time, without fail, my favourite pieces end up getting way less notes than my other art. So I was wondering if this is an universal experience. let's see:

#remaking this poll #bc I was on phone while making it and formulated the answers worng lmao #artists on tumblr #artist on tumblr #poll #artist poll #art #art poll

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saneabandoned · 7 months ago

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Diving into Star Wars: The Clone Wars

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

This seems to encapsulate the whole seven seasons of the series Star Wars: The Clone Wars. If you haven’t seen it, haven’t heard of it – in short, it’s an animated series set between Episode II and III of the prequel saga. However, the aim of this is not to be a guide – you can go to Wookiepedia for that; this is supposed to be an essay – analysis, some kind of a deeper-ish dive into the philosophy and meaning of the series, that frankly is one of the best things to happen to this film universe, perhaps ever. I have, time and again, tried to explain for myself the meaning it carries and just why it has me in such a strong chokehold, but I have failed, or at least haven’t reached a conclusion. Maybe it’s not possible, maybe it’s just the magic of being a fan – you see and feel things not everyone would understand, because it speaks to you on some personal level, that even some (more chill than me, at least) fans won’t be able to entirely relate to. I have yet to meet a person as obsessive as I am over all kinds of different media – don’t get me wrong, even though Star Wars is without a doubt my favourite universe, there are many more I have indulged in, wrote about, watched, listened, theorized and all that good stuff throughout many years. But as I have recently come to realize, I have spent the last ten-ish years of my (not that long, to be fair) conscious life thinking about this universe, this whole galaxy (pun absolutely intended) of characters, morals, and plots.

Speaking about morals, that’s where some of the importance of The Clone Wars comes for me personally. Ever since I can remember, Star Wars has been a huge deal in my life – I watched the movies at a very young age (thanks, mom!), but started reading more and more into the whole world as I got older. I thought I’d reached the peak somewhere in high school when I would literally rewatch the prequels every single weekend, and the OG movies about once a month too. I just found it mesmerising, I always have – being a person with a huge imagination, that never quite stops working (and that’s caused me some trouble as well), I found a haven in this world, a place where nothing is too weird, everything is just so brilliantly imagined and thought of, written and painted so vividly, that it feels like someone has taken the insides of my brain, turned them into a whole painting, adding stories, characters and just overall putting into words and pictures the things that I can’t really understand and explain for myself. I found a mirror in this world, a sanctuary for all my thoughts. I used to listen to the soundtracks whenever I felt anxious, and it would transport me directly into the universe I felt so safe in. It was an escape from reality; still is – not that reality was or is particularly scary or unbearable for me; but sometimes I wish I was elsewhere; somewhere where there is courage, bravery, adventure, love, all the things I longed for while being quite honestly, mostly a bored teenager at school.

I have always loved writing, loved expressing my thoughts, putting them into words (as is becoming obvious by this text) and have always greatly appreciated when films, books or other media would reciprocate that – when the words on the screen or the page would feel like I wrote them myself, so true, so real, so incredibly close to me, that I would get literal shivers and wonder if telepathy is actually possible. But hey, that’s The Force for you!

As of now, I have just finished completely rewatching the whole Clone Wars series and as always, I have many thoughts on it. The first time I watched it was right after the final season came out because at that time, and especially during the pandemic, I was going deeper than ever into my interests, rewatching all my favourite things, while also searching for new ones to keep me from going absolutely insane (I think I maybe have succeeded in the opposite though). So, stumbling across this series, I thought I’d give it a try. The rest is history – after absolutely and hungrily devouring it, I continued to Rebels, and every other possible piece of media under the sun. Fabulous times.

