#And it looks to the generations that stand behind it

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Hi I love your fics and was hoping you’d like this request:)) I was thinking a fic with James x fem!reader where she’s a slytherin but not in the stereotypical way that James and the marauders typically see them as. She’s not cold hearted or prejudice, rather quite friendly and very artsy. I was thinking an enemies to lovers where James just generalizes her with the slytherin she doesn’t like so he’s not the kindest to her, but maybe she gets paired up for an assignment with Remus so James ends up having to be around her a bit and realizes she doesn’t suck lol. Think he would definitely have to work for her affection after fumbling the ball so hard but im a sucker for a happy ending!

I hope this sounds like something you’d enjoy writing, if not that’s totally ok too❤️

Masterpiece

James Potter x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: (see above) James Potter goes a little too far with a girl everyone happens to like.

AN: I am so sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it <3

CW: not proof read, use of {Y/N}, Jealous and Stupid James, sexual implied ending, Protective salty Remus, self indulgent, cursing, very slight angst, fem reader, not cannon complacent, sexual innuendo,

WC: ~9k

The sky was overcast and the wind was blowing rapidly, causing your sleeves to billow as the very stool you perched on teetered from side to side. You grabbed the seat and tried to steady your perch, holding up your paint brush away from your portrait as the creamy white shade dripped down on your bare legs. 

Dressed in casual clothes, your paint stained denim short overalls and a striped shirt that hid evidence of handprint smears from your absentminded messes. Sleeves rolled up to show your speckled skin already decorated with splotches of white and browns, fresh hazy grays that resembled the foggy ground of Hogwarts and its students. 

“{Y/N} {L/N}?” A voice so calm and careful called out from behind you. You turned and smiled on instinct, your eyes landing on the tall figure. He was also in more casual clothes, a brown cable knit sweater vest over a simple white button down shirt. He was holding up a piece of paper to his eyes before he put it in his pocket. Smiling so kindly, where the corners of his eyes crinkled and his scarred lip curled up to reveal perfectly uneven teeth.

Ballet white.

“Remus Lupin?” You called out to him and he chuckled, taking a few long steps to stand beside you. 

“You were meant to wait for me, you know.” He teased and slipped his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I know, I know. But this was the perfect time for it.” You lifted your hands to gesture to the sky and he looked around to try and find what exactly made this 'perfect.’

“How’d you even manage to get in here?” He quizzed and took a seat on the railing. Looking around at the castle grounds from the top of RavenClaw’s tower, you got the perfect view of the astronomy tower, what you were currently painting. 

“There wasn't much convincing involved. Barty Crouch walked me up here.” You smirked and he looked bewildered.

“You know Crouch?” 

“Yeah, I do.”

Remus furrowed his brow as he tried to piece together how he hadn't heard of you before. Seeing as he was meant to be escorting you two and from each Hogwarts house for your own personal study, it seemed unlikely he wouldn't of known of you, getting this particular form of special treatment from the headmaster himself.

Remus walked around you and took a peak at what you were painting. The air so familiar, and comforting, both of you had forgotten you had just met.

“What are you painting?”

“Magical paintings.” You hummed and he furrowed his brow further.

“Don't you usually need a subject?”

“Traditionally.” You muttered and gestured for him to sit down. He listened almost instantly, sitting down on the floor next to you, laying his crutch across his lap. After a moment of pause you shrugged and set your paint aside, shifting to sit beside him on the floor, making him chuckle.

“Do you know how they work?”

“Not a clue.” He shifted to sit and face you fully. Both of you crossed your legs, like tots ready to swap unearthing secrets in the school yard. 

“Well. What you're thinking of is magical portraits. The art of bringing the life of the subject to the painting.” You declared almost breathless. “But that's amature work.” 

He gave a delighted and startled laugh at your bold declaration, but it didn't impede you.

“The true magic is being able to bring life that isn't visible to the naked eye, to visual art forms.” You declared and gestured to your painting. Remus’s eyes flickered up and widened a bit. You gave an excitable bright smile as you both watched the misty fog in your painting shift, the faint stars in the background twinkle against the backdrop, and even the few faint sketches of students within the distant tower moving about. 

“Woah.” He whispered and you nodded eagerly. 

“Isn't it inspiring?” 

“It is.” He agreed instantly before he looked back at you. “But, doesn't it typically take magic from the subject for it to work effectively? How does this work?”

“Well, don't you think Hogwarts is possibly the most magical place in the world?” You argued and he chuckled at how easily you brushed off the question. 

Of course, no one truly knew how it worked. Not that the creator of the art method ever documented his findings. The only clear part of it was not everyone had the knack for it. You were lucky, since you were young, to be able to produce the art even before you got your magic.

You turned to Remus, who was watching with rapt attention.

“Do you want to try?” You offered, a mischievous smile taking over your features that looked startlingly familiar to Remus.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Me? Paint?”

“Why not? You might find you have a hidden talent!” You encouraged, handing him a brush and a palette. 

Reluctantly, he took the brush, glancing at the canvas as if it were a daunting task. Exaggerative hesitation to defile such a beautiful painting. You grinned, ready to guide him through it. Little did you know that in that moment, you had endeared yourself to Remus in a way not many people were able to. 

For the next few hours, well after curfew, you and Remus stayed perched on the RavenClaw tower, as you instructed him on what colors and paints to use. He was doing his best not to ‘ruin it’, which quickly went out the window when, in a moment of playful determination, you covered your hands in black paint and began to stamp your canvas. Convincing him that you truly didn't care what he did to the painting as long as it was fun.

Finally, you both snuck out of the RavenClaw tower as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone. Leading to you two in the halls, laughing and joking as he carried your canvas for you. 

“So, you're self taught?” He prodded and you nodded. 

“Yup! Have been doing this since I was.. four? Likely. My mother showed me.” You hummed and he gave a delighted laugh. 

“Really? So you're studying in your free time?”

“Mhm! It's not something that can really be.. taught. So Hogwarts doesn't have classes on it quite yet.” You waved your hand vaguely and he nodded. 

“You're telling me this now, after all that time trying? You got my hopes up, {L/N}.”

You giggled and he put his hand over his heart in fake anguish. 

“I was this close to changing career paths, you know.”

“Oh, I'm sure you were. I could see the headline now: 'Remus Lupin, Future Auror, Turns Painter After One Magical Evening.'” You laughed, nudging him playfully with your elbow. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to Defense Against the Dark Arts, thank you very much. But this-” He gestured to the covered painting with a soft look. “You turned this mess into something amazing. You're truly talented.”

“I know.” You sang and he laughed, nudging you. 

“I'm serious, you know.”

“Sirius? I thought you were his boyfriend?”

“Oh Merlin, you're as bad as they are.”

You gave a laugh of your own and shoved him back. “Oh, you Marauders? Please tell me you're joking.” 

“No, no, truly. I think you'd get along. Gryffindor tower is next, right?” He prodded as you both entered the hall and stopped just before the dungeons’ entrance.

“Mhm.” 

“I'll see you tomorrow then?” He offered and held out his hand. You took it with a firm shake and you both said your goodbyes, hurrying over to the Slytherin common room.

~~~

“She's quite fun, showed me how to match pallets colors.” Remus rambled on to Lily who gave a delighted laugh at how excited he was to show her his new found artistic ability. They were sitting on the couch together, and he was exposing to her why his newest sweater vest was absolutely ruined 

“She sounds lovely.” Lily hummed, Sirius smirking from his spot between Remus’s knees, looking up at him. Eyes closed as one of the werewolf’s hands tangled in his loches of hair. 

“So lovely you should just marry her.” Sirius teased and Remus glared at him, giving a particularly rough tug at his boyfriend's hair. Sirius giving a chuckle and biting his lip. “I see no punishment here.”

“You-”

“Whose getting hitched?” James piped up from the stairs, jogging over and hopping onto the couch. Making the cushions bounce a bit as he got comfortable. “Evans, how can you let this happen? A Hogwarts marriage that's not our own?”

Lily gave a sigh and rolled her eyes, gathering her things and saying her goodbyes to Remus and Sirius, giving James the cold shoulder with a simple ‘Potter’ as he put his hand over his chest and sunk further into the cushions. 

“She says that name like it won't be hers someday.” He sighed fondly before he turned to look at the other two. “Where's Wormy?”

“He's on a date with a Hufflepuff.” Sirius snickered. “Some seventh year dude.”

“Huh.” James muttered and looked at the ceiling. “Didn't think he'd be the type to date older.”

“Yeah well-” Before Sirius could continue, Remus’s head peaked up from the couch when there was a knock on the portrait door. 

“That her?” Sirius asked as Remus slugged out of his seat to get around his clingy boyfriend. 

“Likely!” He shouted back and James tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Who?” He quizzed Sirius and he smirked up at James.

“{Y/N} {L/N}, the artist extraordinaire.” Sirius replied with mock seriousness, adjusting his position to climb onto the couch. “Remus has been raving about her all evening.”

“{Y/N} {L/N}? Where have I heard of her before?” James leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “Oh! That paint girl? One who has been doing those weird paint studies around school?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Sirius replied, grinning. “Apparently, she's doing some self study. Remus was practically glowing when he talked about her.”

James’s eyes widened with intrigue. “That’s brilliant! I’ve heard whispers about her- it’s supposed to be absolutely mesmerizing.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” You interjected, stepping through the portrait hole just in time to catch the end of the conversation. You were slightly out of breath, having hurried from the Slytherin dungeons to the Gryffindor tower, your paint-stained overalls still evidence of your artistic endeavors from yesterday. Looking around at the beautiful common room. A very faded almost gray-green scarf around your neck.

Burnt Scarlet and Butterscotch

The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward you. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You teased with a playful grin, glancing around at the familiar faces of the infamous boys. Sirius was looking you over curiously, with his typical sleazy grin, but James seemed absolutely slack jawed. After a moment of a wait you gave a small laugh, snapping James out of whatever trance he was in. Turning to look at Remus who had his eyes locked on your paints, making you smile.

His eyes flicked up to yours and he grinned back cheekily. “Where should I set up?”

“Over here, near the window.” He gestured over to a small nook. You hurried over and set your things down. Starting of course with a small tarp to set up your painting area without having to worry about ruining the flooring.

You set up two canvas this time and Remus helped you, confused at first before you set another pallet and paint brush down. “Alright, my student. Do you remember what I taught you?” You teased and he laughed, walking over to pick up the paint.

“You didn't have the bring this just for me.”

“Oh I know, how great am I, right?” You teased and sat down. Remus was still getting used to your deflective personality. Shrugging as he sat down and watched as you worked. Doing his best to copy your movements.

Meanwhile, Sirius and James were watching the scene curiously. Sirius couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the attention his boyfriend was giving this new girl, and James was unable to get over the fading color of your scarf. His jaw clenched a bit as he watched Lily walk over to introduce herself, also somehow roped in by your charm and even sitting down with you two to watch you paint.

James leaned back on the couch, arms crossed as he watched the interaction unfold before him. The sight of you, animated and joyful as you explained your artistic process to Remus and Lily, stirred something in him. It wasn't just the way you wielded your paintbrush with such confidence; it was the warmth that radiated from you. You were a Slytherin, so obviously, but you held the room like a Gryffindor. You worked with the precision of a RavenClaw. You were patient and thoughtful with Remus and his questions, like a HufflePuff.

He didn't get it.

“Oi, Prongs, you look like you’ve just swallowed a lemon.” Sirius whispered, nudging James with his elbow. “What’s got you all broody?”

“Nothin.” James replied, too quickly, his eyes still fixed on you. “Just… watching.”

Sirius followed his eyes and slowly smirked to himself. “She's getting under your skin too, huh?” 

James glanced at Sirius before his glare locked back on you as you instructed Lily to take your paintbrush and gestured to the canvas he couldn't see. “What's her deal? Why's she so.. smiley?” 

The ‘as a Slytherin’ part came unspoken to both of the boys.

“You know, Remus says she knows Crouch.” 

“Of course she does.” He muttered, eyes locked on the way you rolled up your sleeve and cuffed them. How you loosened your collar, and leaned down, showing the upper valley to your-

And suddenly the floor was a bit more interesting. He turned to look at Sirius who’s lip twitched as he watched Remus rub his thumb across his cheek and smudge some black paint on himself.

“... Merlin, he's bloody fit, ain't he?” Sirius muttered and James gave a loud exaggerated groan.

“I'm shocked Remus is entertaining her at all.” James finally muttered and sunk deeper into his sheet like a pouty child. Sirius nodded.

James watched with narrowed eyes as you laughed along with Remus and Lily, his annoyance bubbling up to the surface. Without really thinking it through, he pushed himself up from the couch, making his way over to where you were sitting with the paintbrushes and palettes laid out neatly.

He made it look casual, like he was just getting a better view, but as he stepped closer, his foot "accidentally" caught the jar of paint water perched near the edge of the table. It tipped, and time seemed to slow as the murky water splashed all over your leggings that just peaked form under your overalls, staining the fabric a dark, ugly color.

"Oh! Whoops, sorry 'bout that," James said, not quite managing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. His tone was just on the edge of sincere, but the glint in his eyes gave him away.

You glanced down at the mess, then up at James, and for a moment it seemed like the whole room held its breath. James just waiting for the snake to snap its jaws at him. But instead of getting angry, instead of snapping at him like he expected, you just smiled- a bright, genuine smile that made James's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"No worries, Potter.” You mused, brushing it off as if nothing had happened. "A bit of extra color never hurt anyone."

James blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected that. He muttered something that might have been an apology, but the way you smiled at him; completely unbothered- only made his irritation flare up more. He turned sharply on his heel, stalking back to the couch where Sirius was watching with an amused expression.

"Smooth, mate," Sirius drawled, arching an eyebrow.

"Shut it," James muttered, sinking back into his seat, his eyes flicking back to you as you continued painting like nothing had happened.

---

Over the next few days, James found himself increasingly irked by you. No matter what he did, you never seemed fazed. He "accidentally" knocked over your brushes during lunch one day, scattering them across the floor. You just laughed, picking them up without complaint. He charmed your canvas to keep sliding down whenever you set it up, but you only adjusted it each time, humming to yourself as if it were all just part of the process. He even tried to charm the colors in your palette to mix into a murky brown- but you simply shrugged, saying something about it being a "happy little accident" and turned it into a whole new painting.

Each time, you just smiled at him, that infuriatingly calm smile that made James feel like he was the one being childish. It was driving him mad, and Sirius, for one, found the whole thing endlessly entertaining.

One morning, James was sitting in the Great Hall, absently poking at his breakfast, when he heard a determined set of footsteps approaching. He looked up just in time to see you standing over him, hands on your hips, your eyes sharp. If James was a smarter boy, he would of been able to see the faint red rims around your eye sockets and the twitch of your lip.

"Potter.” You huffed, your voice carrying just enough edge to catch the attention of the surrounding students. "Give it back."

James blinked, feigning innocence. "Give what back?"

"Don't play dumb.” You snapped, leaning over the table, your face inches from his. "My paintbrush. The one with the silver handle. I know you took it."

James opened his mouth to deny it, but the look in your eyes made him hesitate. There was something different today- a fire that hadn’t been there before. He was finally getting a reaction from you. He felt his resolve waver, and before he could stop himself, he found his hand reaching into his robes, to pull out the paintbrush in question. Only.. it wasn't there.

James blinked, his smirk faltering as he patted the pocket where he thought he’d stashed your paintbrush. It wasn’t there. A pang of unease settled in his chest as he searched through the other pockets of his robes, the smirk fading completely as he came up empty-handed.

“Are you kidding me?” You straightened, your eyes narrowing. “Potter, don’t play games right now. That brush… it’s important to me.”

There was a crack in your voice, something raw that caught James off guard. The confidence you always carried seemed to waver, your voice betraying a vulnerability that made James's stomach sink with guilt.

“I… I swear it was right here,” James muttered, now frantically checking every inch of his robes, his face growing paler with each empty pocket. The students around them had grown quiet, sensing the sudden seriousness of the situation.

Remus was glaring daggers into his very soul, even Sirius hid his face away in his hand.

You stood there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your lips pressed together as you fought to maintain composure. You looked away from him, swallowing hard. “Potter, that was my mother’s. She gave it to me before…” You trailed off, your voice breaking slightly before you cleared your throat, trying to regain control.

James’s heart sank. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t thought. All he’d wanted was to rile you up, to see you react. He hadn’t meant for this.

“Alright,” He said quickly, standing up from the table. His voice was more earnest now, the usual cockiness gone. “I’ll help you find it. It must have fallen out somewhere. Let’s go check my dorm.��

You didn’t say anything, just nodded stiffly, blinking rapidly as you turned on your heel and started walking, James trailing after you. The Great Hall was eerily quiet as they left, whispers following in their wake.

“She's too damn nice.” Remus muttered and Sirius sighed. About to say something, before he earned a glare from Remus too. 

Lily tutted. “As if you weren't involved in anything he's done to her so far.”

~~~

The walk to the Gryffindor common room felt like it took forever, the silence between the two of you heavy. James kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, the way your jaw was clenched, the way you kept your eyes straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

When they reached the boys' dormitory, James immediately began tearing through his things, searching every nook and cranny. He pulled open drawers, checked under his bed, even rummaged through the pockets of his other robes. But the paintbrush was nowhere to be found.

He turned to you, his hands dropping to his sides in defeat. “I… I’m so sorry, {Y/N}, I can’t find it. Maybe it fell somewhere else, maybe-”

“Stop,” You cut him off, your voice barely a whisper. Your eyes were glassy, tears welling up as you looked at him. The fight you’d been trying to keep inside seemed to crumble all at once, your shoulders sagging as you sank down onto the edge of his bed. “It’s gone, isn’t it?”

James stared at you, his heart aching at the sight of you like this. He’d never imagined he’d see you cry, and knowing he was the cause of it made him feel worse than he ever thought possible. Suddenly all those weeks of trying to get under your skin seemed more of a success, if this was the result of a truly damaging prank.

“I…” He didn’t know what to say, how to fix this. He knelt down in front of you, his voice gentle. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll look everywhere, I’ll…”

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It’s not just a paintbrush, Potter. It was hers. It was all I had left of her.”

James’s chest tightened, and he reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your knee. “I’m so sorry. I… I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I’ll find it. I swear I will.”

You looked down at his hand, then back at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and exhaustion. “Just… don’t,” You whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Potter.”

And with that, you stood up, wiping at your eyes as you turned and left the dormitory, leaving James there, staring after you, feeling more helpless than he ever had before.

~~~

James had never felt guilt like this. It gnawed at him, making his usual swagger feel empty. Over the next few days, he found himself constantly scanning the corridors, the classrooms, even the common rooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of you but you were always just out of reach. Each time he spotted you, you either turned and walked the other way or simply looked right through him as if he didn't exist.

It wasn't long before the whole school knew what had happened. How James Potter had lost something precious of yours, something irreplaceable. And unlike other times, where his mischief had earned him admiration or laughter, this time he received disapproving glares and whispers behind his back. How he hurt the only Slytherin everyone seemed to adore. Even Remus had given him the cold shoulder for a while, and Lily refused to talk to him outright.

One day, after Transfiguration, James caught sight of you slipping out of the classroom. He hurried to catch up, weaving through the crowd of students, his heart pounding in his chest. When he finally reached you, he touched your arm gently.

“{Y/N}, please, just give me a second.”

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his. There was a guardedness there that hadn’t been before, a wall that you had built between yourself and him. It hurt more than James could put into words.

Even then, you took time to notice; Cinnamon Brown in his eyes.

 James Potter was used to rejection, Lily Evans ran him like it was a damned sport, but something about your usually positive beaming face turning to a frown at the sight of him wrecked him.

“What do you want, Potter?” You asked, your voice tired, as if dealing with him was just another chore.

He swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry. Really. I never meant for things to go this far. I’ve been looking for your brush, I swear it. I… I just want to make it up to you.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. “There’s nothing you can do, alright? Just leave it, Potter.”

“But-”

“No,” You said firmly. “I don’t want anything to do with you. You’ve done enough. I- I thought you were funny, that you could tell a good joke. Take one too. But this- no. No, just leave me be, Potter.”

James flinched at your words, the finality of them cutting deeper than he expected. He watched as you turned and walked away, the distance between you growing with every step.

~~~

James's heart sank deeper with each day that passed without a sign of the lost paintbrush. He had scoured the castle, enlisted the help of some of his housemates, and even tried asking around discreetly in other houses, but to no avail. It was as if the brush had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a growing rift between him and you.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, James slumped on a couch, staring blankly at the fire crackling in the hearth. Sirius and Remus were there too, the latter still showing signs of his displeasure over the whole ordeal.

"I messed up, didn't I?" James murmured, not really expecting an answer.

"You did.” Remus deadpanned, not looking up from his book. "And you know it's not just about the brush. It's about how you've been treating her from the start."

Sirius, lounging with his back against the armrest, watched James closely. "You've been a right prat, Prongs- even I gave in after the first prank.” He remarked and avoided Remus’s slight glare. “You didn't just step on her toes, you danced the bloody Tango on them."

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just wanted to get a rise out of her, see her react. But now... I can't stop thinking about how I made her feel. It's like I'm seeing myself for the first time and it's not a pretty picture."

"Sounds like you've got it bad," Sirius said with a smirk.

