#I watched it brew into a quarrel

[godddamnbranman]

How to stay afloat in a bottomless pit..? The trick is to stop falling.

[moo-blogging]

Being inspired by Levi's backstory in Bad Boy:

Levi said it so naturally about why he held cups at its brim with his fingers. Gabi and Falco were apologetic for asking such a sensitive question. Levi shrugged and sipped on his tea. You studies his face carefully, but finding no sadness or remorse in his face, just peacefulness.

It had been 2yrs since the war ended. You stayed in Marley with Levi, rebuilding the country together. Levi once told you that he found peace in rebuilding than destructing like he used to in the army. It was true that everything turned red when Levi swung by with his blades. And now his hands grew new life and hope.

You might have asked Levi why he held his cups the way he did when you were on Paradis Island, but you couldn't recall. Levi stared at you from the back of his palm, and you blushed. You felt as if there was more to Levi than you had uncovered, and you were embarrassed that you knew almost nothing about him. But the soft look that he gave you showed that he was ready to unveil himself to you.

That night he unloaded more about his life in the Underground to you than he ever did. You cried with heartache and Levi was comforting you. There were tears in his eyes as he spoke, but he felt lighter. You kissed him again and again, holding you in his arms. Levi stroke your hair lovingly, assuring you that he was alright now.

A couple of weeks later, you took a stroll with Levi down the new street in the evening. New shops showcasing attractive products on the window. Your fingers interlaced with Levi's as you walked, taking in what you had rebuilt together.

And you came to a pottery shop with a Closed sign on and signalled Levi to enter the shop. Puzzled, Levi pulled you gently, "Y/n, my love, it's closed. We can come back tomorrow morning."

You smiled at him and shook your head, "it's opened for us, Levi. Let's go." You led him onto the steps and into the shop. There was a dim light at the end of the shop and a young storekeeper greeted you. He shook your hands and thanked you for helping him rebuild his father's business after the war had ruined their lives. And he was thrilled to have these private tea set making sessions with you.

Levi's eyes widen and you nodded to assure him he could make his mother's tea set from scratch. The young storekeeper asked for a design. You looked at Levi expectedly. Instead, Levi signed and smiled gently. He said, "I think we'll make a new tea set for ourselves." He turned to look at you, "Y/n, I know you are trying to have me connect to my mother. I love you for that, but I would like to make this tea set for us. A new one with a new design." Tears were gleaming in his eyes as he looked into yours. You nodded and you pulled him in for a hug.

You spent the evening designing your very own tea set, adding yours and Lev's personal touches to it. For the next few days, you came back to the shop after it closed to work on the tea set. Your hands were cold with wet mud as you shaped the tea cups. Levi worked on the saucers. The young storekeeper guiding you here and there and helping to fix any defects.

A few weeks later, a box of beautifully glazed tea set were sent to your house. Gabi and Falco had come to swe the tea set you had been working on. They bought some new tea leaves from other countries. Levi brewed the tea in the tea pot and hot tea were shared.

You sat next to Levi, sipping on some foreign tea, listening to Gabi and Falco quarrelling about something you could hardly understand. You turned to watch Levi, and he was staring at the new tea pot. He noticed you staring and he stared back at you. Mirroring each other's soft smiles, you lean in for a kiss. Happiness filled your chest. You could feel the warmth radiating from your skin. What a beautiful you had started with Levi.

"How do you kiss like that?" Gabi asked loudly. You both turned toward her at the same time. Levi had one eyebrow raised. Gabi clarified, "I mean, how do you know when to kiss? Like you didn't even ask but you just moved your head together and MUAH you kissed!"

"Gabi, that's inappropriate to ask!" Falco tried to shut her up. You shared a look at Levi, you grinned as Levi smiled, and you leaned in for a kiss again.

[delopsia]

nosedive | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 18,900 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader. Storm chasers AU, Kate, and Tyler appear but are so inconsequential that they can be read as OC's. You do not need to watch Twisters to understand and read this fic! Arguing, brief food mentions, undisclosed past trauma, storm chasing, vehicle accidents, anxiety attacks, friends to lovers, grinding, unprotected sex, includes a sketch that I traced from stock photos I stitched together. Brief Summary: You swore off storm chasing a long time ago. You haven't been able to look at that old truck since the accident, and if you could have your way, you'd never think about that part of your life ever again. You've moved on. Every time you touch that damn truck, something goes wrong. But when your friend and her so-called business partner become wrapped up in a never-ending quarrel, it's Rhett who becomes your biggest supporter. You think you're beginning to remember why you used to love this. How you used to live for your out-of-this-world builds and ideas. Or maybe…just maybe, you're beginning to fall in love with something that isn't a truck.

"So, at what point are we going to tell them?"

"What would that be?" Speaking with the straw against your lips, seconds away from taking another sip of that cheap gas station coffee. "That I'm the one who keeps filling Rhett's truck with tiny ducks?"

"No," Kate's eyes roll, her head shaking ever so slightly, not quite ready to admit to her part in it. "About Dallas."

A gust of wind blows past. Entirely invisible to the eye, and yet you catch Kate's head following as it twists through the field, the wheat rippling in waves. Strange how something you can't even see can cause so much trouble, ripping up the garage roof, blowing Rhett's hat down the driveway, and taking that long-awaited Amazon package across the lawn.

Worse, it blows your straw around, leaving you to gape like a fish as you blindly try to find it again. "Do we even want to tell them?"

Her brow furrows. Confused.

"You can't convince me it's not entertaining to watch them puff up like a bunch of peacocks when we mention him," you can't help but giggle, memories flickering through your head like a slideshow. Rhett grumbling about Dallas under his breath. Tyler pulling up his YouTube channel to prove he's done bigger things than this Dallas guy ever could. Overhearing them griping about him in the hotel gym. "Can you imagine the look on their faces when they finally see him?"

A smile bursts onto her face. "You drive a fair point."

Something clangs to the left. Appearing so suddenly that both of your heads swivel toward it.

Speak of the devil.

Rhett and Tyler. Hauling some kind of unnamed contraption to the trucks. You're pretty sure that it's supposed to put extra weight on the chassis to prevent them from being blown around as easily. Rhett's been muttering about having to build a new one ever since his original build cracked a few days ago.

If you weren't distracted, you think you would be able to recall more of the details, but all you can focus on is...

"Are they allergic to shirts?" Kate chirps after a long moment, but she's not making any effort to peel her eyes away.

Neither are you. Too wrapped up in the way Rhett's bicep flexes as he readjusts his grip on the steel frame. Not quite as bulky as Tyler, but he's got a wiriness to him that almost seems to hypnotize you, stuck staring until you run the risk of being caught. "Are we complaining?"

"Absolutely not," and you only peel your gaze away when you realize that they're walking toward your little afternoon coffee party. You're not dealing with the misery that is Tyler's cockiness again.

Kate's got the same idea, her cheeks dusted with a subtle shade of pink that wasn't there a few seconds ago. Something flickers behind her eyes, the same kind of glint you're used to seeing when she's caught the trail of a brewing storm, but she doesn't say anything.

You wonder if this new frame means they'll focus on upgrading those drills next. Anchoring two feet into the ground was likely an impressive feat when they first installed that onto the rigs, but the technology has progressed so much further since then. Longer augers would be a start, twisting deeper into the earth, harder to be ripped out by high winds. 

"So, do you know when Dallas is coming in?" Kate asks once the boys are within earshot, like she doesn't know the answer to her own question.

Rhett's head perks. Tyler peeks over his sunglasses.

"Few more days, I think," feigning interest in your drink, swirling the straw in circles, anything to pretend that you haven't noticed them yet. "Sunday at the latest."

"Dallas!" Tyler crows. So loud and sudden that you jolt in your seat. "Finally comin' to meet us, huh?"

Rhett peeks at you through the corner of his eye, either too focused on the task at hand or not quite bold enough to match Tyler's antics. Even from a distance, it's difficult to miss the way his gaze rakes up and down your frame as if transfixed by your pajama shorts and the beauty that is your half-awake face.

"He was supposed to be here earlier, but..." motioning toward the empty beer can blowing past. Budweiser's aluminum version of a tumbleweed. "Another wind delay."

Tyler scoffs, the heel of his boot thunking against the can and sending it flying. "How many more times is he gonna use that excuse?"

"As many times as he wants," Kate's stolen the words right out of your mouth, her shoulders shrugging as she turns her attention back to her cell phone.

Wind howls in your ear, rolling the ballpoint pen across the table and right into your cup. It tips before you can even comprehend what's happening, the remnants of your coffee spilling into the dirt. 

"I reckon that's my sign to head inside," you sigh, defeated. This battle was lost the moment you quit paying attention to your drink.

There's not much for you to gather, but nature herself had might as well be interfering with your every move. Blowing the cup toward the garage, rustling your notebook pages when you scoop it up, the pen jumping off the edge of the table just to rub salt into the wound. It's not bothering anything else, not Kate's hair, not the dumb hat on Tyler's head, just your things.

Talk about a personal vendetta.

At least the garage has never betrayed you like this. Cozy and windless, albeit a bit dusty, depending on the day of the week and what project Rhett is working on. The loveseat tucked into the far right corner is much softer than that sunbleached wooden chair, the beaten cushions enveloping you in a loose hug. The thick armrest is the perfect size to fit your notebook. Doesn't have you trying to cram yourself into an itty bitty space. 

And with the back of the couch being up against the wall, there's no opportunity for someone to mosey up and peek at your notes, either. 

The side of the pen is dented, the groove creating the perfect space for your finger to settle into as you begin to draw. This must be the pen that you forgot on the roof of your car and wound up driving overtop of. 

Ink drips from the tip in spurts, scattering across the page in small, ugly blotches. What's supposed to be your delicate sketchings of an idea are starting to look more and more like an interpretive art piece in a museum. Is it a component for one of the storm vehicles, or is there an underlying message about the beauty of mistakes and brokenness?

Whatever. The answer only matters if it's attached to a big, fat check from a private collector looking to hang it next to a myriad of other, questionably produced works. 

"Whatcha ya doin' over there?" Rhett's voice echoes through the garage, seems to come from so many directions that you don't realize where he is until you spot him in your peripheral. Red dirt and grease smeared across his forearms, sweat glistening in the overhead light. You already know he doesn't smell the best, but you can't say you hate the sight of him.

Your pen drifts across the paper once more, streaking through a blob of collected ink in your efforts to build the general shape of a truck. "Sketching." 

It's such a bland reply. Shouldn't intrigue him in the slightest, and yet you can hear the soft thunk of his boots against the cement floor, drawing closer. "Sketchin' what?" 

"A fantasy for an advanced anchoring system," your pen darts across the metal arms, extending from the roof of the truck, one on the passenger side and one on the driver, anchored into the ground. "Buildable, but it's not a feasible idea." 

The light reflects off of his rodeo buckle. Amelia County's bull riding champion. "Can I see?"

You're not sure why he wants to look at your fantasy sketches, but you don't have the energy nor the will to tell him no. Certainly not when he's bending down next to you, so close that his bicep bumps into your arm, hot and swollen from hauling around that heavy frame. You're making no effort to move away, either. If anything, you're moving closer, turning the notebook for him to see.

As if to guide his thoughts, his index finger traces across the lines, grease-stained and so, so much thicker than yours. "What's makin' ya think it won't work?"

"It's not realistic." Easy answer. There's a reason why nobody else has done this. 

But Rhett's head just tilts to the side, a thought visibly crossing his mind. You know it's there; can see it glisten in his eyes as it passes by. "Yes, it is." 

You feel the tug of your arm and the warmth of his hand around your wrist before you realize that he's pulling you up from the couch. There's a creak in your knee as you rise, helplessly stumbling after him.

"What are you doing?" You're chirping, but Rhett doesn't reply, too dead set on hauling you to the other side of the room.

He spins. So do you. The garage blurs into streaks of gray.

Then your back bumps into his sweaty chest, and you're staring at...a newly built drill for the frame. 

"Does this look unrealistic to you?" His voice rumbles straight through you, low as the thunder that you've spent too much of your life chasing. 

"Well...no," you croak after a long moment, "but you already know that it—"

"What about that?" His hand darts out, pointing toward the old radar, built out of scrap material and the sheer power of will. It doesn't work anymore, not after that hunk of debris split it down the middle, but it did for a good few weeks. 

Rhett isn't waiting for you to reply, already pointing toward another contraption. The roll cage, and the rest of the steel exoskeleton frame that hasn't been welded onto Tyler's truck. Then he's guiding your attention to the windshield and window cages; lord knows those glass replacements are getting expensive. The armor plating that has yet to be welded to the vehicles, the reinforced overhead spotlights, the custom grill guards, and all of the little, unnamed crafts that you have yet to see in action.

"None of this was feasible, either," his words are solid, fleeting things, dancing around your head like words from the gods above, "but we still gave it a shot." 

A puff of air breaks past your lips. 

All of that happened long before you and Kate stumbled across them crammed into the corner of a Waffle House. Their trucks were already built. Field tested beyond belief. But...well, you suppose his ideas had to have started the same way yours do, a random thought that evolved out of control until it became a reality.

"Your ideas are no more unrealistic than these were," Rhett murmurs, and it almost sounds like he's sharing a secret. A whimsical little thought meant to stay between the two of you.

...maybe he has a point. 

You turn, twisting to face him. The tips of your noses bump. Piecing blue eyes staring right back into yours, wide as can be. Too close. Way too close. But you don't make any effort to move, and neither does he. He should. Fuck, any closer, and you'd be kissing him, can already taste his minty toothpaste on his breath. 

"Rhett!" Boone's voice arcs across the room like lightning, sends you jumping apart as if struck by it. "You fixin' to bring that upper frame or what?" 

Whatever that moment was, it's gone in an instant. 

Your head comes so close to hitting the ceiling that you can feel it graze past. Seatbelt cinching tight around your chest. Ass bouncing against the seat. Struggling to keep both your hands on the shivering plastic handle overhead. Something clatters across the floor, landing in the mess of components and contraptions that met their maker three bumps ago.

You'd complain, but Tyler's rollercoaster of a truck looks even worse than whatever the hell you just experienced. 

"I'm shocked this old truck has survived this long," you're trying to sound calm, but it comes out resembling a yelp more than anything else. "I remember you driving to high school with this thing." 

Rhett's hands flutter across the wheel, a wave of mud kicking up from under the back tires. "These ol' ranch trucks last forever if you take care of 'em."  

"Doesn't care involve things like...not driving into ditches?" Your shoulder presses against the glass, sliding around as the truck veers to the left, loosely chasing Tyler's messy trail. 

"Probably," he laughs, "but we survived, didn't we?" 

"I'm not too sure about that," frankly, you think half of your soul may still be sitting on the road, milliseconds away from experiencing the horror of Rhett's truck diving into the ditch.

"Oh, c'mon," his hand darts out, nudging your arm, "ya worry too much."

You haven't forgotten about the clouds twisting up ahead, downward spiraling, growing thinner and thinner as it nears the earth. A plume of red dirt rises, staining what was once a perfect, white funnel cloud. Wind squeals around the edges of the truck, wedging its way through the nonexistent gaps between the windows and wailing in your ear. 

Tyler's truck rips straight into the center, unhindered by the mud and soybean plants being hurled against it. There's already a drone dancing around the upper part of the funnel, bobbing and weaving, serves as the eyes for however many people are watching the live stream it's broadcasting. 

Rhett's a little more conservative, looping out to the side and into the path of the tornado instead. Leaves scatter across the windshield, wedging beneath the windshield wipers. But the nose of the truck turns to face the cyclone, and the wind is already beginning to tear them away. 

"Wanna press the button?" You can hardly hear him. Only realize he's talking when you notice his mouth moving.

You're already reaching out, pressing the little green button on the dash. 

The drills whir to life, entirely inaudible, but it's impossible to miss their vibration as they dig down into the soil, the truck gradually sinking lower. 

One blink and the world around you turns to dust. The little ranch truck shivers under the battering of the wind; feels like you're going to blow away at any moment, but nothing around you is moving. 

Hesitant, you peek out the passenger window up at the tornado overhead. It's almost calm. A little quieter now. The crystal sky peeks through the twirling clouds, and if you tilt your head just right, it kind of looks like one of Rhett's gentle blue eyes. 

Rhett's elbow nudges yours as you settle back into your seat. 

