#today was the first time they lost when I was here :(

[goldfades]

ROOKIE ─── PAIGE BUECKERS

request: "paige's gf and she insists on teaching her basketball—even though she's terrible at it. paige spends half the time “coaching” her (aka being flirty) and the other half laughing when she completely miss the basket"

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here—standing under the hoop on a Saturday afternoon, gripping a basketball like it’s some foreign object you’ve never encountered before.

In your defense, sports have never been your thing. You’re more of a cheer-from-the-bleachers, snack-at-halftime, maybe-ask-what-a-three-pointer-is-later kind of person. And yet, here you are, because your girlfriend, Paige—decided today was the day you’d “learn the fundamentals.”

“Okay, baby, it’s easy,” she says, her voice brimming with the sort of confidence only someone who’s mastered the art of the crossover can pull off. She spins a ball on her finger effortlessly, her grin teasing but somehow still the softest thing you’ve ever seen. “All you gotta do is aim and shoot. No pressure.”

You squint up at the basket. It feels like it’s a mile away. “No pressure?” you deadpan, bouncing the ball once and grimacing when it doesn’t exactly obey. “Do you even know me?”

Paige snickers, sidling closer until she’s standing next to you, her hand on your hip. She’s wearing her usual practice gear: baggy shorts, sneakers laced tight, and a loose shirt that somehow still manages to hint at the muscle underneath. It’s honestly unfair how good she looks while being this annoying.

“Listen,” she says, her tone shifting into something that almost passes for serious. Almost. “I know you. I also know you’re fully capable of putting this ball in that hoop if you just focus and stop looking at me like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

You glance at her, and she’s smirking now, like she knows she’s caught you. Which, to be fair, she has. “First of all,” you mutter, turning back to the basket, “I do want to be here. Second, you’re distracting.”

“Am I?” Her voice is teasing, but you don’t dare look again. You already know she’s doing that thing where she cocks her head just a little and raises her eyebrows like she’s so impressed with herself. “Want me to step back so you can concentrate, rookie?”

“No,” you reply, huffing. “But if you call me rookie one more time, I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna what?” Paige interrupts, leaning down just enough so her lips are by your ear. Her voice drops an octave, and you swear you can feel her grin against your skin. “Miss the basket again?”

You groan, shoving her lightly with your elbow, but the weight of her hand on your hip doesn’t budge. She’s laughing now, full and bright and utterly unapologetic, and despite your best efforts to stay annoyed, you can’t help but crack a smile.

This is going to be a disaster. You can feel it.

You take a step back, spinning the ball once between your hands, trying to look like you’ve got some semblance of control. You absolutely do not. It’s slippery and awkward, and you’re already regretting agreeing to this. Paige watches you with the intensity of a coach but the playfulness of a girlfriend who knows exactly what she’s doing.

“Alright, babe, let’s see what you’ve got,” she says, crossing her arms and leaning back on her heels, all casual and amused. She looks entirely too comfortable with the idea of watching you embarrass yourself.

You square your shoulders and look up at the hoop again, trying to remember the quick, nonsensical explanation Paige gave you about form and aim. Something about “elbows in,” “flicking your wrist,” and “imagining you’re putting cookies in the oven.” Honestly, she lost you after “elbows.”

Paige steps closer, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the court. “Okay, pause,” she says, gently placing her hands on your shoulders to adjust your stance. Her touch lingers a little too long to be entirely innocent, and you glance at her, catching the faintest flicker of her teasing grin. “You’re holding the ball like it’s gonna explode. Relax.”

You loosen your grip, if only slightly, and she takes a step back, nodding approvingly. “Much better. Now, bend your knees. Remember, this isn’t a free throw contest, it’s a rhythm thing. Like dancing.”

“Dancing?” You give her a skeptical look. “You’ve seen me dance. That’s not helping your case.”

“True,” she says, laughing. “But at least you don’t step on anyone’s toes here.” Her hand brushes your lower back, the contact brief but enough to send a little jolt through you. She always does this—throws you off-kilter just enough to make you forget what you were supposed to be doing.

You shake your head, focusing on the hoop again. “Alright, alright. I’m doing it.”

“You’re doing it,” Paige echoes, stepping back into your peripheral vision, her hands on her hips like she’s supervising. “Visualize it going in. Manifest it.”

“Manifest it?” you deadpan. “Are you a basketball player or a yoga instructor?”

“Both, apparently,” she shoots back, laughing again. “Come on, just throw it already.”

You take a deep breath, bend your knees, and, in one fluid (well, semi-fluid) motion, you shoot. The ball arcs through the air in what you think is a promising trajectory… only to miss the basket entirely and bounce harmlessly off the backboard. It rolls lazily away, as if to add insult to injury.

Paige absolutely loses it. She doubles over, clutching her stomach as laughter spills out of her. It’s loud and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that’s so contagious you almost forget why she’s laughing in the first place. Almost.

“Don’t laugh,” you say, but your own voice wobbles with the threat of a giggle. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Paige straightens up, wiping at the corner of her eye dramatically. “Babe, you hit the backboard so hard I think it just filed for workers’ comp.”

“Wow, okay,” you say, rolling your eyes but failing to hide your grin. “This is why I don’t play sports.”

“Oh, come on.” Paige retrieves the ball with a few quick strides, tossing it effortlessly between her hands as she makes her way back to you. She stops just in front of you, holding the ball out. “You’re doing fine. You just need more practice.”

“And by practice, you mean you laughing at me until I cry?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” she says with a grin that’s entirely too charming to argue with. “Now, let’s try again. But this time…” She steps behind you, wrapping her arms around you and placing her hands over yours on the ball. “I’m gonna guide you.”

Your breath catches slightly as she leans in, her voice soft and close to your ear. “Okay, elbows in. Knees bent. Don’t think too hard about it. Just feel it.”

It’s a miracle you’re even upright at this point, let alone holding the ball. Her voice is low and encouraging, her arms warm and steady around you, and suddenly, basketball doesn’t seem so terrible.

“Now,” she murmurs, her hands shifting just enough to nudge yours into position. “Shoot.”

You do, and this time, the ball actually arcs in a somewhat respectable manner. It hits the rim and bounces off, but it’s a lot closer than before.

“Progress!” Paige announces, stepping back with a proud smile. “You’re getting there, rookie.”

You groan. “Stop calling me rookie!”

“Never.” She’s already picking up the ball again, twirling it on her finger like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “One more time. Let’s see if we can actually make one.”

“Fine,” you say, holding out your hands. “But if I make this shot, you owe me something.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise, her smile turning playful. “Like what?”

“I don’t know yet,” you say, taking the ball and narrowing your eyes at the hoop. “But I’m thinking something big.”

Paige laughs, leaning against the pole of the hoop, her gaze fixed on you. “Deal. But if you miss… I get to call you rookie forever.”

You shake your head, fighting back a smile. “No pressure, right?”

“Exactly,” she says, her grin widening. “No pressure at all.”

You focus on the hoop again, blocking out everything except the promise of finally making this shot—and maybe wiping that smug grin off Paige’s face. With newfound determination, you bend your knees, grip the ball like you actually know what you’re doing, and take the shot.

Time slows down for a second. The ball soars in a near-perfect arc, hits the rim… and bounces around it once, twice, before dropping cleanly through the net with a satisfying swish.

For a moment, you just stand there, stunned. Then it clicks: you made it. You actually made it.

“Oh my god!” you squeal, throwing your hands up in triumph. “Did you see that? I made it! I actually made it!”

Before Paige can even respond, you’re hopping around the court like you just won a championship game. Your excitement is entirely disproportionate to what just happened, but you don’t care. You’re too busy celebrating your hard-won victory, flailing your arms and spinning in a little circle.

Paige leans against the hoop, watching you with a mixture of amusement and adoration. “You’d think you just scored the game-winner at Madison Square Garden,” she teases, but the softness in her voice gives her away.

“This is my moment, Paige!” you shoot back, still grinning like a fool. You stop hopping just long enough to grab her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly. “I made it! I’m a basketball prodigy now. Bow down!”

She laughs, her hands coming up to rest on your waist. “Alright, Michael Jordan, calm down.”

You narrow your eyes at her, playful and determined. “No, you don’t get to laugh. I deserve a reward for this. A big reward.”

Paige arches a brow, her lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, do you now? What kind of reward are we talking about?” Her voice dips into that suggestive tone that always makes your heart skip a beat.

You tap your chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… how about… lunch? I’m starving. And since I’m the champion now, you get to go buy it for me.”

Paige blinks, her smirk faltering. “Lunch?”

“Yup,” you say cheerfully, stepping back and crossing your arms. “From that cute little sandwich place I like. You can’t say no. I earned this.”

Paige stares at you, her expression torn between disbelief and fake betrayal. “You just made the shot of your life, and this is what you ask for? A sandwich?”

“What did you think I was going to ask for?” you counter, cocking your head.

She shrugs, her tone casual but her grin anything but. “I don’t know. Maybe a kiss. Or maybe some leg-shaking, world shattering head.”

“Paige!” You shout at her language, rolling your eyes, though your cheeks heat up at the suggestion. “I just exerted all my physical and emotional energy making that shot. I need food first. Priorities.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face in mock despair. “You’re killing me here. Fine. But only because I’m impressed you actually made it.”

“Damn right you’re impressed,” you say, puffing out your chest dramatically. “Now go. And don’t forget the extra pickles!”

Paige shakes her head, laughing as she jogs off toward the parking lot. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You owe me, rookie!”

“Never!” you call after her, grinning as you watch her go.

You sink onto the court, still buzzing with excitement. Sure, basketball might not be your thing, but moments like this? With her? You could get used to them.

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[aquaticmercy]

Full Throttle

Summary : Bucky thinks he hooked up with a really pretty mechanic. 

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x motorcycle racer!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : cursing. Sex is implied. Bucky on a motorcycle. Purely self-indulgent fic.

Word count : 3.9k

Note : reader is a MotoGP rider! I’m still reeling from the championship battle last week that I just needed to write this. Also I apologise for everyone who wasn’t tagged in waste a moment! I lost half my notes and I’ve been trying to recover it. Hopefully it’ll be resolved by tomorrow. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just drawn to motorcycles because they were fast or dangerous— at least not entirely. 

He loved them because of the freedom they gave him, the sense of control when everything else in his life felt it had spiralled into oblivion. Riding demanded focus and precision—all the things he’d spent the last couple of years training. 

When he was on his bike, the world faded away. There was only the hum of the engine, the wind in his hair, and the open road.

And sure, being on the road was fun, but sometimes, all he wanted was a challenge.

That’s when he found the dirt track in the edge of town— a place where he could train for missions that called for high-speed chases— a place he could lose himself for a while. 

It was something fun to do once in a while, you know? Sam would call this a hobby.

The roar of engines and the earthy tang of kicked-up dirt felt like home. In a way, it was strangely meditative. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human— to push himself to the limit, to make mistakes and learn.

Every Tuesday, after training, he came to the track. 

And every Tuesday, so did you.

The first time he saw you, Bucky had to do a double take. You were standing by your bike, helmet tucked under one arm, dirt streaked across your padded leather jacket.

Bucky was no stranger to beautiful people, but there was something about you that struck him differently— maybe it was the confidence in the way you carried yourself or the fire in your eyes when you looked his way. Either way, he was floored.

At first, he figured you were just another skilled rider trying to forget the world. That it was just a hobby, like it was to him. But as the weeks went on, you realised this was your life. 

It must be.

The way you rode was… incredible. Every turn was sharp, calculated. Precise. 

And despite your obvious talent, you never made a big deal about it. Just like you never made a big deal out of the fact that he was the fucking Winter Soldier. 

Of course, you knew who he was—he’d caught the occasional glint of recognition in your eyes. But you never brought it up, never asked for autographs or photos. Instead, you treated him like just another guy at the track.

That didn’t mean you didn’t flirt, though.

Every now and then, you’d throw him a cheeky grin. You’d playfully tell him things like, “Nice lap, soldier,” and Bucky would just blush (which you found adorable, of course).

He would always try to laugh it off, but the truth was, your teasing left his heart racing faster than his bike ever could.