Now, one thing I’d like to make clear – I’m not a pro. I am not in any way a certified critic, a writer, or any other sort of person authorised to make such an analysis. I am but a fan, a fan for whom this universe means more than I could ever hope to be able to put into words; a fan who after years of contemplation, has reached a point where I can’t keep it inside any longer. I’d love if this piece of writing makes it out in the universe, reaches as many people who enjoy Star Wars as much as I do, but even if not, I am writing it for myself, I am trying to step out of my comfort zone, reach deep into myself, and in a life of struggling with the loudness of my thoughts, trying to put something down, manifesting my emotions and creating something physical from them; these characters that mean so much to me will never be real, I can never hope to speak to them, touch them, or see them in real life. They have although shaped me as a person and largely formed my psyche and morals, view of the world, inner monologue, even some of my characteristics.

So nevertheless, for me they are more real than a lot of people I know are.

***

To begin, I don’t intend to focus on the Jedi’s role in the war – it is of course vital, but I think the discourse about that is to be found more detailed in relation to the movies, namely the prequels, as CW is very much about the clones themselves. When I first started watching it, I will be honest, I didn’t think I’d find what I ended up finding – and that is such depth that I couldn’t imagine finding again, after being a fan of the movies, both OG and prequels, for so long. But was I wrong!

But let’s start with Ahsoka, since I started by mentioning the Jedi and she is one of the first new characters to appear (besides Rex and many others, of course). First, I wasn’t convinced that I liked her much – she was a bit of an annoying youngling for the first few seasons, after all. I wanted Anakin and that’s about it. Well, I got what I wanted, I think, as I am firm in my opinion that Anakin’s arc is so widely explored that you get a whole another view of his character, something I didn’t think was possible, after all – isn’t the entire saga about him? It is, but still – what I saw in CW, through characters such as Ahsoka and Rex, contributed so much to Anakin’s development as a character and leading force in the saga as I don’t think anything else ever did in the movies, any of them. So, yes, I got what I wanted, but also, I got so much more – Anakin is not my main point of discussion here, I think as main of a character he might be in this series, he is not THE main one, at least not for me. And as Dave Filoni is quoted saying – The Clone Wars is about Ahsoka and Rex.

Who are they? That was my main wonder when I first started watching – why would I care about a random clone captain and a youngling? They are both not present in the movies, and the clones themselves have very little personality there, they are just side characters, until they end up executing Order 66, which is of course devastating. But after watching CW, I completely changed my outlook on it, but more on that later. So, Ahsoka and Rex – admittedly, in the beginning, I didn’t find that much since it’s just mainly classic Star Wars battles and a loose plot that is not absolutely VITAL to the end result but brings so much deeper insight into the clones’ personalities, and ultimately through that to the whole feel.

What I really find devastating about this series is the nagging feeling of doom you inevitably carry with you – you spend so many episodes and seasons watching your favourite characters win numerous battles, you root for them, you cry and laugh with them, you grow so attached to them; but you know how the story ends, you’ve seen Anakin become Vader, again you know about Order 66, you know the Empire rises after all and Palpatine’s plan works – and every time you hear someone say “you’re going to lose this war”, you hope for the opposite, but you know they’re right and there’s nothing to be done – evil wins in the end of this. And as I read somewhere – this is a story that happened a long time ago – it’s over, it has already happened, there is no hope, at least in this series, which I find frankly terrifying. Amazingly done, but still heartbreaking.

Clones, war, and choices

The point about choices and what it means to be a soldier gradually becomes more and more pronounced as the show goes on – one amazing example of this is the Umbara arc where the 501st is led not as usual by Anakin, but by Pong Krell (who later turns out to be a traitor of course). This is one of the darkest moments in the show, as clones are made to kill one another, to sacrifice themselves without reason, and for the first time to face an incompetent, and frankly evil general, and to choose to disobey. This is for me a crucial moment, as the clones have never before chosen to disobey direct orders – they were, after all, made to comply and to follow what their generals tell them to.

"I used to believe that being a good soldier meant doing everything they told you. That's how they engineered us. But we're not droids. We're not programmed. You have to learn to make your own decisions."

