#class i have so many thoughts and feelings

[covenofagatha]

Saw you're taking requests and decided to toss one your way!

Agatha x reader, reader has had a really tough day and Agatha helps put her into subspace to relax. Some soft!dom Agatha with a splash of praise, degradation, mommy and maybe some size kink? And of course some fluffy aftercare after reader has been thoroughly fucked out of her mind❤

Hope you enjoy! (Disclaimer: I've never written subspace before so hopefully I did it justice, along with everything else you wanted)

Bad day

When Agatha comes home to find that you had a bad day, she takes it upon herself to make you feel better

Word count: 2600

Warnings: praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, size kink, mommy kink, oral, strap-on, aftercare, smut, and fluff (I may have missed one)

You’re on your last nerve when you get to your afternoon class on Wednesday. 

Your car didn’t start in the morning so your girlfriend, Agatha, had to drop you off at work, which you’d never complain about, except she had still been asleep when this happened so you were almost late because she had to get ready. 

And then work was awful. You had a shift at the popular retail store in town and it seemed like every customer who came in was on a mission to personally ruin your day. 

From dissatisfaction with the prices to vomit all over the restroom floor, it seemed like nothing could go right. 

Agatha had been at work herself so you had to call one of your college friends to give you a ride after. 

And now you had to sit in a class on Personality Theory for the next three hours and listen to your professor drone off on tangents. You would be getting your tests back from last week though, and you were hoping you had done well. 

“Alright, before we get started, I’ll go ahead and pass out your exams. Once I call your name, you can come up and look at it,” your professor says and you anxiously tap your fingers on the desk while you wait for your turn. 

Finally, he says your name. Butterflies in your stomach, you walk to the front to look and it’s like you’ve been punched in the gut. 

There must be something wrong, you don’t understand how you missed this many. 

Red ink stains the page and you have to clench your jaw together to keep your composure. Tears prick at your eyes as you hand the exam back to your professor and head back to your seat, burning with shame. 

It seems like it’s just one thing after another. 

You barely pay attention for the rest of class, head spinning with thoughts of how bad you did, how everything sucks, how you just want to go home. 

Agatha texts you a few times during the three hour time span, just checking in on you, but you don’t even respond. She always says that you get too wrapped up in your own brain and you know she’s right. You do let her know that you won’t need a ride home, not sure you could take the older woman’s softness right now. 

You just want to take a shower and lie in bed. 

Class finally ends and you order an Uber instead of asking a friend to take you home. When you get in these moods, you don’t want to talk to anyone. 

You grunt in response to the driver’s question of asking how you are and then the rest of the ride is spent in silence. It’s not often you get in such a foul mood, but when it does, it’s tough. 

When you make it through the front door of Agatha’s home, you immediately collapse on the couch and breathe in the blanket that still has her scent. She’ll be home soon and now you just want her to give you a big hug and tell you that everything will be alright. 

You hear keys jingle in the front door maybe ten minutes later and you sit up on the couch expectantly, heartbeat picking up. You’ve been with Agatha for six months now and she still managed to have the same effect on you that she had at the beginning. 

“Hey, baby,” she calls out, seeing the lights on, and she makes her way to the living room to find you swaddled in her favorite blanket on the couch. She frowns, instantly able to tell something is wrong. Usually you get up to give her a kiss. “You okay?” 

And then it’s like a dam breaks. You start sobbing and telling her all the things that have gone wrong that day and she instantly sits down next to you, engulfing you into a hug and whispering that everything will be okay. 

She lets you cry for a bit, hand stroking your hair, making soothing sounds. Eventually, you calm down enough to take slow, shaky breaths. 

“I’m sorry, doll. Sounds like you had a rough day,” she says, pressing a kiss to your head and wiping the tears off your cheeks. You nod in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You shrug while you think about it. And then you lean in and chastely kiss her lips. 

When you pull back, she’s smirking. 

“You want mommy to help you?” She coos and instantly, a fire awakens in your belly at the use of your favorite name for her. Your head bobs up and down eagerly but she tuts and grabs your jaw to hold it still. “Words, baby.” 

“Yes please, mommy,” you whisper. No one can make you feel as good as Agatha can. 

“Good girl,” Agatha hums and the fire gets worse. “What do you want?” 

You squirm on the couch, just looking at her, begging with wide eyes. 

“Why don’t you show me what you want?” You whine and grab her hand and bring it down to your shorts. “Oh, do you want me to touch you?” 

“Please,” you force out again. “Touch me, mommy.” 

Her grin is wicked as she lays you back down on the couch, positioning herself so she’s holding her weight above you. Your noses are almost close enough to touch. 

“Does my little baby want me to reward her like the perfect little angel that she is?” Agatha purrs and you gasp, feeling your head start to get fuzzy. She plays with the waistband of your shorts and your hips buck up involuntarily. You make a sort of strangled noise from your throat – all you can do, really – and she shushes you. “Just relax, doll. Let mommy take care of you.” You whimper as she kisses your nose and moves down your body to undress you. 

You feel like you’re on a different planet when Agatha pats your waist so you can lift yourself up for her to take your shorts and underwear off. 

“There we go, so good for me,” she says, leaving kisses against your thighs. You moan, senses heightened. You babble something incoherently and you can hear her chuckling at you. “Baby, you’re absolutely dripping for me.” 

Her fingers move up and down your slit, collecting wetness, and sounds are pulled out of your mouth by her administration. 

“Does that feel good, hon?” 

Your head lulls back on the couch and you try to say something to affirm her question. 

“Aw, is my little baby in subspace right now?” Something in the back of your mind tells you that you must be, but you’re too blissed out to answer. 

And then her tongue is on your pussy and you couldn’t say a word even if you tried. If you didn’t already feel like you were floating then, you sure do now. Your back arches off the couch as she sucks on your clit but her hands come up to hold you down. 

“Be a good girl for me and let mommy do all the work.” 

Your moans get louder as she keeps eating you out and you’ve never felt this good before. It’s like all your worries and stress and frustration that built up over the day are melting away to leave you in a puddle of pleasure. 

“Mommy, so close,” you slur, hands digging into the couch beneath you. Her teeth scrape against your clit and she moans into you and it sends you into an explosive orgasm. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever cum that hard. 

She licks you through it and you have to pull her away after a while because you become sensitive. 

Agatha comes up to kiss you, long and hard, and you can taste yourself on her tongue. 

“Do you want to try something new tonight, baby?” She asks once she pulls away and you nod eagerly before even asking what it is. You trust her more than anyone. “I’ll be right back.” She gives you one last parting kiss and quickly runs upstairs. 

She’s up there for a few minutes while you lay on the couch, still in a trance-like haze. 

And then she comes back down and your mouth falls open. 

Attached to her hips is the biggest strap-on you’ve ever seen. She must have just bought it. You had gotten to where you could take the toys you had pretty easily, but you are certain that this will stretch you out so much more than them. 

“Mommy,” you whisper, eyes widening as she comes back over to the couch. You can see that she’s holding lube in one hand. 

“Mommy wants to see if your tiny, little pussy can fit her big cock,” she says and a thrill runs through you despite yourself. “Might have to work you up to it.” 

Your legs part without thinking and she laughs. 

“So desperate for me, aren’t you? My perfect, little slut.” You gasp at the words, feeling yourself get even more wet. 

While you loved the praise from her, degradation almost turned you on more. 

“You have to relax, baby,” she reminds you, moving to kneel on the couch between your legs and pushing them even more open. She rubs your clit and slides two fingers in easily. You grind up on her fingers, trying to pull them in more. “Look at how well you take my fingers. So good for mommy. You can’t get enough of them, can you?” 

You shake your head and groan when she curls them just right. 

“Such a good whore for mommy,” she sighs. “Can you take another?” 

“Please,” you gasp out, walls clenching around the two already inside you. She pulls them and you feel empty, but that feeling is quickly gone when she pushes three in you. The stretch feels so good and your hips meet her every thrust, the pleasure in you already growing. 

And then it’s gone. Your head flies up to look at her wrapping the hand wet with you around her strap and coating it. And then she opens the bottle of lube and pours a hefty amount in her other hand to also stroke the toy with. 

“Are you ready, baby?” 

“Go slow, mommy,” you tell her, even though you know that she will. “You’re so big.” 

“You’re going to look so pretty, sweetheart, stretched around my big cock,” she says and positions the tip at your entrance. “Like a little, perfect slut. 

The first push steals all the air from your lungs. 

“Fuck,” you groan. You’ve never been so full in your life and you barely have any of it inside you. Agatha doesn’t move, just rubs small circles on your thighs and waits for you to tell her you’re okay. 

It takes a few moments for you to adjust. It’s definitely easier in the headspace that you’re in right now. 

“Okay,” you say and Agatha obeys, slowly moving forward inside you. She stops when your breathing gets strangled and doesn’t move again until you’re back to normal. 

“God, your little pussy looks so good taking my big cock so well,” she grunts once she finally bottoms out. If your mind was clearer, you’d tease her about the size kink she so clearly has. “How are you doing, baby? Can I move?” 

“Please, mommy,” you beg, still feeling euphoric. Every drag of her cock against your walls now feels like heaven. She smirks and starts to move.

She starts slow at first, just short, slow strokes to make sure that you’re still comfortable, and then she starts to really fuck you. 

The pace Agatha sets is rough and bruising and you can hear the wet, squelching sounds that the toy makes as it pushes back inside you every thrust, a mix of your wetness and lube. 

“Mommy,” is all you can pant as she fucks into you over and over again, a light sheen of sweat breaking out on her. 

“So fucking good, sweetheart, you’re taking my cock so well, such a perfect slut for mommy,” Agatha mutters, never slowing down once. If you were already in subspace before, you’re not sure you have a word for what state you’re in right now. There are not even semblances of thoughts in your head, there is only Agatha and the pleasure she is giving you. You can’t even remember what you were in such a bad mood about earlier. 

She reaches down to rub your clit again and you hear someone moan obscenely loudly. 

You think it might have been you. 

All you know is that you’re getting so close again you can taste it. She seems like she can tell because she somehow speeds up, which you didn’t think was possible. Little gasps are forced out of your mouth with every push and your walls are tightening so much around her that it makes it hard for her to thrust. 

“So good, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Agatha chants, a hand reaching up to play with your nipple under your shirt. “So perfect, such a perfect slut, my perfect good girl. Cum for mommy, cum all over mommy’s big cock.” 

She angles her hips just right and rubs your clit hard and you spasm, back bowing off the couch. You’ve never felt pleasure this extreme; it feels like you’re having an out-of-body experience. All the tension in your body is gone and you pant heavily as Agatha pulls out of you. 

“You okay, baby?” She asks and you wheeze a laugh. 

“M’okay,” you say happily, a slow smile spreading onto your face. You can feel your head clearing with the loss of her touch. 

“Let me get a washcloth, alright? I’ll be right back, I promise.” She gives you a kiss on your head and she’s back in what seems like seconds with a warm towel. You wince at the feeling of it between her legs but it helps. “Do you want to move to bed?” 

You nod, but you’re not actually sure if you can stand up based on the jelly feeling in your legs. Agatha seems to understand this without you saying anything and she scoops you off the couch bridal style and carries you up the stairs. 

You giggle and burrow your head into the crook of her neck, breathing her in and feeling her against you. 

“You did so good, baby,” she whispers. 

“Thank you, Agatha. I really needed that.” 

She pauses for a second in the hallway to peck your lips. “I know you did. I’m happy to help, sweetheart. Whatever you need.” 

Once in the bedroom, Agatha helps you into some comfy pajamas and makes you take sips of water from the bottle on her nightstand. You lay down and she pulls the covers over you both, pulling you close to her so she can wrap an arm around you. 

“You’re so perfect, baby, you know that?” She murmurs. “I love you so much.” She kisses you softly, bringing a hand up to stroke your hair. 

“I love you too,” you mumble in-between kisses. No one has ever made you feel more loved than Agatha. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she continues and you blush. “I know you had a hard day today, but tomorrow will be better. You’re so strong. You’re my perfect girl. I love you.” 

And she keeps whispering the sweetest things into your ear, and you drift off to sleep in her arms, feeling like nothing was ever wrong. 

[meazalykov]

mother who stepped up

stepmom!lena oberdorf x mom!reader

summary: lena accepts you, and the mini-you

warnings: one mention of death, nothing too impactful to the story though. very long fic

you’ve never been one for surprises. your life, at least recently, has been built on carefully crafted routines, ensuring that your two-year-old daughter, macy, is comfortable and happy. 

dating? it was something you thought would come much later—if at all. after coming to terms with your sexuality, you didn’t want to date unti you were reassured that you’d be with the right woman for your daughter. 

here you are, sitting across from lena oberdorf, a suggestion from your well-meaning friends, and even though you like her, there’s something you or your mutual friends haven’t told her yet.

everything had been going smoothly with lena from the start. she was charming, funny, flirtatious, and made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t felt in a long time.

you didn’t think you could get used to someone so effortlessly, but somehow, lena just fit into your life—except for that one secret you hadn’t yet shared.

you’re sitting across from lena at a cozy café, sipping your coffee and listening to her talk about her game against wolfsburg– a club she played many years ago. 

it’s easy to get lost in the sound of lena’s voice, the way her eyes light up when she talks about football. you nod along, smiling as she recounts a funny moment from practice. 

for a while, everything feels perfect—simple, like your lives are in sync. in the back of your mind, you know you will have to tell her about macy. the little mini-you that is currently coloring in her daycare class across munich.

the conversation shifts to lighter topics, and you pull out your phone to check a notification. 

you sit your phone flat on the table and as you’re about to lock the screen, lena leans in, catching a glimpse of the photo that displays on both your home and lock screen. 

your heart skips a beat when you realize what she’s seeing—macy, her chubby little cheeks, dimples, and wild curls staring back at you from the lock screen. 

lena’s brow furrows slightly, curiosity flickering across her face.

“aweee who’s that?” she asks, her tone casual but with a hint of intrigue.

you freeze for a second, unsure how to respond. 

here we go, you think, heart pounding. swallowing hard, you try to brush it off with a light chuckle. 

“oh, that’s little macy.”

lena tilts her head, staring at the screen for a moment longer before locking eyes with you. 

“macy?” she echoes. “is she… your niece or something? she looks just like you.” she smiles, clearly finding the resemblance cute.

you force a small smile, feeling your throat tighten. this is it—the moment you’ve been dreading. 

“uh, no… she’s not my niece.”

“oh,” lena says, looking at you, then back at the picture. 

“then, what, a cousin? a friend’s kid?”

you can see her mind working, trying to make sense of it. your fingers tighten around the edge of your phone, and you finally decide to rip the band-aid off.

“she’s my daughter….”

lena’s eyes widen, her gaze darting back to the screen, then to you. her lips part in surprise, but she doesn’t say anything right away. she stares at the lock screen as if seeing it for the first time, really seeing it.

“your daughter?” she repeats softly, almost like she’s processing the words.

you nod, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. 

“yeah. she’s turning two in a few months. macy’s my little girl.”

for a long moment, lena just looks at the photo, her expression unreadable. you watch as her gaze flickers between the image of macy and you, comparing the two of you. 

“she… she looks just like you,” lena murmurs, her voice almost in awe. 

“i thought she was you for a second, like, as a baby.”

you let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension knotting in your stomach. 

“yeah, she’s basically my mini-me. she’s got my nose and everything.”

lena doesn’t seem to hear your attempt at humor. instead, her brow furrows deeper as she studies the photo. 

“wait, she’s… really your daughter? like, you have a kid?”

you bite your lip, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. 

“yeah, she’s mine. i know i should’ve told you sooner, but…” you trail off, not knowing how to explain the complexity of it all.

“but why didn’t you?” lena asks, her tone still soft, but there’s something raw in her voice—an undercurrent of emotion that you can’t quite place.

you glance down at your coffee, swirling it absentmindedly. “i didn’t know how,” you admit. 

“i didn’t want to scare you off. most people aren’t exactly thrilled about dating someone with a kid.”

lena leans back in her chair, processing what you’ve said. “you thought i’d be scared off because you’re a mom?”

you shrug, feeling a little defensive but mostly scared. “it’s happened before,” you say quietly. 

“people hear ‘single mom,’ and they run for the hills. i just… didn’t want that to happen again.”

lena is quiet for a moment, her eyes still on the picture of macy. she seems to be absorbing everything, and you can’t help but hold your breath, waiting for her to say something—anything.

“is the father around?” lena says her thoughts out loud. 

“oh no no no. um– he didn’t want anything to do with macy. he also passed away shortly after mae turned one. her father and i were never together or even had feelings for eachother– it was just um..” you trail.

“i’m very sorry about that.” lena says, looking up at you before looking back to the photo of your little daughter. 

“oh no don’t apologize.” you say.

there's a pause for a few minutes. its clear that you wanted to switch the topic away from macy’s biological father, who wanted nothing to do with her before his passing anyways. 

lena looks up at you, giving your phone back with her expression softening. 

“you’d thought i’d run?” lena asks, a small, incredulous smile playing on her lips. 

“because of this? because of her?”

you shrug again, not trusting yourself to speak. all your worst fears are bubbling to the surface, and you can’t shake the feeling that this might be the moment it all falls apart.

lena reaches across the table, taking your hand gently in hers. 

“y/n, she’s beautiful,” she says, her voice sincere. “i mean, she really is a little version of you.”

you blink, the words not sinking in right away. “you… you’re not mad?” you ask, your voice trembling just slightly.

lena shakes her head, squeezing your hand. “no, i’m not mad. i just… wish you’d told me sooner. i know we’ve only been official for a week but–” she pauses, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“i get why you didn’t, but… i’m not going anywhere. i like you. and now that i know about macy… i like her too. even if we haven’t met yet.”

the relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming, and you feel your eyes welling up. you’ve been bracing yourself for rejection, for lena to tell you this was too much for her. 

though here she is, sitting across from you, holding your hand, and telling you that she’s not going anywhere.

“you’re really okay with this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“more than okay,” lena says, her voice firm but kind. 

“you’re a mom. that’s a part of who you are, and that’s okay with me.”

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your heart finally starting to settle. 

“thank you,” you whisper, blinking back the tears. “you don’t know how much that means to me coming from you.”

lena smiles, giving your hand one last squeeze before letting go. “so, when do i get to meet this little mini-you?” she asks with a teasing grin.

you chuckle softly, wiping at the corner of your eye. “soon. i just… didn’t want to spring her on you right away.”

“well, now that i know about her,” lena says, leaning back with a playful smirk, “i feel like i’m the one being kept a secret from macy.”

you laugh, the tension between you finally breaking. “i guess we’ll have to fix that soon.”

lena grins, taking another sip of her coffee. “i’m looking forward to it.”

the next day– lena doesn’t text much. you know that she is busy training at bayern but anxiety consumes you. 

your thoughts spiral. maybe she changed her mind and realized that it was too much for her. maybe she’s having second thoughts. 

by mid-afternoon, you’re glued to your phone while macy is with her aunt (your sister), checking for any sign from her. 

nothing comes, and your heart sinks.

as you’re picking macy up from your sisters, your phone finally buzzes. lena’s name flashes across the screen, and you almost drop your keys in your hurry to check it.

lena: hey, can we talk later? i’ve been thinking a lot.

you stare at the message, panic clawing at your chest. thinking doesn’t sound good. you force yourself to respond.

you: sure. what time?

the reply is almost instant. 

lena: i can come over tonight?

you hesitate. having her over… that means she’ll meet macy, and you’re not sure if you’re ready for that yet. you also know you can’t keep her at arm’s length forever. you type back quickly.

you: yes, come at 7.

you spend the rest of the afternoon trying not to overthink it. 

as soon as macy is fed and bathed, your nerves start creeping back. you’re pacing the living room, glancing at the clock, when the doorbell rings.

macy, sitting on the couch with her stuffed miffy bunny and fluffy blanket, perks up. 

“mama, door!”

you smile, ruffling her hair. 

“stay here, baby,” you say softly, walking to the door. 

you open it, and there she is—lena, standing on your doorstep wearing a black outfit along with a grey beanie, looking as unsure as you feel.

“hey,” she says, giving you a small smile.

“hey,” you reply, stepping aside to let her in. you’re about to close the door when macy toddles over, clutching her miffy bunny in her small hands. lena’s eyes immediately land on her, and she smiles.

“this must be macy,” lena says, her tone soft and warm.

you nod, watching as macy stares up at lena with her wide (reader’s color) eyes. 

“yeah, this is her.”

lena crouches down to macy’s level, holding out her hand. “hey, macy. i’m lena.”

macy looks at you for reassurance before shyly reaching out to shake lena’s hand. 

“miffy bunny,” she says, showing off her stuffed toy.

lena chuckles softly. “that’s a cool bunny.”

you watch the exchange, your heart swelling with something you hadn’t expected. lena looks so natural with macy, and it’s a sight you weren’t prepared for. 

you clear your throat, trying to shake off the wave of emotion.

“so, um, you said you wanted to talk?” you ask, motioning for lena to follow you to the couch.

she nods, standing up and giving macy one last smile before sitting beside you. macy toddles back to the couch, climbing up and sitting between your legs, still clutching her bunny as her small arms hug your waist.

“yeah,” lena says, glancing between you and macy. “i’ve been thinking a lot since last night.”

you nod slowly, waiting for the bomb to drop.

“i know this is a lot,” she continues, her voice gentle but steady. 

“and i understand if you’re worried about how i’ll fit into your life, into macy’s life, but… i want to try.”

you blink, taken aback. “you do?”

lena nods, reaching out to gently take your hand. 