—

Bucky had been working up the nerve for weeks, and today, he thought he would finally bite the bullet. 

Today he was going to ask you out. 

You were wiping the sweat from your brow when he leaned casually against his bike, trying to look more confident than he felt.

“You’re always here on a Tuesday,” he said, before mentally groaning at himself

What the fuck was that? He thought. Is Always here on a Tuesday really the best flirty opening line he had? It was not even an open-ended question. It was just an observation. Nice one, Barnes.

But instead of brushing him off, you paused, setting your gloves down with an amused spark lighting up in your eyes. “Could say the same for you, Barnes.” You tilted your head and gave a casual shrug, acting as if having a stunning super soldier gawking over you wasn’t flattering. “You stalking me?”

The corner of his lips curved upward, the nervous tension melting away ever so slightly. “Maybe I just like the view.”

That earned him a smirk. You let your eyes descend over him—his dark hair falling in perfect disarray, his shirt clinging to his chest under his jacket. “Sure,” you teased. 

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason to show up.”

“Oh?” you asked, stepping closer, tossing your helmet onto your bike seat with a little dramatic flair. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier needs more practice catching bad guys on a bike. Thought you had that down.”

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, letting his gaze linger on you. “Never hurts to train. Especially when there’s someone like you around to keep me humble.”

“Humble?” You quirked an eyebrow, folding your arms as you leaned a hip against the leather seat of the bike. “Looked pretty cocky last week, pulling that stunt to take down the bad guy.”

He blinked, genuinely surprised. “You saw that?”

It had been a theft— some guy thought he could steal experimental weapons from an old Stark warehouse and get away with it. Not his cleanest chase, but he did the job.

“Please, it was all over the news. Did you not see the four helicopters following the chase?” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. “I gotta say, you’re not bad, Barnes.”

“Not bad?” he echoed, feigning offence.

You leaned in just a little, dropping your voice. “I’ve seen smoother turns. If you want pointers, I could teach you a thing or two.”

His lips parted, but no words came out for a moment as he processed how close you were. “You offering lessons now?”

You laughed before gesturing at his bike. 

This was his dirt bike, a recreational bike— not the one he used for the chase last week. Still, it could use a bit of… fine tuning. 

“Tell you what, soldier,” you said, “Fix that lag in your throttle response first. Then I’ll teach you a thing or two about taking corners.”

Bucky tilted his head, narrowing his eyes “There’s nothing wrong with my throttle response.”

“Oh, honey,” you purred, stepping just close enough for your shoulder to brush his. “I could hear it lagging from halfway across the track.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. 

“You saying I need a tune-up?”

“I’m saying,” you said, your voice like velvet, “that if you wanna keep up, you’re gonna need a better setup.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. He still didn’t have the guts to ask you out that day, but he walked away with hope, that maybe, this could grow into something more.

—

“So, you gonna tell me why you’ve been walking around with that goofy smile lately?” Sam asked, leaning back in his chair with a knowing look.

“What smile?” Bucky muttered, immediately defensive.

“The one you think nobody notices,” he shrugged. “Spill it, Buck. What’s her name?”

Bucky hesitated, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t planned to tell anyone about his little crush. least of all Sam, but the look on his friend’s face said he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

“Fine,” he said, exhaling. “There’s this girl.”

Sam grinned. 

“She goes to the dirt track I go to every Tuesday,” Bucky said, staring at the bottle in his hands like it held the secret to not sounding like a lovesick idiot as he told him all about you. 

—

From then on, Tuesdays became his favourite day of the week.

Bucky found himself counting down the hours until he could see you again, his mind replaying every smile, every laugh, every teasing touch.

You became bolder, not afraid of calling him handsome, of touching his arm even if it wasn’t necessary. 

And damn it if didn’t make his heart race.

One evening, after a particularly thrilling session on the track, Bucky decided he’d had enough of dancing around what he wanted. 

Leaning casually against his handlebars, he called out, “Race me.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “What’s in it for me?” you asked, folding your arms and tilting your head in that way that always made his stomach flip.

“If you win,” he started, “you get bragging rights for a week.”

“A week, huh?” You repeated dramatically, “and if you win?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a slow grin, trying to appear confident even though his heart was pounding in his chest. “I get your number.”

Your giggle rang out, bright and sweet, and for a second, Bucky forgot how to breathe. “You got yourself a deal, soldier,” you said, shaking your head. 

—

The two of you lined up at the start of the track, engines growling. 

Bucky’s focus sharpened—he wasn’t just racing for pride; he was racing for the chance to finally take a step toward something he had wanted for months now. 

When the signal came, you both shot off like bullets, dirt kicking up in clouds behind your tires. Bucky pushed his bike to the limit, leaning into every corner, his muscles strained with effort, grappling the dirt bike for control. But no matter how fast he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were holding back. 

You were supposed to be faster, more precise than this sloppy performance you were giving. He’d seen you before. What happened?

As you neared the final stretch, you slowed, just enough for him to surge ahead and cross the finish line first. 

He skidded to a stop, panting and exhilarated, but the smug grin on your face told him everything he needed to know.

When you walked over later and handed him a scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it, you leaned in close enough for him to catch the faint scent of sweat and motor oil. “You won it fair and square,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching with a grin he couldn’t suppress. “You let me win.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” you feigned innocence, but couldn’t help the grin widening on your face.

He tucked the paper into his pocket, shaking his head.

As you put on your helmet back on, you casually remarked, “Throttle’s still lagging, by the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Bucky groaned, pretending to be annoyed. Secretly, he was thrilled to keep the conversation going. “I think it’s the fuel filter, but I haven’t had time to swap it out.”

“I’ve got one at my place,” you told him, turning on your engine, “Why don’t you come by?”

His head snapped up, surprised at the offer. “Now?”

“Why not?” 

—

When arrived at your place, he had braced himself for something simple—a cosy apartment, maybe a small cluttered corner dedicated to your bike tools. 

What he hadn’t expected was this.

Standing in the doorway, he blinked at the modern yet homey design laid out before him. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in golden evening light, reflecting off polished floors and expensive-looking furniture. The view of the city stretched out like a postcard behind you as you stood, arms crossed, watching him with a hint of amusement.

“This… is your apartment?” he asked, taking a step inside. His greasy leather jacket suddenly felt so out of place. His gaze darted over to a marble countertop in the kitchen, a plush couch, and then the walls— lined with the kind of art he’s only seen in high society auctions.

You tilted your head, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Not what you expected, Barnes?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Not really…”

“Ah,” you replied, moving toward a door off the main living area. “So just because I work with bikes, I can’t have nice things?”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered quickly, following you.

You threw a sly glance over your shoulder. “Didn’t have to.”

He tried to think of a witty response, but he was distracted by the thought of you—the way you moved, confident and unbothered, like you belonged in every room you entered.

You led him to a heavy door and pushed it open, revealing a contrast to the rest of the apartment— your workshop.

The workshop smelled like oil, grease, and faintly of rubber, the air swirling with the comforting scent of metal and machinery. The walls were lined with shelves holding neatly organised tools, spare parts, and bottles of lubricants. A stripped-down high-performance bike stood at the centre of the room, its engine exposed, wires and cables hanging loose. 

Now this room, he thought, was undoubtedly you.

“This is more like it,” he murmured, his lips curving into a faint smile.

“See?” You smirked, moving to grab the replacement part he needed. “I’m not as fancy as you think.”

After pulling his bike through the back, he leaned against the wall, watching as you crouch next to his bike and get to work. 

For a moment, he was quiet.

He watched in silence— the way your hands moved with precision, the way you were entirely in your element. 

“So,” you began, glancing up at him. “What’s the Winter Soldier doing on a dirt track every Tuesday, anyway? Don’t you have, I don’t know, a world to save?”

He chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. “The world can wait.”

You laughed softly, returning your focus to the filter. 

“I get it, kind of,” you replied, loosening a bolt. “Wanting to get away from everything.”

From then on, the conversation came effortlessly. 

At first, he kept it light, sticking to anecdotes about the track or the occasional joke about his less-than-smooth bike handling in the beginning. But there was something about the way you listened—your easy, genuine curiosity—that made him feel safe, like he didn’t have to keep everything locked away anymore.

At one point, he couldn’t help but ask how someone who worked with bikes could afford a place like this. You only shrugged with a smile, giving the same answer you always did: “I got lucky.” He didn’t press, though he was curious—the ease in which you sidestepped the question intrigued him.

Before long, the conversation drifted again. He found himself sharing more than he ever thought he would. He told you about his missions, the chaos of his Winter Soldier days, the things he’d done and the memories he was still piecing together. 

And you listened—not with pity, but with an understanding that felt rare, even among the people he called friends.

“You’re good at this,” he finally said. 

“Bikes?”

“People,” he admitted, his eyes flicking to yours.

“Well, bikes are like people,” You tilted your head, studying him with a small, curious smile. “Both require care, attention, and understanding to perform at their best.”

When you finally finished, you stood, wiping your hands on a cloth. “All set,” you said, gesturing toward his bike. 

“Thank you.” he said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he lingered, his eyes on you as you leaned back against the counter.

“So,” you said, breaking the thick silence, your voice dipping into something almost playful. “You gonna stick around, or do you have somewhere to be?”

“Nowhere important,” he admitted quietly.

He took a step closer, then another.

The space separating you seemed to dissolve, his eyes locked on yours, pulling you in like gravity.

“Careful,” you murmured, teasing. “I might think you’re stalling just to spend more time with me.”

His lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile. “And if I am?”

The words hit you like a shot of adrenaline, your heart beating out of your chest. There was no humour in his tone, no hint of the usual back-and-forth banter that had defined so many of your conversations. Just desire staring back at you.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He was close now, so close you could feel the heat rolling off him, his metal hand brushing against the counter as he leaned in.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, a low growl in his throat. He cupped your jawline, mustering all the courage she could possibly gather. 

You didn’t.

Instead, your lips parted in anticipation as he leaned in. Unable to bear it any longer, you tilted your head up, meeting him halfway.

The first press of his lips against yours was gentle, and the second was anything but. The restraint shattered immediately, giving way to something feral. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you closer, his lips moving with a hunger that’s been brewing since he first saw you on the track.

Your hands found his chest, sliding up to his shoulders, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. You tugged him closer, your chest pressing against his. He let out a low moan that sent a shiver down your spine.

When you finally broke apart for air, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mixing in the narrow space between you. His voice was husky, as if he was still recovering. “I should really take you out on a date first.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your hands still fisted in his shirt. “You can still do that.”

His lips brushed yours again. “Aren’t you trouble?”

“You love it,” you whispered, grinning wickedly as you pulled him back in.

The next kiss was hotter, hungrier—  it consumed you both. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed you out of the workshop and into the apartment. 

Your movements were uncoordinated, messy, your lips never leaving his as you stumbled against walls, furniture, and whatever else got in the way.

By the time you reached the bedroom, nothing else mattered.

—

Bucky woke to the soft light peeking through your curtains.

The scent of coffee reached him first. When he stumbled out of your bedroom, he spotted you at the marble kitchen counter, leaning on your elbows with a steaming mug in hand. You were dressed in one of your oversized shirts— and looked far too innocent for all the filthy things you did to him last night.

“Mornin’ doll,” he greeted  as he sat across from you.

“Morning,” you chuckled at his adorable tousled hair. 

“So…” he started, his voice thick with sleep, “about that date…”

You smirked, setting your mug down and sauntered around the island kitchen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“Sunday?” he offered, watching you with a lazy smile as you perched on the stool next to his.

You shook your head, “I work weekends.”

That caught him off guard, but he didn’t let it show. “Remind me what exactly it is you do?”

“Bikes,” you said simply, the corner of your mouth twitching like you were holding back sensitive information.

He chuckled, assuming you were talking about your mechanic work. “Fair.”

You hummed, but the mischievous glint in your eyes didn’t escape him.

He tilted his head, curiosity tugging at the edge of his thoughts, but he decided not to push. You’d tell him when you wanted to. Instead, he flashed a small grin. “I’ll text you to arrange something, then.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You won my number, Barnes. Don’t make me regret giving it to you. 

