#part two will be posted this weekend!

[jetii]

The New Deal

Part Two

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Intimacy

Pairing: Thorn x Senator Vale Ishani (OC)

Words: 14,400/25,283

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends with benefits to lovers, secret relationship, bodyguard!Thorn, protective!Thorn, accidental love confessions, so much flirting and innuendo, dirty talk, smut, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), it is the expected level of freak for these two, part 2 even more so

Summary: It's been a month since Thorn and Vale have returned to Coruscant from her home planet of Atrisia, and so far they've managed to keep their budding relationship under wraps. But Thorn can't help but want more than a few stolen moments in the dark, and he's ready to prove to Vale that it's worth it.

A/N: I don't know what it is about writing these two that turns me into a monster, but I felt like a woman possessed. There was supposed to be plot here...somewhere...

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist | Thorn and Vale Masterlist

Thorn isn't sure how much longer he can keep getting away with this.

The truth is, he knows that he's in way over his head. That this isn't a good idea. That this can only end in heartbreak, and pain, and a whole host of other problems that he really doesn't want to deal with. And yet, the temptation is too great, and he can't bring himself to walk away.

So instead, he spends his days hiding his relationship, his nights sneaking out of the barracks to spend time with Vale, and his free time trying to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do.

It's not the most productive use of his time, and Thorn knows that his brothers are starting to notice. They've asked him more than once why he's been spending so much time away from the barracks, and he's given them the same answer: extra training. He can't help but feel guilty, especially when he knows that they're not buying it, but he's not sure how else to explain what he's doing.

The truth is, Thorn's not sure he understands what he's doing.

It's been a month since the two of them returned from Atrisia, and things have only gotten more complicated. They'd managed to keep things quiet on the cruiser, but once they were back on Coruscant, the rules had changed.

Vale has been busy, dealing with the fallout of the assassination attempt and the upcoming election season, and Thorn has been splitting his time between his regular duties and acting as Vale's personal guard. The latter isn't something he would normally do, but the Chancellor has insisted, and Vale hasn't protested.

The fact that he's now in the position to protect her is a huge weight off his shoulders. Thorn had spent most of his time on the cruiser worrying about her safety and wondering if the attempt on her life would be repeated. Knowing that she has him there, watching her back, has done a lot to ease his mind.

But even with the extra time together, things have still been complicated, and they've only managed to steal a handful of moments alone together.

Today is no different.

Vale has had no less than four meetings with the Chancellor this past week, and her schedule has been filled with a seemingly endless list of events and appearances. Thorn's days have been just as busy. With the Senate in session, he's been tasked with assisting with the security detail for several events and conferences, and his nights have been filled with patrols and security checks.

Today, he's been assigned a shift in the Senate Rotunda, and while his job is mostly standing around making sure no one was plotting a surprise assassination attempt, he doesn't mind. It's an easy assignment, and he likes the view.

Vale's platform is right in his line of sight, and it's the perfect vantage point for watching her. She looks regal standing there, her hands braced on the edge of the platform, her voice echoing through the chamber. Her robes are a dark, rich blue, and her hair is twisted up into an intricate bun, the light catching the golden threads woven throughout it.

Not that he's paying attention to any of that, of course. He's not supposed to be noticing those things.

No, Thorn is supposed to be watching the room. Which is exactly what he's doing. And if his gaze wanders back to Vale every few minutes, it's not for any reason other than keeping her safe. That's his job, and he's taking it seriously.

That's what he keeps telling himself, anyway.

Thorn can't help but feel like he's been on a rollercoaster over the past few weeks. First, the tension, and the longing, and the frustration, and now, this. This strange, uncertain, and undefined thing that's developed between the two of them. He doesn't have a name for it, and he's not sure if he's ready to call it what he wants it to be.

He doesn't even know what he wants. Or at least, he doesn't know how to get it.

Because he knows what he wants. It's the same thing he's wanted since the day he first met her. He wants her. All of her. Not just her body, or her attention, or her time.

He wants all of her. Every last part of her.

And he's never wanted anything more.

The thing is, Thorn's never had trouble going after what he wants. If he wants something, he usually just goes for it. But with Vale, things are different. She's a senator, and the daughter of a wealthy, influential family, and she's been raised with all the privileges and opportunities that come with her birthright. She's got a whole galaxy of suitors to choose from, and Thorn's well aware that he doesn't exactly have a lot to offer.

He's a clone. An expendable soldier who was created for the sole purpose of dying for the Republic. He doesn't have any rights, or any possessions, and the only thing he has to his name is his service record. He's not a bad looking man, and his brothers have always told him he has a decent sense of humor, but when compared to the galaxy full of senators and nobles and celebrities who are throwing themselves at her, he's not exactly a prize.

And yet, here she is, standing right in front of him, her eyes locked with his, a soft smile on her lips.

It doesn't make sense. None of it makes sense.

Vale tilts her head, a silent question on her face, and Thorn inclines his head slightly, a subtle nod. She nods back, and then her gaze moves back to the Chancellor, and Thorn lets out a soft sigh.

It's going to be a long day.

The sound of the bell echoes through the chamber, signaling the end of the session, and Thorn straightens up, his hands falling to his belt. The senators and their aides file out, but Vale remains seated, her attention on the datapad in her hand.

Thorn glances around the chamber before he slowly makes his way toward her, his boots clicking against the polished floor. When he reaches her, he stops, waiting patiently. She doesn't look up, but Thorn knows she's aware of him. He can tell by the way her lips twitch and the way her breathing changes, just slightly.

He waits, letting the tension build, before he speaks.

"Senator."

"Commander," she replies. She taps a few more times on her datapad and finally glances over her shoulder at him, a smile playing on her lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Thorn looks around the chamber again, tracking the movement of the other senators. Most have already left, but a few are lingering, talking in small groups or packing up their things. 

It's not unusual for him to be near Vale during a meeting. In fact, it's his job. But the idea of being seen in such close proximity, especially when there's no danger present, makes his skin prickle.

He lowers his voice, leaning in to speak in her ear. "No reason. Just wanted to check in on you. See how you're doing."

Her smile widens, and Thorn's stomach flips.

"You're sweet," she whispers. Her gaze darts from person to person, and Thorn follows her lead, his eyes scanning the room, cataloging everyone's positions. They're relatively isolated, and while he knows the cameras are watching, there's no way anyone could overhear their conversation.

"I'm trying," he murmurs, and she lets out a soft laugh.

"You didn't have to come over here just to check up on me."

"Yes I did," he tells her. "I wanted to."

"Did you now?"

"Yes."

Vale hums, turning her head to look at him, her gaze drifting over his body. His skin warms, and his heart races. He loves it when she looks at him like that. Loves it when she lets him know what she's thinking, what she's feeling. It's the closest thing to an admission he'll get from her, and it's enough. For now.

She leans back in her chair, and he swallows, his gaze dropping to her lips. She's wearing red lipstick, a shade that's a near exact match for the red of his armor. He's not sure if she chose it on purpose or if it's a coincidence, but either way, it makes him feel possessive. Like she's wearing a part of hi, claiming him in a way.

"Commander," she says, her voice a soft purr. "Do you have something to say to me?"

"I do, Senator," he breathes. He takes a step forward, rounding her chair until he's standing before her, and he clenches his hands into fists behind his back. "I have a lot of things to say."

"Oh? Like what?"

He bends at the waist, a slight bow, and she raises a brow. "Things I shouldn't."

"Well, go on. I'm waiting," she urges, and he has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. She's always like this, and he's never sure if he's more annoyed or turned on by it. Probably both.

He looks over his shoulder. The room is empty, save for a handful of aides and a couple of the maintenance staff. There's no one nearby, and the chance of anyone hearing them is minimal. Still, he keeps his voice low, just in case.

"I miss you," he says. The words are out of his mouth before he can think better of them, and the coy smile on her face momentarily falters. "And I can't stand being apart from you for another minute."

She blinks, and Thorn bites the inside of his cheek. They've had this conversation before, and each time, it's ended with one or both of them frustrated and angry and wanting more than they can have. Neither of them has brought up the future. Neither of them has said the word 'relationship'. And neither of them has dared to talk about what they are. What they could be.

It's a mess, and it's only getting messier.

"I miss you too, Commander," she whispers, and he watches as the mask slides back into place, the playful, teasing facade she wears around everyone else coming back full force. Her hand slides up his thigh, her palm pressing against the inside of his leg, and Thorn sucks in a breath, his hands flexing behind his back.

"But there's nothing we can do about it. Not right now, at least," she tells him, her nails scraping lightly against his armor.

He lets out a frustrated huff, his jaw clenching. "I'm serious, Vale.” 

Her eyes widen, and her hand freezes. Thorn's not sure why he used her name, or where the sudden surge of bravery came from. But he knows that it's important, and he knows that he means it.

They've been using each other's titles since returning to Coruscant, a necessary precaution. But now, it feels wrong, almost like an insult. It's not who they are, and it's not who they are to each other. He's Thorn, and she's Vale, and the distance between them has gone too far, and for too long.

"I hate not being able to see you. I hate not being able to talk to you. It's driving me crazy. You're driving me crazy," he growls. He's not sure if he's more frustrated with her or himself, and the words pour out of him, fueled by a desperation he can't contain.

Her face softens, the teasing, coy expression replaced with a tender, understanding look. Her hand falls away, folding in her lap, and Thorn immediately misses the contact.

"I know. I'm sorry, Thorn," she murmurs. She looks around, her eyes sweeping over the chamber, and then her gaze meets his once more. Her shoulders slump, and Thorn realizes that she's just as conflicted and unsure as he is. "I'm not trying to push you away."

He shakes his head. He doesn't want an apology. He just wants to be with her. He knows it's a terrible idea, and he knows that they should end things, but he can't bring himself to do it. He doesn't want to walk away. And deep down, he knows that she doesn't want to, either.

"I know," he says. "But it doesn't change the fact that I miss you."

She gives him a rueful smile, and his heart twists in his chest.