“yeah. i mean, i didn’t expect this either, but i really like you, y/n. and if macy’s a part of your life, then i want to be a part of that too.”

you sit back, still reeling from the way the conversation unfolded. the tension that had knotted up your stomach starts to loosen, but you can’t help feeling the need to set some boundaries—just to be sure lena knows what this really means. 

it’s too early in the relationship to assume anything, and you don’t want to put any pressure on her, especially when it comes to macy.

taking a deep breath, you meet lena’s eyes. 

“i just want to be clear about something,” you say softly. 

“i don’t expect anything from you when it comes to macy. you’re not obligated to her, and i’d never force any duties on you. it’s still really early in our relationship, and i don’t want you to feel like you have to step into a role you’re not ready for. if you just want to date me, that’s okay. i mean it. however i just want you to understand that in a case between you vs. macy– i’ll always choose macy.”

lena watches you closely, her brow furrowing slightly as she listens. she leans forward, resting her arms on the table, and shakes her head gently. 

“y/n, you don’t have to put up walls.”

you bite your lip, feeling the weight of her gaze. “i’m not putting up walls,” you explain quietly. 

“i just… i want to be fair. macy’s is the biggest part of my life, but she’s my responsibility, not yours. i don’t want you to feel like you have to take on so much at once. i don’t want you to feel trapped.”

lena sits back in her chair, exhaling slowly. her eyes soften as she takes in your words. 

“first of all, macy isn’t a trap,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. 

“she’s your daughter. i don’t see that as something to run from.”

your heart stumbles at her words, but you try to stay grounded. “but it’s still a lot for you,” you press gently. 

“being with me means being with macy too, and that’s a lot to ask of anyone. especially this soon.”

lena reaches across the table again, her hand finding yours, warm and steady. “i get what you’re saying,” she begins, her voice calm but sincere. 

“and i appreciate that you don’t want to rush things or put pressure on me. but, y/n, macy is a part of you. she’s part of your life, and if i want to be with you, that means i’m choosing to include her too.”

she squeezes your hand, her eyes locked on yours. “i’m not saying i’m trying to be her mom right away, or that i know how all of this is supposed to work. but i want to figure it out. because macy is important to you, and that makes her important to me.”

your heart swells, and you can feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes again. you hadn’t expected this, not so soon, and certainly not with such certainty in her voice. 

it’s like lena had already made the decision in her heart before you even started this conversation.

you blink back the tears, swallowing hard as you nod. “i… i didn’t know if you’d feel that way.”

“of course i do,” lena says softly, her thumb gently brushing the back of your hand. 

“i’m not scared off by you being a mom, y/n. it doesn’t make me want this any less.” 

you take a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the depth of her words. “i’ve never had anyone say that to me before,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. 

“it’s always been the reason people walk away.”

lena’s eyes soften even more, and she moves her chair closer to you, her hand never leaving yours. “well, i’m not them,” she says simply, her voice steady and sure. “i’m here. and i’m not going anywhere.”

the emotions well up in you, and for a moment, you’re speechless. you look down at your joined hands, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you. she’s serious. she’s really serious.

“thank you,” you finally whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for… for staying.”

lena smiles, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

macy, oblivious to the weight of the conversation, leans against your arm, yawning as she starts to doze off. 

you glance down at her, then back at lena, your heart full in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

from that moment on, things between you and lena shift. she starts coming over more, spending time not just with you but with macy too. 

at first, macy is a little shy around her, but lena is patient, never pushing too hard, just gently easing her way into your daughter’s life. it doesn’t take long before macy is running to the door to greet lena with a grin, her little arms reaching up for a hug.

the first time macy calls her "obi”,  your heart skips a beat. it's a simple moment—you're all sitting on the floor of your living room, surrounded by toys, when macy tugs on lena's sleeve, her big eyes looking up at her expectantly.

"obi, play?" she asks, holding out a mermaid barbie.

lena grins, taking the truck from macy. "of course liebe."

watching them together, you can't help but smile. it’s becoming clearer each day—lena’s not just here for you. 

she’s here for macy too. sometimes you joke that she is only here for macy.

as the years goes by, lena becomes more and more involved in your life. she starts joining you for bedtime routines, helping with bath time, reading macy her favorite stories as she grows older. 

after lena, macy, and you move into an apartment together— lena is for the tantrums, the messy dinners, the sleepless nights. sometimes, she will take the initiative so you can rest. the more time she spends with macy, the more it feels like she belongs in your little family.

three years after the important conversation, your life with lena feels like a dream. 

macy is five now, full of energy and curiosity, and lena has been there for all of it—every scraped knee, every preschool recital, every bedtime story. your home is filled with laughter and warmth, the life you never imagined you’d have when you were raising macy on your own. 

now, as you sit together on the couch, macy fast asleep in her room, lena leans into you, her fingers tracing patterns on your hand. she’s quiet, more thoughtful than usual, and you can sense something’s on her mind. she glances at the engagement ring on your finger, the same ring you’ve been admiring for months now, and then turns to you with a serious expression.

“i was thinking,” lena says quietly, her voice soft in the dim light.

“about what?” you ask, turning to look at her.

she hesitates for a moment, her hand pausing on your arm. “about macy. and… about us.”

your heart skips a beat, but you keep your voice steady. “what about us?”

“i know it’s still early but…” she says, her voice careful, 

you blink, processing her words. “but…?”

she takes a deep breath. “once we get married i’ll be macy’s stepmom. something i’ve been thinking about for a while. however i don’t want to wait until then. i want to be a mom to macy. if you’ll let me.”

the weight of her words settles over you, and for a moment, you’re speechless. you’d always hoped, deep down, that lena would want to be a part of macy’s life, but hearing her say it out loud—it feels overwhelming in the best possible way.

“i know i’m not her biological mom, and i’ll never try to replace that, but… i love her, y/n. i love both of you. and if you’re ready for that, i’d like to be her mom too.”

the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill over, and you reach up to cup her face, your thumb brushing against her cheek. “we’d love that, obi.” you whisper. “we’d love that.” you repeat in awe.

when macy starts calling her “mama lena,” after she turns six– your heart nearly bursts with love.

macy is seven now, and the bond between her and lena has only grown stronger over the years. she clings to lena in a way that sometimes surprises you—like she’s always seeking her approval or comfort. 

it’s been that way ever since lena officially adopted her after turning thirty-one, and you and lena got married. 

you remember that day so vividly, the moment the judge declared that lena was now macy’s legal mother. the joy on lena’s face, the way macy had leaped into her arms, calling her “mama” with such pure excitement, filled your heart with pride and love.

it wasn’t long after when lena got the call—an offer from chelsea. it was a huge opportunity, one that meant she’d be competing in the women’s super league. after a lot of late-night talks and some serious decision-making, lena accepted the offer, which meant the three of you were moving to london. 

the change was exciting, something fresh and new for all of you. macy was thrilled at the idea of living in a new city, and as for you, the thought of starting a new chapter together made you incredibly happy.

in london, lena is the person macy runs to for almost everything. scraped knees, homework help, even just to ask if she can have a snack—lena is her go-to. most days, it fills you with happiness to see them so close, to know that macy has someone who loves her so much. 

sometimes, like today, you can’t help but feel a little sting.

you’d been in the middle of getting macy ready for school. she was in a hurry as usual, fidgeting in her seat while you knelt to help her tie her shoes. 

before you could finish, she pulled her foot away, laughing. “no, no, mama lena does it better!” she giggled, her bright smile lighting up her face.

you laughed too, even though the words pricked at your heart. “oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“guess i’ll need to practice, huh?”

macy just grinned, her curls bouncing as she wiggled her toes. “yeah, you should! don’t worry, you’re still good at other stuff!”

you smiled, ruffling her hair. “well, i’m glad i’m still useful for something.”

she giggled again, completely unaware of how her innocent words had stirred something in you. 

you shoved the feeling aside quickly, focusing instead on making her laugh as you pretended to dramatically fumble with her shoes. her laughter filled the room, her curls tumbling down her back as she leaned forward in her chair, watching you with bright eyes. 

it wasn’t until you were dropping her off at school that the feeling crept back in, like a quiet ache in the pit of your stomach.

it wasn’t that you were jealous—at least, you didn’t think you were. you loved that macy and lena were so close. you’d always hoped that one day macy would have a strong bond with lena, and seeing it unfold so naturally had been like a dream come true. 

still, moments like this made you wonder if you were slowly being edged out, if macy was starting to see lena as the “cool” mom while you were just… the other one that happened to look like her.

you tried not to dwell on it too much. lena had been nothing but supportive, always making sure you knew how important you were to both of them. and really, you were happy. 

lena had embraced being a mother to macy in every way—going to parent-teacher conferences, staying up late to help with school projects, even helping macy with her football in-between training at chelsea. 

that was another thing: football.

macy had recently started showing a serious interest in the sport, much to lena’s delight. she idolized her mama, always asking about drills and tactics, begging to go to practice with her. 

one afternoon, after watching one of lena’s games, macy had turned to you both, her eyes wide with excitement. 

“i want to play football too!” she’d said, bouncing on her toes.

lena’s face had lit up with pride. “you do, huh? well, we can definitely make that happen.”

since then, lena had been working on getting macy into training, talking to coaches and setting up practice sessions in your backyard. you’d watch them sometimes, lena patiently teaching macy how to pass the ball, how to position herself. 

the way macy looked up at lena, so full of admiration, always made you smile. you were thrilled that your daughter had someone like lena to look up to, someone who could teach her the things you never could.

and yet, in the quieter moments, when macy would run to lena after a long day, her arms wrapping tightly around her waist, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of sadness. it wasn’t that macy didn’t love you—she did, of course.

there was something different about the way she clung to lena, like lena was her whole world. you couldn’t blame her. lena was a natural with her, always knowing just the right thing to say or do to make macy feel safe and loved.

you’d catch yourself watching them sometimes, a soft smile on your face as you listened to their conversations, the easy way they communicated without needing to say much. you’d hide your feelings behind a joke, like the time macy had joked about lena being better at making breakfast, and you’d playfully said, “well, guess i’ll just stick to making the coffee then.” macy had laughed, and you’d felt the sting lessen, pushing it to the back of your mind.

around this time, you and lena had started talking more seriously about having another child. 

this time, you would carry, using lena’s egg along with a donor. you’d been through a few consultations, and after what felt like a whirlwind of planning and waiting, the IVF procedure was finally successful. 

you were pregnant with another little girl.

the joy that filled your heart was indescribable. the idea of adding to your family, of giving macy a sibling, was something you’d dreamed about for so long. and now, with the news confirmed, it was time to tell macy. 

you weren’t sure how she’d react—she’d always been so used to being the only one, the center of attention. but you were hopeful that she’d be excited.

one evening, you and lena sat macy down, her favorite blanket draped over her lap as she snuggled on the couch between you. lena’s arm was around your shoulders, her hand resting gently on your belly, already slightly swollen with the new life growing inside.

“munchkin,” lena said softly, looking at macy with a warm smile. “we have some big news for you.”

macy looked up, her curiosity piqued.

“what is it?”

you took a deep breath, smiling as you leaned forward a little. “you’re going to be a big sister, sweetheart.”

macy’s eyes widened, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her mind clearly racing to process what you’d said. 

“a big sister?” she repeated, her voice uncertain.

“that’s right,” lena added, squeezing your shoulder gently. “there’s a baby in here.” she gestured to your belly. “a little sister for you.”

macy’s face scrunched up, her expression a mix of confusion and hesitation. “but… i like being the only one,” she admitted, her voice small.

you shared a glance with lena, both of you understanding her hesitation. “we know, sweetheart,” you said gently. 

“and you’ll always be our first, our special girl. but having a sister means you’ll have someone to play with, someone who’ll look up to you, someone who’ll need your help.”

macy was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking about what you’d said. her little fingers twisted in the edge of her blanket, her brow furrowed as she processed the news. you could tell she wasn’t sure how to feel.

“and you’ll still get to do everything you love,” lena added. “football, school, everything. this just means there will be more love in the house. and maybe, when she’s old enough, you can teach her some football moves.”

macy’s eyes brightened a little at that, the idea of teaching someone something she loved appealing to her. “i get to teach her football?”

you smiled, nodding. “absolutely. you’re going to be the best big sister ever.”

slowly, macy’s frown faded, replaced by a tentative smile. “okay,” she said, her voice soft but a little more certain. 

“i’ll be the best big sister ever. but only if i get to teach her football.”

lena laughed, pulling macy into a tight hug. “deal.”

and just like that, your family took another step forward, your heart full of love as you prepared for the next chapter in your lives—together.

masterlist

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ☁︎ TEENAGE DREAM ☁︎︎ ⋆.˚

—sometimes at eighteen, young love is anything but a teenage dream.

genres・fluff // young love // awkward confessions // meet cutes. summary・love is embarrassing, especially when you're in high school. from the cozy coffee shop to the local campus, eight boys stumble through the awkward world of crushes—trying, and failing to confess to you.

a/n・I haven't been on here for a little while, but I wanted to do something silly and fun to celebrate 500 amazing followers! All of these ideas are still in the works, so the plots may change, but I'm having so much fun writing them. I get hit with a pang of nostalgia every once in a while, remembering my very first fanfiction, haha. If you want to be tagged in any of these, just comment down below or send me an ask—and always remember to support your content creators; it means the world to us!!

☁︎︎ COFFEE CUP ☁︎︎

BANG CHAN loved being a barista; not only did he get exceptional employee discounts but it was peaceful—he handed people their coffee, they said thank you and walked away—nobody ever bothered him. that is, until one night, ten minutes before closing, you walked in with your bright smile and garrulous chit-chat. It only took you one sentence to have him hooked, eagerly waiting for your next late-night visit. what is bang chan going to do when he finally works up the nerve to write his number on the sleeve of your coffee cup, only for you to toss it away without ever seeing it? (coming to your shelves December 10th)

☁︎︎ ROSE ☁︎︎

LEE KNOW was famous for being the star quarterback turned heartless bachelor—or so everybody thought. nobody could have guessed that the reason minho chased every woman away was because, hidden 60 miles from home, there was the animal shelter where he volunteered. the reason he drove an hour every day to nurture abused pets? you. what is minho going to do when, no matter how many roses he gives you, you just can’t take the hint? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ MOTORCYCLE ☁︎︎

︎SEO CHANGBIN. there’s nothing he loves more than his motorcycle—well, that’s not entirely true. he probably loves you more, but his motorcycle is certainly a close second. with prom looming, changbin finally gathers enough courage to ask out his long-time crush and childhood best friend. what is changbin going to do when, halfway through, he chickens out—and, in a panic, ends up ramming his motorcycle into your mailbox while trying to back out of your driveway? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ MY MUSE ☁︎︎

HWANG HYUNJIN has been in love with you for about as long as he’s understood the word love; stuck in the seat beside you since elementary school, hyunjin grew to adore the soft curves of your features. one day, in the middle of art class, he's struck with the urge to draw you. overcome with the fear of never getting the chance to tell you how he feels, hyunjin stuffs the picture in your locker. what is hyunjin going to do when he overhears you talking to your friends about the drawing—and you mention his enemy's name, and not his? (coming to your shelves soon...)︎︎

☁︎︎ LYRIC BOOK ☁

HAN JISUNG is dedicated to securing the top spot in his songwriting class, and nothing is going to stand in his way. that was, until three years ago, when you walked through the door, head held high, speaking of your goals as if they were already part of the present. jisung never thought there would be any competition—until there was. now, he doesn’t know whether to write songs about his overwhelming hatred or his overwhelming ardor. what is jisung going to do when, one day, you’re paired with him for a project, and you discover all the love songs he’s written about you? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ SUGAR AND SPICE ☁︎︎

LEE FELIX, the school's sunshine, the universe’s fallen star—nothing was going to get him down. well, except for you. no matter how hard he tries, felix just can’t form a sentence around you; his tongue twisting into sailor’s knots whenever you look his way. what is felix going to do when he tries to confess through a cake, baked fresh in the culinary class you share, but trips over his shoelaces and smears the cake all over your shirt instead? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ BASEBALL ☁

KIM SEUNGMIN worked with a focus nobody else seemed to reciprocate, constantly practicing to be the best pitcher this world has ever seen. his teammates respected him, his coach loved him, and the school only ever saw his poised manners—not the awkward teenager he really was. that is, until he meets you—equally shy and almost as painfully awkward, studying on the bleachers every day after school. there's something about your concentration, the self- assured direction you set for yourself, that makes him want you even more. what is he going to do when, one day after practice, he scrawls his number on a ball and chucks it toward you? and for once, the ball doesn’t go where he aimed. instead of landing in your lap, he nails you right in the forehead. (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ THE BOOK WAS BETTER ☁︎︎

YANG JEONGIN lived in the library. on the days when he wasn’t cramming for an exam, he was relaxing with a good book. the library had always been peaceful for him—a sanctuary that students rarely ever touched. that is, until one random morning, he sees you walk in—captain of the cheerleading squad, with your tiny skirt and sparkly eyelids, jeongin almost expects you to laugh at him and his pathetic seating arrangement—all alone. but then, checking to see if anyone’s watching, you pull a book from the shelf, and begin to read it. that's how it started—now, every day during lunch, you come and read your book, safe in the shadows, creating a home nobody else knew about. what is he going to do when he starts falling for you, through the notes he slips into your book after you leave? And what will happen when the wrong girl comes in and tries to take the book? (coming to your shelves soon...)

a special thank you to @jeonginsleftcheek who helped me flesh out all these ideas. I couldn't do any of this without you!! I hope you like these stories <33

[storiesfromafan]

He's Not So Bad (18+) - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: I bring you the awaited follow up to He's So Annoying 😊

I hope this ain't too bad. I finished writing it this morning before work. And just finished revising, so forgive me if there is any spelling/grammer mistakes.

Also, today wasn't such a good day at work, would appreciate some love 😅

Warnings: spelling/grammer mistakes, public sex, p in v

Prompt/s: “Can you feel how much I want you?” and “You’re mine"

Tag list: @moorningvoice @legobookstore @revesephemeres

After Potion’s class, you found Mattheo flirting and annoying you more with every shared class for the last few days. And every time you do your best to ignore him or put him in his place, he continued to drag up that night. You began to think he enjoyed remembering it, and like if he mentioned it, you’d jump back into bed with him. And you wanted too. But your better judgement told you no, he just wanted you physically.

Unfortunately this day was the day he’d followed you out of your last class – Divination – and was adamant on giving lost puppy energy. And that was even with people around.

“Honestly, why do you keep chasing me, when there are so many willing females that would gladly be your bed buddy?” You sighed turning down a hallway that looked to be deserted.

Mattheo shrugged. “I like the chase with you. It’s a challenge, love”.

“Don’t called me love!” You shot back, sending him a glare. Which made him smile.

Mattheo thought it was funny how you hadn’t clued on. How he was infatuated with you. His constant presence, annoyance and the nickname – love – were tell-tale signs of his affection for you. Hell, he’d even gotten detention the other day for hexing a Hufflepuff guy who Mattheo overheard planning to ask you out. You were his. And that meant you were off limits.

Mattheo chuckled. “Deny all you like, love, but I know you enjoy it".

Rolling your eyes while you picked up the pace, wanting to put distance between you too, as well as get back to the Ravenclaw house. The only place you could be free of the menace on your heels. If only you know what was about to come.

You felt a hand wrap around your wrist, then being pulled down a dead end of the hallway. Your body being pressed against the wall, hidden behind a statue and pillar. Another hand was pressed against you mouth before you could even make a noise. Before you was Mattheo, the person who had dragged you down here and pressed you against the wall.

Your shock expression turned to that of a glare. Which told him that you weren’t going to scream, probably tell him off, but he could handle that. So with a small, sweet smile on his lips, Mattheo removed his hand. Instantly you let him have it.

“What the hell! What are you thinking!?” You voiced, tone sharp and annoyed.

Mattheo remained quiet, admiring the fire in you. He moved the hand that had been over your mouth, to push back your hair so it was over your shoulder. Before running it along your jaw and down your neck. You shuddered. You told yourself you had to be mad, and not show how his simple actions affected you. Because they did. His touch was electric, the pads of his fingers running slowly over your skin, sending your heart a flutter.

Mattheo of course noticed the shudder, and the slight change in you. He’d been studying for so long, he knew the signs. The hand holding your wrist moved to rest against the wall next to your head, almost completely caging you in. His warm chocolate brown orbs had darkened with the thought of what was to come. So long as you let him, of course. Mattheo wouldn’t do anything you didn’t beg for. And he’d have you beginning.

Leaning in, Mattheo ran his nose along your jaw, taking in the faint smell of your perfume. Which he noted he needed to find out what it was, so he could buy you more, for it was his new favourite scent when mixed with your own smell. You stiffened at his action. You didn’t expect Mattheo to be this forward. Sure, he liked to flirt and bring up that night, maybe even tell you what else he’d like to do to you. But actually do it? This surprised you.

“You smell so good" Mattheo softly groaned before nipping your jaw, making you jump. “Jumpy, love?” He chuckled.

You shot him a dirty look, which he enjoyed oh so much. “N-no" you retorted.

Once more Mattheo chuckled, before kissing your jaw and then nipping once more. Again you jumped, but not as much as the first time. “Hmmm, you are jumpy" he commented teasingly.

You placed your hands against Mattheo's chest and push, hoping he’d get the hint and back up. But no. He only moved closer, your strength nothing for him. Before your hands could be trapped, you moved them to his shoulder. Bad move. It not only allowed Mattheo to press his body completely against yours, against the wall. But also gave him the idea you wanted him. Which you did, but tried to fight the spark between you both.