You know what he's going to say before he's even opened his mouth. 

"Now, is this more fun than it is with Dallas?" Always comparing your ventures together to what you've done in the past, like he's aiming to jump up to the top of your 'Best Experiences' list.

"Nah," repeating the same thing you always tell him. He should have expected this answer from a mile away. "Dal still has ya beat."

His eyes roll, but he laughs nonetheless. Defeated again. "One of these days, I'm—"

Bang.

The truck jumps. 

Something sharp scatters across your face. Wind screams in your ears. 

The world flips on its head. Upside down. Rightside up. Upside down again. It jars you so hard that your teeth snap together, head smacking against the seat, and there's something yanking against your chest, and your ears are popping and, and, and—

You should have known that was coming. 

Why didn't you know that was coming?

You don't feel the pressure on your shoulders until it's gone. Replaced with something warm that you can't identify. Can't think to try and identify where it's coming from. Something about your head doesn't feel right, but it doesn't hurt. Tickles. Like something is running down the side of it.

The truck flipped. How did the truck flip? 

Fuck.

You, from three years ago, would have seen that coming from a mile fucking away. How have you gotten worse at the one thing you're supposed to be good at? You should've checked the drills, the circuits, the wires. Why didn't you run through any of the safety checks before you left? What if the tornado had been stronger? Sucked you up and spit you out several hundred feet into the air? 

Did you not learn from the last time? 

This was entirely avoidable.

There's something muttering near you. Sounds like thunder in a strange sort of way. Deep rumbles, rolling in one ear and out the other. But thunder doesn't pause in the middle of its booming, not like this. 

"We're okay."

Your throat is so raw that you can hardly speak. Dry, too. Chest heaving, sucking in air faster than your lungs can handle it. What, what...what...

"We're okay," Rhett. That's Rhett's voice in your ear. "We're okay." 

And he keeps saying it. Over and over, like he's trying to convince himself just as much as he's trying to convince you. But it's not working. You're still shivering, and his voice is lodging in his throat, and...

Your head goes dark. 

You don't necessarily know if you pass out or if your memory decided to stop writing things down. 

One moment, you're in the truck, and the next, you're sitting in the middle of a hospital room, squinting as a nurse shines a blinding light directly into your eye. She hums something to the woman next to her, then turns the light off. 

There's a spot in your vision now. Dead center, lingering as you turn your head to look at whoever is sitting next to you, entirely blocking out their face. Their hand over top of yours, thumb swiping idly across your skin, back and forth in a rhythm that you haven't figured out yet.

"What failed?" You know it's your voice, can feel your mouth shaping around the words, but it sounds nothing like you. 

"Hm?" Rhett's hum nearly disappears amongst the commotion going on around you. 

"The truck," trying again, a little more specific now. "What went wrong back there?"

Stitches line his forearm, probably sliced open by the same thing that left the cuts on the left side of his cheek. Glass from the shattered windshield, you think. 

"You'll never believe this," he leans closer like he doesn't want anyone else to hear what he's about to say. "We got hit by a tree."

That doesn't... "A...tree?" Parroting him. You're expecting for him to furrow his brows and ask how in the world you've managed to mishear him, but all he does is nod. You heard him perfectly. 

All of that was because of a tree hitting the side of the truck. Probably struck hard enough to rip the drills from the ground and gave the tornado all the leverage it needed to start throwing you around like a children's toy.

...huh. 

"Hey, is there a lug wrench sittin' over there?" Rhett asks, his foot kicking out toward the tool cabinet as if to try and point you toward it. Whatever he's doing up under the truck, he must not be able to see that you're already standing in front of the damn cabinet. 

You already see them, sitting amongst the mess of tools resting on top of it. "You've got two." 

His head pokes out from the side. "I do?"

"One is silver, the other is black," lifting them both for him to see. You don't see a difference between them; they both do the same thing, but you're not the one needing them.

"Give me..." his lips purse, "the black one."

You bend down, handing the tool off to him, but the silver one is still in your other hand. "Remind me again what drawer these belong in?"

He taps the thing against his chin. "Any of the middle ones is fine." 

"And here you wonder why you can never find anything," you tease, an ache blooming in your chest as you laugh, still a bit sore from being rolled around like Mother Nature's bowling ball.

Something metal hits the floor, audibly rolling away. A bolt, you think. Rhett swears, boots squeaking as he clambers out from beneath the vehicle. "'ts hard to stay organized when ya share a garage with someone like Tyler."

"That bad?" You would look to see what he's chasing, but organizing this mess is higher on your priority list. 

There's so much junk on the top of this cabinet that you can't figure out what is what, in such a disarray that it seems to swallow up everything you sit on top of it. Somewhere in here is your ten-millimeter socket. 

Kate's voice echoes from outside, loud enough for you to hear her but not enough for you to understand her. Tyler shouts back, the slam of a truck door punctuating whatever he has to say. You think he's still talking when Kate blurts something that sounds like an "I don't care!" Tyler doesn't seem to like that at all.

You turn to look at Rhett right as he does the same. Defeat. Confusion. An overall look of being absolutely done with hearing it from them. You recognize it all; you're feeling the same damn thing. 

And here you thought you'd found a place to escape from them.

"Are those two ever gonna get together?" Rhett whines after a moment. 

Your head shakes, "Kate's got a strict 'no dating business partners' clause." 

They're getting closer now, slowly but surely carrying their argument to the garage. You're not sure why. Everyone was there when the argument started in the restaurant, gradually clearing all of you out of the booth with to-go boxes and a migraine to boot. 

Rhett reaches through the open truck window, pressing the garage door opener. With a groan, it starts to close, taking away your fresh midnight air but granting more silence in return. "Does that rule apply to you, too?"

"I'm not sure," you'd never actually...considered if you were wrapped up in that law or if it was Kate-exclusive. "Why?"

Rhett's eyes dart away. 

Have his ears been red this whole time? Or maybe it's a trick the light is playing on you because it seems to disappear as he rushes toward the side door, sliding the deadbolts into place and twisting the locks. 

There's no way that he's... "Are you seriously locking them out?" 

"Do you wanna hear them argue for another hour?" He doesn't need for you to answer that; he already knows the answer. "Get me that padlock off the table."

Padlock. Shit, where did you last see that?

There's so much on this table. Jumper cables. Tools. Tools. More tools. Bolts. A box of nails. Your missing socket. A chocolate candy wrapper. Tootsie rolls. Another box of nails. Shit, is that a broken phone case? You push your hands through the mess, shoving it all to the side, but you don't see it. Where is it? Where is it? 

Someone knocks on the garage door. Rattling across the garage.

Fuck, fuck, where is it? You don't see—

There it is.

You don't feel it in your grasp until you're halfway across the room. Shoving it into Rhett's open hands. The garage door rattles. But Rhett's shoving the hook through a hole in the tracks, squeezing it closed until it clicks. 

"Are y'all in there?" Tyler's muffled voice is the last thing you want to hear. 

Something moves in the window. 

Your body moves on its own. Grabbing Rhett by the bicep. Diving toward the couch. 

He's too big to be tumbling after you, but he does, the loveseat squealing as he lands on top of you. An elbow finds its way into your ribs. Your knee slots between his thighs. His hair is in your face, and you can smell the vanilla of his cologne, and his hand is on your waist—

"Rhett?" Tyler tries again. Knuckles tap at the window. 

You know they can't see you. If they could, then they would be calling you out on it. 

This couch isn't wide enough for you and Rhett to be lying on it like this, your shoulder hanging off the edge, his knees awkwardly bent to make room for your legs. He's finding a way to make it work, though. Wedging himself up against the back cushion, granting you enough room to roll onto your side without falling off. 

You're not sure if you want to comment on the arm that drapes around your waist, securing you to him. 

"I entirely forgot about the window," he whispers. Does he think Tyler can hear him talking from outside? 

Laughing, you tap him on the nose. "I know you did." 

So much of his hair has fallen into his face that you can no longer see his expression, concealed under a mass of unruly, brunette curls, untamable by any means of the word. He can very well push it out of the way himself, but for some reason, you find that your hand is beginning to do that for him. Collecting locks of it with your fingers, sorting them to their respective sides, tucking some of it behind his ear. 

"Watcha doin'?" He asks as you unveil his hidden eye. It looks bluer than it was before.

Your touch falters. "I wanted to see your face." 

"Yeah?" The corner of his lip lifts a little. 

"Yeah." Nodding. 

And your hand just...falls onto his cheek. Idly resting there, like this is exactly where it belongs, where it's always gone after you've finished fixing his hair. 

Worse. He doesn't make any effort to stop you, lets your thumb swipe up and down his skin, meandering across the tiny cuts that linger there. If you didn't know any better, you would think he nicked himself while shaving, but there are far too many of them for that. Too high, too. There's even one up beside the corner of his eye.

"No!" Even the garage door isn't enough to muffle Kate's voice. "We're not doing that, Tyler!"

Tyler isn't quite as loud. You can hear the general sound of his voice, carrying through a sentence or two, but you can't make out a single word. 

"Because—because it's ridiculous," Kate's still going. Tyler says something a bit louder.

You don't know when Rhett started moving, but all of a sudden, you're way too aware of how close his face is getting. Inching closer and closer until...

He rubs his nose against yours. Slow little motions that don't stop until you can no longer fight off your smile.

"What're you doing?" You giggle, making no real effort to stop him. 

He's too close for you to see his mouth, but you recognize the way that the corners of his eyes turn upward with his grin. "Distractin' ya." 

It must be working because you no longer have the capacity to think about what's going on in the driveway. His hand smooths up your back, making its way up to your face, and he's so warm, heat radiating off his palm like he's got a small fire burning in his veins. Rough fingertips brush against your cheek, hesitant to make any solid contact. 

"Your cheek is still swollen," his palm gradually comes to flatten against your cheek, his hand so big that it seems to cover your entire face. 

Kate's voice echoes in the back of your head. No dating business partners. But something about his touch...it's addicting. "Well, that's what happens when you get thrown around by a tornado." 

He doesn't seem to have much else to say to that. 

To be fair, you don't know what you would say to that, either. 

His thumb swipes across the upper portion of your cheek. Your fingers find their way down to his jaw, pushing through the stubble there. It's soft, has had time to lose the stiffness that comes with being recently shaved. 

It seems that you may have finally lost Kate and Tyler; you don't hear them bickering outside, at least. You lift your head, craning to look over the arm of the couch and at the door. The window is impossible to see from this angle, but you get the feeling that they're no longer standing outside. 

"What's that?" You ask, nodding toward something that you know he can't see.

Rhett's fingers trace their way over to the shell of your ear, not interested in trying to look at what you're asking him about. "Hm?"

"The little contraption sitting next to the door," clarifying, "it looks like a bunch of pipes welded together."

"Oh, that's...supposed to be a tree to hold a bunch of different instruments," he tilts his head back a little, realizes he can't see anything without sitting up, then immediately lets himself fall back against the couch. "I can get everythin' on it, but I can't get it to stay on."

"Industrial glue and steel hose clamps." You have to pause for a moment, sifting through dusty memories, trying to recall how you used to protect Kate's old contraptions. "Maybe build a thin cage around it in case those two things fail."

Rhett's quiet again, his brows knitting together. 

Is he confused, or is he just thinking about what you said? 

It takes him some time to find his words, half-built sentences flickering behind his eyes. You can practically hear the gears turning up in his head. And then, hestiant, his lips part. "I feel like you know a lot more 'bout storm chasin' than you let on."

Something in your lower belly twists. "What's telling you that?"

"You're confident when you're in here," he doesn't need any more time to think on this, his thoughts flowing off his tongue like a waterfall, "most of the folks who walk in here don't have the slightest clue what we're building, but you recognize almost all of it." 

Your eyes dart away, looking down at your intertwined legs, bent and crammed onto this tiny little couch. His fingers curl around your jaw, gently guiding you to look him in the eye.

For reasons unbeknownst to you, you don't fight him on it. 

"You draw up some of the coolest concepts I've ever seen, you...you..." the corner of his lip wobbles up and down. The sight of it makes your head feel funny. "Shit, you make me feel like I'm not the only person here who knows how to do this kind of stuff." 

You suppose you should have expected this. It takes one to know one, and you haven't done yourself any favors by always working with him in this dingy old garage. But you don't entirely know how to respond to that or where you should even start...

"I used to work on an old storm truck that Kate and I owned," it comes out so easily that it almost surprises you, "but that was...god, that was forever ago."

Rhett's eyelashes flutter, his head tilting like that of a curious puppy. "Why'd you never tell me?" 

Shattered glass. The snap of hydraulics splitting in half. Blood blurring your vision. Ear-splitting howling. The world flipping on its head. Rain in your eyes. Steel digging through your back. Your chest tightens. Hail pounding into your skull. The screaming. It's your fault. It's your fault. It's your fault. 

And you're...warm. 

"'m sorry," Rhett murmurs, and you don't know when he got so close, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your nose. A careful hand smooths up your back, another arm securing you to him, tucked up under his chin, shielded from the glaring openness of this too-big garage.

He doesn't move, and neither do you. But this time...this time, you think you know why. 

Rubber squeals against the pavement, so shrill that it soars above the roar of the engine. Your shoulder slams into the window, seat belt cinching tight as everything spins into a blur. 

"Tyler!" Kate yelps.

"Kate!" Tyler. Ever so mocking.

"You're gonna get another ticket." Her hand darts out, smacking his arm. Tyler's got something clever to say about that; you don't hear any of it. If you start listening now, you'll have a migraine before the funnel cloud touches the ground.

Rhett meets your gaze out of the corner of his eye. Telepathy must be real because you know exactly what's running through his head.

Here we go again. 

If you'd known this would start up again, then you probably would have faked an illness to stay home. A headache, an upset stomach, or a sudden onset of death that will miraculously cure itself when the storm chase ends. Anything.

Tires squeal again, the truck seeming to tip onto its front wheels. The seatbelt yanks on your shoulders, throwing you back into the seat. Rhett's phone smacks against the console. A scattering of papers, nameless weather instruments, and unlit rockets scatter across the floor. 

Wind rocks the vehicle back and forth. Squealing through the crack in the window like a kettle boiling over. Or maybe you're just hearing things because nobody else seems to hear it. Tyler's shouting into his camera. Kate's rattling something off about how the tornado is forming directly above the town you're driving through.

A wave of rain pelts the windshield. Hail pattering on the roof. Something silver flies past the nose of the truck, striking the building to your right. The brick splinters, debris falling like rain. Kate yells something. Tyler shouts back at her.

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett jumps in his seat, blindly smacking his hand on the console, looking at something you can't see, "stop the truck."

But Tyler is saying something into the CB radio, veering the truck to the right with one hand. Kate doesn't lift her head from the scanner. And they're still fucking arguing. You don't know if they even hear Rhett over the clash of their own voices, nevermind the storm.

Rhett yanks on the door handle. It peels open, rain spewing through the gap. "Ty, stop the damn truck!" 

"Rhett?" You yelp. Scrambling.  "Rhett, wait!" 

You can't stop him. 

He's jumping out of the truck before it's even stopped moving. Bricks and sheet metal hurl past. The door slams closed. You don't see where he went. Where is he? Where did he-where did he go? Why is the truck still moving—

"Stop the goddamn truck!" Screaming so loud that it doesn't even sound like you. 

The truck lurches. The seatbelt rips the air from your lungs. Taking it off is the last thing you should be doing, but it's already unclipped. Papers crunch as you scurry into Rhett's seat. Wind beats against the door. Does everything in its power to keep you from forcing it to open. You can't see a thing. Not even with the damn door halfway open.

"Where's Rhett?" 

You don't know which of them asked that. You don't care to figure that out. "If you two could stop fighting for two fucking seconds, then maybe you would know!" 

It's like someone flipped a switch. The wind and rain just...dies. There's a reason for that, a term and definition that Kate probably memorized in college, but you're not sticking around to hear it. Slipping out of the truck, you dart out into the mist. Fog already licks at your heels, so humid that it feels like you're wearing a second skin out here.

"Rhett?" Calling out. 

You don't see him. There's nothing but debris and disheveled produce stands, all the cracked open watermelons and runaway apples in the world, but no cowboy. But where did he... Turning around. Where did he get out of the truck? It was further back than this. Yeah. He must be further down the road. 

"Rhett?" You're trying again, toeing through the mess. 