But here, we can see the conflict – especially in Rex, as he is the captain and has to face the general and answer for his deeds. He looks him directly in the eye and tells him they are not willing to go on a suicide mission, that they will not follow his orders, after he’s made them fight and kill their brothers unknowingly, and even ordered Fives and Jesse to be executed. However, Rex struggles with killing Krell, when he decides to; he orders him to kneel and points the blaster at his back but is unable to fire the shot. Once again, Star Wars proves that its plot has much deeper nuances and philosophies; for the first time here, we are faced with the harsh truth – the clones are people. We know that, but it somehow gets lost in the movies, as the focus there is on the Jedi’s end, which is just as tragic, of course. But before now, no one has considered what it really means to be a clone. They were made for war, they were made to die, their lives and their deaths were planned. Are the Jedi and the Republic, in that case, really the “good” side? That’s what I, at least, started to reflect on when I reached this point in the series, and it changed my whole outlook on the saga, on everything I have seen thus far. Yes, I still think the Jedi are cool and whatnot – but did they not deserve what happened to them for so blindly exploiting their soldiers? They didn’t know about Order 66 of course, and Palpatine is in no way right – but how come the Jedi are innocent in this? I don’t think they are, at least not fully. They could’ve stopped so much suffering and helped so many more clones, if not for their narrow views, which are all the reason for the clones’ suffering, Ahsoka’s leaving and consequently, Anakin’s betrayal.

"Sometimes in war, it's hard to be the one that survives."

Oh, Cody, Co-dy! The friendship the clones and in this case – Rex and Cody – share is truly precious and very accentuated in this arc especially (here the first arc of the last season) – it is Cody who Rex confides in about not wanting to lose any more brothers, as he knows he is one of the few ones who will understand him fully, what it means to be a soldier, to have to live with the morals of war, to have never known anything but loss. This is what makes Rex dive and slightly recklessly (thank God) search for Echo, proving that he’s alive, saving him from the tortures. They are brothers, and they never leave their own behind. But he is not possessive or jealous, and when he senses Echo’s pull towards Clone Force 99, he is ready to give him the push he needs to join them. He knows his brothers, as I said, and he knows the trials of war, so if Echo will feel even an ounce happier with this squad, he deserves it, after all he’s endured – “If that’s where you feel your place is, then that's where you belong."

Therefore, I love the Skako Minor arc and Echo’s retrieval, not only because it sets up the ground for The Bad Batch (I’m not even going to begin trying to explain what it means to me, as it deserves to have another huge debate on its own), but because it shows Rex’s devotion to his brothers – all of them. Even though he tries to be just a soldier, to live through the deaths, he still cares immensely, and that’s what makes him a good captain. His bravery is unmatched, he is always the one leading his men, and looking out for them, because he knows his men, he stands and fights side by side with them, and he’s ready to die on the battlefield, thus setting the example for everyone.

The philosophy of war is extremely complicated – this is what I enjoyed so much about the series (and the movies of course, politics and war is the main theme), among all other things; the fact that we see war as destroying, as a necessary evil, as a tragedy by itself – but war also created life in this case and its ending brought much more death than any of the battles ever did.

"The mission... the nightmares. They're finally... over."

I’m sorry, but I think I have never witnessed anything as remotely tragic as Fives’ arc – Palpatine told only him the whole truth, fully knowing no one would believe the clone hasn’t lost his mind; but the sacrifice the trooper made ultimately saved so many lives, mostly Rex’s, one of his closest friends. Fives never got to reunite with Echo but losing him made Rex realise how important every brother is to him, and in consequence, he never gave up on any of them (not that he was inclined to do so before of course). In his last sane moment, Rex begged Ahsoka to “find Fives”, and she understood. She knew the clones better than anyone and knew exactly what that meant and never doubted it for a second. Fives saved her life, too.

Fives’ arc is the first time the show begins to become darker and more sombre – it is also the point when we as spectators begin to realize what Order 66 actually means, having seen before only its results; but this time we see its execution, through the eyes of the clones themselves. They are forced to kill all Jedi, after being their most loyal soldiers, and honestly – incredibly loyal friends as well. They can’t control it and it’s not their choice – but that doesn’t mean they don’t realize what they’re doing – Rex said he couldn’t help it; Wrecker said he tried to fight it (The Bad Batch); Bly shot Aayla so many times, so she wouldn’t suffer and her death would be quick; Cody didn’t even check if Obi-Wan was dead; Wolffe didn’t kill Plo Koon. They were people, they were made to do inhumane things, but they found a way, they made a choice, so that they could somehow live with it after.