His lips moved to your neck. Kissing and nipping. You fought the rising moan that so badly wanted to be freed from your lips. No, you couldn’t let Mattheo win. Yet the moment his free hand skimmed up your side, coming to rest under your breast, you wanted to whine, wanting him to touch you there. And you know he wanted to, the way his hand slightly shaked against you, his restraint impressive. But he wouldn’t just do it, not without permission, your submission and begging.

The hands on his shoulders grasped at his white button up shirt, your nails would have dug into his flesh if not for that item of clothing. The memory of how your nails felt on and digging into his flesh flooding both of your memories. Recalling how Mattheo moan and groaned from the scrapping down his back, and the reminder he had for a few days. He wanted your mark on him always. But that would be another time.

Yet you were holding back, and he couldn’t have that. He needed you to give in to him. Mattheo pressed his lower half closer to you, his arousal pressing into your hip.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He groaned lips having moved to your ear, his hot breath tickling. “So badly I need you, love”.

Your breath caught in your throat from the feel of him and his admission. Which hit straight in the pit of your stomach, adding to your arousal. You pressed your legs together trying to will it away, but the embers were lit. From here it would just grow to an all-consuming fire. Against your better judgement, and senses, you moved a hand to the back of Mattheo's head. You grasped his brown curls, before pulling his head back so you could look at his gorgeous face. Expecting a knowing smirk upon his lips, you would have been surprised by the dark look on his face, if you weren’t lost by desire. Which mirrored in his eyes.

You pulled him in so that your lips collided in a hard, messy kiss. Giving all in. Which Mattheo accepted. The hand resting under your breast moved to cup your mound, that you sighed at. Taking his opportunity, Mattheo slipped his tongue into your mouth, claiming it and your tongue for himself. Feverishly his tongue moved with your own, a frantic dance.

While you lost yourselves in the kiss, Mattheo moved both hands down your sides. Moving over your hips and down your thighs. He moved down and you continued to move with him in the kiss. Mattheo then moved his hands back up your thighs, under your skirt, to the back of your thighs. Before you knew it, he had lifted you, bringing your legs up around his waist. His hands groping your behind, while he pushes you further against the wall. His arousal pressed against your aching core, both clothing separating those intimate places. With a hard, slow grind against your body from Mattheo, you pulled back from the kiss and moaned. Instantly he moved to sloppily kiss your neck.

“W-we shouldn’t b-be doing this h-here" you managed to choke out, as he kept grinding against you.

Mattheo groaned against your neck. “But I need you now, love. I can’t wait" he retorted. “No one will know, as long as you’re quiet".

The way his voice lowered and had this desperate tone to it, it just added to the fire. With those words and tone your last shred of sense left you. Too far gone now to back out. You bucked your core against his arousal, solidifying you heard and understood him. And that pleased Mattheo so much.

One of his hands moved to your clothed sex, fingers finding your bundle of nerves and pressing it over your panties. You groaned softly, before you mewed when he moved those fingers in circles over the nub. You rested your head against the wall, eyes closed while your hand gripped Mattheo’s hair. He moved his head back, drinking in the sight of your face and his hand pleasuring you.

When he abruptly stopped his ministrations, you shot him a dirty look. He chuckled. “Patience, love. It’s just beginning".

He placed a long, chaste kiss to your lips. While his hand moved to his slacks, he pulled down his zipped and managed to free himself. It was a moment of relief for Mattheo, for his hard member had been in torture being confined. Using his hand he pumped himself a few times before feeling the over whelming need to be inside you. So, letting himself go, Mattheo moved his hand to your panties. Pushing the clothing a side, he jostled you up the wall a little move, hand firm on your behind.

Moving himself to your entrance, Mattheo ran the tip along your folds, gathering your slick. When the tip nudged your bundle of nerves, you groaned, feeling a jolt in the pit of your stomach. He did that a few more times, enjoying the noises and how your face looked from his actions.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be in you" he sighed, lining himself up at your entrance.

You didn’t say anything, or get the chance too. For Mattheo began to push into you. Slowly the tip entered you, followed by inch after inch. He growled at how tight you were around him. But eventually he pushed all the way in, bottoming out, fully inside you. He waited a few minutes, letting you adjust to him and relax.

After a few minutes Mattheo started to pull out till the tip was just inside you, and with a snap of his hips, he pushed back inside. Over and over he did this at a slow pace. Your hands gripped his hair and shoulder, back arching, clothed breasts pushing up against him. You felt so good, like heaven, just like he remembered but better.

There you were, in a dead end of a deserted hall, with Mattheo fucking you up against a wall that was just concealed from sight. You should have protested the public setting, but when he felt so good, and made you feel so good, you couldn’t do anything but take it.

With a harsh snap of his hips, you bit back a loud moan, for he’d reached that spot with in you. And with every second or third thrust, Mattheo was hitting it repeatedly. You buried your face in his shoulder, holding onto him tighter, a small whimper leaving your lips. Knowing how good he was making you feel, Mattheo picked up his pace, chasing your releases.

You felt that coil in your pit tightening with each thrust, your sex tightening around him every time after hitting that spot deep within you. You both were a panting and sweating mess, lost in this moment and the other.

“You're mine" Mattheo groaned, thrust harsher into you. “Tell me you’re mine!”

You moaned against his shoulder, from his thrust and words. Being so sex drunk, your better judgement was out the window. “I-I'm yours" you moaned.

“I can’t hear you" he groaned, gripping your ass with both hands as he thrust deeply and moaning.

You let out a small cry when he did that. “I-I'm yours!”

Hearing you better, Mattheo grinned. Pleased with your answer. Without saying anything else, he focused on getting you both over the edge. He focused on his thrusts, long and hard, and trying to hit that spot over and over. That coil in your pit tightened with every thrust. You found yourself tell him you were close. So he worked harder. Soon his thrusts got sloppy, but he kept at it.

When you finally came, you told him just before that coil in your snapped. You tightened around him, moaning Mattheo's name and riding out your release. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Mattheo finally hit his own release, a groan leaving his throat. He thrusted a few more times as he coats your insides with his release. Mattheo buried himself inside you, body leaning against you as you both tried to catch your breathes.

It was silence, except for your soft panting. Mattheo rest his forehead against your shoulder, while the hand in his locks ran through them. He was savouring this moment. While you wondered what this meant. You were confused by his want for you to say you were his. Was it something to help him get off? Yet you were unsure of voicing that question.

After a while Mattheo pulled back, and he removed himself from you, covering you back up with your panties. He helped lower you to your feet, which were a bit shaky. But once he was sure you were standing, he put himself back in his pants and zipped them back up. It was silent between you both, for you, you were unsure while Mattheo was satisfied and content.

Feeling self-conscious, you picked up your bag and were about to leave. “Um, a-alright" you stuttered. Unsure of what to say after a quickie in the hall.

You had just moved past Mattheo, when he grabbed your wrist. “Where are you running off to love?”

You sighed. “I told you, I’m not your love”.

Not hearing a retort or him releasing your wrist, you turned to see a knowing smirk on Mattheo's face. He moved closer to you, hand moving to lock with yours, as he pulled you closer.

“Oh, but you are love” he said in that overly sweet tone. “You said it yourself, you’re mine”.

Your face flushed. While all words left you. That was the moment you realised you had unknowingly given yourself to Mattheo Riddle. You were his. And he was completely yours. Slowly a smile crossed your lips. You decided to accept your fate. He’s not so bad.

[silcoitus]

Hello! I think I'm doing this right but if not, I'm so sorry:

What do you think Silco would do if he found out, years later/during Act 2, that a fling he had when he was alot younger and dumber, resulted in him having a Son/Gender neutral child living in Piltover?

(how this is discovered can be completely up to you)

Would the angst of them being a Piltovian(?) citizen permanently leave their relationship undefined or would he push away his hatred of Piltover and try and meet them?

Better yet, how would Jinx react to this?

Just a bit of potential angst to spice things up I guess haha.

Thank you!

Thank you for this amazing prompt, anon! It's one of my favorite ones I've ever received! Why does writing angst soothe me? It doesn't make sense.

Summer's Ghost

Masterlist | AO3 link

Rating: Mature

Tags: Silco, original female character, original child character, angst, depression, reference to character death, character study

Word count: 2.7k

Beta reader: @juniper-sunny

Silco receives a curious letter from a Piltie boy claiming to be his son. Spurred by lingering bitterness and unresolved anger, Silco visits Topside for answers and to finally speak his mind to the woman who left him so many years ago.

Dear Mr. Silco,

I'm not exactly sure how even to begin this letter, so I’ll start with the part that is most relevant to you:

I am your son.

I know, I didn't believe it at first either. But if you keep reading, I can tell you how that happened.

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover. She was the top of her class and an artist. My grandparents tell me that, in her university days, she had a bit of a rebellious streak. She ran away from home to live in the Undercity. Over the course of a summer there, she met a man. And fell in love.

You probably know more about how the rest of this story goes than me.

After that summer, my mom had a change of heart. She returned home with a new bundle in tow: me. And while she never told me, I assume she left the Undercity in order to raise me here.

But you probably don’t care about all that. You just want to know why I’m writing to you. 

Well, first off: I'm not asking for money. My mom (and grandparents) provided for me and I have a comfortable life here in Piltover. 

I don't want anything from you. Not really. I wrote because… well… My mother died recently. It's actually how I found out about you. My birth was a closely guarded secret and it was only when I was cleaning her stuff out after her death that I learned. She had a box of things from her time with you: a diary, some photographs, a bracelet. I thought you might want them.

I don’t know what your relationship with my mother was like or how it ended, but this seemed like something she would want me to do. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry. 

I've attached her obituary. It has her final resting place. If you want to collect the box, I've left it on her grave. If you haven’t taken it by next week, I’ll assume you want nothing to do with it. And that’s okay, too.

Sincerely,

M.

P.S I also included a photo for proof. You can hold onto it. I already made myself a copy.

When finally Silco lifts his eyes from the letter, it's with slightly parted lips and inward curling eyebrows. Visions of memories long ago flick across his mind’s eye unbidden, released like water from a dam. 

Setting the letter down, he retrieves the other effects in the pneumatic tube. Fingers tremble as they pull out a small photograph. It's worn around the edges and the ink has faded significantly, but the image is unmistakable: it's him in his early twenties, standing next to the woman who left him.

He remembers that summer clearly, the memories vivid and the feelings so strong it could power a Hexgate. He remembers the late nights talking, the sound of her laugh, the way she was always sketching in her notebook. He remembers the first time they kissed, followed quickly by the first time they made love.

Silco’s lips press into a thin line, something bitter bubbling within him. 

He remembers his desperation when he ran through the Lanes, searching for her. He remembers how he couldn’t sleep for days, worried something had happened. That someone had taken her. Or worse. He remembers crying so hard that he could feel it in his teeth, his cheekbones feeling as if someone was pressing their thumbs to them with the aim of crushing them. He remembers drinking.

And drinking.

And drinking.

Drinking to cope.

Drinking to forget.

Drinking to wash down the bitter taste of the knowledge that he had let someone get so close to him so quickly, only for them to rip his heart out and slash it to pieces. And to add insult to injury—

My mother was a brilliant woman, born and raised here in Piltover.

He stares at that word again.

Piltover

Hand shaking violently, he picks up the pneumatic tube and hurls it across the room. It breaks on impact as it hits the office door, glass shards flying through the air.

Of course.

Who else could chew him up and spit him out? Who else but a Piltie? His home—his life—nothing more than a tourist attraction to her, a vacation away from her cushy, privileged life. 

How could he have been so blind?

How could he have been so stupid?

He can feel his heart rate rising, chest heaving as his breathing grows unsteady. Good eye fluttering closed, he puts one hand out, signaling himself to stop.

Slow down.

Breathe.

He takes one long inhale through his nose, holding it for a moment before blowing it out his mouth through pursed lips. When he opens his eyes, his jaw is set, decision made.

He snatches the letter, photo, and newspaper clipping off the desk, shoves them into his coat pocket, and walks out the door.

As far as final resting places go, this certainly is one of the more luxurious ones. Even in death, Topsiders can’t help but preen and self-aggrandize, if not with their bodies, their tombs. Each gravestone seems to be attempting to outdo the next, growing larger and more gaudy in size as Silco walks down the rows of graves. Subconsciously, his nostrils flare and his mouth twitches into a snarl.

When he finds her name among the dead, he’s surprised to see not a tombstone but rather a park bench. Constructed out of blue pearl granite and polished to a brilliant shine, her name, date of birth, and date of death are carved into the back. The soil around the bench looks freshly turned over and the carved letters barely have any dust or dirt accumulated in them. Studying the dates, it would seem M did not lie; she had died two weeks ago. 

And there—sitting on one end of the bench, waiting for him—is the box.

His chin lifts as his mismatched eyes scan his surroundings, looking over his shoulder, his ears alert and listening for any signs of other visitors. Certain no one is nearby or within eavesdropping distance, he turns his attention back to the bench.

He could just take the box and go. There’s no need for him to linger here. But as he stands staring at her name—carved with such finality into that unmoving stone—he can’t bring himself to leave.

And yet, it’s odd, addressing a bench. On his way over, he had envisioned himself spitting on a tombstone with great satisfaction. But now, as he’s faced with something as welcoming as a bench in a beautifully maintained cemetery, he feels stuck. Any anger that had been boiling in his abdomen before has simmered down, upended by the unexpected appearance of his former lover’s grave.

Reaching into his pocket, he retrieves the photograph. After propping it up on the bench, he addresses the woman who lies six feet underground. 

“You…” He can’t even bring himself to say her name, both hands balled into fists in his coat pockets. “You’ve been here this entire time.”

Both eyes roll as he realizes the error of his statement.

“Not here, but in Piltover.” He brings one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, good eye squeezed shut. “I searched for you for weeks. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I thought someone had taken you. I thought you had—”

Died.

Well.

It’s accurate now, isn’t it?

“Typical Topsider,” he spits out, one hand gesturing as if throwing something away, like the way she had thrown him away, “You come to my home, promising a bright and brilliant future, but all you do is leave destruction in your wake.”

He steps back, pulls his head back, and spits onto the freshly dug soil.

“Disgusting,” he snarls. “And to think, I had lov—”

He pauses, unable to finish the word.

He was young. He was ignorant. That was not love he felt for her. Nor adoration. That was infatuation; merely a young man’s naive idea of what love was.

What that was—it was Not Love.

Silco pulls his fingers through his hair, collecting himself.

“Why?” His hand curls into a fist again. His tone is bitter, full of anger, growing in volume. “I don’t care why you left; I know exactly why you left.” 

As he continues to speak, his concerns about being overheard are overcome by the thundering emotions swelling inside him, churning and bubbling after years of dormancy. “You didn’t want your son to grow up to be a street urchin like his sumprat father. No… all I want to know is…”

His next words are bellowed out, the sound coming from deep within his lungs, each word punctuated with a pregnant pause, as if he means to put his entire body into every syllable.

“Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. Me?”

There’s a flurry of wings as nearby birds take flight, spooked by the sudden noise. 

Silco’s good eye flutters closed again and he takes long, deep breaths, recentering himself. His hand comes up, forefinger pressing to his sternum. There’s a desperation to his voice now, a yearning. Mourning something he didn’t even know he had until a few hours ago.

“I had a right to know.” He opens his good eye, staring at the photograph. Staring at her. “He is my son. He is my blood. How could you have kept him from me for so many years?”

He gathers himself, eyes casting to the ground. 

He had so much more he wanted to say. Years of anguish, torment. But now that he’s here, he’s forgotten them all.

He feels empty.

Finally, he slumps down on the bench, next to the box. It remains untouched beside him. He sits with his shoulders sagging forward, both elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as his head hangs low. 

It’s quiet in the cemetery.

He turns his face toward the photograph, addressing the woman in it with a whisper of a voice. “All I wanted was for you to be okay. For you to live a good life.”  He lifts his head toward the great, open sky of the City of Progress, free from smoke and fissure gasses and ash. “And I suppose I got what I wanted.”

He hangs his head once more, speaking to the ground at his feet.

“You just did it without me.”

A stiff breeze blows through, tugging at his coat. He makes no move to bundle himself up further, letting the chill air surround him, seeping into his bones.

He sits.

And remembers.

After a few moments, he hears movement. Ears prickling and head whipping up, he spots a boy walking between some nearby tombstones. He looks to be a teenager, fifteen—maybe sixteen—years of age. The boy pauses at one of the graves, looking at it silently, his hands shoved into his pockets. After a moment, his eyes lift and meet Silco’s.

Silco meets his gaze, unblinking. The boy doesn’t seem at all fazed by Silco’s corrupted eye, giving him a small, polite nod. Silco nods in return before tearing his eyes away.

Ocean green and volcanic orange eyes pause on the small wooden box on the bench. 

Mahogany. Expertly crafted. Like the bench, it’s beautiful in its simplicity. Unbidden, Silco’s throat bobs as he reaches for the box and gingerly places it on his lap.

After taking a deep breath, he lifts the lid.

The first thing he sees is a bracelet. Black in color and made of thin strips of leather with small circular charms along the strings, it’s plain and modest. The surface of the leather looks almost brittle, worn around its edges from frequent use.

Underneath, there’s a stack of photos. Lifting them, he recognizes the first as one he had taken. The late woman stands laughing beside The Last Drop’s jukebox, Felicia grinning widely next to her. Vander can be seen in the corner, caught mid-sentence as he speaks with whom Silco can only assume is Benzo. Setting down that photo, Silco’s eyebrows lift when he sees the next one.

He doesn’t remember this photo being taken at all, which is curious given the fact he’s the one and only subject of the photo. Silco—sporting long hair tied back in a low bun—sits at the bar, pouring over his notebook. His right arm is wrapped in strips of off-white fabric and in his hand is a pencil, which hovers over the page, posed to write. 

Silco remembers this night.

It was the night Felicia told him and Vander she was pregnant with Violet. It was the night everything changed.

Funny, how the night he learns of one pregnancy happens to also be the night his lover leaves him because of hers.

He hums, continuing to study the photograph.

He had forgotten what he looked like at that age, so used to seeing his marred reflection in the mirror. So used to covering half of his face with foundation just to regain some semblance of normalcy.

Silco’s about to look through the rest of the box when he sees movement out of his periphery. Quickly, he shuts the box and looks up to see the boy from before, standing in front of him.

“Sorry,” he says, voice quiet. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” Silco replies simply. His good eyebrow lifts in silent question.

“Is it okay if…” The boy gestures to the empty spot on the bench. 

Silco stands, hand offering the seat, the box neatly tucked under his arm.

“Oh, you didn’t have to leave,” the boy says, scooting over to leave some room. “I just wanted to sit for a little bit.”

Silco eyes him for a moment, then, against his better judgement, sits back down. The mahogany box feels heavy in his lap. The boy’s eyes look at it briefly before looking out into the rest of the cemetery.

The pair sit in silence, the only sound the rustle of the leaves as the wind rushes through the nearby trees. Silco’s hand covers the box, fingers idly smoothing over the carving of a rose on the lid.

He doesn’t know why he does it, compelled by a nagging curiosity, but Silco breaks the silence.

“Do you have family here?”

The boy nods. “My grandpa.”

Silco hums.

Silence falls between them again.

“Do you?” the boy asks, eyes lifting to meet Silco’s.

Silco’s lips press together, the tip of his chipped tooth catching the inside of his mouth a little.

“In a sense.”

The boy sighs. “At least it’s a pretty nice view.”

Silco follows his gaze.

“It is.”

“Well, except for that.” 

The boy points to a large tombstone made of porcelain with gold accents all along its edges. Every inch of it seems to be covered in some sort of design, painted in blue. But the patterns come across as less elegant and more like visual noise; the eye given nowhere to rest, the senses overwhelmed by all the complicated shapes and textures.

Laughing, the boy makes a retching noise. “It’s so ugly.”

Silco’s lips pull into a smirk, head tilting.

“There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Yup.”

The boy abruptly gets to his feet, seemingly satisfied. Turning to Silco, he puts his hand out in offering.

“I’m Marlow, by the way.”

“Marlow.” Silco takes his hand and shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

The boy nods, seemingly out of words. After offering a small smile, he turns on his heel, heading for the gates.

Silco continues to sit on the bench, thumb rubbing absentmindedly on the box’s carvings. After a moment, his eyes widen and he reaches into his coat pocket for the letter, eyes darting down to the bottom.

M.

He looks up to find the boy has disappeared. He lets a short chuckle out of his nose as he shakes his head, rising to his feet.

After one final look at his ex-lover’s grave, he starts his trek back home.

He has a feeling this won’t be the last time he visits this cemetery.

And it won’t be the last he’s seen of that boy.

Taglist: @averagecrastinator @mazikomo @writingmysanity @insult-2-injury @ariaud @jennrosefx @ins0mniac-whack @steponmesilco  @sherwood-forests @leave-me-alone-silco @givemebeansnow @aeryntheofficial @dreamyonahill @lostbunn @whatisafandom @violet-19999 @juicboxd @sageandberries-png @sirenofzaun @blissfulip @mutedwordz @fly-like-egyptian-musk @jennithejester @mrsdelirium @witheringblooddemon

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[florenceafternoon]

━。゜✿ jily fic recommendations ✿ ゜。━

Thank you to all the authors who share their wonderful stories with us. I hope this list reminds you that I come back to these stories often and that your words are loved by many.

As always, these fics are set in the wizarding world but aren’t necessarily canon compliant.

For reference, anything in italics is taken from the summaries.

A Hundred Visions and Revisions by @yallthemwitches

She loves him like this: sleepy, slap happy, sometimes a bit handsy but willing to meet her where she’s at in the moment. It’s the quiet moments like this that keep her going sometimes, knowing that whatever is happening out there will disappear by the end of the day when they can hold each other again.