The challenge in your tone made his smirk widen, his hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “Oh, I won’t.”

—

That Sunday, Bucky was slouched on Sam’s couch, one leg kicked over the side of the coffee table, a book resting on his chest. Sam, on the other hand, was waging war with the TV remote, flipping through channels at record speeds.

“Just pick something already,” Bucky grumbled without looking up.

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring him. 

“Oh, MotoGP’s on,” he said suddenly, tossing the remote aside.

Bucky didn’t even glance at the screen at first, the low growl of engines and the commentator’s frantic observation was little more than background noise. But something about the sheer speed on display tugged at his attention. He finally looked up— and when he did, he could not take his eyes off the screen.

The camera focused on a Ducati weaving through the pack with a relentlessness that looked… familiar. The rider’s movements were fluid, each turn carved with precision, every overtake risky but calculated.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, leaning forward. Sam wasn’t the biggest fan— but he did watch these races from time to time. It always intrigued him, the danger they willingly took to win a race. “Look at—did you see that overtake?”

Bucky didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the rider. There was something about them—the way they leaned into each corner, never hesitating, always pushing for the absolute edge of human limitation.

The commentator’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“And there it is! The factory Ducati taking the lead with that beautiful overtake from the inside line! Unbelievable control!”

The Ducati was now in front, pulling away from the others as the final lap approached. 

Bucky watched, as they flew through a sweeping right turn, knees and shoulders skimming the asphalt like it was second nature.

As the Ducati roared down toward the finish line, the chequered flag waved. 

First place.

The crowd erupted, but Bucky barely heard it. The rider slowed, their gloved fist pumping the air, before coming to a stop after the cooldown lap. 

The other riders were congratulating them, patting their helmet with friendly taps.

Soon, the camera zoomed in, capturing the moment they pulled off their helmet.

And Bucky’s stomach dropped.

It was you.

No helmet, no visor—just you, smiling that confident smile that he knew so well.

Oh. He was stupid. Bucky Barnes was so incredibly stupid.

Of course you were a motorcycle racer. The sleek apartment, the effortless style, the way you moved on the dirt track. The way you told him you worked on weekends— it all made perfect sense.

And yet, somehow, he'd convinced himself you were a mechanic. Of course he did.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, bolting upright.

Sam shot him a confused look. “What?”

“That’s her,” Bucky said, his voice low in disbelief.

“Who’s ‘her’?”

“The mechanic,” he said, gesturing at the TV, as you celebrated with your team of race engineers. “The girl I told you about. That’s her.”

Sam blinked, staring at the screen, then back at Bucky. “Wait—you’re telling me she fixed up your fuel filter?”

Bucky didn’t answer, still staring at the screen. You were heading toward the press now, handing your helmet to a crew member as reporters swarmed you.

The camera cut for a post-race interview. You looked exhilarated, but still composed as you answered questions about your strategy— about the win. 

Then the interviewer threw in a curveball:

“You’ve been on a hot streak lately. Is there anyone you want to dedicate this victory to?”

You hesitated just long enough for a sly grin to tug at your lips. Then, you looked directly into the camera.

“This win’s for a super soldier,” you said, your tone as playful as ever. You made a phone gesture with your fingers and winked. “Call me, Barnes.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

Sam burst out laughing, but in no less shock. “I cannot believe you hooked up with her! Bucky, You lucky son of a—“

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore.

He couldn’t believe it. Of course he could keep up— you were literally leagues ahead of him.

And somehow, you were still into him. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam said, nudging him hard enough to make him wince. “You gonna call her or not?”

Bucky didn’t answer, already scrambling for his phone. His hands trembled a little as he unlocked it, a smile already tugging at his lips.

He wasn’t sure what he was gonna say when you picked up, but he knew one thing for certain: Tuesdays just got a whole lot more interesting.

-end.

[strnilolover]

player!chris notices ditsy!reader being hit on uninvitedly …

Thursdays were a particularly slow day for you — your lectures were spaced out and you had lots of free time between them. Normally you’d opt for going back to your dorm, maybe take a nap or read a book to your favorite series you were reading — or work on some of the class work for some of your courses with Chris.

But, today you had chosen differently. It was bright and sunny outside, the kind of warmth that was just right to sit in and enjoy without getting too overheated.

Your body weaved through people, holding your books close to your chest as you made your way to the fountain that sat in the middle of the campus grounds. Accidentally bumping into a few people when you got too lost in thought about different subjects — muttering a quick apology before continuing your route.

As you continued to walk across campus, you pulled out your phone from your bag to text Chris. You were supposed to meet up with him soon, but he hadn’t told you where he was yet, so you decided to let him know your plans.

You: Heading to the fountain. Meet me there when you’re free!

You tucked your phone back into your bag swiftly as you finally made it to the fountain. It’s gentle bubbling and colorful flowers surrounding it — it was the perfect place to lose yourself in a book. It wasn’t long before you found a seat on the stone ledge, setting your books down and opening the dog-eared paperback you always carried.

You hadn’t been reading long when a shadow had suddenly fell across your page. Looking up, you thought it was Chris, having finally made his way to where you were — but instead you saw a group of guys standing around you, their expressions cocky and intrusive.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” one of them said, grinning. Your brows furrowed, an uneasy feeling fluttering in your chest. “Hi,” you said softly, your grip tightening on your book.

“You waitin’ for someone?” another asked, stepping closer. “’Cause it looks like you’ve got some time to kill.” his voice had this undertone to it that you couldn’t place…they didn’t seem like they were wanting to be friendly.

“I’m just reading,” you replied, your voice small as you shrugged your shoulders slightly. “Reading? What’s so interesting in there?” the first guy said, leaning down to get a better look. “Bet it’s some cheesy romance novel, huh?” he teased mockingly.

You shook your head, trying to focus back on your book. “It’s not cheesy.” you muttered, trying to take your focus off of them the best you could.

“Oh, come on,” he said, laughing. “You don’t need to sit here reading by yourself. We could keep you company.” he cooed, a cocky grin being placed on his lips. “That’s okay,” you murmured, hoping they’d take the hint. But instead, one of them plopped down beside you, way too close for comfort.

“You don’t have to be shy,” he said, flashing a grin. “We’re just trying to be friendly.” — yeah a little too friendly. “Yeah,” another chimed in, crouching in front of you. “You’re cute. What’s your name?”

You hesitated, “Um…” shrinking back slightly. “I’m fine, really. I just want to read.” The guy beside you chuckled, draping an arm across the back of the ledge. “Aw, don’t be like that. You’re too pretty to sit here all by yourself. We’re just trying to get to know you.”

Before you could respond, the one in front of you reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “She’s shy,” he said, smirking. “That’s adorable.”

You leaned back away from his touch, clutching your book to your chest. “Please don’t—” but before your sentence could fully leave your lips, a sharp voice cut through the tension between you and the guys.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The voice made you jump, and all four of the guys froze, their heads snapping toward the source. Chris was standing a few feet away, his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. His blue eyes flicked to you for a moment, softening briefly before narrowing on the group of guys.

“Oh, hey, Chris,” one of them said, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t know this was your girl.”

Chris stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “Doesn’t matter if she’s mine or not. What the fuck gives you the right to corner her like that?” he bit out, his teeth gritting together so hard you thought he might break them.

“Relax, man,” the guy sitting beside you said, holding up his hands. “We were just talking.”

Chris’ brow raised. “Talking?” his voice was icy, his glare cutting. “This is what you call talking? Surrounding her, getting in her face, touching her without permission? You think that’s okay?” he spat out, his body coming closer until he was standing directly in front of them.

“Come on, Chris,” one of them said, rolling his eyes. “You’re one to talk. We’ve all seen you with girls. You’re with a different one every week.” he tried to argue.

Chris’s jaw tightened more, his fists clenching at his sides. “Yeah, I’ve been with girls. But you know what I don’t do? Corner them, harass them, or make them feel uncomfortable. Don’t even try to put me in the same category as you.” he said coldly, like it was the most dumbest statement someone had tried to ever make toward him.

The guys exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado faltering. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” Chris continued, his voice rising. “She was sitting here reading, minding her own business. You don’t get to pull this crap and call it flirting.” and as he said that, the guy sitting next to you stood up — the others backing up slightly.

“Chill, man. It’s not that serious,” one of them mumbled, but he wouldn’t meet Chris’s eyes. “It’s serious to me,” Chris snapped. “Now get the fuck outta here before I make you.”

The group hesitated, but one look at Chris’s furious expression was enough to send them retreating with muttered apologies. Chris waited until they were out of sight before turning to you, his expression softening instantly. “You okay angel?”

You nodded shakily, clutching your book to your chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.” you muttered. Chris crouched down in front of you, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of distress. “They didn’t touch you, did they?” he whispered, bringing a hand up to gently touch your cheek,

You shook your head quickly. “No, I’m okay. You got here just in time.” And Chris let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Good. Because if they had…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. What were they even thinking?” he muttered — more to himself than you.

“I don’t know,” you said softly. “They just wouldn’t leave me alone.” you said, feeling the unease in your stomach pooling more at the thought, but lessening slightly. Chris frowned, standing up and offering you his hand. “Come on. Let me walk you somewhere. I don’t trust those idiots not to come back.”

And you hesitated before slowly placing your hand in his, letting him pull you to your feet. “Thanks, Chris,” you whispered, looking up at him, his hands reaching for your bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

His smirk returned, though it was tinged with protectiveness. “Always angel. Nobody’s allowed to do that and just get away with it. They’re lucky i didn’t break their fucking jaws. fuckin’ assholes.” he muttered as he placed his arm around your shoulder, leading you toward the building with the food court.

As the two of you walked away together, you couldn’t help but feel your heart race — partly from the lingering nerves, but mostly from the way Chris looked at you — the way he protected you.

What was this feeling?

© strnilolover

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Forgotten Lunch ~ Love That Burns

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST / EVERYDAY MOMENTS MASTERLIST

Word Count: 990ish

Summary: While running errands, you realize that Logan has forgotten his lunch.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Logan asked again. 

His hand was resting on your thigh as he drove the two of you to work. He knew how your anxiety acted up in familiar moments of the past, and he was worried that today would be a trigger.

“I’m fine, Logan,” you responded. “It’s just a few errands.”

“I know, but the—“

“The last time I dropped you off at work and ran errands, Victor showed up. Yes, I know. But that's not going to happen, and I will call you if I need you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

As soon as Logan pulled up to his work, he reached for you. “Come here,” he muttered, pulling you across the bench seat. He held you close and kissed you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Logan pecked your lips again before reluctantly getting out of the truck. He grabbed his tools from the bed of the truck before he flashed you a small smile and headed towards the work area. You slid in front of the steering wheel and took a deep breath. You could do this. It was just a few errands.

You had made it through the first two small errands just fine before the anxiety started to build up. As you placed what you bought in the back row of the truck, you noticed that Logan’s lunch sack was still there. You huffed with a light smile. Logan had forgotten his lunch on purpose; you were sure of it. You brought the lunch to the front of the truck before heading back to Logan's work.

You found Logan not too far off from where you had dropped him off. You couldn't help but bite your lip at the sight of Logan swinging the ax. The way his muscles moved under his tight shirt, the way a slight gleam of sweat covered his open skin. Logan was truly a sight to behold. Grabbing his lunch, you slipped out of the truck but found yourself leaning up against the front of it, continuing to watch the show and wondering how long it would take for him even to notice you.

“Hey, sweet cheeks,” a man greeted as he came up beside you. You ignored him, still staring at Logan. “What’s brought you here?”

“Looky what we have here,” another man said, coming up with a few others. “You lost little lady?”

“Nope,” you responded, still not looking at any of the men.

The second man did not like that and stepped in front of you, causing you to look at him finally.

“Why don’t we start by you telling us your name?” He requested, but there was a layer of clear intent behind his tone. Something that made you sick and angry.