"I miss you, too," she says softly. "And I wish we could see each other more. I hate having to sneak around. It's ridiculous."

He can't help but chuckle. It's not funny, not really, but it's true. It is ridiculous. And it's getting worse. Every time he sees her, it's harder and harder to walk away. And every time he has to leave, the pain of being separated is worse than the last.

"It is," he agrees. "It's the worst."

She lets out a short, bitter laugh. "The absolute worst."

Thorn sighs, the sound heavy. He looks down at his boots, trying to gather his thoughts.

"We'll figure something out," he says. "We have to."

"I hope so," she murmurs. "Because I'm not sure how much longer I can go without seeing you."

"Me, either," he admits with a sigh. "I'm going crazy, not being able to touch you."

He feels her gaze on him, and he risks a glance. He immediately regrets it when he sees the smirk on her face.

"Touch me, huh?" she asks, a teasing note in her voice. "Is that all you want to do?"

Thorn rolls his eyes. She's always like this, and he should be used to it by now. But every time she flirts with him, every time she teases him, it's like the first time. And he's helpless to resist.

"You're the worst," he mutters. "And no, it's not. I want to do a lot more than just touch you."

"Oh, really? Like what?"

He can't help but groan. He's tempted to tell her. To whisper all the dirty, filthy things he's been imagining, all the things he wants to do to her. But the thought of saying them out loud, of risking being overheard, is too much for him.

"Like nothing, because I'm on duty, and you're about to leave," he grumbles.

"Aw, that's no fun."

"That's what you get," he replies. He straightens and adjusts his stance, his gaze sweeping the chamber again. He doesn't have much time, and he's wasting it. He should be focusing on his job, not flirting with the senator. "I should get going. I have a briefing in an hour, and I need to get ready."

Vale nods, her teeth running over her lower lip. Thorn's eyes are immediately drawn to the motion, and he forces himself to look away, a soft groan escaping him.

"You're not making this any easier, Vale," he mumbles as he turns and starts to walk away, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. He doesn't make it more than two steps before her voice stops him in his tracks.

"What are you doing tonight?” she asks, her voice so quiet he almost misses it. His head whips back to her, and he sees her watching him, a small, hopeful smile on her lips.

He's confused. Normally, she doesn't ask him things like this. Normally, she tells him what time she wants him to show up, and where she wants him to meet her. And normally, he doesn't protest, because he knows he'll show up, anyway.

"I...Nothing," he says, trying to sound nonchalant, even though his pulse is pounding.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing that I can't reschedule," he clarifies quickly. He knows he's not fooling anyone. Especially not her.

"Well,” she starts, a slow, playful smile spreading across her face. "In that case, I’ll be hosting a small dinner party for some members of the Finance Committee tonight, and I could use the company for the night. And after. Interested?"

Thorn's eyebrows shoot up. This is the last thing he was expecting. But it's also the perfect opportunity. A few hours at a stuffy party as her guard, and the rest of the night together. It's the best they're going to get. But still, he can't help but tease her.

"Oh, really?" he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what kind of company are you looking for?"

"A strong, handsome man who can keep me safe," she replies. She pretends to examine her nails, and Thorn bites back a laugh. "I have a lot of enemies, you know."

"I'm aware, Senator," he replies dryly. "I've had a front row seat for most of them."

She waves her hand dismissively. "Details."

The laugh escapes from his lips, a short, sharp sound, and her eyes dart up, a grin spreading across her face.

"So you're just looking for someone to make sure no one tries to poison your wine again?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, though the memory still sends a shiver down his spine.

 Her aide had been the one to notice that one, and Thorn had to suffer a lecture from Fox on how the security at her events had better be airtight, or else. It had been a mess, and Thorn had made sure to double-check the food and drink at every single one of Vale's events after. And she complained about it. Endlessly.

"Well, that's part of the job," she says with a shrug. "But I'm also hoping you'll stay and keep me company after. If you're available, that is."

"I'll have to check my schedule," he teases, and Vale rolls her eyes. She rises to her feet, smoothing her robes, and her hands linger on her hips, the movement drawing Thorn's attention. He watches as her fingers trail over the fabric, skimming along the curve of her waist, and he can't tear his gaze away.

"Fine, I'll find someone else," she says, pretending to be offended. She reaches for her datapad, but Thorn snatches it away, holding it out of her reach. She pouts. "Rude."

"Senator, please. There's no need for such drastic measures," he tells her as he lowers the datapad, tapping the screen and opening the calendar. He pretends to scroll through her appointments, trying to keep his amusement from showing. “I'm sure I can work you in."

She gives him a sly look. "How accommodating."

"Only the best for you, Senator," he replies. He hands her the datapad, and Vale smirks.

"See that it is, Commander. I'll expect you at 18:00 tonight," she orders. Thorn snaps his heels together, and he gives her a quick salute.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," she says, her eyes sparkling. She brushes past him, her hand trailing over his forearm. "I'll see you later, Commander."

"Count on it," he growls, and her lips quirk up into a mischievous grin.

"I'm looking forward to it," she says. She turns and walks away, and Thorn is helpless to do anything but watch her go, the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears. 

As soon as she's out of sight, he lets out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep up this charade. He doesn't know how much longer they'll have, or if there's any chance of this working out. But the fact that she's willing to try means everything. And for now, that's enough.

He'll take what he can get.

Vale’s apartment is the kind of luxury that can only be afforded by a high-ranking member of the Republic Senate.

It's located in one of the most exclusive districts on Coruscant, and it's easily one of the most luxurious buildings on the planet. The furniture is expensive, the walls covered in artwork that he can't begin to understand, and the view from the windows is nothing short of spectacular. It's a far cry from his barracks, and even further from Kamino.

The apartment is huge, easily bigger than his entire squad's quarters, and yet it feels empty. Like a showroom rather than a home. It's clean, and modern, and elegant, and completely devoid of any personality.

Vale’s aide Trina, a Rutian Twi’Lek who has been working with her since before her election, and who he’s pretty sure despises him, has been running around the apartment for the past half-hour, barking orders at servers and rearranging the decorations. He hasn't been paying attention, instead opting to stand in the corner out of the way and try not to feel completely overwhelmed.

He's nervous.

It's a new feeling, and not one he's used to. He’s been here once before, but that was only for a few minutes, and the situation was far more dire. The place had been swarming with police and members of the Guard, and Thorn had spent most of his time keeping everyone from trampling on evidence and making sure that Vale was okay. Now he's standing in the living room, and there's no imminent danger, and Vale's not bleeding out on the couch.

The night’s still young, though.

He's still wearing his armor, and he’s grateful for that. It hides his nerves, and he needs every bit of confidence he can get. Vale is still getting ready, and he's not sure what to do but stand around and wait. He's already gone over the security details for the party, and he's already double checked the guest list, and now he's just trying to occupy his time.

He's never felt so out of his element, and he doesn't like it.

“Can I help?” he asks as Trina moves past him.

She glances up, her brow furrowing. He's sure that she thinks he's an idiot, and maybe she's right. But the least he can do is try. He still feels a little guilty for Vale neglecting to tell her anything about his presence until he arrived, and the last thing he wants is to make it worse.

Trina had walked into the living room and immediately dropped her datapa, a surprised, and slightly horrified, expression on her face when she saw him. Vale had quickly explained that she'd invited Thorn to be her bodyguard for the evening, and that he was staying. And from the look on Trina's face, that's not a common occurrence. Or maybe it is, and that's the problem. He's not sure.

Then Vale had disappeared into her bedroom, and Thorn had been left with her aide. And the caterers. And the servers. And the bartender. It's been an interesting evening, and it's not even started.

Trina looks him up and down. He shifts, and she lets out a huff.

"No thank you, Commander," she says stiffly.

“Are you sure? I can help with the decorations. Or moving things around.” He nods toward the dining room. “The table is crooked."

"The table is not crooked," she tells him firmly. She turns her head, and her eyes widen. "Oh, kriff."

Thorn grins. "I'll fix it."

She lets out a sigh, rolling her eyes, and Thorn walks past her, heading into the dining room. It's a massive room, the floor-to-ceiling windows providing a stunning view of the city. The table is long, easily large enough to fit a dozen people, and it's decorated with a centerpiece of flowers and candles. He aligns it properly, careful not to disturb the arrangement. When he's satisfied, he turns to Trina, who's watching him with a look of begrudging respect.

"Better?"

"Much," she says, shaking her head. She glances at the table and smiles. "Thank you, Commander."

He shrugs. "Anytime."

She studies him, and he has the sudden urge to squirm under her gaze. Her arms cross over her chest, her eyes squinting as if she can see through his helmet.

"So," she says, dragging out the word. "Why are you here?"

He blinks. That's a good question. One that he's been asking himself for the last month.

"To protect Senator Ishani," he answers, but it sounds wrong. He knows that's not why, not anymore, but he's not sure what else to say. And judging by the look on her face, she can tell.

"Protect her, huh?" she asks, raising a brow. "I thought that's what the rest of the Guard is for. Why did she need you specifically?"

"She doesn't," he says. "She wanted me here.".

"She did?" she asks, sounding surprised.

He nods. "Yes."

"Huh," she murmurs, her brow furrowing. Her arms fall, and she braces her hands on her hips, tilting her head. "Well, that's new."

"Is it?" he asks. He tries to ignore the flutter of excitement in his chest. If she's inviting him to these things, that means something, right? Even if he’s supposed to stand guard for the evening, it still means something. Right?

"Yeah," she says. "She doesn't usually have people over. Let alone ask a member of the Guard to be here. I'm pretty sure this is the first time."

"It is?"

"Yep," she says, popping the p. “She usually just sits and pretends to enjoy herself until she can go hide in her room."

Thorn feels a flash of concern. That doesn't sound like Vale. She seems to thrive off these kinds of things, the parties and the galas and the endless parade of social events. To hear her aide tell it, it's her own personal hell.

"I thought she liked this stuff."