Remus closed his book, finally giving James his full attention, not exactly happy with what he was hearing. "It's not just guilt, James. It's empathy. You're finally understanding the impact of your actions on others."

James looked from Sirius to Remus, the realization slowly dawning on him. "It's not like I like her. She's just.. pretty. You know, I hate to see a pretty face so upset.” He scoffed and looked back to Sirius who arched his eyebrow and smirked wider as he realized his remark wasn't as playful as he intended.

“That right?” Sirius pushed and James huffed. 

“That’s right.”

“When was the last time you bothered poor Evans?” Sirius challenged and Remus gave a low groan. Great, James just couldn't leave his friends alone. 

He watched in a bit of sympathy as the dumb boys jaw slowly went limp and his eyes widened. “Merlin, I think I like her.” He mumbled in absolute dread. “Like really like her. And I've gone and ruined it before it could even start."

"Well, you can't undo what you've done, but you can start making amends," Remus advised, a softer tone replacing his earlier reprimand.

"How? She doesn’t even want to see me," James lamented.

"Give her time and show her you've changed.. And Merlin, don't do this just to win her over." Remus huffed.

James pondered, his gaze drifting toward the flickering fire. "What if she never forgives me?"

"Then you’ll learn a valuable lesson in respect, won't you?" Remus said sternly. "You can't force forgiveness, James. All you can do is prove that you're better than your worst mistake."

“Does Merlin speak straight through you?” James muttered to Remus who swatted him with the book across his lap, before standing. 

“I need new friends.” He mumbled as he walked away.

Sirius laughed and James pouted, sinking back into the cushions of the couch. Pondering what would be the next best move when earning your forgiveness. He could live with never being with you, he always found the concept of lost love romantic. 

What he couldn't do was live knowing he hurt you without even trying for your forgiveness.

~~~

For the next few weeks, Hogwarts transformed into an entirely different realm for James. Determined to right his wrongs, he threw himself into the role of a repentant suitor with the zeal of a true 70s romantic hero; one who was more often clumsy than charming.

One morning at breakfast, armed with an armful of apology notes penned in his best handwriting (which still looked suspiciously like chicken scratch), James tried to navigate the treacherous waters of your friends’ skepticism and Barty’s disdain. He handed out his notes, his voice tinged with hopeful earnestness that made a few of your friends stifle their giggles. “Could you- um, would you make sure {Y/N} gets these? They’re, well, important.” His cheeks flamed red as he stumbled over his words, but the sincerity in his eyes earned him a few nods. The stuttering and foolish boy even earning a smile from Pandora Rosier who assured him she'd ‘do her best.’

He was getting desperate, at every shred of attention you spared him. During potions class, James attempted to be your knight in shining armor, which, predictably, went about as well as a troll in a ballet shop. When he noticed you struggling to reach a vial of newt eyes on a high shelf, he leapt up, nearly knocking over his own cauldron in his eagerness to assist. “Allow me!” 

But his overly enthusiastic grab sent the vial spinning into the air, only to crash down right next to Slughorn’s feet, splattering the hem of his robes with an unsightly goo. 

“Sorry, Professor!” James winced, while you suppressed a snicker at the sheer absurdity of his gallantry. Graveling even as he was sentenced to detention.

Now, James knew that if he wanted to be truthful with you it started with his behaviors. Which, started with him being truly himself. So, much to Remus’s annoyance, James turned to grander gestures. 

He managed to convince the house elves to let him borrow the kitchens for an evening to bake you a peace offering. Armed with sugar, flour, and an overabundance of misplaced confidence, he set about creating what he envisioned would be a culinary masterpiece. The result was a lopsided cake with icing that read, "Forgive me?" in wobbly letters. Only, half of the cake was callapsed, making it seem much more like a command of “give me”. 

He presented it to you during dinner, his hands shaking slightly as he placed it on the table. The entire Great Hall watched in anticipation as you took a bite. The cake was oddly salty, but when your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, James felt a surge of pure elation. Maybe, just maybe, his efforts were thawing your icy regard.

He even tried serenading you one evening in the common room, guitar in hand- a skill he had hastily learned over the past week. His voice cracked more than once, and the guitar was slightly out of tune, but he sang with such heartfelt passion that even the portraits along the walls seemed to listen in. He crooned to you, mangling the melody as he went. You watched, half-amused and half-astonished, as this boy who’d never shown an interest in music before butchered the song with endearing enthusiasm. Everyone in your common room appalled.

Through it all, James's exploits became the talk of Hogwarts. Whispers followed him everywhere- some mocking, others admiring. Some even amused that his attention had switched from Lily Evans, to you after years of pining. But beneath the laughter and the rumors, a thread of respect grew among his peers. Here was James Potter, chasing redemption as doggedly as he’d once chased after mischief.

Late one night, as James sat by the fire reflecting on his recent life choices, Sirius plopped down next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Prongs, you’re a bleeding heart wrapped in a jester’s cloak,” Sirius shook his head with a grin.

James laughed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I just need to know she forgives me, Padfoot. That I’ve made things right.”

“Well, mate, at the very least, you’ve given the whole school a good show,” Sirius chuckled. “And who knows? Maybe our little Slytherin is writing her own notes now; ‘How to Tame Your Marauder’ or something more poetic.”

James smiled, gazing into the flickering flames, hopeful and a bit wiser. In his quest to win your forgiveness, he’d stumbled across something unexpected. Something worth it. Not just you, but a desire- no, need- to better himself. Every time he saw you smile, made you laugh, roll your eyes, he wanted to be someone better. Someone who deserved to find themselves feeling the magic of being in love with a girl like {Y/N} {L/N}.

And maybe he'd even find himself worthy of her affection in return.

~~~

It all came to a head one day when he was scouring the school once again for your paintbrush. He had lost track of time in his mindless routine and forgotten about potions class. He was a half hour late, dashing into the classroom in a ruffled mess.

His breathless arrival didn’t go unnoticed, especially by you, who eyed him warily from your spot at the potions bench. Professor Slughorn eyed him with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. 

“Mr. Potter, so kind of you to join us,” Slughorn boomed, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, it's almost as if you left to miss my instruction specifically.” 

James grimaced but still tried to flash his playful smile that usually meant a clap back or snark. Instead, it was his form of a hesitant apology. “Sorry Professor-”

“I am not going over the instructions for Amortentia a third time today, is anyone willing to assist Mr. Potter?” Slughorn announced form the front of the class. There was a long moment of silence. Even with everyone slowly growing fond of him, no one was willing to drag down such an important project for the foolish boy.

Then, from across the room, your voice cut through the tension. "I can help him, Professor," you said, your voice calm but with an edge that didn’t entirely mask your reluctance. Everyone's heads turned towards you, including a visibly surprised James.

"Very well, {Y/N}. Please ensure Mr. Potter catches up without disrupting the rest of the class," Slughorn replied with a nod, turning back to his notes.

James approached your bench, a mix of gratitude and nervousness evident on his face. As he took the seat next to you, he whispered, "Thank you, I really mean it."

As James settled beside you at the potions bench, his hands fumbled slightly with the equipment. Slughorn, having returned to the front of the class, continued with his lecture, oblivious to the dramatic love story unfolding at the back.

James cleared his throat softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Really, {Y/N}, thanks for helping me out here. I know I've been... well, less than admirable lately."

You didn't look at him immediately, focusing instead on measuring out rose thorns with precision. "Just start by adding these to the cauldron slowly.” You instructed, handing him the thorns. "And stir- don't let it settle."

As he followed your instructions, his movements were careful, mirroring the cautious tone he was taking with you. After a moment, you finally met his gaze. "You've been trying hard, haven't you?" You muttered, not unkindly. Your eyes drifting over his focused expression and having to fight a smile.

James paused, the stirring rod in his hand still. "I have. I want to make things right, not just with you but... well, I've been thinking a lot about things I've done. I'm sorry, truly."

You watched him, the sincerity in his eyes striking a chord that made your heart ache. What had you done to the famous James Potter? His efforts over the past few weeks hadn’t gone unnoticed- it was quite entertaining. From the awkwardly presented cake to his out-of-tune serenades, his actions spoke far more than his words ever did. "I've noticed.” You whispered. "It's been hard to miss, really. Hogwarts hasn't been this entertaining in years."

A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I've made a bit of a spectacle of myself."

"Just a bit.” You chuckled, the tension easing between you as the familiar rhythm of your banter found its footing again.

Encouraged by that sweet sound of your laugh and the pretty way your lips curled into a smile he just adored-, James continued, "If there’s any chance I could, you know, maybe start over? I’d understand if not but-"

"You're really laying it on thick with the humility, Potter. It’s a good look on you.” You teased gently, turning back to the potion, which was now bubbling contentedly. "Let's just take it one day at a time. But, yeah, we can start with being friends."

James let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, relief washing over him. "Friends, right. And if you ever want to throw more paint at me, just say when."

"Be careful, I might take you up on that.” You warned with a playful grin.

As the class progressed, you both fell into an easy rhythm, the earlier awkwardness replaced by a budding conversation. James was surprisingly adept once he focused, and you found yourself laughing more genuinely than you had in a while at his self-deprecating jokes and clumsy yet earnest attempts at potion-making.

By the end of the class, not only had you two successfully brewed a passable batch of Amortentia, which thankfully didn't smell like sweat and regret. James had shown you a different side of himself, one that was humbly trying to make amends and move forward. And as you packed up your supplies, sharing a light joke about the day's mishaps, it felt like a fresh start was truly possible.

James took the chance to smile back at Remus and Sirius. Sirius seemed delighted for him, and Remus seemed hesitant. But it was okay, because you hadn't just forgiven him. You were willing to be his friend.

~~~

James slowly realised that being your friend was likely one of the best feelings he's had in a while. He thought everyone you had met were your friends, considering how sweet and lovely you were with everyone. 

But he was wrong.

There was a crazy side to you that only a small few saw. He learned it quickly, that you were sweet, kind, understanding- yes.

But you were an absolute gremlin when you wanted to be.

James discovered this one evening when you invited him to join you for a late-night painting session- a tradition you shared with a select few. Remus told him about them, but he never really understood just how amazing it felt to have your full attention like this. He had anticipated a serene evening, maybe learning a bit more about your magical painting techniques. Instead, he found himself in the middle of a chaotic spree of creativity that involved more prank-like antics than actual painting.

How in the bloody hell had he not known you properly?

As James entered the room, he was immediately hit by a flying glob of paint. It splattered across his face, dripping down his cheek. He stood, stunned for a moment, before hearing your laughter from behind an easel.

“Oh Potter, rule one. Never let your guard down.” You taunted and quickly hurried over to your canvas. Able to notice how the bright pink paint clung to his Jet Black hair.

Wiping the paint off with a sleeve, James couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a spark of challenge light up within him. "Oh, it’s on, {Y/N}." He responded, grabbing a palette loaded with vibrant colors.

What ensued was a wild mess of laughter, artistic ‘attacks,’ and impromptu paint duels that left both of you covered in every hue imaginable. Hindsight is 20/20- he shouldn't of worn his school robes. It was during these moments, dodging your playful ambushes and crafting hasty shields out of canvas boards, that James realized how comfortable he felt around you. Your laughter became a soundtrack he looked forward to, and your approving nods at his clumsy attempts at art warmed him more than he expected.

“It's humiliating how good you're getting at this.” You teased from your perch on a stool, James chuckled and playfully flipped you off.

“So much sass. And if I credited this to my teacher?”

“You should, I'm bloody good.” You laughed, wiping your nose before sneezing away some of the wet paint you forgot was on your hand.

That night became a normal accurance, it was like you two never fought. You two would find yourself laying on a tarp full of paint. You were laying on your back with your legs against the wall, and he was sitting with his back against said wall. Both of you looking off into dead space as you both talked about the most random and ridiculous things; from the controversial taste of pasties to the value and control one had over each other's fates.

“You know, everytime I come here, I remember why I've fallen for you.”

His words came out before he could stop himself. His jaw dropped at his own broken honesty, horrified that he had ruined the moment. 

After a moment of silence, he looked down to see you smiling at the ceiling. 

“Is that so?”

James swallowed thick and clenched his jaw a bit.

“Yeah.”

“That's awfully sweet of you.”

Your words were light, but they carried a weight that settled over James with an unexpected warmth. He watched you, admiring the serene expression on your face, highlighted by the ambient light that filtered through the scattered paint jars around you. He welcomed the twist of his gut like an old friend.

"I mean it, though," James continued, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze still fixed on you. "You make it easy to be myself, to be better. You've turned what started as a mess into something... pretty great."

“And isn't that just life?” You teased softly. “Sappy, messy, and yet an absolute masterpiece.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just say what makes sense to me in the moment.”

“You're a pain.” He chuckled and looked down, seeing your smile had grown tenfold. Your nose scrunching up and the corners of your eyes wrinkling.

James couldn't resist the infectious energy of your smile. It pulled a laugh from deep within him, a genuine, carefree sound that filled the room- he was screwed. "You're brilliant, you know that? Absolutely infuriating, but brilliant."

You shifted to sit up, leaning against the wall next to him, paint smears marking both your faces and clothes. "I'll take that as a compliment, Potter. Coming from you, it means quite a lot."

And that was all. James hadn't even registered your soft rejection, just relieved you seemed to accept him regardless. He leaned his head on your shoulder and you flicked off some stray pain from his nose. He smiled, all teeth, before he got up and forced you to your feet. Pulling you into a dance that made you cackle like a proper witch. And that was enough. To see you so bloody happy was enough.

~~~

James learned to share you quickly. With Barty always on your heel or Pandora hovering listlessly at your side. 

He even grew accustomed to seeing you draped in the easy camaraderie of Ravenclaws and your fellow Slytherins, your infectious laugh filling the spaces you all occupied together. It was during these times that James learned to appreciate you in a new light- not just as a friend or a fleeting crush, but as a vibrant part of his Hogwarts experience.

It wasn’t always easy, of course. The sting of his previous actions lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts, a reminder of the consequences of his thoughtlessness. Yet, each shared smile and each shared conversation with you wove a new thread of respect and affection into the fabric of his daily life.

As winter deepened and the snow began to blanket Hogwarts, bringing with it the festive buzz of the upcoming holiday season, James found himself more reflective. The common room was often aglow with the warm light of the fire, students gathered around in cozy clusters, and it was here that James found a new sense of belonging. Not just as a Marauder, but as a friend among a wider circle that included you.

One chilly evening, as the wind howled outside and the frost painted delicate patterns on the castle windows, James approached you with a tentative peace offering- a sketchbook. Its cover was a simple, deep blue, but inside, he had taken the time to fill the first page with a clumsy yet earnest attempt at a magical painting. It wasn’t animated like yours, but the colors were vibrant, a silent testament to his efforts to understand your world.

You accepted the sketchbook with a surprised chuckle, flipping through the blank pages before pausing at his painting. “This is for me?” You asked, a softness in your voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah,” James nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically shy. “I thought… well, I thought you could use it to capture the winter. I know it’s not magical like yours, but-”

“It’s perfect, James,” You interrupted, a sincere smile breaking across your face. “Really. Thank you.”

That smile, that simple moment, seemed to close a chapter on the earlier tensions between you two.

“Of course, it's not free.”

“Id expect nothing less.” You teased and he chuckled. 

“Quiddich. You never go to the games. All I ask, next week, come and cheer me on?” He offered and you couldn't up but laugh. “Are you asking for a lucky charm, Potter?”