There goes the rain again. Starting up so quickly that you wonder if Mother Nature accidentally pressed pause on her remote. Something carries over the rumbling thunder. Something that sounds like your name.

You hear him, but you don't see him. "Rhett?" 

"I'm over here." He's already walking toward you, must have seen you coming before you even realized where he was. The rain thickens, but you can see the rip in his shirt clear as day, blood pouring from his shoulder like the water falling from the heavens. 

"God, Rhett—don't do that!" It comes out a little too loud. A little too quick. "You can't just go hopping out moving vehicles—"

He throws his hands behind him, gesturing at something. "She needed help!" 

You hadn't seen the little old lady standing on the other side of the road until now, being helped back into the safety of an untouched house. You suppose that's who he's talking about, but... "And what if something happened to you?" 

"Nothin's gonna happen to me!" Thunder booms behind his words. Just as irritated as he is. 

Your hand flies out, gesturing to his bloody arm. "Clearly, it already did. Look at your shoulder, Rhett!" 

"God, why are you always so worried?" He spits. Doesn't hear a word you just said. 

"I don't know; maybe it's because we almost got sucked into a tornado three days ago?" You can feel your face getting hot. Teeth grit, jaw popping under the strain. "Maybe it's because I've seen storms kill people, Rhett!"

He stiffens. 

So do you. Glued in the middle of the street. Even the rain stabbing at your eyes can't make you blink. But the wind is one of those things that forces you to move—swaying sideways, shielding your gaze with an arm. A horn honks, headlights piercing through the silver veil. 

Getting back into the truck with him is the last thing you want to do. 

Gravel crunches beneath your feet. Shifting under your weight, seeming to drag you in like a thin layer of quicksand. Tiny little pebbles leap into the tops of your shoes, wriggling down through the gaps and working their way up under your foot. Walking barefoot would have been more comfortable. 

Ugh, but then you would have to worry about dodging the sharp metal hiding beneath the rocks, leftovers from experiments gone wrong, and backyard-tested explosives. 

The spare garage isn't much further up the driveway. Smaller, built to hold only one or two vehicles, depending on their size. There's no point in adding all of the extra space, not when the main garage is on the same property, fully decked out with its fancy tools, wifi, and air conditioning. 

Understandable, but you wish someone would have stopped to consider installing a light all the way out here. You can't see a damn thing this far out. Is there a bobcat standing between you and the building? Nobody knows!

There doesn't seem to be anything lurking in your path. You certainly don't feel anything brush past, even when you peel open the door and blindly feel along the inside wall, looking for the light switch. 

The grill of a truck glares back at you. Same old golden paint, still the same diamond-shaped chip beneath the left headlight. The dust is new, and yet, somehow, it's the same too. Exactly how it's always been.

And how it will stay if you can help it. 

It's a beautiful truck, really. Only one previous owner, still relatively new, decorated in gadgets that you've long since forgotten the specifics of. It's got everything. A roll cage. Bulletproof glass. Window cages. Augers hang on either side of the vehicle, in combination with the overhead arms, and those are only the things you remember installing.

There's a wire sticking out of the cables for the drills, has inexplicably wriggled its way out of the covering. That's what you get for choosing the cheapest company to haul this piece of junk all the way out here. You don't want to touch it, but...it's a simple fix. You've just got to slide this strip of metal up and—

Sparks scatter. A shock bolts through your fingers.

"You mother—mmh!" Yelping. Yanking your hand back. A twitch runs up your arm, the muscles in your hand shivering. 

And here you wonder why you quit messing with this goddamn truck. 

You peel the door open, blindly feeling around the console until you find the stupid tool you came all the way up here for. This old hunk of metal can sit here and rot for all you care. Why did you even try to mess with it? You know full well what will happen if you do more than open the door. 

Something always has to go wrong. 

You don't even feel your hand touch the light switch, but the room plunges into darkness all the same. To hell with—

"Am I interruptin' anything?" 

The door slams shut behind you, the knob jabbing into your spine. "Rhett?"

It's so dark out that you nearly miss the way his hands twist together, his head tilted toward the ground, not quite bold enough to look you in the eye. "I just...wanted to come and tell you I'm sorry," he pauses, peeking up at you through his lashes. You've never seen someone look more like a kicked puppy in your life. "I was actin' just like Tyler back there."

...huh. 

Can't say you were expecting that. 

"It's...uh..." What do you say? You can't say that it's okay. It's not okay. "Thank you?"

That seems to be enough for him. Shoulders falling, finally lifting his head to look at you properly. But then, his brows knit together. It's too dark to see where he's looking, but you can almost feel the heat of his gaze fixating on the garage behind you. "What're ya doin' out here?"

"Working on something?" This is what you get into focusing on creating an excuse and not rehearsing it beforehand. An amateur surrounded by Hollywood stars would be more convincing than you are.

"Top secret stuff, huh?" Is he buying it? He sounds like he is. "Somethin' broke on that gold truck of yours?"

...

Son of a bitch.

"How did you..." you don't...you don't know what to...say... "know about that?"

He jams his thumb over his shoulder, pointing blindly toward the heap of metal a few hundred feet away. "Was over in the scrap pile when ya brought it in a few weeks ago."

He's fucking with you.

He's got to be fucking with you.

"And you never said anything about it?" You feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a bullet train. Nowhere to run. Facing down your doom as it barrels toward you at a hundred miles an hour. 

"Figured you'd talk about it when y' wanted to," Rhett says it so matter of factly. Like this isn't a big deal. Like you haven't had Kate thinking that the truck has been delayed for the past month and a half.

It takes a moment to gather words on your tongue. It takes even longer to arrange them into a comprehensible sentence. "Does anybody else know?"

Rhett shrugs. "Not that 'm aware of."

You don't entirely know what it is that leads you to reach for the doorknob and twist it again. Nobody is forcing you to show him the truck. Hell, he's not even asking or acting like he wants to see it, but your body seems to be moving on its own accord. Maybe it simply can't handle another day of carrying around the secret, or maybe it's something else. Something that words aren't capable of describing. 

Rhett doesn't say a word. Quietly following you into the dark garage, winces when you flick on the overhead lights without warning. 

And then his eyelashes begin to flutter in that dumb, endearing sort of way. Intrigued. "What made ya wanna hide this?"

"Because if Kate finds out it's here, I'll have to work on it," you almost lean your hip against the front bumper. Almost.

Damn thing would probably blow up if you actually followed through with that impulse.

"I'm not followin'." Rhett runs his fingers across the hood, leaving behind little trails amongst the collection of dust. 

"Every time I touch this truck, it ends badly," now that you're saying it out loud, it sounds like you're trying to convince him that the thing is haunted. "I drove it here, and a headlight blew. Tried to fix that exposed wire on the driver's side and shocked the hell out of myself."

"What, two—"

"Time before that, the hydraulic arm snapped, and we turned into an EF3's playground toy." Not giving him any time to wiggle into the gaps of your argument. You're not touching it. End of story. 

He doesn't push it any further. Doesn't downplay what you're trying to tell him or try to sell you on the novelty of coincidences and misinterpretations. No, he just...hums and nods his head as if this is a story he hears all the time. 

A part of you hates that you ever expected anything less of him.

The cicadas take over. Singing their shrill, repetitive tune that somehow manages to get louder when you're inside. You don't know if it counts as silence when there are hundreds of bugs screaming the song of their people, like nature's rejected choir.

"Do y' want me to fix it?" Rhett's voice is like silk against the grating little pests lurking outside.

"Fix what?" You're lost.

"The headlight," he taps his knuckle against it, visibly disturbing the dust there, "and the wire that shocked ya." 

You're not entirely sure if you want to put the time and effort into this old piece of junk. There's a fairly large possibility that something internal has dry-rotted over the years and is bound to break at any moment, something that will cost a whole lot more than a cheap little headlight. But...

"Only if you want to," you don't mean for it to come out so miserable. Like you've had to strangle the words out of your own throat.

Rhett doesn't seem to notice it, his lips pulling up into a meager smile right before he moseys off to mess with the exposed wire. He taps his finger against the metal casing, following it up to where it ventures over the roof, then follows that until it guides him toward the driver's door. 

It's like he's got a blueprint of how you rigged this together, knows exactly where you've got the electric control box sitting, and which of the wires belong to the exposed one. The cover snaps back into place with the slightest bit of pressure. Easy as can be. No sparks, no shocks. 

The headlights are a bigger pain in the ass than they should be. You remember that all too well, the tediousness of removing the internal cover, several screws, and the grill, all to reach what should be an easily accessible headlight. 

"At the risk of soundin' dumb," Rhett's talking funny with that screw resting in the corner of his lip, "but you really built this thing?" 

"Once upon a time, yes." It doesn't even feel like you were the one who came up with all of this.

 The countless sleepless nights spent tweaking and redrawing plans. Building or scouring the ends of the earth for specific little parts. The perpetual stiffness in your neck from building your inventions into the truck. God, the grease stains that claimed so many of your t-shirts. 

The memories are all there in your head, and when Rhett tugs at the grill housing, your hands still twitch with a muscle memory you've yet to lose. He needs to tilt it up and towards himself. It's easier that way. But the memories don't feel like your own. Belonging to a past life, a glimpse of something that was never really meant for you. 

A stray thought draws to the forefront of your mind. "How's your shoulder?" 

"Hm?" He lifts his head, staring at you. Then, realizing what you said. "It's a'ight, jus' needed a couple stitches." 

You wonder what he defines as 'a couple'. But he doesn't push for any more history between you and the truck, so you don't push him for anything, either. 

There's a bunch of spare bulbs hiding in the main garage, and that really should be the end of it. Once the hood slams shut, there shouldn't be anything left to tinker with. The light works, the wire is no longer exposed, and everything is in order. You have absolutely zero reason to lay eyes on this truck again. 

To be fair, that's exactly what happens. 

For a day. 

"I thought they were s'pposed to quit arguin'?" 

You hear Rhett before you see him. Half-open eyes and messy hair stumbling down the unlit hallway, his arms full with his fuzzy brown blanket. Must have had the same idea that you did, seeking out the room furthest from Tyler's, hoping for another minute or two of sleep. 

You hate to tell him that there's no peace to be found in this damned house. 

"Bold of you to believe them," your attention darts back to the notebook resting in your lap, pen idly drawing across old lines, darkening them. Four in the morning is too early for creativity, but you can't fall back asleep, and you didn't bring anything to distract from the never-ending quarrel.

The couch cushion dips, Rhett's heavyweight settling in next to you. His cheek finds its way to your shoulder, landing there so naturally that you hardly even question it. "What're ya drawin'?"

"Same thing as before, just making it look a little less..." You don't know where you were going with that. Rhett isn't awake enough to catch it.

His gaze is so warm that you can feel it following your hand around the page, drinking in the careful strokes of the pen. 

It's almost enough to distract from Kate's muffled swearing, but nothing short of a speaker at full blast is going to drown them out. So the pen continues to dance across the paper, and the silence remains battered by two people who need to suck up their pride and kiss already. If not for the sake of their own mundane love lives, then for the sanity of those around them. 

"Have ya ever considered buildin' this idea?" Rhett reaches out to trace his finger around your crudely drawn wheel, the only spot he can touch without getting in your way.

"I started on it a long time ago," rattling it off without much thought. You don't have the capacity to consider what you're saying right now. "The sockets and connections are already built into the roof, but I could never get the hydraulic arms right." 

"I could help."

"Yeah?"

He tilts his head up to look at you, and you're just awake enough to realize that those aren't actually stars sparkling behind his eyes. But damn, does it sure look like tiny galaxies are lurking beneath the sea of blue. 

You don't know why you let him lean up and rub his nose against yours, but it must be the reason why you nuzzle him back. 

If there is one thing more awkward about sitting through Kate and Tyler's never-ending argument, it's having to survive their new form of fighting—the silent treatment. Each refusing to say a word when the other is in the room, resigning to comments filled with double meanings and glares out of the corner of their eyes.

You, quite frankly, might combust if you have to sit through another silent meal. If you wanted to be put in timeout, you would go back to elementary school.

"I see we had the same idea," you yawn, fighting to keep your eyes open as it takes over. One wrong step and your food is going to find itself in the gravel, and you're not looking to brave the wall of silence for a second time. 

"Great minds think alike," Rhett kicks his foot at you, perched up on the tailgate of his truck. "Unless your mind belongs t' two people I cannot name."

The initial plan was to wait until the weekend before you spent any time working on your truck, but it's hard to put it off when Tyler and his fleet of vehicles tear out of the driveway before noon, taking away damn near ever project Rhett had on the drawing board. You don't see Kate leave, but her car is missing from its usual spot, and you're in no mood to learn any more than that.

They'll get over it.

...once hell freezes over.

It's like you become caught up in a time loop. Every day, you wake up expecting to be put to work, to chase a storm, or to go on a supply run for weather equipment that you don't know the name of. Every day, you eat breakfast in the back of Rhett's truck and watch as every vehicle on the property flees the premises. Every day, you walk into that spare garage, roll up your sleeves, and begin tinkering with last night's project.

And Rhett just keeps coming around. Always the one to attach your creations to the truck, races you to pick up the heavier things around the shop, pokes at your sketches until you've explained every little thought and whim that went into why you created that particular part. 

Working with him is so much different than it was with Kate. She was never difficult to work with in the past; nothing big stands out in your memory, but you distinctly recall every frustrating moment she asked to change something that she didn't fully understand. Builds like these were nothing like what she was familiar with. She knew weather, not cars, and that was okay, but...

Fuck, it's like Rhett shares a brain with you. It's strange; he looks at what you're doing, and he just...understands it. Like you've finally found someone who understands a language that only you have spoken until now.

It's two weeks before the parts begin to fall into place, but once they do, it's all uphill from there. The hydraulic arms fit like a glove, and the batteries built beneath the seat offer more than enough electricity to operate them without sucking power from another operation. The drills spin as they're supposed to; they don't even warp when they sink into the rocky Arkansas soil for the first time.

Sunlight reveals that the cage protecting the windshield has rusted to hell. Rhett's sputtering about an improved design before you've even realized how bad it has gotten. A few of the tires need replacing, and if you don't let him fix those mismatching rims, he might just lose his mind.

"How d' you just let it look like that?" He's gotten heated so quickly, but that growing smile suggests he's only trying to bother you for the fun of it, "'n how did I miss this for so damn long?" 

"It doesn't affect the performance," you shrug, don't really recall when or how you wound up with one rim that doesn't match the others. Don't particularly care, either. 

"It's affectin' mine!" 

Your afternoon plans didn't originally include running between three shops in search of rims that match the aesthetics of the truck, but it's hard to say no when Rhett grabs you by the hand and guides you along like he does. 

And he...doesn't really let go. 

Maybe he does a few times, but he's loosely holding your hand in his while you walk from one store to another, and he's grabbing it to show you a set that he thinks is perfect for the truck's aesthetic. He's squeezing it when someone starts eyeing you up in the checkout lane. He's toying with your fingers at the stop light. And he reaches for it again at the end of the night when the rims are finally, finally on.

Now that you think about it, 'no dating business partners' almost definitely applies to you, too, but...

Oh, what the hell, why do you care? 

"Do you...want to try something?" Rhett's thumb swipes across your knuckles, idle little motions that seem to burn into your skin. 

You think you know what he's about to try and do, but... "Okay." 

He's gentle about it, guiding you forward toward the shimmering gold vehicle, sparkling in all of its post-bath glory. His other hand finds your waist, drawing you to stand in front of him, back kissing his warm chest. 

"What are we doing?" You know what he's doing. 

"Nothin' huge," he murmurs, voice low in your ear, so close that you can almost feel his lips brushing against the shell of it, "just...touchin' the door, a'ight?" 

His hand slips behind yours, grasping it from behind. Gently, he pushes it forward, so light that you can hardly feel his touch at all. Your stomach twists. That paint is too close.

Your arm stiffens. He doesn't push any further.

 It's too...well...if Rhett's not afraid of it, you suppose that...

It's cool beneath your touch, like ice, when you compare it to the burn of Rhett's palm. There's a scratch in the pain that you hadn't noticed up until this very moment, just deep enough to feel when the pad of your finger drifts across it. It feels...well, like a perfectly normal truck. You're not sure what else you were expecting. 

Your eyes dart to the window, peering at the silhouette of the steering wheel. 