"No, she hates it," she tells him. Her tone is casual, as if this is something everyone knows. "But she knows how to put on a show."

Thorn has no idea what to say. He's suddenly struck with the image of Vale, alone in her apartment, surrounded by strangers. Of her, putting on a show for them, for him. The thought makes his stomach churn. 

He doesn't know Vale, not really. He knows what she likes, and he knows what she doesn't like, and he knows how to make her laugh. But other than that, he's still not entirely sure what's real and what's not. Is the woman who's throwing a dinner party for her colleagues and political allies the same one who's sneaking off to cantina on the lower levels, just to talk with him? Or is she the woman who's laughing at Senator Orn Free Taa's awful jokes, all the while planning his political demise? Or is she both, and neither, and everything in between?

He has no idea, and it bothers him more than he cares to admit.

"I don't get it," she says, tilting her head.

"Get what?"

"You," she tells him.

He feels a flicker of panic.

"What do you mean?" he asks carefully, his voice even, his posture relaxed.

"You're not the usual kind of person she brings to these things," she explains, waving her hand around the room. "Usually, it's some guy she meets at a club, or a Senator, or a businessman. But you're not any of those things."

"No, I'm not," he agrees. He has no idea where she's going with this, and the fact that she's talking about Vale's love life, or lack thereof, isn't helping. He tries not to think about it, tries not to let the jealousy creep up. But he can't help it. “I’m her guard. For the night, at least."

Trina pauses, and Thorn gets the distinct impression that she's trying not to laugh.

"Commander, I've worked for Senator Ishani for five years, and the only time I've seen her happy is when you're around," she tells him. She shakes her head. "Trust me, if she could bring you to every single dinner party and gala, she would."

His heart skips a beat, and his mind races, trying to process what she's telling him.

"Really?" he asks, his voice low and hesitant.

"Really," she confirms. She glances over her shoulder, and then she takes a step closer, lowering her voice.  "I'm pretty sure that's why you're here, Commander. Not for your ability to fix tables."

"Oh," he says, letting out a weak laugh.

She smirks. "Besides, she's been happier lately. She hasn't smiled that much since she was elected."

Thorn shifts, his hand clenching and unclenching behind his back. He doesn't know what to say, or what he should say. Probably nothing, if he was smart. But he's not, not when it comes to Vale, and the way Trina's looking at him tells him that he's already in too deep.

"She deserves to be happy," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, she does." She looks at him, and he swears he can see something akin to respect in her eyes. "So if you hurt her, I'll have you killed."

“I would never,” he replies emphatically, the words slipping out before he can think better of them. Trina raises an eyebrow, and Thorn quickly amends, "That is, I would never let anyone hurt her, if I could help it. I’m not—we’re not—this isn't—"

“Save it for someone dumb enough to believe you, Commander. We both know that's not true,” she interrupts with a wave of her hand, and Thorn snaps his mouth shut. He's not sure how this went from a polite conversation about furniture to him getting the shovel talk, but he has a sinking feeling that Trina knows exactly what's going on.

He’s about to protest further, but he's cut off by the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen. He and Trina look at each other, and she rolls her eyes, letting out an annoyed huff.

"Karking idiots," she mutters. She shakes her head and strides out of the room, her heels clacking on the hardwood. “Hey!”

Thorn takes a deep breath, shaking out his hands, and tries to steady his nerves. His palms are sweaty, and his heart is racing. He can't remember the last time he was this nervous.

This is stupid. This is his job. He should be calm, cool, and collected. Instead, he's standing in the dining room trying not to lose his mind over a girl. A girl who's not even his.

He takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. In, out, in, out. He closes his eyes, counting down from ten. When he opens them again, he's calmer, and his mind is clearer. He can do this. A few hours of playing bodyguard, and he gets to spend the rest of the night with Vale. It's worth it.

"Senator!" a voice calls from the kitchen.

"Coming!"

The sound of footsteps draws Thorn's attention, and he looks up to see Vale descending the staircase.

And just like that, his nerves return.

She's dressed in a black silk gown, the fabric clinging to her curves, and his eyes roam over her body, taking in every inch. The dress is simple, but stunning, and the neckline is low enough to reveal a tantalizing amount of tanned skin. Her hair is pulled back, a few loose curls framing her face, and her lips are painted the same shade of red as earlier. He's certain now that she chose the color on purpose.

He can't help but stare. He's seen her in formal wear plenty of times, but each time, it takes his breath away. This is no exception. If anything, this is the best.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," she mutters as she hurries down the stairs, blowing a hair out of her face. She's not looking where she's going, her eyes fixed on the datapad in her hand, and Thorn's hands itch to reach out and steady her.

"Watch your step," he says, and she waves him off.

"I got it, Commander," she says distractedly. "Thank you."

"Vale," he says sharply, making her head snap up. Her eyes widen, and Thorn's heart skips a beat. He's usually better about using her title, especially when they're in public. But seeing her like this, her hair tousled and her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, he can't help himself.

"Sorry, Thorn," she replies, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. She descends the final step into the living room, and her eyes dart to him. "Hi."

"Hi," he says, low and soft, and he can't hide the smile in his voice. 

He looks her up and down, drinking her in, and he's hit with a wave of emotion that he's not expecting. It's more than lust, more than desire, and it's more than admiration. It's something deeper, something that's been building between them for weeks now. Something that he doesn't have a name for, something that's terrifying, and overwhelming, and intoxicating.

She stops a few feet away from him, a shy smile on her face. He can see she's not wearing her heels yet, and it's such a small thing, but it's the first time she's seemed anything other than completely put together. It's cute. And it makes his chest ache.

"So, what do you think?" she asks, gesturing to her dress. She turns, showing off the way the dress hugs her curves. It's an innocent enough gesture, but the way her hips sway and the way the fabric shifts has Thorn swallowing hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"You look great," he says honestly. It's not a strong enough word, but it's all he can think of.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, thank you, Commander," she says. If he looks close enough, and he is, he can see a blush staining her cheeks.

"That's a good color on you," he adds.

"Color?" she asks. She runs a hand over the skirt of her dress, smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle, and Thorn's eyes follow the motion. "It's black."

He steps closer, the distance between them shrinking. He's careful not to touch her, not to let his armor brush against her bare skin, and he keeps his hands clasped behind his back.

"I meant the lipstick," he murmurs. "I like it. It suits you."

Vale looks up at him through her lashes, her gaze heated. "You noticed."

"I did," he says. His eyes dart to her lips, and then back up. "Hard not to. It's the same color as my armor."

"Oh, is it?" she asks, feigning surprise. "How coincidental."

"Yeah, funny that," he replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He braces his hand on the railing next to her, leaning down, his face inches from hers. "I wonder how that happened."

"Who knows?" she says, and her lips quirk up. She's not even trying to hide the smirk. "Maybe you can get a closer look later." 

"Maybe," he rumbles, and she lets out a shuddering breath, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. He can't help but grin.

"Commander, are you flirting with me?" she teases.

"Maybe," he drawls, his hand curling around the railing. He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but he knows he can't. Not yet. And especially not here. "But if I was, you wouldn't complain, would you?"

"No," she breathes.

He lets his hand trail down the banister, his knuckles brushing against the fabric of her dress, and she shivers. Her skin is warm, and he can smell her perfume, the scent filling his nose. He's tempted to bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in, but he resists. Barely.

"Good," he growls, and Vale swallows hard, her eyes dark. He clears his throat, taking a step back and clasping his hands behind his back. "Are you ready?"

She blinks, a hint of disappointment in her gaze, and her mouth opens, but she doesn't speak. She seems to remember herself, her eyes darting around the room, and he can tell she's remembering their surroundings.

"I, um, I'm almost ready," she says, shaking her head. Her cheeks flush, and Thorn's tempted to tease her. He doesn't, but he wants to. "I just need to finish my hair, and grab my shoes, and, uh, yeah. Almost ready."

She looks flustered, and Thorn can't help but chuckle. It's cute.

"Alright, well, don't let me distract you," he tells her. She gives him a mock glare, her hand finding his chest, and she pushes him backwards. He grunts, stumbling, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Give me two minutes," she says, and her hand lingers, her fingertips trailing over his plastoid armor.

"I'll give you one," he replies. "You've already taken two hours."

"Oh, please, I'm worth the wait."

"Don't I know it," he mutters, and her eyes sparkle, a smirk on her face. He lets out a sigh. "Go, before you're late to your own party."

"Be right back," she says, flashing him a smile over her shoulder as she turns slowly. He reaches out and swats her ass, and she lets out a yelp, a surprised laugh escaping her. "Commander!"

"Go," he orders, pointing toward the staircase.

"Fine," she replies as she throws her hands in the air. Thorn watches her go, his gaze fixed on the sway of her hips and the curve of her ass. When she's out of sight, he leans back against the banister, a sigh escaping his lips.

This is going to be a long night.

The dinner party is, much like every event that Vale has attended in the past six months, a complete and utter disaster.

But unlike most of the others, Thorn is not entirely miserable.

He's had worse jobs, and this one is pretty easy. There are no threats, no imminent danger, and he's mostly just standing around, which means his brain is free to wander. And it's definitely wandered.

Vale has spent the majority of the night sitting at the far end of the table, making polite conversation and pretending to be interested in the political ramblings of her guests. She's good at it, the act, but Thorn can tell she's not really paying attention. He's not, either. Not with her sitting so close.

He's standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning the room. Her guests had made a fuss when they arrived, insisting that it wasn't necessary, and he'd insisted just as firmly that it was. Vale hadn't said a word, simply nodding along. But Thorn had seen the way her lips twitched, and he had known that she was trying not to laugh as he went toe to toe with Senator Taa, who seemed convinced that the whole thing was an insult to his honor.

Now, he's just watching the people around him, doing his best to stay out of their way, his attention diverted between Vale and the servers coming in and out of the kitchen. He's keeping an eye on her, making sure she doesn't choke on a bite of food, or get poisoned, or any of the other things that could potentially kill her. But more importantly, he's also watching the way the light reflects off her tan skin, and the way her eyes sparkle, and the way her lips wrap around the stem of her wine glass.