”Not any Lucky charm. Mine.” 

~~~

The day of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin arrived with the usual buzz of excitement and rivalry. The stands were packed, a sea of red and green as students cheered boisterously for their respective houses. James, his nerves on edge, had been secretly looking forward to seeing you in the crowd, especially after your promise to wear Gryffindor red. It was a small victory, but for him, it meant the world.

However, as he scanned the crowd from his broom high above, his heart sank a little. There you were, indeed wrapped in a bold, red scarf, but still cheering enthusiastically for Slytherin. The sight was confusing and, if he was honest with himself, a bit disappointing. Throughout the match, James tried to focus on the game, but his eyes inevitably kept drifting back to you. Each cheer for Slytherin felt like a playful taunt, and his competitive spirit took a hit each time.

Despite his best efforts, the game didn't go well for Gryffindor. Slytherin was sharp, coordinated, and relentless. When the Slytherin seeker caught the Snitch, sealing their victory, a wave of green cheers swept the stands. James landed his broom with a tight expression, his disappointment not just in the loss, but in the mixed signals you seemed to be sending.

The teams made their way back to the locker rooms amidst mixed reactions from the crowd. While his team consoled each other and talked about what went wrong, James couldn’t shake off his gloom. He avoided the usual post-game mingling, instead heading straight for the Gryffindor common room, his mood as dark as the clouds above.

As he slumped into an armchair by the fire, the common room mostly empty due to the ongoing celebrations outside, Remus and Sirius walked in. They took one look at him and exchanged a glance.

“Tough game, Prongs,” Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah. And I guess the whole wearing-red thing didn’t mean what I thought it did,” James muttered, not meeting his friends' eyes.

Remus, ever the perceptive one, added softly, “Maybe there’s more to it, James. Did you ask her about it?”

Before James could respond, the portrait hole opened, and you stepped in, still wearing the red scarf, your expression a mix of concern and determination. Seeing you, Sirius and Remus excused themselves with knowing smiles, leaving the two of you alone.

James, as avoidant as ever and riddled with emotions he didn't want to confront, stood sharply and turned towards his dormitory. You gawked at him before furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance, a pout taking over your expression. You hurried after him.

“What's wrong, Jamie?”

Oh Merlin.

“I don't want to talk to you.” James hissed out and shoved his way into his room. You huffed and shoved the door open and walked in, closing the door behind yourself.

“You're not being very fair right now. I'm sorry I couldn't win the game for you but-”

“Do not make this about the win.” 

“What is this about then, Jamie? I don't get it!” 

“Stop calling me that.” He hissed and turned to face you, making you flinch. 

“What's gotten into you?” You pushed cautiously and James scoffed.

“I can't do this! I don't get you!” He strained. “I tell you I've fallen for you and you brushed it off. I ask you to cheer for me and you show up in red, cheering for Slytherin!”

“James, it's my house.” You muttered softly and you saw his shoulders sag.

“Yeah but- I just figured-” He gave a long shaky sigh. Turning around and sitting on the bed, running his hands over his face.

You moved closer, taking a seat next to him on the bed, your own emotions swirling. Even then you were able to take notice. His teeth were strained by his jaw, yet they held the same Ballet White. His robes shimmering with Burnt Scarlet and Butterscotch. His eyes that locked onto yours so vulnerable, giving that perfect Cinnamon Brown. Then the way his hair shagged over his Jet Black lochs. You couldn't look away. Not from all your favorite colors.

“James, I wore red because you asked me to. I thought it was a way to show you that... that I care. But I'm still a Slytherin, and my friends were down there on that field too. I was cheering for them, not against you."

James looked at you, the frustration softening in his eyes as he processed your words. "I know, I know. It's just... everything got mixed up in my head. Seeing you there, in red, but not for Gryffindor. It felt like you were there, but not really with me."

You took his hand gently, squeezing it. "I was there for you, James. Maybe not in the way you expected, but I was there because you matter to me. I cheered for Slytherin, but I wore your favorite color. Can't I support both?"

James let out a small laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. "When you put it like that, it sounds perfectly reasonable. I just... I guess I let the game get to me more than I should have."

"You're passionate, that's not a bad thing. But sometimes, you might see competition where there's just... affection." You offered him a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood further.

He returned your smile, this time with more warmth. "Affection, huh? So, you admit there’s something?" James teased, trying to shift back to his usual playful demeanor.

"Maybe I do.” You teased back, nudging him lightly. "But don't let it go to your head. We still have a lot to figure out, starting with how to handle house rivalries during Quidditch matches."

James chuckled, his spirits visibly lifted. "We'll figure it out. As long as it means I get to see you in Gryffindor red, maybe I can even cheer for Slytherin once in a while."

"That’s a deal.” You agreed, feeling the gap between you closing as the misunderstanding cleared up.

Just then, the door burst open, and Sirius poked his head in, a mischievous grin on his face. "Are we all forgiven and friendly now? Because there’s a victory party for Slytherin, and I was hoping to steal your girl for a dance, Prongs."

James rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine. "Only if you promise to bring her back, Padfoot."

You laughed, standing up and offering James a hand up. "Let’s go then. And maybe we can start a new tradition- dancing together, no matter who wins the match."

James took your hand, standing and pulling you into a quick, grateful hug. "Sounds like a perfect plan."

Before he could pull away fully, you stole a quick kiss against his cheek. He gave a startled huff, staring at you with wide eyes. Before he could scamper out any response, or even kiss you back, you pulled away and sent him a wink. Hurrying after a laughing Sirius as he took your arm like a gentleman would.

It took James two to three business days for his system to turn back on. “H-hey, wait!” He shouted after you, stumbling over himself and hitting his foot against the bed. Giving a small curse before he stumbled back after you, not hearing the soft clank of something falling from between his head board and the dresser. 

Later that night, you two would find your mother's paintbrush, nestled between his bed posts and pillows. 

What were you doing in James Potter’s bed so late? 

Experiencing a masterpiece.

[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[flowerandblood]

The Last Drop (2/?)

[ modern • vampire • Aemond x female ]

[ warnings: kissing, description of blood drinking and bleeding in general, sexual tension, angst, toxic relationship with Alys ]

[ description: Encouraged by the information that the town he has landed in is not known for having the most vigilant police in the world, he decides to go on a little hunting trip to finally quench his burning thirst. However, not everything goes according to plan. (A lot of sexual tension, grumpy, gloomy Aemond). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He was only supposed to stay in this town for three days, eat to his heart's content and return by train to one of his flats a few hours away.

Or at least that was his plan.

He didn't know why he was standing outside a nerdy club where, from what he understood, game and board enthusiasts ate popcorn and nachos while sipping drinks.

Admittedly, he worked on a laptop and using a computer made his life a lot easier: he didn't have to show up at the company as he did his tasks remotely, but he was still far from a fan of modern technology.

He felt that it was killing something, although he wasn't sure what.

She told him that she worked there and that he should come visit her on her shift. She said something about drinks with an extra element, which surely was blood, that she wanted to prepare especially for him.

He was unable to grasp neither the full absurdity of the situation nor why he was just standing outside the entrance like an idiot, instead of returning to his quiet, well-ordered life.

To Alys.

He sighed, glancing down at his phone, seeing that she had sent him another two new messages, several missed calls showed that she was starting to get impatient.

He swallowed hard reading the last message, recognising that he didn't feel like letting Alys play with her at all.

He wrote back and tucked the phone into his pocket, running down the stairs to the premises which were twinkling with lots of coloured lights and neon.

As he stepped inside, he immediately heard 80s electronic music – the Depeche Mode track I just can't get enough was pounding from the speakers around him. The club's clientele was mostly very young, dancing in front of large monitors following the instructions of some character, singing karaoke, playing at a PlayStation or bent over large boards, planning the entire game.

"Hi!" He heard a cheerful voice from behind the bar – when he looked there, he saw her and her wide smile, her hair pinned up in a ponytail on top of her head.

He didn't understand why her eyes sparkled with joy at the sight of him, and why he felt a pleasant warmth at the thought.

Was he so desperate to be noticed and needed?

He thought he was pathetic, but still his feet carried him further to the counter behind which she stood.

"I'm so glad you're here. Would you like to try the drink I mentioned yesterday?" She asked immediately, while her shift mate started to serve another customer.

He just nodded, for some reason embarrassed and overwhelmed, sitting down on one of the high chairs just off the bar.

He saw that she had gone to the back room and then returned with a bottle in which he was sure there was blood.

He looked around anxiously, but no one took any notice.

"I'm going to make a drink for my friend with rum, ice, cherry and apricot juice." She said aloud, pouring something that was certainly not cherry juice along with the other ingredients into a shaker.

He couldn't hide his surprise at the fact that he didn't see any sign of discomfort or fear on her face that someone would discover what she was doing – on the contrary, she seemed delighted to share her next treat with him again.

Although he didn't admit it out loud, fuck, her blood jellies were so good.

She poured the contents of the container into a nice tall glass and put a cardboard straw in it, placing the whole thing right in front of his face.

"I hope you will like it." She said lightly, immediately moving on to attend to the customer behind him.

He reached for the glass, raised it to his lips and hesitantly took a sip from it. He had to bite his lower lip to hold back a smirk of amusement.

It was delicious.

For some reason, being with her made him feel like a human again and maybe that's why he came back.

Maybe that's why he couldn't leave.

"What do you think?" She asked aloud, preparing an order for a second customer, already with completely normal ingredients.

"Very good." He admitted, throwing her a drawn-out, satisfied look.

For some reason, he was smiling.

Her shift ended an hour later so, as per her request, he waited for her at the exit. As she came out of the back room, one of the guys, similar in age to her at least in appearance, clearly drunk, approached her.

"– hi – shit, I know I'm drunk and – you know – but – fuck, will you give me your number? – sorry if I'm imposing –" He mumbled, clearly stressed and filled with emotion.

He saw that this confession had impressed her and did not make her uncomfortable, however, he knew she would refuse.

She, unlike him, was not playing with her food.

"Forgive me, but I already have someone." She said and looked up at him, surprising him completely.

He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.

"– oh – I'm so sorry – I thought –" The boy began to babble, clearly embarrassed, wanting for sure now to erase from her memory what he had said and just disappear.

"– it's okay – you're really sweet –" She assured him warmly and walked past him, throwing him a horrified, apologetic look.

"You already have someone?" He sneered, walking up the stairs at her side, stepping out into the fresh night air at last.

"Sorry, I didn't know what to answer. Don't be mad. Otherwise he'd be getting his hopes up." She said with sincere concern, grabbing his coat sleeve, clearly wanting him to accept her explanation and look at her.

"Nevermind." He said, not knowing what he was doing here.

I should go home, he thought.

"If you want, you can rest in my apartment." He heard her voice and swallowed loudly, thinking that he shouldn't.

He shouldn't, but he ended up lying in her bed anyway, with his fangs sunk into her fragrant neck, snuggled into her soft flesh. Her fluffy pyjamas, consisting of trousers and a shirt buttoned up the front, smelled of some pleasant, delicate washing powder.

He had to undo a few buttons to reach the hollow of her neck, or at least that's how he explained it to himself – his hand, as he drank her blood in slow, lazy sips, brushed her plump breast under the material, founding itself there completely by accident.

Every time his thumb, also by accident of course, rubbed her hard nipple, something on the edge of a sigh and a moan left her lips: her body tensed like a string, vulnerable and responsive to his every move.

It occurred to him that what he was doing, as well as the reactions of her own body, were a surprise to her – she was certainly not as experienced in these matters as he was, if at all.

That thought aroused him even more.

When he finally pulled away from her, he wanted to take his hand from under her shirt, but her fingers stopped him, pressing it back against her skin. He sighed as she turned with him, when, trailing her knuckles along his long jaw, this time it was her moist lips that reached his neck.

He licked his mouth and flinched, feeling the dull pain and sting as her fangs dug slowly into his flesh. He closed his eyes, focusing on the softness of her breast under his hand, kneading it gently in his palm, feeling the wonderful, intimate scent of their blood all around them.

Sip after sip she quenched her thirst, cuddling up to him like a small child – he couldn't help the pleasant shiver that ran through his lungs as she threw her leg over his hip, pressing her body against his.

When she finally pulled away from his neck, she laid her head on the pillow right next to his – their lips, chins and cheeks were all sticky with blood. When she leaned towards him, they simply kissed: he grunted with delight, feeling their mingled taste melt on his tongue, and pressed her tighter to himself, clasping his free hand in her hair.

It doesn't mean anything, he repeated to himself, forcing his tongue deep into her throat, rolling with his hips back and forth, rubbing his swollen erection against her lower abdomen.

He was simply tired and she was a break from the monotony of his life.

He would get bored with her quickly, as he did with all the women before her.

He opened his eyes as she pressed her forehead against his, listening to their loud, raspy breaths. He gasped as her fingers ran down his cheek, as the tips of their tongues brushed invitingly, clicking with each lazy lick, sending a delicious, hot shiver down his spine.

It was one of the most perverse sensations he had ever experienced in his life.

He was unable to contain the pleasant, warm feeling that spread through his heart as she combed her fingers through his short hair – to his displeasure, she broke the caress and kissed the tip of his nose.

He was fully hard, but he had no intention of taking more from her than she was willing to give him.

"Why did you come?" She asked in a whisper, stroking his cheek with her thumb.

He simply looked at her for a moment, wondering what he should answer.

Why he had actually done it again.

"I don't know." He replied finally. "I don't know the answer to that question."

His words did not discourage or sadden her, as she smiled with understanding.

"I see. Rest now. I will too." She said softly.

They both lay on their stomachs, embracing each other with their arms around each other's waists – their foreheads still touched as they both closed their eyes.

For some reason, he wanted to feel her close.

They weren't friends, just some strange kind of lovers, he realized with pain, but he felt a strange discomfort at the thought, indicating that he himself wasn't sure he believed what he was trying to tell himself.

What had he really come for?

What was he expecting?

Was he simply curious about how her drink tasted?

How their night would turn out?

Would he drink her blood again?

Will they have sex?

Will they fall asleep next to each other?

He closed his eyes, recognising that it didn't matter.

For the first time in many years he had fully quenched his hunger.

The thought that this was surely the last night he would spend with her filled him with a strange kind of sadness and regret – he held her close in his embrace, knowing that he would eventually have to tell her that he didn't live here at all.

That he had lied to her.

When she woke up and lifted her head, she saw his face – she smiled sweetly in a way from which he felt a sting in his heart.

Although all sticky with blood, she looked so innocent.

"I lied to you." He said.

She blinked and shook her head, surprised and horrified, her expression one of complete consternation.

"What do you mean?" She muttered.

"I didn't move here. I just came for a while. You know. To eat." He explained, feeling that for some reason his heart was pounding in his chest like crazy.

Why was he scared?

"Oh. I understand. We don't know each other well yet, you had every right to act like that. Don't worry." She said reassuringly, making him feel an uncomfortable tightness in his throat, a wetness under his eyelids that he hadn't felt in years.

What was happening to him?

"There's someone out there waiting for me. And I don't want her to find out about you. It would be dangerous for you. I'm leaving today." He whispered with surprising difficulty, hearing, shocked, that his voice broke at the last sentence.

He saw her eyebrows arch in pain, her nose twitched as her eyes turned red with tears, the request and plea for him to stay written on her face so clearly that she didn't need to say anything.

Instead of stopping him, however, she let him go and pulled away slightly.

"Your friend?" She asked, not looking him in the eye, but at his chest.

He had a feeling that if he opened his mouth, he would cry.

He let his broad, pale hand raise – his fingers ran gently across her cheek in some hopeless attempt to comfort her.

"If I could, I would take you with me." He said with difficulty, hearing, embarrassed, how pathetic it sounded.

She laughed, but it was a chuckle full of sadness and disappointment, from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver.

"Is that how it is with you? Do you play separately and then come back together?" She asked.

He swallowed hard, feeling as if a stone had fallen to the bottom of his stomach, dragging him down.

He felt ashamed at the thought of how accurately she had judged him.

"Go back to her, but don't mention me. I don't need any more problems, much less a jealous woman on my mind." She said, rising from the bed at last, leaving him with emptiness and coldness all around.

"Of course. I'm not going to expose you." He muttered, raising himself up on his elbow, stupefied, feeling like he'd woken up from some deep sleep.

It wasn't real.

"Do you need blood? I can give you a few bags." She said calmly, standing with her back to him, pacing the kitchen as if she were preparing to make herself breakfast.

"No. No need."

The sky outside the window was cloudy, exactly as his thoughts – he was sitting in a train car filled with people, and although he usually struggled to control himself, he felt no hunger.

Her blood satisfied him.

He lowered his gaze, wondering why he didn't feel like he was coming home at all. Usually after such a journey he was tired and discouraged, relieved to return to what was familiar to him. Now, however, he felt like he was sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, damp underworld of his heart.

What was really waiting for him there?

He got the answer as soon as he crossed the threshold of his flat.

Alys was waiting for him with candles all around her, which she must have lit beforehand. She looked very good: an elegant knee-length black dress perfectly accentuated her physical assets, her long hair falling loosely over her shoulders.

He didn't know why, but the sight of her made him feel uncomfortable.

Is this how it is with you?

Do you play separately and then come back to each other?

It's not like that, he thought.

It's just that when I go home, she's already waiting for me there.

Always.

"What's that face? Did you kill someone?" She asked with a hint of amusement, rising from the couch, a pretty, ornate goblet filled with blood in her hand.

Fresh blood.

He didn't want to know where she'd gotten it or who'd paid for it.

"No." He replied wearily, putting the keys down on one of the shelves in the corridor.

I don't have the strength for this, he thought.

"I've missed you. This city is so boring when you're not around." She said softly, combing her long nails through his short hair.

He felt an unsettling shudder when she did this: unlike her touch, in which there was first and foremost a desire for comfort, there was pure sexual intent in Alys's.

She wanted to get straight to the point.

He closed his eyes as she embraced him from behind, as her lips placed a kiss on his neck, as her free hand slowly slid down his torso between his thighs. She froze, not finding there what she had clearly expected.

He wasn't hard.

"What's the matter? Aren't you in the mood? Didn't you miss me?" She asked, and he sighed, taking her hand from his crotch.

"No." He replied again, pulling his coat off his shoulders.

He felt the atmosphere around them grow thicker, knowing that her momentary silence was not a good sign.

She was preparing to attack.

"Are you in love with some poor human girl again? You'll get over it, as you always do. She'll eventually grow old and die, and you'll come back, seeking comfort from me." She muttered with a kind of certainty in her voice that annoyed him.

"What are you doing in my flat?" He asked dryly, knocking her off guard.

She looked at him, wrinkling her eyebrows, increasingly frustrated.

"I came to say hello to you. I was hoping for a warmer welcome." She replied coldly.

Welcome, meaning wild sex full of blood?

"I don't recall inviting you. I want to rest." He said dryly, sidestepping her, feeling some kind of frustration and regret.

Because of you, I had to leave her behind.

She needed me.

But if I had stayed with her, she would have found out what a jealous monster you are.

Alys was able to reconcile with his female human lovers because she knew they would eventually disappear – she herself did not shy away from such excesses, fucking young, handsome boys whenever the opportunity arose.

A female vampire, however, would be a threat to her.

"Ah, yes. You only need me when you cry and miss your mummy. When the remorse and memories of how you killed your father come back. But don't worry. I know you better than you know yourself. Have fun, and when you're done, come and we'll forget this conversation." She said dispassionately and grabbed her coat, putting on her high-heels on the way, leaving his flat with a loud slam of the door.

He rested his hands on the countertop and leaned forward, for some strange reason feeling relieved.

He was alone.

He sat down at his old oak desk and opened his laptop – he sighed heavily as he saw 46 new emails from work, knowing he would have to wade through them all one by one.

He had always loved reading, and over his far too long life he had read so many books that he thought he might be able to make some money from it. He therefore became an editor and translator for a publishing house that released volumes of poetry, but also books on history and philosophy.

He liked this job: he received assignments by email, and could discuss them over the phone. His employers were happy with his work, and his readers praised the fidelity of his translations and revisions, so in the end he managed to live on that alone.

He used an alias and false documents so no one has yet realised that he has been several other people in different countries over the past decade.

He could, of course, like other vampires, simply kill rich people and steal their life savings, however, he knew that in the long run such a life was very miserable: for obvious reasons it is then easier to draw attention to yourself and you still have to hide.

He had enough of that.

Maybe that's why she made such an impression on me, he thought.

She lived as if nothing had happened.

He sighed, running his hand over his face, feeling nothing but remorse at the memory of the expression on her face when he told her he was leaving. He didn't understand why those three days had affected him so much, why she, a stranger, had made him doubt himself completely as a person.

Maybe it was because he had touched her even though he shouldn't have: she had no obligations to anyone, he knew, however, that by entering into any kind of intimate relationship with her, he might be exposing her to Alys' wrath – and even though nothing but a kiss had actually happened between them, he had the feeling that they had had sex at least a few times.

This kind of unforced, intense intimacy, this touch full of desire and need for closeness, was so painfully sincere that it went beyond what he was usually familiar with: what he had done was not only out of his physiological needs, but out of something much deeper.

Something more sad, more pathetic, more real.

Some part of him wanted to be human again.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

okay disjointed thoughts about the wicked movie 1 day after watching it lets go

-first of all, my movie theater put speakers outside and was just blasting the entire soundtrack on repeat. we could hear it down the street as we were driving up. that's just simply insane

-the opening establishing shots of the land were great but honestly. the very clearly animated dorothy and gang really annoyed me lmfao like I'm sorry it cannot have possibly been too hard to get a few extras to stand in front of a screen for point 5 seconds lol. it was so fast that I Know I'm being dramatic about it but they looked more cartoon than the flying monkey's did