To live for the hope of it all

Whispers in the Dark also by yallthemwitches

When Lily is awarded her prefect badge in fifth year, they warn her that James Potter has a talent for disappearing... but if that's true, why does he keep coming to her night after night, hoping to be caught?

Until the Light Takes Us also by yallthemwitches

A series of drabbles and fics following the prompt of Jilytober Fest 2024.

color theory by @clare-with-no-i

Lily Evans learns about love: its hues, its tints, its shades. Some disappoint. Some dazzle.

falling (for fools) by @jjameslily

She hated him. Hated his confidence, his messy charm, the way he managed to take up space even when he wasn’t saying a word.

Absolutely. Totally. Without question.

But, as much as she tried to focus, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought.

She’d never noticed just how distracting James Potter could be.

don’t let it make you cry also by jjameslily

Her eyes glistened, the love within her radiating from her. She let it ripple outward, weaving her spirit into the air around him, reaching beyond the veil, hoping he—Harry, their son—would feel it not as a ghost of a fleeting memory, but as a pulse. Alive. Real.

Quid Pro Quo by StarsAndDiamond (on ao3)

Lily Evans was not ready to go home for her sister's Christmas engagement, but she wasn't the only one up late at night in the common room.

Sharper Than Hope by @maraudersftw

“You’re…” A lick of lips; something sharper than hope on my tongue; another attempt. “You fancy me?”

every single time by @gigglesandfreckles-hp

Unrelated drabbles, fics, ficlets, and word dumps in response to jilytober 2024 prompts

2, 5, 10, 11, 12, 16, 19, 21, 27, 29 and 30 are my favourites

Lucky Number 7 by zipadeea (on ao3)

Lily Evans thought life at Hogwarts was busy enough for her, what with Prefect duties and N.E.W.T classes and meetings with the Slug Club. Then, Marlene convinces her to try out for the Gryffindor quidditch team.

Written because James was a Chaser, and I'm convinced Harry's athletic abilities come from both sides of the family tree.

crawl home by @annabtg

He doesn’t know if he’s alive or dead. All he knows is that he wants to go home.

Exhale by @petalsthefish

"Shhh," James leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I’m so sorry, but I have to set the bones again. It’s okay to cry, you're doing so well. So well, baby."

"Fuck," she whimpered through her tears. "I hate this."

"I know, I know," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I hate this too, sweetheart."

Masquerade also by petalsthefish

James was going to jinx Sarah Hitchkes.

It was Sarah Hitchkes who conceived the entire idea, driven by two main motives. First, it was a fun and creative way for everyone to showcase their Patronuses. Second, it gave her the perfect excuse to throw a massive party. Scheduled for July 31st at her sprawling estate, the event was open to all the sixth- and seventh-year students. She dubbed it the “Patronus Party,” and it was set to be the social highlight of the summer—provided you could produce a corporeal Patronus.

this trope will always be a favorite of mine

Coincidence also by petalsthefish

“You look miserable.” Mary commented, noting Lily’s bored expression.

"I need to make out with someone like I need to breathe." Lily Evans hissed as she swirled her butterbeer and peered around the bar.

"James Potter's free."

In Their Short Time by @hogwartslivy

It was one hell of a love story. One that had a most tragic, untimely ending. They could never have guessed as mere children sitting across from one another on the train, all excitement and nerves and emotions, that their stories, all hopes and fears and loves, were to be forever intertwined.

Something Old Something New by @chiechie97

Weddings are the most beautiful things in the world. Unless you accidentally end up at your ex... somethings house to play violin at a family wedding.

Lily Evans just wants to get payed and go home to her cat. Perhaps she should have asked more questinos about the location and clients of her string quartets latest gig.

It’s Always You by @joyseuphoria

5 times jily kissed before they started dating

I'll keep your brittle heart warm by Iphigenniaa (on ao3)

Lily Evans didn't have to wash the blood off her hands that night, but she did have to wash the burning odor from her clothes, which seemed to soak even her own insides.

A Life With You by @kay-elle-cee

A Jily Lives AU collection of small moments from Hogwarts onwards, using the 31 Jilytober tumblr prompts.

7, 8, 10, 11, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 22, 24, 29 and 30 are my favourites

don't forget me by blackcanarys (on ao3)

At the height of the First Wizarding War, Lily Evans finds herself contemplating life, death and her mortality after a routine Order mission in 1978.

It's All Politics by acciosalmon (on ao3)

The most constant emotional sentiment in Lily's Hogwarts career was her complete and utter loathing of one William Mulciber

I have yet to read this one, but it was recomended to me because it explores how jily's power dynamic is altered when James isn't potraied as white but Lily is

[pbaz7]

AN: Hi guys, this is my first time writing and posting on here but I felt inspired. Let me know what you think and if it’s any good. I have so many ideas so I want to know if I should keep writing!

It’ll Always Be Her

It’s 6:52 AM, and though her “girlfriend” lies next to her, Paige can’t stop thinking about Azzi. Usually it’s Azzi who occupies this spot next to her, and it’s a lot easier to relax. But last night, Paige hadn’t been feeling great, and she didn’t have the energy to push back against Jess. (It;s a familiar pattern, one that explains how Piage ended up in a relationship with Jess to begin with.) So when Jess insisted that Paige needed to be taken care of, all Paige could do was mutter something inaudible under her breath and collapse face-first into her pillow, forcing herself to sleep earlier than usual.

Now, here she is, wide awake an hour and a half before her alarm is set to go off. Not because she’s ready to face the day, but because she’s uncomfortable with Jess snuggled so close and because her mind won’t stop swirling with thoughts of Azzi, her curly headed best friend. Over the past few weeks, something has shifted between them. Their looks have become more intense, their fingers linger on each other for just a second too long, and there’s an undeniable tension that always leaves Paige wanting more.

She glances at her phone- 7:23. Great. She sighs and tosses and turns, hoping to wake Jess so she can escape the bed as soon as possible. But when Jess begins to stir, she presses her face deeper into Paige’s side and wraps her arm around her waist, holding her tighter. The gesture feels so innocent, so natural… and yet, any touch that isn’t Azzi’s these days feels wrong.

With a frustrated breath, Paige swings her legs off the bed, sitting up quickly. She’s already done with this, already done with the suffocating warmth of Jess beside her.

The movement is enough to wake Jess fully. She blinks up at the time, then at Paige. “Baby, come back to bed. Jess says, her voice thick with sleep, trying to coax Paige back under the covers. “It’s so early.”

Paige doesn’t meet her eyes. She’s focused on the dresser, pulling out a sweatshirt, but her tone is dry when she responds. “I can’t. I’ve got to get to the gym.”

“Come on,” Jess whines, pushing herself up onto her elbows. “You have plenty of time. Please. Just five more minutes.”

Paige pulls on her sweatshirt, the irritation creeping into her voice. “I can’t Jess. I’ve got a full day. Practice, classes, homework. Endorsements to deal with. I don’t have time for this.”

Jess’s face falls. She gets out of bed slowly and steps toward Paige, “You’re acting like I’m some kind of inconvenience. Is it a crime to want to be intimate and spend time with your girlfriend? You’ve barely glanced at me in weeks. What’s going on, Paige? I miss you. I miss us hanging out.”

Paige feels anger welling up inside her now even though she knows she’s being unreasonable. She spins around, facing Jess. “You don’t get it, Jess,” she snaps. “You forced your way into my room last night. You know you never sleep here. I wasn’t asking for your ‘help,” I wasn’t asking for you to be here. You just–” She stops herself, trying to breathe through the frustration because she knows Jess hasn’t done anything wrong, but the words keep spilling out. “I didn’t want this. You didn’t even give me a choice.”

Jess recoils, her face flushing with a mix of hurt and confusion. “What the hell are you talking about Paige? I just wanted to be there for you. I didn’t force myself on you.” Her voice shakes now, the hurt beginning to show. “You’ve been shutting me out, and now you’re blaming me?”

Paige runs a hand through her hair, exasperated trying not to hurt the girl anymore that she already has. “I’m not blaming you, Jess. I’m just saying you’re not giving me any space. “I’m not your project to fix.”

Jess steps back. Her expression hardening. “So, what? You’re just going to keep pushing me away? Because I’ve been nothing but patient with you, but you’re acting like I’ve done something wrong.”

Paige’s breath quickens, her heart racing, “I’m not shutting you out. I’m trying to figure things out. I can’t breathe with you constantly hovering.”

Jess stares at her for a long beat, clearly struggling to process everything. Then, her eyes narrow, and her voice lowers. “ I get it now, It’s her isn’t it?”

Paige’s entire body freezes. Her pulse spikes, and her stomach drops. “Don’t. Don’t bring her into this,” she says, her voice strained. It’s a warning, as everyone knows how protective the blonde is of Azzi. But it’s too late. Hess’s words hang in the air like a cold gust of wind.

“I see the way you look at her. I’m not blind, Paige. It’s so obvious–maybe you need to be more honest with yourself.”

“Don’t bring her up,” Paige snaps, her voice sharp and brittle. She’s seething now, every fiber of her being reacting to the mention of Azzi. “You don’t know what you’re talking about so maybe you should just leave.

Jess’s face pales, her lips trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. But she doesn’t say anything else. She just grabs her things, slinging her back over her shoulder with a sharp motion.

Paige doesn’t look at her as she heads toward the door. She can feel Jess’s gaze on her, but she can’t bring herself to meet it. She’s still shaking, her anger, guilt, and confusion all rising to the surface.

“Fine,” Jess mutters as she reaches the door. Her voice is small, but there’s a venom in it now. “I’ll give you the space you so desperately want. I’ll talk to you later Paige.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and for a long moment, Paige doesn’t move. The weight of everything crashes over her, and the room feels impossible quiet.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, fighting the wave of emotions, trying to push down the rage, the guilt, the ache in her chest. She runs a hand through her hair, trying to breathe, but all she can think about is Azzi, The way her heart races when she’s near her. The way their eyes meet and everything else seems to fade.

…

Paige slings her gym back over her shoulder, her steps brisk as she tries to shake off the lingering weight of her argument with Jess. She’s almost to the door when she nearly collides with Ice, who’s leaning casually against the wall, earbuds hanging from her neck.

“Whoa, slow down,” Ice says, raising an eyebrow. She’s in her usual attire, a tank top and sweatpants, her hair pulled into a messy bun.

Paige mumbles an apology and moves to step around her, but Ice doesn’t budge. Instead, she gives Paige a long, knowing look.

“Heard everything this morning,” Ice says, her voice low. “Thin walls, you know.”

Paige freezes, her face flushing.

Ice shrugs, a faint teasing smirk playing on her lips. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t take a genius to see that something is building with you and Azzi.”

Paige’s stomach flips at the mention of Azzi. “There’s nothing going on,” she says quickly, but the defensiveness in her tone betrays her.

Ice raises her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, whatever you say.”

With that, she saunters off toward the kitchen, leaving Paige standing in the doorway, her thoughts swirling.

…

Paige pushes herself harder than usual, the basketball's relentless rhythm doing very little to quiet her mind. The music connected to the gym’s speaker halts as her phone buzzes, and she goes to grab it during a water break. It’s a text from Azzi.

Azzi: Morning sunshine. You survive the apocalypse?

Paige smirks despite herself and quickly types back.

Paige: Barely. Already at the gym.

Azzi: Damn, overachiever. You running from something superstar?

Paige hesitates before replying.

Paige: Just needed to clear my head. You free?

Azzi’s response comes almost immediately.

Azzi: For you? Always. Come by whenever.

Paige feels a flicker of relief mixed with anticipation. She fires off a quick See you soon before tossing her phone into her gym back. For the first time that morning, a small part of her feels lighter.

…

Later, Paige finds herself standing outside Azzi’s door, heart pounding. Azzi opens it with that easy, infectious smile that makes Paige’s pulse quicken.

“Hey, gym rat,” Azzi teases, stepping aside to let her in. “ You didn’t even shower first? Bold choice.”

Paige rolls her eyes but smiles. “Don’t push your luck.”

They settle on the couch, the tension between them noticeable even in the mundane moments. Azzi sits close with her arm draped along the back of the couch, fingers brushing against Paige’s shoulder, trying to soothe the older blonde. It’s casual, but it sends a jolt through Paige.

“So,” Azzi begins, her voice soft but curious as she knows the only thing that can possibly cause her to be upset this early in the day is Jess. “What happened with Jess?”

Paige exhales, running a hand through her hair. “She’s upset. Think’s I’m shutting her out.”

Azzi titles her head, “Are you?”

Paige sighs, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt. “I don’t know. Maybe. Everything just feels…off with her lately.”

Azzi leans back, her fingers trailing casually over the seam of the couch. “You know, Jess never really liked me,” she says, her voice light, but her eyes sharp.

Paige shifts uncomfortably, already sensing where this is headed. “She’s just…territorial.”

Azzi snorts. “That’s one way to put it. From day one, she’s acted like I’m some homewrecker.”

Paige frowns, the memory of that first awkward meeting flashing in her mind. Jess had been cold, almost hostile, when Paige introduced her to Azzi at a team party months ago. Their tension was palpable from the moment they shook hands–Jess’s grip a little too firm, her smile a little too tight.

“She was threatened.” Paige says finally, her voice low. “And honestly? I didn’t know how to handle it. I wasn’t expecting her to call herself my girlfriend out of nowhere.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly smile. “So, you just went along with it? Classic Paige. Always trying not to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

Paige exhales sharply. “I didn’t want to embarrass her. And it wasn’t a big deal at first. We barely see each other with my schedule.”

Azzi leans in, her gaze intense. “But now?”

Paige doesn’t answer immediately. She’s too focused on the way Azzi’s eyes linger, the way her voice dips when she asks the question. The truth is, things are different now. Ever since Azzi started pushing boundaries–lingering touches, inside jokes that felt a little too intimate, the way she’d lean in close during quiet moments–Paige’s world has felt off-balance.

“It’s complicated,” Paige mutters, though even she knows it’s a cop-out.

Azzi titles her head, her tone both teasing and pointed. “Is it? Or are you just scared to admit what you really want?”

Paige’s heart skips a beat. “What are you getting at?”

Azzi shrugs, her smile softening. “I’m saying that maybe it’s time you stop worrying about everyone else and figure out what you need. You’ve been letting Jess call the shots, but what about you?”

Paige doesn’t respond immediately, her mind racing. She knows Azzi’s right. For months, she’s been coasting, letting Jess dictate the terms of their so-called relationship while keeping her own feelings bottled up, But now, with Azzi in the picture, those feelings are impossible to ignore.

“I don’t want to hurt Jess, she’s done nothing wrong” Paige says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi’s expression softens, but there’s still a spark of determination in her eyes. “I know. But you can’t keep living like this, Paige. You deserve more than just going along with something because it’s easier.”

Paige meets Azzi’s gaze, her heart pounding. The air between them feels electric, the unspoken tension crackling like a live wire.

“You’ve been different lately,” Paige says suddenly, her voice quiet but steady. “More confident. More…direct in a sense.”

Azzi smirks, leaning in slightly. “You noticed?”

Paige swallows hard. “Yeah. Hard not to.”

Azzi’s fingers brush against Paige’s, a deliberate, feather-light touch that sends a jolt of warmth through her. The tension between them is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife, Paige can barely breathe her pulse thundering in her ears. “Maybe I got tired of waiting for you to see what’s been right in front of you this whole time.” Deciding to be a little bold in this moment Azzi continues her voice low and teasing. “You know, it’s kind of funny. Jess is always worried about me stealing you awake.” She leans in just slightly, her smirk deepening. “If she only knew how easy you make it.”

Paige’s eyes narrow, her lips twitching with a reluctant smile. “You’re such a pain.”

“Maybe,” Azzie murmurs, leaning in closer. “But you like it.”

Her voice drops into a playful whisper, and Paige can’t help but laugh, though it comes out a little breathless. Azzi’s confidence is intoxicating, her presence magnetic. Paige feels herself drawn in, like a moth to a flame, even as her mind screams at her to keep her distance.

“Azzi,” Paige warns, though her tone lacks conviction as she glances quickly at Azzi’s lips.

“Relax,” Azzi says softly, leaning back slightly but keeping her hand close to Paige’s. “Just messing with you, P.” Her eyes flicker with amusement, but there’s a softness behind them too, something deeper than Paige can’t ignore.

Paige shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “You really have no off switch, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you,” Azzi replies without missing a beat. She stretches her arms along the back of the couch, her fingers lightly grazing Paige’s shoulder again. “But hey, if you’re not ready to face the truth, I'll back off..for now.”

Paige smirks, leaning back into the couch. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re still here,” Azzi counters, her grin widening.

Paige rolls her eyes, but she can’t deny the truth in Azzi’s words. She’s here because, despite everything, this is where she feels most at ease. Most herself.

“Alright, enough of your games,” Paige says, her voice more lighthearted now. “Pick a movie.”

Azzi grabs the remote, scrolling through the options. “Fine, but you’re not allowed to complain if I pick something you hate.”

“Just pick something, Azzi,” Paige teases.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Azzi settles on Frozen. As the opening credits roll, she shifts slightly closer, her arm still resting along the back of the couch, fingers now absentmindedly playing with a strand of Paige’s hair.

Paige lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you’re not running away,” Azzi teases, her voice playful but with an edge of truth.

Paide doesn’t respond, her focus on the screen but her thoughts completely elsewhere. The warmth of Azzi’s touch, the sound of her laugh, the way her presence seemed to fill every corner of the room– it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

For now, they style into the movie, the tension simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to bubble over.

…

Later that evening, after leaving Azzi’s apartment, Paige stands in front of her dorm mirror, adjusting her sweatshirt. The number 35 emblazoned across the back–a familiar sight on game days, but tonight it feels different. It’s Azzi’s sweatshirt, one she had thrown on without thinking before heading over to Jess’s room. She swallows hard, already dreading the conversation ahead.

When Paige finally knocks, Jess opens the door with a tired expression. Her eyes immediately flick to the sweatshirt, and for a moment, her jaw tightens. She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, her voice laced with sarcasm.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Jess says, her tone sharpy but quiet. “Azzi’s right? Gues you managed to check that off your long list of things you ‘needed’ to do today.”

Paige feels her stomach drop, guilt mingling with irritation. “Jess–” she says with a warning tone, not wanting the girl in front of her to bring up her best friend.

Jess raises her hand, shaking her head. “Don’t. I don’t have the energy for this right now.” Her voice is weary, the edge from before softening into something more fragile.

Paige’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?”

Jess steps back, motoning for Paige to come in. She sits on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair. “Something happened with my family,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I have to go back home for a few weeks.”

Paige blinks, the weight of Jess’s words settling over her. “What? Is everything okay?”

Jess shrugs, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Not really. My dad’s in the hospital. It’s serious, and my mom’s barely holding it together.”

“Jess, “I’m so sorry,” Paige says, her voice soft. She moves to sit beside Jess, hesitating before placing a stiff hand on her shoulder.

Jess offers a small, tight smile. “Thanks. I just..I need to be there for them, you know?”

Paige nods. “Of course. You should be with your family.”

They sit in silence for a moment, the tension between them shifting into something more somber. Finally, Jess exhales deeply and looks at Paige. “I hope we can figure things out when I get back. I hate feeling like this..like weren’t not on the same page.”

Paige’s chest tightens as she knows exactly how she feels. “Me too,” she says quietly, though the words feel hollow.

Jess gives her a lingering look, then stands. “I’ll be gone early tomorrow. Just..take care of yourself, so we can figure us out, okay?”

Paige nods again, standing. “You too, Let me know if you need anything.”

Jess offers a faint smile, but her eyes betray a mix of sadness and exhaustion. “I will.”

As Paige steps out of the room, the door closes softly behind her, leaving her alone in the hallway. She leans against the wall for a moment, taking a deep breath, before heading back to Azzi’s room. In her chest she feels a mixture of guilt and relief, but she pushes them both aside as she walks down the hall.

…

When Paige returns to Azzi’s apartment, Azzi greets her with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. She leans casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly enjoying herself.

“Well, well,’ Azzi drawls eyes flicking to the sweatshirt Paige is still wearing. “I see you decided to have the talk with Jess while rocking my number. Bold move.”

Paige sighs, stepping inside. “Don’t start.”

Azzi chuckles, closing the door behind her. “I’m just saying, P. You’ve got some interesting fashion choices for serious conversations.”

Paige rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the slight flush in her cheeks. “It wasn’t intentional. I just grabbed something before heading out.”

Azzi steps closer, her smirk softening into something more playful. “Well, intentional or not, you look good in it.” Her eyes sweep over Paige, and her voice drops slightly. “Really good.”

Paige’s breath catches for a moment, her heart pounding as she feels the tension between them crackle to life again. She tries to brush it off with a nervous laugh. “You’re insufferable.”

Azzi grins, taking another step closer until they’re just a breath apart.”And yet, you keep coming back.”

Paige doesn’t have a clever comeback this time. She’s too focused on the way Azzi’s gaze lingers on her, the way her fingers lightly brush against Paige’s wrist, sending a jolt of warmth through her.

“I can’t think straight around you.” Paige admits softly, almost to herself.

Azzi’s smile deepens, a mix of satisfaction and something softer. “Good,” she murmurs, her fingers trailing up to toy with the hem of the sweatshirt. “Because I like you exactly like this.”

Paige swallows hard, her pulse racing. She doesn’t resist when Azzi gently tugs her toward the couch, but instead of sitting down, Azzi stops, tilting her head toward the bedroom.

“Come on,” Azzi says, her voice low and inviting, “Let’s get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.”

As they step into the room, Paige pauses feeling a mix of anticipation and nervous energy, Azzi, catching the hesitation gives her usual reasoning smile but gentler.

“Relax,” Azzi murmurs, her voice low and soothing. “You know we’d never do anything while you’re with Jess. We’re better than that.”