Logan was about to swing his ax down again when a familiar scent wafted through his nose. With no care for the ax, Logan dropped it and spun around to see you surrounded by his coworkers. His jaw and fists clenched as he noticed how uncomfortable you were getting. The claws threatened to point out of his fists as he began marching over there. But before he could reach you, the man who was standing in front of you suddenly caught on fire. It wasn't that big, just the pocket that his lighter was in, but it caused all the men to freak. A smirk formed on Logan's lips as pride filled his chest. The men quickly took care of the fire as Logan came over.

“So I see you guys have met my wife,” Logan stated as he came up and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side.

“Your wife?!” They exclaimed.

“Hey, honey,” you said, focusing on Logan and relaxing now that he was near.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he replied, giving you a short kiss. “The guys bothering you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you shrugged with a wink.

“We’re so sorry, Howlett,” one of them said, clearly scared. “We didn't know.”

“It’s alright, boys,” you waved off the apology. 

“If you don't mind, I think it’s time for my lunch break,” Logan said, staring at the others. They quickly disappeared, saying goodbye as they scrambled off. 

“Should I be more offended that your coworkers didn't know that you had a wife?”

“They didn’t deserve to know.” He kissed your forehead. “You okay?”

“You left your lunch in the truck. I couldn't let you starve.”

“Is that all?”

You sighed. "I was getting a little anxious.”

“Then the plan worked."

“I knew it!" You playfully hit his chest. “You left your lunch on purpose.”

“I knew you would get anxious eventually, and I wanted to make sure that anxiousness brought you to me. I even made sure to slip another sandwich into my lunch sack.”

“Why are you so perfect?”

Logan’s head fell back as he laughed. “Not perfect, sweetheart. Just doing what I can to help my wife. Come on,” he took your hand and grabbed the lunch, “let's eat in the bed of the truck."

Logan pulled you to the back of the truck, handing you the lunch, before lowering the door to the bed of the truck. With gentle hands, Logan lifted you up to sit there before joining you. The two of you enjoyed your lunch, laughing and chatting. Logan’s coworkers kept glancing your way, almost in shock.

“I’m gonna go finish up, and then we’ll head home,” Logan said after lunch. “You okay to wait?”

“As long as you need,” you replied.

Logan smiled before giving you a kiss. “I’ll be quick.” He jogged off to clean up his work area.

“Well, I didn't know you had it in you, Howlett,” one of the men said. “You’re a big softie.”

“Only for the wife.” He looked back at you, only to see you smiling and waving at him. 

“You’re lucky.”

“You have no idea.”

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Olly Wang for the First Time: Influence

G/N. Sort of soft. I did it anon!! Masterlists

In hindsight you could have been considered a bad influence except you felt bad for him. You like to think that you showed Olly Wang there was more to life than studying, there are some things that can't be taught through textbooks.

You taught him how to live, you gave him room to breathe.

But sometimes, when the nights are too silent and your brain is too loud, when you miss him so much it hurts, you would think that it was all your fault. You set him on this path.

It's stupid, of course. Your minor risk-taking and vices are nothing compared to what has happened since.

Still, it eats away at you.

.

.

It's entirely by chance that you meet.

You're not particularly studious, but empty pockets and a meagre allowance accompanied with bad weather means your options are limited.

In the library, tucked away in the corner is a boy.

Trying his best to read and study yet annoying teenagers continue to heckle him. Throwing balled up pieces of paper and calling out derisive comments.

"Fuck off," you snap, feeling kind hearted today and storming over. You drag one of them away by the hair.

"Hey! Get off-" He tries to wiggle out of your grasp.

"Leave him alone, assholes," you snarl, shoving him away.

The commotion is finally enough to draw the attention of the staff.

The teens are shooed out, throwing angry daggers your way.

"You're welcome by the way," You tell the boy in the corner and you think he mutters something about being able to take them on himself.

Narrowing your eyes, you yank his ear, "What did you just say?"

When he doesn't react, you let go. Huh?

He doesn't feel pain, he tells you, or to be honest, anything. And then when you continue glaring at him thinking that that's bullshit, he introduces himself as Olly Wang.

.

.

The first time he ditches class, as a middle-schooler, is with you. Just two kids wandering the streets of Gangdong. You, used to skipping the occasional days and class, and embracing freedom, while Olly fidgets next you.

His mouth, usually stretched too wide in a grin, is pulled down at the corners today. Tense eyes behind glasses anxiously flickers from side to side.

"You think your parents are going to catch you?" You tease, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"No." Olly doesn't sound convinced and you sigh.

"So what do you want to do?"

"Me?" he asks, blinking owlishly as if that's the first time someone has ever asked him that question.

You shrug off his weird response. "We can go the park. Shopping. Not that I have any money. Arcade-"

"Arcade!" he pipes up, then cowering and furtively glancing around him in case his parents are actually around.

Nevertheless, he spends hours and hours by your side; fighting each other, killing zombies, and racing cars. The sound of 8-bit music and bright flashing lights soon drown out his fears.

That day, Olly smiles genuinely along with you.

.

.

You first hear about Eli Jang a few weeks later.

Apparently he's fallen in with a new group of friends and this guy is the coolest person he has ever seen.

He's an orphan, he does whatever he want.

"Ok," you deadpan to each fact about this Eli Jang, growing more bored by the second.

Olly, oblivious to your reaction, continues fawning over him.

.

.

"Here, try it,"

You only offered the cigarette to stop him talking about Eli Jang. You've lost count of the times you've rolled your eyes.

Olly pauses, torn between wanting to impress you and not wanting to inhale the nasty smoke.

He gives in when he sees the playful glint in your eyes. His finger brushes yours as you pass it to him, and he places his lips where yours were just mere seconds ago.

"ACK!"

You giggle to yourself watching Olly hacking and sputtering.

You reach out to ruffle his hair once he calms and he peeks at you feeling his throat and cheeks burn.

.

.

"Why do you want to be like Eli?" you side-eye Olly, interrupting his ranting.

"I-" Olly starts, and then finds he can't say the words in your presence. He thinks Eli is the only one that makes him feel something but-

Deep down, when he's with you, he's not sure that's entirely true.

You misread his pause for something else.

You shrug, "I like you as you are."

.

.

"Want some?" you ask, shaking the bottle of soju at him.

Olly bites his lip, "Eli wouldn't-"

"Ugh!" You cut in rudely. "I've never met the guy and I feel like I know everything about him. Will you shut up about Eli?"

"But Eli-"

"I said shut up," you pull him by his stupid collar and yank his stupid lips to yours.

You consider blaming your actions on the alcohol even though you've barely taken a sip.

Olly stares at you, dazed, but there's a fire in his eyes.

"Ok." He agrees, then adds as he adjusts his glasses. "Only if you'll do that again."

You raise your eyebrows at his audacity. At this strange boy who was tucked away in the corner of the library.

"I thought you said you couldn't feel anything?"

Olly gives you a grin, different from his trademark open-mouthed one. It's almost a smirk. His gaze meets yours, determined and unwavering.

"I think I might have felt something then."

You lean in, at the same time as he does, meeting him halfway and kissing him again.

[ms-snape]

Imagine Snape cannot find his wand only to find his baby sucking on it like a pacifier

Title: Lost Wand

Warning: None

Words Counts: 1000+

A/N: I have a lot of exams these days so I don't really have a lot of time to write, sorry if this is horrible and really short but i'll catch up in like 2 weeks cause I have vacations in two weeks.

Masterlist

---

The first light of dawn crept into the windows of Spinner's End, casting long, pale beams across the dark wooden floors of the small, tucked-away cottage. The day began like any other, calm and quiet, save for the faint rustling of the leaves outside, the gentle hum of life that seemed to reside just beyond the threshold. Inside, however, something was different today. Severus Snape could feel it.

He stirred from his slumber, his black hair tousled and sticking out at odd angles. His eyes flickered open and met the empty space beside him, where his wife, Y/N, had been resting not long ago. She must have already risen, he thought, her quiet presence an unspoken comfort in his otherwise solitary existence.

Severus had never imagined himself here—tucked away in a little house, married to someone who had seen past his hard exterior and into the heart of the man he had long tried to hide from the world. Y/N, with her soft smile, her kind words, and her unshakable belief in him, had turned his life upside down. But now, that life had become something else entirely—something filled with joy, in the form of their baby daughter, Hope.

As he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his fingers brushed across his nightstand, where he normally placed his wand. But when he reached for it, his hand grasped nothing but air. A frown creased his brow.

"Where is it?" he muttered to himself.

His wand had to be around somewhere. It was always near him—on his person, tucked under a pillow, or within easy reach on a surface in the room. It had never just vanished before. He glanced over to the side of the bed where Y/N had laid, but there was no sign of the wand there either.

“Y/N?” he called out softly, his voice laced with the faintest hint of worry.

She didn’t respond immediately, but the soft sounds of footsteps from the kitchen told him she was already awake and making tea.

Sighing, Severus swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, scanning the room in earnest. He moved to the small desk near the window, where he often worked on various Potions-related tasks, his hand brushing across papers and books. Nothing. Not a hint of his wand.

“Y/N, have you seen my wand?” he called again, this time with a bit more urgency.

The response was immediate. Y/N’s soft voice drifted toward him from the kitchen. “I haven’t seen it. Did you misplace it again?”

“I’ve never misplaced it,” Severus muttered under his breath, though the words were more a reassurance to himself than a rebuke to her. He wasn’t the kind of person who lost things. His wand was his lifeline—his connection to magic. How could it just be... gone?

Y/N appeared in the doorway, her morning robe swishing as she walked. Her eyes, though tired, were warm with affection as she smiled at him. She had always been the calm to his storm, the one person who could steady him when the world felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, her brow furrowing in concern.

“I can’t find my wand,” Severus said simply, though his tone carried a weight that betrayed his annoyance. "I’ve looked everywhere."

Y/N's eyes softened with a touch of sympathy. She knew how much his wand meant to him, not just as an instrument of power, but as a symbol of control and order in his life. Without it, Severus felt exposed, vulnerable in a way he hated.

“Are you sure you didn’t leave it in the living room?” she asked gently, though she could already see the frustration beginning to build behind his eyes.

Severus narrowed his eyes. “I’ve already looked there.”

Y/N smiled faintly, her lips curling into a small, knowing grin. “Well, you could try checking under the bed. Maybe it slipped under there.”

Severus shot her a brief, skeptical look. He had already checked under the bed. But he wasn’t about to argue. Instead, he muttered a quick “Excuse me,” before disappearing out of the room, leaving Y/N to continue with her tea.

The next hour was filled with frantic searching.

Severus moved through the house methodically, checking every possible place his wand could have ended up. He opened every drawer in his desk, shifted through piles of books and parchment, and even checked behind the cushions of the chairs in the living room. No sign of it. His steps grew heavier with frustration.

"Where is it?" he muttered again, a hint of panic beginning to creep into his voice.

The house, usually so quiet, now seemed oppressive, like it was playing tricks on him. He could feel the walls pressing in, the air growing thick. His heart beat faster. This was impossible.

He retraced his steps to the bedroom, hands shaking slightly as he opened the wardrobe doors, rifling through his clothes as if his wand could be hidden in the folds of his black robes. No wand there either.

“Severus?” Y/N called from the kitchen. He could hear the gentle clinking of a spoon against a cup, as though she was stirring her tea, but her voice held a note of concern that only made his anxiety grow.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, a little too harshly. “I’ll find it.”

Y/N didn’t reply, but Severus could feel her presence in the air, a calm force in the midst of his spiraling thoughts. He had to find it. It wasn’t just about the wand. It was the feeling of losing control, of something slipping out of his grasp.

His footsteps led him back to the living room. He searched behind the bookshelves, checked under every rug. He even checked the fireplace, thinking it might have rolled into the ashes by some bizarre accident. Nothing.

He turned in circles, his mind whirling. He was beginning to feel like a madman, unable to find a simple object in his own home. His mind started to conjure dark thoughts—what if someone had taken it? What if someone was watching him, toying with him in some twisted game?

His heart thudded in his chest. A sudden wave of frustration surged through him. His eyes darted to the corner of the room, where a cradle stood, softly rocking. It was Hope's cradle.

Hope.

Severus froze. A thought sparked in his mind, a moment of clarity cutting through the fog of panic.