-baby elphie and baby nessa are the cutest things I've ever seen in my life...

-I kinda...like the more human/animal hybrids that the stage show and the original movie had. sorry. like I Get they were only like that bc you can't make a real life goat sing and dance but they're just more interesting to look at than normal-looking animals who happen to talk!

-jeff goldblum's face being hidden every time he had a dance number...I have a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't really dancing lmfao

-whoever decided to bleach ariana's eyebrows deserves jail time

-when jonathan bailey first showed up on screen my mother leaned over to me and whispered 'he's HANDSOME...'

-when cynthia finished the 'wizard and I' I had to actually stop myself from applauding. it felt so weird and rude for there to be dead silence after that performance my GOD.

-also omg the part where she's singing about the wizard de-green-ifying her and the colors in the suncatchers were canceling out the green so she looked normal....inspired!

-madame morrible had these HUGE crystal ball looking rings and I just want them so much lmao

-glinda's friends were really funny the bit were she was like 'I need to lie down' and they immediately picked her up like a plank of wood and carried her off while the one was screaming 'WE NEED A PASTRY!!! IT'S AN EMERGENCY WE NEED A PASTRY!!!' had me cackling

-I wish there was more time between them moving in and 'what is this feeling' starting? like I wanted more time to see them bickering and then also more time seeing them getting along after the ball??

-'dancing through life' was BEAUTIFUL however two complaints 1) why would they cut the line 'what's the most swankified place around?' I Quote That Often and 2) at the end when glinda and elphie dance together like...it's beautiful and everything but from what I remember after their solo moment fieryo joins them?? and they have a cute three way dance moment??? and I'm very pro "they're all in love with each other" so I missed that lol

-also just in general would of liked to see more of fieryo with the girls! like it felt like ball->lion cub->emerald city, in the course of a couple days, and idk I just feel like they could have slowed it down a bit?? especially since they broke it into two movies?? like I don't think that Actually all happened in the span of a week, but they didn't do a good enough job establishing how much time was passing so it Felt like it. which is dumb bc then it just doesn't seem realistic that elphie and glinda are THAT attached to each other by defying gravity like it feels like not enough time has passed for them to really know each other

-boq felt very mild tbh I know ethan can be more unhinged than that

-would've liked to see glinda in magic class!!

-I was a little underwhelmed by elphaba's costumes? like there were clearly patterns on the material but it was all the same shade of black so you couldn't make anything out. it felt a bit flat. and I love the idea behind the freckles I agree with freckles I am pro freckles HOWEVER her's looked very obviously drawn on. like, I have seen way more realistic fake freckles before. so that was a bit annoying

-other than the lunchmeat dress glinda's costumes were good! especially loved the flower shaped one she wore to the ball

-the whole trying to escape in the hot air ballon scene was cool as hell but as the flaming remains of it fell to the ground I couldn't help but be like wow...she really just killed all those guards huh!

-also lmfao the bit in the woods with the lion club and fieryo has like a scratch on his temple. genuinely thought to myself 'is that his lobotomy scar' lmfao

-still trying to get over the part in dancing through life where people were dancing on the spinning gears in the clock tower...bitch

-the flying monkeys were correctly horrifying

-when I saw the broomstick I was like 'won't that be really uncomfortable between your legs' but then she just held it next to her like they do in the stage show and I was like....okay I guess you win that one? lmfao like I don't mind it for when she's hovering but when they had her like supersonic zooming on the broom it was weird that she wasn't actually riding it

-overall I just don't understand how it's an adaptation of act 1 but it's the length of the entire stage show?? lmao like I wish they took advantage of the split and added so much more but really really it was still just such a solid great movie. 5 stars. I can't keep talking about it right now I'm gonna start screaming.

[iiotic]

─── જ ‎` ‎𓂃 ‎ ticci toby general headcanons

𖦹 ‎ quick disclaimer: the slendermansion doesn't exist in this universe, did i enjoy reading it some years ago? yes, i loved it and i still enjoy reading it from time to time, but would i want to write about it? naah.

english is not my first language, i apologize for any grammar mistakes.

masterlist | nav.

practically isn't homeless but is? he made himself a little apartment in an abandoned butchers house. he has his mini fridge in there, some mattress, pillows and a blanket left behind so he thought, why not make it his?

collects mugs and cds!! even though most of the time he isn't drinking from the mugs nor listening to music 24/7.

whenever his tics get really bad, he likes to listen to the cds he collects, it calms him down.

cannot drive for the life of him.

knows the forest like the back of his hand, knows every shortcut, every trap, where every lake is, where other creeps might be located; like the rake.

the gash on his cheek is fully healed, but it doesn't really look pleasing to the eye. basically there's still a hole in his cheek but the meat around it is healed and sorta dry? i dont know how to describe that.

because of that when he is in public he wears a bandage over his cheek to not scare the shit out of people. its not like he gets weird stares for his tourettes from intolerant people or pity stares from those empathetic ones already, but there's also his favourite type, the normal i don't give a shit one.

is easily irritated by loud chewing, someone breathing though their mouth or slow walkers.

hear me out, his style is something between midwest emo, grunge and a slight touch of fairy core.

loves tim burton movies! doesn't have a favourite.

tries to get his hygene under control, showers at hotels or in the lake as he doesn't have water in his hut. he really doesn't want to stink like one of his fellow individuals *cough cough* jeff.

cannot stand pure black coffee, thinks its disgusting.

wants to learn how to play the guitar but doesn't know where to start.

visits lyras grave at least every two weeks, he misses her deeply.

touch starved, but feels uncomfortable if anyone who isn't really really ckose to him touches him.

sometimes spends his time with tim and brian (he sees them as a father figures, WHO SAID THAT??)

has friend-hatred relationship with jeff.

canonically was in a relationship with clockwork but shit happened and they broke up. i like to think that they broke up 'couse clockwork came out as lesbian and the chemistry between them wasn't chemistrying, yk?

is closer friend with BEN and ej, no questions asked no questions needed.

is heavily manipulated, brainwashed by the operator to kill people.

he's on team samsung, thinks iphones sucks.

© 2024 iiotic. — do not steal, translate or repost any of my content onto any other platform

[bridgetoesoteria]

🌛Empowering Messages From Hecate🌜

(top to bottom)

I have been wanting to post a spirit guide messages reading for awhile, but this idea really clicked for me.

For those of you not familiar with the goddess Hecate, she is one of the bad ass goddesses. She has a really interesting story for anyone that is into greek mythology.

Pile 1

You have more options than you realize. You are more powerful that you allow yourself to be. Some of you may have a domineering figure in your life that you are trying to separate from. I think you will probably know who or what this is, because it is a chapter you know you need to close out. If you have been fighting some kind of uphill battle it is okay to walk away. There are good things waiting on the other side of this decision. Amazing things that you deserve. There's nothing wrong with being your own person. Sometimes you will have to go it alone.

Affirmation Card: Today I am resourceful; Today I will turn anything into an opportunity.

Pile 2

You should stand in your power fully. I'm not sure what that means but the vibe I am getting is that you have a lot of internal strength you can rely on. I think right now would be a good time to manifest some bigger things, because I keep hearing "ask and it is given". For some of you, this could be you milking a certain situation and getting what you can out of it. For example, your job didn't appreciate you much before, but now you have another offer from a different company. The ball is in your court now. If you wanted to stay at your current job, you could ask for anything you want and probably get most of it. So, I think this kind of energy is surrounding you at this time. This could honestly be your energy in general but you don't tap into it often enough. Start using your gifts and connections to benefit you!

Affirmation Card: Today I am adventurous; Today I will get out of my comfort zone and try something I've never tried before.

Pile 3

All piles kind of had a theme of "standing in your power", but I guess that makes sense given the topic. This pile seems to have more fear. Fear of letting go. Some of you want a divorce or to back out of a wedding? That is what the imagery looks like. For others of you it's like someone is coming back around, trying to make you second guess leaving them behind? You are being encouraged to remember who you are, and who you are becoming. Don't regress to past versions of yourself or let the pain of the past keep you chained up. If there is happiness and ease entering your life, embrace it. It doesn't mean something is wrong, it means things are going right! Finally, you don't owe anyone shit. You have new, amazing things to look forward to. You have every right to move on.

Affirmation Card: Today I am brave; Today I will step up to every challenge with courage. (Accidentally pulled two cards! I confused myself). Today I live in the present; Today I will start with a smile. I am in control of my attitude

I hope you enjoyed your reading! If you would like a personal reading, check the pinned post for info.

~ K

[justwritedreams]

Truth be told | Jeno

Jeno x Reader

Genre: fluff, a tiny angst 🤏🏻

Word count: 1762

Warnings: a terrible roommate

Note: Well hello guess who's back 🤗 if y'all are wondering if this is based on real facts, yes it is 😃

Summary: Jeno knows how to make you forget about the outside world.

⪢ NCT Masterlist

"Oh crap.” Y/N stopped halfway up the stairs, looking irritably at her bag. She was constantly moving her hand around in search of something, which made Jeno stop behind her and look at her curiously. “I forgot my eye drops.”

“You can get it, I’ll wait here.” He said as she turned to look at him guiltily.

It was very cold that night and they were late for Chenle’s birthday party.

But well, Jeno and she hadn’t seen each other in so long and finally that day her roommate was far enough away for them to enjoy their time together. And completely forget about the outside world and their commitments.

It wasn’t on purpose.

“We’re really late.” She reminded him, the strong wind blowing against her body, making her squint her irritated eyes because of her contact lenses.

“And I’m not going to let you have an itchy eye later because of Chenle. What’s two more minutes?” He asked, smiling slightly at her, who just nodded. “Let him wait.”

They were already half an hour late.

Y/N wanted to bite her boyfriend’s cheeks, he was particularly irresistible that night with his turtleneck and black jacket.

She loved that man so much, anyone who passed by could clearly see it in her eyes.

“I won’t be long.” She warned before climbing the steps again and stopping to rest her hand on his shoulder and place a quick kiss on his lips.

Jeno was tempted to pull her by the waist for two reasons: he wanted to get rid of the cold of that night with the heat of her body and because Y/N’s lips tasted like strawberry yogurt. 

But he didn’t do it or else they would really irritate his friend.

She almost gave up on going out when she ran back to her warm apartment. Who had decided to go out in that winter?

In a hurry, Y/N barely remembered where she had left her eye drops, whether inside the toiletry bag she took to work or in the middle of her bed, so she searched in both places and found the bed, which was a mess since Jeno had decided to tickle her earlier and they rolled around in bed laughing.

She sighed as she remembered the scene but didn't get lost in the memories since he was waiting for her outside.

Unfortunately, not alone like she had left two minutes ago.

Her roommate was standing too close to Jeno who was on the same step with his hand in his jacket pocket, Y/N took a deep breath, completely ignoring that little piece of her mind that warned her of a certain danger.

"Sorry for the delay, I didn't remember where I left it." She caught their attention as soon as she approached.

Jeno took his hand out of his pocket to grab Y/N's waist and bring her closer, causing her roommate to take two steps back and change her expression.

From a feline ready to pounce on a scared kitten.

Jeno rolled his eyes discreetly when the girl looked at Y/N.

“Are you going out, Y/N?” the girl asked and Jeno looked up at the dark sky while biting his tongue. 

He wanted to give her an answer that wasn’t even remotely polite.

“Yes, to celebrate a friend’s birthday.” Y/N explained with a smile and her roommate looked at the two of them with a pleading expression.

If she questioned something one more time, Jeno would…

“What were you looking for?”

…Curse her until the next generation.

He wanted to yell the word condom to embarrass the girl, but he wouldn’t be rude to his girlfriend.

It wasn’t worth it anyway.

“Shall we go?” Jeno interrupted the not-so-unexpected interrogation and Y/N nodded, remembering the time.

“Yes, please. Bye.” She said goodbye to her roommate and they started down the stairs.

“Bye. Bye Jeno.” the girl said and he just swallowed hard and nodded while keeping Y/N by his side.

There were few people who could get on his nerves, but his girlfriend’s roommate was about to join that list.

She wasn’t just loose, she was invasive, indiscreet and unnecessary. She wasn’t the least bit pleasant to be around.

And when Y/N wasn’t in the same room, she made a point of getting closer than she should to Jeno and laughing like a hyena, besides blinking more than usual and trying to look sweet like Y/N but always failing because Jeno saw her real intentions behind that good girl act.

She was a snake ready to strike.

He never complained directly to Y/N for two reasons: he knew how to cut off any kind of flirting and because he didn’t want to make his girlfriend insecure, much less worried.

He would never leave her to be with a girl so low who didn't care if he was the boyfriend of someone she called her "friend", he knew it wasn't a true friendship on her part.

Y/N had much more serious problems than worrying about her boring roommate.

But it was clear that this was bothering him more than usual, of course it would be the girl had practically thrown herself at him on the stairs complimenting him and the perfume he wore, she had even tried to caress his hand that was on the railing, so he took it away.

And the stiffness in his shoulders and the clenched jaw didn't go unnoticed by Y/N who stared at him attentively until he drove away from her street.

When Jeno took a deep breath for the third time in less than five minutes, she knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” she asked sweetly. “Something happened.”

“What? No.” He glanced at her, a little surprised.

“It wasn’t a question, Jeno.” She replied a little more firmly and crossed her arms. “I know you. More than I know myself.”

He pondered. He didn’t want to have that conversation now when they were so happy but there was no way to escape.

What could happen the next time he had the unfortunate coincidence of meeting that annoying girl? 

He could imagine exactly the scene she would create. He had to protect Y/N from that.

“I hate your roommate.” he replied, breathing through his nostrils. “She questions you about everything, acts like you’re obligated to give her explanations and take her anywhere with you.”

Y/N blinked several times, she had never heard Jeno speak in that serious tone.

He wasn’t like that with anyone.

“What did she do?” Silence. “Jeno.”

He took another deep breath and parked the car so he could look at her. Only then would she see the truth in his eyes.

“It’s not the first time she’s made indirect comments to me behind your back, I always cut her off, but today… She managed to irritate me.”

“Indirect?” Y/N questioned. She needed to hear that.

“She flirts with me, Y/N. All the time when you’re not around and when you are she has that sly expression, saying how lonely she feels.”

Y/N held her breath.

Okay, her roommate wasn’t the best company in the world. Several times she was tired from work eating and the girl would knock on Y/N's bedroom door to talk about nothing important when all she wanted to do was stay in silence.

Besides that apparently she wasn't a fan of headphones and even knowing that Y/N worked at dawn, she would listen to music loudly while Y/N was sleeping.

And there was also the fact that she wanted to go to Y/N's family's house every time she went once a month, she didn't even have time to talk to her parents because her roommate had to talk about how difficult her life was.

But hitting on her boyfriend? It was a bit too much.

"That's why you're avoiding going to my home when she's there." she concluded and saw Jeno nod. "What did she say today?"

"Babe, you don't..."

"If you don't tell me, I'll get out of this car, walk home and make her talk." she warned firmly and Jeno knew she was brave enough to do that.

“She said I smelled too good to be alone outside and that if I wanted company, we could come in. Then she tried to caress my hand.” Jeno felt his stomach churn with disgust and his heart sink when he saw his girlfriend change her expression.

She was angry and clenched her hands into fists so tightly that her fingertips turned white.

“That bitch!” Y/N shouted, panting. “It’s okay for her to take my clothes, even my food, but she also wants my family and now my boyfriend? Oh but she’s going to listen to me because I’m going to talk…”

She made a move to get out of the car, but Jeno stopped her, holding her by the face and making her look him straight in the eyes.

“You don’t need to waste your time with that girl, that’s what she wants, to create problems between you and me.”

“She’s flirting with you. Behind my back!” she said indignantly.

“And truth be told, she has no chance with me because I love you!” Jeno spoke a little louder and Y/N stopped, feeling her eyes water. 

It wasn't the first time she heard those three little words from Jeno, but every time she heard them it was like it was the first time because he always spoke with the same sincerity and desire. 

"Do you think saying that will calm me down?" It was obvious that it would. 

Jeno smiled widely and rested his nose on her cheek, seeing her instantly give in.

"Maybe it won't." He blew against her skin and she slowly closed her eyes. "But this will." 

Jeno didn't wait another second to taste his girlfriend's sweet lips again, in a quick and voracious kiss, making her sigh against his lips. 

She felt so safe being in his arms that she didn't even remember the anger she felt seconds ago. 

The power he had over her with just one kiss was incredible. 

That only didn't last longer because Jeno's phone started ringing loudly. 

Y/N laughed when she saw Jeno's red lips were stained with the lip gloss she was wearing as he looked on reluctantly to stop kissing her. 

He took his phone out of his pocket.

"Damn, it's Chenle." 

They had even forgotten about him.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Nineteen: Different

Chapter WC: 8,439

Chapter Warnings: Some description of panic attack-adjacent emotions/sensations

A/N: I have a love/hate relationship with this chapter. I lost about half of my edits on this one the other day, and it was not an enjoyable experience. I'm tired of looking at it so! Here! Enjoy two idiots in denial definitely not having a date.

Also want to shout out this amazing art of Rex and Goldie by @ghostymarni!!! I literally gaze at it every day in awe 😭🙏

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Coruscant, 21 BBY

There's no reason for you to be nervous.

It's just lunch between friends. It's not a big deal.

And yet, your hands are sweating, and your stomach is fluttering, and you can't stop thinking about Rex. The way he'd laughed, or the sound of his breathing, or how nice his smile is. Your nerves are on edge, and you can't seem to focus, your mind wandering to places it shouldn't.

You're pathetic, you think. You've seen Rex a thousand times. This isn't even the first time you'd shared a meal at Dex's, and you weren't nearly this nervous. It's the same thing, but somehow, it's different. And the difference is throwing you off.

You take a deep breath, and you straighten your jacket, smoothing the front. The weather is unseasonably cold today, the clouds hanging low in the sky, and the chill is seeping through your clothes, the wind whipping through the streets. You glance up at the sky, squinting at the gray horizon. The Temple bears down on you from the distance, the stone a pale reflection of the growing storm, and you grimace and look away.

You're standing outside Dex's, the neon sign above your head casting a soft glow over the walkway, the letters blurring as the rain begins to fall. It's not too bad yet, but the street is mostly empty, the pedestrians choosing to take shelter inside the nearby shops and restaurants.

You should be inside too, but you can't bring yourself to sit alone and wait. You'd rather be somewhere you could pace, your hands clasped behind your back, your mind racing.

You're supposed to meet Rex here. He said he had a meeting that would run late, and he'd meet you when he was done. So here you are, waiting, even though it's freezing and raining and miserable.

And the fact that you're waiting outside, instead of taking cover like any sane person would, is just one more indication of how far gone you are.

The rain is growing heavier, the water dripping down the sides of your hood, and you can't help but glare up at the sky. You could be inside, where it's warm and dry, but no. You're out here. Because you're a sentimental idiot, and the idea of spending any amount of time with Rex has completely destroyed your sense of reason.

A droplet of water slips past the edge of your hood, trailing down your cheek, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. When your hand falls, you notice a tall, broad figure approaching you quickly and with intent. You reflexively brace yourself for a confrontation, your hand drifting to the saber tucked into your jacket, but then you feel it. A familiar presence. A glow of warmth in the Force.

Rex is walking towards you, his shoulders hunched against the rain, his expression hidden beneath the shadows of his hood. It's no wonder you didn't recognize him immediately. You've never seen him out of armor before. The dark pants and heavy coat are an unusual sight, and without the plastoid plating, he seems...smaller. More vulnerable. More human. Like any other civilian.

He's almost reached you when his eyes meet yours, and he breaks into a grin, his steps quickening. His face flushed, and he's breathing hard, as if he'd run the entire way. The realization makes you smile. You know he'd been running late. You hadn't realized he'd run.

"Sorry I'm late," he pants. "General Skywalker had a few last minute questions for me, and..."

"It's fine. I wasn't waiting long," you lie. 

You push yourself off of the wall, your arms crossed tightly, trying to ward off the chill. Rex's eyes dart over you, and he frowns, his eyes narrowing. 

"You're shivering. Why didn't you go inside? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you insist. You're not sure how to answer the first question. You could tell him the truth, that you didn't want to wait in there, alone with your thoughts, but it seems silly. So, you just shrug, giving him a sheepish smile. "It's just a little rain."

He shakes his head and gives you a disapproving look. "It's not just a little rain--"

"Are you really going to argue with me about weather right now?"

He stares at you for a long moment, and then he takes a step closer, the toes of his boots nearly touching yours. His hands rise, and his fingers grasp the edges of your hood, pushing it back to reveal your face. The fabric is wet, the strands of your hair around your forehead plastered to your skin, and Rex grimaces, his fingers brushing the locks away.

"You're gonna catch a cold," he chides. He's not looking at your face, his attention focused on untangling a lock of hair that's become caught in your earring.

"It's just water, Rex," you grumble, but there's no heat behind it. You're too busy watching him, your gaze fixed on his face.

"I'm pretty sure it's illegal to let a Jedi freeze to death." He smirks, and his eyes finally meet yours, his fingers still tangled in your hair. He manages to free it, and he tucks the loose strand behind your ear. "They'd throw me in prison. Or worse."

You swallow, and you try to ignore how close he is, or how good he smells, or how easy it would be to lean forward and press your lips to his. The two of you are standing close enough that you can see each other's breath fogging in front of you, and it feels intimate, like something you're not supposed to be seeing. 

"That would be unfortunate," you manage, and you take a step back out of his reach, his hands falling to his sides. You give him a faint smile, trying to regain some sense of calm. "For you, at least."

Rex lets out a soft chuckle and steps away, glancing over his shoulder at the diner. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

He places his hand on the small of your back and ushers you towards the entrance, the glass doors sliding open. A blast of warmth hits you, and you let out a sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders. It's not as crowded as usual, but the smell of food still hangs heavy in the air, and the din of conversation fills the room.

Rex removes his hand and waves down FLO, and the droid makes a beeline for the table near the back. You've been here so often that she's started to memorize your preferred booth, the one that's secluded enough to offer some privacy, and you're grateful for it. She's nothing if not efficient.