Paige feels a mix of relief and guilt that swirl inside her. Azzi’s words aren’t just reassurance– they’re a reminder of the trust and respect that anchor their connection. She nods slowly, her heart steadying a little.

“I know,” Paige whispers, her voice almost breaking.

Azii offers her a small, understanding smile before gently tugging her toward the bed. “Now come on. Let’s get some sleep.”

Paige lets herself be led, but once they reach the bed, she takes the initiative. She slips under the covers and, before Azzi can settle, gently pulls her down beside her. Azzi raises an eyebrow, but before she can say anything, Paige wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her close, resting her chin on Azzi’s shoulder.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, their breaths syncing as the tension from earlier melts into a quiet intimacy. Paige tightens her hold slightly, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s stomach, grounding herself in the moment. A

Azzi tilts her head slightly, her voice soft. “You’re really something, P.”

Paige smiles, her heart full in a way she can’t quite describe. All thoughts of Jess are completely absent from her mind. “Goodnight, Az.”

“Night, superstar,” Azzi murmurs, her voice laced with contentment.

In the safety of each other’s arms, they drift off, the unspoken feelings between them lingering like a promise in the quiet night.

[vodika-vibes]

knight!Kix x princess!reader where the reader has had to run away from their palace after an attack on her kingdom and Kix has keep her safe and get her to a safe zone?? Hurt/comfort aswell??

Queens Aren't Born

Summary: Kix, like all his brothers, is a member of the Royal Guard. Though, as a medic of the Guard, he doesn’t have many dealings with the Royal Family. Then, one day, that all changes.

Pairing: Knight! Kix x Princess! Reader

Word Count: 2698

Warning: Some angst, reader survives a coup

A/N: So, I'm not sure this is exactly what you wanted, but I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

The Palace feels wrong.

Part of it, Kix knows, is because all of his brothers have been sent off to war. Well, all of his brothers except him. He had been nursing a broken leg when the King declared war, and so had been the only one of all of his brothers left behind.

He’s meant to join them in a couple of weeks, now that he’s healed.

All he has to do is withstand a few more weeks of this weirdness, and everything will be fine.

Still, the overall vibes in the palace are rancid.

The divide between the Nobility and the Working Class has never been more stark. The servants are barely toeing the line between obedience and insubordination, and Kix knows that if he ever dared to be so obvious about his insubordination his eldest brothers would have his ass.

He turns a corner, pauses, and then drops into a deep bow, “Good morning, Princess.”

The Princess, a slight woman clad in a long gown that looks to be made of satin, glances at him. “Good morning, Medic,” She greets, “It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Princess. It seems that the rain has finally moved on.” Kix replies politely. 

“I am glad for it,” The Princess directs her gaze out the window, “Perhaps I will spend my morning in the garden.” She pauses, and then turns to look at Kix again, “Have you met my newest handmaiden?”

The Princess gestures to the young woman standing to her left. 

The handmaiden is wearing a long, simple dress and she is wearing a headscarf and a face wrap. She is even slighter than the Princess, and Kix can’t help but think that the young woman looks unhealthily thin. 

“Her religion doesn’t allow her to be exposed to the sun,” The Princess explains, “You will be kind to her, won’t you?”

“Of course, Princess.” Kix is surprised at her request.

“Good,” The younger woman glances out the window again, and then she smiles, “Come along, handmaid. We’re going to the garden.”

“As you command, Princess.” 

Familiarity washes over Kix as the handmaid speaks. She sounds familiar, even though the cloth that hides her from his view. He might not know the royal family like some of his brothers, but he knows the Princess when he hears her voice.

Why is the Princess pretending to be her own handmaiden?

Satin swishes and Kix’s gaze drifts over to the fake Princess. There’s a look of warning on her face, “Is there a problem, Medic?” Several feet away, the real Princess gazes at him anxiously, and Kix suddenly realizes that something is very, very wrong in the palace.

“Not at all, Princess.” Kix replies smoothly with a deep bow, “I just found myself lost in thought.”

The fake Princess’ face clears, and she nods. “Perhaps you should get some rest. You only have a couple of weeks before you deploy.”

“Thank you for your concern, Princess. I shall do as you ask.” He remains bowed until he hears the nearly identical footsteps walking away, and then he lifts his head.

It’s none of his concern. 

Whatever reason Her Highness has to pretend to be her handmaiden, while her handmaiden pretends to be her is none of his business. He’ll keep his mouth shut, and in a few weeks he’ll be deployed, and it won’t matter anymore.

Kix releases a slow breath, then turns to head towards the Palace infirmary. He might as well get some work done. And maybe keeping his hands busy will help him forget what he just saw.

But Kix has never been that lucky.

The deception of the Princess and her Handmaiden plagued him through the day, and several hours later, he lies in his bunk in the empty barracks unable to sleep because of this mystery.

The worst part, of course, is the fact that he can’t ask them what this is about. 

Just as sleep is about to claim him, Kix is jolted out of his bed by the sounds of screaming in the hallways. He quickly pulls on his armor and is about to open the door when there’s a rapid knocking. 

Blade drawn, Kix opens the door, expecting the worst. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

The fake Princess is standing at his door, clad in the delicate white sleep gown of the Princess, though the gown is stained with blood. None of it looks like hers. 

The real Princess stands just a little behind her, still completely covered in the dull brown of a handmaiden’s garb, though she’s clutching her shoulder and Kix can see blood dripping from her shoulder.

“You’re alive, good.” 

Kix stares at the fake Princess, “What’s happening?”

“The King and Queen are dead,” She says dispassionately, “As are both Princes. At this point, the baby princess has probably been killed as well, I wasn’t able to get to her.”

Kix’s eyes narrow, “A coup?”

“Yes. Headed by the Grand Duke, most likely.” She sighs, and leans her blade against her leg as she pulls a pair of contacts out of her eyes, “You need to take the Princess and run.”

“No! You can’t—” The Princess finally speaks, removing her facial covering so Kix can see her properly. She looks stricken, but then her entire family was just murdered by her uncle, so Kix thinks she has good reason.

The handmaiden ignores the Princess, instead focusing her severe gaze on Kix, “Listen to me. There’s an escape route for the royal family in the servant wing, that part of the palace has already been…cleared.”

“Wait, cleared?”

“The Grand Duke’s men are killing everyone.”

“Then I have to stay and help—”

“No!” Kix stares at her, stunned. “You must do your duty. You are the only Royal Guard left in the Capital. You must see the only living member of the Royal Family to safety. You must.”

“But you’ll die.” The Princess’ voice cracks, “My Uncle’s men will kill you.”

The Handmaiden turns to the Princess and she favors the other woman with a bright smile before she leans in and bumps her forehead against hers. Kix knows that this scene isn’t for him, but he can’t seem to avert his gaze.

They could pass for twins, the Princess and her Handmaid. 

“You can’t ask me to leave you behind, how am I supposed to live without you with me?” The Princess asks. 

The Handmaid reaches up and presses her hands against the Princess’ cheeks, “You will have to. I have to ensure your safety. With me dead, no one will be looking for you, and Kix will be able to get you somewhere safe.”

“But—”

“I am your body-double. We always knew that this could happen. Let me do my duty, Princess. Let me save you.”

The Princess’ lower lip trembles, but slowly she nods.

The Handmaiden favors her with a fond smile, and then she pulls the face covering back over the Princess’ face before she focuses her attention back on him, “You will protect her.” It’s not a request.

“With my very life,” Kix promises, he reaches out for the Princess and she willingly walks over to him, “I’ll wrap her shoulder, and then we’ll make a break for it.”

The Handmaiden nods, once, and then with one last look, she turns and runs down the hall, vanishing into the smoke from a fire that has been started somewhere.

As much as Kix wants to go and fight, to go and help, he knows that he can’t. His priority, his only priority is the woman trembling at his side. And so, he steels his nerves, grabs his med kit, and then turns to the Princess. “Let me see your shoulder.”

“Are you warm enough?”

You look up at Kix as he kneels in front of you, and you nod quietly. “I’m okay for now. Thank you, Kix.”

It’s been months since the night of the coup that killed your whole family. Over that time, the hot summer rolled into an unseasonably chilly autumn, and you know winter will be rolling around soon based on the fact that it’s already snowed.

Kix had been forced to take up some odd jobs to make enough money to buy both of you winter clothes, not to mention camping gear suited for the winter.

He’s not willing to risk your safety in any of the towns you’ve come across since the coup. However, you hardly recognize yourself in the mirror, so you doubt anyone else will recognize you either.

You jump when Kix adjusts the scarf around your neck, and pulls your wool hat a little lower over your ears, and you favor him with the tiniest of smiles, “I’m really okay, Kix.”

The look of concern on his face fades slightly, “You’re sure?”

“I am.”

His glove-covered hand drops to rest against your cheek, “Alright, if you’re sure.” Kix lightly tugs your scarf so it’s covering your mouth and nose, “Do you think you’re up to walking a little more today?”

“I can keep up.”

“Not what I asked, sweetheart.”

You press your gloved hands over his, “I can keep going, Kix. I promise.” You hesitate, and close your hand around his, “How much farther, do you think?”

“Until we stop for the night?” Kix asks.

You shake your head, “Until we find your brothers?”

There’s a flicker of apology on his face, “Several weeks, if not longer. It looks like it’s going to be a bad winter, so we’re going to be hindered by that.”

“Right…” You allow him to help you to your feet, “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

“Exactly so.”

“And they know about the Coup?”

“Yeah, I sent word about it. Your Uncle can’t have been thrilled to learn that he lost the entire Royal Army.” Kix’s hands settle on your shoulder, and he smiles down at you, “Come on, let’s get a move on.”

You fall into step next to him, as he leads you through the forests that you have become very comfortable with over the last few months. You’ve also gotten pretty adept at grilling food over an open fire.

It’s not something you ever needed to learn at the Palace. But life is different now.

You’re grateful for Kix. He’s been your rock through all of this. You’re sure that without him here, you would have fallen apart several times over. You might not have been close with your parents, or siblings, but they were still your family. 

Honestly, you had a harder time dealing with the death of your best friend. You’re still reeling from her death, life is so much harder without her here to encourage you, but you’re trying. 

You lift your head when Kix releases an ugly curse, and then you cast your gaze skyward and you sigh. It’s starting to snow.

“I guess we’re stopping for the night?”

“I’m afraid so. Help me get the tent set up before the snow starts accumulating.”

“Alright.” You’re not the best at setting up tents, even with months of practice. But you are very good at helping him set up the tent, and you’re better at following instructions. 

You help Kix set up the tent and then help him use fallen tree branches to help funnel the snow away from the top of your tent, and then you slip inside the insulated tent and start setting up the blankets and heater. 

There’s only one tent, so you and Kix had to get really comfortable with each other a lot faster than either of you would prefer, but at this point, it’s normal now.

Once the tent is made up with the blankets and heater, Kix joins you inside, and the both of you pull your outer gear off to let them dry. Then Kix digs through his bag and offers you some food that was cooked the day before.

It’s not the most flavorful meal, but it’s good enough.

If you’re being honest with yourself, your favorite part of the day is after the sun goes down and after dinner. That’s when you’re allowed to lay your head on Kix’s chest, and he’ll dig a book out of his bag and he’ll read to you.

Sometimes the books he gets are medical books and other times they’re novels, but he’ll read them to you all the same. Most of the time, you’ll drift to sleep with his fingers combing through your hair, and his voice in your ears.

And tonight is no different.

His fingers comb through your hair as he reads a romance novel to you, and you absently curl your fingers in the thick material of his shirt.

But tonight, you’re having a hard time focusing on the story.

When Kix flips a page to start a new chapter, you lightly pat his chest to get his attention. He closes the book and glances at you, “Something wrong?”

You shift so you’re able to look up at his face, “No, there’s nothing wrong, really.” You hesitate, “I was just thinking…”

Kix sets the book to the side, and adjusts himself so he’s able to look at you properly, “About?”

“About what happens after.”

He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “After?”

You turn your head so you’re face is pressed against his chest, “What happens when we find your brothers? Are you going to leave?” You hesitate, “Am I supposed to become Queen?” You’re voice grows smaller and smaller with each question.

You can feel Kix’s gaze on the top of your head, and then he heaves out a sigh and you cringe.

His warm hands settle on your hips and he tugs you so that you’re laying on top of him, rather than on the ground, and it surprises you so much that you lift your head to stare at him.

“When we find my brothers, we’re going to sleep in actual beds and have proper meals and proper showers.” One of his hands slides up your back to rest on the back of your neck, “As for me leaving, it’s never going to happen. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

That’s a relief, you like Kix. You like him both as a person and as a man. Though you’re keeping that part to yourself. A Princess shouldn’t fall in love with a Knight, it’s not proper.

And it’s kind of ethically reprehensible. 

Kix rubs small circles on the back of your neck, “I have a question for you, sunshine.”

You tilt your head curiously.

“Do you want to be Queen?”

You hesitate, and your fingers curl around his shirt, “...I should say yes, right?”

Kix shakes his head, “I don’t want to hear about what you should do. I want to know what you want.”

“I want…I want to be a music teacher.” You admit, quietly, “Or maybe a stay-at-home mom.”

His gaze is serious, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, then that’s what will happen. No one is going to force you to rule. I won’t let them.”

“You won’t?”

“Of course not.” He smiles at you, “You’re going to be a great teacher.”

“Thanks.”

He lightly taps your chin with two fingers, “And you’re going to be an even better mom and wife.”

You feel your face heat, “Yeah, well. You can’t ensure that will happen.”

“You think so? If you’re abdicating your title, that means that I can do this,” For a moment, you’re confused about what he’s saying, but then his lips seal over yours.

The idea that Kix might like you the same way that you like him, never once occurred to you. But, as his arms tighten around you and he deepens the kiss, a kiss you eagerly reciprocate, you think this might be the first time you’ve been properly happy in months.

And, when Kix flips so you’re pinned under him and slides his tongue along the seam of your lips, you stop thinking about anything that isn’t him. Right now, there is nothing more important to you than Kix, and you have a feeling that he feels the same way.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

@maniacalbooper

@rebell-ious

[alicewrotethis]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭﹒

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! bokuto needs a tutor for his astronomy class, and what better person to do that than you? . ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! timeskip! b. kotaro x astronomy tutor! reader, sfw  ﹒ ◠ note!!   i thought of this and just had to write it down omg probably my fav i have so many more ideas for this once i finish part 2 of my atsumu series౨  wc!! 2.8k   ˚ ۪˖𓏲 mood!! series playlist

The campus library was supposed to be your sanctuary— a quiet haven where the soft rustle of pages and the hum of fluorescent lights allowed your thoughts to stretch as vast as the stars you studied.

But today, peace shattered the moment he arrived.

Bokuto Kotaro stormed in like a supernova, all bright energy and booming voice, waving his crumpled astronomy work like a flag of surrender.

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re the tutor, right?" he asked, his grin wide and unbothered by the dozen glares aimed his way.

You stared at him, momentarily speechless, wondering how anyone could radiate that much energy this early in the morning. It barely cracked eleven AM.

Under normal circumstances, you'd have never stepped five feet in the owl-headed boy's vicinity, but for the extra credit in your classes, you would.

Bokutos coach had come to you, requesting you tutor Boktuo on astronomy as you were the only one available and the only one who excelled in the university's astronomy course. In return, he promised hed twist a few strings to get you some extra credit, and after a few moments of debating you accepted, it couldn't have been that bad right?

Wrong.

"Bokuto-san, this is a library," You reminded him, subtly looking around at all the faces watching Bokuto's rather bright form.

Bokuto blinked at you, his grin faltering for only a second before bouncing back as if the concept of an 'indoor voice' simply didn’t exist in his world.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice ever so slightly, "Right, right, sorry!" he whispered, though it was still loud enough to earn a second wave of shushing from a nearby table.

"I just got so excited! I mean, how cool is this? Studying stars? Like, actual stars!" He punctuated his sentence with a dramatic gesture that sent his crumpled papers fluttering to the ground.

You sighed, already feeling the beginning of a headache, "Bokuto-san, I don’t think you understand—"

"No, no, I get it!" he cut in, crouching to scoop up his fallen notes.

"This is serious business, I’m totally ready to learn, you’re, like, my last hope before the coach makes me sit out for the rest of the season, "He looked up at you then, his golden eyes wide and genuine, and for a moment, you almost believed he meant it.

Almost.

"Then maybe start by sitting down... quietly," you said, gesturing to the chair across from you.

Bokuto saluted, far too enthusiastically for a library, and flopped into the seat with enough force to make the table rattle, causing you pinched the bridge of your nose.

This is going to be a long semester.

Bokuto leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement, as he spread his crumpled papers across the table like some sort of battlefield strategist, "Okay, so I was looking at the syllabus— well, kinda— and I think I get it, stars are, like, really far away, right? But also super hot? Like... the sun, but not?"

You stared at him, trying to decipher if that was a question, a statement, or a Bokuto-ism you’d just have to get used to, "That’s... technically correct, Bokuto-san, but—"

"See? I’m not totally hopeless!" He beamed, leaning back with almost contagious confidence, "Coach was all, ‘You’ve gotta study harder,’ and I was like, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve totally got this!’ And then—"

"Bokuto-san," you cut in, resisting the urge to bang your head on the table, "Do you even have your textbook?"

His grin faltered, "...Doesn't a syllabus count?"

Did he really just ask that? Where even was his bag? Why would he sign up for astronomy if he didn't even know the difference between a textbook and a syllabus?

You sighed, long and deep, feeling your patience wear thinner by the second, "No, Bokuto-san, a syllabus does not count, we’re going to need to start at square one,"

Bokuto straightened in his chair, slapping his hands on the table with a determined glint in his eye, "Alright, teach me! I’m ready!"

You raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the other students in the library who were now watching him like a particularly loud wildlife documentary.

"Quietly, Bokuto-san, this is still a library," you muttered, before pulling out your notebook.

He immediately dropped his voice to an exaggerated whisper, "Right, right! Quiet stars! Got it,"

You pressed your lips together, stifling a laugh despite yourself.

You took a deep breath and opened your notebook, flipping to the diagrams you’d drawn for the last exam, "Alright, Bokuto-san, let’s start simple, can you name the three main types of stars?"

Bokuto leaned over the table, squinting at your neatly labeled chart like it was written in another language, "Uh... big, medium, and small?"

You blinked, "That’s not even remotely close,"

He scratched his head, looking sheepish, "Okay, okay, give me a hint! Is one of them... shiny?"

You bit back a groan, tapping your pen against the table.

"They’re all shiny, that’s kind of their thing, let’s try this instead," You pointed to the diagram.

"The three types are massive stars, intermediate stars, and low-mass stars, think of it like volleyball players— each type has a different role and lifespan depending on how much ‘energy’ they have."

Bokuto’s eyes lit up, "Ohhh, like an ace versus a libero! Okay, okay, I get it now! So... low-mass stars would be like liberos? They don’t get the spotlight, but they last a long time?"

You blinked, surprised, "Actually... that’s a decent analogy, I think,"

"See? I’m a genius!" He declared, earning another round of glares from the surrounding tables. He shrank a little under the scrutiny but quickly recovered, leaning in closer, "Alright, hit me with another one!"

Bokuto had only taken astronomy because he thought it'd be an easy class, he saw stars all the time, in movies, and outside; even the lights in the gym looked like stars! So how hard could it have been?

What he wasn't prepared for was needing to name them off the top of his head, and he never even understood the whole constellation thing, they all looked the same! He just could never see it no matter how long he stared at the sky, and he was starting to believe it was some inside joke he wasn't apart of.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, you turned the page to a diagram of the life cycle of a star.

"Okay. This is how a star evolves over time. It starts as a nebula—basically a giant cloud of gas and dust, and from there, depending on its mass, it can become a protostar, then a main-sequence star, and eventually..."

Bokuto’s hand shot up like he was in a classroom, "Ooh! Ooh! Does it explode?!"

You stared at him, caught off guard, "...Yes, some stars do end their lives in a supernova,"

“I knew it!" He grinned like he’d just won the lottery, "Stars are like aces! They go out with a bang!"

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, "That’s... one way to put it, I guess,"

Bokuto was definitely a creative person you'd give him that much.

For the next hour, you worked through more diagrams and explanations, occasionally pausing to translate the material into volleyball metaphors when Bokuto started zoning out. To your surprise, he was actually listening— though his 'notes' consisted of doodles of stars with dramatic eyebrows and stick-figure volleyball players labeled 'supernova aces.'

Despite the silly drawings instead of words, the notes actually made sense, like he was keeping up and actually processing what you were saying, for the most part, it was as if he just needed the right way of studying, and that way was comparing things to volleyball— something you had no clue about.

When the session finally ended, Bokuto leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head with a satisfied sigh.

"Man, that wasn’t so bad!" Bokuto said, his grin as wide as ever, "I mean, I still don’t totally get why stars have lifecycles or whatever, but that thing about red giants being, like, the blockers of the universe? That stuck!"

You arched an eyebrow, packing up your notebook, "You do realize blockers don’t explode into planetary nebulae, right?"

He waved a hand dismissively, "Details, details, the point is, I’m totally gonna ace this next quiz, the coach is gonna be so impressed!"

You paused, glancing at his scribbled mess of notes, amidst the chaotic drawings and exaggerated labels, there was a strange kind of logic— one that only Bokuto seemed to understand, yet seemingly effective if he actually understood.

"Well, if this... masterpiece helps you remember the material, I guess that’s what matters," you said, sliding your bag over your shoulder.

"Exactly!" he declared, shooting up from his seat with enough force to make the table rattle, he held out his fist toward you, his grin practically glowing, "Thanks! You’re the best tutor ever!"