And most importantly, he's counting down the minutes until the dinner is over and they can have some semblance of privacy.

Vale had warned him that these kinds of events would be long and tedious, but Thorn hadn't really believed her. She had given him a look when he'd told her as much, and she had promised him that it would be awful. She had been right.

It's been an hour, and his brain has officially started to melt. He's not even sure what they're talking about anymore. It's something about taxation rates, or maybe tariffs, or possibly the price of durasteel. Or maybe it's all three. Whatever it is, it's boring.

He can tell Vale is bored, too. Her posture is rigid, and her expression is tense. Every so often, she'll shift in her chair, her hand reaching for her wine glass, her lips wrapping around the rim, and he'll lose his train of thought. The movement is practiced, her movements slow and seductive, and he has no doubt that she's doing it on purpose.

She's a menace.

The senator sitting across from her, a man he can't remember the name of, is droning on about something, and Vale nods politely. Her gaze meets Thorn's, and her lips twitch, her eyes dancing with mischief. She licks her lips, and he sucks in a breath.

Karking hell.

Thorn shifts, his hands clasped behind his back, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm on his vambrace. Vale looks away, but not before her eyes roam over his body, and he's pretty sure that she's trying to kill him. He's not sure how much longer he can do this.

“Hey,” a voice whispers from the kitchen, and he turns his head slightly. Trina is standing in the doorway, gesturing for him. He glances back at Vale, but she's still absorbed in her conversation, and he moves toward the Twi'lek.

“Yeah?” he asks warily. She's been giving him weird looks all night, and he's not sure if she's plotting his murder or not. It's hard to tell with her.

She pulls him into the kitchen, and his stomach sinks. This is not a good sign.

She pushes him further into the room, and the staff members pause, looking up from their work. He's never been inside the kitchen before, and it's a lot nicer than he was expecting. It's huge, with counters and shelves lined with equipment that he's never seen before. A team of staff members are moving around the space, preparing and cooking the food, and the whole room smells amazing.

Trina leads him to a corner of the room, where the others can't hear, and his heart starts racing.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice low and urgent. He can't think of a single reason for him to be here. Unless Vale is hurt. Or worse.

"You're staring," she whispers, and his brow furrows.

"What?"

"You're staring," she repeats. "At Senator Ishani."

"I'm supposed to watch her," he replies, his voice thick. "It's my job."

"No, you're supposed to watch her _back_ ," she corrects, rolling her eyes. She steps around him and opens the fridge, rummaging through the contents. "Not her front."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he mutters. He can feel the blush rising on his cheeks, and his armor suddenly feels too tight. "I'm just doing my job."

She pulls a covered plate out of the fridge and places it on the counter. Her head tilts to the side, a skeptical look on her face, and she gives him a once-over, her eyes narrowing.

 "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying," he says, but his voice cracks.

"Yes, you are," she says. "And it's obvious."

"I'm not!" he exclaims, a little louder than he'd intended. He glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one else heard. "I'm not. I'm just doing my job, like the rest of the Guard."

“Are they as bad at lying as you are?” she asks dryly.

He frowns. She has a point. None of his brothers are particularly good liars, and Thorn has a bad habit of being too honest. It's one of the many reasons Fox doesn't trust him with any kind of covert missions, why he's the last choice for undercover work. But the idea that it's somehow obvious, that he can't hide his feelings, is disconcerting.

He tries to play it off, but his voice is strained when he says, "I'm not lying."

She gives him a pointed look, and he shifts uncomfortably, the silence stretching out between them. He looks at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but her, and the seconds drag on, the tension mounting. Finally, she sighs, and she lifts the lid off the plate, grabbing a fork and handing it to him.

"Here. Take this," she orders, pushing the plate towards him, and he takes it without thinking, the fork clutched tightly in his fist.

"Why?" he asks, his brow furrowed. 

"Because Senator Ishani asked me to," she tells him, a note of amusement in her voice. She looks him up and down. "She said you hadn't eaten, and she didn't want you to starve."

"Really?" He can't hide the surprise in his voice. Vale had mentioned that the meal would be simple, a few appetizers and a few choice selections, but nothing substantial, and he'd been expecting to wait until later to eat. The idea that she's concerned enough to have him brought a plate is...unexpected, and oddly touching.

"Yeah," she replies. "She said that you needed to keep your strength up. I didn't ask why."

Thorn feels the blush creep up his neck, his cheeks heating, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"Oh, uh, right," he mumbles, his mind immediately going to all the different reasons why Vale might want him to keep his strength up. Reasons that have nothing to do with his duties as a member of the Coruscant Guard, and everything to do with what they'll be doing later.

"Right," she echoes, and her voice is thick with amusement.

He's tempted to walk out of the room, to ignore the fact that she knows, and the fact that she's obviously amused by the whole thing. But his stomach growls, the noise echoing loudly in the quiet kitchen, and he's reminded of the fact that he hasn't eaten since before his shift ended, nearly six hours ago. He'd skipped the mess hall, instead heading straight to Vale's apartment, and he'd been too nervous to think about food.

"Well, I should, uh, I should probably eat, then," he mutters, looking down at the plate.

"You probably should," she says. She leans back against the counter, a small smirk on her lips.

He glances over at the other staff, who’re all making an effort to appear busy, before he pulls off his helmet and sets it on the counter. His hair is sticking to his forehead, and he runs a hand through the curls, brushing them out of his face.

Trina studies him, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Huh. You're cute," she says, and he snorts.

"Thanks," he says dryly as he looks down at the plate in his hands. The food is a selection of cold appetizers, the same ones that were served at the start of the evening, and his mouth waters at the sight.

He's not used to having so many options, not when most of his meals consist of ration packs and protein slurries. This is a luxury, and one he doesn't often get to indulge in. Vale has been trying to change that, bringing him food, and treats, and even a cake, once, and it's nice, but he doesn't always have the time, or the appetite, for them.

He spears a piece of what he thinks is fish and pops it into his mouth, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Kriff, that's good."

"I know," Trina says smugly. "My cousin owns the place."

"It's amazing," he says around a mouthful. "Thank you."

She gives him a wry grin. "Don't thank me. Thank her."

He nods, looking over her shoulder at Vale, who's still engaged in her conversation, a polite smile on her face. Her gaze finds his, and the smile turns genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and he can't help but smile back. He gives her a wave, and she looks away, ducking her head, a blush staining her cheeks.

"How long have you two been seeing each other?" Trina asks, drawing his attention, and he nearly chokes on his food.

"W-what?" he sputters. He reaches for a glass of water on the counter and downs it, trying to regain his composure.

"How long have you and the Senator been sleeping together?" she asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and he almost chokes again.

"We're not—we haven't—" he splutters, his face flushing. He wants to say that they're not sleeping together, but the words won't come out, and the look she's giving him tells him that she's not buying it, anyway. "We're not seeing each other. I mean, not officially. Not really. We're just, uh, we're friends. Sort of. I think. Maybe."

He takes another bite, hoping to keep himself from rambling. He chews slowly, his gaze fixed on his plate, and when he finally looks up, Trina is staring at him, a bemused expression on her face.

"Huh," she murmurs. She leans against the counter, her fingers drumming on the granite. "Interesting."

"What is?"

"Nothing," she says, shaking her head, and her lekku sway behind her back. "Just...you really like her, don't you?"

He looks back at Vale, who's laughing at something someone said, her nose wrinkling. His heart aches, and he knows that his feelings are written all over his face. There's no use denying it, not to Trina, not to himself.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice soft. "I really, really do."

"That's good. She needs someone," she replies, her tone surprisingly sincere.

Thorn turns, studying her face. There's a hint of sadness in her eyes, and he can't help but wonder what she's thinking. She looks worried, her brow creased and her mouth set in a frown, and Thorn gets the sense that there's more to her concern than just his and Vale's relationship.

"Everything okay?" he asks quietly. “Is she okay?"

"No. I mean, yes. She's fine," she says quickly. She sighs, and her expression softens. "She's just...lonely. That's all."

"Lonely?"

"It's hard, being in her position," she says. She gestures around the kitchen. "All of this is hard. It's not fun. She has to put on a show, pretend to be someone she's not, just so people will like her. Just so they'll listen to her."

Thorn nods. He's seen it first-hand. He's seen the way she changes, the way she shifts, when she's speaking in the Senate, or at a conference, or at a dinner. She becomes something else, someone else, and it's not the person he knows. Or not the person he's starting to know. The one who laughs at his jokes, and steals his food, and smiles at him like he's the only thing that matters. The one he's falling in love with.

"She's been through a lot. More than most people," Trina continues. She glances back at Vale, who's now leaning forward, listening intently to a senator's rambling story. "And sometimes, it gets to her. She puts on a brave face, but it's hard."

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice hesitant. He's not sure if he's allowed to ask, or if he's allowed to pry, and he's not sure how much he wants to know. But the urge to find out is too strong, and the words spill out before he can stop them.

She gives him a look. "Commander, how long have you known her?"

"About a year, give or take a few months," he answers, his voice unsure. It feels longer, and he's not sure when it happened. When he went from not knowing her to needing her. To wanting her.

"And in that time, has she ever mentioned her family?" she asks, and his stomach twists.

"No," he admits.

"Her childhood? Her past? Anything?"

He shakes his head, feeling a twinge of guilt. The truth is, he knows next to nothing about Vale's life. Sure, he knows her favorite foods, and her favorite holofilms, and her favorite music. He knows that she likes her caf black, and he knows that her favorite color is blue, and he knows that her birthday is in two weeks. But he doesn't know where she grew up, or what her parents were like, or anything else.

He doesn't know her. Not really. And it's not for lack of asking. 

He's tried, many times, to get her to open up, but she's always managed to dodge the questions, or change the subject, or give him some non-answer. It's frustrating, and if he's honest, it hurts. He's bared his soul to her, told her things that he's never told anyone else, and yet, she still keeps him at arm's length.