When the two of you reach the back of the restaurant, Rex removes his coat and drapes it over a hook next to the booth, and he takes your jacket as well, hanging it beside his. You take a moment to study him. The long-sleeved shirt he's wearing is fitted, and it shows off his toned body, the material clinging to his chest. You didn't realize just how much he filled out the armor. Now that he's not wearing it, it's hard not to stare. Your eyes trace the shape of his biceps, the curve of his pecs, the muscles that flex beneath the fabric.

Your mouth is suddenly dry.

You quickly pull your eyes away and settle into the booth, the vinyl squeaking under you. FLO reappears with two cups of caf and the carafe. She sets it down and takes your orders, her gaze shifting between the two of you as if she's analyzing the situation. You don't have to be a mind reader to know what she's thinking.

You can't really blame her. This is new. And the fact that Rex is out of his armor is strange, and you know it. You can only hope that she doesn't alert Dex to the fact that a certain clone captain has joined you again.

You shake your head and pour the caf, adding a generous amount of sugar to yours. Rex watches the process, his eyes lingering on the spoon, and you narrow your eyes.

"What?"

"How can you drink that?" he asks, his lip curling. "It's practically syrup."

You raise a brow as you stir, the liquid swirling in the cup, and you point at him with your spoon. "And how can you not? You have a sweet tooth, don't try to deny it."

"I have a healthy relationship with sweets," he retorts, taking a sip of his caf. "This is an addiction."

You roll your eyes and lean back in your seat, holding the cup with both hands. You blow across the surface, watching the steam rise, and you bring it to your lips, the warmth spreading through you. Rex is watching you, his gaze sweeping over your face, and he's got a strange look in his eyes. You can't quite read it.

"What?" you ask again, and this time, there's an edge of impatience to it. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He blinks, as if he's snapping out of a daze, and he swallows. “Like what?”

"Like I'm insane," you deadpan.

"I'm not," he assures you. His gaze darts away, and his cheeks flush, the tips of his ears turning pink. "It's just...you look different. I'm not used to seeing you out of your robes."

You glance down at your clothes, frowning. It's a simple outfit, nothing special. Dark pants, a light sweater, boots. Not exactly a fashion statement. You raise a brow, your eyes returning to his face.

"Well, I do have an off-duty wardrobe," you drawl, a smirk tugging at your lips. You take a sip of your caf, trying to hide your amusement. "I didn't realize you liked the robe look so much."

Rex's eyes widen, and he shakes his head, a look of panic flashing across his features. "That's not what I meant. I mean...you know...they're nice. But they're not, uh...I didn't..."

He trails off, and his face is red now, his cheeks flushed. It's endearing, how flustered he gets. You grin, and you rest your chin in your palm, gazing at him.

"Do I really look that bad?" you tease, and Rex's gaze snaps to yours, his brows knitting together.

"What? No, of course not." He frowns and leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. "You look..."

"Yeah?" You blink at him, feigning innocence, and his mouth twists.

"You're enjoying this," he accuses, his voice flat. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Maybe." You take another sip of caf and smile. "A little. Sorry."

Rex scoffs and shakes his head, his eyes rolling. "No, you're not."

"Okay, not sorry," you admit with a shrug, and you put your cup down, your arms crossing over your chest.

He huffs and leans back, and you grin, enjoying the slight pout on his lips. It's fun, riling him up, and you find that you want to do it again, just to see how he'll react. He's not as composed as he seems. He's got a temper, a sharp tongue, and when he's frustrated, the flush spreads all the way to his ears. You can't help but wonder what other reactions you can elicit from him. What would make him lose control? What would make him blush? What would make him...

Stop, you scold yourself.

You shift in your seat and pick up your caf, and the two of you sit in silence for a moment, sipping your drinks. It's not uncomfortable, but there's an edge to it, a tension that wasn't there before. You're not sure what's changed, but there's something different between you, and it's not just because Rex is out of armor. It's subtle, a shift in his energy, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. It's just...

Different.

You glance up, and you notice Rex's gaze flick away, the faintest hint of red staining his cheeks. It's almost imperceptible, but it's there. Your brow furrows, and your head tilts, a flutter in your stomach. Was he...

"So," you begin, clearing your throat, "what's this information you've got for me?"

"Ah." Rex shifts, reaching over to his coat and pulling a datapad from the pocket. He taps a few buttons, and then he slides the pad across the table, the screen facing you. “Here.”

You pick it up, and you're greeted with a grainy image of the Temple's hangar, its grand circular door turning down. At the end of the landing platform that slides out from the doorway is a sleek silver ship, its hull glinting in the light of the fading sun. The date in the corner shows the day of Master Qui-Gon's funeral.

You swallow hard.

"The footage was easy enough to find," Rex explains, his voice low. "It's not exactly classified. The logs are another story. Those were...well, I had to make some calls."

Your brows rise, and your head whips up. "Rex, you didn't..."

He shrugs and leans back in the booth, a smug smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"It's not illegal to have friends," he teases. "They owed me a favor."

You let out a startled laugh at the sound of your words being thrown back at you, and your hand rises to cover your mouth, your gaze dropping to the datapad. It's an obvious jab, one clearly meant to make you laugh, and despite the gravity of the situation, you find yourself smiling. You shake your head and turn back to the screen.

You watch as a tall, slender figure wearing a billowing cape strides toward the ship, and its cockpit opens to greet him. You recognize Dooku instantly. There's no mistaking his gait, the confidence of his stride, or his imposing height. He’s backlit by the setting sun, his silhouette casting a long shadow across the hangar floor.

Dooku steps aboard the ship and drops into the cockpit, and the engines begin to hum, the lights inside dimming. Then, the ship lifts off the platform and soars upwards, its tail arcing gracefully.

It's barely a speck on the horizon when another ship shoots out of the hangar in pursuit of it. It's small, utilitarian, meant for one person. One small person. There's a flash of light as it activates its thrusters, and the ship speeds after Dooku. After a few moments, it too vanishes completely from view.

The video ends.

Your eyes are burning, and there's a tightness in your throat, your jaw clenched. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, letting the air out slowly.

Dooku left the Temple.

Yaddle followed him.

You knew it. You've always known.

But, seeing it, actually seeing it, is more than you can handle.

The datapad falls onto the table with a clatter, and your hands tremble, your fingers clutching at your sleeves. You're struggling to keep your emotions in check, to maintain your composure, but it's becoming harder and harder. You're fighting a losing battle.

You knew, you remind yourself. You already knew.

But, this is different.

This is proof.

Your stomach is churning, the caf threatening to come back up, and the air around you feels thin, like you're running out of oxygen. The noise of the restaurant fades, replaced by a high-pitched whine and the ground beneath you starts to tilt. You're about to pass out. Or throw up. Maybe both.

"Hey."

There's a soft sound, like fingers tapping on glass, and you blink, your eyes focusing on a hand hovering in front of your face. It's Rex's hand. He's leaning across the table, his brows drawn together, and he's gazing at you with concern, his fingers reaching out to brush against your hand.

"Hey, come back," he murmurs. His hand wraps around yours, and he gives a gentle squeeze. "It's alright. Just breathe."

You suck in a breath and nod, forcing yourself to inhale and exhale. It helps, a little. The nausea fades, and the ringing in your ears is replaced by the sounds of the restaurant, the patrons chattering and Dex shouting orders. You can hear the rain pattering against the window, the distant rumble of thunder. The world is still spinning, and your heart is racing, but you're breathing again.

"Sorry," you mumble. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Rex argues, his tone blunt. His fingers stroke yours, and he glances over his shoulder, making sure no one's watching. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No," you say quickly, your free hand moving to clutch at his wrist. You hold onto him, and he lets you, his thumb tracing small circles on your skin. "No, I'm fine. I just...I need a minute."

He nods and sits back in his seat, his grip never wavering. You squeeze his hand, and he smiles.

"We can go somewhere else, if you want," he offers, and his voice is soft, his gaze sympathetic. "Somewhere quieter."

"No, it's alright," you assure him. You shake your head and take another deep breath, the air filling your lungs. The pressure behind your eyes is receding, and your heartbeat is starting to slow. You feel better, a bit calmer, and you're able to focus on his face, on his touch. "I'm okay. Really."

Rex nods, and he slowly releases your hand, taking his warmth with him. He leans back in his seat, his fingers tapping against the table.

"Alright," he sighs. He hesitates, and then his expression relaxes, his shoulders slumping. "So. That's the last of the security footage. And there's no record of either ship entering or leaving Coruscant airspace until Dooku's ship left the system the next morning."

"Which means..."

"She didn't leave." Rex's jaw tightens, and his eyes drop to the pad. "She never made it off-planet."

The confirmation makes your stomach drop, and you rub a hand over your face, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. None of this is anything more than what you suspected, but seeing it laid out in front of you is surreal, and it's a strange mix of vindication and heartbreak. You've known the truth for years, but there was always that nagging doubt, that tiny voice whispering that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong.

You're not.

Yaddle's disappearance wasn't an accident, and she didn't run. She didn't abandon the Order, or you, and her death wasn't some tragic mistake. She was murdered. And the one responsible is sitting on the Separatist Council.

You swallow the lump in your throat and turn to him, your brows furrowed. "Did the impound logs show anything?"

"A ship matching that description was recovered at a private port," he explains. "The records are incomplete, and they don't show the name of the person who impounded the vessel, but it was listed as a 'wreck'. Unfortunately, it was scrapped years ago."

"A wreck," you repeat, the words tasting bitter. "That's convenient."

"Too convenient," Rex agrees.

You run a hand through your hair and exhale, and you stare at the datapad, the images of Dooku's ship burned into your memory. He killed her, and he tried to hide the evidence. He erased her from existence, and he made it look like nothing had happened. As if she had never been her. And he's getting away with it.

The injustice of it all is staggering.

"Thank you Rex," you murmur. "I know how risky this was. For both of us."

"It was nothing," he replies. He gives a small shrug, and he reaches forward, picking up the datapad. "I'll send everything to you from an encrypted server. And I'll keep digging, see what else I can find."

You glance up at him, and you can't help but wonder how he managed it. This is more than a favor. This is serious. Rex is putting himself in a position where his loyalty could be called into question, and he's doing it without hesitation. For you. 

Sure, the two of you are friends, but this is dangerous. There's no reason for him to get involved, and the fact that he has is...well, it's confusing, to say the least. You're not used to people going out of their way for you, especially not someone who isn't a Jedi. Most of your friendships are born out of convenience. They're temporary, and fleeting, and you know better than to get attached.

This, though. This is different.

Rex is different.

You shake your head and reach out, placing a hand over his. "Rex, I'm serious. Thank you. Really. But, you've done more than enough. I couldn't ask you to--"

"You're not asking," he interrupts, his voice firm. "I'm offering. This is important to you. I want to help."

You stare at him, your mouth opening, and you find yourself speechless, unable to find the words to express your gratitude. There's a pressure building behind your eyes, and a lump in your throat, and you blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. It's too much. Everything is too much.

"Why?" you whisper. "Why do you want to help?

His expression softens, and he lets out a long sigh, his eyes falling to the datapad. He's quiet for a long moment while you watch him, waiting for an answer. When it doesn't come, your mouth twists, and you move to retract your hand.

Rex moves faster. 

He turns his palm up and catches your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He doesn't speak, and his eyes are on his hands, but he seems determined to keep you close. You watch him, waiting for him to say something, but he just continues to run his thumb across your skin.

You don't dare to move.

"I..." He trails off, his words dying in his throat. He's looking at you now, really looking at you. His eyes are searching yours, as if he's trying to read your thoughts, to figure out what you're thinking. 

You wonder if he knows how vulnerable he looks, or if he knows that you can feel his apprehension in the Force, a sharp tang in your mouth. He's struggling with something, something he doesn't want to admit. Something he's not sure he should.

"Rex," you prompt, and his grip tightens. "Tell me."

"I...I care about you," he breathes. "And I can't stand by and watch you suffer, not if there's something I can do to help. If I can make things better, even just a little bit, I want to try."

You blink at him, stunned. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth, and there's a strange sensation in your chest, like your lungs have forgotten how to work.

He cares about you.

The words echo through your mind, and they won't leave. They're stuck on repeat, playing over and over again, and it's all you can think about.

He's still holding your hand.

“You're my friend," he adds.

Oh.

Right.

You nod, swallowing hard. "I...Of course. Of course, you're my friend."

"Yeah. Friends," Rex mutters, and he's not looking at you anymore. His gaze has fallen to your hands, and he's staring at them as if they're something fascinating. Like they're a puzzle that needs solving.

The word stings.

"I just...you're important to me, and I want you to be happy." His grip tightens, and your breath hitches, a flutter in your stomach. "So, let me do this. Let me help you. Please."

You stare at him for a moment, the words echoing in your mind. There's no ulterior motive, no hidden meaning. He's simply being honest, and it's a raw, vulnerable kind of honesty, the sort of honesty that makes your stomach flutter. He cares. And, the way he's looking at you, the way his eyes are searching yours, makes you wonder if there's more to it. More than a friend should feel.

"Okay," you say. You take in a shuddering breath and smile, and his eyes flick back to yours. "Okay. Thanks."

"What are friends for?" He smiles back, and his thumb traces a pattern on the back of your hand, a gentle caress. He doesn't seem inclined to release you, and you're not sure you want him to.

Friends.

Right.

Friends.

You're his friend.

He's your friend.

It's a platonic gesture. A comforting touch.

Except, the way his thumb is moving across the back of your hand is not particularly friendly. It's more intimate than that, the movement slow, the contact lingering. And, the way he's looking at you, his eyes dark and warm, is not exactly platonic, either. You can't quite place the expression. It's affectionate, that much is clear, but it's more than that. You know it, and you think that Rex knows it, too.

This is a bad idea.

You don't want him to stop.

The sound of metal scraping against tile draws your attention, and the two of you break apart, his hand releasing yours. You hadn't noticed FLO approaching, but there she is, a tray in her hands. Her big yellow eyes stare down at you, the lenses flickering, the plates in her hands clacking as she tilts her head to the side. She seems...amused.

FLO sets the two steaming plates in front of you, and you thank her, reaching for your fork. She stares at the two of you for a moment longer, and then she turns and leaves, her gait slow and purposeful. Rex chuckles, his gaze following her.

"What?" you ask, your mouth already full. You didn't realize how hungry you were until the food was in front of you. Now, the smell is overwhelming, the spices and grease filling the air. You shovel the food into your mouth, chewing quickly.

"Nothing." He shakes his head and digs into his meal, his eyes still on FLO, a smirk on his lips.

You roll your eyes. "Come on, spit it out."

"Fine." He points at FLO with his fork. "I'm pretty sure she thinks we're...you know."

"What?"

He gives a half-shrug, a light blush staining his cheeks. "She thinks we're together. You know, a couple."

"Ah." You glance at FLO, who's standing behind the counter, watching the two of you. Your eyes narrow, and the droid's optic sensors seem to widen, her head jerking away.

You can't help but laugh.

"She does, doesn't she," you mutter as a flush creeps up your neck. You take another bite of food and chew thoughtfully, watching as Rex does the same. "Well, you are the only man I've ever brought here. Other than Obi-Wan, anyway. So, that might have something to do with it."

Rex chokes, and you look up, startled. "Are you okay?"

His hand shoots out, his palm waving in front of him, and he shakes his head.

"Yeah, sorry," he manages, his voice rough. He coughs and takes a sip of caf. He sets it down, his cheeks red, and his eyes dart away. "Sorry, I just...I'm the only one?"

"Mhm." You nod, resting your chin on the back of your hand. When he doesn't respond, you raise a brow. "Why is that surprising?"

"I guess it's not," he mumbles. He's avoiding your gaze, his eyes fixed on his plate. "But it's a little hard to imagine. You're..." He trails off, and he shakes his head. "Nevermind."

"What?" you ask, and there's a note of teasing in your voice. "What am I?"

"Nothing." He picks up his fork and spears a piece of food, lifting it to his mouth. "It's not important."

"No, tell me," you insist. You lean forward until you’re sure you're in his line of sight, and you tilt your head, giving him your best pout. "Please? For me?"

Rex barks a laugh, his eyes finally meeting yours as he puts his fork down. "Fine. But, if I do, will you stop doing that?"

"Doing what?" You blink at him, feigning innocence.

"That," he says, and his fingers point at his face, drawing an imaginary circle around his eyes. "The face. It's not fair."

You can't help but smirk. "What face?"

"You know what face," he accuses, but he’s smiling now.

"Fine. I'll stop," you concede, and you settle back in your seat, a triumphant grin on your lips.

"I mean, look at you," he sighs, gesturing vaguely towards you. "You're..."

Rex pauses, and he glances down at the plate, his fingers tapping against the table. He doesn't seem inclined to finish his thought, his brow furrowed, and his mouth twisted. You get the sense that he's not sure he should continue.

"Well, for starters, you're beautiful," he finally admits, his voice quiet. "Anyone with eyes can see that."

You blink, all trace of humor gone. The words hang in the air, and you can't help but stare at him, your heart racing. He'd said it so casually, as if it were obvious. As if it were a given. And maybe, to him, it was. The realization makes your face heat, and you shift in your seat, trying to find a comfortable position. It doesn't help.

"That's..." You hesitate, and then you clear your throat, shaking your head. "That's a good start."

Rex snorts. "Glad you approve."

"Go on," you say, nudging his foot under the table. "Keep going."

"Oh, so now you want compliments?" he drawls. He shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. His tone is teasing, but there's a hint of nerves, a note of vulnerability. As if he's worried he's overstepped.

You're not worried.

You want to hear him say it.

"Don't be an ass." You poke him in the shin with your boot, and he chuckles. "I'm not the one who started it. Now, keep going."

Rex sighs, his eyes rolling. He leans back in his seat, his arms crossing over his chest. He looks amused, but also resigned, as if he's accepting his fate.

"All right, fine," he mutters. You shift, and his eyes follow the movement, the look on his face softening. "Where was I?"

"Beautiful," you supply. "I believe you were about to go into detail."

"Ah, right." He runs a hand over his hair, and he gives you a wry smile. "I'm afraid I'm not good at this, but...well, you're a beautiful woman. But, you're also smart, and funny, and you're surprisingly good with people for someone who claims not to be."

You huff a laugh. "Hey."

"And," he continues, ignoring you, "you're one of the strongest, most compassionate people I've ever met. You're brave, and dedicated, and...well, it's hard not to admire that. To admire you."

You blink, and the words settle, a blush spreading across your cheeks. You try to swallow, but your throat is tight, and you can't speak. You can't even think. You can't do anything but sit there and stare at him, your heart beating out of your chest.

"What?" Rex smirks, and his brows rise. "No smart remark? No witty comeback?"

"I..." You shake your head, and you try to form a coherent sentence, but all that comes out is a choked noise. You clear your throat and manage to stammer out, "That was...That’s a good list."

"A good list," he repeats, his tone dry. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and his gaze sweeps over you, a smile tugging at his lips. "Are you blushing?"

"Shut up," you mutter. “It’s warm in here.”

Rex laughs, his foot nudging yours under the table. You kick his shin again, and he kicks back, a grin spreading across his face. You try to ignore the way his eyes sparkle, the way his lips curl, the way his dimple deepens. You fail.

You can't look away.

The booth is silent, the only sounds coming from the bustling restaurant around you. The rain is beating against the window, and you can see water running in rivulets down the glass out of the corner of your eye.

The world beyond the diner is gray and dull, the colors muted. Inside, though, is a different story. Everything seems brighter, warmer. More vibrant. You can't help but wonder if it's because of the man sitting across from you.

"So," Rex starts, his voice low. He shrugs. "I guess I am surprised. It's hard to believe that you've never had a..."

"What?" you prompt. You raise a brow, and you cross your arms, the corner of your mouth quirking. “A date? A lover? An admirer? A suitor?"

Rex laughs, and he shakes his head. "Any of those things. I guess I just assumed that, well, that they'd be lining up."

You snort and shake your head, and you're about to tell him that he's ridiculous when his words register. His voice had been casual, but his eyes had held an edge, a question. There was something hidden there, an unspoken query. 

It's almost imperceptible, but you've become very familiar with his expressions. With him. He's not asking, he's probing. There's a part of him that wants to know. The same part that had asked if he was the only one.

It occurs to you that maybe, just maybe, there's a reason he's asking. And, if you're being honest, it's a reason that excites you.

"Well, I haven't had a lot of time,” you explain, your fingers picking at a loose thread on your sleeve. "Or a lot of patience. Or much of a desire, honestly. It's just been flings, here and there. Nothing serious."

Rex nods, his eyes falling to his plate. He picks up his fork, poking at a piece of food, but he doesn't eat.

"Not that I haven't been interested," you continue, and his eyes snap back to yours. "I have. It's just...it's not easy, dating a Jedi. There are rules, and expectations, and I've always been hesitant to..."

"Break them?" Rex supplies, his lips quirking.

"I was going to say 'take that risk'," you retort, a smirk on your lips. "But, yeah, 'break them' works, too."

"Ah." He nods and leans back in his seat, his fingers drumming against the table. "Right."

There's a beat of silence, and the two of you sit there, staring at each other. You're not quite sure what to say, and neither is he, it seems.

Rex's gaze darts away, and he takes a sip of his caf. You watch as he sets the cup down, his fingers drumming against the ceramic, his thumb brushing along its edge. His lips part, and his jaw works, but no sound comes out. You can feel his apprehension in the Force, the uncertainty that's bubbling beneath the surface. He's nervous. About what, you're not sure.

"Rex," you start, and your voice is quiet, almost hesitant. "What is it?"

"I'm trying to figure out if I should say this," Rex mutters, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, now you have to," you deadpan. You lean forward, your elbows resting on the table, and you rest your chin on your folded hands. "Go ahead. You won't offend me."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he huffs.

"Then, what are you worried about?"

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours. Then, he sighs, and his shoulders slump.

"Are you..." He pauses, his expression contorting. "Aren't you and General Kenobi...?"

Your brows shoot up. "Obi-Wan?"

"Yes." Rex clears his throat and looks away, his cheeks flushing. "Sorry, it's none of my business. I'm just...curious."

"Oh." You take a deep breath, and then let it out slowly, your eyes fluttering shut. 

You should have seen this coming. It's not the first time you've been asked, and you know it won't be the last. It's a reasonable assumption. And Rex, well, he's a smart man. He's no doubt picked up on the subtle glances, the casual touches, the familiarity of your conversations. He's a soldier, and he's trained to notice details. He would have picked up on the signs. The rumors. The gossip.

But the fact that he's asking about it is something else entirely.