Rhett's hand disappears from behind yours, leaves you cold and alone, up against this truck, but he makes no move to step away. Still here, even if you can't necessarily feel him. "That's not so bad, is it?"

"You're not gonna make me drive it next, are you?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding so annoyed, like a petulant child. 

His laugh echoes through the room and out the open door; doesn't seem to mind your tone at all. "Nah, we can wait on that." 

You don't touch it again until a few days later, your hip idly coming to rest against it during a conversation. And again, when Rhett's on the roof of the vehicle and needs you to climb up and hand him something. It doesn't shock you. The door doesn't magically slam shut on your fingers. It's...normal. Hell, it's at the very bottom of your list of inconveniences.

That's mostly because two names have taken over the rest of the page, but you digress. 

There's a moment when you catch yourself climbing into the driver's seat; you accidentally spilled a jar of bolts all over the floor, and the only way to fully clean it up is to get the truck out of the way. The key finds its way into the ignition without question, twisting so easily that you hardly realize what you're doing.

But then the engine rumbles to life, vibrating beneath your feet and echoing around the tiny garage like thunder, and ice forms in your joints. Stiff, freezing you into place like someone's pressed the pause button. 

Rhett tilts the broom handle toward you; those blue eyes are warm enough to melt you back into motion. Something about him keeps reining you in. Stops you before you can force yourself beyond your boundaries before you're ready. 

You're starting to love that about him. 

"I thought we were past this," you mutter, chin resting heavy against your knee. 

A midnight breeze swirls past you, bringing a chill that has you drawing your legs closer to your chest. At least the night is quiet, even the chirping cicadas have turned themselves down, nothing but a distant melody that you can hardly hear. Your ears catch the sound of a fork striking a plate, so sharp that it carries through the window and out into the parking lot. 

"'m sorry," Rhett's knees crack as he bends down to sit next to you, back coming to rest against the cool exterior of his truck. He's so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his arm, warm and cozy like the flames of a campfire. 

"You've got nothing to apologize for," it's not his fault. Nobody could have expected that bringing up the YouTube channel would end in...that. 

He hums. "I know."

Wind slams against the truck behind you, rocking it just enough for you to feel the motion against your back. Rhett's hair lifts. Dancing. Twisting along with it. Blowing into his face until he sputters and forces it behind his ear once more. If you had known you would be sitting outside, then you would have grabbed your coat before you came all the way out here.

But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and you've got nothing but this thin t-shirt and the warmth of your own body to get by on, hugging your legs even tighter. They've been in this position for so long that they've begun to go numb, but you prefer this to shivering.

"Cold?" Rhett leans over, nudging you with his elbow. You think he leaves a small fire behind, burning a little spot into your skin.

"Little bit," biting back the waver in your voice. 

"C'mere," and he's not really waiting for you to give him a yes or a no, already lifting his arm, beckoning you into his warm side. You shouldn't, but...

Oh, what the hell.

One little motion is all it takes to scoot under his arm, your head dropping to nestle against the expanse of his chest, and fuck, he's burning up. It's like snuggling into a big, cozy flame, one that envelops you before you can think twice about it. His head tilts, his chin coming to rest against your forehead, freshly shaven and a little bit prickly. 

You can hear his heartbeat right here. Deep little thump, thump, thumps, following an unnamed tune that you've never heard before. It seems the cicadas have drums now. Performing their little melodies for their barely-there audience, punctuated by the drone of a car crossing through the lot.

"What if I drive us to McDonalds?" Rhett's voice vibrates through your skull. Your head goes quiet. "Think there's a Taco Bell down the road, too."

Finding the ability to speak is...hard. "I'm not sure if I'm ready to move yet."

"That's a'ight," his lips press to your temple, "we can stay here, too." 

He doesn't say anything about what he just did. Neither do you, but it sticks in the back of your head like glue. You could convince yourself that it's just a ghost, one who has decided to follow you around and kiss the side of your head every time you think about him, the lingerings of a memory that refuses to leave. 

It's there when you lean up against the passenger side door, bent legs lazily slotting between Rhett's as you eat your greasy fast food. It bubbles to the surface when you run into each other in the living room and become sucked in by the Dr. Phil episode blasting from the neglected television. You can feel its presence when you spot him outside the garage while you and Kate are having coffee on the porch. 

You don't know if she realizes that you tune out of the conversation right then and there, mindlessly following the sight of his pale shoulders as he hoses something off. Muscles flex with the mundane effort, thick enough to cast a shadow. 

"I mean, can you believe he said that?" Kate's still going, the ice rattling in her cup as her hand moves about. "Yes, I'll admit I have feelings for him, but you know how that would affect the business!" 

"Who says that kind of thing?" You wonder what it would be like to dig your nails into those shoulders. What it would feel like for those jean-clad hips to slip between your parted—

"Exactly!" Kate hasn't the slightest clue what kind of daydream she just interrupted.

The memory of a kiss has zero reason to make itself known in the middle of an auto parts shop. When your hands are stained in indescribable grime that has no doubt managed to mar your face, the rattiest clothes you own hanging from your body with all the grace of a cardboard box. If you don't already look your worst, then you certainly feel your worst.

So why do you have the audacity to think about crossing the aisle and kissing him until you get kicked out? What provoked you to start thinking about this? You're supposed to be looking for that stupid...battery...damn which of these...did... 

"Which brand were you looking for?" The question is so prominent in your mind that it slips out of your mouth before you can realize it, already turning to look in his direction.

"The purple one," he rattles off, staring down at something in his palm. 

The...purple one? 

Huh, you'd thought it would be a lot more complicated than that. 

"I..." Rhett lifts his head, a lone curl casting across his cheek, wide blue eyes staring back at you. There's not a thought behind them. "I...forget the name." 

Not your truck, not your fight. If he wants the one with the purple label, then that's what you'll pull off the shelf—

Shit, you forgot how heavy these damn things are. Your elbow pops, shivering under the sudden weight. It's not too heavy; you were just...not ready to actually carry something heavy. If you'd remembered, then you would have lifted it differently.

Rhett's arm drifts past your chest, his hand curling around the plastic handle, taking it from you so easily that you hardly feel it leave your grasp. "I got it." 

You understand why you were so unprepared now. 

It's because he makes the thing look light as a feather, only needs one hand to hold it as you walk to the checkout together. He doesn't even need help to put it up on the counter, so nonchalant about it that he doesn't even pay attention to what he's doing.

An ancient little television buzzes in the top right corner, directly above the chair of the missing cashier. You don't think it's been touched since it was hung when this place was built, a mountain of dust resting atop its boxy shape, but it still plays. A blurry newsreel crosses the screen, a bald-headed man pointing at a live weather radar. 

The nameless man waves his hand across a patch of red and purple on the screen, rattling off words that take you a moment to process. "As this growing storm bears down on—"

"Y'all ready to check out?" The cashier is right in front of you all of a sudden. Rhett says something that you don't entirely catch. 

This is the storm Kate was muttering about earlier, up in the northwest corner of the state, projected to produce conditions ideal for one of her beloved little tornadoes. The tiny ones that do nothing but rock the trucks back and forth, maybe striking a few unlucky houses but not taking out entire towns.

Your lower belly twists. 

You're not entirely sure why it happens, but it does. Stomach churning back and forth like you're about to be sick, all over the sight of a television screen. Something in the room begins to ring, quiet but gradually growing louder, right in your ears, this piercing noise that you can't seem to shake. Your tongue is numb in your mouth, the air cold in your chest. 

The scene changes. A woman in a raincoat, holding a microphone to her lips as she gestures broadly at the road behind her. Cars rush past. A Prius, a minivan, two Volkswagen Beetles, a silver truck, a red truck, an ancient motorhome...

"There they are," Rhett mutters, just barely audible over the ringing. You and he are supposed to be out there with them. 

You think your hand is shaking. 

Again, the cameras change, jumping back to the same bald weather forecaster as he points to something you don't understand. But they've laid it out for people like you, all of Kate's unexplained terminology has been dumbed down into vague, simple terms that you recognize loud and clear.

"That storm is gonna be too much for their trucks to handle." It darts out of your mouth before you can think about what you're about to say, teeth chattering around the letters.

Rhett tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"The storm trucks," your jaw shivers, muscles fighting to disobey your every command. "Are any of them rated for tornadoes stronger than an F2?"

"None of 'em are," he reaches to pull his card from the reader, then, pausing, "the only rig that can handle that sort of thing is..." 

You tear your gaze from the television, the reporter's voice droning on and on about something you don't entirely understand. Rhett's already looking back to you. Still frozen in place. You think you catch one of your own thoughts flickering behind his eyes. 

But you can't help yourself, looking back up toward the grainy screen. The weatherman is still talking, his warbled voice drowning in the squealing filling your ears. You think you catch the card reader beeping, yelling about a forgotten credit card. The storm wasn't this big when it crossed Kate's screen; you remember it fit perfectly between these two towns. The forecast entirely covers them now, extending out to the areas nearby.

Something warm curls around your hand.

The ringing stops. 

You don't know where the cashier has gone or when Rhett walked up next to you. But you can hear the shallow sound of your own breath, the sharp ins and outs that mismatch with the slow puff of Rhett's. 

It's still audible, even as the room changes. Ever so present when the tile floor morphs into smooth concrete, that familiar musty scent swirling around your head, assaulting your nose and drying your mouth out. Shimmering gold paint glares back at you. But your right hand is still warm.

"You've got this," the keys jingle as Rhett talks, awkwardly holding them out with his other hand. They're right there for you to take. You don't even have to reach. "I know y' do."

You're still not so sure about that. But the radio in the corner is blaring its muffled severe weather alert warnings, the old television screen is burned into your retinas, and this damn old truck isn't going anywhere, regardless of how hard you glare at it. 

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, his hand squeezing a little tighter. "It's just a grumpy ol' truck."

The truck roars. Back tires squealing as your hands fly across the wheel. Cinching all twelve thousand pounds of machine to the left. The guy behind you blares his horn.

"Prick." Rhett snarls under his breath. His hand on the overhead handle tightens. Muscles and veins flex so harshly that you can see it in the corner of your eye. The front right tire dips off the pavement, the steering wheel almost ripping itself to the right. 

Where are they? Where are they? 

"I thought you were navigating!" You don't mean to yell. Too focused on jumping your foot between the brake and gas pedals, fighting against a speed limit that you know isn't being enforced right now. 

"I am!" Rhett's nail taps angrily at a screen. "Wherever they are 's got no fucking service."

The storm seems to be further to the east, right might be your best bet. But this road doesn't look like it goes on for at least another mile, and you can't take another dead end. Not with the rapidly darkening sky overhead. Looming. Waiting for the right moment to drop an ocean's worth of hail and rain upon you.

"Right!" Rhett yells. "Go right!" 

The tires scream. Foot tapping the breaks. The steering wheel spins. You're vaguely aware of your body tilting in the seat. Shoulder bumping into the glass. 

But you never teeter off the road. 

Even if you come close to it. 

"What made you decide that?" You feel as if you're still spinning, even as the road straightens out in front of you. 

His hand lifts, middle finger pointing toward something you don't have time to identify. "I remember them passin' them grain silos before the live stream cut off." 

You see them. A cluster of six, up in the distance, towering over the corn fields that have swallowed you whole. Maybe a mile or two up the road, give or take. Plenty of time for you to lean on the gas pedal again, the floorboard rumbling as the speedometer crawls back up to seventy. 

Everything still seems attached. No sensors are going off on the control panel crudely built into the center console. You know Rhett would have said something if one of them lit up, but you're looking at them anyway. Just in case one magically decides to light up with a catastrophic error in the next thirty seconds.

You've already got to tap the brakes again. Stupid, winding country roads forcing you to crawl back under fifty to avoid tipping over. It would be so much easier to cut through this patch of field that has already been harvested, barren, until spring rolls back around. Dodge the curves and jump right back onto the main stretch. Actually...

If Kate can accidentally drive this truck into a small river and come out fine, then a little offroading shouldn't hurt it in the slightest.

What's stopping you? 

"What the hell?!" Rhett squeals. "You coulda damaged the damn—!"

"Dallas has handled worse." There's no way you're doing this. There's no way you're really driving this rig. Never mind hauling it straight through someone's old cornfield. Bouncing up and down with every little bump in the soil. 

Rhett's head whips toward you. Still clinging to that oh-shit handle. "Dallas?"

...well.

He had to find out eventually.

All it takes is the slightest nudge to the left to jump back onto the road. And you never realized how quiet driving on the pavement is until now. Virtually silent as you reach for the turn signal, easing through a turn that you were definitely supposed to stop for. 

The cornfields break apart up ahead, diving down into the much shorter soybean crops, expanding as far as the eye can see. No police cars around to catch sight of you blowing through another all-way stop, straddling the thin expanse of pavement. 

There's a van parked on the side of the road, tucked away in a little patch of gravel. Lights and cameras flash. Yellow and white ponchos scurry back and forth. Dressed in t-shirts and shorts and flip-flops, not one of them prepared for more than mild rain. 

"There's no way they didn't come this way," Rhett's echoing the very thought that just crossed your mind.

The first drops of rain come in one thick sheet. Slamming against the windshield. Blurring sight of the rapidly deteriorating road. You've only just turned the windshield wipers on, but they're still not enough. Whirring back and forth as fast as they can possibly go.

Everything around you has gone white. You can't—shit, you can't see the road. "Can you see anything?"

Rhett leans forward, chin bumping the dashboard. The tablet in his lap beeps. Once. Twice. Three times. "Not a fuckin' thing." 

The console lights up. Purple in color. The wind gauge. 

"What does...?" Rhett doesn't finish that question. Doesn't really need to.

"The wind speeds are higher than a hundred-fifty miles an hour," your mouth is moving, but you don't recognize what you're saying. Don't have time to focus on that. "Tell me if the green one comes on."

Gravel abruptly appears under the tires. Panging against the sides of the truck like hail. 

Rhett reaches for something on the dash. "What does green mean?"

"That we should go in the opposite direction." And you don't want to remember if that light is meant to detect two hundred mile-an-hour winds or two hundred fifty. 

Fog melts from the windshield. You didn't recognize it was even there. Fading away into a clearer world. You can see the fields again, mere feet away from the vehicle, as you tear down a road too tiny for your tires to fit on. 

Clouds stir overhead, so dark that they're visible even through the rain. Twisting in a slow spiral, gradually descending to the earth below. But she's not here yet. She still needs a minute to gather her momentum before the clouds can kiss the ground. 

Red flashes up ahead. 

Your stomach drops.

"Take this left!" Rhett's order is your command. Shooting off onto an even smaller dirt path. A windmill shudders to your right, swaying back and forth. 

There they are.

Drills whir on either side of Tyler's truck. Digging deep into the earth. But there's nothing to help the aluminum trailer hitched to it, shivering violently under the wind. 

"You're sure they don't have this covered?" Rhett has to shout for you to hear him. Even then, you don't think you do. 

The back of your throat is sour. It's crawling into your eyes, clawing at your belly. Your hands shiver. The steering wheel briefly slips from your grasp. 

Something isn't right.

Your foot slips off the gas pedal. Sporadically tapping around, struggling to jump back on. Dallas's engine roars louder than the winds squealing past. 

"It's not working!" Tyler's voice arcs across the radio.

Hail crashes into the roof. Scattering across the windshield cage.

"The barrels aren't deploying!" Kate. 

The backend of their trailer jumps. The left auger slips through the soil. Tyler's truck twists a few feet. Was never meant to withstand this kind of wind. 

Dallas is slipping. Tires fail to cling to the ground as you rush forward. 

"Rhett—"

"I'm on it." He's already got his hand on the overhead button. Thumb hovering over the red light.

You're almost—you're almost. Just a few more yards is all you need. Almost. Tyler's door parallels with your passenger side. Little more. Little more—

The brake pedal spurs beneath your foot. Kicking back. Dallas lurches. Something internal shrieks. 

"Now!" 

Drills spin. Digging into already saturated ground. The engine roars impossibly louder, and the lights begin to flicker. All power concentrates over your head. Groaning to life, the hydraulic arms resting overhead begin to extend. Arking high into the air. Twisting outward. The tip of a drill bumps into the trailer, but it's still moving. Swinging over top of Tyler's rig, drills sinking into the ground on the other side. 