We get all of this through the clones’ perspective, rather than the Jedi, and it’s just as painful, if not more – we are used to hearing “the army betrayed its generals”, but what happens when we realise, they couldn’t do anything about it? What happens when we see the struggle, when we can almost feel the pain of having to betray? The clones, the most loyal creatures ever created, made for loyalty, have to turn on their generals, on their comrades, on their closest friends.

So, I come back to Ahsoka and Rex. We see them in the very first moment of the show, and they have already formed a bond, which is unlike anything else. They fight side by side the whole war – from the battle of Christophsis to the Siege of Mandalore – and Dave Filoni is truly right when he says this show is about them; but I think also in a broader sense. It is about two creatures who were destined to fight all their lives, who no matter their completely opposite backgrounds, turned out to be the same things – soldiers. Through and through, in their own ways. Their friendship transcends beyond all of this, they have a unique connection, that’s never shaken, even in the direst of moments; even years later, when they meet (in Rebels), you can feel their love for one another, the purest friendship there ever was, somehow ironically created by the ugliness of war and constant fight. Both Rex and Ahsoka suffered losses we cannot imagine – Rex says he tries not to hold on to any of his brothers, and Ahsoka is a Jedi, so it is forbidden for her to form such attachments; but we know. We see it in their eyes, we can hear it when they speak. Rex can never forget Fives’ death and the fact that he died thinking no one believed him; he ran to Skako Minor in an instant even though it might have been a trap, but the chance to save Echo was not one he was going to miss out on this time. And he saved his brother, against all odds. And he saved Ahsoka, as she saved him, time and again. Because that's what brothers do.

“I’m no Jedi” – an interesting phrase for Ahsoka and Rex to have in common, given how different both their roles and backgrounds seem to be, but it is indeed the one they unexpectedly share. Spoken first by Rex here, and then a lot later by Ahsoka in Rebels, it is highly unprovable that it’s on purpose. However, I don’t think anything in Star Wars is done without a reason, so I choose to believe there is some thread connecting them – after all it is Rex and Ahsoka, and that will always matter. What it means for both of them is simultaneously the same, yet different – Rex is the clone closest to the Jedi, there is no doubt about this; he’s used to their ways, he has as equally as strong a moral code, so it is somehow thinly implied that he acts similar to them, despite (or thanks to) being one of the strongest and most respected clone leaders. His closeness to both his general and commander is widely known, so no one seems to pay attention to the fact that he is actually a clone, as he makes his own decisions, and often chooses to fight where a Jedi would opt to step back.

Ahsoka and Anakin

For me Ahsoka became the best character in the whole saga, no ounce of doubt, sorry. She is the embodiment of the Force, she is fierce, loyal, but also incredibly wise for someone her age, and someone who is still learning. On many an occasion, she proves to be more experienced than Anakin (and in my book, experience outranks everything) and I feel like he’s learned as much from her as she did from him – if not more. She is the one keeping him sane and grounded, and I’m a firm believer that had she not left the order, he wouldn’t turn. Ahsoka’s presence brings so many new layers to Anakin’s character, that have not been explored before that and had she stood by him, he wouldn’t be able to become what he became. So, yes – ultimately, I blame the Jedi order for Anakin’s betrayal, I always have, but after watching this series, and seeing it from another point of view, I simply cannot be shaken. They took everything from him and left him alone, which has always been his weakest – he has always been this little child, terrified by the dark, later consumed by it, now unable to fight it anymore. The Jedi made him, and they unmade him too. In my opinion, he shouldn’t have ever been a Jedi in the first place – he is not like Obi-Wan, not like Yoda, not even like Ahsoka (who is not the traditional Jedi either, being trained by him) – he is so powerful and so weak at the same time, and that’s where his dilemma lays – who am I? Which side am I on? He doesn’t know, but no one is there to help him – Ahsoka included, as she (rightfully so!) leaves the order when she sees the truth about it. But she carries that guilt ever since.