You open your eyes, and you see that he's watching you, his expression wary, his body tense. His hand is resting on the table, his fingers drumming a rhythm against the surface. It's a nervous habit, and it's one that you've noticed before, but never thought much about. Now, it's all you can think about.

You wonder if he's been thinking about this for a while. If the questions have been sitting at the back of his mind, gnawing away at him. If he's been avoiding asking you about it, afraid of the answer. If he's worried about what will happen when he gets it.

You decide that it's best to be honest.

"I'm not," you say quietly. "We're not."

"Oh," he breathes.

"But, we were," you admit. "For a long time."

The rhythmic tapping of his fingers suddenly halts. "Oh."

You give a small shrug, and you pick up the mug, bringing it to your lips. It's cold now, and bitter, the liquid barely a few drops, but it's enough to give you something to do, something to distract you from the heat that's creeping up your neck. 

Rex looks like he's going to be sick.

You take a long sip and swallow, the taste sour on your tongue. You put the mug down, and you rub a hand over the back of your neck, a sigh escaping you.

"It was years ago," you continue. "We were kids, and we thought that...well, we thought it would be a good idea. And recently, I guess we tried again, but..." You trail off, and your eyes meet his. "It didn't work out. It was just too much, you know? We were never really compatible, not like that. But it took us a long time to figure that out."

"I see," he murmurs. His brows furrow, and he seems to be processing this new information. "Are you still..."

"No." You shake your head. "No, not anymore. It's over. We're just friends. Good friends. And that's it."

"Oh,” he says again.

Rex stares at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. You stare back, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't. Instead, he picks up his mug, draining it in a single gulp.

The Force swirls with conflicting emotions. There's curiosity, and relief, and something else. Something warm and sweet and achingly familiar. Something that makes your stomach flutter. You try not to read too much into it.

"So, yeah." You take a deep breath and let the air out slowly. "That's, uh, that's my love life in a nutshell. Or, lack thereof."

You force a smile, and Rex's lips twitch, a hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. His eyes are still fixed on yours, and you can't quite read his expression. It's thoughtful, and calculating, and a little bit smug. His hand lifts to cover his mouth, his thumb grazing his lower lip, and he gives a slow nod.

“Rex? You okay?"

"Yeah," he says, lowering his hand. He's smiling now, his eyes bright. "I'm fine. Just...processing."

"Good," you say, leaning back in your seat. You can feel your face heating, and you quickly turn to your plate, stabbing a forkful of food. "Sorry, I didn't mean to dump all of that on you."

"No, no, it's fine," he assures you quickly. "It's...I'm glad you told me. It's a relief, actually. That the two of you aren't..."

"Together," you finish, and he nods.

"Yeah," Rex murmurs, his voice soft. "That."

You take a bite and chew slowly, your eyes fixed on his. He's staring back at you, his gaze steady, and you can't help but notice that there's something new in his expression, a warmth that wasn't there before. Or maybe you just didn't notice it.

Maybe he was always looking at you like this.

"I'm glad, too," you say quietly. You give him a crooked smile, and he mirrors it, his cheeks flushing.

"Good."

The word is enough to break the spell, and the two of you turn your attention back to your meals. The conversation moves easily from there, and you talk about everything and nothing. The war, and the Temple, and the things that make the two of you laugh. Rex has been bouncing back and forth around the Mid Rim for a while, and the stories are both horrifying and humorous. You can tell that he's enjoying himself, his eyes lighting up as he talks. You find yourself smiling more than you'd care to admit.

Rex in the middle of telling you a story about Fives' latest mishap with the men, and his hands are flying through the air as he tries to convey the extent of the prank, the words spilling out of his mouth. You're laughing at the story, his excitement contagious, when your comm beeps.

You grimace, and you pick up the device, the screen flashing.

"Sorry, give me a second," you mutter. "It's Obi-Wan."

"Right," he says, and the amusement slips from his voice, replaced with a hint of concern. "Go ahead."

You sigh, and you slide the comm onto the table, answering the call. Obi-Wan appears in a holo-image, his form flickering slightly. His hands are tucked into his robes, his brows raised, and he gives you a pointed look.

"Hey, Obi-Wan," you rush to say, trying to appear as innocent as possible. "What's up?"

"Where are you?" he asks. His tone is mild, but there's a sharpness to his words, a hard edge to his gaze. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"Oh, um..." You glance at Rex, and then look back at Obi-Wan. "I'm out."

"Out," he echoes, his voice flat. He gives a humorless chuckle, and then leans forward, his gaze narrowing. "My dear, it's pouring. It's freezing. What are you doing out in the middle of the storm?"

"Having lunch."

"With?"

You nod, and your eyes flick to the side, catching Rex's. He's staring at you, his expression neutral, but the corners of his mouth are twitching, a smirk threatening to appear. He's clearly enjoying the exchange, and you bite back a smile.

"With a friend," you reply. "It's not a big deal."

Obi-Wan tilts his head and frowns, his eyes searching yours. You feel a tug in the Force, and you can tell that he's trying to peer into your mind through your bond. You push him away, a scowl spreading across your face.

"Don't do that," you snap. 

But it's too late. Obi-Wan's eyes widen, and he lets out a low hum. You know that he's figured out who you're with. And, judging by the knowing look on his face, he knows exactly why you're hiding it from him. You want to groan, or bury your face in your hands, or maybe crawl under the table.

"Really?" he murmurs, a teasing note in his voice.

"Don't," you warn. "Just...don't. Please." 

"My sincerest apologies for interrupting your meal, then." Obi-Wan grins, and he gives a slight bow, his hands still tucked into his robes. You can't help but roll your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. 

"It's fine," you grumble.

"Good." He lets out a sigh, his hands moving to rest at his sides. "Then I suppose you won't mind if I ask you to return to the Temple. Immediately."

Your brows furrow, and you lean forward, giving him a hard look. "Why? What's wrong?"

"The Council is having a meeting," Obi-Wan replies. "We need to speak with you."

For a moment, it feels like all the air has left your lungs. The words are familiar, and they echo in your mind, sending a chill down your spine. It's an echo of a memory, a fragment of a dream. You shake your head and take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself.

"Right," you breathe.

"I'm sorry," he says. A wave of sympathy washes over the bond, the feeling making your stomach turn. You can't blame him for feeling it. The look on your face must be pretty awful. "But it's important. You need to be here."

"I know," you mutter, and you try to muster a smile, but it's shaky at best. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"See you soon," Obi-Wan murmurs. His gaze softens, and the corner of his mouth quirks. "And tell Captain Rex that I say hello."

"Shut up."

You jab at a button, ending the call. The image of Obi-Wan vanishes, and you lean back in the booth, letting out a long exhale. Your stomach churns, and there's a sinking feeling in your chest. The Council is meeting. To talk about Yaddle. It has to be. This is it. They have to listen to you now. They have to. They have to.

A hand touches your arm, and you startle, your head whipping up. Rex is watching you, his expression tight, his eyes worried. He's leaning forward, his hand resting on your elbow, his thumb stroking over your skin.

"You okay?"

You shake your head, giving a hollow laugh, your gaze dropping to the table.

"No," you whisper.

"Hey, look at me," he says softly. He waits until you do before continuing. "They'll listen. They have to."

"I don't know," you admit. You sigh, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "This is it. This is the chance I've been waiting for, but, if they don't..."

“They will.”

Rex  slides out of the booth and stands, grabbing his coat. He tugs it on and holds out a hand, the gesture so natural that it doesn't even occur to you to question it. You place your hand in his, and he pulls you to your feet. The two of you gather your things, and Rex stands close while you pay the tab, and then you walk to the door together, leaving the warmth and safety of the restaurant.

The rain has stopped, but it's still cold, and a biting wind whips around you. The streets are littered with puddles, the pavement reflecting the fading light of the city glittering around you. Everything looks washed out, and faded, and dull. The colors have been stripped away by the rain, the world left behind in shades of gray.

Rex shoves his hands in his pockets as you tuck yours under your arms, and you walk in silence down the street. He's not touching you anymore, but you can feel him, his presence a balm to your nerves. You know that he's thinking, his mind working overtime to try to find a solution to a problem that's not his own. He wants to help, and, in truth, you're grateful. But, it's not his battle. It's yours.

The two of you make your way to the street corner, and you stop, turning towards him. The shadows fall over his face, and his gaze is distant, his expression pensive. You watch him, and the silence stretches, the moment heavy with unsaid words. You have to go. He has to stay. But, the thought of walking away from him fills you with a sadness you hadn't anticipated.

Rex takes a step forward, and his eyes flicker to the Temple looming in the distance, his expression softening. "Do you want me to come with you? I could wait outside."

"It's okay, Rex," you say quietly, shaking your head. "This is something I have to do alone. Besides, if they see you, they'll think we're plotting."

He raises a brow, and his lips curl, a smirk appearing. "We could be."

"We are," you tease, and Rex huffs a quiet laugh. You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "But, I can handle this. Really."

"I know you can," he says. He smiles, and his gaze darts down, his hands flexing in his pockets. His eyes find yours again, his expression gentle. "I believe in you."

Your stomach flutters, and a warmth spreads through you, chasing away some of the tension in your body. You give him a small smile. "Thanks.”

Rex nods, and his hands slide out of his pockets, slowly, hesitantly. He opens his arms, his palms facing up, a silent invitation. You don't give him time to reconsider. 

You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and Rex stiffens for a moment, his body rigid. Then, his arms circle your waist, and he pulls you against his chest, his chin resting on top of your head.

Without your armor as a barrier between you, the hug is more intimate, more familiar. You can feel the shape of him, the curves and lines and angles. You can feel his heart pounding, and his breath tickling your hair, and his fingers splayed against your back. It's nice. More than nice.

It's the most natural thing in the world.

But, it's also the worst possible time.

The two of you break apart at the same time, and Rex runs a hand over his head, a sheepish look crossing his face. You know exactly how he feels.

"I should go," you say quietly. You clear your throat and straighten, smoothing your hair. "Thanks again."

"Anytime," he says, his lips quirking. "Good luck. I hope everything works out."

"Me, too," you murmur. "I'll, uh, let you know how it goes."

"Please." He smiles, and he nods toward the Temple. "Now, get out of here."

"Yeah," you agree, and the two of you share a long look. There's so much that you want to say, but, in the end, you settle for a simple "See you later."

"Later," he echoes.

You nod, and turn on your heel, forcing yourself to walk. With each step, the feeling of him fades, and the world rushes back in. The chill seeps into your bones, and you shiver, the wind whistling through the streets. You can't bring yourself to look back, and you shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket, heading towards the Temple.

As you walk, your mind wanders. You can't seem to focus, your thoughts drifting from Yaddle to the Jedi Order to Rex, the pieces refusing to fit together. You know what you want, and what you have to do, but the path forward seems unclear. You don't know where to go from here.

The entrance of the Temple appears in front of you, and you sigh, the exhaustion settling over you like a weight. You have no choice but to press forward.

The Council is waiting.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @lordofthenerds97 @meshlajetii

@heaven1207 @808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

[captainsophiestark]

Crib Construction

Cassian x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: ACOTAR

Summary: Cassian and his mate have been tasked with putting together Nyx's crib. Unfortunately, it's a harder task than they thought it would be.

Word Count: 1,282

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Cass, come here. Does this look right?"

My boyfriend didn't waste a second before joining me on the floor, kneeling behind me and looking over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for a minute, then I heard a rustling of paper as Cassian sighed.

"Yeah, it looks right. That hasn't stopped it from being wrong before, though."

"Well, let's just hope for the best."

I could feel through the mating bond just how little Cassian wanted to do that, but he knew as well as I did that we didn't have much other choice. I took a deep breath, then gently pressed the two pieces of wood before me together, trying to get them to link like they were supposed to.

Of course, it didn't work. I added slightly more pressure, but still nothing. I put my entire weight and all of my strength into it, and when the damn thing still didn't budge, I let out a scream and shoved both pieces away from me before I could really lose my temper and accidentally break something.

"This is bullshit!" I shouted, whirling around to face Cassian. He had a look of grim resignation, meeting my eyes with sympathy. Our positions had been exactly reversed about ten minutes ago. "Rhys set this up as a way to get back at you for winning the snowball fight last time, and I'm getting caught in the collateral. This sucks."

"Honestly, maybe he did," Cass said, sighing and leaning back on his hands. "Or maybe Az did something to break this one too before he got kicked off the job."

I groaned, flopping over and into Cassian's side to lay against his chest and stare at the ridiculous contraption that had been defeating us all afternoon. Rhys and Feyre had asked us to assemble Nyx's crib, and at first, we'd been honored and happy to help. But hours later, when nothing was going right and none of the pieces were fitting together the way they were supposed to, I was about ready to throw all of it out the window and into the Sidra below.

We'd been given the task in the first place because Az had shattered the same type of crib to pieces after spending a day being stumped by the puzzle. Cassian and I had inherited the task for our ability to keep each other calm, and because we were generally less destructive when continually frustrated by a puzzle. This crib was about to ruin that reputation.

"Okay, maybe we should just start over from the beginning," I said, sitting up and turning to face Cassian after our brief rest. "Like, take everything apart and lay it all out on the floor again, then start back from step one."

Cassian groaned. "Honestly, I hate that idea. But what we're already doing clearing isn't working, so..."

"So let's try it. Deep breaths, and then a total reset. A fresh start."

"...Alright. Let's do it."

With a lot of heavy sighing, Cassian and I took apart what little progress we'd made, separating the crib back into its individual parts, the way it had come. Once we got it all laid out again, I took the instruction manual from Cass and laid that out in front of us, too. With one last deep breath, we started in again at step one on page one.

I wish I could say this attempt went better. But it didn't. Cassian and I almost destroyed the whole thing Az-style in a fit of frustration three times each, one of us barely managing to pull the other back every time. We were just lucky our destructive streaks never lined up, or the pieces of the crib before us would've already become nothing more than a pile of ash.

"Alright, that's it!" Cass finally shouted, standing up abruptly from where we'd been trying to wrestle together the corners of the crib with no luck, despite using both our strength at once. "I'll be right back."

"What?" I flung my arms out to either side of me as Cassian headed for the door. "You're abandoning me? Seriously?"

"Not abandoning! Changing tactics."

Before I could ask for clarification, Cassian was out the door. I stared after him, waiting for him to reappear or say he was kidding or something, but he didn't. I huffed, then shook my head and turned back to the crib, its pieces still mostly laid out on the floor.

I sat there and stared at the pieces for a few long beats, contemplating my next move. Honestly, I'd just about decided to throw them out the window and tell Rhys the thing'd never been here when the door came swinging open again.

I turned to find Cassian striding towards me, the confidence and determination back in his step. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned.

"I've solved all our problems."

I snorted, but smiled at Cassian all the same as he came to a stop before me. The fact that he'd managed to make me laugh at all in the middle of this nonsense was exactly why we were mates, and it made me love him even more.

"Cass, you know I love you, and you know I trust you, but... I'm having a hard time seeing how that could possibly be true. Unless you convinced Mor to take over for us...?"

"No, but just as good." I raised an eyebrow, and Cassian's grin widened as he dropped down next to me. Slowly, from behind his back, he pulled out a hammer, tape, and a few other supplies.

I just stared at everything for a moment, then snorted and leanded into Cassian. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

"Babe... we can't use that stuff to put this crib together."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't be sturdy enough! We don't want it to give out while the baby's in it. We both know we can't risk that."

Cassian hummed, rocking forward just enough to get a few of the pieces of the crib into his hands. He lined them up like we'd been doing all day, then raised the hammer in his other hand.

"Maybe you're right about the tape," he said. "But all we need to fix this is a little extra power. We can't force it together with our strength alone, so we'll use a hammer."

"Cass-"

Before I could get another word out, Cassian swung the hammer. I could see him putting his full Illyrian strength into it, and sure enough, the pieces whacked together. Unfortunately for us, they also splintered into more pieces than would be fixable, even with tape.

Cassian and I just stared at the wreckage for a moment, neither of us speaking. Cassian was the one to break first.

"Shit."

I laughed, all the stress and ridiculousness of the past few hours disappearing along with our hopes of actually succeeding at our task. I leaned into Cassian, and a moment later, he joined me.

"Well, that didn't go like I was hoping," sighed Cassian. I laughed again.

"Really? That's not what you were going for?"

"Not quite."

We shared a smile, then slumped back together, Cassian's arm around my waist as I leaned into his chest. I sighed, staring at the ruins of the crib before us. Not a single part of me wanted to do something about fixing it.

"So... how about we call Mor and find a way to pass this on to her?"

I laughed, then nodded as I leaned even further into Cassian.

"Baby, I was thinking the same thing. You, me, and Az have had to tear our hair out over this thing already, I think it's her turn."

"And even better, if any of us has to call Amren in, it'll be Mor."

"Exactly."

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen @misshale21

Maasverse Taglist: @lilah-asteria

[parissimmer-s4]

San Myshuno Central Park (Christmas Edition)

Lot Information :

Lot Type : Generic but you can change it to park

Size : 64x64

Placed on “San Myshuno Meadows” in San Myshuno.

Packs needed : City Living, Seasons (for snow and ice rink)

Note : It looks better when your game season is set to winter and the snow is already there (you can use the weather machine from Seasons or a cheat to make it snow)

CC is to download separately, you will find the links for needed cc on the download page, all cc is free !

 The lot is functional if you want to use it for gameplay, some items might be in the way thought, and not everything is functional (food stands)

Don’t forget to use bb.moveobjects before placing !

If you use for pictures I would love to see it ! Tag me here or on instagram “parissimmer”

DOWNLOAD HERE

T.O.U. :

- Don’t edit, reupload, post behind paywall or claim as your own.

Thank you all cc and mod creators !

@sssvitlanz

[seastarblue]

Snippet Sunday!

yay <3

———

“Dame Sierra… a fine figure, don’t you agree?”

Felix jumped as the voice sounded behind him. The half-fairy turned around to the same portrait staring right back at him—no, this was a decidedly masculine person, and his hair wasn’t nearly as long as the woman’s. He also looked much older than her, grey hairs starting to form on his temples.

“Sir,” Felix said, standing at attention and giving a salute to the current First Justice: Lloyd Santhuff.

“At ease, knight.”

Felix’s hand lowered and rested at his side, starting to tap the hilt of his wooden sai. ‘Wait a minute… oh shit.’

He’d forgotten to drop his training weapons before rushing over. ‘Way to go, BonaDea, he thinks you’ve lost it now.’

Felix didn’t know why he was so intent on going with his partner-in-justice on her excursions with Santhuff. He’d tell himself it was simply worry for his friend, but deep down—though he’d never admit it— jealousy chewed away at him. Green eyed and ugly, it constantly made his eyes burn and his head spin with thoughts:

‘What does she have that I don’t? Why is she so favored? Why isn’t that me?’

———

General Writing Taglist! Lemme know if you’d like on/off <3

@bunnymermaidwrites @abiteofhoney @aalinaaaaaa @vesanal @cepheusgalaxy

@fifis-corner @urnumber1star @thebookishkiwi @sunflowerrosy @glbettwrites

@threedaysgross @mundanemoongirl @satohqbanana @bamber344 @imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese

@frostedlemonwriter @ash-thedrawer @cc-writes-stuff @anothersummerofsleep @sharkblizzardblogs

@verdant-mainframe @kittrrrr

[just-horrible-things]

The courtyard is small and square, a scant span of paving tiles boxed in on all sides by the austere concrete walls of the building. Although sunlight glints off the windows of the highest floor, none reaches the ground. In the centre, a square bed of weathered and greening wood supports a clump of struggling, anaemic greenery.

There are two benches, their design functional to the point of brutality. The first hints of rust are just starting to set in where the grey paint begins to chip. On one of them sits a girl with her knees drawn up into the body of her oversize hoody. Sky blue sneakers peek from under the hem. She is reading a slim paperback, its corners crumpled from rough handling.

The general is a tall woman with steel-gray hair. The decades have added fat beneath her chin and around her middle, but her back remains straight as an arrow and her brisk walk does not tax her stamina. The sharp shoulders of her uniform jacket do much to conceal any softness beneath. 

The girl only looks up from the page when the general stops directly in front of her.

“You are Nikef,” states the general. “Called the Annihilation.” “That’s my name.” “I am General Dejhain. It was my understanding that you are to be supervised at all times.” Wordlessly, the girl points at the camera affixed to the side of the building, its unblinking lens watching over the courtyard.

“You will be part of the Andrazh counter-offensive,” the general continues. “Yeah.” “That places you under my command.” The girl has not moved from her position. The book remains open in her hands. “Are you looking for my handler?” she asks. “No. I came to speak to you, Nikef.” “I don’t really do that.”

“I make a point of speaking to as many of the people under my command as possible. Especially the exceptional. And you are the most exceptional that there is.” Her tone does not make it a compliment. Exceptional – an exception, an abnormality. “All my orders go via my handler. That’s the protocol.” “I understand the protocol. I’m not here to give you orders. I’m here to understand you.” “That’s not part of the protocol.” “It is my protocol.”

The girl closes her book. It disappears into the voluminous front pocket of her hoodie.

“You want to understand me? Go watch the Tempest footage.” “I have studied the failure of the Tempest Project. I have seen the footage. You are very impressive.” “That’s not what most people call it.” “I am a military woman. I am not squeamish, and I know the value of a weapon when I see it. You are very precious, Nikef.” The girl’s upper lip twitches, but she says nothing. “Or did you expect me to be afraid of you?” The general’s smile is a thin, worn thing. “I’m not afraid. You are a patriot. A hero. I have no intention of abusing you.” “Glad to hear it.”

For a brief minute, there is silence. The general has the unmoving parade-ground posture of a lifelong soldier. The girl has a different stillness. She still sits casually, knees against her chest, hands buried in her pocket with her book. But there is a wariness in her, the subtle tension of an animal poised to flee – or to spring. Her eyes never move from the eyes of the general.

“Come,” the military woman breaks the silence. “Walk with me. It’s warm inside, and the cafeteria has snacks.” “Aren’t you worried about disrupting my diet?” The general quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not aware of any dietary restrictions.” “Maybe you should check with my handler.” “I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of selecting your own food. Or abstaining, as you prefer. Come on.”

Reluctantly, the girl slides her legs out from under her hoodie and stands up. Above her brightly colored sneakers she wears plain, dark sweatpants. The general turns, and doesn’t look back, fully confident that the girl will follow. She does, but she casts a long look over her shoulder at the watching camera as she does.