A blackened wind takes hold of the outside world. Dallas shudders. But the steel arms never let Tyler's truck out of their hug. You don't think they're slipping any further. Fuck. Fuck you couldn't tell even if they did. Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did you think this was a good idea? Why did Rhett let you do this? It's too loud to hear if they've blown away. And you can't see a single—

"Hey." 

Your shoulder is warm. And that sensation is crawling up the back of your neck, forcing your head to turn. Rhett's hands crawl up to your cheekbones, blocking out your surroundings. You're trying to look out the windshield, but he's not letting go. 

He's the only thing in existence. 

The console digs into your side as he pulls you toward him. His forehead kisses yours. Noses resting against each other. It's so dark, but the blue of his eyes is still as bright as the sky lurking above the clouds. The howling tornado softens into a hum. 

"We're okay," it's nothing but a whisper in the rampage, "we're okay." 

You hear him. There's no reason you should be able to. His mouth is moving. The words never greet your ears. Lost. Drowned out by a muffled sound that you're no longer capable of comprehending.

But you hear him. 

This mattress...is the lumpiest thing you have ever felt in your life. A bed made of bubbles would be more even than this is, digging into the curves in your spine and nudging awkwardly beneath your hips. But you can't bring yourself to move. Not when the tension is easing from your back and shoulders. Has been there for so long that it almost hurts to let it slip away.

The television is on, multicolored lights flickering across the screen, playing what you think is another newsreel, but you can't look at it. Not today. Not tomorrow. You're dying here in this cheap motel bed. The last thing you plan to hear is either the slow drone of the weatherman or the boom of thunder outside. 

Someone knocks at your door. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

"Who is it?" Using your voice requires far too much effort on your behalf.

A muffled sound works its way through the scratched wooden door. You don't know what he says, but you know who it is.

Your body tells you that getting up is impossible. Your heart already has you sitting up, sore feet falling onto the thin carpet without complaint. Something twitches in your back as you walk toward the door, wordlessly begging for the comforts of that shitty bed.

"Hey," you breathe.

Rhett's eyelashes flutter. "Hey."

Neither of you say anything further. It's as if all of your words have spilled out of your brain and carried off with the breeze, venturing off into the storm, never to be seen again. You think the same thing must happen to Rhett because he doesn't seem to have any words left, either. 

Wind twists through his hair, whirling past and into your hotel room. Its invisible hands find your backs, pressing until you fall together like a pair of dolls. Like two trucks who needed one last nudge to nosedive off the cliff. His arms curl around your waist, and your nose is buried into his shoulder, and he's so warm and real. 

"So Dallas, huh?" His breath tickles your ear, almost enough to make you shudder.

"You gotta admit, I had you convinced," talking into his shoulder, unbothered by how muffled it makes you sound.

"Sure y' did." It's his laughter that does it, sends a shiver racing down your weary spine. You think you're going to collapse into a million tiny pieces. "I would've never guessed that it was your fuckin' truck." 

There's a part of you that wonders how he never figured that out; you're pretty sure that you scribbled Dallas's name into the license plate of your sketch that he's looked at so many times. Or maybe he did and simply didn't make the connection that Dallas was a truck and not another man.

"Found out why those two losers were always arguin'," he makes no effort to draw away from you, his arms remaining comfortably looped around you.

"Really?" Perking up. Maybe you've got a little bit of energy left after all. "What was it?"

Rhett leans back a little bit, enough for you to see his face, but he's yet to let you out of his grasp. "Dallas."  

"Oh, so you both fell for it!" You giggle, and you're only vaguely aware of the door slamming shut on its own, cutting off the shrill embrace of the midnight air. 

"Hey, at least I didn't make snide remarks about 'em," but you can still see the lingering embarrassment coloring his cheeks, unusually rosy. He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker, but...

Your hand darts up, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "To be fair, you have always been the sweet one."

The corners of his lips quiver, gradually curving upward, but his eyes refuse to meet with yours. "Y' think so?" 

You know so, but those words don't dare to make their way out of your mouth. Even if they did, it would be no use because they fizzle away the moment the bridge of Rhett's nose bumps into yours. He's been eating those butterscotch candies again; you can taste them on his breath, sweet as can be.

You could kiss him if you wanted to. 

All it would take is the littlest nudge forward for your lips to collide. A clever gust of wind could even do it, forcing you to take that final step forward, throw yourselves into fate's palm, and see what she decides on the matter. You could spend the rest of your life doing just this, gazing into soft hues of blue, kissing him through every storm that will ever pass. Or, this could be the only night that you ever experience this. 

Thunder rumbles outside, the overhead light flickering with it in perfect synchrony. There's no stopping this one. No amount of magic powder can ease up the onslaught of rain and hail raging outside of your window, pelting everything in its sight. 

"'s probably my cue to get out before the rain picks up too much," he says, so suddenly that you're almost shocked to realize that this isn't a dream. 

He disappears so easily. Slipping away as easily as an afternoon daydream, those eyes daring to linger for a second longer before he turns to reach for the door. That big, bruised hand of his dwarfs the knob, gingerly wrapping around it like it'll break at any given moment.

Your lower belly coils. Sour. 

You should kiss him. 

And that might be how his name tumbles out of your mouth. That might explain where you get the nerve to grab a fistful of his t-shirt, yanking so hard that he stumbles. His gasp is the last thing you hear.

It's messy. Chapped lips collide, and noses crash. His chin bumps into yours too hard, and his chest hits you with the force of a freight train. But he exhales when you do. He tilts his head forward, and you think you're beginning to fall, plummeting off the cliff and into the nebula. 

Rhett draws back just as quickly. His eyelashes flutter. You release your grasp on his shirt. Maybe you shouldn't have—

The corners of his eyes curve with his smile. You blink, and he's leaning back in. 

You're not falling into the abyss alone.

Except, you literally might be falling because you're vaguely aware of the world spinning around you, seemingly weightless for a few fleeting milliseconds, before your back finds home in the lumpy mattress you paid fifty-something dollars to sleep on. 

"Shit—" Rhett blurts, jerking away as if burned. "'m sorry, I..."

You only realize you're moving when you see your hand coming to rest against his cheek, coarse and unshaven. It's been a few days since the last time it was trimmed, has had time to soften and lose that sand-papery texture. 

"I don't mind this," you confess. Lightning crackles outside, so bright that you can see the flash of it through the curtains. 

Rhett meets you in the middle. Your noses bump once more as teeth unexpectedly clash, such a disaster that it ought to make you embarrassed, but you don't have the capacity to think about that right now. Not when he's letting himself settle against you, his heavy body slipping between your parted legs, fitting against you like he was built just for you.

Kissing him is...kissing him is like running into a tornado head first. He's so strong, pressing you down into the bed, anchoring you here with his weight alone, and he's just...Fuck, he's everywhere. His hand is curling around your face, and his belt buckle is digging into your lower belly and he smells like the rain that has enveloped the outside world. 

He's traveling. Working his tiny, open-mouthed kisses across your cheek, the tip of his nose tickling the side of your neck as he finds his way to a spot beneath your ear. 

Your hips jerk up into his.

He gasps.

"Is this...can I...?" Breathy. Hesitant. Like he's lost the ability to think.

It must be contagious. All you can do is nod. Dumb. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

No dating business partners, but surely they'd make an exception for a pretty cowboy, right? Kissing him doesn't count. Tangling your fingers in his hair doesn't count. It doesn't count if they never find out. Whatever the repercussions may be, they're not enough to stop you. 

They would understand if they knew he tasted this sweet. If they knew that he hums when he tilts his head, leaning deeper into you, as if he hasn't gotten enough of you yet. His chapped lips tangle with yours so easily that you almost think you've danced to this tune before, falling into a routine that you haven't thought about in years.

The hand on your cheek disappears, fingertips idly tracing across your skin, down your neck, and then up to the corner of your eye, doing nothing but feel you. Something rumbles outside, in perfect tune with the slow roll of his hips, grinding down into you.

"Rhett," your head is spinning, idly grabbing at his biceps like that will somehow anchor you down. 

"I ain't goin' nowhere," uttered like a sacred promise.

But the need for oxygen strikes you at the same time. Reeling back. Gasping. Eyes peeling open for what must be the first time in hours. Days, even.

Oh, he is something. Swollen lips and pink cheeks, his unruly hair ruffled and stubbornly falling into his face, so long that the ends of it tickle your face. You can only tuck so much of it behind his ear before some of it escapes and falls forward again.

Your eyes meet.

He laughs. "I feel like a damn mess."

"I'm sure I don't look any better," your thumb wanders out, tracing across his bottom lip. His tongue darts out, timidly wetting the pad of your finger. It's the last push you need to lift your hand and tap him on the nose with it. 

Those eyes scrunch shut. Overreacting just a little bit.

Thunder slams into the ground with its heavy iron fist, shaking the motel and rattling you back into motion. Leaning back up to drown in him once more, almost sighing as he meets you, grants you the luxury of settling your head against the pillow. You think he only means to shift his position, but the bulge in his jeans grinds into you all the same, a little spark of heat bolting up your core.

"This is okay?" He whispers against your lips, those big forearms settling on either side of your head, seeking more leverage.

Your tongue is limp in your mouth, distracted by how the dim light catches on his bicep, illuminating a bulging vein there. Thick, winding down into his forearm and into his big, meaty palm. 

Rhett's nose finds your cheek, gently nudging. 

It takes a moment to recall his question. "More than okay." 

Rhett's chuckle is a fleeting thing. There one moment and dissolving the next, overtaken by your sudden movement, too impatient to wait any longer. But you miss. It's hard to find any leverage when you've got him between your legs. 

His hips roll down; you're convinced that you feel him twitch in his jeans. "That what yer after?" 

There's no reason why this should work the way that it does. These layers between you should be making this harder to feel, but you're nearly convinced that the clothes are a minor hallucination because they do nothing to stop the feeling of him slowly rutting against you. The coarse material of his jeans drags against your thighs, the tent in his jeans heavy against your core.

You can't help yourself. One of your hands are tangling in his hair, and the other is grabbing hold of his bicep, greedily squeezing the thick muscle that you've spent too much of your life staring at. It flexes in your grasp, shamelessly showing off. You'd call him out on it if not for—

"Your ass is vibrating," you can feel it against your knee, a steady buzz that wasn't there before. 

"Think it's Ty," he doesn't reach for his phone. Instead, his finger curls into the pearl snap buttons of his flannel, raking down and popping them open one by one. 

His pale chest is...distracting.

"Are you gonna answer?" You croak, already fixating on that bucking bull tattoo. Old. Faded. Some little thing he picked up right after he turned eighteen, a discount job that has already begun to wear down. You recall him saying that his momma almost kicked him out of the house for it. 

"Nah," the thin fabric falls from his body like a distant memory, landing somewhere on the floor. "Whatever it is can wait 'till mornin'." It's the tiniest motion, reaching into his pocket and tossing his phone off to the side, but the light catches on his chest just right, and...

"Rhett, this is..." You had a feeling it was worse than just a few stitches, but the image in your head wasn't this.

It's just below his collarbone. Healed at the top but opening up into a wide gash that is far too wide to be stitched closed, scabbed over, and surrounded in a sea of yellow and purple. You can see where the stitches once were, little red dots following the space that has already scarred.

"I know," he mutters, almost sounds ashamed. 

You don't know what makes you do it. But you lean up, lips delicately pressing to the thin line of pink skin. Just two slow pecks, steering clear of what you know is a sore wound.

"'re you kissin' me better?" His voice is right in your ear, his smile shifting the tone of his words. 

"S'ppose I am," there's an unexpected twang to your tone; you're starting to sound like him. 

Your foreheads meet. Softly thunking together, noses rubbing back and forth in their own unspoken dance. He squirms, pulling himself a little higher on the bed, and—

"Shit." He's hissing, dragging his hips against yours again—something about that angle, fuck. 

Rhett's the one who's taken charge of this, deliberately grinding himself into you like he can't think of doing anything else, but it's you who pushes things further. Craning your head up to find the prickly underside of his jaw, pressing your lips to the space beneath his ear. It's just so hard to stop yourself, lightly sucking on the skin there, enough to hear him gasp and leave a faint red patch in your wake.

One after another, gradually making your way down his neck, his heavy breaths enough to make you dizzy. Only stopping when you can no longer reach, forced to reel back before the ache in your neck begins to grow. 

Rhett picks up right where you left off, his tongue poking between his lips as he kisses down your neck, leaving behind little wet spots that seem to freeze over in the chilly bedroom air. His big hands dip beneath your shirt, callouses dragging against your sensitive skin. You know what he's about to ask, and you're already arching your back off the bed.

But he doesn't take it off. Stops right as he pushes the fabric up to your neck, skipping across it, lips finding your naked chest instead. "You'll get cold if I take it all the way off," he murmurs as if he can hear the question floating through your head. 

Without warning, his mouth finds your nipple. Delicately pulls it into his mouth like you'll shatter if he's too rough, his tongue swirling around the little bud in such a way that your head spins in tune with it. Your hands are in his hair, clinging to those curls resting at his nape, a little noise whistling out of your throat. 

He draws away, and—shit, it really is cold in here. 

Your hips jerk on their own accord. Impatient for something you weren't thinking about. 

"Hang on, hang on," Rhett's chuckling at your antics like this is a little game you've been playing for years on end. 

You're playing into it. Lifting your hips when his fingers curl beneath your waistband, shyly drawing your legs together when you realize that he's taken your underwear with your shorts, all in one go. It's easier to ignore the sudden over-exposed sensation when he reaches for his belt, pinching it open and squirming out of those too-tight jeans that have no right to cling to him like they do. 

He's here before you hear the clothes hit the floor. Slipping between your legs once more, his body so warm against your chilly skin. Melting away the metaphorical frost that has already begun to call you home.

Oh.

You didn't realize he was—fuck, that's so much better without clothes in your way. His cock slipping between your folds, the thick underside massaging against your swollen clit so easily. 

"Rhett..." aimlessly babbling, grasping at his biceps before you can think twice about it. 

You don't know if it's because you never gave it much thought or if it's because it's been a while, but he's so much bigger than you thought he'd be. Just the sight of his thick, weeping tip is enough to make you dizzy, the kind of size that almost makes you feel minuscule in comparison.

"So fuckin' wet already," you don't know when he got so close to your ear, a violent shiver quaking across your body as he whispers in that stupidly low voice of his. "were y' wantin' me that bad, sweetheart?" 

You can't respond. Not when he's using his own body weight to keep you pinned to the mattress as he ruts his big cock against your pussy, deliberately targeting your poor clit over and over. Little fireworks rattle up your spine and explode in your head with every motion, glittering behind your eyelids, staining your view of his face. 

"I...shit, Rhett..." speaking is like swimming through a tsunami, words there and gone in a matter of milliseconds, washed away to the back of your mind. "Rhett..." It's no use. You can't...you can't...

The bridge of his nose kisses yours, one of his stray brunette curls coming down to tickle your cheek. You fear the day he cuts his hair short. "Say it again." 

He's said...something, you know he did, but it's so—it's so hard to focus. Too distracted by the way precum obscenely spills out of his slit, mixing with your own wetness, sickening the glide of his length, his every motion punctuated by a quiet squelch that's too loud for this little hotel room. Kate can hear it from down the hall; you're sure of it. 

Hell, maybe she's too busy with Tyler. Maybe she'll throw that 'no dating business partners' rule to the wind and shut that loud-mouthed cowboy up once and for all.  

"...huh?" You think you were supposed to be figuring out what Rhett said. Still haven't done that. 

"Say my name again," he sounds a little breathier now, his sharp hips forcing your thighs to rise and fall with the motion of his body, clinging to him like he's the only stable thing in this big, blinding world. 

"Rhett." It slips out like you've been uttering it your whole life, tongue hand-crafted to do nothing else but form the shape of his name. Can't really stop yourself now that you've begun to say it. Mindlessly mumbling his name with every long thrust. "Rhett...Rhett!" 

Pressure unexpectedly blossoms. Air catches in your throat as his cock head dips into you. 

"Shit—!" Rhett's yelp dissolves into a muffled groan. "I didn't mean..."

But your legs are curling around him, your heels digging into the swell of his ass, urging him deeper. More. You want more of this. 

Oh, and he gives you exactly what you want. Softens and lets you draw him in, so overtaken by the sensation that he visibly fights to keep his eyes open. You weren't ready for this at all and you don't even care. It's hard to think about the ache when he's already dragging against a sensitive cluster of nerves, his cock so thick that it rubs against them without even trying.