"Not really," he tells her, his voice heavy with regret. "No."

She nods, as if she was expecting his answer, and a small, sad smile tugs at her lips.

"She doesn't have much left," she says softly. "Just me, and her job, and whatever this is."

She gestures between the two of them, and his throat tightens. Whatever this is.

"And you make her happy," she says, her voice firm, and her gaze flickers over his face. "So, don't screw it up."

He blinks, caught off-guard by the bluntness of her statement. "What?"

"Commander, I've known her for years, and I've never seen her smile as much as she has these last few weeks," she explains, a hint of warning in her tone. "So, whatever this is, whatever you're doing, just...don't screw it up."

"I wouldn't," he promises. He looks down at his plate, and his gaze flickers to Vale, who's laughing at something a senator said. "I would never."

"Good," she replies, nodding, and a faint smile crosses her lips. "Because, for what it's worth, I think you're good for her. And I think she's good for you. So just, be patient with her, alright? She'll come around. Just give her time."

"I will," he says. "For as long as she'll have me."

Trina lets out a laugh. "You've got it bad, don't you?"

“It’s hard not to,” he replies, unable to keep the defensiveness from his voice. He can't help it. Vale has a way of drawing him in, of making him want things he can't have. Of making him want her, and only her, and no one else. “When someone like her gives you their attention, it's hard not to fall in love with them."

Trina stares at him, and Thorn realizes, with a flash of horror, what he's just said.

"Uh, I mean," he stammers, his face flushing, and he takes a step back, bumping into the counter behind him. "I didn't—"

"Did you just say—"

"I said nothing," he interrupts quickly, his heart racing. He can feel the panic building, and his hands tremble as he reaches for his helmet, his mind scrambling for an excuse. For anything. "I didn't say anything."

"Right. Nothing," she replies, her expression a mixture of surprise and amusement, and Thorn wants nothing more than to melt into the floor and disappear. "My lips are sealed."

"Yeah, well, it was just a figure of speech, you know, uh, a phrase, so, yeah," he mutters, and he's sure that his face is beet red by now. The implications of what he's just said are hitting him, and he's starting to panic. He can't believe he let that slip. He's going to get himself killed, and his brothers will probably laugh at his funeral.

Thorn tugs his helmet back on, letting out a sigh. This was a terrible idea. The whole thing. From start to finish.

"Thanks for the food," he mumbles, and Trina smirks.

"Sure. Anytime," she replies, her eyes sparkling, and Thorn turns away, walking out of the kitchen as quickly as he can without drawing attention.

The guests have moved into the living room, and the conversation has switched from business to gossip. The group is seated on the couches and chairs, the servers moving through the room, taking drink orders. Vale is sitting on the couch surrounded by a handful of senators and business owners, all vying for her attention. They're talking over each other, their voices overlapping and filling the room, and she's staring into her near-empty glass of wine, a bored expression on her face. Thorn can't blame her. There's nothing worse than listening to politicians try to one-up each other.

Trina steps into the middle of the group, holding the bottle of wine high above her head. "More wine, anyone?"

"Yes!" a few voices call out.

"Excellent," she says, grinning.

She refills everyone's glasses, and Thorn moves to stand next to the couch, his hands clasped behind his back. He can feel her eyes on him, but he doesn't dare meet her gaze, and he focuses his attention on the wall behind her, keeping his face carefully blank. He's not sure what to say, or how to act, and he's still not over his slip-up in the kitchen.

He doesn't even know if he's in love with her. All he knows is that he can't stop thinking about her, and he's missed her when they're apart, and the idea of her dating anyone else makes him sick. He can't stop himself from wondering if she's okay, and what she's doing, and who she's with. And he can't imagine a life without her.

But he's not sure that's the same thing.

Trina passes Vale a glass of wine, and her fingers brush against her hand. The gesture is subtle, a practiced movement, and Thorn knows it's a signal. But the effect is instantaneous, and he watches as she straightens, her posture perfect, her head held high. Her face transforms, the polite smile becoming genuine, and her eyes light up, the sparkle returning to her gaze.

Thorn has never seen anything like it. It's like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly, she's not the bored politician anymore. She's someone else, someone brighter, and Thorn has the strangest urge to protect her, to shield her from the crowd and their prying eyes, and their greedy hands. To wrap her in his arms and keep her safe, from them, from herself, and from anything else that might threaten to harm her.

“Senator, a moment please," he says, leaning over the back of the couch, and Vale tilts her head back, her eyes meeting his.

"What is it, Commander?"

"Can we speak in private for a moment?" he asks, his voice low, and she frowns, a hint of concern flashing across her face. "It's urgent."

"Oh," she murmurs, her mouth forming a perfect O. She sits up straighter, her brows furrowing, and Thorn knows she's trying to decide if she should play along or not. He nods, just a slight tilt of his head, and her lips twitch.

"Oh, alright," she says. She stands, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress, and flashes a smile at the group. "Excuse me, gentlemen."

"By all means, Senator," one of the politicians, an older man with a long, narrow face, says. "Please, attend to your duties. We'll be here when you return."

"Thank you, Senator," she replies, a sweet smile on her face. It doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll try not to be too long."

Thorn takes a step back, his hand resting on the hilt of his blaster, and Vale follows, a confused look on her face. He leads her to the balcony doors and opens them, holding them open for her before turning and shutting them firmly behind him. He doesn't want any distractions, and he doesn't want anyone interrupting them.

Vale moves away from him, leaning against the railing and looking out at the city, and Thorn lets out a breath. The night is warm, the air sticky and humid, and the noise from the city below drifts up towards them. It's surprisingly quiet, despite the sounds of traffic and chatter and music floating up to them, and for a moment, he just watches her.

He's still not entirely sure why he did it, why he interrupted her. He's not even sure what he wants to say. It's just a feeling, a nagging in the back of his mind, and a need to make sure she's okay.

"Everything alright?" she asks as she turns to look at him, her arms crossed over her chest. 

Her expression is carefully neutral, a perfect mask, and he can't help but wonder how many times she's had to pretend, had to lie, had to put on a show, all for the sake of being seen. He wonders if anyone's ever noticed, if anyone's ever asked. Or if they've all just assumed she's fine, that everything is okay, because why wouldn't it be? She's Senator Ishani.

He pauses, his hand still on the door, and checks to make sure that no one is watching. As soon as he's satisfied that no one is paying any attention, he walks over to her and pulls off his helmet. 

Her eyes widen, and a slow smile spreads across her face. She doesn't try to hide her reaction, and it warms his heart.

"Hi," he says, his voice soft, and she lets out a sigh.

"Hi," she breathes.

He places his helmet on the table next to him and reaches for her hand. He tangles their fingers together, and her lips part, her cheeks turning pink. She looks up at him through her lashes, her gaze dark and heated, and he steps closer, crowding her against the railing.

"How's your night going?" he asks, his voice low, and her breath hitches.

"It's alright," she murmurs, her free hand settling on his chest plate.

"Yeah? Nothing interesting happening?"

"Nothing, really," she tells him, and her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. "A lot of talking, a lot of wine. But it's a bit boring. How was the kitchen?"

"It was fine," he says, shrugging. 

"Did you like the food? Trina's cousin is the head chef," she says, her voice light. She looks nervous, a slight tremor in her voice, and he squeezes her hand gently. "If there was anything you didn't like, you can let me know. I can talk to him, see if he can add something for next time."

"It was great," he assures her, his voice sincere, and a small smile crosses her face. "Really great. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that."

"It's the least I could do," she says, waving him off. "After all, I did drag you here against your will."

"You didn't drag me," he protests, his brow furrowing, and she arches an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. He lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of her palm.  "I volunteered."

"Yeah, but not for this," she says, glancing back into the room through the sliver of a window in the door, where they can just make out the shapes of the guests inside. He can see the tension in her shoulders, the crease in her brow, and he runs his thumb along her knuckles. "I know how boring these things can be."

"You don't have to apologize, Vale," he tells her, and her eyes dart back to his. He reaches up with his free hand and caresses her cheek with his thumb, careful not to press hard enough to disturb her makeup. She leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut, and her hand wraps around his wrist. He leans down, his nose brushing against hers. "And I meant it. You're worth the wait."

She swallows hard, a shuddering breath escaping her lips, and Thorn can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the rush of blood pounding in his ears.

"What did you need to tell me?" she whispers, her breath ghosting across his face, and he fights the urge to kiss her, to throw her over his shoulder and take her upstairs, to hell with the dinner party and the guests and whatever the fuck else is happening right now.

"I..." he starts, but the words die on his lips.

_I needed to make sure you're okay. I needed to see you. I needed to make sure they weren't giving you a hard time. I wanted an excuse to talk to you. I needed to hold your hand. I need you._

"Are you okay?” he asks instead.

She blinks, surprise flickering across her face, and her lips part. 

"Yeah. Why?" she asks, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Are you?"

He lets out a sigh. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"That doesn't sound convincing," she says. Her hand trails down his forearm and comes to rest on his waist, and he can feel the warmth of her palm through the plastoid. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I just—" he starts, but he stops, not sure what to say. How can he tell her what Trina said without breaking her trust? How can he tell her how much he cares about her, without revealing too much? How can he make her see that he's right here, that he's not going anywhere, that he's not going to leave her?

He doesn't know.

"You just looked like you needed a break," he says, the lie slipping out before he can catch it. "That's all."

"I do need a break," she murmurs. She looks over his shoulder, at the door, and her lips twist. She lets out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know why I agreed to host this thing."

"Because it'll look good," he replies. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and her eyes drift shut. He loves seeing her like this, unguarded and relaxed, and he wishes they were anywhere but here. "And because it'll help you get reelected."

She grimaces. "It's going to look like I'm trying to cozy up to the rich and powerful."

"Which you're not?" he teases.

"No, I am," she says, her nose wrinkling. She huffs and shakes her head. "It's a thin line, and I'm not always sure where it is. But sometimes, like tonight, it feels like I'm drowning in it."