She blames herself for leaving Anakin, she blames herself for not fighting alongside him when he needed it; for leaving her friend, her brother. If I were Ahsoka, I would have done the same – she was betrayed by the Jedi, not by Anakin, not ever, but still. He stood with the Order when she needed him by her side. And that is what destroys him too. The loss of his padawan, his most loyal friend is unlike anything else, and for her, leaving this life that’s all she’s ever known, transforms her view on everything. And when she inevitably returns, because that’s where she is supposed to be in order for the prophecy to happen – she must be there, but not by Anakin’s side; she doesn’t fit anywhere else, but she doesn’t fit there anymore either; and she can’t follow him, so she’s sent to Mandalore, again alongside the clones, her brothers, she goes down fighting with Rex. She’s always been his sister more than a Jedi; she didn’t ever belong anywhere else but on a battlefield. She may not be a clone, and she wasn’t meant to be a soldier either; but just like the clones, the war is all she’s ever known, and even though she was meant to be a peacekeeper, peace was something she never knew, especially after Anakin’s turn to the Dark side – even though there is no longer a war, she is forever tormented by the voices she heard in his last moments as her beloved master and the pain she felt when he left.

She knew it was over in that moment – Order 66 is by far the most heartbreaking arc of them all and I can never watch it without then spending weeks thinking about it – it’s genius, really, how Palpatine had this evil plan, dictated the whole war without anyone noticing; and it worked. It worked and changed the whole entire galaxy, and nothing could have prevented it – except maybe Anakin turning; and that is what Ahsoka can’t get over; she feels it is somehow partially her fault that the dark won; if only she hadn’t left, it haunts her forever. She doesn’t know Anakin is Vader, not until she meets him after, so she thinks he’s dead like the rest of the Jedi – and when she finds out what truly happened to him, she passes out (in Rebels; another terrific moment) because the pain is just too strong – the mixture of his known presence in the Force, and his new persona, that is torn from pain and suffering, feelings so intense and unknown to her she can’t understand them. It’s not her master, but it is undeniably Anakin. And he feels abandoned, he feels alone, he is guilty and sad and in constant pain, he is no longer there, not really, but then – he is. And the memory of what he once was, what he promised, everything he taught his padawan brings such pain for Ahsoka.

She may not think she is truly a Jedi, yet she is for me the only one of them I came to respect – she is never hypocritical, doesn’t leave anyone behind, not ever, and she fights for good, always for what she deems right, never feeling like she has to change for others, but in the end always blaming herself for their fate. She could never forgive herself for what happened to Anakin, and she can never forget her brothers, the clones, she suffers and grieves for every one of them, she knows their names, they were her whole world. And the only thing she had left, because they never judged and never tried to change her, they simply stood by her. Even when they had orders to kill her.

Rex and Order 66

Ahsoka’s master was gone from that moment on, and all she had left was Rex. The other main character, and I accept no objections to that statement. Rex is... the best one ever. He is, without any doubt, my favourite from this series. Putting aside my Ahsoka obsession, I didn’t expect to grow as attached to him as I did. Then again, I can’t separate them – for me, they are a team, the best one, and I don’t think I would have liked them as much had they not been the amazing pair they are. The connection between Rex and Ahsoka is what makes this series so different and so much better than the movies for me. It shows a level of true depth and caring that we haven’t really seen before – the type of platonic trust that few people find in their real lives. If I get to have just one friend that is as loyal, I don’t think I’d need anything more. Their story is so real, so touching and beautiful and sad – I think it is not only the best one in the series, but in the whole saga, and in any storyworld, really, for me personally. They meet a kid and a soldier, but they leave the war (or maybe the war leaves them) as equals, friends bound by experiences so unique and traumatic that they can never forget them, their bond can never be destroyed. They are soulmates, and they are forever. I don’t make the rules, sorry.