"Of course," he muttered, turning sharply toward the cradle.

He approached slowly, as if the very act of moving toward it might disturb some fragile peace. Hope, their beautiful daughter, was nestled inside, her small hands clutching a tiny, unfamiliar object. Severus leaned forward, his breath catching when he saw what she was holding.

It was his wand.

The tip of it rested between her chubby fingers, the polished wood glinting in the dim light of the room. And as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Hope was sucking on the end of it, her lips curling around it like it was a pacifier.

Severus stared, his eyes wide in disbelief. He watched as Hope cooed, her little hands gently playing with the wand, her tiny body wriggling with delight. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, despite his earlier frustration.

"Well," he murmured softly to himself, "this is certainly a first."

[landhoe-norris]

I know people aren't gonna read this but I need to get all of this off my chest.

So today is the day that marks the moment when Lando's hopes for the WDC officially end.

It’s sad and heartbreaking, yes—but it’s also so much more than that. To me, this season has been nothing short of extraordinary. Championships are won and lost in numbers, and Max has the experience. He had the start of the season and then the talent and composure to see it through, no doubt about it. But Lando? Lando has something just as important, something that numbers don’t always capture—the fire, the resilience, and the unshakable will to push forward.

He’s shown it time and time again this season. Whether it was clawing his way up through the field, delivering masterful performances in changing conditions, or simply showing up with that signature smile and focus even on the toughest days, Lando has proven that he’s here to stay and will be back fighting next year.

There’s something remarkable about the way he’s carried himself this season. He never gave up, even when things seemed impossible and even when it seemed like his team was actively working against him. He's matured when it comes to the noise outside the track, deleting his social media instead of leaning into the insane amount of hatred that has been focused his way from F1 fans and media alike.

What we know, and what others need to realize, is that he’s not the problem. The problem is the people who have been sending him DMs telling him to kill himself; the problem is the people in the IG comments of McLarens, F1s, and his own social media begging for him to crash and burn; the problem is the media who have sensationalized and misrepresented him time and time again; the problem is the 1164481 fans who make fake screenshots, take his interviews and twist them, and weaponize their own narratives to tear him down.

He's been the team leader we all knew he could and would be, and we can all be proud of him. The fact that he was in contention for a championship in the same year he won his first race is incredible. This is someone who has been driving midfield cars since he came into the sport, praying for scraps when the cars ahead DNF'd, had bad pitstops or fucked up their strategy. He's someone who routinely got the fourth-best car onto podiums, someone who has, since Carlos left, never lost out to their teammate, although people have been praying for his downfall since 2021.

They will have to pray harder because Lando Norris doesn't play like that. What he does do, after every single season, is put his head down and become a better driver. He takes his faults, works on them and then comes back ready for more.

I couldn’t be prouder of him—not just as a driver but as a person who’s shown grace, determination, and heart every step of the way. This season wasn’t the end of a dream; it was the start of something bigger. I know he’ll take everything he’s learned and come back stronger, hungrier, and more determined than ever.

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

We have officially entered another bangers only era for Japanese queer media; I am loving all of these currently airing shows. These are all streaming on Gaga or provided via fansub (feel free to ask if you don’t know where to find them).

Our Youth

This show is killing me with the quiet yearning and the push and pull and Hirukawa's whole entire deal. The way Hirukawa and Minase keep drawing closer together before stepping back. The way they have created their own little bubble in Minase's home, and how they can't be that way together in other spaces. The way Hirukawa is so desperate to be close to Minase and Minase clearly wants it too, but doesn't really understand himself yet and so keeps rejecting it. I was so sad when Hirukawa admitted he provoked his dad on purpose so that Minase would let him back in; I hope Minase will ease off on the barriers from here on out. I know something bad is coming and I just want them to have a little bit of happiness before we get there.

Love is Like a Poison

The battle couple was tested this week as we finally found out Haruto's connection to this case with an assist from the lady restaurant owner, his past as a con artist was revealed to Shiba's employer, and Shiba's boss demanded that he cut ties. I was so very proud of Shiba when he did not waver about what is most important to him, and worried when Haruto took off and left his ring behind. I'm keeping the faith, though; I don't think Haruto is leaving Shiba.

Love in the Air Koi

Okay, first of all, let me get a scream out about that sex scene, because good god did they deliver. Nagumo Shoma is a gift to us all (I will be seeing that back roll in my dreams), and I thought their chemistry now that Rei has figured himself out was fantastic. The whole sequence from the time they left the race track was beautifully shot and performed, and the intimacy felt very real. Aside from the sex, one of the things I like most about this narrative is the belief that a relationship can be the reason you get your life together rather than a distraction from your goals. Rei has all the skills, but he's been lacking focus and drive, and that's exactly what Arashi is giving him. I really liked the way this episode weaved their different subplots together to show them both working toward something, and how their success brought them together in the end. They are good for each other! I also really loved all the Rei and Kai moments in this episode, and that Kai continues to be a perceptive and supportive friend. Kai's own story is coming soon, and we got our first glimpses of it at the end of today's episode. I'm impressed with how this adaptation has streamlined the story to cover every important beat in half the time without ever short changing the relationships.

The Fragrance You Inherit

This week Sakura was reunited with her long lost love via their scheming children, and I loved every minute. My favorite thing about this drama is the relationship writing. Sakura and Toki have such a lovely bond, and I like that he realized after surprising his mom with Mone that it may have been insensitive, and that he cared enough to check in with her about it. Sakura is also a great mom, supportive of his relationship and sensitive to his feelings even as she is grappling with her own shock at this reunion. I also really love that Sakura has such a good friend in Ryosuke (who continues to flag as queer to me). I'm excited to get to know Mone better as an adult and see where the story takes us. You can find the show here, with big thanks as always to @isaksbestpillow for providing English subs.

[screamingcrows]

Winner of the first Zandicktober poll ^^ Notes: Omega's fashion choices stem from Dottore's youth. Tags: Dottore x reader, nothing explicit in this one, 1k words

Foliage crumbling should have drawn his attention, all instinct screaming for his neck to twist and eyes to search. Predators were abundant. It might have been foolhardy to leave the confines of Sumeru city armed with nothing but a dagger, and he suspected you were even worse off, dressed for getting a cup of coffee and not searching for a rumored wooden archway inscribed with faintly glowing runes.

Ideally, Zandik would have gone by himself, but you'd been persistent, and frankly, with all the trouble the Sages had been giving him as of late, arguing with you was far beneath him. In an effort to get your attention, Zandik kicked at a few loose stones littering the trodden path, listening intently to their clattering and thuds as a few fell off the ledge and into the mud below.

"Left at the next split, I won't come back to find you."

Bark cracking and ripping caught his attention, fighting the urge to whip around for less than a second before succumbing, fingers already pinching the bridge of his nose. This was going to take all day with you.

Normally, you would bounce around between oddities, picking up a rock here, taking a few leaves there, seeing a beetle, making a note, listening to birds, you were all over the place. But somehow, you managed to be even worse today. Either that, or Zandik's lack of sleep looking through old legends in the House of Daena was catching up. Your gasps of wonder were annoying all the same.

Today had been different. It felt like you'd been deliberately staying out of sight, skirting the periphery of his vision at best and calling his name loudly when you'd lost track of his movements at worst.

"Six times," Zandik held his breath, waiting for your eyes to meet his, "that's the number of instances where you've gotten lost today."

It was awful how you cocked your head like an innocent puppy, perhaps not innocent, but one who didn't know better at least. When a gust of wind had passed, shaking a few nuts loose, three of which you promptly collected, Zandik realized with great dismay that you weren't going to say anything.

Utterly insufferable. If you weren't the only person willing to assist him without asking too many questions, he would've rid himself of your presence long ago.

"It's a beautiful day is it not?" How you could still manage to smile was perhaps a more frustrating conundrum than the fairy tale creatures supposedly inhabiting the northern parts. "It'd be a shame not to enjoy it."

For a moment, Zandik swore he saw red, patience all but decayed, "It would be a shame to waste daylight!" He'd all but screamed, so how were you still smiling? "But of course, someone as moronic and dispensable wouldn't understand the concept of wastefulness!"

It took some effort, feeling seconds away from his teeth snapping under the force of his bite, to refrain from letting his gaze wander towards the rustle that drew your attention. You deserved both the unease of the wilds and the full weight of his gaze, one an acclaimed terror among the Akademiya's students.

Predators were abundant, yes, but they were shy, they'd learned what humans were capable of, especially in groups.

Mere seconds of his thoughts wandering and Zandik stumbled backwards. How you'd gotten close enough that he could feel your breath ghost along his cheeks was a mystery.

It was too difficult, his own lips pulling back in a sneer at the sight of your tongue wetting yours.

As fresh dew, your voice was crisp, "You're that mad? What about the whole charade of 'being responsible for myself' you gave me," Zandik felt heat rise, pushing down the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt when you continued' "are you really so worried about me?"

He'd snapped out a 'no' before his heel could even hit the ground, making sure to invade your space. How dare you challenge a finality with such conviction? Either the air was particularly humid today or Zandik would have to admit the truth of your words to himself.

Reluctantly, he'd admired your blatant disregard for established dogmas from the moment you first sought him out, but used against a cornerstone of his perceived self?

"-use this," despite the earnest smile on your lips, Zandik recognized the smug satisfaction lurking just beneath the surface.

Mercenaries had been active on the paths not far from there, screaming would most likely alert them, meaning Zandik had to instead bite down hard on his tongue and pray the frustration boiling in his blood would settle quick. This had all been planned, and he hadn't noticed.

Another pebble was kicked down the ledge, visualizing your head in its place. Too busy navigating the terrain, keeping you in check, and watching for dangers, he'd missed the greatest of them all directly in front of him. Poisoned fangs behind upturned lips, hypnotizing eyes under thick lashes, and an outstretched hand, wholly bereft of claws.

Instead, a piece of leather lay in your palm, offered up as sweet bait to lure him close enough for the kill. A hellish, carnivorous plant was what you were.

This was enough, he decided, coating his words in venom as he smacked the leash away, "Do you think this is funny? Do you even think?" A satisfied huff left him, pleased by the sight of you kneeling down.

Some of your amusement faded as you picked it up and wiped off the mud. "Loosen up at bit, will you?"

"Loosen up?" It was stupid, Zandik knew it was, but it didn't stop his voice from raising, "You are being insufferable, I have half a mind to-"

The forest held its breath, eerily quiet while Zandik's eyes widened, heat rising to his cheeks with the brush of your fingers against his skin. Swallowing was difficult with how tight the collar looked around your neck, imagining it pressing against his own instead.

"Half a mind to what?" Your near purring voice wasn't helping the situation either.

Zandik briefly caught himself glancing down at how your fingers wrapped around the leather, trying desperately to get the imagery of you tugging at it out of his mind.

He took it with a still hand, forcing himself not to follow the leash to where it connected securely to the collar around your neck.

"Aren't you happy? No more getting angry because I wander off."

[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 😭🙏

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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.

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[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #10: MY DARLING, MY COMPANION

(also on spotify!)

It's the Constant Companions Closeups! A series of in-depth dives into the songs off of my latest album, Constant Companions! Last time, we talked about gender with Object of Affection! Today, we've made it to the title track (kinda?)! My Darling, My Companion! Do you think she's figured out what she wants to hear yet

---

Every time I first embark on the process of making another album, I always think I know what the final product will look like. This is a fairly recent phenomenon, born of the part of me that thinks that planning things out and being somewhat disciplined in the act of creation will ultimately lead to a better final product. That's fair and all, but it's also genuinely never how things actually shake out, as I almost always toss that out the window and just start writing shit the first chance I get.

Constant Companions, however, is the closest I've gotten to actually following through on those initial ambitions. Well, maybe not the initial ambitions - without fail, every time I finish an album, there's a two week period where I start writing new material thinking "this next album's gonna be the MOODY one" and it's never the moody one - but rather the plan I developed once my pile of works-in-progress started looking album-shaped.