"'s it feel good or 'm I hurtin' ya?" Rhett's voice is like gravel. So much lower than what you remember it being. 

"'s good," you're whining, absently squeezing at his biceps as he sinks further and further into you. There's just so much of him to take, slowly splitting your poor pussy wide open inch by fucking inch. 

Thunder booms outside, but it's not near as scary as the monster between your shivering thighs. Lightning flickers as you feel him bottom out, buried to the hilt, and you don't...you don't know if you have room left to even breathe. 

There's no real waiting. He can't, with you taking it upon yourself to dig your heels into the bed and impatiently rutting yourself against him. Shallow little ins and outs that very nearly punch the air out of your lungs.

"So fuckin' impatient," his chest settles against yours, anchoring you into the bed and forcing your squirming hips to hold still. "Needin' my cock that bad, baby?"

You've got just enough of your bearings left to glare at him. No, you were wanting him to buy you a snack out of the vending machine. What else could you want?

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't give it to ya," he chuckles like he can hear every little snarky thought that crosses your mind; maybe he's been reading your mind ever since the day you met. 

All of a sudden, he's moving, drawing those strong hips back, only to rock back into you, doing nothing but shallowly rut his cock into you. If it were anyone else, this wouldn't work, but fuck he's already got this figured out. Massaging against those little nerves you haven't touched in so, so long, such a simple thing that has you clenching around him. 

And you're helpless to do anything but cling to him and take it. Pinned to this shitty motel mattress as the storm rages on outside. 

"'s that better, hm?" He coos, nuzzling your noses together as if to soothe the pitchy noises he's gently punching out of you. "I can feel your little legs just a shakin'."

There's nothing you can say. Stunned into mindless sounds that you can't seem to stifle, all too aware of how he's beginning to pull out further, fucking you in long, heavy strokes that leave stars sparkling in your vision. 

Your hips involuntarily buck. The angle shifts. 

"Aha—!" You're crying out. Way too loud. The neighbor absolutely heard that.

But you can't think about that because Rhett's caught onto it, swiveling his hips. Misses on the first try. Drifts closer on the second—

Not a thing escapes your lips, but your back rises up off the bed, clenching around him as he strikes that spot again, and you're only vaguely aware of how you're getting wetter. Absolutely dripping around him, every little motion punctuated by a sickening squelch that you can't possibly ignore. 

"This poor lil pussy of yours," he's so talkative, purring those filthy words against your lips like they're gospel. "Gonna have ya limpin' all tomorrow."

You can't...you can't keep still. Wriggling helplessly, not sure if you're pushing up into him or trying to pull away; whatever it is, it's not working. That fat cock of his is still sinking into you at his own pace, balls lightly smacking into your ass, heavy and full and...

"Probably have to tell 'em a little lie or two," kissing him only briefly shuts him up. He's talking the moment you part ways. "'s not really acceptable to tell 'em the shop mechanic was—mmh between your pretty little legs all night long." 

Your hand finds its way up his arm. Crossing his shoulder blades. On a one-way track to tangle in his messy hair and pull. It's enough to yank his head back, that pretty, pale throat on full display as a warbled moan jumps out of him. 

Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, muffling something you wish you could hear. "Talk to me, baby."

"Wanna...wanna hear you," that doesn't sound like your voice at all. If you couldn't feel it coming out of your own mouth, you'd think it was someone else entirely. "Please." For extra measure. 

You'll fuss about begging on another day. When you're not—oh, when you're not...

The tiniest noise stumbles out of Rhett's throat. Music to your fucking ears. You want more of it. 

It takes a moment. Gathering the strength to use the rest of your body. But then you do, and you're deliberately clenching around him, shivering thighs squeezing his pistoning hips as tight as you can, and he whines.

"Fuck, I...I..." Stumbling out of him. Aimless, but it's damn near enough to make you dizzy.

"Uhuh," is all you can utter. Dumb.

Lips collide. Crashing so clumsily that it's a wonder you don't knock a tooth out, nothing but open-mouthed entanglements and tongue. Calling this a kiss would disgrace the very word. Kisses are meant to be elegant. A beautiful sort of dance that no language will ever be able to properly describe. 

Soft little whimpers creep past his defenses. Faint at first, but it's so hard to stop once he starts crying into your mouth when you clench around him once more. You don't know if it's the sound itself or the delicious drag of his cock that sends the wave of heat roaring into your lower belly. Hell, maybe it's both. 

"Sound so fuckin' pretty." He's the one who says it, but you utter it in the back of your mind, too.

This room is so damn hot all of a sudden. A familiar pull has you fluttering around him, spasms that you feel just as much as he does. And he's driving directly into those little nerves so easily that your entire body is beginning to tingle with it, his weeping cock head striking them over and over and over.

Rhett shivers. A bead of sweat runs down his flushed face. "Fuck, I'm—"

"Close!" You blurt. Didn't mean to finish his sentence for him, but it's already out there, and oh, oh, oh.

His motions are quickening, unexpectedly thrown off of his rhythm, only for his hips to slam into you so hard it rocks the headboard. An unfamiliar heat blossoms, and you can feel his cock twitching inside of you and—Oh, he's cumming in you. 

That's all it takes. 

Your ears go numb as your back arches. Heart hamming in your chest. Crying out something that you never get to hear as you cum around him without warning. Little sparks firing across your nerves, and for the briefest moment, you think you've been swept up into a twister. Swirling 'round and 'round, nothing but Rhett's sweaty body to keep you from flying away entirely. 

And the storm whispers your name, barely audible over the hammer of your own heart. Echoing as the color drowns to black, warping until you can't no longer hear that, either. 

One of your eyes peeks open. 

Did you fall asleep? 

Because you feel like you fell asleep. Don't quite recall feeling so groggy, gravity weighing heavy on your eyelids, fighting against all odds to stay closed. Your tongue is almost stiff in your mouth, difficult to move. 

Rhett's hand has long since curled around your face, his thumb stroking the thin skin beneath your eye. Delicate. You don't think he's realized you're back yet, so distracted that the proof of it is evident in his face. Those deep blue irises flickering across your face, trailing across your forehead, your cheeks, your bitten lips, cracked and dry from the elements. 

You're far from looking your best. That you know for sure, but something about the way he looks at you...has you feeling like the prettiest thing this side of the country.

The corner of his lip rises the moment your eyes meet. "There ya are."

"I think I fell asleep," you croak. That still doesn't sound like your voice, but there's nowhere else it could be coming from. 

"'s only been a few minutes," pausing to press a kiss to your temple. That might be a faint hickey forming beneath his ear. "had me thinkin' I killed ya."

You can't help but giggle, an image emerging to the forefront of your mind. "Could you imagine having to explain to everyone that your dick killed me?"

His eyes roll as hard as they possibly can. You're almost disappointed that they don't get stuck. "'s not that big."

"You'd sing a very different tune if we could swap places," you mumble, reaching for his hand. So much bigger than yours, you can hardly even cover half of it. 

"Who says we can't?" He says it so...bluntly. 

...is he already implying that pegging is on the table?

You can't find your words. Neither can he. All too quiet as you stare back at each other. 

You crack at the same time. Sputtering into laughter like a pair of dumb kids, collapsing into perfect synchrony as you scramble out of the bed. Don't need to utter a word to Bare feet stumble across horrendously patterned carpet. His hand guiding you along on a one-way race to a too-small bathroom.

You're beginning to realize that cowboys and mechanics are just nerds with a very specific niche. 

There's no way that Rhett is still out there poking at Dallas, running his hands over the different components, pressing on buttons just to see what they'll do if anything at all. Even from the door, you can see the gears twisting and turning in his head, processing every little detail and scratch like it's a work of art he's never laid eyes on before.

Except he has laid eyes on Dallas before. More times than you can count, and that beat-up old thing is far from a work of art. At least it's still prettier than Tyler's rusty old rig over there in the back...

No, it's not there anymore. 

Did they leave already? 

"Where's thing one and thing two?" You hope he doesn't notice the way you waddle across the parking lot, an ache plaguing you with every step. It was cute, the idea of being sore from a night in bed with him, but hell, is the actual experience a lot less romantic to deal with. 

"They ditched us fer a date at some kind of storm chaser convention."

And here you thought Kate would at least give you the luxury of sticking around to tell you where she was going. Better yet, sending a text. 

"A date?" Tilting your head to the side, like that'll somehow make you hear better. 

Rhett presses another button. Every light in the truck turns on. "'s what it looked like on Ty's Instagram story."

You've already dug your phone out of your pocket, thumbs fumbling over each other as you search for your friends. Kate's account is the same as it was three days ago. No new posts since July of last year, but Tyler's...

There they are. Posing in front of the camera, spinning it around to unveil a line up of storm trucks. There has to be at least two dozen of them, sidled up next to each other in a perfect line with little white boxes resting on their hoods. A blurry sign sits behind them, forces you to replay the video and squint in order to read it. 

Voting opens  @ 4 PM.

"You have got to be kidding me," deadpan. Damn, not even an invite? After all that arguing? After yesterday? They wouldn't even have a truck to enter if it weren't for Dallas! 

"Hm?" Rhett blinks at you. If this were a cartoon, he'd have a question mark hovering over his head right now.

You turn the phone around, showing him the video he's already seen. "They entered a competition for the best storm rig in the state!" 

He bites the inside of his cheek, watching it again. After a moment, those big blue eyes flicker up to you. "...we could beat 'em." 

"You think so?" Is this what you're doing now? 

"I know so." Grinning.

They'll never let you hear the end of this. 

And that's exactly why you find yourself bouncing up to him, your hands bracing themselves on his chest as you lean in to steal a kiss from his waiting lips. Curling a fist in his t-shirt, don't even need to tug for him to fall into line, boots thumping along as you dart back into the room. Scrambling to collect your bags, tripping over him in your effort to shove your pajamas back into the suitcase. 

"Who's drivin'?" He giggles, leaning across you to get the room key. 

The answer is obvious. "I am!" 

Kate and Tyler don't realize you're there until it's too late. 

[yuujispinkhair]

From Sukuna, made with love

Christmas is your favorite time of the year. You love the coziness, the warmth, the love. But unfortunately, all this feels less magical when you know you will spend Christmas Eve alone. And so you desperately try to find someone to keep you company via your dating app. But maybe the real magic of Christmas is already right in front of you, brewing your favorite coffee and baking your favorite cupcakes while wearing a far too smug smirk and complaining too loudly about the stupid Santa hat he has to wear at work.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff, Christmas AU, Coffee Shop AU Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: none, just lots of fluff, flirting and kissing. This is a non-curses AU. Sukuna is the barista from hell to some of his customers but not to you :) All characters are of age. My blog contains 18+ content. Minors don't interact.

There is now art for this story!! Thank you so much to the lovely @irideste for drawing barista!Sukuna!!

This is my contribution to my sweet friend @shirohyorin's Ficmas Calendar! Thank you so much for hosting this cute collab, Loni! I hope my story can add to the coziness you are spreading over our dash. I wish everyone a sweet December and merry Christmas if you celeberate it!

December 1

The doorbell jingles softly as you enter your favorite coffee shop. It makes you smile because the sound reminds you of Christmas. Like Santa's sleigh with the reindeer. The smell that drifts towards you adds even more to the Christmassy feeling. The rich taste of coffee and hot chocolate laced with cinnamon and gingerbread spice.

You sigh happily. This is your little safe place, your sanctuary every morning before you start your hectic work day. And especially now, when the countdown to Christmas has begun, and the pretty Christmas decorations and lights are up, this little coffeeshop all in white is the coziest place you know.

You smile to yourself, already looking forward to a little treat before work, a gingerbread latte, and maybe a cinnamon roll. You look over at the counter, expecting to see the owner or one of the usual baristas. But you blink in surprise when your gaze lands on someone else.

A new guy.

He stands out in the white interior like a black sheep amidst its white herd. He is dressed all in black and is tall and muscular with an athletic build. His hair is pink and styled in a fashionable-looking undercut. His ears are pierced several times, and his face is adorned with filigree black tattoed lines.

He looks intimidating. Strikingly attractive but scary. And definitely very out of place in the middle of all the sparkly white and silver Christmas decorations.

The woman before you grabs her bag of cookies and leaves, giving you space to step up to the counter.

Your breath catches when a pair of pretty maroon eyes meets yours. They are framed by long black lashes and a second pair of eyes, tattoed ones, black and red. But what strikes you the most is the intensity with which those eyes look at you. As if the owner of those eyes can see right into your soul.

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and you realize that the new guy is smirking at you, looking almost infuriatingly smug, as if he knows how flustered you are by his gaze.

Even his voice is mocking you. A sexy lazy drawl that should rather be used in the bedroom than in a cozy little coffee shop at 7:00 in the morning!

"Good morning, princess. What can I get you?"

"Sukuna, you shouldn't call customers pet names!"

"Oh, shut up, Yuuta! Get back into the kitchen or something and stop getting on my nerves. I'm just being nice. Isn't that what is expected of me here?"

You watch the little quarrel with wide eyes until those maroon eyes snap back to you. The new guy, Sukuna apparently, laughs softly, revealing two rows of straight white teeth. And a pink tongue that curls upwards to press its tip to his front teeth, letting you catch a glimpse of something sparkly in his mouth. You realize only a split second later that Sukuna has a tongue piercing. You don't know why this fact makes your pulse flutter.

Sukuna cocks his head, fixing you with his intense gaze and a lifted eyebrow, like a cat checking you out, deciding whether you are worthy of its presence,

"So, let's try this again, huh? What do you want to order?"

"Um...I...a ... a large gingerbread latte, please...but can I get extra cinnamon, please?"

"Sure, anything you want, princess."

He smirks at you again before walking over to the coffeemaker. He is really tall. And his skinny black jeans are snug on his thighs and firm butt, making you silently curse yourself for checking out your new barista's ass. Sukuna is looking at you over his broad shoulder and asking in that velvety voice,

"What's your name?"

You tell him, and he nods, grabbing the pen next to the coffeemaker and scribbling your name on a paper cup before he starts preparing your order.

A few moments later, Sukuna puts the cup in front of you with another big grin on his handsome face.

"Here, enjoy!"

His long fingers are still wrapped around the cup. He's wearing black nail polish. Of course, he is! You almost snort. But his handwriting is surprisingly elegant.

You take the cup from him and give him a polite smile,

"Thank you. Have a nice day."

"Have a nice day too, sweetheart. Make sure to come back tomorrow."

His voice is filled with amusement, and the cheeky wink he gives you is absolutely not the way the other baristas treat the customers.

You quickly leave, wondering why your face feels so warm. It must be the heating in the coffee shop.

December 2

"Good morning, princess. I'll get your order."

You are greeted by a smirking Sukuna, who is leaning casually against the shiny white counter, bracing himself on his elegant hands. The sleeves of his black sweater are pushed up to his elbows, exposing a pair of tattoed forearms. Tattooed and toned.

You stare at them for a moment too long before you lift your face to blink still a bit sleepily at Sukuna. His words register in your mind, and you frown in confusion.

"But...I didn't order anything yet."

"Oh, you don't have to. I know what you want."

His maroon eyes sparkle teasingly. You hate the way you get so flustered by a stupid comment like that. But something about the way Sukuna looks at you with so much confidence and smugness makes it hard not to get nervous.

Sukuna chuckles and turns around to walk over to the coffeemaker. When he comes back to place the paper cup in front of you, you see your name written on it correctly with a smiling face next to it, and Sukuna announces in a triumphant tone,

"Large gingerbread latte with extra cinnamon."

He really remembered your name and your coffee order. You can't help but be impressed. It took his coworkers weeks to remember those things.

You leave the coffee shop with a smile, sighing happily as you take the first sip of your gingerbread latte with extra cinnamon. Perfect! Exactly like you want it.

December 6

You are in a bad mood this morning as you wait in line in the little coffee shop. Your thoughts are occupied with what your workday holds in store for you today. So you barely manage a weak smile when it's your turn to place your order.

Sukuna raises an eyebrow, 

"Rough morning ahead, princess?"

You nod, oddly touched that he noticed something is amiss.

"Yeah, I have a meeting with my boss today, and he will probably give me even more work."

Sukuna srunches his nose,

"In that case, you need something sweet to get you through the day. Take one of the red velvet cupcakes! They are the best. Trust me on that."