“I’d like to get to know you a little,” the general says once the outside door has closed behind them. “You’ve read my file. You’ve seen the tapes. What else is there to know?” “Your loyalty and your commitment to your duty are remarkable. I get the impression that you aren’t often acknowledged for this, but you should be. You are an example to us all.”

The girl remains silent, trailing several steps behind the general. Soldiers stop and salute as they pass.

“I’d like to understand what motivates you, if you would be willing to share.” “It’s very simple.” The girl shrugs her shoulders, although the general is not looking at her. “I’m a weapon, there’s a war on. What else would I do? Hide under a bed until the enemy come for me?” “After what was done to you, it would be difficult to fault you for turning your back on military life.” “I think most people would find it very easy to fault me.” “Well, perhaps. It’s as simple as that, then?” “It’s as simple as that.”

“Would you like anything to eat?” the general asks as they approach the double doors of the cafeteria. “Or a beverage, perhaps?” “Nah,” the girl says. “I ate already.”

The general continues on. The girl hesitates, falling a little further behind, but she follows until they come to a single door flanked by a pair of soldiers. They salute smartly.

“What is this?” the girl asks. “An office I have appropriated for the duration of my visit. Don’t mind the honor guard, their presence is a matter of formality. I thought a little more privacy might make our conversation more comfortable.” At a gesture, one of the soldiers opens the door, and holds it open for them. The girl hangs back. But after a second, she follows.

The general pulls up a chair and sits not behind the desk but to one side, inviting the girl to do similarly. The girl does not sit. She watches the door close, then turns dark, untrusting eyes back to the general.

“I can see that I am failing to set you at ease. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” “Talk to my handler instead?” the girl suggests. “I have a question that I would rather ask you directly. It is a little personal. I would wait until I knew you better, but I’m not sure when I will next have the chance. I am only here for the afternoon.”

More silence.

“Perhaps I should cut straight to the point.” The girl says nothing, but she tilts her head very slightly. “Have you put any thought toward the topic of reproduction?”

The girl blinks. “What?” “Reproduction. Having children. I know it is early.” “I’m fifteen.” “Not too young to have thought about it. Many girls your age already know whether they want children. Do you see that being a part of your future?” “I haven’t thought about it.” The girl’s tone is flat. “I would like you to think about it. Not to put too fine a point on it, it is a matter of national military interest. It’s likely, after all, that your children would inherit at least a portion of your exceptional ability.”

Very slowly and casually, the girl slides her hands out from the front pocket of her hoodie to let them rest by her sides instead. “I want my handler,” she says.

“I’m not asking you to make any decisions now. And obviously you are still too young to bear a child. I would just like you to think about your options.” The girl is silent, and very still. The general appears to take her silence as a cue to keep talking. “If you have no interest in raising children, you also have the option of contributing your genetics without needing to have any involvement at all with the children. There are medical procedures to extract eggs from the body – it’s a very small and safe surgery, nothing to be worried about. Your medical records indicate that you’ve reached reproductive maturity, so you could contribute your eggs at any time, if you so chose.”

“I want my handler,” the girl repeats.

“No one is going to force you to do anything. I merely wanted to make you aware of the option.” “I will not accept surgery.” “Of course, I understand. You could be awake for the entire procedure, if that would make you more comfortable.” “I’m not going to have surgery.” The girl’s voice is clipped now. “Any surgery. I’m not going to make children for you. I’m not going to give you babies to make – a new Project Tempest, to cut open, or whatever you want to do to them. No. No way.”

The general remains unruffled. She does not frown, but she exhales slowly through her nose.

“I see,” she says. “I must say I am disappointed. I had expected a soldier of your commendable loyalty to understand the importance of your unique abilities to this nation. We must all make sacrifices–”

Blue-white light floods the room as the girl lights up from within. The nerves beneath her skin glow blinding-bright Cherenkov blue.

“Do not talk to me about sacrifice,” she growls.

The general begins to raise her hands in a gesture of placation.

The door behind the girl is thrown open.

The girl does not turn, but before the soldiers are even inside the room, slivers of steel have begun to peel from the barrels of their guns, rising as dust into the air like twisting plumes of candle-smoke.

One drops the gun immediately. The other cries out, but keeps a hold of the disintegrating weapon.

“Touch me and die,” the girl says flatly. “No one is going to touch you,” the general insists. “No one is going to force you to do anything.” “I want my handler. Where is my handler?”

[rei-ismyname]

Giant-Size Wolverine retcons

Marvel, famously, loves having Wolverine as a cash cow, to the point it has its own entry on TVTropes. This manifests as a LOT of Wolverine #1s being released as well as the clawed-one showing up on deceitful covers and guest starring anywhere they think they can justify it. Less common (but still frequent enough) is Forrest Gumping him into historical events or rewriting events he was there for as a character study cynical profiteering.

Sunfire is still great - 'banal prattle.' You tell em

This is the latter, foregrounding Logan in Giant-Size X-Men to the detriment of almost everyone else. In the original Giant-Size X-Men, Logan sits at the back and says very little. Here he takes charge and uncharacteristically identifies that the new squad lacks synergy and a sense of teamwork. He opens with 'it's your first day as new X-Men, people. I'm going to show you how this works.' Uh, isn't it yours too? Did I miss a meeting?

Poor Kurt. Eddie Munster is just mean

So he starts a fight, telling everyone there's one too many people. Colossus objects for sexist reasons (not objection to killing lol) and Storm puts him in his place. Sunfire and Thunderbird both have little patience for white people or bullshit and Logan catches a fireball...

... and an elbow to the spine. Ororo goes off with electricity and Kurt just doesn't want to die, so he BAMFs behind her and starts choking Storm from behind. Logan turns the tables on Proudstar and drops a one liner about metal conducting electricity. I'm no wizard, but I don't think it interacts well with human flesh, either, especially if they have a metal skeleton. Obviously he takes everyone down and has the biggest dick in the world.

Yeah... about Thunderbird.

Banshee bursts in and reveals Logan is acting against Chuck's wishes. I'm generally in favour of that but I'm not fond of its narrative function at all . He has an open shirt, a toothpick in his mouth, and looks oh so pleased with himself. I'm not some reactionary purist who worships the sacred texts and pushes back against retcons. Quite the opposite, in fact. Additive retcons are fantastic when done well - Magneto being a Holocaust survivor stands as one of the best in fiction.

I don't think that's what this is, or at least it's not successful. In Giant-Size X-Men #1 there's no time for this pissing contest because all the other X-Men need rescuing ASAP. Chuck rounds them up and handles the basics then defers to Cyclops, the field leader of many years. They leave immediately and nobody is getting along. Sunfire leaves then comes back. Scott is all business because he's worried about the folks on Krakoa and there just isn't time. If they respect the chain of command in the field that's good enough. Team building can come later.

What's achieved here besides sidelining everyone to centre edge lord Logan? Not a lot, in fact I'd say it minimises Logan's character arc most of all. He was a grumpy loner who eventually learnt to trust people, came to see the X-Men as family, and committed to the team. Logan knowing half this stuff already and having this degree of social confidence just undermines that, as well as Cyclops' leadership of this ragged band. Not sure what Whedon was thinking tbh.

That wasn't the end of it, though. Interestingly, this is Chris Claremont writing here. Again, I'm not a purist and I'm under no illusion about CC's later X-Men work. He'd worked with these characters for a long time but Giant-Size was Wein & Cockrum, so he's choosing to expand the origin story. Thunderbird is still alive so they're still pretty new here. Anyway, Cyke is running a danger room training session - Storm vs Thunderbird.

After some kinda bizarre ethnic posturing Ororo is pinned.

Unsurprisingly, she starts to wig out due to her claustrophobia. Logan picks it up with his advanced senses and jumps in. Scott owns the mistake and ends the training session.

I find it hard to buy Scott would feel like his authority was undermined here. Logan is being as paternalistic as ever, but Scott blames himself for failures. He doesn't externalise it and he understands he's not leading children anymore. It's Chuck who has difficulty adapting to this specific dynamic. Also, Logan had zero interest in leadership. None. It was Ororo who was a friendly rival to him and ended up succeeding him as leader. He also didn't especially trust or show respect to anyone. Everyone else has problems but the focus and Charles' confidant is Wolverine. That's silly as hell.

Okay, private insecurity and self-doubt, totally Scott's thing. I'm just going to ignore literally everything else that's happening, especially 'damaged goods.' Ugh.

The second story came out in 2005 in Giant-Size X-Men #4. Aside from the Wolverine oversaturation and other weird shit I've pointed out, I feel like there was a concerted effort to bring certain characters closer to their FOX movies counterparts. Chuck started looking like Captain Picard, Scott was Flanderised a bit but moreso deemphasized, and Logan started to look and act more like Hugh Jackman. He joined more teams, regressed in social growth yet became way more important to the X-Men. More important to the very fabric of the Marvel universe.

I get why it happened (capitalism) but I think it was executed poorly in many instances. These are particularly egregious, but Wolverine was and is fucking everywhere - under many different writers. There's always going to be a sense of asynchronicity under those circumstances. I've actually come to really dislike Logan lately. Obviously it's an issue for most long running characters, but his particular regression to the mean every new book bores the shit out of me. He's not growing at all, even when everything around him changes. On Krakoa he was mostly just gruff and stabby, monologuing about hell, beer, time, nature, poison, and being the best he is at what he does. 🙄

He'll usually find someone worse than him to point at and call out with transparency he never applies to himself. Magneto, Scott, Beast, Scott, Chuck, teenage Scott, Sabertooth, Omega Red, Beast, Chuck, and Scott again. Someone please deconstruct this guy! Send him to therapy, break him down to his base components and examine them. Fuck his moping or running naked with wolves or fighting the W-digo - give him a messy boyfriend and force him to get the fuck over Jean Grey.

He can still fight ninjas and mentor troubled teens and sulk about whatever his latest thing is - just have him grow! His books will still sell, people will still cheer when he says bub, and snikt isn't going away. Hire Al Ewing to do it like he did with Loki, Hulk, Magneto, Sunspot, etc. Some of those changes actually stuck and the characters are more popular than ever! Is that too much to hope for? Almost certainly, but one can hope.

Boy I got carried away on that outro, lol.

[goest-and-fuckest-thyself]

✨Not Without You✨ No.4

🔥warnings🔥

All my works are 18+ I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR FAKE PAGES AND/OR RESPONSIBLE FOR ANYONE WHO READS MY CONTENT!!! LEGAL USERS BE ADVISED, I SHALL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR FALSIFICATIONS OF AGE ON THIS SIGHT! PLEASE DO NOT REPOST I DO NOT GIVE MY PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE REPOSTED ON OTHER SITES. SHARE ALL YOU WANT ON TUMBLR

CW: General adult themes, strong language, cursing, sexual themes and innuendo, mental health struggles, characters going through pain (a lil fluff for you guys this time🥰)

WC: 3,904

As much as Butcher refused to admit it, until we could figure out Birdie’s new mind control shit, we were on lockdown. We had barely made it back to the building before Hughie was skirting around us, keeping his distance like we were lions looking to eat his dumb, twink-ish ass.

Carrying Bird up the stairs and to the couch was easy enough, but as soon as I set her down, I heard the clicking. I sighed, making sure Bird would stay put on the cushions before turning to see Hughie with the Geiger counter pointed right at me.

The clicking hastened itself as my jaw clicked with tension and my fists balled themselves up. I could feel the flush of my face, turning pink with my rising anger. The fuck was wrong with this kid? Was me going off the rails all he could think about?

“Quit that shit,” I stalked forward, snatching the device out of Hughie’s hands and smashing it to the ground. The boy gave the broken pieces a wide eyed stare before his eyes shot a glare back at me. “We have bigger things to worry about besides my chest nuke.”

“That’s the problem, mate,” Butcher grumbled, coming to stand at Hughie’s side, “we weren’t supposed to have bigger issues.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a moment to turn in a small circle. Before I faced the men again, my eyes lingered on Birdie, her chest rising and falling steadily from her place on the couch. He had a point, we were supposed to help these assholes, and they’d let us live our lives. But now? With Butcher’s attitude toward us supes, I was sure he just added her name to his list. I rubbed my temples and turned back to give him a knowing look.

“She’s not on the list, Butcher,” I snapped, pointing an authoritative finger at him.

“Then you gotta get your girl under control, cause if she does that around a bunch of civilians and can’t control it,” his eyes flashed to Bird behind me, a glance so short if I blinked I would’ve missed it. “We don’t have a choice.”

I suppressed the growl that formed in my throat, unable to do anything about the sneer that formed on my lips. I jerked around, stomping away from him so I didn’t break his ass in half. I could smell the Temp V in his system, so maybe it would take some effort, but I needed him and his team to get my revenge. Our revenge.

I slumped down onto the coffee table, gently running my knuckles over Bird’s cheek. I heard Butcher climb the stairs before I studied her sleeping form. Her face had reappeared after she’d destroyed the sanctuary compound, back to that snowy skin dotted with a few beauty marks here and there. Birdie’s powers were telekinetic, not whatever psycho bullshit that was; it made me worry. If the Ivans could put a nuclear reactor in my chest, what could Vought have done to her? She said she didn’t remember, though now I suspected that was a blatant lie.

“You think she’s gonna be okay? She seemed really rattled earlier,” Hughie asked, looking down at Bird from behind the couch. I looked up momentarily to see his eyes holding a genuine concern before continuing my petting.

“I don’t know what the fuck they did to her, and I don’t think I will unless she tells me. I’ve never seen her like that…”

I could feel the boy’s eyes on me before he let out a small sigh and earned my attention again. He leaned with both arms lazily on the back of the couch, giving me that ‘gotta be honest’ look. “I know this is gonna sound rude at first, but you gotta hear it, man. You’re both a mess.” I rolled my eyes, leaning away from Bird and crossing my arms over my chest as he continued.

“But you’ve been more calm since she got here, I haven’t had to use the counter since the motel. I only did it tonight because I see how worried you are over Liz. The only time she wasn’t antsy and bitchy yesterday was when you showed up. You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

I scoffed at the kid, standing to round the living area and pour myself a drink from the bar cart in the corner. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about kid, but if you don’t shut it, you won’t be going on about much else.” He let out a sigh before coming to stand in front of me again.

“You think we can’t see it? We ALL see it, Ben, you love her. It’s been, what, 94 years of knowing her, and you still haven’t said it?” He chased me with his argument as I walked back toward the coffee table, rolling my eyes as I sucked down my whiskey.

“Why’s that any of your business, asshole?” I finally shot back at Hughie, “I’m here to take out the team, and fuck off back to Philly where she and I can be at peace. Whether that’s together or not.”

The boys eyes widened slightly at me before softening and giving a thoughtfully amused smirk. “You don’t know if she feels the same!”

My jaw clenched, and I rose my glass to point a finger at him, “Shut it,” I growled through grit teeth. As Hughie was about to counter, his words were left in his throat as Birdie let out a soft groan from her place below us.

I instantly crouched down, depositing my whiskey glass on the table behind me. Birdie’s eyes fluttered open, only to clamp them closed again with a wince as the light hit her eyes.

“You okay, sweetheart?” I asked lowly, barely above a whisper. She shook her head.

“Everyone needs to stop thinking so loud,” she mumbled, swiping a hand down her face before she squinted back up at me. “I can hear you all in my head.”

“Vought must’ve screwed with your DNA, mutated your genes to allow the brain to-“ my eyes shot to Hughie, cutting him off with a glare as he started to explain science-y shit for the millionth time this week. “Sorry. I’m gonna head to bed, hope you feel better Liz.”

The boy took his leave, also climbing the iron stairs to the bedrooms. As soon as I heard the door click shut, my hand was grasping for Bird’s.

“The fuck happened back there, Birdie? I’ve never seen you be so… cruel,” I asked gently, searching her blue eyes for any sign of that green energy I saw before.

“I-I don’t know. It’s been happening all week, since I met the team. I thought it was just the migraine, some whispers here and there. But yesterday, I heard full sentences come out of Hughie without him even opening his mouth. It all just compounded when we got to countess’ place,” she explained, just as lost as I was. “I blacked out as soon as her right wrist snapped.”

I sighed, hanging my head and squeezing her hand in my own. We had to figure this shit out before Butcher did it for us. What was I gonna do with her? I was always the fuck up, the gigantic mess that she had to follow after and clean up. I was the one that got us into trouble as kids, Birdie always coming up with clever lies and excuses to get us out of it. I couldn’t even make an excuse for her with this; I didn’t even know how.

I finally looked back up to see her eyes were welled with tears, a whimper being held back in her throat. “It hurts,” she finally whined, eyes clamping shut as the tears finally rolled down her cheeks. My heart squeezed as I watched her curl in on herself, gripping my hand like a lifeline she was afraid to let go of.

“I know, I’m sorrry,” I moved to sit next to her on the couch, pulling her into my lap. She finally let out a sigh, turning into my chest as I slightly rocked us back and forth. “I’m here, ya know. I’ll be here forever if you want.”

I didn’t have to look down to feel her nod against me, her small hands now clinging to my chest plate as she let her tears come in waves, sucking in shallow breaths and whimpering into my shoulder. I squeezed her just a bit tighter and leaned back into the cushions. We stayed there quietly, sniffles coming from Bird every once in a while before her breathing finally steadied. She closed her eyes and rested against me, letting me close my eyes and rest as well.

My body relaxed into hers, yet my mind raced with ten million questions, plans, and scenarios. How was I gonna help her? I could barely control myself. What happens if Butcher doesn’t hold up his end of our deal, and she gets fucked over because of it? What if-

“Ben,” Birdie’s tired British lilt snapped me from my heavy thoughts. Without opening her eyes, she reached up to my temple with her right hand, “Stop worrying. It’s really loud.”

As she said the words, I felt my mind quiet. All feeling of doubt and worry suddenly vanished with her touch, a sense of complete calm washing over me for the first time since I’d woken up. I turned to look down on her, jaw slightly slacked and eyes a tad wide. Bird finally opened her eyes to look up at me when she let her fingers fall away from my face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” she mumbled sheepishly, looking away from me to fiddle with her fingers and hide her gaze. I shook my head, my left forefinger and thumb coming to lift her chin to face me once more.

“No, it’s nice. Thank you,” I breathed, gazing down into those beautiful ocean blue eyes. I couldn’t help the turning of my head as Birdie stared back up with that confused expression I adored so much. It was innocent, one of quiet shock that made her eyes widen and her chest inflate with a deep breath. She looked almost concerned as I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing in her breath.

There was now only one thought in my head, the singular thought I was never able to control, not since my 21st birthday in nineteen forty. Not since Birdie raised a toast to me, praising all I’d done and how our friendship meant the world to her. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking that thought from the time she pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek, bidding me goodnight when I walked her to her apartment door. Since that night, I’d had one perpetual thought in my mind, and now, I knew she’d heard it.

“Ben-“

“You don’t have to say anything,” I practically pleaded with Bird, never leaving my place pressed against her. “You don’t have to…”

I couldn’t help myself, bringing my lips forward and taking hers in a gentle kiss. Instantly, my head filled with voices, hers, mine, others I didn’t recognise. A fire lit within my chest as I felt her press into me further, her delicate hand coming to clasp around my neck softly. I felt like I would melt in that moment, my whole body catching on fire and being doused in ice all at the same time. Finally, as Bird pulled away, taking a breath, the voices quieted, all except the ringing of my own. She then gazed back up to me.

“I love you too,” her unspoken words reverberated through my mind, quieting everything else once again.

My lips twitched upward in a wide smile, placing my forehead to hers once again with a contented sigh. I hadn’t felt this calm since before I got the V, a feeling I missed terribly. Now, my mind was quiet, nothing bustling around or causing a ruckus in my skull. Even some of my pain had subsided.

“I’ve wanted to say that since-“

“Your birthday at the Waldorf,” she giggled, gently brushing her nose against mine, arms now slung over my shoulders. “I heard you, just now.”

I leaned back, just to take her cheeks in my hands and stare into her eyes. “You’re my girl, always have been. No matter what or who I’ve done in the past, you’ve always been my number one.” She gave a small nod and leaned up to kiss me again. This one was languid and long, full of passion I’d only seen from her when she was writing.

“It’s quieter when I’m focused on you,” she whispered as she pulled away, laying herself back into my hold against my shoulder, sighing once again.

“Then focus on me,” I offered, rising from the couch with her draped over my arms. “You can focus on me as long as you need.”

I didn’t have to hear her answer to know she would agree, letting her lean into me fully as I opened my bedroom door. Bird giggled as I plopped her on the bed, earning a smile from me before I closed the door and locked it. She watched intently as I worked my armour and uniform off of myself, keeping only my black boxer briefs intact on my form. Her eyes went a little wider as I neared the bed, scanning up and down my abdomen and back to my face.

“What?” I asked, slipping into the covers before reaching for her shoulder and unclipping her fibulae.

A rose hue springs to her cheeks, hiding her gaze as I began taking her dash from her body, placing it on the beside table behind me. “I’ve never gotten used to how good you look without a shirt on,” she admitted abashedly. I chuckled and let a smirk form on my lips as I reached for the French zip at the base of her skull.

“I look better in nothing, I assure you,” I mused, noticing her heartbeat increase as she let me slide the zip down, down her spine, all the way to her tailbone.

My own breathing became heavier as I longing stared at the bare skin below her black suit. My fingers moved before I’d even given them permission, ghosting from her pelvis all the way back to the nape of her neck. Bird let out a shutter, her eyes fluttering closed as her spine curved into my touch. I could practically feel her pulse beneath my fingers as I slid them under the suit, pulling it off of her right shoulder.

“Wait,” her own hand came up to stop me before I could lower it any farther than her right collarbone. “Not tonight, please. I’m not in the best form to be-“

“Okay,” I cut her off, giving a small smile before giving a small peck to her shoulder blade and moving from the bed. “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel too well.”

I plucked another black shirt from my dresser and rounded the bed to hand it to her, taking her face in my left hand and gazing down on her seriously. “I’ve waited 83 years, two months, twelve days, and sixteen consecutive hours, baby. I can wait some more.” That furious blush once again flushed to her face and she turned away with a giddy smile, fidgeting with the shirt in her hands. “The bathroom is just across the hall.”