You blinked at his outstretched hand, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. Hesitantly, you raised your fist and bumped it against his, feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm seep into you.

"Just don’t forget everything we covered the second you step out of this library, Bokuto-san," You replied, trying to sound stern but failing to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

"No way! I’m locked in now," He said, tapping the side of his head, "It’s all up here, supernova aces, red blockers, all of it,"

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh, "I’ll see you tomorrow then, don’t forget your textbook,"

As you turned to leave, Bokuto called after you, his voice loud enough to earn another round of glares, you lost count at this point, "See ya, don’t miss me too much!"

Bokuto smiled widely, his papers in hand, he felt like he could really pass this class with your help, and he couldn't wait till tomorrow to show you that he in fact did not forget everything you've explained to him. He liked studying with you, you were patient, sort of, in your own way!

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading in your chest.

This is going to be a long semester.

But this time, the idea didn’t seem so bad.

You stepped into your dorm room with a small content sigh, replaying the memories of hours ago a small smile made its way onto your face, you were glad your roommate had been spending more time at her boyfriends apartment.

Boyfriend, the word itself grossed you out.

You could never imagine yourself having a boyfriend right now, you were just too focused on college and your major, You neither had the time nor the patience required to handle the responsibilities of a relationship.

Throwing your bag onto your desk you headed for your closet, wanting to change into something comfier before you began your late-night studying.

As you plopped onto your bed you felt your phone buzz, the screen illuminating your face as you read the notification.

unknown number: hey!!

you: hello?

unkown number: its me, bokuto!!

A smile appeared on your face as you bit your lip to try and suppress it.

you: how'd you get my number? and why are you texting so late bokuto-san?

bokuto-san: details details, anyway! do you have a window in your dorm??!111!!!111!11

you: yes bokuto-san, its mandatory...

bokuto-san: face time me !!!!

With a sigh you clicked on his contact and dialed his number, what could possibly be so important that he needed to call you so late? And why were you entertaining it?

Within an instant he picked up, the sight of bokuto filling the entire screen, a wide grin evident on his features.

"What did you need Bokuto-san?" You asked, propping the phone up on your nightstand while you sat on your bed.

"Your pajamas are cute! We should get matching ones!" He blurted out, you were wearing dark blue pajama pants that had stars littered on them.

The compliment made a blush rise to your cheeks, but you wouldn't let it distract you, "Bokuto-san," You said sternly.

"So serious all the time! Anyways, go to your window!" He said, and from what you could see in his background he seemed to be moving around.

With a sigh, you picked the phone up and walked to your window, "Now what?" You questioned, looking out to make sure he wasn't climbing it or something, you wouldn't put anything past this guy.

You heard him laugh, "Now open your window and tell me how to find this Orion guy!"

You smiled fondly, one of your favorite constellations was Orion, "Alright, Bokuto-san, but only for a little," You firmly said.

You opened your window and peeked your head out a bit, feeling the cold breeze hit your skin and sent a shiver down your spine.

"Cold, huh?" You heard Bokuto say, in a much calmer tone.

"Yeah," You stared up at the sky, looking for Orion's belt, "You ready Bokuto-san?"

Your gaze shifted back down to your phone, seeing Bokuto on his back in the grass, his eyes were looking past the phone and into the sky intently, the only thing illuminating his face was the moon and the subtle yellow light of an estrayed college sidewalk light.

"Yeah," He said focused, though his eyes beamed with excitement.

"Alright," You said, gently smiling as you redirected your focus onto the sky, "You’re gonna want to look for three stars in a straight line, they’re not super bright, but once you see them it's hard to unsee them," You explained as simple as you could, already finding Orion's belt once again.

Bokuto squinted, his brow furrowing as he scanned the dark expanse above."Uh… wait, wait! I think I got it!" He said enthusiastically, "Is it that one?" He pointed, seemingly forgetting you were on the phone.

"Bokuto-san, I'm not with you," You said with a soft giggle.

“Oh, right!" Bokuto laughed, the sound was sheepish but warm."Okay, okay, so, uh... describe it again? I think I’m close!"

You smiled, shaking your head,"Alright, focus on the three stars in a straight line, they’re pretty evenly spaced, and they’re just below a really bright star— Betelgeuse, can you see that one?"

“Betel-juice, yeah, I remember from earlier!" He said, his voice brimming with excitement. You heard the faint rustle of grass through the phone as he shifted around.

"Alright, I see the bright one, now... oh! I see them!"

"Really?" You asked, grinning, almost as excited as he was.

Almost.

"Yeah! Three stars, right? In a row? That’s it, isn’t it?" His voice was so loud and triumphant, it was hard not to laugh.

Bokuto couldn't believe what he was seeing, he actually saw a constellation, it wasn't just an inside joke between people in his class, it wasn't some myth, it was real! And you helped him see it, you're the reason he doesn't feel so left out anymore.

You laughed tenderly, "Yes, that’s it, congratulations, Bokuto-san, you’ve officially found Orion’s Belt."

"This is so cool!" He exclaimed, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.

"It really is," You say, happy he feels as excited as you were when you found your first constellation. "If you look north a little you'll see two brighter stars, those represent his shoulders, and if you look south of his belt you'll find his feet,"

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up, "Man, it’s way cooler when you actually know what you’re looking at, what’s next? Are there more belts? Like a whole star wardrobe?" He asked enthusiastically.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking your head. "Not quite, but there’s plenty more to see, first, you might want to take a moment to just enjoy Orion,"

There was a pause, and when Bokuto spoke again, his voice was softer, almost a whisper. "This is actually kind of amazing,"

You looked down at your phone screen, and you noticed Bokutos eyes were glazed over in awe, adorning his cheeks was a pinkish tint.

"You're amazing," Bokuto said, turning his direction towards his phone screen, watching as a smile tugged at your lips. His tone was still the same soft voice, a contrast to his usual theatrical self.

He was telling the truth, Bokuto found you amazing, how you knew so much about the stars, something he wouldn't have even thought twice about before meeting you or before he signed up for the class. He was glad he did, he was glad he was failing the class because if he wasn't, he wouldn't be on the phone with you, lying in the grass and staring at the stars.

And just like that, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the stars didn't seem so distant anymore.

navigation !

© 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ please don't copy, translate, or post any of my work without my permission !

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Bespoke kisses

Gil-Galad x reader. Modern AU. NSFW!!

*****

You really thought you had made it. 

“I knew you could do it, (name)!” your friend Mirdania comments happily as you both walk out of the door, leaving the large building that houses the Arda Fashion Academy, which you both attend as final year students, behind you. She is prettier than ever in her deep green halter dress -personally designed by her, of course, just like you created your shirt and altered your knee-length skirt so that it better fits your body; nothing more natural, for two budding fashion designers like you are! “That three-piece suit was beautiful, I knew the examination board would appreciate it!”

You smile, sincerely flattered and happy for your recent success, even though, you have to admit, she is the one who should be congratulated, since the mullet dress she created was enthusiastically received by the board, and was awarded the highest marks among the thirty submissions on behalf of as many seniors, and she was the first student selected for the internship. “I bet the designers came to blow for the privilege of having you as an intern.”

“Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating…”

You are -just a little- but it’s hard not to feel overenthusiastic in a moment like this. The internship you and your friend have been selected for is an exceptional opportunity, the sort that happens only once in a person’s life; the Arda, the country’s most prestigious institution in the field of fashion, has established a collaboration with three important designers, each of whom would be be paired with a final year student for a six months collaboration. The selection was to be based, as well as on the hopefuls’ academic records, on the submission of a personal creation: a set of clothing, be it a dress, a suit, a simple trousers-and-shirt combination -someone submitted a bikini paired with a sarong, flip-flops and a beach hat- that a panel of the Arda’s most respected lecturers would judge. 

As expected, most of your fellow seniors applied for the internship, and you and Mirdania were among the three chosen, together with a talented student named Elrond, who you know less well. You really can’t wait to begin: not only a period of employment in a prestigious fashion house will undoubtedly improve your resumé, but you’ll have the chance to see a talented designer at work, and to learn from them; the pay is low and between the internship and the classes you’ll still have to attend you’ll end up sleeping three hours per night, but who cares? Fashion has always been your passion, and while being admitted to the Arda was the first step to fulfilling your ambition of becoming a famous designer, you feel this could be your chance - the chance to find new inspiration for your works and learn on the field, rather than in class. 

And who knows, I would not be the first intern who remains to work for their mentor even after the allotted time… 

“I still can’t believe I am going to meet Celebrimbor, the Celebrimbor, tomorrow.” Mirdania comments as you both walk towards the metro station, which is where you’ll have to part to return home. Your friend has long been an admirer of one of the designers who offered their collaboration to the school, and was ecstatic to learn Celebrimbor had expressly asked for her as an intern, having been favourably impressed by her submission “I swear, I keep pinching myself because I think it might be a dream!”

“You’re not dreaming; and since he has already proven to appreciate your work, I’m sure you’ll enjoy working for him.”

“I think so too. What about you? Looking forward to putting a face to Gil-Galad’s name?”

You have to admit you are more than a little curious. Unlike Celebrimbor and Cirdan, the designer Elrond will intern for, your allotted mentor, Gil-Galad, is a mysterious figure in the world of fashion, well-known for his sense of style that has been appreciated, and worn, by celebrities all over the world, but very few people can say to have met him. He is probably the only fashion designer in the world who does not attend his own shows, nor does he give interviews in person - only by phone or mail. No official, proven picture of him exists on the internet, and you have heard that his closest collaborators -an inner circle among which, you imagine, you are going to be admitted tomorrow- are required to sign a non-disclosure agreement to swear not to share his personal information with third parties.

All it is known about Gil-Galad is that he’s a male, native of Lindon, and probably on the young side, since he started making a name for himself only a few years ago, soon before you started attending the Arda, and the rest is nothing more than gossip and assumptions; there is even the possibility he is using a pseudonym rather than his real name. The thought that you are going to meet such an elusive personage, whose identity fashion lovers and journalists all over the world would give an arm to discover, is intriguing, but all things considered, the personal matters of your mentor are none of your business; all you want is to learn as much as you can from him, and hopefully begin your career as a fashion designer.

“A little bit.”

“I can imagine. We’re celebrating tonight, yes? It’s Friday, we can go to the Moria.”  

The Moria is one of the city’s best-known clubs; the music is good, the cocktails even better, and you always have a good time there, especially on Friday, when the club hosts its famous theme nights.

“I don’t know, Mirdania.” you confess as you follow your friend down the steps leading to the metro station, surrounded by a veritable crowd moving in both directions; it’s almost rush hour, and you already know that finding a seat on the train will be impossible “You do remember we are going to meet our mentors tomorrow, yes? I was planning on going to bed early, to be well-rested…”

Your friend assures you she is as determined as you are to make a good impression, and doesn’t plan on showing up to the Arda for her first meeting with Celebrimbor still tipsy from the night before, her make-up smudged and her breath smelling like alcohol. “But we do deserve to celebrate, don’t we? Come on, just a couple hours! We have a drink, we dance a bit, and then we return home. Keep in mind how busy we will be for the next six months!”

She has a point, you have to admit as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, especially because you haven’t been to the Moria, or to any club or pub for that matter, in ages, since you were so busy with your classes and preparing your submission to the internship. An eight-, or even nine-, hours sleep would do you a world of good, but on the other hand, you do feel the need to celebrate…

By the time you have come to a decision, you and Mirdania have reached the station’s central joint: from here you’ll have to part to take different lines. 

“Alright; I’m in.”

“Great! We’ll have fun, I’m sure.” Mirdania comments happily, her excitement contagious as you find yourself smiling “We deserve it, (name); we won fair and square.”

You assure her that you know, and your friend promises she’ll come pick you up at your apartment that night. You had no doubts she would be chosen for the apprenticeship, since Mirdania is undoubtedly the most talented student in your year, but you are happy the panel recognised the value of her work. You were a little less sure about yourself, since there are so many talented designers in your course, but since you got in as well, you have to have done something better than the others, right?

“I’ll see you tonight.” you promise, and Mirdania waves you goodbye as she walks away, her bright blonde hair soon swallowed by the crowd; you linger for a moment, already excited both for the night awaiting you and the day that will follow, and then turn to walk towards your train. 

*****

You really thought you had nothing to worry about. 

One of your favourite fashion designers, you read once in their autobiography, used their siblings as models at the beginning of their career, since they couldn’t afford to pay professional ones. You can’t do the same, being an only child, and most of your friends don’t have the time, or the patience, to let you spend hours fitting clothes on them, which is why most of your creations, except those you realise as presents, are tailored on a specific body type: yours.

Wearing the three-piece suit that won you to the internship for your celebration night felt like the most natural choice, and as you observe your reflection in the full-length mirror of your bedroom, having already taken care of your hair and make-up, you have to admit you do look good; more importantly, you feel good, and are quite proud of your creation. 

A quick honk outside your window announces Mirdania’s arrival. You go out to meet her, and when you find yourself face to face with your friend, both of you burst into laughter: like they say, great minds think alike, and Mirdania looks amazing in the mullet dress the internship panel awarded full marks to. 

“I doubt this is the Moria’s style.” you point out, amused. 

“I don’t care; come on, I need one of Durin’s drinks.”

You happily sing along with the radio during the short ride to the club, and finally the Moria appears in front of you. You leave your coats at the entrance, and as you predicted, almost every person present turns to look at you and Mirdania as you step in the room, intrigued by your clothes; you and your friend share an amused smile, and you privately have to admit how flattered you feel, even though as a fashion designer what you enjoy is creating clothes, not wearing them yourself. 

“Oh, it’s you guys; and here I thought two top models were gracing my humble club with their presence.” the barman and owner, Durin, jokes when he sees you approach, already busy preparing drinks behind the counter “You really put the rest of my clientele to shame tonight.”

“Thank you, Durin; we made these ourselves!”

“You both look lovely, truly. I wish I had worn a suit like yours on my wedding day, (name), rather than looking like a penguin…”

A grand piano is set on the stage at the centre of the room, a young musician playing a classic piece you vaguely remember hearing before. You and Mirdania decide to sit at the counter for a while, nursing the drinks Durin has already prepared for you. You let your gaze drift over the room, the people sitting at the small tables surrounding the stage, the soft notes soaring from the piano, the few couples who have already started dancing, gently swaying in the arms of their partner. You should feel happy tonight, relieved for your success and excited to begin your internship, and you do! You are happy, even though at the same time you can’t help but feel a bit wistful, and worried…

Mirdania is asking Durin about his wife, Disa, who recently gave birth to their first child, but then she notices your expression, and preoccupation colours her lovely face. “(name), are you alright?”

“Yes, yes; I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About the future. About where I will be, nine months from now.”

By then, barring accidents, you will have graduated from the Arda, free and at the same time forced to begin earning your living. “I thought you planned on finding a job in an important fashion house, just like me.” she points out; that is the most natural choice for a person with your education, unless they are exceptionally talented -or exceptionally wealthy- and are therefore able to get the funding to open a fashion house of their own. 

“I do. It’s just… I don’t know if I can actually manage that.” you confess, to Mirdania’s open surprise; while you like to think you are not as presumptuous as some of your fellow students, who already imagine themselves as top selling designers, whose creations grace the covers of magazines and fetch top dollars among celebrities and members of the elite, it’s not like you to doubt your talent and potential, not to mention your chance of turning your passion in a profitable career.

“Why shouldn’t you? You are one of the best students of our course, you have obtained a prestigious internship, and many alumni of the Arda went on to become famous designers.”

“Yes, but not all of them; in fact, I bet many former students ended up doing something else, and not because of lack of talent. Fashion is one of the most difficult fields in which to break in; why should I succeed where so many others have failed?”

“(name)...”

“I’m sorry.” you murmur, suddenly melancholic, and scared, for a reason you can’t quite describe. Rationally speaking you have every reason to be happy, satisfied, and even hopeful regarding your professional future, given your excellent academic record and the prestigious work opportunity you just obtained, but thinking that at the end of it you’ll be only a few weeks away from your graduation led you to reflect on your future, which you have never felt more pessimistic about “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight…” 

Who says your academic successes will be enough to guarantee you a career in the field of your choice? So many aspiring artists, actors and singers and writers, wait years and even decades for their big break, which never comes, no matter how good an education they have received, and even how objectively talented they are; it’s the same, or even worse, in the field of fashion, where maybe one out of a hundred or more hopefuls reaches some level of notoriety. 

You already knew when you enrolled in the Arda how hard it would have been to actually become famous, or even just earn your living, as a fashion designer, and you don’t regret choosing such a difficult field to work in. Fashion has been your passion, your only ambition, ever since you watched shows on television with your mother and your grandmother taught you to sew when you were ten, and there would be nothing shameful in having to get another job to support yourself while you wait for your shot to stardom. But if you think that while you wait might end up meaning the rest of your life, and that your years at the Arda, and all the time and effort you have dedicated to your dream, all the hopes and the ambition, might amount to nothing, and you will have to work maybe a steady, even prestigious job, but that you find no joy or even just interest in, just to pay your rent and bills…

Oh, God; what am I doing? Maybe I should stop while I still can, and get a job at a  supermarket or as a bank teller, it’ll be less exciting but at least I won’t have to fear any disappointment…

“You want to return home? I can drive you, it’s not a problem.” Mirdania proposes, an offer you actually consider but that you don’t have the heart to accept, given how excited your friend was about tonight.  

“No, I’m fine; it’s probably because of the stress of these past weeks.” you try to reassure her, forcing yourself to smile “I just need to relax.” “If you change your mind we can leave; I don’t mind, truly.”

You thank your friend, sincerely grateful, and do your best to relax and enjoy the music and your drink, both of them actually good. You turn your gaze back to the piano, the musician having now switched to a melancholic jazz piece… 

… and then, almost casually, your eyes meet those of a man sitting across the room from you, and time seems to stop.

He has dark hair, and is wearing something black; that is all you can see of him, given the distance and the soft light permeating the club, but it’s his gaze that compels you… a gaze intense and open, even blatant, proper of a person who feels no shame in expressing their thoughts and feelings. 

He seems to have stared at you longer than you have been aware of; the man smiles at you, and you smile back, suddenly shy, and force yourself to look away to talk to Durin. 

A few minutes later a man your age approaches the two of you: it’s Malendol, a friend of Mirdania you know she has a particular interest in. You chat for a while, and soon after your friend is invited to dance.

“I’d like that, but…”

“No buts; you go and dance.” you tell her, well aware she’d decline in order not to leave you alone; you actually don’t mind, and the last thing you want is for your bad mood to ruin your friend’s night “Come on, off you go.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t bother you?”

“Absolutely sure. Malendol, keep her away for at least half an hour.”

He nods, grinning at you, and a moment later your friend is walking towards the dancefloor, her dress once more attracting the attention of whoever she walks past. 

Durin smiles at you, his arms resting on the counter. “That was kind of you.”

“No one wants to be the third wheel with a friend and a potential partner; and I don’t want to infect her with my bad mood.”

“Something bad happened?”

“No, and that’s the worst thing of all. I should be happy, but…”

“Hello.”

You realise it’s him even before looking; you remain still for a moment, suddenly struggling to swallow, and then turn, offering your best smile. “Hello.”

The first thing you notice, as natural for a future professional in the field of fashion, is his suit; expensive, clearly tailored to the body of the person wearing it, emphasising the width of his shoulders and his narrow waist, and paired with an elegant golden-coloured shirt. 

And then there’s him, his face, and no matter how much you like his clothes, that is what makes your heartbeat accelerate suddenly.

“I hope you won’t consider me too forward, but I noticed you from my table, and… I saw your friend left to dance. May I sit?”

“Of course.” you answer happily, and a moment later the man has occupied the stool next to yours. Like you had noticed, his hair is dark, and longer than most men’s, a soft-looking, lucid mantle falling to his waist; he has a classically beautiful face, the sort you usually find on marble statues or antique paintings, bright dark eyes, and a friendly, open smile.

He is handsome. No, you correct yourself as you move your legs away to make space for him, too slowly to avoid his knee brushing against yours, he’s absolutely gorgeous, without a doubt one of the most attractive men you have ever met -and that’s saying something, with all the male models you have seen at the various fashion shows you have attended- and the way he’s looking at you is making you feel as if Durin had turned the heating to the maximum.

“My name is Ereinion.” he introduces himself offering you a hand you shake; he is wearing several rings, even though not, you notice with relief, the one that suggests he may have a spouse waiting for him at home.

“I am (name), good to meet you.”

“... you said (name)?”

“Yes, why?” you ask, surprised; is there perhaps something wrong with your name?

“... nothing. The pleasure is all mine, (name); may I say I really like your suit? It’s very smart, I like the embroidery on the lapels.”

“Thank you.” you say, sincerely flattered “So, uhm, is this your first visit to the Moria?”

You spend a few minutes talking, the conversation flowing free and relaxed like it rarely happens to you with a person you have just met. You tell Ereinion you are still in school, but when he ask what you are studying you propose to change the topic; you’re usually more than happy to talk about your studies, and the Arda, and all that concerns fashion, but at the moment the less you think about your future, and how little chance you have to actually earn your living as a fashion designer, the better. 

“No problem.” he answers easily “Can I buy you a drink?”

You gently refuse, since two drinks per night is usually your limit and you don’t want to lower your guard in the company of a man you still don’t know you can trust. You and Ereinion end up talking for more than an hour, discussing everything from movies and literature, to travels and even politics. Your new acquaintance is an endless source of interesting facts and ideas; he has told you he’s self-employed -which, you gather, means he’s a businessman- and he travels much for work.