He looks at her, the sadness in her eyes, the tiredness in her expression, and his stomach churns. He doesn't know much about the politics of the Senate, or the Republic, or even the Coruscant Guard, but he's learned that most people, even the good ones, are willing to compromise their values for their careers. But Vale isn't. And while it makes his job harder, and his life more complicated, it also makes him like her even more, if that's possible.

"I’m sorry," he murmurs, his hand moving down her neck and settling on her shoulder. He squeezes gently, his fingers digging into the tense muscles, and she lets out a soft groan.

“What are you sorry for?”

"That you have to do this. You deserve better," he says, his voice thick, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Well, aren't you sweet?" she says, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

"I'm serious," he says, and she meets his gaze, her eyes searching his face. He runs his thumb along her collarbone, a gentle caress, and she shivers. "Vale, if you need to leave, just say the word."

"You mean, skip my own dinner party?" she asks, a teasing note in her voice.

"If that's what you want," he replies, his voice firm, and her lips twitch. "If it'll make you happy."

"You would do that for me?"

"I would do anything for you," he says. The words come easily, falling from his lips like they've been waiting to be spoken. And maybe they have. He's not sure when he decided this, or when he knew, but he does. He knows.

Her eyes widen, surprise evident in her gaze, and her mouth drops open, a soft gasp escaping her. Thorn knows he's probably said too much, revealed too much, but he doesn't care. He's tired of hiding his feelings, of pretending he doesn't want her, doesn't need her, doesn't love her.

He's never been good at lying. Not to himself, and certainly not to others, and especially not to her.

She doesn't say anything, and for a moment, the only sound is the distant noise of the city, and the pounding of his heart. He can feel her staring at him, her gaze fixed on his face, and he holds his breath. Finally, she sighs and looks down.

"Well, that's not fair. Now I really want to leave," she says with a pout, and Thorn laughs, a weight lifting off his chest.

“Then let’s go. I’ll sneak you out,” he says, grinning. He leans down, his mouth inches from hers. "We'll have a whole night to ourselves."

"You can’t sneak me out of my own apartment," she protests, her eyes darting to his lips. "And I have a dinner party to host."

"Sure, I can. Come on. You've spent enough time with these people," he says. He glances back inside. The party is still in full swing, and no one seems to have noticed that they're gone. "You've made your rounds, and you've played host. And I know you'd rather be anywhere else right now. So let's go."

"And where would we go, Commander?" she asks. She reaches up and wraps her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His arm wraps around her waist, and she smirks. "Back to your barracks? So you can show me your bed?"

"I would, yeah," he growls. 

He pulls her flush against him, his grip tightening on her waist. She lets out a little gasp, and he presses his face to her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent surrounds him, filling his nose, and his eyes flutter shut, his mouth watering at the thought of kissing her, touching her, tasting her.

"And what would you do to me there?" she asks, her voice barely more than a whisper, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his cock twitching in his blacks.

"What wouldn't I do?" he rasps. He presses a kiss to her pulse point, his lips trailing along her skin, and she tilts her head back, her body going lax in his arms. His teeth scrape against her collarbone, and she shudders, her nails digging into his scalp. "I'd show you how good I can be. How well I can take care of you."

She lets out a little whimper, her eyes fluttering shut.

"You would, huh?" she murmurs, her breath hitching as he trails his lips down across the tops of her breasts, his tongue dipping into the valley between them. "You think you can make me feel good?"

"I know I can," he replies, his voice confident. His hand slides down her body, coming to rest on her ass, and he squeezes, eliciting a surprised squeal from her. She lets out a giggle, and his lips twitch. “If you'll let me."

"You're not going to distract me with sex, Commander," she whispers. She runs her hands down his chest, her fingertips tracing over his armor, and she pats his breastplate. "I'm a professional."

"Me too. And I don't mix business with pleasure," he replies, smirking. He leans down and presses his lips to hers, a gentle, chaste kiss that makes her let out a small noise of frustration. "Unless my charge gives me permission, that is."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Yep," he says, popping the 'p'. He pulls back, looking down at her. "So are you going to let me have you, Senator?"

Her eyes lock onto his, and he feels his breath catch. Her expression is open and vulnerable, the dark pools of her irises glittering with want, and her lips part. For the first time since they met, she looks unsure, her usual confidence missing, and Thorn knows it's a big step. It's a risk, a dangerous one, and the choice is hers.

He can't take it for her, and he can't make it for her, and he would never force her to do something she's not ready for. All he can do is ask, and wait, and hope.

"Yes, Thorn. You can have me," she whispers.

His heart skips a beat.

She said his name.

_His_ name. Not his rank, or his designation, but his name. Like it's something precious, like it's something sacred, like it's something that's just hers. It's not the first time, but it feels different. More meaningful. More intimate, like a promise, a commitment.

It's everything.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice hoarse, and she nods, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

"Yeah, I'm sure," she says. Her hand finds his and squeezes gently, her touch warm and reassuring. “But I can’t leave. Not yet. So if we could just..."

He nods, understanding immediately. "Want me to take care of you?"

"Would you?" she asks, her cheeks turning pink. "I wouldn't ask, but—"

"Hey," he interrupts, lifting her chin with his finger. Her gaze flits between his, and he can see the uncertainty in her eyes, the worry that he'll say no. But the last thing he wants to do is deny her. Not when she's been so good to him. "Of course, I will. Always. All you have to do is ask."

She smiles. It's a shy, tentative smile, and it's one he hasn't seen before. She's always confident, always sure of herself, but there's something different about this smile. It's not the smile of a senator, or a politician, or a socialite. It's the smile of a woman who's just as scared and nervous as he is.

"Okay," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. That would, um, that would be great. Thank you."

He nods, letting out a soft laugh, and his hands drop to her hips. He lifts her easily, turning and backing her up against the wall next to the door, and her breath hitches. His hands move down, his palms brushing against her thighs, and she lets out a quiet gasp.

"Thorn," she whispers.

"I got you, baby," he says, his voice low and soothing. He reaches for the hem of her dress and pushes it up, his fingertips grazing over her skin. He can feel her shiver, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Just relax."

He drops to his knees, ignoring the twinge of pain in his back and the ache in his joints, and he nudges her legs apart. She spreads them, letting him settle between them, and he looks up at her.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hand sliding up her inner thigh. He has half a mind to remove his gloves, but the other half, the hornier half, is too impatient to bother. "Can you keep quiet for me?"

"Yes," she breathes, her head tilting back and her eyes fluttering shut. "Yes, sir."

The words send a jolt through him, and he presses his forehead against her thigh, a shuddering breath escaping him. She knows how much he likes that, how much it affects him, and she's not afraid to use it against him. And she knows that if he's not careful, he's going to end up making a mess of his blacks and be forced to spend the rest of the night uncomfortable and frustrated.

"Kriff, baby, you can't say things like that," he mutters, and she lets out a husky chuckle.

"Why not?"

He gives her a light swat on her thigh, and her laughter turns into a squeak.

"Because I can't concentrate," he grumbles, his voice thick, and he rubs the spot where he struck her, his thumb drawing small circles over the red mark that's already forming. He wants to kiss it, wants to lick and suck and bite, but now's not the time. He has other priorities.

Thorn grabs the waistband of her underwear, yanking them down and letting them pool around her ankles. He lifts one foot, then the other, helping her step out of them, and he tucks the black lace into the pouch on his belt. She looks at him, a hint of surprise in her expression, and he grins.

"Commander, are you—"

"Shh," he hushes her as he leans in, his breath hot on her thigh, his hands tugging her dress up and baring her pussy. She squirms, her hips bucking slightly, and he rests his hands on her thighs, holding her still. "Don't move."

"Don't shush me," she says, her voice strained. “I—“

Vale lets out a soft cry as he presses his lips to her, his tongue slipping between her folds. The fabric of her dress falls back over his shoulders as his hands slide up her legs, and he wraps his arms around her thighs, holding her still. She tastes sweet and tangy, and a low growl escapes his throat as he buries his face in her cunt, his tongue darting out to lick and tease and taste her.

"Kriff, Thorn," she moans. He hums, and she shivers, her body going rigid. "Yes."

He pulls her closer, his fingers digging into the pliant flesh of her thighs, and he laps at her clit, slow, languid strokes that have her gasping for air. He can hear the muffled sounds of the dinner party through the doors, and he's reminded of where they are, of who she is, and how many people would disapprove of her being caught like this, with a member of the Coruscant Guard buried between her legs. It makes him feel powerful, in a way, and he can't help but smirk against her, a swell of pride rising in his chest.

"Fuck, you're good at that," she breathes, her fingers threading through his curls, and his eyes roll back in his head.

He loves doing this, and he especially loves doing it for her. He loves the way she squirms, the way she whines, and the way her hips jerk against his mouth. He loves how wet she gets, and how she moans his name, and how she pulls his hair.

But most of all, he loves that he's the only one who gets to see her like this. The only one who gets to hear her, the only one who gets to feel her, the only one who gets to taste her. The thought alone makes him harder, and he's half tempted to pull her down onto his lap and bury himself inside her.

But he's determined to do this for her, to bring her the pleasure she deserves, and nothing more. And as soon as the party is over, he's going to take her upstairs, and they're going to finish what they started.

He pulls away, his nose rubbing against her clit, and she groans, her thighs trembling.

"Oh, fuck," she whispers.

"Yeah? You like that?" he murmurs, nuzzling her. He glances up at her, and his breath catches. Her head is tilted back, her eyes shut, and her chest is heaving, her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress. Her mouth is hanging open, a moan falling from her lips, and his cock throbs, his balls aching. "You look so pretty like this, baby."

"Shut up," she pants, and he chuckles. Her hand rests on the back of his neck, urging him closer, and her hips rock forward, grinding against his face. "Keep going."

He obeys, his tongue returning to her clit. He alternates between soft, slow licks and hard, rough ones, and she lets out a choked gasp, her grip tightening in his hair.