There's always been some amount of self-referential leitmotif-loving song-series energy in what I've written - Imaginary, Effervescent and Secret Girlfriend; sampling myself on Too Much Autotune or Second Hello; that little four note motif. I had been leaning even further into it with People Posture Play Pretend and 🤼‍♀️, bringing the little interconnected background radiation straight to the forefront, and I wanted to keep going.

So, I would take that mindset and write about motifs - the things that have stuck with me and gotten me to where I am - the hopes that I've clung to, the dreams I want to make real, the patterns that I keep finding myself in. The things that haunt me and the things that keep me living.

...

My constant companions, if you will.

wait didn't i already do that bit. what was i talking about when i did that

This might be incredibly obvious if you've already read the Closeup for Breeze Blows, but yes, this is another song about being plural.

Like I said previously, writing these self-directed songs portraying internal conversations has been a very big part of finding peace within myself. Having to confront a part of myself both alien and overly familiar with seemingly a mind of her own is, understandably, scary as shit in countless ways! If nothing else, it feels like sometimes I can't even talk about it out loud without sounding completely gone.

But it's made me realize and really think about something I think most people take for granted, something that feels silly to even say out loud given how obvious it is but that has completely changed my relationship with myself - you are always a part of your own life.

The overwhelming, ceaseless negative self-talk I lived with for however many years never went away because it was a part of me, and no amount of compartmentalizing or boxing-up or repression or anything helped even in the slightest compared to the act of showing her kindness and patience, letting her be a genuine part of me, being a friend to her. Doing so revealed to me a happier, more hopeful part of myself I thought I'd lost forever.

Letting yourself be yourself, and loving yourself for who you are, is the best way to be!

or something. that feels so fucking dr seuss of me to say whatever we're corny here we will Be corny

---

The working title of this song was "Hathaway", inspired entirely by my friend Lexie messaging me one morning about a dream in which I had released a song named as such. Naming and writing songs based on dreams is maybe my most beloved bit at this point, but my girlfriend ultimately convinced me to make the title My Darling, My Companion. Mostly because she (correctly) thought it'd be cooler than just a pure title track.

The verses were written by sampling my own previous demo for a title track, turning it into a call-and-response between me and GUMI, and the chorus was lifted almost word-for-word from another demo of mine using Teto. That second demo was partially inspired by the character Morgan from the visual novel Heart of the Woods - which I mostly bring up because it's just a really good yuri VN that is near and dear to my heart. And also because my friend Teffi voices the character Tara in said VN. And also because I recorded my vocals for this song at her house. And also because the voice that says "me when I'm goated as fuck" right before the second verse is in fact Teffi in the recording booth with me. Yuri runs deep in my veins.

Speaking of which, this song, in my mind, is one dedicated to advancing my agenda of GUMI x Teto, albeit subtly and in a roundabout way.

See, GUMI has always been something of an idealized voice in my other work. The songs of mine she sings historically have always been hopeful, upbeat, expressing some sense of comfort - I Wish That I Could Fall maybe being the only exception, and even then still offering some hope in the end.

On the flipside, there's a part in verse two where my voice is swapped out for Teto for a couple lines. I couldn't really tell you what it is, since it's not in terms of timbre or range, but Kasane Teto - her Synth V voicebank especially, but really all iterations of her - is the vocal synth that feels the most like a stand-in for my own voice. And really, writing with her almost seems to bring out parts of myself that are a bit too honest.

These two juxtaposed against each other made perfect sense. It helps that they have The Color Scheme, too.

Finally, this song is basically just one big reference to my song Destiny, from back in 2018, and it even closes out with lyrics based very directly on its closing refrain. I don't have much else to say on that front - but there's another Jamie Paige song this bears some shared DNA with, and a blatant reference to it is hidden in plain sight right as the bridge transitions to the outro.

Do you know what it is?

That's the post! If you have any questions, feel free to send them my way - I'm planning on doing a big AMA style bonus post after the album's finished!!

Speaking of which, tomorrow, we'll be talking about the eleventh and final track on the album - a simple little song about a computer falling in love... :~)

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 30

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 4319

Warnings: Dean being Dean, navigating being an empath, suggestive thoughts, longing, Fluff, Premonition, Bonding (This is something specifically for this AU. I do not see this as a "requirement" to fully connect to someone, but for this story, it is needed).

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 30

The following day, he woke before you, lying there just watching you sleep. He knew today would be filled with a lot, and right now, you needed your rest, and he needed this moment. There was nothing to worry about in the now. Right now, nothing troubled him, and you hadn’t had another nightmare. Dean allowed himself to lie there with you for nearly ten minutes before finally dragging himself away and to the kitchen. As soon as he had the coffee brewing, he began making phone calls, informing everyone of what Pamela had said. However, when he called Bobby, he gave him a piece of his mind for how things had gone.

“I’m sorry, Dean. It wasn’t like I knew that stuff would come up,” Bobby apologized for the third time, partially regretting having made the suggestion.

Dean sighed, running a hand down his face as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “I know. You didn’t see her, though. She was distant on the entire drive back here and I couldn’t feel any of her emotions through the connection.” Bobby leaned back in his seat, staring at the closed door of his office. “Is there anything I can do on my end for the two of you?”

Dean thought for a moment, “Yeah. Can you tell the boys they can throw me that surprise party the weekend after we can get out of here?” 

That made Bobby chuckle. “How’d you find out about that?” 

“Jack let it slip. That kid is still pretty innocent in some ways,” Dean replied, remembering back to that second month he was back when Jack had let just enough slip out about the surprise party.

“Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know,” Bobby replied, trying to push aside the growing concern that had come with Dean’s call. “Call if you need anything. We’re all here, for both of you.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me,” Dean replied, utterly grateful for the support system in the outside world.

Dean poured himself another cup of coffee after he hung up. He’d already called Sam; that had been his first phone call, Bobby his last, and all the adults in between. “It’s gonna be a long day,” he mumbled through a sigh.

Stretching with your arms over your head, you let out a long yawn, the morning finally pulling you from a dreamless slumber. When your arm plopped in the spot Dean should have been, you looked over, a little confused. I didn’t sleep that late, did I?

Glancing at the clock, you chuckled to yourself. Almost nine, of course he’s already up. With a smile on your face, you climbed out of bed and headed into the kitchen. He was there, leaning against the counter, lost in thought. You smiled to yourself, knowing he hadn’t even noticed you yet. “Morning, handsome,” you cooed, stopping next to him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Dean practically jumped out of his skin at your presence, his hand over his racing heart as he attempted to catch his breath. “Jesus, Sweetheart. You damn near gave me a heart attack,” he breathed out, wondering how you’d managed to sneak up on him.

GIggling, you poured yourself a cup of coffee, then sat down at the table so you could see him. Dean smirked. Oh, someone’s in a playful mood this morning. His whispered words in your mind made you giddy. You were in a playful mood, even though you knew that today was when you were going to share with him what Pamela had told you.

“Maybe,” you replied, drawing the word out, looking down at your coffee as a smile played with your lips. For a moment, you debated dashing to the living room, eyeing the couch briefly.

He set his cup down, enjoying the moment, and wondered just how playful you were feeling. Dean smirked mischievously as he pushed off the counter, slowly strolling toward you. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you giggled quietly, unable to take a sip of your coffee. The anticipation of what he might do twisted nicely in your stomach.

“What’s the matter, nervous?” he teased, his tone going a little lower, making you take a shaky breath.

When he was only a couple of feet away and began taking another step, you squealed as he reached for you, then darted into the living room, laughter ensuing as he chased you. You dashed behind the couch, giving Dean an idea. He didn’t want to hurt you, but he was going to get a hold of you. The way your laughter mixed with his and filled the room was like a beautiful symphony. 

You slowly moved in the opposite direction he went, matching his pace until you were the one now in front of the couch, the coffee table directly behind you. In one swift motion, Dean not only went over the couch but also grabbed the front of your shirt firmly before falling back into the cushions. The squeal you let out as he pulled you onto his lap had him laughing with more amusement than he could contain. 

Dean wrapped his arms around your back, holding you firmly in place, unable to escape. You were laughing so hard that all you could do was rest your hands on his shoulders. The moment froze for Dean, feeling that pang of love that overflowed, threatening to slip from his eyes, but he held it back. As your laughter slowly subsided, you rested your head on his shoulder, evening out your breathing again. “That was fun,” you told him through light chuckles, remembering the way he had eyed you, your breath warm against his neck.

“Yeah, it was,” he sighed contently, rubbing your back with one hand while holding you close with the other. “I love hearing your laughter.”

You debated between telling him everything Pamela had said or just giving him what you had initially planned on saving for his birthday. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be intimate with him, something about it just scared you.

Don’t go getting lost in your head again. The way his words whispered through your mind made you chuckle, sitting up so you could look at him. “And what if I like getting lost in my thoughts, huh?” you asked playfully, not quite ready to let go of the joy the playfulness brought.

He raised an eyebrow, but you saw that glint in his eyes, knowing he was already plotting something as his grip around you slowly tightened. Dean just didn’t want you to get away just yet. “What’s more interesting than you straddling my lap?” he asked as the smirk on his lips began forming.

You leaned a little closer, being just as playful, “Thoughts of you.” 

Woman, I swear… A low groan, almost inaudible, rumbled in his chest as one of his hands came up and tangled in your hair behind your neck, holding your head. It was a gentle gesture, but sent a shiver down your entire body. “Sweetheart, do you have any,” he gently gripped your hip, pulling you down against him as he lightly bucked his hips up, grinding against you, “idea what you do to me?” 

You hadn’t even realized just how turned on he was until you felt the bulge in his pants rub against your core through your clothes, making you bite your lip. “I didn’t mean to, really,” you told him honestly, and a little shyly. It wasn’t like you were completely ignorant. You just hadn’t done anything with anyone, so you weren’t entirely sure of the things that turned men on, let alone Dean.

Dean gave you a soft smile. He knew you hadn’t intended to turn him on. “I know. It’s why I didn’t just kiss you. I know you aren’t ready. I don’t know why, and you don’t have to explain it to me. I’ll be here, when you’re ready.” Then he leaned closer, leaving a tender kiss on your lips, staying there only a few moments before he pulled away, fighting every urge coursing through his body.

The pout that found your lips at least made him chuckle, but you still felt bad and figured now was as good a time as any to talk to him. Carefully, you climbed off his lap, sitting on the couch next to him, cross-legged and facing him.

After adjusting himself, he turned a bit so that he was facing you, although he wasn’t entirely sure what topic you wanted to talk about. He was trying not to think about kissing you, touching you, and loving you, which was nearly impossible after he’d pulled you down onto his lap. That one he took full responsibility for.

You took one more deep breath, letting it out slowly. It was bad enough that your thoughts were on Dean rather than the topic you wanted to broach, but having his desire mix with your own was making it that much more difficult.

“Okay, so yesterday. Pamela told me a lot, and there are still some things I’m not sure about, but I promised I’d tell you.” It seemed like a decent place to start. “She said that the reason you got sick was because my fear went through the connection we have.” Dean looked at you, a little puzzled, “But, you’ve been afraid before, and it never hit me like that.” he tried to explain, as he was still confused about why it had hit him so hard.

Looking down at your hands, you attempted to remember how Pamela had explained it to you. You pursed your lips as you met his gaze, hoping you didn’t botch it too badly. “She said that hope is your strongest emotion. Well, mine apparently has been fear. It’s what’s been basically running my life. When she mentioned me being afraid to lose you,” your voice got quiet as your gaze fell to the space between the two of you. 

“It just sort of hit me, but for me, it was a knot in my stomach. I’ve just been so afraid for so long… I’m not sure how to just take a leap of faith, like she suggested,” by this point, you were almost whispering, and Dean only wanted to pull you into his arms again. He vaguely remembered that part of what Pamela had said, sort of, since he had to bolt to the bathroom before he was sick in the living room.

“I’m afraid I’ll lose you… if we’re closer,” you finally admitted in a barely audible whisper, and now Dean wasn’t going to hold back. He moved closer and pulled you into his arms, shifting you so that you were sitting sideways on his legs. As your emotions crashed into his, he just focused on you, soothing the storm that had taken hold. It was the missing piece for him, so he could understand what kept holding you back. “Looks like we were both trying to figure out a puzzle,” he murmured softly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Those monsters took everything from me. I can’t lose you too,” you sobbed out quietly, feeling like the damn inside had finally broken. You didn’t understand that you needed this in order to finish healing, letting him in deeper than you had let anyone.