"Well, I've known no other way. Gives us clones all a mixed feeling about the war. Many people wish it had never happened, but without it, we wouldn't exist.”

Rex says this to Ahsoka moments before he is forced to execute Order 66 and it makes me shudder every time I hear it. Knowing what follows, knowing that the clones that have been created for war, are humans with so much more nuanced feelings that they let themselves express, that they fear the war ending as much as others might feel a war beginning is incredibly twisted. They are not machines, they are much more than that, they have feelings, and they have morals, and they are afraid. Rex has never doubted his loyalty to his commanders, and never gave any reason to be doubted – never hesitated, never showed anything less than immense courage and skill. But now he stands before the only person he’s never been able to deceive, and he voices for the first time what probably has been torturing him for a while – the knowledge that he is expendable, that his life might be over, and that this might be what he’s always fought for – the end of himself and his brothers. Victory and death, indeed.

Viewers have witnessed many a clone death, and these last episodes are the culmination of it all – from that point on, every favourite character is in danger. Of themselves. One thing that the series does marvellously is bring personality to so many seemingly identical characters – in the movies we never get any detail about their lives, their characteristics, even their looks – but now I could recognize Fives from Echo in a second; they might have the same features and the same voice, but they are not the same. They are brothers, forged by the same essence, they share the same blood and the same heart, but they are individuals with thoughts and passions so diverse it’s impossible not to notice, not to adore.

Rex is Ahsoka’s best friend, as she reassures him moments before everything went to hell. He is the man who stood and fought by her side, and who watched her grow up. Who, when faced with the order to kill her, removes and drops his helmet in a desperate try to fight Order 66 (perhaps unconsciously, as he is being mind-controlled), and so she could see his eyes, see his tears, his struggle, his shaking, and know that he had no choice, know that on some level, he is asking for help for the first time ever, the soldier he is – he removes his helmet so he could look her in the eyes, his best friend, his sister, his commander; and she knows.

She’d ran to him, when sensing there was something wrong – of course, Ahsoka would run to Rex, because he’s Rex, he’ll know exactly what to say and what to do, and maybe he could contact somebody who can fix this; this can’t be real, the war is almost over; she’s still a child after all, she can’t face this now, not alone, not without Rex. She’s never had to face anything without Rex, it’s just unimaginable – but she runs to him and in his eyes she sees someone who is not Rex at all, and suddenly all the men she trusted with her life more times than she can count, are not the men she knows, and they want to hurt her, and Rex wants to hurt her, even though it makes him suffer. She sees his tears; she feels in him what she never believed she would.

The parallels in their relationship are just amazing – one of their first interactions is when Rex says to her “good luck, kid” on their first ever mission together – and it shows just how much he already cares for her, how he understands that beneath all her witty remarks and wish to prove herself to her new master (and his soldiers!), she is still a kid thrown on a battlefield – an unnatural atmosphere for anyone, but especially for a young child with no experience whatsoever. From then on, they just keep getting closer and their friendship grows stronger until it reaches a point where they can understand each other without even speaking.

“Yeah, kid, I’m okay”, Rex says, moments after Ahsoka has removed his inhibitor chip and essentially saved both their lives, all while putting herself at a great risk, just because she cares and she can’t do this on her own. In this moment, in his eyes, she is again the kid he first saw, scared about her friend, trying to prove that she can do it all on her own – this parallel is so important to me; she has never been in such a situation alone before, because she’s always had Rex, and now she’d almost lost him, after just reuniting with him; when for a split second there was something in his eyes that she’d never seen before, the only thing that saved her was Anakin and Rex’s training (shown in Tales of the Jedi). Anakin taught her how to fight enemies much stronger than herself, her brothers taught her how to defend herself, not knowing that she’d ever have to, especially not against them. It’s truly heartbreaking.