He’s interested in you, you can see it in his eyes, the feeling blatant and open even though he’s acting like a perfect gentleman, and even though this has happened to you before you feel both flattered and a little intimidated. Ereinion can’t be much older than you, but his suit, the heavy watch at his wrist, and something in the self-confidence he exudes suggests he is a man of wealth, which is as different from your situation as it can be, since you are attending the Arda on a scholarship and still have to rely on your parents’ help to pay rent. You seem to have hit it off, but you doubt you and this man have much in common…

“... and then my cousin, Galadriel, took offence, and threatened to carve that man’s face with a steak knife; had I not intervened, physically lifting her to carry her outside, she probably would have.”

“Oh my God!” you say, unable to stop laughing as Ereinion tells you about the latest disastrous family reunion he attended “I can’t believe she really threatened him!”

“She did. I am very fond of Galadriel, but sometimes I wish she had more self-control.” he admits with a soft smile; he remains silent for a moment, as if debating his next move, and then his hand covers the one you have placed on the bar’s counter, the touch feather-light but enough to make you perceive the warmth of his body “Would you like to dance?”

You swallow. “I’d love to.”

Durin looks approvingly at you as you let Ereinion’s hand at the small of your back guide you to the dancefloor; a moment later you have joined the couples gently swaying to the music, his hands resting on your hips, your arms circling his neck. He is the one leading, which is good, because by now you have completely stopped listening to the music, too focused on the firm, warm body embracing yours.

“What’s wrong?” Ereinion asks after a few minutes, his murmur caressing the shell of your ear. 

“Nothing!”

“I can feel you are tense; is something bothering you?”

“I’m fine, really.” you try to reassure him as you meet his gaze, but you don’t seem to succeed, because a moment later, with a jolt of panic, you feel him pulling back.

“(name), if I have… made you uncomfortable somehow, I am truly sorry.”

“You haven’t; really, err, it’s not your fault. You can’t help being so terribly handsome, after all.”

You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but you have, and blushing and covering your mouth with your hand doesn’t help. Ereinion grins, openly flattered.

“You really think so?” Despite your embarrassment, you find yourself smiling. “Oh, don’t be coy; I wanted to ask you if you ever considered a career as a model.”

“I… haven’t, actually; but thank you very much. I think you are extremely beautiful as well.”

“Well, thank you…”

You share a smile, the tension between the two of you dissipating. The next two hours pass quickly; you dance, you talk, you drink -a non-alcoholic for you- and in the end Ereinion accompanies you on the club’s tiny veranda for a breath of fresh air. You have met Mirdania’s eyes a couple times, as she danced with Malendol or sat with him and his friends, and you’ve seen approval in her eyes; clearly neither of you is disappointed her friend has found someone else to spend the evening with. 

“I like this place.” Ereinion comments as he rests his back against the wall by your side, his eyes focused on you rather than on the sky full of stars above you; he has already offered you his jacket to wear, in case you felt cold, and you declined, secretly flattered by the offer “I’ll have to thank the people who recommended it to me.”

“You have a favourite place here in the city?” “A few. I, err, haven’t been to a club, or any other place really, for a long time. I’ve been very busy with my work and… people say that I don’t know how to relax.”

It’s a feeling you know well. “And they are right?”

“They are. But I’m feeling very relaxed right now, which is pleasant.”

Ereinion smiles; and you thought he couldn’t look more gorgeous. “What are you thinking about?” he asks, and you hesitate only for a moment before answering in the only way you can: truthfully.

“I’m thinking that even though this is one of my favourite clubs and I had been in the company of my friend until a minute before I was feeling pretty down, so I really have to thank you for coming to talk to me; I feel much better now.”

“Glad I could help.” 

A moment of silence as Ereinion turns to look at you; his hand cups your cheek, and you forget how to breathe. “Do you want to know what I am thinking?” he asks softly, and you not imperceptibly, heart pounding in your chest “I’m thinking that you must be the most beautiful woman I have met in a long time, and I’m dying to kiss you.”

It’s as if you had been holding your breath ever since your gazes first met; and now, finally, you can exhale. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You are surer of this than you are of your name, and you don’t care how desperate it makes you look to say it. “I am absolutely sure; please, I want it too, I want it so much…”

A moment later Ereinion has claimed your mouth in a searing kiss; you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his, and whatever he feels seems to please him, because you hear him moan in your mouth. His body is large, warm, powerful, and you lose yourself in the intensity of his embrace; your hands move up and down his chest, and Ereinion holds you by the hips as his tongue takes possession of your mouth. 

The next ten minutes pass as if in a dream. Ereinion is now kissing your neck, the sweet caress of his mouth leaving goosebumps behind it, and you moan out loud, well aware that whoever among the club’s clients -or worse even, Durin- felt the need for a smoke or a breath of fresh air could see you, and physically unable to care.

“Oh, God…”

“Good?”

As if he could doubt it! “More than good. Please, please don’t stop…”

He has no intention to, and he proves it by holding you tight as he moulds the shape of your body with his hands. You can feel him smiling against your mouth as he kisses you again, and for some reason the sensation fills your heart with joy… and then you jump, when Ereinion lifts your leg around his waist, pressing his hips against yours. 

“Fuck.” you murmur. You can feel how hard he is, and you barely know him, way too little for something like this to be the smart, or even just the safe, thing to do, but caring, reminding yourself of the rules you have set for yourself when you started dating as a teenager, is suddenly the hardest thing you ever had to do; you’ve never felt so aroused in your life, you want this man desperately, you need to feel his body against yours and in yours as soon as possible, you need to feel his hands on your skin and his mouth kissing every part of you…

Ereinion groans as he feels you rubbing yourself against him, desperately searching for some relief, a raw, blatantly erotic sound that makes you wish you were truly alone, naked, on a bed or whatever other surface sturdy enough to support your combined weight “God, you feel amazing…”

Your heart is pounding; your mind is spinning; your body is begging for contact, and if you don’t do something about it now you’ll end up on your knees in front of him - which will be undoubtedly amazing, even though not completely satisfying. So you meet his eyes and

“Can we go somewhere else?” you ask, and Ereinion grins. “Do you want to come to my place? My car is outside.” 

“Yes, it’s fine; I just need to tell my friend, and take my coat.”

He nods, clearly happy, and you return inside together, his arm resting on your shoulders. 

*****

Ereinion’s car is exactly like you had imagined, and exactly like him; large, elegant, powerful, and you feel yourself shivering with pleasure as you lower yourself on the leather seat, after he had chivalrously opened the door for you.

He drives unhurriedly among the city streets, focused on the road ahead but looking away to meet your eyes once in a while; you share a smile, no need for words between you.

You’re not at all surprised that, when the car finally stops, you have reached one of the most upscale neighbourhoods of the city, and the building in front of you must cost more per square meter than your yearly tuition at the Arda.

Ereinion once again opens the door for you, and offers you his hand to get out; you smile, secretly flattered. “Can I ask you a very straightforward question?”

“Of course.”

“You are rich, aren’t you?”

He laughs, sincerely amused. “I’m… comfortable.” he admits “I am fortunate enough to have a job that pays well, even though I do work hard and have paid my dues.”

You assure him that he has no need to justify himself, even though you must admit you do feel a little intimidated; most of your friends, and former partners, are or were students like you or people who work to support themselves, and while Ereinion looks only a few years older than you and doesn’t seem the sort of man who boasts about wealth, you have already perceived there is a huge gap between the two of you. Would he think less of you if you told him you still need your parents’ help to pay rent, don’t own a car, and still buy most of your clothes at the mall?

The sense of inferiority feels like a heavy and unpleasant weight on your stomach: still, he did not ask for your bank statement before bringing you home, and as you take his hand to be led inside, any fear and anxiety you may have felt disappears, leaving behind only joy and desire. Mirdania, who you have left in Malendol’s excellent care, asked in a whisper if you were sure of what you were doing, and you are, you are like you have rarely been of anything before.

You want him; and you only need to look at the handsome man now opening the house door -after you, miss- to know he wants you too. 

“Come, make yourself comfortable.” Ereinion invites you kindly as he guides you through the door, which is as elegant and refined inside as it looks outside, all marble and fine furniture “Something to drink?”

You tell him you’d be happy to have a glass of water, since anxiety has dried your mouth, and he leads you to the kitchen, where you find out that, as was to be expected, Ereinion does not live alone.

“This is Aiglos; Aiglos, meet (name).” he introduces you, fondness evident in his voice, as the beautiful German shepard that stood from his bed near the fridge approaches and starts sniffing you; the inspection must yield satisfactory results, because a moment later the dog is licking your hands “I’m sorry, I should have asked you if you have problems with dogs.”

You assure him that you don’t, even though you have never had a pet in your life, and briefly play with the animal, a beautiful adult specimen with black and brown fur and bright, intelligent eyes, while Ereinion takes care of your last drink of the day.

“So it’s only you and Aiglos?” you ask then, after you have quenched your thirst and his dog has gone looking for his toys in the living room “Living here, I mean.”

“Is this your way of asking whether I am married?”

You blush, unable to hide it behind your water glass. “No, I… I’m sorry, I was just thinking that this house seems too large for a single person…”

“It’s fine.” he reassures you with a smile “And it probably is, I have come to realise since I moved here. And I am free as air, I swear.”

You believe him; you have no reason to, all things considered, but you just do. “I am single as well, in case you want to know.”

“I do… even though I don’t doubt you have several admirers vying for your attention.”

You don’t, actually, even though the main reason you have been single for more than a year, after your latest partner cheated on you, is that you have been so focused on your studies, and the upcoming internship, to have much time to dedicate to relationships. 

It bothered you, at times; but right now, you couldn’t be more relieved. 

You place your empty glass in the sink, and smile as Ereinion takes you in his arms once more. “God, you really are gorgeous.” he murmurs; he’s holding you close, not hurting you but tight enough you would probably be unable to wiggle out if you wanted to.

Good thing, then, that I don’t.

“I haven’t done anything like this in at least five years, you know?” Ereinion murmurs; then, as if realising his words could be misunderstood: “Taken someone home, I mean.”

“If you’re… uncomfortable in any way, we don’t have to…”

“No, absolutely; it’s just that… the last time that person stole my wallet and my dog while I was asleep, so it’s not exactly a good memory.”

“Oh, God, that is horrible…”

“Well, I was able to find Aiglos at least, a few days later.”

“That’s good. And in any case…” you murmur as you slip your arms under his jacket, feeling the firmness of his torso against your body “... I can promise I want nothing from you, if not what you are willing to give. I… I had never felt like this before; I need you, Ereinion, I just need you to take me…”

He sighs, as if overwhelmed by what he feels. “Then I will.” he murmurs, before cupping your face in his hands once again “You have my word.”

You keep kissing as he guides you to his bedroom, where a huge bed, its dark-coloured sheets soft to the touch, is waiting for you. You start taking each other’s clothes off, and once both of your jackets have been abandoned on a chair, you hear Ereinion groan as he unbuttons your waistcoat. “I just wish I could tear this off you…”

You pout. “I think you liked my suit.”

“I love your suit; it’s very elegant and you look amazing in it. I just wish it was easier to take it off…”

In the end you manage, and within a few minutes your clothes are scattered around the room, and you’re both in your underwear. Ereinion guides you to the bed, kneeling on the floor between your legs as you kiss senselessly; his hand moves up and down your thigh, but a moment later you have unclasped your bra, and he is pulling you close by the hips to kiss your chest, whispering words into your skin that make you thank God the room is bathed by the pale moonlight, because you don’t want him to see you are blushing. 

You murmur his name as you arch your back, waves of pleasure running through you as he kisses and licks and sucks as if your breast were the last glass of water in a deserted world, hungry and reverent, almost worshipful, and your fingers play with his dark locks as you murmur how handsome he is, how good he’s making you feel, and how you can’t wait to feel him inside you. 

When he stops, you can see he’s grinning. “Up.” he orders, and you lift your legs and then your hips to let him take your panties off.

You are naked, naked on the bed of a man you have known for four hours, and you’ve never felt so happy in your life. Ereinion kisses your legs as he opens them, and then he’s standing, taking off his black pants to expose his strong, sensual body, which is even more handsome than you thought, so perfect you struggle to breathe as you admire him.

“You’re beautiful.” you murmur, and Ereinion smiles at you as he reaches you on the bed, looming over you. 

“I’m going to make you feel good.” he murmurs before kissing you once more “Just tell me if I hurt you or you want to stop.”

You appreciate the thought, but you know already nothing he’ll decide to do will make you want to stop. You sigh as you feel his body pressing against yours; your heart is pounding, desire tensing your muscles as every fiber of your being screams begging to be fucked, but at the same time you’re relaxed, at ease and safe as if you were in your own home, with a person you had known all your life, and with whom you shared something deep and real and destined to last.

It might be a sign; and it might be not. You don’t care about the future, just like you don’t care about the past, and the differences between your lifestyles. All that counts is the present, and what you’re living together, and oh God he’s started pushing and it feels so good he’s so big…!

“You’re so wet for me.” Ereinion groans; he smiles at you, eyes full of desire, and a moment later he is fully inside you.

Your lovemaking is slow, soft and intense, Ereinion hiding his face in the grove of your neck as he relentlessly pushes himself in, and in your delirium part of you fears he’s going to split you open, but you don’t care, because it feels so good, he’s so warm and strong and hard, and you’re moaning and crying and digging your nails in the flesh of his back -painful, theoretically, but Ereinion seems to appreciate- and begging him not to stop, because you love this and you love him too… 

World dissolves in ecstasy; you stop thinking, hold on to him, and let your body join his in the dance. 

*****

You really thought you had found something beautiful.

It’s the sound of water falling that wakes you the next morning, coming not from outside -the sky is clear, with no sign of rain- but from the room adjacent to the one you are in, a large, pristine bedroom with elegant modern furniture and a beautiful view of the city out of the windows. You have only a few minutes to observe it, since you were too busy for it last night, and to enjoy the quiet happiness bubbling in your heart, before the water in the en-suite bathroom is turned off, and a minute later Ereinion, wearing only a pair of dress pants, his hair still wet after the shower, enters, immediately walking to you.

“Good morning.” he greets you softly as he bends on the bed to kiss you; he is happy, and does nothing to hide it “Sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s no problem.” you answer happily; you are now sitting on the bed, not bothering to use the soft blankets to cover yourself as you savour the honey on his lips, and the warmth of his body still enveloping your skin. It has been the most amazing night of your life, and while you have no intention of saying it out loud, you know it’s the same for him “Can’t you stay a little longer? Please?”

“I really wish I could; but I have to meet someone soon.”

“A woman?”

“Yes; but it’s not like you think. It’s for work.” he hurries to explain; he cups your face in his hands, clearly anxious to convince you “I told you I wasn’t seeing anyone, and I’d never lie about something like this.”

“I believe you.” you assure him; you have no right to be jealous of him -nor he of you, clearly- but you can’t deny, at least in your heart, that knowing he is single is an enormous source of relief. Only a few hours, albeit very intense, after your first meeting you already feel Ereinion is a drug you could easily become addicted to, but at the moment you are too happy, and sated, to worry about it “I’m sorry, I don’t want to sound possessive.”

Ereinion assures you he is pleased to know you still desire his company, and you’re free to remain in bed as long as you want - and as long as you don’t take Aiglos with you when you leave.

“No, it’s fine; I have things to do as well.”

And you really do; according to your phone you have little more than two hours to go home, shower, change, and then go to the Arda in time to meet your mentor for the internship. Had things -specifically, your evening- gone differently, you would be trembling with anxiety; instead, you feel perfectly calm, excited but in control of yourself, ready to make a good impression on the famous designer you’ll be working under for six months. And after that, and after your diploma… well, you’ll have time to worry about the future in time, you decide; doing it in advance is pointless.

You take a quick shower -the bathroom is, just as the rest of the house, enormous, but it’s the sort of luxury that evokes cosiness, rather than unease- and by the time you are wearing your suit once again and have joined him in the living room, Ereinion has put an elegant white shirt on, filled Aiglos’ bowl with food, and prepared two cups of coffee, one of which he offers you with a smile.

“Something tells me you’re a black coffee sort of woman.” “I actually am!” you confess, impressed “How do you know?”

“Just a talent I was born with.”

Ereinion grins; he places his cup on the counter to kiss you once more, hard, loving, intense enough to make your head spin as you enthusiastically kiss him back. You’ve had sex three times already, but you’re not sated yet; part of you has already begun thinking you might never be, a thought that is both terrifying and exhilarating. 

“Tell me I can see you for dinner.”

“I can see you for dinner.”

He moans, even though not in the particular way you have already come to appreciate. “(name), please…”

“Sorry, sorry.” you murmur, raising your hand to touch his soft hair; you have spent the whole night making love but God, that simple contact is enough to make you tremble “I’d really love to. Believe me, if what I need to do today weren’t extremely important, I’d remain here waiting for you to come back.”

Another of those beautiful smiles, and then Aiglos comes in to reclaim both of his food and a bit of cuddles from you, both of which are readily offered to him. 

“He likes you.” Ereinion points out as he observes you playing with his dog; then, softly: “And I do too.”

“I like you too.” you readily admit, standing to look at him; again, you share a smile.

You leave the house together twenty minutes later. “The metro is that way, only five minutes away.” Ereinion informs you, pointing the direction with his finger “I can drive you home if you want, I need to take the car in any case, but I guess you wouldn’t accept, would you?” “I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t.” you say; he doesn’t seem the sort of man who stalks a woman after she broke up with him, but one can never be too sure. 

“It’s fine. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

You assure him he will, and that you really can’t wait for your date; you share a last, long kiss, and then Ereinion is looking at you as you move a few steps away, turn, and wave your hand good-bye before setting out.

*****

And now…

You walk through the Arda’s main door -there are no classes today, since it’s Saturday, but a few students come to take advantage of the well-equipped atelier to work on their creations, which means the building is technically open in the week-end as well- ten minutes before the appointed time for your meeting with your mentor at a quick but unhurried pace, wearing your best suit, which you have paired with a blouse of your creation. 

You should feel tired, since sleep was the last thing on your mind last night, but you aren’t: you feel lucid, excited but in control, ready to make a good impression without letting the fear for the future get you down. 

And tonight you are seeing Ereinion again. Thinking back to last night, part of you still can’t believe what happened was real and not the plot of a cheesy rom-com; but it was real, it happened, to you, and while you have never believed in love at first sight, you are determined not to let this chance go to waste. He is so handsome, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in what you had to say, and he took care of your pleasure as well as his, which is more than you can say for some of your past partners. There is so much you still don’t know about each other, and the thought of dating a wealthy, already self-sufficient person while you’re still a student relying on her family’s help should probably make you hesitate, but it does not. You don’t plan on becoming Ereinion’s kept woman, nor to let your relationship, should the two of you actually begin one, divert you from your studies, and you actually don’t care for his economic status either way. 

It’s less than twelve hours to your first date; you can’t wait, and you’ll need to think about what to wear… even though, you remind yourself as you quickly cross the main corridor, now you have to put aside your new fling, and focus on what could be your big chance to start building a career as a fashion designer.   

You meet Mirdania and Elrond in the tiny break-room on the first floor. Your friend, looking very smart as usual in a blouse and frilled skirt she bought expressly to improve it according to her personal style, smiles knowingly at you as he sees you approach. “Well, look who seems in a markedly better mood than last night.”

“I had a wonderful evening.” you admit “And, I’m meeting him for dinner.”

“Good for you. I do admit your new friend looks very handsome.” 

“I agree. What about you? Did you have fun?”

Your friend, blushing a bit, admits that Malendol did ask her out last night, which she accepted. You are discussing the possibility of organising a double date -at the Moria, obviously- when one of your lecturers enters the room. 

“Your mentors have arrived, and are ready to meet you.” they say, before explaining which room each of the designers is waiting in “You have one hour to make their acquaintance and discuss your internship, then you are all to come to the administration office to sign a few forms. Good luck to you all.”

You and Mirdania share an excited smile, and whisper good luck to each other before following Elrond out of the break-room. 

The class where Gil-Galad is waiting for you is at the end of the corridor; you reach it, take a deep breath as you square your shoulder, knock on the door, and open it.

“Good morning, sir. I am your new intern, (full name), and I am very happy for…”

“(name).” a soft voice interrupts you, and you blink, stopping dead as the door closes behind you. Then you see the person waiting for you, their hands and back resting on the edge of the professor’s podium, and you stop breathing.

The anguish on Ereinion’s expression is so intense it borders on panic; he starts walking towards you, slowly, like a hunter trying not to spook a doe… before he has time to shoot her.

“(name), I’m so sorry.” he says, his tone pleading “Let me explain… I swear I didn’t know…” 

May I say I really like your suit? It’s very smart, I like the embroidery on the lapels. This is what Ereinion said upon meeting you, an apparently sincere compliment that immediately charmed you. Not many men would have noticed a detail like that, let alone thought of complimenting it, but a person who knows much about fashion, who works in the field and loves it as much as you do, would have.

You can’t stop staring at him -him. HIM!- as the enormity of the truth comes crashing down on you, burying you alive. It’s not possible, you desperately tell yourself, suddenly feeling dizzy, there must be an explanation, it can’t be true…

But it is, the reality too clear and evident to be denied, and it is now standing in front of you, close enough you could touch him.

Ereinion is Gil-Galad. Gil-Galad is Ereinion. The famous fashion designer you couldn’t wait to work for and learn from, and the charming man who seduced you and gave you the best night of your life. They are one and the same, the two sides of the same coin, and they both made a fool of you. 

“I am sorry, truly.” he murmurs, kind and anguished as he takes your hands in his, but you have quickly stepped back, putting as much space between you as you can.