Before you can reply, he is already leaning down to grab a plate with a delicious-looking cupcake out of the glass display. He puts it on the counter in front of you with a boyish grin.

"Something sweet for a sweet girl."

You feel like an idiot when you drop the money you want to give him and have to pick it up from the floor with your ears ringing from the blood rushing into your head. Sukuna's laughter still carries through the coffee shop when you have already reached the door.

December 7

"There she is! Hey, how did you like the cupcake? I didn't promise too much, did I?"

You can't help but laugh as Sukuna greets you with those words.

"It was one of the best cupcakes I ever ate! Thank you for recommending it."

He pouts, huffing in mock exasperation as he crosses his toned arms in front of his defined chest.

"Only one of the best? Then I'll make it even more delicious next time, so it will become the best cupcake you ever had. I'm not ok with only being second best!"

That makes you stop and raise your eyebrows,

"Wait, did you bake them?"

Sukuna laughs and nods smugly. There's a proud twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, I did. Tell me what you want me to change about the recipe, and the next batch will be the custom-made cupcake of your dreams."

Somehow you have no doubt that he is ambitious enough to really do that. And so you put a finger to your lips and lift your eyes in a playful thinking gesture,

"Hmmm, in that case, I really would love dark chocolate frosting instead of the vanilla one."

"Ok! My favorite customer wants dark chocolate. She'll get dark chocolate!"

You can't help but laugh at Sukuna's words, and hours later, when you are already sitting at your desk at work, his low playful voice still plays in your head. "My favorite customer," he said.

His favorite, huh?

A smile lifts the corners of your lips. Sukuna is definitely well on the way to becoming your favorite barista too.

As rude as he is, he is also pretty charming. You have to admit that. He definitely manages to lift your mood before a long workday. And maybe you are looking forward to his teasing comments and smug smirk every morning. Just a tiny bit.

December 8

The first thing you see when entering the coffee shop is Sukuna's smirk, and he lifts a tattoed hand to wave at you and give you one of his teasing winks.

You chuckle softly and wave back at him as you get in line behind the other customers.

When you are only one customer away from the counter, the man in front of you steps to the side, allowing you to get a good look at the display stand. Behind the glass is a delicious-looking tray of red velvet cupcakes. This time with a dark chocolate topping, exactly as you wished for.

Your lips lift in a smile. And then your gaze lands on the little chalkboard in front of the cupcake tray. There is written in Sukuna's elegant handwriting, "(Y/N)'s dream cupcakes".

December 10

When you enter the coffee shop this morning, you are greeted by the sight of red amongst the otherwise white interior. The two employees you see both wear bright red Santa hats.

Not Sukuna, though. He chooses that moment to stride out of the kitchen, carrying a baking sheet with Christmas cookies, looking as un-Christmassy as usual.

"Hey, Sukuna, put the hat back on! You know we have to wear them! Same rules for everyone!"

Sukuna rolls his eyes at his coworker as he places the cookies in the glass display.

"Tsk, I won't do that shit. It looks ridiculous."

His maroon gaze meets yours, and he grins.

"Let's ask a customer! Hey, princess, I'll let you be the judge."

And before you can say anything, Sukuna already grabs his discarded Santa hat and puts it on his pink hair. His eyes sparkle challengingly as he raises an eyebrow at you and points one long tattoed finger to his head,

"What do you think? This looks stupid, doesn't it?"

You stare at him wide-eyed, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights with all eyes on you. Especially that pair of maroon eyes that fixes you with an intense gaze and a smirk so attractive it should be illegal.

Your mind isn't functioning properly with all this attention on you before you even had your first fix of caffeine. And so you just blurt out what comes to your mind,

"I think it looks really good on you!"

It does. Everything looks good on Sukuna! He is gorgeous. He could even wear some reindeer antlers and a glowing red nose and pose as Rudolph, and he would still look hot!

Maybe your answer was a bit too enthusiastic, though, judging by the smug look on Sukuna's face. You feel embarrassed, averting your gaze quickly and feeling much too hot suddenly. But Sukuna just laughs.

"Well, in that case, I'll leave it on. Just for you, sweetheart."

The loud "Ooooooh!!" coming from the people in the waiting line behind you makes you wish the ground would swallow you whole, but at the same time, you cannot help but snicker softly and grin as you take your coffee from Sukuna.

The grin won't leave your face even when you are already on your train to work.

December 12

Today you chose to pay the little coffee shop a visit after work. It's already pretty late, but you can't bring yourself to get up from your comfy seat at your favorite table that lets you watch the wintery street. People rush past the coffee shop on their way back home from work. Some carry big bags filled with Christmas presents, probably. You see small children on their parents' hands, pointing excitedly at the Christmas lights installed on the street lamps and the buildings.

It started to snow an hour ago, and now the trees lining the street are covered in fluffy-looking powdery snow. You watch, mesmerized, as big snowflakes slowly soar down from the sky.

It's so comfortable here in the coffee shop. Warm and cozy. You take a sip from your coffee before closing the e-mail you have been responding to. And now your finger lands on another app.

Tokyo Hearts – The dating app for lonely city hearts.

You open the app and get greeted by their current seasonal welcome message. You don't want to be alone on the merriest day of the year? Find a date for Christmas Eve here and discover true love.

You sigh. If only it was so easy! As much as you love Christmas time, it also gives you a little pang this year because you know you will be lonely on Christmas Eve.

Or maybe not! A notification pops up, telling you there is a new message for you.

The guy who sent it looks cute. And he works in an animal shelter, which makes him sound like the type of guy you could like.

Your finger hovers over the reply button, thinking hard about what you could message him back when a low voice next to your ear makes you jump,

"Are you looking for a boyfriend online, princess?"

You squeal loudly and almost drop your phone, struggling to catch it before it falls into your coffee.

Your gaze snaps up to Sukuna's tall figure, seeing him grin that insufferable grin at you.

You hurriedly lock your phone screen while trying to fight the embarrassment washing over you. As if Sukuna caught you doing something dirty.

"W...what are you doing over here, Sukuna?"

Sukuna graces you with a shit-eating teasing grin as he replies,

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I work here. Maybe I am being a good employee for once and checking on my customers to see if they are happy in our wonderful coffee shop or if they have another wish. Crazy, I know!"

His maroon eyes are full of mischief as he leans casually against your table.

You huff and roll your eyes,

"Wow, I guess I am talking to the employee of the month. But I don't need anything at the moment, thank you."

Sukuna laughs at your reply, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he shoves his hands into the pocket of the apron he is wearing over his black jeans and sweater and eyes you with a strange look on his handsome face.

"Be careful if you want to meet up with one of those guys from your little dating app. You never know what kind of idiots hide behind that screen."

That makes you blink up at him, surprised at the uncharacteristically serious tone of his usually so playful and teasing voice. Sukuna is towering over you with his tall height, but the bright red Santa hat atop his pink hair makes him look cute instead of intimidating today.

And his concern is touching. You find yourself nodding slowly and smiling gratefully at him.

"I'll be careful. Thank you, Sukuna."

December 13

Your date with the animal shelter guy is a disaster.

You asked him to meet you in the coffee shop, and at first glance animal shelter guy is cute. But it only takes about ten minutes to realize that a cute face doesn't make a cute personality.

He is annoying. A know-it-all who keeps talking over you, making fun of your taste in movies and music, scrunching his nose at your job, and even looking down on the gingerbread latte with the extra cinnamon you love so much.

Not even half an hour into the date, you already know you never want to see him again. But he refuses to get the hint even when you start responding with only one-worded answers. You have a feeling he even prefers that you don't talk anymore because, most of all, he likes to listen to himself. And so he keeps on talking, sharing his opinions with you about this and that.

You zone out and let your gaze wander across the coffee shop and over to the counter, where Sukuna's tall figure is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. His maroon eyes meet yours. He has been watching your table, you realize.

He raises one eyebrow curiously, and then his gaze slips to your date and then back to you with a knowing grin. He lifts his right hand and makes a throat-slitting gesture.

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud, but your eyes sparkle amusedly at him as you nod softly.

Sukuna pushes himself off the wall and grabs a tray with a large coffee cup that his coworker just put on the counter, making said coworker complain loudly. But Sukuna ignores him and, to your astonishment, starts walking toward your table.

Your eyes widen in foreboding as Sukuna stops next to your table, smiling down at animal shelter guy. It's a dangerous smile. And his low voice is sugary sweet, dripping with fake politeness,

"Here is your order, sir."

Your date lifts his head to snap at Sukuna,

"What do you mean!? I didn't order anything."

Sukuna's smirk grows wider as he stands there in all his glory, tall and gorgeous, looking intimidating with all his tattoos and piercings and the toned muscles of his biceps flexed from balancing the tray.

He cocks his head, eyeing your date with an amused expression on his handsome face that reminds you of a cat playing with a mouse,

"Aww, you didn't? Well, I guess this is on the house, then. Enjoy."

And with that, Sukuna flicks his long fingers against the large coffee cup, making it tip over.

You watch in fascinated horror as the coffee spills out of the cup and gushes over animal shelter guy's shirt.

"What the fuck!!?? Can't you be more careful!??"

Your date jumps up from his seat, hands twisted in his soaking wet shirt while he glares daggers at Sukuna, who just watches him with a satisfied grin.

You can't help but laugh but try to hide it by coughing into your hand while you watch the scene before you.

Animal shelter guy is now gesturing wildly with his hands, spitting insults at Sukuna.

But Sukuna just smiles devilishly at him and informs him in a dangerously soft voice,

"I want you to walk out that door now and never come back."

"I will NOT do that! Who do you think you are? I want to talk to your boss!"

That makes Sukuna laugh,

"Oh, I can do anything I want. My shift, my rules. And you are banned for a lifetime. Bye bye loverboy."

Sukuna jerks his chin towards the door and adds,

"You better not make me drag you out."

His gaze is stern now. The smile is gone. And apparently, your date finally gets the hint that he shouldn't get on Sukuna's wrong side. He scrambles to grab his jacket and hurries towards the door without a glance back,

Sukuna calls after him,

"And don't ever contact her again! I will find out about it if you do!"

You spend the next hour chatting with your favorite barista and eating a red velvet cupcake which he brings to your table with the words:

"On the house because you deserve that after having to listen to that loser for longer than a minute."

When you leave, you smile and call out softly,

"Thank you, Sukuna."

His answering smile is so genuine and pretty that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

December 14

You have a dream where you are at a speed-dating event in the coffee shop, and Sukuna walks from table to table and pours various drinks over every potential date partner.

December 15

You can already spot Sukuna from outside the coffee shop. He stands out, as usual, dressed all in black, tall and athletic, with pastel-colored pink hair and black tattoos.

But you realize immediately that there's an important detail missing. Where is the Santa hat he is supposed to wear?

You scrunch your nose. Maybe he decided to fuck the rules after all. It would suit him. You shake your head in amusement and push the door open.

The little bell jingles, and the comforting smell of coffee and Christmas wraps you in its cozy embrace.

And a pair of maroon eyes instantly meets yours.

Your heart does a weird thing. It throbs.

And Sukuna strides over to the counter and grabs something off it. His Santa hat, you realize a moment later, when he puts it on his head while grinning broadly at you.

The gesture makes you laugh, and when it's your turn to place your order, you can't help but comment teasingly,

"I see you are following your boss' wishes. Good boy."

At the beginning of the month, you wouldn't have dared talk like that to Sukuna. But by now, the two of you have established quite the playful banter, so teasing him back a little won't hurt, you assume.

Sukuna throws his head back, laughing loudly, revealing his slightly pointy canines and the silver tongue piercing that glitters in the light of the coffee shop. His voice is a low, seductive purr when he answers,

"Oh, I'm not wearing that stupid hat for my boss. I'm only wearing it for you."

And once again, you leave the coffee shop with a big grin and a fluttery feeling in your stomach.

December 16

There's a small heart doodled onto your coffee-to-go cup.

You spot it in the middle of a meeting when you play with the cup in your hand and turn it to look at your name in Sukuna's elegant handwriting.

A heart.

It's red.

You didn't even know they have a red pen in the coffee shop.

When your boss asks you a question, you stutter because you have no idea what he is talking about.

The paper cup stays on your desk even after it is empty.

December 17

The 17th day of December is the day when the "red velvet incident" happens.

You're standing in the waiting line, smiling to yourself as you already look forward to your gingerbread latte and a yummy red velvet cupcake. Of course, the ones with the dark chocolate frosting. The ones Sukuna always bakes for you now.

But your smile wavers when you catch a glimpse of the display and see that only one cupcake is left. And, of course, the guy in front of you orders a red velvet cupcake right now.

You silently curse and already try to come up with a replacement when Sukuna looks the guy dead in the eye and informs him,

"We are out of red velvet."

You blink. The other customer is just as surprised as you are because his head snaps from Sukuna to the cupcake and back again.

"Um, no, there is still one left."

Sukuna shakes his head,

"No."

"What do you mean? It's right there."

"It's not available."

"B...but.."

Sukuna lets out an irritated breath and straightens up, crossing his toned arms in front of his chest. His maroon eyes glitter dangerously as he glares at the customer,

"Do you want to be a problem? When I tell you there is no red velvet cupcake available, then there is none available. Now order something else or leave!"

Your eyes widen, and you watch in stunned amusement as the man stares at Sukuna for a long moment before he takes the hint and nervously asks for a cinnamon cupcake instead before hurriedly leaving the coffee shop, probably never to return again.

You step up to the counter. The same maroon eyes that were so unrelenting only a moment ago twinkle amusedly at you now, and the face that was so stern and threatening, is now lighting up in such a genuine and dazzling smile that it makes you feel a bit lightheaded.

"Hey, princess. Fancy a red velvet cupcake?"

December 19

It's hard to focus on work today. 

The paper cup standing in the middle of your desk is just too distracting. Maybe not the paper cup itself, but definitely the message that is written under your name.

From Sukuna, made with love.

A stick-figure is doodled next to it, with a grin on its tattoed face and a Santa hat on its head.

And somehow, your heart beats a bit too fast.

December 20

You roam through your dating app just like every night before you sleep. But you skip all the guys it suggests to you. They are all lacking something. Even though you can't tell what it is you don't like about them. They all seem nice and good-looking. So what is it that you are missing?

But in your dream that night, you see yourself sending a message to a very familiar guy with pink hair and tattoos on his handsome face.

December 22

"So, did you meet anyone new on your little dating app, princess?"

Sukuna's gaze burns into yours, making you gulp hard before you manage to answer.

"Um, yeah, I have been exchanging some messages with someone. He asked me to be his Christmas Eve date."

Yesterday morning you woke up to a message from a good-looking businessman who rather straightforwardly asked you to be his date for Christmas Eve since he didn't like spending the evening alone.

As unromantic as the message was, you replied to him and agreed. After all, everything was better than being alone on that day. And this way, two lonely hearts wouldn't have to be so alone on that special day.

You thought you would feel relief upon finding someone to keep you company on Christmas Eve. After all, this was the sole reason why you downloaded that dating app. You were scared to spend this special evening alone. So you should be glad you found someone who wants to take you on a date. Right?

But why do you feel so unsure about it all of a sudden now that you are standing here in front of Sukuna? Why does it feel so wrong?

There's a strange twinkle in Sukuna's pretty eyes, and his smug expression wavers for a split second, but then he huffs softly, and his arrogant smirk is back in place. His soft, teasing laughter fills the air,

"Good for you. But I hope this isn't another loser like the last guy. Bring him here, ok? So I can have an eye on him. You know I'm excellent at getting rid of your failed dates."

Your fingers touch Sukuna's when you reach out to take the paper cup from him. His fingers are warm, and only the silver of the rings he's wearing feels slightly cool to the touch.

His eyes still look deeply into yours. They are an enticing shade of brown you have never seen on anyone else before. Maroon, like rich red wine, dangerous and warm at the same time. Framed by pretty black lashes and the filigree tattoos on his face.

Sukuna still hasn't pulled his hand away. And your fingers are still lightly wrapped around his, not making a move either to take the cup from him.

Only when Sukuna's coworker yells from the kitchen that a fresh tray of Christmas cookies is ready, do the two of you pull away.

When you leave the coffee shop to run towards the train station, you can't help but let a treacherous thought slip into your mind.