"F-faster," she pleads, her voice shaking. "Please. Thorn."

"Whatever you want," he breathes, and he dives back in, his tongue circling her clit, the tip teasing and flicking and rubbing. Her legs begin to tremble, and she grinds against his face, her hand clutching the back of his neck. He’s forced to tighten his grip on her thighs, holding her in place, and a low moan escapes her.

"So good," she groans, and he pulls her closer, his mouth latched onto her clit. "You're so good."

He can't help but preen a little. He loves her praise, loves the way it makes him feel, the way it fills his chest with warmth. She doesn't give it easily, and he cherishes it, savoring the words like a fine wine.

She tugs at his hair, and a strangled moan rises in his throat. He's painfully hard now, his cock straining against his blacks, and he's grateful for the layer of plastoid covering his arousal. But the friction is torturous, and he rocks his hips, rubbing himself against the inside of his leg.

"Oh, shit," she breathes, and he realizes she can see him, can see his hand wrapped around her thigh, his hips jerking. She lets out a shaky laugh. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Fuck yeah, I am," he mumbles against her. His eyes flicker up to hers, and she bites her lip. "Are you?"

She nods, her eyes locked onto his, and he grins.

"Good," he whispers.

He sucks her clit between his lips, his tongue flicking the sensitive bud, and she whimpers, her back arching. He can feel her body stiffen, and her breathing grows ragged, her chest heaving. She's close, he can tell, and he redoubles his efforts, his tongue swirling and teasing and lapping at her, his nose bumping against her clit with every pass.

"I'm...I'm..." she chokes out, her words fading into a groan, and he can feel her shaking, her muscles tightening.

She comes with a shudder, her legs threatening to buckle, and Thorn holds her steady, his hands gripping her hips. She slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, and he keeps licking, his tongue dipping between her folds. He can feel her pulsing under his tongue, her pussy clenching around nothing, and he lets out a low moan, his cock throbbing.

He doesn't stop until she's stopped trembling, and he pulls away, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his face. He presses a gentle kiss to her clit, and she squeaks, a shiver running through her.

"There. That should hold you for a while," he says. He sits back on his heels, looking up at her.

Her chest is still heaving, her breasts threatening to spill out of her dress, and her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted. Her head rolls back, and her eyes flutter open, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She looks gorgeous, thoroughly fucked and satisfied, and Thorn has never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

She lets out a breathless, shaky laugh, and Thorn can't help but join her.

"Good?" he asks, his voice rough.

"Mhm," she mumbles, and her hand moves from his neck to his head. She runs her fingers through his hair, smoothing it down as his lips press a trail of soft kisses along her thigh. "Really, really good."

"Glad to hear it," he murmurs.

"You're good," she says, a soft giggle escaping her. She's still breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, and her eyes are glassy. "Too good."

"Nah," he says, his tone playful. He gives her hip a light squeeze and rises, his knees cracking as he straightens. He adjusts her dress, pulling it down and smoothing out the wrinkles. "I'm just trying to impress you."

"Consider me impressed," she replies, smirking.

She leans in and presses a kiss to his jaw, and his eyes close, a soft sigh escaping him. Her hands find his belt, and he watches her, his heart pounding.

"Let me—"

"No," he says, his voice firm. He grips her wrist, stopping her, and she blinks, her eyes wide. "You don't have to do that."

"But you're..." she starts, and he shakes his head.

"I'm fine," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He releases her hand, and she looks down, her cheeks turning pink. "Hey. Look at me."

She lifts her gaze, meeting his, and he smiles.

"We're good, right?" he asks, his voice soft. He lifts his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

She nods. "Yeah. We're good."

"Okay. Then I'm okay. More than okay. Really," he assures her, and she swallows, a frown tugging at her lips. "Hey, none of that. None of that sadness. Or guilt. Or whatever that look is. Okay?"

"Okay," she says. Her lips curve into a smile, but there's a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I just feel bad."

"Well, don't," he tells her. He reaches down and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. "I don't. Trust me, baby. This is the highlight of my day."

She laughs, a bright, bubbly sound that makes his chest swell with pride. "Highlight, huh?"

"Yeah. Definitely," he says, grinning. "You look amazing, by the way. Really beautiful. Did I tell you that already?"

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up. You're a flatterer."

"Nope. Just being honest," he says, his eyes drifting over her body. "Seriously. I'm the luckiest guy in the world right now."

“Stop,” she whines.

"Nah. It's true," he replies. He looks back at the door, where the muffled sounds of conversation can still be heard, and lets out a sigh. "As much as I want to stay here and keep you all to myself, I think you need to get back. Before they miss you."

"Right. Yeah," she says. She steps away, straightening her dress.

Thorn reaches up and fixes her hair, his hands moving deftly. It takes him a moment, but he manages to get it mostly back in place. She smooths out the front of her dress and adjusts her cleavage, and he lets out a small, appreciative hum. He picks up his helmet, turning it so she can see her reflection in the visor, and she wipes the smeared lipstick at the corner of her mouth before giving him a grateful smile.

"Okay. Ready?" he asks, and she gives a reluctant nod.

She steps towards the balcony doors, pausing and turning back to him. Her brow is furrowed, and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth.

"Um, Thorn?"

"Yeah, baby?"

“Can I have my underwear back?"

He smirks as he tugs his helmet back on. The taste and smell of her linger on his tongue, and he licks his lips, savoring the sweetness. He'll be breathing in her scent for the rest of the night, and the thought alone makes him giddy, his cock twitching in his blacks.

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and deep. He pulls his blaster out, checking the charge, and gestures towards the balcony doors. "I want you thinking about what I'm going to do to you later."

Her eyes widen, and a blush creeps up her neck, turning her skin a pretty shade of pink. "And what's that, Commander?"

He holsters his blaster and looks at her. "Everything."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @champagnejaig

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

[vynegar]

vyn loves fighting fire with fire. it's actually very important for his enrichment

[icewindandboringhorror]

Just curious what the average level of personal investment in these sorts of things is. Like, how much do people usually get into silly stuff like this their friends ask of them? etc. etc. Which I know, only surveying a small sample on a very specific website means I'm not getting an exact average idea lol, but.. curious nonetheless .. Maybe reblog for bigger sample size but also this is not very serious at all/not worth a call to action gbhjbhjb

[girlwiththegreenhat]

hey when they wrote "knight behind bars" and they wrote kitt helping a couple get together and they gave him the line "Some day, it will be my turn" [to find love]. did they know what they were doing. did they know that in some 40 years some gay autistic robot-obsessed little freak on tumblr would not stop thinking about it for weeks and write literal dozens of paragraphs screaming about it on discord. did they know they were going to ruin Me, Specifically, with this concept that feels like the culmination of everything kitt has gone through through the show and such a fascinating thing to think about in regards to michael and kitt's relationship,

one of the themes of knight rider is kitt developing as a Person, developing a line between the Knight Industries Two-Thousand, and Kitt. discovering humanity, his own emotions, the joys of the seemingly and logically pointless, and often through the lens of his own driver, his partner, his friend, Michael - his primary guide through all these experiences, his reference for those human things he doesn't understand. and as much as he initially claims to not be capable of experiencing emotions, of understanding feelings, he learns to. he experiences a wide range of emotions through the show even while claiming he doesn't, he even learns fear and insecurity. perhaps it's only natural a robot would learn to love, or at the very least be terribly curious about it and wonder if such a thing could ever exist for Him

the majority of people are not exactly kind to kitt. they talk about him like he's not there, they talk about him like he's a machine, a novelty, some people are even scared of or disturbed by him when all he's trying to do is make polite conversation and company. he's always Othered - there's no other cars like him (at least not anymore), but there's no other person like him either, he doesn't truly belong among humans or vehicles. some of the technicians at FLAG don't even seem to fully respect him as a person, at least they don't based on my vague recollection of how they talk about him in Junkyard Dog. when Michael asks him after KARR is destroyed if it feels good to be one of a kind again, he doesn't say yes or no - he only says it's a "familiar feeling." it may be familiar, but it's surely also isolating, and i think that's something he'd realize as he slowly picks up this curiosity about love. where could he even find it when so few people see him as an equal person to begin with?

and then there's michael. oh my god, and then there's michael. no matter what flavor you choose to read it in, the whole show is about their relationship, they're a duo, a set Not to be separated, they're Partners. they work together, they worry about and look after each other (forever insane about when kitt was a melted shell, Michael stuck around the garage for hours, waiting for any news like a worried spouse, constantly checking on him every opportunity he got... encouraging him to recover, and even helping paint back on his protective coating... kitt always looks after michael, but for once, it's michael's turn to look after Him), in a way they were Made for each other - Kitt more literally, being programmed for Michael and holding his namesake, but Michael was also made in a sense for the pilot program, hand picked and given a second life to work for the foundation and with this strange supercar. and even if they had a rocky start, michael comes to view kitt as a person - car, TV set, or computer core, Kitt is his partner, his buddy. he helps him find himself, guides him and teaches him about these things that make us human, and in a way, kitt becomes human - but his entire experience is still through the perspective of an AI in a car, it's still very unique and isolating, and I think he sort of grows into his own limitations, he's finally brushing against the walls that define him.

he learns of love, and then he learns to dream Of love. these things he sees in the movies, that michael tells him about, that he so often sees michael Partaking in that he gets so oddly jealous of, doesn't it all seem so wonderful? he's very curious. but who could ever love steel and circuitry, who could ever see him as an equal let alone a partner in a romantic sense? who would ever love a car and all the limitations That comes with? it's a problem for a hypothetical hopeful Some Day, in the meantime stuck between two worlds where he doesn't perfectly belong to either, where no car Can love him and no human seemingly Would love him...

and michael loves him anyway. before either of them really realize or talk about it, in spite of everything, in any form, regardless of the fact it wouldn't be a typical relationship by absolutely any means, michael loves him anyway. kitt is as much a person to him as bonnie or devon or RC, and that person is someone he loves and cares for deeply. the feeling is mutual, kitt's world revolves around michael, he's one of the most important people in kitt's life, and he'd do anything to protect him.

and it is michael that will finally teach him to love, and what it means to feel loved in turn, to be loved as the person he undoubtedly is.