“Ahsoka, it’s all of us” – just seconds after she has saved him, Rex looks her in the eyes and apologizes for almost doing the undoable, for almost killing her, for being okay when she almost wasn’t. How would he ever live with himself, knowing that he betrayed his best friend? The animation has developed so much by this point, that in this last episode, it’s almost like watching real people acting, at least that’s how I’ve always felt; it feels real, the emotion is just so intense and so palpable – especially with this being the first time Rex says her name. She is his friend, she is the only one who cared enough to save him, thus saving herself, proving again and again her loyalty, the thing they have most in common. They understand each other like no one else can, they have been through everything together, and now, in these crucial moments, they have both proven it – she never gave up on him, she trusted him enough to save him, and in return, he is ready to follow her anywhere and die protecting her. From his own men. Barely awake, he’d reached for his blasters, shooting his own brothers to protect her, not even fully conscious yet. They are equal, they have become one through the Force, and if it wasn’t clear before, it is now – they are sticking together to the very end, no matter what they must do, no matter how. They are forever. Loyalty means everything to the clones.

This and what follows on the bridge of the ship as it’s coming down, are my favourite scenes from the series.

“I hate to tell you this, but they don’t care! This ship is going down, and those soldiers, my brothers are willing to die and take you and me along with them!”

Even though it’s animated, even though you can’t see his face, and the only thing is his desperate voice, you can feel the devastation when Rex utters these words, touching his chest, as he says “brothers” – he has always cared for them, his family, and has mourned every single loss, but now, when there is no other choice, he knows protecting Ahsoka is the most important thing there is – the mind-controlled clones can’t tell apart their own from a traitor, so what’s the point?

There is always a right choice – and Ahsoka proves it, when she gently removes his helmet, only to show what everyone but also no one suspected – Rex is crying, he is afraid and in pain, and she is the only thing he cares about. He’s lost so much; he can’t lose her too. But she always has a plan, and she is probably the only one who cares about the clones as much as him; they don’t need to explain themselves; she doesn’t want to be the one who is responsible for so much death; there’s been too much already. They have lived a life of war, facing death and loss every single day, and enough is enough. She wants to live, but not at the cost of murder. There is no doubt in her voice when she says that.

Burying brothers

What follows is truly devastating to watch – Rex facing his brothers, as a traitor in their eyes, as some of them stand before him, still wearing their helmets with Ahsoka’s Togruta design on them, the colours of the 501st closely resembling her lekku. They’d painted their armour as soon as they knew Ahsoka was coming back to them and they were getting their commander, and little sister back, their best friend, the only one who cares enough to remember all their names, who never turned her back on them, even now, when they are against her, she still tries to save as many of them as possible; she’s been the one whose hand they’ve reached to when dying, their last memory on this world her face, her bright eyes, full of life and care, her presence calming them in the face of the inevitable, as she will have to do now as fell, at the very end.

How must it feel to lose everything you’ve fought and hoped for, in a span of hours? Palpatine’s plan is truly ingenious. The war might have ended, but only on the outside; a much larger, much more painful fight has begun, inside, for Rex and Ahsoka, who now have to navigate a life they haven’t ever considered; they may have wondered what life after the war might be like, but not like this, never like this; not as heroes, not even as fighters – as traitors in the eyes of their most beloved brothers and the new control of the Empire. But they choose to fight until the end, crashing down, falling with the cruiser together, hand in hand; the parallel of them hanging on to each other in the hanger is precisely mirroring the moment of Anakin and Obi-Wan trying to push each other away during their legendary fight on Mustafar, which is happening at the exact same time. But these two don’t let go, they simply cannot face losing each other, not now, not after all of this. They’ve fought for years, so many battles, losing track of what the fights are about – but this last one is clear; they are fighting for each other. And when they are the only survivors, they take to bury their brothers, and grieve the colossal loss side by side, silently watching, because there aren’t words to describe what they feel, and it’s not necessary, so they don’t speak. They know.

"I don’t want to bury any more of our brothers."