For nearly an hour, he held you, uttering soft, soothing words and doing his best to comfort you. He probably wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but the pain that came through the connection felt like a vice on his chest. Dean did his best to take slow, deep breaths so your pain didn’t consume him, but a few tears slipped down his cheeks, landing in your hair. He knew that losing your soulmate was one of the most painful things possible, but he hadn’t realized just how much the mere thought of it affected you. Not until now. You were terrified to let someone in that much just to have it ripped away.

“I’ve got you, I always will,” he whispered when your sobs finally subsided. “And I’m not going anywhere, not if I have a say in the matter.” The only hope he had that things would be okay, was because of the words Pamela had said to him. The two of you only had to stay in the bunker for the next week and a half, no matter what.

You wanted to apologize but knew it would frustrate him, so you did your best not to even think the words. “I didn’t mean to break down like that,” you mumbled before sitting up a little.

He met your gaze, seeing how puffy your eyes were from crying. With a soft smile, he gently wiped the lingering tears away. “Crying isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes it helps. Like, how they say you have to hit rock bottom before things get better,” he offered, trying to help.

“I just want it all to stop, to go away,” you pouted, focusing on your hands in your lap as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

Dean debated for a moment, focusing on what you were feeling. There were a few different things he could say, but now was not the time to let the playful remarks slip out. He gently nudged your chin with his finger and thumb, so you met his gaze, trying not to let another tear slip out. 

“Things will be okay. Why don’t we just take this week and a half and just relax? I know that you’ll have to call Crowley, and we’ll be down here past my birthday. But hey, think of this time as a little vacation from the world. It’s different now,” he tried to soothe you, giving you that soft smile that brought a small one to your lips.

He knew the kind of grip your fear had on you; hell, it wanted to consume him. Gently pulling you against his chest, he let out a sigh, trying to find the right words, but he was pretty sure nothing he could say would help you right now. So, he just held you close, gently rubbing small circles on your upper arm with his thumb.

“I don’t know how not to be afraid,” you eventually mumbled. The nightmare you’d had the night before felt like parts of it were playing on repeat in your head, along with what Pamela had said. You just weren’t sure what the consistent was, so you weren’t sure what part of it would happen.

“Why don’t we just take it one day at a time?” he suggested softly.

You moved a little so you could look into his eyes. The sincerity and hope there made you smile a little. I just want to see you smile. The whispered words made your smile grow, your fears and worries slowly slipping away as you let his hope, love, and compassion wash through the connection. It was like the gentle waves as they lapped over the sands of a beach.

“Now, I’m gonna go make us breakfast. You wanna change or just lounge in pajamas all day?” he asked, feeling that soft contentment as you relaxed.

Deciding to focus on not being stressed over things you had no control over, you chose playfulness, tapping your chin with your finger, pretending to think. “Hmm…” you hummed, pausing playfully. “Pajamas, because I’m pretty sure you’ll tease me,” your words came out a little sassy, pulling a playful smirk to his lips.

Again, he was fighting with his thoughts. God, it’s gonna be a long week. The thought made you almost laugh, knowing you weren’t going to make him wait that long. He let his fingers find your ribs, gripping them in just the right way, tickling you. With a squeal, you attempted to get off his lap, but he held you in place.

He hadn’t moved his hand, but the anticipation that kept building was what was driving you absolutely crazy. However, when he leaned in close with that look in his eyes, a shiver went down your spine. “You know, anticipation works on other things, too,” his voice was low, rough, tinged with that teasing that made the butterflies dance in your stomach.

Taking a shaky breath, attempting to focus on anything other than what he was hinting at or the fact that his hand was still holding your ribs. All he had to do was grip, and he could tickle you again. “Thought you were gonna make breakfast,” you told him quickly, unable to hide the joy that was coursing through you at how he had lightened the mood.

The laughter started deep in his chest before filling the room, “Yeah, breakfast.” Not when I’ve got you right where I want you. He couldn’t help himself, though, gripping your ribs enough to make you squeal and try to get away from him. The sound brought that joy to his soul, soothing any stress left in him.

“Stop!” you yelled playfully, squirming in his lap as he held you there. His other hand found the crook in your hip, squeezing down and making you scream at how ticklish you were there.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you long. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt your wrists, and you were trying to stop him, even knowing it was impossible. The man was far stronger than you. Plus, the way you squirmed on his lap was causing another issue to arise. He snaked his arms around your waist, the two of you attempting to catch your breath for different reasons.

“Alright, Sweetheart. I’ll go get breakfast going,” he told you, trying to calm his racing heart. He gave you a quick kiss on your cheek before scooping you up and gently setting you on the couch after he stood. I love you, your whispered words in his mind bringing a wider smile to his lips, trying to push away thoughts he couldn’t act on, not yet anyway.

And that was about how the next several days went. There were board games, watching movies, tickle fests, which you even got him a few good times, and a couple games of pool. The playful banter that went back and forth had you both wound as the sexual tension grew between you. He never pushed anything too much, but he did give it an encouraging nudge. Dean would hold you when you did the dishes, so you would return that when he would cook.

The two of you settled into a comfortable routine. So far, the nightmare hadn’t come back, and the monitors also hadn’t gone off unless it was an animal going about its business. Your fears were slowly slipping away. Being close to him was getting easier the more he bantered with you. So much so that three days before his birthday, when he kissed you after your evening movie, you didn’t pull away after a few moments. You had wanted so badly just to let go of all your fears at that moment, but you couldn’t, even with your body humming from how he touched you. The moment you went to apologize, he gently pressed his finger over your lips and shook his head. 

“I told you, I can wait till you’re ready,” he told you in a soft, sincere whisper. His breathing was heavy, but he meant it; he’d truly wait till you were ready. For now, he’d have his fantasies and enjoy the feeling of your desire as it danced with his own. “How about you go crawl in bed? I’ll be there in a bit,” he added, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to sleep unless he took care of himself.

A blush crept into your cheeks as you bit your bottom lip. I wish I could just let go. It was the one thought that kept going through your head like a repeat record player. Dean gave you that half smile before leaving a tender kiss on your forehead. Don’t make me carry you. His teasingly playful threat made you chuckle. “Alright, I’m going.” You left a soft kiss on his cheek before going to your room, mostly closing it so he had more privacy. 

The tip Pamela had given you, about picturing a bubble around you, was something you had been practicing. So, as you climbed into bed, you pictured that bubble again, needing to have some time so your body could cool down from the fire he always ignited. Lying on your back, staring at the ceiling, you slowed your breathing, picturing a bubble around you. It was an odd sensation after feeling Dean’s emotions for nearly a week now. The connection was still there, and you could feel the thread, but the emotions that passed through it diminished. As you were focusing on how different it felt, Dean gently pushed the door open, a little apprehensive.

“You okay, Sweetheart?” he asked, pulling you from your concentration, effectively popping the bubble. “What was that?” 

You watched him as he crawled into the bed next to you, rolling onto your side. “I was practicing that bubble thing. I probably should warn you so you don’t get so concerned,” you replied sincerely, giving him the soft smile that helped the tension ease from his shoulders.

Dean pulled you closer, the physical contact bringing the relief he needed after feeling the connection diminishing. “Yeah, a heads up will help,” he sighed out, focusing on the way you felt in his arms and the way your emotions danced with his again.

“I can remember,” you told him softly, kissing his cheek tenderly before getting fully comfortable tucked against him. “Get some sleep,” you murmured sleepily.

It took him a few minutes to completely relax again. One minute, he had felt your emotions dancing with his, the desire mingling, and then there was almost nothing. For a moment, he thought something had happened, even being in the bunker. I’ll be thankful when we don’t have to worry anymore. He wasn’t sure how far into sleep you had drifted, but the peace that washed over him like a warm blanket began pulling him off to the dreamworld as well. A quiet hum slipped out as you drifted off to sleep.

You had no idea where you were. It was a town, and it was nighttime. There were a few street lights that cast an eerie yellow glow along the deserted street. What the hell? Looking around, the town seemed deserted. Cautiously, you headed toward the only place that looked open, a gas station several blocks away. There were no sounds like you would typically hear at night, like crickets or owls. Goosebumps prickled along your skin as you rubbed your arms, trying to get them to go away. The closer to the gas station you got, the more a knot began twisting in your gut. Something wasn’t right, but you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. The night air was warm against the chill that settled down your spine when you crossed the street. There wasn’t a single car in the parking lot or at any of the four pumps. Your heart pounded as your breathing became shallow and shaky. Swallowing hard, you made your way to the front of the gas station, only close enough to look inside. There was one person inside, a guy behind the counter that you’d never seen before. Other than that, the place looked empty. Oddly enough, that seemed to steady your nerves, letting out a sigh. You turned and looked back down the way you’d come, then further in the direction past the gas station. Where am I?  You stood outside, debating going in and talking to the cashier or just heading in the direction you were drawn to, past the gas station. Slipping your hands into the pockets of your jeans, you headed further down the deserted street. The further away you got from the gas station, the more surreal everything felt.  A few blocks later, you noticed a motel across the street, Dean’s Impala, parked in front of one of the rooms. Quizically, you tilted your head a bit. Now utterly confused, you made your way across the parking lot to the room, taking note of the number seven on the door.  First, you tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Then, you felt around your pockets, noticing something in one of the back ones you hadn’t felt earlier. Slowly, you pulled out the item, taking a shaky breath, seeing it was a key to the door. Your stomach began knotting up, like something was horribly wrong. Slowly, you unlocked the door but looked over your shoulder, feeling like you were being watched. Dean’s car was gone, replaced by something else. This one was a new model Jeep that you didn’t recognize. As your brows furrowed in confusion, the door was pulled open from the inside. Just as you were attempting to regain your balance and see who had opened the door, someone grabbed you, dragging you into the room. They weren’t gentle about it either. You even attempted to fight against their hold. Whoever it was, it wasn’t Dean, but it was a guy, and he was far stronger than you. “Now, you’re mine,” his voice was low, pleased, but with a cruel undertone. “First, you’ll be bait. I need to sever that connection.”

Your scream reverberated off the walls of the bedroom, echoing through the bunker as you bolted upright in bed. Unable to take a deep breath, you clung to the blankets as Dean’s arms wrapped around you. “Shhh.. Sweetheart,” he began softly, images flashing through his mind. “I’ve got you. It was a nightmare.” However, you both knew the truth. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was a premonition.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 31

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[yveshiver]

Rafe Cameron - Late.

Lana Del Rey - Pretty When You Cry

The weekend was awful and you wanted to talk to someone that saturday night. Not just someone, but him. Yet you know the rules that both of you have set: no texting, no calling, no meetings. No need to repeat the past mistakes, but you just know you can't keep yourself off him. Today you need him, to feel yourself falling into his strong arms and feel as if nothing else exists in the world. No wondering how you didn't crash to some random car on the road since your head was full of other matters. Your mind drove you to his new little place, the apartment he got on the Silence Road. The phone showed the time 01:13, a bit too late for the friendly visit, and yet again, you are nowhere to be friends, not anymore. You got out of the car, the nights were getting cold and you stood there thinkin it over and over again, "Am I ready to lose him one more time?". And then you made one step closer to the entrance door, one more and few more. Two knocks at the door and no reply, you knocked again. "Yeah, it was fucking stupid I should just leave before anyone notices" and you start to stride back to the car breathless.

-No way. - He showed at the door in shorts only, topless and barefoot. His buzzcut was getting a little long, the goosebumps from the cold showed on the muscles all over the body and you noticed a little tattoo of a boat on the rib.

-I am sorry, I should have not come here. - Your tears started to show. - And you were asleep and it's late and we agreed not to ever.. do this.. again.. I'm… - You were lost of breath, the panic was getting you, it felt as if the ground beneath your feet was dissapearing and you were ready to fall.