“No… no…” you stammer, barely aware of the words you are uttering; your head is spinning, and your legs a moment away from giving way, as you realise the enormity of the mess you have gotten yourself in “I can’t… it’s not possible…”

“(name), please… we can find a way to make things work, if you just let me explain…”

You don’t; you have no interest in whatever this man, whoever he is, may have to say, and you don’t want to remain in his presence a moment more, not to mention your eyes have already filled with tears and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how shattered you feel. So you swat his hand away, like you would do with an insect, and

“You… you bastard!” you scream in his face “You ruined everything!”

before turning and running out of the room, deaf to his pleads to stop. 

*****

You really thought you had made it. You really thought you had nothing to worry about. You really thought you had found something beautiful. And now… all of it has disappeared like snow at the coming of spring, leaving behind nothing but shame and rejection.

There is no alcohol in the apartment, since you usually prefer to drink socially rather than when alone, and this is at the same time a very good thing and the worst possible outcome. You spend two hours lying on your bed, crying inconsolably as you hide your face in your pillow; your phone hasn’t stopped ringing ever since you ran out of the Arda, but you didn’t even bother taking it out of your bag. You can’t be fully sure all those calls and texts are his, and not of Mirdania, who might have heard what you did and be consequently worried about you, or someone else, but you don’t care; you feel so humiliated, so completely annihilated, you don’t even bear the thought of talking to your friend or your family.

You still can’t believe it. You were so excited, and nervous, of meeting Gil-Galad, a famous fashion designer whose work you had long admired, and then you end up in bed with him, making love with an intensity you had never experienced before, without even realising.

Is Ereinion his real name, and the one all fashion fans in the country know a pseudonym? Or is it the opposite? Did he realise the woman in front of him was his future intern when you exchanged names at the club, and decided to have sex with you simply because he found you desirable, and to hell with the work relationship you were due to begin only a few hours later, or he seduced you with the precise intent of making you his lover as well as his intern? Did he plan on spending his days teaching you the finer points of the art of fashion, and his nights with you in his bed?

Well, if that’s the truth, you’ll have to disappoint him. A relationship, whether romantic or sexual, between a mentor and a mentee would be absolutely inappropriate, it might get you in trouble should the Arda learn about it, and the power imbalance alone is something you are determined to avoid, because how could you care, and trust, and deal as equals with a man who could make it impossible for you to be hired in any fashion house in the country after a simple fight?

You’ve known him for less than twenty-four hours, and he clearly does not deserve your affection given how he deceived you, but the thought of losing Ereinion, that you’ll never see him again and never get to feel the emotions he filled your heart with in the few, precious hours you have spent together, breaks your heart. And that’s not all: you’ll also have to give up on your internship, because since the simple thought of seeing Ereinion again feels unbearable, how can you hope to work closely with him for six months? Despite his undeniable talent as a designer you are not even sure you want to work for him; what if he actually asks for sexual favours in exchange for his teachings…?

A small part of you is aware you are being too harsh in judging him, and that his heartbroken expression when you met at the Arda clearly suggests Ereinion was as unaware of your future working relationship as you were when you met, but you are too heartbroken to reason. The internship was all you aspired to and worked for for almost a year, you had invested so much on it, hoping it could help you start building a career as a fashion designer, like you had dreamt of doing since you were little, and now all of it was in vain. And last night… you really don’t believe in love at first sight, but you had never felt so intensely attracted to someone; you sincerely enjoyed the time you spent talking and dancing, and your lovemaking was sweet, intense, even loving; Ereinion had been everything you had ever looked for in a partner and then more: handsome, passionate, generous, able to share his pleasure with you and to take care of yours.

You really thought you could build something together; at the very least you wanted to, desperately, and the loss of that potential future makes you feel more lonely than ever. 

Only a few hours ago you felt amazing, about to begin a prestigious work experience and pursue a relationship with a partner who had stolen your heart; and now you have neither, you have lost everything, and while there will -might- be other job opportunities, and other men, you can’t help but think this was your chance, he was, as a lover or as a mentor if not both things together, and you have wasted it all away…

Deep in your sadness as you are, it actually takes you a while to realise the doorbell is ringing, more and more insistently. You ignore it, since you have never felt so unsociable and really don’t want to see anyone, but after a while the shrill sound hurting your eardrums is replaced by a voice, one you have heard for the first time only twelve hours ago but that you can’t help but recognise…

“(name), it’s me!” Ereinion calls for you from outside the door “Please, it’s not like you think! Let me explain!”

He came to your apartment! You never told him where you live, which means he must have found it on your curriculum, which the Arda has provided him with. Anger mounts inside you; how dares he? Had you wanted to talk to him you would have answered his calls, or called him yourself, since you exchanged numbers; what gives him the right of coming to bother you at home?

You rise from your bed and walk to the door. “Go away!” you cry, forcing yourself to make those words sound like an order rather than a plea.

“Not unless you let me talk to you.” he promptly answers from outside.

“Listen, Ereinion or whatever your name is…”

“Ereinion is my name. Gil-Galad is my second name, that I use for…”

“... you have until the count of five to leave, otherwise I’ll call the police to say you are threatening me. One!”

“You won’t do it. You’re not that cruel.” He is not wrong, and the fact he’s still able to see right through you pains and angers you both; you ball your fists, wishing he could see how furious you are.

“Are you really sure?” you ask in your most cruel tone “If you get arrested the papers might come to know about it; is this the sort of publicity you want for your brand? Two!”

“(name)...”

“Stop saying my name, it won’t help you. Three!”

“(name), I swear I didn’t know!”

You stop counting, hesitating despite yourself. “It changes nothing.” you whisper softly, resting your forehead against the door “What is done is done. I can’t work for you after what we shared last night, and I don’t feel comfortable dating you either, since you are everything I wish to be and will never get to become. I am very sorry, but we should both forget we ever met.”

You hear him grunt. “Don’t I get a saying in this? It concerns me as well.” he points out unhappily “It’s also my relationship, and my job.”

“You don’t. I’m very sorry, but this is the only thing I feel comfortable with doing. Ereinion, please, if you care for me just go.”

Silence.

“I know you’re still there. Please…”

“I like the way you say my name.” you hear him murmur; his voice is hoarse, deep, and damn, you wish it didn’t make you shiver “I like it very much, you know? I wanted to make you scream nothing more all night long, and I almost did…”

You strife a sob as the unbidden memories of your night together fill your mind; your self-control has reached its limit, and you don’t know how much longer you can resist before opening the door and throwing yourself into his arms to beg him to make it all go away. 

“Please. Please just go…”

“I will; you have my word. But let me speak to you face to face, please. I swear the next time you say leave, I’ll walk out of this door and you’ll never see me again.”

The thought is terrifying; a moment later you have opened the door, and moved silently aside to let Ereinion, who looks as tormented as you feel, walk inside.

The door closes, and the two of you can do nothing but stare at each other. You must look horrible -half dressed, puffy eyes, make-up smudged- but there is nothing but tenderness in Ereinion’s eyes as he looks at you; tenderness and heartbreak.

“I swear I did not know.” he starts after a minute “I know the matter is more complicated than that, but I want you to know. When I met you last night, I had no idea you were my trainee. Remember you never told me you attend the Arda, or even just that you study fashion; there are so many universities and schools in this city, how was I supposed to know?”

Once again, he’s not wrong. “But had the school not given you my curriculum? (name) is a pretty uncommon name, didn’t you remember reading it? There’s even my picture on it!”

Openly embarrassed, Ereinion admits he didn’t - not properly. “I received an email from the school yesterday morning, with the data of the student I was going to mentor. I was actually excited about it, but I was busy with something else at the time and, err, I just read the text real quick, without opening the attachment. Your name did sound familiar, but I didn’t make the connection. I only realised what was happening fifteen minutes before you arrived, when I finally opened that blasted -I’m sorry- email.”

“I see.” you murmur, and while you are relieved he did not try to deceive you, as he said, the problem at your hands is much bigger than a simple lack of goodwill. 

“The suit I wore yesterday… I made it myself, you know?” you murmur as you hug yourself; it’s pointless to mention it, but you want him to know “It’s the piece that won me the internship.”

Ereinion smiles; you have no way of knowing, since you’ve only met yesterday, but his closest associates would marvel at how often he’s doing it while he’s with you. “I should have known; it is lovely. And I went to the school’s atelier, I saw your creations; you really are talented, (name). I would be proud to work with you… and I would have thought the same had I not met you last night at the club.”

It is a beautiful thing to say, beautiful enough to fill your eyes with tears. “Thank you; I would have been happy to work with you too.”

“Then let’s do it. I have a new collection coming out next year, I want your input, there are so many things I want to discuss with you, people I want to introduce…”

“But we can’t. Ereinion, I…” you sigh, because nothing is harder than making a case while at the same time desiring the opposite “It’s always been important for me to keep my private and work life separate, which is why I would never date one of my lecturers, and it’s the same, if not more, for a mentorship.”

“Because you think I could fire you if you refuse to sleep with me?” “I don’t think you would; but it wouldn’t be fair for you either. What if I make a mistake you would dismiss someone else over, or I am up for some promotion someone else deserves more? I would never ask for any special treatment, but I don’t want you to have to choose between making me happy and treating me fairly. Becoming a fashion designer has been my dream since I was ten, but I don’t want people to say I have built my success because I slept with someone.”

You both reflect on the matter for a minute; Ereinion folds his arms to his chest, as if he had to physically stop himself from reaching out and embracing you. “And I guess you would not want me as a partner, since you can’t have me as a mentor.”

“I wish it was that easy. I do want you; I want you desperately. But knowing how successful you are, and the fact I haven’t even started my career, and this whole mess with the internship… I don’t think it would work; I need to be in a relationship where there is no power imbalance, and I’m afraid this is not our case.

“So you’re throwing away everything we have? Everything we could have?”

“It’s not like I want to!” you cry out, frustrated; why can he not see how much you’re hurting? “What I feel for you, what I have shared with you… I had never felt it before; but I am not going to sacrifice my principles, and my self-respect, for a lover. Not even you, Ereinion; and if you can’t understand it, and accept it, you’re not the sort of man I want to be around.”

Silence falls; your heart has the time to pound five times before the tall, handsome man in front of you sighs, takes a step forward, and cautiously reaches out with his hand. “May I touch you?” “I am not radioactive.”

He grins, and a moment later he’s holding you in his arms. “There might be a way for you not to have to give up on your internship.” he murmurs “You could do it with someone else.”

“... what?”

“I could swap interns with another of the designers. Celebrimbor is set on working with his mentee, who I have realised is your friend Mirdania, but Cirdan is an old friend, and when I spoke to him he said he doesn’t mind taking you and letting me take his new intern, Elrond. You would love working with him, I’m sure; Cirdan is a gentleman, and knows more about the business than any person I know. You would have much to learn from him.”

You consider the matter for a minute, safely held in his embrace. “You told him why you can’t work with me?” “I told him we are family friends, and therefore it wouldn’t have been proper for us to work together. It’s not exactly the truth, but I think it was a more appropriate explanation; and he promised he’ll keep the truth for himself.”

Working for a successful designer like Cirdan is an opportunity anyone in your situation would give an arm and a leg to get; and you must admit it, the prospect is exciting. 

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I don’t want you to lose this internship, (name); you deserve it, and it would be a great opportunity for your future.” Ereinion murmurs; he kisses your hair, sweet and chaste “I don’t want you to have to give up on your dreams… but, if I may be selfish just for a minute, I also wish you wouldn’t give up on us simply because we’re working in the same field.”

“I don’t work; I’m still a student.” you mumble; you rest your cheek against his shoulder, and suddenly you feel as if you hadn’t rested in a year.

“You know what I mean. (name), do you really think I care about that? Because I don’t, and the last thing I want is you to feel you have something to prove, or some standard to reach, in order to be somehow… worthy of me. And you shouldn’t either.”

He’s right, and you know it; you never thought Erenion could lose interest in you, or not consider you a partner on equal terms, simply because he’s more successful than you - which is an unfair comparison to begin with, since your career hasn’t even started yet. The problem is you, and your insecurities, which maybe you’ll never get rid of completely, but as he said, you shouldn’t allow them to stop you from pursuing a relationship with a person you sincerely care about. 

You can become a successful fashion designer relying on your own strength; and you can keep your private and professional life separate, like you’ve always done.

You feel him smile as you circle his shoulders with your arms, and now you’re holding each other, the intimacy different from what you shared last night, but equally precious. “I should probably go back to the school.” you murmur “To talk to mister Cirdan, and the administration office.”

“Sounds fair; as long as you remember you have a date tonight.”

You assure him you do; you share a smile. “Can I drive you there?”

“I’d like that. Come, I need a minute to prepare.”

You share a new kiss, and Ereinion smiles as you take his hand to guide him inside.

[that-random-outsider]

My Default RoR Headcannons

Chloe

I love the thought of Chloe wearing glasses

Captain of the swords and shields team

Tutors (forces) Red with homework

Has completely mastered the puppy dog eyes

Goes to the library for fun (nerd)

So popular! Beloved by everyone! She's just so Charming (see what I did there)

Considers herself Red’s unofficial knight in shining armor

Is the only one who can get Red to behave for ten seconds (Uma uses this to her advantage)

Speaks French

A's in every single class one of the highest gpa's in school

Red

Real artsy, can draw really well

Also writes poetry but doesn't tell anyone

Speaks in riddles

Bad at school

Hates looking weak, still used to the idea that any weakness should be hidden away

Anger issues like her mother (it scares her)

Socially awkward

Horrible at decision making

Gets into fights regularly

Skips class

Is embarrassed by how little she understands Auradon schools

Ella

Insecure about her social status (no she doesn't feel like she needs to have status to be happy but society acts as if commoners are worth less than nobals or royalty)

Never calls Bridget out on anything

Really strong (I mean some of the things her step family makes her do requires serious man Power)

Scholarship student

Spends most nights in Bridget’s dorm

Recognizes herself as Bridget’s unofficial protector

Doesn't actually know how to fight, but wants to learn (she thinks it'll help get Uliana off their backs)

Has a secret sweet tooth (she doesn't get many sweets at home)

Knows perfect first aid for both herself and Bridget

Has a drawer in Bridget’s room made specifically for her so that she'd always have clothes in the morning (she thinks Bridget borrows some when she's not looking but thinks she looks cute in her sweaters so she doesn't mind)

Bridget

Would do anything for Ella (that's not an exaggeration she will literally do anything for Ella, she could tell her to jump off a cliff and she wouldn't hesitate.)

Is scared Ella will leave her

Will personally remind you that the people in Wonderland are mad if anyone dares to use the the name Cinderella

Like Ella, is also super smart academically, is in mostly honors courses

Has finished many of Ella’s chores for her while she's not looking because she hates seeing her work so hard .

Is a horrible lier, because her conscience always makes her tell the truth

Has seperation anxiety. (Gets really anxious about Ella leaving, so she makes up excuses to get her to stay)

Knows everyone in the entire school's name by heart

Has remembered every one of Ella’s favorite treats by heart (makes them for her every other day because she's scared if she makes them every day Ella will get tired if it)

Buys Ella all the things her step family won't provide for her

[createandconstruct]

ooooh I just had a thought. how do u think Midoriya and All Might reacted after your story Needed? like when All Might got his memories back? was there loud celebration or quiet happiness?

Definitely quiet happiness. I imagine the two of them oversleep, Izuku drifting off in the midst of telling some highlights from their 10 months of training, Toshi following soon after. (But not before reveling in this boy and the peace across his sleeping face). They wake up well past the time classes have begun. Toshi having not set the alarm he couldn’t remember and Aizawa and the other teachers having left them be, figuring they both needed the rest. Izuku’s a ball of guilt at first but Toshi’s content to putz around the apartment—slow to rise but quick to insist Izuku not run off to class last minute. (It’s selfish but he wants the kid to stay—needs him to). Toshi takes in the pictures, Izuku timidly and then more confidently giving context to each one. The time and places, the names to faces he doesn’t know. Not that there’s very many. So many of them (from pictures to newspaper clippings) including or being just of his green haired boy. (Izuku’s been to Toshi’s dorm enough to know the embarrassing amount of memorabilia well but he still can’t help but feel his face go hot at the way his mentor looks… like he always does as he takes it all in—happy, proud).

The two leave the dorm for the mess hall just before noon. Warm, despite the cold breeze outdoors. 

There’s no fanfare, no explosion, or burst when the memories return.

They eat lunch together, tour the school, and even drop by a few classes—this time Toshi lets class A swarm him, despite Aizawa’s continued protests. 

Izuku skips practical training to walk Toshi around—it’s not that much of a loss, it’s sometimes better to skip, save the embers for something more important—until soon enough it's later in the afternoon and they’re heading back to the student dorms. 

Izuku doesn’t even realize it’s time. A little part of him has forgotten All Might’s current condition. Walking instep with his mentor, who wears his usual smile, it’s like all is normal. 

It isn’t until they reach the door that All Might comes to a stand still. Izuku turns back, expecting something wrong but…

“All Might…?”

There’s no distant look, no glazed over eyes, nothing to indicate anything has changed. 

There’s only a slight shine to All Might’s eyes and a deep fondness along his smile lines. 

Izuku can’t get a single word out before he’s gathered up in his mentor’s arms. 

For Toshi, remembering is like adding oxygen to a fire. There’s been warmth, so much of it—every time he looks at this boy who has so obviously become his own he feels it—but its source is still just a recently lit flame. Something that would certainly grow with time, but also something that has just started. He can’t fully know its depth, or feel its potential to burn until it suddenly comes alight with every memory of the last eight years. 

One moment he’s walking at Young Midoriya’s side, feeling lighter than he has in years and the next, he’s standing beside his boy, his Izuku, his pride and his joy, his reason for being, even when he’d forgotten. The warmth never disappears; it simply blazes. All encompassing. His memories, old and new, fit snugly together, so that in an instant, he’s once again himself. 

So that the growing little flame is once again the unconditional fire he knows as love.

He pulls his boy tight against him and relishes in the journey—one he can finally remember—one that brought him right here.

As Izuku reaches round to hug him back, his heart aches with unshakeable certainty:

It was worth it.

All of it.

[agent217]

Just finished reading the ballad of songbirds and snakes. Unfollow me now this is gonna be the only thing I talk about for the next week

[freyadragonlord]

One of my favourite things about the end of The S-Classes That I Raised novel (major spoilers ahead),

is the realisation that the reason why Yoojin and Hyunjae's relationship looks so much like a love story at times is because it actually, honestly is.

Like, we know that sctir is a novel about love since the beginning, that's not surprising. Yoojin's capability for loving monsters (both literal monsters and the human kind) and the power of that love is at the centre of the plot.

But by the time you get to the end, you realise - and the author confirms this themselves in their final Note - that Yoojin's relationship and love for 2 specific people was the true core of the story, and what allows him to save the world in the end:

One is, of course, Yoohyun.

And that love is absolute; you cannot say that it's inevitable, cause we know Yoojin had to make a choice when he was a child between Yoohyun and his parents, and he almost chose his parents, but from the moment he decided to love Yoohyun onward, then it was unconditional and eternal. It's the love of a brother, but also the love of a parent and a caretaker.

And the other person is Sung Hyunjae.

And that love is not unconditional nor inevitable or absolute at all. It's not something that can be taken for granted. We actually see, because of how it ended between them before the regression, and thanks to the White Bird's power of seeing possible futures, that there were so many timelines where Yoojin and Hyunjae would have never come to care about each other fully (tho they are always at least somewhat interested in each other, because their personalities are actually really compatible).

But the White Bird also sees that the only possible future where the world is saved is the one where they love and hold on to each other. And that is how the story goes!

So, just like a romance novel, the necessary end is the one where they both love each other and accept that love. And it's not easy to get there! It's a slow burn.

From meeting to getting to know each other, appreciating each other's skills and intelligence, finding out they have fun together but still not trusting each other, to working on building that trust.

They go from a strong but superficial mutual interest to actually caring about each other as people.

Yoojin has to go through the self-doubt of feeling inferior and fearing that Hyunjae will lose interest in him. Hyunjae has to learn to stop pushing Yoojin away because he doesn't know how to handle having someone he cares about so much, and also someone that cares about him, because nobody in the world (except in part Song Taewon) likes Sung Hyunjae as a person, he is only ever admired from afar.

And in the end, after going through ups and downs and a few "break-up arcs", they make it. They accept their own feelings and each other's feelings.

And that's when Yoojin makes the choice to use the power that the transcendents gave him at the very beginning of the novel, to save Hyunjae. Not the world. Not even Yoohyun! Just Sung Hyunjae!

Yeah, the whole "gather 50 S-Class people", the very thing that gives the novel its title. That is not a power that is used to save the world!! It was meant to, but Yoojin is "selfish", and he will always choose to save the people close to him first.

And being able to love someone so selfishly gives Yoojin the power to save the whole world, too. As a bonus! A reward. Just a side effect.

So yeah. Is it romantic love? No. Canonically, there's almost no romantic love in the whole novel.

But is it a love story?? Yeah. Absolutely it is.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

*tries to organize my thoughts*

*remembers i'm not in school and therefore beholden to neither heaven nor hell nor any man's grading system*

*joyously shredding & tossing all my carefully arranged 3x5 mental notecards into the air like so much beige confetti. raising my arms in victory, cheering raucously until i accidentally inhale bits of homemade confetti*

(*coughing up itty bits of paper like a cat evicting a hairball with a firm understanding of tenants' rights*) wait wat happens next

[thatneoncrisis]

harrows a sped kid but gideon is a girl who should by all accounts at LEAST have a 504 plan but all adults dismiss her as merely combative and disruptive, at Best theyll throw in a "not utilizing her potential to the fullest." multiple teachers have vaguely alluded to her having ODD rather than think for a second about why she might be acting like that