The devastation and sheer exasperation we hear in Rex’s voice when he says this much later, in The Bad Batch, when talking about the inhibitor chips nonetheless, is all we’ll ever need to know about him. Laying low after the end of the war, separating from Ahsoka, believed to be dead; in fact – being dead to the world in every sense, this is the choice he makes. He’s witnessed almost all his closest friends dying, he’s lost his general, he doesn’t have a purpose and a goal anymore; he has to deal with the realization that the war is over, but it ended at way too high a price, and he’s a soldier – he will fight every day, until the end, because it’s all he knows. He’s the most loyal soldier, survived Order 66 at the highest price there could ever be, and he can’t lose more. He wants to keep fighting, and he will, but not to lose. Rex doesn’t want to feel this awful feeling of loss, not ever again.

The same goes for Ahsoka – even though she quits the order and never officially finishes her training, the Jedi life is the only one she’s ever known, so her path even after leaving, after the war ends, and after she separates from Rex, is one lead by the code to a large extent, even if done so unconsciously. She claims to not be a Jedi when she faces her master as Vader in Rebels, wanting to avenge him; but she doesn’t end up doing it, she can’t possibly kill Anakin. So, she goes on, living in this middle ground – she is not truly a Jedi, but what else could she be? She has led her troops in many battles, fought by their side; even when they didn’t have to, they still called her commander, as loyal to her as ever; recognizing that she stood by them, even held them as they died.

When The Resolute crashes after Order 66, we are aware that her and Rex took every single one of their fallen brothers, buried them, and displayed their helmets, putting Jesse at the very front, the one who’d wanted to kill them the most at the end. But they know better, it was not him, not after literal moments before that he almost went insane from Maul’s questioning because he didn’t want to betray Ahsoka; he deserved a recognition, even in death. Every single one of them did, and Rex and Ahsoka gave it to them. She lets go now of her lightsaber, the Jedi weapon that bears her identity, and lays it to rest next to the fallen soldiers, because she doesn’t want to have any more connections to this war, there’s been enough fighting. She dies here too – for what it’s worth, she fell with the clones. I can’t imagine how traumatising and terrible it felt, pulling body after body out of the debris. For both of them.

Brother after brother.

***

No matter what I say, or how much I write, I don’t think I will ever be able to express properly what this world and this series in particular mean to me. Of course I love all things Star Wars, but The Clone Wars will always hold a very special and exceptional place among them. It is a unique feeling, one I cannot put a word on, it feels too big for me, as if there is some kind of a boundary that is at the verge of explosion, it’s holding so much emotion, and there isn’t enough space for it inside. Perhaps it’s the depth and the exploration of the clones, their relationships, the empathy their lives evoke – creatures bred for war, individuals barely recognized in life. But still human, as Rex and Ahsoka remind us of the entire time – especially when we see them watching the arranged helmets of their dead brothers – the clones have not been just pawns, they are people; people who died for a cause they couldn’t have any say in. Their lives were not their own; but Ahsoka’s life wasn’t her own either. This is the tragedy of The Clone Wars, but there’s also an ironic beauty about it – Ahsoka wouldn’t have had her master or her best friend, if it wasn’t for the war. It’s a story about the philosophy of choice, hope, good and evil of course, friendship and loyalty. Victory and its highest cost, death; the consequences after a life spent fighting, which no one usually thinks about.

When the final shot rolls and we see Vader’s ominous figure step on to the same place where Ahsoka and Rex were last, as he digs his apprentice’s lightsaber and holds it, we realize what the moral of the story is. We see Anakin’s eyes behind Vader’s mask, and we feel the cold he feels – he ended up alone after all, after all his trying, he had an army, he led troopers, he cared for an apprentice, but he lost them all. He won the war, but he would rather have died with his friends – who he doesn’t know are still alive, and they don’t know what happened to him either; instead of being their enemy. But the time for choosing is over, and there is no going back for him now.

His reflection hits the clone helmet, and we see the image of Anakin, walking away from Ahsoka and Rex.

It doesn’t end with the war; it begins with it.

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