-Hey, princess, I'm here, hey.. - He stepped closer to you.

-You can't go out like this, you'll catch a cold, it's very…

-Hey, it's ok, don't worry about me catching a cold, hey… - He was so close, he got your face into his hands trying to find the reason for this sudden appearance.

-Rafe, I'm sorry. - You couldn't look into his eyes. - I'm so sorry for being here, I know that we… - Tears were streaming down the face.

-It's ok, hey, look at me. Please, baby, look at me, I need to know what happened, you are safe with me, ok? It's ok, c'mhere. - He held you in his arms as close as it was humanly possible. He placed your head onto his chest, his arms were cuddled to you. For the first time this day you felt safe, it was such a liberating feeling. You stood there with your eyes closed knowing you can finally relax in his arms.

-Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby, ok? You are safe here, you know that. It's ok. I do wish you told me the reason of the tears tho. - He got your face into his hands once again, you always loved when he did that.

-I feel so helpless, I know I can't bother you with my things.

-Hey, your things are my things, I got you. - He put your strands of hair behind your ears, his fingers brushed through you hair as you tilted you head to his hand. You looked straight into his eyes, the striking blueness of them always swept you away. The colour of the sea, the colour of the sky, the colour of everything that gave you hope and comfort. Now they shined brighter in the night. You wanted the moment to last forever, but you knew you only had this night. You got out of his arms, took the breath of fresh air. He noticed you getting away and looked so worried.

-Hey, why don't you come inside and tell me everyhing, huh? - You felt as if he didn't want you to go away.

-Rafe, do you think it's a good idea?

-Sure. - He tried to seem unbothered, putting his hands into the pockets of the shorts. - Why not, and it is really chilly outside. - He shugged the shoulders. You noticed the freckes on them, oh God how much you loved these freckles.

-Why not, I can't let you get cold because of me, right? He started walking to the door checking if you were following. All you knew is how much you wanted this night to last forever, how much you wanted to feel him close to you, to look into his eyes, to have his hands holding you. You might not have another day with him, but at least you have tonight, right?

[ipilokko]

Hello! This is me attempting to write after a looong time. I was not home today so i wanted to try again. I don't think I'm the best at it and i probably made a LOT of grammar mistakes since English is not my first language. So i might get embarrassed and delete this later 💀

The thing is under the cut...

From the warmth of their home, Mollie stood in front of the window, she could hardly make out her immense husband between the layering raindrops. It was getting colder and colder each day as the weather pulled away from autumn and was being dragged more into winter.

His back facing her, he was wearing a dark brown coat with his umbrella on his hand, creating a spotlight on him free from the raindrops. She gripped the ladder, slowly climbing down to reach the ground. She put on her jacket, her hat, took her own umbrella, her gloves and went outside from the human door.

The oversized raindrops were a bit sticky as the surface tension was, for sure, directly proportional to the scale. She slowly made her way through him, whose gaze was lost in the foreverness of the ocean. She watched as he stretched farther over her horizon line, much farther over her head and then finally, as he completely took over her vision as she got closer.

The raindrops stopped falling on her when she passed the lineage of the circular waterproof fabric hundreds of feet above. He wasn't acting like it but she was sure he had noticed her coming, he always did.

"Always by the sea... Why do you hate me so much?"

Mollie teased before letting out a short-lasting laugh, cranning her neck to be able to see his face... Well, more like underside of his jaw. He looked down and his eyes landed on her. She was not even sure if he could see her eyes, yet it WAS an eye contact. Roy smiled kindly and looked back up to his own vanishing point. He moved his umbrella to her direction and centered it on top of her, even though he knew it was already covering her before. The sound of huge raindrops falling just a few feet away from her tickled her ears.

"What so nice here anyway?"

She walked closer to his feet. She could smell the fresh polish he applied on his shoes just a day ago.

"Stay here with me for a little longer and you will find out" He replied softly without breaking his eye contact with waves for a moment, then glancing at her.

She shifted her attention back to the ocean and glanced around between the waves. "I guess I'll be here for a while, then"

"I would love that" he once again, smiled calmly.

She was a bit cold, but it was no excuse to get back into the house. Yes, maybe she didn't understand what he liked so much about the sea but just staying with him made her happy. And her staying with him made him happy. Despite her being really talkative, it was actually the speechless moments of pure togetherness she adored the most.

His long legs shifted behind her, transferring his weight onto them with a soft tremour, shielding her from the cold breeze. His movements calm and bare of rush, as they always were. After a short amount of time, she felt a movement behind her and noticed he was lowering himself on the ground, his stature folding in half and getting more than twice as big with the affect of perspective. He smootly reached for her and slightly spread out his fingers to reveal his palm, inviting her to join him up in the sky. She glanced at his ring, which was a symbol of their marriage. it warmed her heart seeing how well he took care of it, not a single piece of dust between the elegant engravings.

With her barely perceivable touch, she put one of her hands on the inner side of his forefinger and the other one on his thumb. She supported herself and climbed on it, her small weight barely forming a dent on the soft flesh. She felt the welcomed thrill of weightlessness as he began to rise her up in the air, making her previous ground shrink and shrink more until it stopped.

"Shoulder, please" she requested. He obeyed after he deeply studying her with his soft gaze. She took a step that led her on his shoulder after his hand was aligned with the level of it. She carefully passed the collar of his coat and made herself comfortable near his neck with the warmth of his life blood leaking on her. His presence was dominating yet somehow, so recessive that she felt like she was taking advantage of him. She was always grateful that the gentle giant was always so patient, so respectful and considerate of her needs. He was a gentleman from every angle and his manner and accent only made her opinion stronger.

She once again paid attention to the sound of rain, a wee bit muffled now as she was further away from the origin.

"Shall we go in?" His voice rumbled through her from where she was leaning her head on. Weird enough, even though she was this close to his voicebox, his voice always touched her so gently.

[tinfoil-jones]

Gravity Falls: For Your Own Good, Ch. 15

Summary: A few years after moving to Gravity Falls and having his lab built, Stanford Pines happens upon his estranged twin brother, Stanley. He mentally prepared himself to be suffocated by his brothers neediness all over again - what he wasn't prepared for was Stanley walking right past him like he didn't even notice him.

Rating: M for language, violence, and adult implications

Preface: Dialogue only, but some actions will be annotated for clarity. Cross-Posted on AO3 Here

First - Prev - Next

“Hey F, could I get some of that dip? Someone threw all of my cans of Snus away when he confiscated my stuff.”

“Sure thang, handsome. Oh- you sure you need that much Stan? You’ve cold-turkey’d nicotine for weeks now.”

“I’ll be fine, stretch. It’s not like I haven’t done worse for less.”

(...)

“Fiddleford, is there a particular reason Stanley is under the table in the recovery position?”

“He tried too much chew all at once, he’s got the nic-sick.”

“Stanley, I told you that you needed to quit that nasty habit! This is precisely why I threw your tobacco products away when you came here.”

“Y’know this headache was bad enough without you yelling at me.”

“I cannot believe you enabled him.”

“Stanford, he's a grown man, he’s allowed to use nicotine if he wants to.”

“He can still hear you. And you know what? I don’t think you ever need to bitch at me about it ever again, Doc. I’m not touching the stuff again for a long time…”

“It’s for your own good.”

“PhD, next time you think about saying that I want you to remember I’m not above hitting a guy with glasses.”

(...)

“Stan, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven going on twenty-eight.”

“Do you remember when your birthday is?”

“Not the date, no. I know it’s late spring or early summer.”

“And I know your memories are hazy, but did you ever… celebrate it?”

“I think the last time I did was before I was on the streets. After that? There wasn’t a point, I was alone. Why do ya need to know, F?”

“I’m just checking is all.”

(...)

“Stanford, how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“When is your birthday?”

“June 15th.”

“And if I remember correctly from BMU, you never celebrate it?”

“Last time I did I was seventeen.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I told you back then Fiddleford, I did not see a point, I was-...”

“Used to sharing it?”

“Why?”

“I’m just checking is all.”

(...)

“So each of these is supposed to be your, what, doctors cert?”

“Doctoral degree, and yes.”

“So you have a dozen of them?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Twelve whole PhDs? That’s pretty cool.”

“...You really think so?”

“Yeah, most people don’t even got one -  but you got one for each finger huh?”

“That’s not why I-. Well, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Stanford! Stan! I’m back, come over to the kitchen!”

“Do ya know what he left for?”

“He did not say.”

“Why’d he turn out the ligh-.”

“Surprise!”

*Stan and Ford stop at the entryway to the kitchen. Fiddleford is standing next to the table, which has a sheet cake and twenty-eight lit candles*

“...”

“Fiddleford, what is this?”

“I know you said you don’t see a point to your birthday, but I couldn’t help myself.”

“Oh, it’s your birthday?”

“...Stanley. It’s not just my birthday.”

“Are you okay Stan? You’re looking spooked. I apologize if I put you on the spot-”

“N-No. I’m fine. It’s uhh- I don’t even know when my birthday is.”

“It’s today. We’re twins.”

“...”

“You still don’t believe-.”

“Wouldn’t, you know, the other guy, be upset?”

“There is no ‘other guy’, it’s literally you.”

“I’m- I don’t… I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Stanley, I understand you’ve stubbornly held onto the belief that I’m insane and trying to replace something I’ve lost-”

“The cake’s getting covered in wax here, fellers.”

“But I haven’t celebrated my birthday in a long time, because I’m used to sharing it. I am not trying to force you to, but I’m requesting you let me share it with you; I want to share it with you.”

“...Fuck it, I said I’d play along with your delusions until you got over it. Okay, PhD, I accept your offer. But I’m taking all of the corner pieces of the cake.”

“I can accept those terms.”

“Okay you two, I don’t think we got enough time to sing the happy birthday song before the candles melt themselves outta their wicks. So just blow ‘em out and make your wishes.”

(...)

“Hello, Dr. Stanford Pines speaking.”

“Stanford?”

“Hey Ma.”

“Happy birthday hon.”

“Thanks Ma.”

“Please tell me you celebrated your birthday this year. I know your last one couldn’t have been easy after-”

“I was busy with research last year. This year, yes I celebrated, I have… Company, this time.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Listen hon, I know it hasn’t been easy without Stanley since… the accident.”

“I’ve had more than enough time to think about it. I am not going to lie to you and say I’m not upset at all, but it’s been long enough that I have other things to concern myself with.”

“I just want you to know if things get too hard, don’t be afraid to talk to your old Ma again.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I love you, Stanford.”

“I love you too, Ma.”

To be continued…

[layuhsblog]

cus of my love for museums and guided tour

i want a fluffy fic so bad where a poet! reader is in a museum looking lost with a small notebook, not knowing what to write who came to a museum to get ideas;

a museologist! choso who wanted to explain the art hes so passionate about but no ones listening scurrying off with a sorry, not interested

when he sees you, with a little pout as you write and scratch off whatever you think, with a little head tilt just looking at a particular artwork, then here, then there- clearly you're lost.

"hey miss, would you like a guided tour?"

the biggest smile of a total loser being caught red handed crept up to your face-

"yeah sure!"

slowly and very detailed, he explained every artwork to you, the history of the art style, the name and life story of the artist, almost as if he were present when it had happened.

Slowly your pages turned less about the art, and more about the person explaining it,

The way his eyes shined,

As if he'd seen candy for the first time as a child,

Like the first ride in a rollercoaster,

Like hot tea in a particularly windy day,

The way he spoke each word so gently,

As if to not break the sanctity of the moment,

Like one would lose all concepts of time; the past and the present,

If he spoke too loud,

Like art is worship,

and he's a precious devotee,

Like he's art himself,

As if him and the painting on the wall,

Are the same people,

Theyre one.

"What do you think, isn't it beautiful?" He looked at you, you were already looking at him.

"Beautiful indeed." You gave a toothy smile. Your eyes shining as bright as his.

If it were even possible, today you fell more in love with art.

Everytime you'd want a muse, you're sure where to come.

-

(Y'ALL WANT A FULL FIC????? SORRY FOR THE CHEESY TROPE I'M A SUCKER FOR "i love the view" "me too" BULLSHIT)