[endwersed]

you don’t see me, chapter five of six

Fresh off the back of being dumped, Derek agrees to strike up a friends-with-benefits situation with Stiles, his best friend and roommate. It doesn’t matter that Derek is straight - it’s just sex, after all.

“I think I’m not,” Derek starts, a brief intermission to choke the rest of the words out, “totally straight.” Instantly, Laura's eyes go all the way wide. She rears back in her seat, a muted, cushioned thump as her back hits the couch solidly, gaping at him with her jaw hanging low and her mouth hanging open. Whatever she might have been expecting him to say, that was probably near the bottom of her list, he thinks. “Oh my god,” she blurts out. “And – and I’ve been sleeping with Stiles.” Now that – that was probably at the very bottom. “Oh my god!” “And I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him.” “Oh my fucking god, Derek!”

[sundayinthcpark]

can u tell i have three major special interests just spinning around my brain. it’s wild.

[boyfeminism]

this job is so stressful to me like. im doing okay im doing better than i started but ive basically been put into a pseudo management position with very little real responsibility other than "fix it" and "advocate for it" and even less power to make it happen but like. i Hate management and i have a hard time sticking up for myself and keeping a cool head when doing so, which means when someone who i Know doesnt do his job is giving me bullshit numbers its hard to know where to give ground and where to be firm. and this kitchen is a disaster but like other baking jobs have Such a high standard that like. would i even manage a job where the kitchen Wasn't a total sinking ship? ive got less than a year of baking experience, mostly in bread, and everyone wants pastry. a chef from corporate asked me if id been to culinary school and it was both flattering and made me feel like kind of a fraud. a sous chef (who i really liked but her last day is tomorrow) asked the same and when i said no elaborated that i carry myself and have the attitude of someone who did (in a good way) which was Also flattering but like. she sent me a pastry position she found online that wanted someone who knew how to do laminated pastry and it just. i feel so small!!! this is something i like a lot and the new head chef of the baking department says he can tell i have talent and im eager to learn and he knows i can do this and that im doing a good job so far but its genuinely so stressful i think about work constantly ive never worked a job where ive had this much expectation put on me.

plus its so insulting when they tell me my product "doesnt look good" bc theyre 1) premade frozen bullshit and 2) packaged poorly bc we have no other options. fuck off dude you come and make these shitty turnovers, asshole. i know how to tell when a cookie is done. fuck off. like i am the First to tell you when something ive made is not up to my standard, not in a self depricating way but in a constant effort to do better. i Know when the cookies are too dark. I know when the turnovers didnt get egg washed. i know when the batter was overmixed. i know when something is Off but i dont know the cause and know when to ask someone who should know more than me. i dont need you to tell me when something is off, Especially when like. it isnt lmao

[radarsteddybear]

I really want to write...but I don't really have anything I want to work on...even my ongoing daydream is currently unsatisfying...I should get back to those Bad Things Happen Bingo prompts but I'm having trouble sitting down and rereading what I've got...*sigh*

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

since I can't give you the world

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 1,279 | Read on AO3

After a job that goes surprisingly smoothly, Heist!Mark has a gift for his partner in crime.

Despite operating in part within a larger network of criminals, it was rare for you and your heist partner to take on jobs from others, ultimately preferring to work independently. You knew you could trust one another, and freelance work meant the two of you could determine the stakes and carefully plot every point of your plan with space for improvisation if necessary, all without being accountable to anyone. It just suited you better.

On occasion, though, you would take up jobs from higher criminal organisations that could provide you with certain tech or aid in covering your tracks, or from rich clients looking for individuals to do their dirty work.

This heist had been one of those such occasions.

A wealthy tycoon had offered a generous deposit in exchange for the two of you infiltrating the penthouse belonging to the family of a rival business. Your client claimed that the owner of the company had taken some precious jewels from him and his own family's possession in their youth, and it remained mysteriously lost for years until they later had them fashioned into a jewellery set and supposedly tried to pass them off as a family heirloom. He wanted you to steal it back, saying you could take whatever else you wanted to throw any suspicion away from himself.

There was no way you could confirm this story, and usually you wouldn't choose to involve yourselves in something so personal and petty on someone else's behalf, but in addition to the incredible sum of money the client was offering just for accepting the job, this would be a fairly simple heist, with him making all the arrangements for you to get in posed as guests to a soirée held at the target location. The only catch was that you had to figure out your own escape, but with your experience it wasn't much of an issue.

The client had provided you with instructions on where to look for the items (he had refused to disclose the source of this intel, which was probably for the best).

You and Mark were able to get into the lavish event without any problems and even had fun enjoying the party before you made your move, easily slipping away from the hubbub; you made your way to distract the guard on standby so Mark could get past unnoticed.

‘Got it!’ Mark had exclaimed in a proud half-whisper, his voice coming through the earpiece communication device tucked away out of sight behind your hair. ‘And I took some other valuables n’ stuff so it looks like a more general robbery, rather than us being after something specific.’

You kept up your conversational diversion for a couple more minutes, giving Mark the chance to sneak out of the room undetected, before thanking the guard for escorting you thus far and heading on your way.

‘Ah! I think I know where to go from here, thank you ever so much for your help,’ you said in an overly grateful tone that felt far too sweet (but worked wonders). You heard Mark scoff at the other end of the line.

As the two of you slipped out and into the night, the triumph and excitement in the air between you was palpable.

‘Oooh, nice haul!’ you said gleefully, peeking into the bag of loot while Mark drove you both back to base. Meanwhile, the jewellery set for the client sat safely in its own case.

All-in-all, it had turned out to be one of your most successful heists.

Later, you have everything laid out to total up your prizes, still somewhat giddy, like kids counting up arcade tickets to see what they can win.

‘Oh! I almost forgot, I've got something for you,’ Mark says, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, which lies over the chair behind him.

Your head perks up with curiosity.

He holds out his hand to you, and in it is an ornate, blue pendant in a teardrop shape, hanging from a delicate gold chain. You can't say for sure what kind of gem or crystal it is, but the cut of the azure stone catches the light in such a way that you can't quite keep your eyes off it. The bail attaching the pendant has a spiralling design embedded in the metal. Overall, it's a beautiful piece.

‘Now, I know it wasn't what we were after but while I was searching the room, I saw it and I can't put my finger on why, but it made me think of you. And it was just sitting around collecting dust, y'know? I just figured, might as well give this to someone who'll actually appreciate it.’

You take the necklace gently from his hands, examining the craftsmanship between your fingers. And you think you might see why it reminded him of you. Well, not really, more like you feel it — a vague sense of familiarity about the design that you can't place, like something from a dream or long-forgotten memory.

‘Yeah,’ he says with a grin. ‘Oh— of course, if you'd rather pool it in with the rest of the loot and get your money's worth instead, that's totally fine. I won't mind, I just thought you deserve to have something for yourself.’

‘Mark… Did you steal this, for me?’

He says it casually, but the whole notion leaves you feeling incredibly touched.

‘Mark. If you got this especially for me I'm not gonna sell it. This is really thoughtful, I love it.’

‘Aw, no problem, buddy. It's nothing.’

‘No, it's not nothing. Thank you. Really.’

‘Well… I'm glad you like it.’ He smiles and you hold each other's gaze for a moment. ‘Oh — here, let me- ’

He takes the necklace from you and after a second you realise he intends to help you put it on.

He leans closer, unclasping the chain carefully.

‘So, what's the occasion?’ you ask, conscious of how his hands brush against your skin as he moves them to close the clasp behind your neck.

‘Do I need a reason to give my friend a gift?’

‘... I guess not.’

He lingers in your space a bit longer than necessary, hands just barely resting at the curve where your neck meets your shoulders.

And maybe it's the tenderness and unspoken intimacy of this physical act, or that you're used to taking and not so much receiving, or the fact that he thought to keep this for you at all, but for whatever reason, your heart feels incredibly full.

‘It suits you.’

After that day, you wear your new accessory all the time when you're home.

You refuse to wear it out, even if you're simply going to meet with friends or the two of you are on a standard grocery run, out of fear that it'll get lost or damaged or, ironically, stolen.

Regardless, Mark can tell how much it means to you by the way he'll notice it hanging over your collar bones when you groggily traipse over to the kitchen for breakfast every morning, or how it is still around your neck when you fall asleep slumped against him in your living room by the end of the day. And whenever anyone comes over to visit, you wear it proudly, and he feels himself swell with happiness and pride in turn when your friends compliment it and you mention how ‘Mark gave it to me’.

You truly do love your gift, but what you cherish far more is the care behind the gesture, and the fact that he looks pleased whenever you wear it.

You'll have to find some way to return the favour.

[jelliegirl]

my paranoia about social situations is so bad rn

[singsweetmelodies]

as a scientist... my scientific observation today is that my mood after any given race weekend is directly proportional to how well charles did in that race

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

staying up as late as possible tipsy playing bg3 because thats just the sort of week I've had i cannot even lie rn

[delightfuldevin]

I do not think I’m gonna finish Jr’s part in time hfnvjsndcj

[watery-melon-baller]

its so fun :)) and awesome :)) that i cannot fucking make my brain focus on my homework :))) holy shit im gonna kill someone :)) why can't my brain just work for five fucking minutes :)) this is easy homework too I just can't concentrate on it at all :)) and it's due tomorrow morning :)))

[sunbedo]

Hey guys. gay rights

[clownattack]

gorsh

im currently failing sm to focus bcs im just overcome with the thought of MAYBE being able to pick up my funny clay corpse from uni furnace tomorrow. LIKE IM NOT IN A RUSH AT ALL but i want them back and thinking abt this disables me from doing typography for my catalogue augh. I want to assemble my hot transi gf and take pics so i can DO MORE TYPOGRAPHY