I placed a chaste peck to the crown of her head like I always did, letting her nod and rise from the bed to change. I could hear the water from across the hall as I laid back into the bed, lighting up a joint as I rested against the headboard. Finally, I heard the door and lights of the bathroom click shut as Bird made her way back to my room. I winked at her as she closed the door, exhaling a puff of smoke. I couldn’t help but stare as she rounded the bed to crawl in at my right, her plush thighs barely covered by the too long for her black shirt. I licked my lips as she crawled into the bed beside me.

“You keep thinking about fucking them and I’m gonna have to do the quiet thing to your brain again,” she pointedly told me, reaching for the joint between my fingers. I let her take it and exhaled once again.

“You’ve got the best pair of legs I’ve ever seen on a broad. Especially those skinny models they have nowadays. Ever since Twiggy the girls have been too thin,” I told her in earnestness. I only earned an eye roll from her as she inhaled the smoke from the spliff.

“You just like something to grab and you know it. You’ve always been handsy, you know,” she exhaled as she spoke.

I shrugged and took the joint as she passed it back, ashing it in the tray on my lap. We stayed quiet for a moment, the silence comfortable before Birdie sighed a deep, heavy sigh, shuffling to lay facing me beneath the covers.

“I do want to go back to Philadelphia with you, Ben. If you’ll have me,” her eyes practically pleaded up at me as she said the words. So, she could hear me while she slept. Not that I minded.

I ashed my joint completely, setting the ashtray down on the table to my left before I snuggled down into the bed just as Birdie had.

“I’ve always wanted to take you back home one day, retire,” I told her my old plans I’d made almost a lifetime ago, caressing her soft cheek. “Go back to that summer house my parents had at the lake. Make it ours.”

Birdie’s full lips pressed together in a thoughtful smile, the apple of her cheek swelling beneath my fingers as they did. “Then let’s go; when we’ve done our part, I want us to leave, get out of the business and just live. Finally get to be ourselves again.”

I nodded, knowing she was right. All she had to do was say the word, and I’d give her anything with in my power that I could. I’d burn the whole world for her, fuck everyone else. Birdie was my girl, now officially. I’d never let her slip from my grasp ever again.

@ladykitana90 @weaponxgames @tmb510 @criminalyetminimal @lamentationsofalonelypotato

[fewblood]

Beware of the Shadow - König x Fem Reader - Part 1

Ah…

It took me some effort not to yawn in the middle of the meeting I'm currently a part of. The gathering consisted of us, the four new KorTac recruits, listening to one of our instructors as he elaborate on the details of tomorrow's shooting test. Despite my attempts to stay engaged, his delivery was incredibly… slow. Feeling the pull of drowsiness, I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my thoughts to wander to past weeks' events.

I served in the military before. So, when I was offered a spot in this special organization, I seized this as an opportunity to start anew. Moreover, the compensation was generous; mostly due to the extensive secrecy of the job. I had to sign dozens upon dozens confidentiality agreements, to the extent I can't even disclose my employer nor workplace to my own family. 

I was gradually grinding my place nonetheless. But, like anyone before me, I had to pass a series of range tests. Overall it was demanding, but I handled it. I had to. 

A small cough snapped my eyes back open, my gaze focusing directly toward the men standing before us. One of them loomed significantly taller than the other however, so much so that I found myself wondering how he managed to navigate around on a daily basis.

He went by the name of König—the one that keeps his face hidden. 

It was my first time seeing him in person, although I had certainly heard of his reputation. His eerie presence was enough to send shivers down your spine, and what he's keeping hidden beneath his hood is rumored to be even more chilling. His silent nature was also known to be a stark contrast with the brutality he apparently displayed on the battlefield.

In short, I quickly came to the conclusion that he was someone better not messed with.

His gaze suddenly got on me, certainly prompted by how I was staring at him instead of paying attention to the snail pace instructions in the background. I held my gaze steady for a moment before redirecting my attention back to the briefing, which ended shortly afterward anyway. 

As everyone filed out of the room, I rose from my seat and took a moment to stretch my sore self, thinking I was alone. It was only after I made my neck crack in a satisfying way that I noticed the tall man eyeing me from the other corner of the room. However, he swiftly looked away when caught staring.

"Soldier, come here." he commanded, his stern voice offering no hints of a promising  encounter.

I raised a questioning eyebrow but eventually made my way to the front of the room. I stood in front of him like I wasn't impressed, though truth be told—hell he was quite imposing. Height become an irrelevant metric in his presence; you would always feel smaller next to him.

He's at least 6'8—no… 6'9", perhaps? 

"Yes, sir?" I replied as I kept my hands hidden behind me, subtly fidgeting my concerns away. His colossal stature had me tilting my head up quite a bit and, even then, his eyes were challenging to catch a glimpse of. 

König, though he towered over me, had a small look of intrigue. He squinted his eyes, making them even more difficult to perceive.

"What's your weapon of choice, soldier?" he asked out of nowhere. 

Well, hello to you too, I thought. Politeness, apparently, wasn't his strong suit. But that should be expected, I suppose...

His blunt question also caught me off guard since I assumed he was going to scold me for being distracted during a meeting, like a teacher might. A daunting teacher, in that case. But perhaps he was just curious, given he wasn't a part of our training before? And, considering tomorrow's shooting test, it made some kind of sense of him to inquire.

 "Well, anything that is a ranged weapon, sir. But I'd say I'm the most useful with a sniper in hand." I responded.

König looked at me with a new hint in his eyes. Was it curiosity? Amusement? It was difficult to tell.

"A trained sniper, hm?" He scoffed under his mask.

Ah, disdain then. 

"And what about your prior experiences?" he asked as he assessed me head to toe. The combination of his scrutiny and the questioning made it feel like I was under investigation, as if we were anything but from the same organization. Perhaps it's because I'm female? It wouldn't be the first time someone doubted my abilities solely for this reason.

It wasn't very pleasant to have to justify myself, but, as I felt I still wasn't off the hook completely, I eventually cleared my throat and answered again.

"I tried to join the police at first, but I enlisted in the army instead and served for some years before being recruited here."

König listened to my brief resume with an emotionless expression, though I could sense a hint of curiosity when his voice filled the room again.

"And what prevented you from joining the police?"

I could only meet König's gaze with a blank stare. He honed in on the one aspect I hoped he wouldn't, intensifying the irritation I was feeling over the entire situation. I looked away in an attempt to temper my now rising frustration, but his voice snapped back at me.

"Speak! I don't have all day."

"Sorry but this isn't relevant." I sharply replied. 

He stared right into my eyes, and I stared back, as if we're having some sort of a staring contest. The tension between us lingered with neither of us willing to address it. Again, his gaze revealed no emotions, offering no clues about his thoughts. 

And he abruptly shifted the subject, again.

"Well then, newbie… What about close-quarters combat? Do you know how to handle yourself?"

I pondered once more about what all this was about, but I eventually relaxed my jaw. A small smirk appeared on my lips, laden with all the bad omens it could carry. 

"I've been doing judo for a while, but tell me—is this some kind of interview? I would have printed my resume if I knew." I snickered.

He hummed as he slowly retrieved a small tablet from one of his cargo pockets. He tapped on it with quick, precise movements while I found myself studying his hands, wondering how he managed to use the compact device with such big fingers. My attention snapped back up when his thick German accent arose from beneath his black veil again.

"Indeed, your file says you are proficient in marksmanship and unarmed combat."

My eyes widened at the sudden mention of my 'file'. If he has access to my infos, what is he getting at?! I could only twitch my tongue in frustration, causing König to cast another assessing look my way.

"I want you in the gym in half an hour for a sparring match." he declared, allowing a moment of silence to let his words sink in.

"Against me."

—The fuck?! 

"Wha—But why?! The physical tests have already been done!" I protested, sounding more alarmed than what I would have liked to. 

I struggled to hold back the urge to enter panic mode, but that's it, I'm going to die—he’s going to fucking crush me. 

I stared at him putting his tablet back with eyes wide open, scanning for any signs this was just a bad dream I was having. He then looked back at my dumbfounded face, seemingly delighted by the panic oozing from every pore.

"Let me tell you this: I don't like your attitude, nor your refusal to disclose your antecedents. I'll see you in a bit."

And he just left me there, my mouth agape as a cold sweat ran down my spine. All I could hear was his echoing footsteps in the corridor before he left the building.

Well, I'm screwed.

[s4bbatical]

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | Part 1. (Rivals Declan O'Hara x Reader)

Part 2 here.

Warnings: Profanities, sexual tension, alcohol and cigarette use.

Author's note: I'm not exactly staying on top of the timeline of rivals, bare this in mind as you read. Of course with any self inserts, it's an AU with a bit of tweaking. No smut involved in this chapter, just fluff until I post more parts. AGE GAP (22!Reader). Thanks for reading.

It was your first week at the Corinium. You were a fresh-faced journalist straight out of Washington State University who had accepted an internship at the independent commercial television station in the county of Rutshire, England. Far from home and comfort, you strived to be the best at what you were asked to do. The pay was good, and the idea of being in another continent where anything was possible kept your drive at an all-time high. You were practicing your decorum quietly to yourself at your desk, fiddling with your pen.

"Already going mad, are you?" Your co-worker and new friend Seb asks, grinning as he puts down his homework on your desk.

You laugh awkwardly, crossing your leg over the other as you lean back to look up at the ginger. "If I have to hear Tony Baddingham cuss out another person because Declan O'Hara is too stubborn to take his lead," You quip, closing your own folder of paperwork. "I think I'll start drinking more." You exasperate, recalling the sudden outburst from Tony's office a mere five minutes ago. Seeing Declan O'Hara riled up was never a great sign, but you couldn't help but run your eyes over his sculpted arms when he took off his blazer in frustration.

"I think you need to start drinking more in general, y/n. You're in England now. We all have a problem." Seb comments, half-sitting on your desk. "You should come with us to Bar Sinister. It's owned by Basil, Tony's brother." He says, crossing his arms.

You raise a brow. "I thought we were assigned to get dirt on the next guest on Declan's and have it in by Monday. Wouldn't that cut into our research time?" You query.

Seb laughs. "You Americans are such workaholics." He shakes his head. "Come get a drink with us!" He pleas, hitting your arm lightly. "Those reputations aren't going anywhere. Besides, we're all going, you'll be the odd one out if you don't."

"All of you?" You say, looking across the room at Declan O'Hara. He's speaking to someone on the phone in his office, the blinds open enough to allow you for a peek. God, what a man he was.

"Yes, all of us. I can't speak for Tony or Declan, though." Seb hums, the feeling of disappointment washing over you. "I'd like to see you there, though." He adds, the both of you sharing a lingering gaze before he gets up and walks away.

If you didn't know any better, you'd think your colleague was flirting with you. You didn't mind it, really. Seb was attractive, and only a year younger than you. Unfortunately, you just had a taste something a little more aged. Everyone seemed to want to fuck each other in this office. You barely managed to avoid the claws of some of the older men yourself, not that you were complaining-- besides the fact none of them were Declan O'Hara.

You decide to stand up, grabbing ahold of your folder before boldly heading over to Mr. O'Hara's office. You slowly knock on the ajar door to get his attention before you step in.

"-We'll discuss this later. Goodbye." Declan says into his phone, hanging it up when he notices you. "Y/n, hello. What can I do for you?" He asks, putting his hands behind his back as he leans back in his chair.

Many things. You think to yourself, trying to look away from his stretched out torso before speaking. "I was just wondering if I could help you with anything else before I leave today Mister O'Hara? I just noticed you seem a bit stressed, maybe I could take something off of your plate if possible." You say, smoothing out your skirt.

He chuckles lightly, leaning forward to take a sip of his whiskey on the rocks. "Call me Declan, love. No need for so much professionalism." He sighs, your heart skipping a beat at his words of endearment as he runs a hand through his hair. "I'm 'fraid not. Tony's up my arse, and my wife's trying to throw this ridiculously expensive party for my son's birthday which also happens to be New Year's and..." He notices your glimmer of concern in your eyes, staring into them as if he got distracted. "I uh," He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it." He says, waving it off.

"I'm sorry, that does seem like an awful lot." You say, your cheeks reddening from his stare. "You don't deserve that, you know. The way Mister Baddingham treats you." You mutter, toying with the folder in your arms.

Declan chuckles, pulling out a cigarette and popping it into his mouth. "Try telling him that." He says wryly, lighting up the smoke.

"Well Declan, there's a group of us going to Bar Sinister later, if you'd like to unwind. God knows we both need it." You try to joke, laughing awkwardly as Declan gives you a look. You clear your throat, straighten your spine. "Sorry, just a suggestion." You mumble.

He laughs genuinely this time, inhaling his cigarette again. "You're funny, y/n. I thought it would be intolerable hiring an American journalist-"

"Hey!" You interject, gasping playfully.

"But!" Declan holds a hand up, stopping you from speaking further. "You're quite lovely to have around. I enjoy your presence." He says, smiling at you. "I hope you consider a permanent placement in the future."

Your face lights up, a big smile on your face now. "Thank you Mister- Declan." You correct yourself. He laughs again. "But I would have to become apart of your personal board to get approved for anything like that." You add.

"Well," Declan says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. "I hope you don't mind if I consider that possibility y/n. You have a lot of potential, and I admire your drive." He admits, clasping his hands together and putting them on his desk.

"I am very flattered, Declan. Thank you." You say, looking down before meeting his gaze again. "It's been a pleasure working for you." The undertone of your words hint at something beyond, causing Declan to tilt his chin up a bit to analyze you.

There was something about you that had caught his attention since you first set foot in Corinium, and he couldn't seem to shake his mind from it. It was like a guilty pleasure he could never acknowledge out loud.

The phone rings. Declan nods towards it, signaling for the conversation to end. "See you tonight, y/n." He finishes, taking the phone off it's mantle as you feel heat beginning to simmer in your abdomen, nodding before leaving his office and closing the door behind you.

You have a wide grin on your face as you make your way back to your desk, hastily returning to your work in order to keep the evening free.

-

Much to your surprise, it was karaoke night at the bar. There was a good mix of random patrons and recognizable faces taking turns singing out ballads.

You and Seb were sat at the bar, him sipping on a Guinness as you had a vodka soda. Classic American, he commented when you ordered it.

“You gonna go up there?” You ask Seb, gesturing towards Freddie Jones who was pouring his heart out on the mic.

“Mm, possibly. What’d you reckon I sing? I’m tone deaf but maybe if everyone gets drunk enough no one will notice.” He jokes, earning a fit of laughter from you both.

“I love The Cure if that’s any help.” You suggest, finishing your vodka soda.

Seb quickly gestures for the bartender to bring over a bottle of wine. He notices your curious expression, shrugging his shoulders. “Company’s paying for this shite, not me." He explains. "Also, The Cure? I like 'em, but they’re not gonna translate with these guys.” He says, drinking his pint. He pours you a glass of wine as you glance around the space, trying to spot Declan anywhere.

“What about Last Christmas? You know, by Wham? It’s almost Christmas after all.” You say, already pouncing on your glass of wine.

“I do like that one, maybe I’ll do it yeah.” Seb says nonchalantly, finishing his Guinness. “I’ll go right now, actually.” He suddenly gets up, walking through the crowd.

You grab the wine bottle itself and take a swig from it, feeling the alcohol flush out your face. You hated how it made your cheeks red like you were ashamed to be plastered.

You finally see the man you were waiting for enter the place, scanning the room before his eyes landed on yours. You give Declan a timid wave, causing him to walk over as Seb began singing on stage. “You made it!” You exclaim, returning to pouring the wine into your glass so you seemed classy in front of your inappropriate work crush.

“Yes, sorry. Had to stay later at the office to do more flawed research.” He jests, nodding towards the bartender who already knew his regular. Declan referred to finding dirt on his guests as flawed research, mainly so it didn’t seem so inane in conversation.

"You're very dedicated to your work, I'm surprised you have time for any of this." You say, allowing yourself to speak more freely now that you were definitely tipsy.

"My wife would say the same." He sighs, taking a sip of his glass of whiskey.

You take another sip of your glass, trying to conceal your distaste at the mention of his wife. "Is she not very pleased with you, Declan?" You ask, causing your boss's face to harden. "I'm sorry," You quickly add. "That's personal I shouldn't have said that, that's so stupid of me-"

"Y/n." Declan says, putting a hand on your arm. You feel your body burn up at his touch. "It's okay, really. It's actually relieving to know you don't know anything about my martial problems. Everyone does." He says dryly, taking another sip of his whiskey. "She's not too keen on me being obsessed with my job. She compares it to cheating on her, which I find rather hypocritical considering..." He trails off, smiling at you. "Forget it." He raises his glass, clinking yours. "To you, for being an amazing intern." He slams back his glass, putting it down and grabbing ahold of the aged bottle of whiskey to pour himself.

You smile awkwardly, raising your glass before taking another sip of your wine. You piece it together in your head, realizing that his wife must've committed adultery; just like almost every other married person you've worked alongside so far. "Jesus, Declan. I'm sorry." You mumble, hearing Seb's singing end in the distance.

"Please, don't apologize. It wasn't your fault." Declan says, a look of yearning in his eyes.

"If I were her, I'd never do anything of the sort. If I was with someone like you I'd cherish it everyday." You say, finishing your glass of wine.

Declan raises a brow, chuckling heartily. "And someone would be very, very lucky to have you y/n." He replies, the two of you locked in a stare.

You were definitely drunk by now, and wine always gave you an edge to flirt with whomever you found most attractive in the room. You place a hand on his arm, finally knowing what it was like to feel his muscles through the thin material of his button up. "You deserve better, Declan." You say, rubbing your thumb along his bicep. You watch as the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile, placing his hand over yours on his arm.

"How'd you think I did?" Seb asks, returning the bar and interrupting the moment between you and Mr. O'Hara. You pull back, turning yourself to face Seb.

"You did great, Seb." You say, pressing a kiss on his cheek, causing his face to go as red as his hair. "I think I'm gonna give it a shot, show the English what talents an American has." You grin, unable to make eye contact with Declan out of embarrassment for trying to flirt with a married man. However, the commonality of cheating on spouses here still gave you a sliver of hope as you walked towards the stage, a mask of confidence due to alcohol consumption.

"What song are you gonna do?" Seb asks, following in suit.

"You'll see." You say. You walk up to the host, whispering a song in their ear. They nod, giving you a thumbs up as you get on the stage.

Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears starts to play, causing the entire place to riot with excitement. You grin madly, grabbing ahold of the microphone as the lyrics begin to play. You watch as Declan makes his way through the crowd, standing between Freddie and Seb to watch you perform.

"I wanted to be with you alone And talk about the weather But traditions I can trace against the child in your face Won't escape my attention."

You dance along to the music, singing freely like no one was watching.

"You keep your distance via the system of touch And gentle persuasion I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much? Oh, you're wasting my time You're just, just, just wasting time..."

You now make eye contact with Declan O'Hara, singing the chorus. Everyone's dancing around, paying no mind to where your attention was.

"Something happens and I'm head over heels I never find out until I'm head over heels Something happens and I'm head over heels Ah, don't take my heart, don't break my heart Don't, don't, don't throw it away..."

Declan watches you in admiration, realizing you're singing directly at him. You look away for the rest of the song, only returning your gaze when the chorus comes up again. When the song ends, you give a little curtesy, putting the mic back on the stand as everyone cheers madly.

"That was brilliant, y/n!" Seb exclaims, holding you in an embrace. You laugh, hugging him back. "Thanks, Seb."

"Seb, can you do one with me?" Daysee asks, causing Seb to pull away from you. "Course, what're you thinking?" The two of them walk away, leaving you be to earn compliments from the rest of your colleagues.

"You have a great voice." Declan says, causing you to turn and face him. "Great song, too." He adds.

"Thanks, it was a personal choice." You say, the next song starting up. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac starts playing, Seb and Daysee's choice. "Fuck, I love this song." You exclaim, looking over at the stage as your friends begin to sing along.

"As do I," Declan says. "Care to dance?" He asks, causing your gaze to return to his outstretched hand.

You smile. "I'd love to." You place one hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand as he places a hand on the small of your back. Your breathing becomes more shallow as the two of you rock to the music, staring into each other's eyes.

You didn't know if you were simply too drunk to acknowledge the reality of the situation, but you couldn't help but wonder if Declan was starting to like you a little more than just an intern that was great at her job.

The space between the two of you becomes insignificant, your head slowly leaning onto his chest as his hand moves down to your lower back, staying at the top of your skirt. You close your eyes as the two of you rock in sync, hearing his heart beat rather triumphally. Your stomach is full of butterflies, and the heat between your legs is almost unbearable as he rubs small circles on your lower back.

He smelled like Tom Ford cologne and Marlboro Golds with an undertone of whiskey, the scent of him nearly more intoxicating than the alcohol itself. You feel his chest vibrate as he quietly sings along to the song, causing you to pull your head back to look at him. You both start singing along, your faces merely inches away from each other.

"When the rain washes you clean, you'll know You'll know You will know Oh, you'll know.."

The song ends, everyone erupting into applause as you register the proximity of you and Declan, taking a step back as you notice the stares of your colleagues.

"Thanks for the dance." You mumble, looking down at the ground. "I uh, need to find Seb he's my ride." You say abruptly, leaving Declan stunned on the dancefloor as you hurriedly approach your ginger colleague. "Can you drive me home now?" You ask, putting a hand on his arm.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. Do you need a ride too Daysee?" He asks, the blonde shaking her head.

"'M alright. I'll see you lads on Monday." She says, grinning as the two of you grab your coats from the bar stools.

"Goodbye, Declan." You say, making eye contact with the brooding man who simply looks at you.

"Goodnight, y/n." He responds, inhaling his cigarette before looking away.

You feel a pang in your chest as you look at Declan for another moment, expecting more. He says nothing else. Seb leads you away from the bar, allowing you to let go of any longing between you and Mr. O'Hara.

Declan knew it was wrong to think of you in any other light outside of work. Even if Maud had cheated on him before, with the tendency to keep going at it, he still couldn't shake the guilt away just yet. He retreated to disregarding you as a means to hopefully make you both forget about the whole ordeal, as if he wasn't thinking about what it would be like to have his hands underneath that tight pencil skirt of yours.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, lighting another cigarette. The holiday season was about to be a real hassle, and he was afraid of asking Santa for what he really wished for this time around.

-

guys... i finally did it... declan o'hara i want you so bad. i think im just gonna write a part two to this maybe three, and leave it at that. if you have any requests pweaseee leave them for meeee this show has me in a CHOKEHOLD.

much love as always, isabel