What if your date for Christmas Eve had pink hair and a smug smirk and made the best red velvet cupcakes you ever tasted? Would you feel happier about your date then?

You know the answer but forbid yourself to think about it.

December 23

"Do you have any plans for Christmas Eve, Sukuna?"

You curse yourself for asking. You didn't want to give in to the urge, but you couldn't stop obsessing over it. What is your favorite barista doing on that day? Does he have a date himself? Will he leave the coffee shop behind to meet some beautiful girl or boy and take them on a date, making them laugh and flirt with them until they are so flustered they can only stutter? Will he kiss someone under a mistletoe? Will he take someone home and keep them warm in his strong arms while the snow falls down over the city?

The thought makes an uncomfortable knot form in your stomach.

Please don't say you are going on a date! Please don't say you are meeting someone else!

"No, I don't. I took the evening shift. I'll be here, blessing the love-drunk couples with my presence. The best Christmas gift, I dare say."

He winks at you, sounding smug and teasing like ever, but you feel like there is a little edge to the comment.

You are already at work when it hits you: Sukuna took the evening shift. He will be here tomorrow when you meet your date.

December 24

Christmas Eve.

The time for couples. The time for love and romantic dates.

And yet you are sitting alone at your favorite table in the coffee shop.

Your date is already twenty minutes late.

The truth is you aren't even sure you still want him to show up. Or that you ever wanted him to show up at all. Because isn't all of this just a farce anyway?

You aren't interested in that guy. You don't know him and don't want to get to know him. Your heart doesn't beat faster when you think of him. There aren't any butterflies in your tummy when you see his pictures. You have no warm feeling in your chest when you hear his voice. He doesn't make you laugh. He doesn't make you look forward to talking to him. He doesn't know your favorite coffee order or that you like dark chocolate frosting on your red velvet cupcakes.

So what are you even doing here? It's an uncomfortable truth but one you have to face. You only wanted to meet him because you didn't want to be alone on Christmas Eve.

But is this the right way to do it? Fight loneliness with a meaningless date?

It was stupid to do this. And now you are sitting here amidst all those happy couples, clutching your coffee cup tightly in your hands, feeling the sadness wash over you.

So stupid.

How could you think that you could force yourself to have a romantic Christmas Eve?

You get startled out of your misery when Sukuna suddenly plops down on the bench on the other side of your table.

"He's not coming, is he?"

His beautiful maroon eyes are watching you carefully.

You bite your lip and shake your head, feeling tears gather in your eyes. You feel so small and pathetic, sitting here all alone while around you all the couples have their romantic dates. And all you managed was to get stood up by some random guy you weren't even interested in. It's so embarrassing. Surly Sukuna thinks the same.

But his eyes narrow at your words, and he reaches out to put his large hand on top of yours, giving it a short but reassuring squeeze.

"What an asshole! He doesn't know what he's missing."

"It's... it's ok, I guess. I didn't really like him anyway. I don't even know him. I just...I didn't want to be alone on Christmas Eve. That's why I wanted to meet someone on that stupid dating app."

"You aren't alone, princess. I'm right here! I'll be your Christmas Eve date!"

The smirk is back on Sukuna's face, looking so handsome and charming that it makes your heart skip a beat. And his words...

You blink at him, feeling heat spread through your body. Is he serious?

You eye him shyly, not sure if this is just part of your usual banter or something else. But there is a softness on Sukuna's tattoed features you have never seen there before. As if sensing your insecurities, Sukuna adds with a smile,

"I mean it, princess. I would have asked you anyways if you didn't tell me you already had a date. And come on, I am much better than any of those guys in your dating app! With me, you'll experience the ultimate Christmas magic! So, say yes, and I'm all yours."

Laughter bubbles out of your mouth. The gloominess from a moment ago is already forgotten as you smile at your favorite barista and nod softly,

"Ok, how could I say no to an offer like that?"

Sukuna's answering laugh is warm and genuine.

"Good girl. You won't regret it. Give me five minutes, and I'll make this the best Christmas Eve of your life!"

And with that being said, he gets up and walks over to the counter. You watch him across the coffee shop, feeling your pulse race and smiling from ear to ear at the fluttery feeling you have in your stomach when Sukuna's gaze meets yours across the room, and he winks at you.

He comes back after a few minutes carrying a tray that's overflowing with red velvet cupcakes, Christmas cookies, and two slices of Christmas cake as well as your gingerbread latte with extra cinnamon. He sets it down on the table and sits down across from you with a big cheeky grin.

"Merry Christmas, princess."

He looks so pretty with his glittering maroon eyes and boyish smirk. And his low voice is gentle and playful, making it impossible not to smile brightly at him.

"You are actually really nice. Do you know that, Sukuna?"

"Oh, I can be nice if I want. But don't tell anyone. I prefer it if they are scared of me. It's more fun."

Both of you laugh at that, and after that, you fall into a comfortable conversation while sharing the delicious Christmas treats and sipping coffee. It feels so natural to be here with Sukuna. He makes you laugh and roll your eyes in mock exasperation at his arrogant comments, but your heart feels so full at everything he says, at the familiarity of it.

And you realize at that moment that this is what you have been looking forward to every morning for the last few weeks. These flirty comments, that smug smirk, those warm maroon eyes that always sparkle so mischievously.

And all the nice little things Sukuna did for you. And finally, you let yourself think those thoughts you used to consider treacherous. You let yourself feel those things you thought would lead nowhere. You let yourself admit that you like him.

You enjoy Sukuna's company. You like the way he talks and smirks and is so insufferable in the most attractive and irresistible way. You think he is the most charming person you have ever met. And as tough as he appears at first glance, he is actually caring and sweet when you don't let yourself get tricked by his rough attitude.

Another customer chooses that moment to clear his throat loudly before he addresses Sukuna,

"Hey, um, can I order?"

Sukuna musters him with a cold look, his face a stony mask.

"No, you can't. Don't you see I'm on a date too? If you want more cake, just go behind the counter and get some. Put the money on the table."

The corners of his lips lift in a grin when his gaze meets yours again, and you laugh softly, shaking your head,

"Aren't you going to get into trouble with your boss?"

Sukuna shrugs,

"I don't care. And the owner is actually my cousin. So as much as I have tried, he hasn't fired me yet. I think you'll be stuck with me as your barista."

"Oh, that's good to hear! You're my favorite, after all!"

"I know. Who else would prepare your coffee so perfectly and bake your dream cupcakes? I'm the only one who gets it right, don't I?"

And yes, it's true, you realize at that moment. Sukuna is the only one who gets it right. Not just your coffee order and your favorite cupcakes. He also gets it right when it comes to making you feel happy. He is the only one who gives you this magical Christmas feeling that you crave. He has been doing it the whole month.

And suddenly, you are filled with so much affection for your gorgeous barista. You catch yourself wishing there was a mistletoe above your table so you could seal this Christmas Eve date with a kiss.

You look around the coffee shop for one, thinking you are sneaky. But then your gaze meets Sukuna's, and you see the sly grin on his face.

"You know, you don't need a mistletoe to kiss me, princess. I'm your official date now, so you can get a kiss anytime you want."

Before you even have a chance to get embarrassed, one of Sukuna's large hands lands on yours again, and this time he interlaces his fingers with yours. He leans over the table, smiling that boyish grin at you that makes your stomach fill with butterflies. 

You see his gaze wander to your lips, and you instinctively lean closer to him too.

Is this really happening?

Maroon eyes gaze deeply into yours as Sukuna places a long finger under your chin, tilting your face up and smirking that sexy smirk at you. 

And then his lips are on yours. Warm and soft and surprisingly gentle, making you melt into the kiss with a happy sigh.

Soon your mouth opens against Sukuna's, and he deepens the kiss, making your heart race when his tongue strokes tenderly against yours. Letting you feel his tongue piercing and making you gasp at the sensation of the metal stud gliding over your tongue.

You smile when your fingers land on the back of Sukuna's neck and caress the soft stubble of his undercut, which makes Sukuna groan softly into your kiss. Before long, the Santa hat on his head falls to the ground, but neither of you cares.

Not when Sukuna's kiss is so sweet and enticing. Not when his kiss is your personal Christmas miracle.

Sukuna's fingers caress your jaw, a firm but tender touch. Just like his kiss is passionate and gentle at the same time. A deep, slow French kiss that makes your head spin.

When the two of you pull apart, you are both grinning broadly at each other, eyes filled with wonder.

Your voice is a bit hoarse when you confess softly,

"This is really the best Christmas Eve date I ever had."

Sukuna's grin grows even wider at your words,

"I am the best choice for a date all year."

"In that case, I think we should go on many more dates."

"Anything you wish, princess. I told you, my favorite customer gets anything she wants from me."

You roll your eyes, but you can't hide how pleased you are, brimming with happiness, lips lifted in a smile and eyes shining brightly. Before Sukuna can go on even more about how perfect he is, you quickly lean over the table again and shut him up with another kiss.

The other customers are forgotten. The only thing you know are warm maroon eyes and soft lips and a smug smirk that turns into a beautiful smile when you caress the tattoos on Sukuna's cheek.

It's getting late, and gradually all the couples around you leave the coffee shop to head home or to go see the Christmas lights.

And then there are only you and Sukuna left. He joins you on your side of the table. And soon after, you find yourself sitting on his lap, with Sukuna's strong arms wrapped tightly around you, his warm solid body pressed against yours, and his lips moving on yours in slow sensual kisses that taste like gingerbread spice and cinnamon.

You send a silent thank you to your original date, who decided to ditch you. Because, after all, Sukuna was right. He really is the better date. The best one you could have ever wished for.

Your perfect Christmas gift.

Thank you so much for reading my Christmas story!! I hope you enjoyed barista Sukuna :) He definitely baked his way into my heart! I didn't plan for this story to get so long, but I couldn't stop writing. All the Christmas fluff with Kuna made me feel so happy and warm! I hope he can make your December sweeter too! If you are lonely on Christmas, you can count on barista Sukuna to make you feel better.

A big thank you again to Loni for hosting this amazing collab! It's such a sweet idea!!

Please let me know how you like barista Sukuna! Comments and reblogs make me happy :)

[sebastianswallows]

Hello! Could I offer you a prompt? I often see fics about Ominis experiencing sight for the first time, but how about Slytherin!MC being the one afflicted with a temporary blindness, and now having to rely on Ominis for guidance, 'seeing' the world from his perspective? Maybe as a result of some unruly student's potion experiment? Thank you for your time and work!

Hello, nonny!

Thank you so much for an Ominis prompt! I love to write about this sweetest boy. And sorry this took so long, my dear 💚

Oh my though, I guess I don't read fics with him often enough, because I haven't noticed that many where he experiences sight. Not sure how I'd feel about those, because it... takes away from his character, sort of. I don't know.

Anyway! I have a fluffy little fic for you 😘 Hope you enjoy it!

I wrote it that it was all Garreth's fault, because of course.

— PAIRING: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

She cursed Garreth all the way to the Hospital Wing. The classroom was left in deathly silence after the Gryffindoor’s latest experiment had literally exploded in her face. Professor Sharp seemed… worried, but not very shocked. Clearly, things like that had happened before — especially since Garreth had started studying at Hogwarts. For his part, the boy seemed horribly contrite, or so he sounded as he fretted over her. She suspected at least half of his regret was due to the inevitably harsh detention he had to look forward to — perhaps something even worse, if the damage to her eyes proved permanent.

As she made her way through the castle, leaning on Sebastian and Natty — who both insisted to go with her, the sweethearts — she could think of nothing else. She couldn’t see anything. The last thing she had seen was Garreth’s smouldering cauldron where he was pointing out the way a particular piece of snail shell was melting, and then a great big flash of green, then blackness. She had thought for a moment that she’d fainted, but then she realised her eyes were open. By the time they reached the Nurse, her heart was still pounding at such a frantic rate she thought she was going to be sick.

“Well, she’s blind alright,” said Nurse Blainey after performing a few charms.

“What did you think? That I was lying?!”

“I will wring Garreth’s scrawny little nec—”

“Watch your tongue, Mr Sallow.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Natty in the most politely-frustrated voice she’d ever heard.

There followed a long discussion about what had caused it, which required them to bring Professor Sharp there — who, to his shame, hadn’t exactly been aware of what his students were doing — then Garreth — who also wasn’t sure what had happened with his potion, but he could at least list the ingredients he’d used.

All the while, she waited there in silence, hearing voices all around, footsteps echoing close and far, and tense, worried conversations. The Nurse had placed her in one of the beds in the corner while they decided what to do with her. Natty and Sebastian stayed by her side, quarrelling over what potions they could brew to cure her until she had to tell them to shut up.

By the time classes were done for the day, the Nurse had reached the conclusion that Garreth’s failed experiment, while exceedingly dangerous, would not affect her sight for long. Only a few weeks.

“A few weeks?!”

“Yes, two or three. Four if you’re unlucky.” She could hear the woman shrug.

“What am I supposed to do for three weeks? How can I study? How—”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re not our only blind student. I’m sure Mr Gaunt can be of some help to you during this time.”

She recoiled at hearing it. “I don’t want to be a burden to—”

“Nonsense,” said Sebastian from somewhere behind her. “Ominis would do it happily!”

“I would,” said the boy. A pause followed as everyone else realised he’d entered the room. From the sound of it, he was standing a few feet in front of her.

The Nurse was happy with this arrangement, which meant fewer responsibilities for her. Professor Sharp breathed a sigh of relief, after which he promised to write to her parents and inform them. Sebastian and Natty, meanwhile, were disgustingly supportive, trying all the while to cheer her up. She shunned all of them, and would only go back to the Common Room with Ominis.

“Do you wish to have dinner first?” he asked quietly as they walked out of the Hospital Wing arm in arm.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled. “…Wait, are you?”

Ominis chuckled. “Could send Sebastian out to the kitchens to bring us something… He would do it. Careful, stairs.”

They went down step-by-step, and all through the castle, and after what felt like too long they finally made it to the Slytherin Common Room. She knew she was slowing them down, and Ominis didn’t deny it, but he was supportive the whole way — and not in that fretful, exaggerated, compensatory way Sebastian and Natty were, and not in the anxious manner of Garreth…

If Ominis was worried about her condition, he didn’t show it. As cool and calm as the lake, as sturdy as the rock Hogwarts was built on, he was by her side from the first moment.

The first order of business, while Sebastian fetched them a late dinner, was for her to learn the echolocation spell Ominis used to walk around.

“No, don’t hold it pointing down,” he said as he guided her hand. “Straight forward is better.”

“But what if I stumble onto something?”

“The spell will detect it in time.”

“Well I’m not feeling anything yet…”

“Just… try to cast it harder.”

“Cast it harder? You’re terrible at teaching spells. I want Sebastian back.”

“Yes, well, Sebastian can’t cast it,” mumbled Ominis.

“What can’t I cast?” asked the boy as he dashed into the Common Room.

She could already smell ham and cheese and the salty-sweet aroma of cold sausages. Two plates clinked as Sebastian placed them on the table by the fireplace, where she and Ominis were standing.

“My echolocation spell.”

“Ah yes, can’t cast that,” he said, followed by the soft floof of him plopping on the sofa.

They didn’t make much progress on that first night. His wand was far more accustomed to performing it than hers — but the promise of being able to learn it helped her sleep that night, after an hour or so of crying in fear and anger.

Waking up the next day was disorienting. She felt herself wake, she felt her eyes open, but not seeing anything seemed so… unreal. She nearly panicked all over again. Being in the dungeons, there was no sunlight to feel on her skin to let her know whether it was even morning, but then she heard the other girls shuffling around the room.

Imelda led her to the washroom, and later helped her dress — and for once, she didn’t have a snarky thing to say.

“Must be quite a nightmare,” the girl commented in what she perhaps imagined to be a sympathetic tone. “Can’t imagine flying in this state…”

“Yes, well, thanks Imelda, neither can I…”

She was relieved to hear Ominis’ voice again when she came downstairs.

“Over here!”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, arms stretched in front of her in what she was sure must’ve been comical.

“You have a distinctive magical echo.”

“Do I…?”

“And Sebastian told me.”

“Morning,” the boy grinned from behind his friend.

Still, Ominis must certainly have been good at detecting where she was, because she felt his hand cup hers within seconds.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Just followed the sound of your voice,” he smiled.

“It all sounds the same to me…”

“You might think it does now, but eventually you’ll find it’s easy to tell distance by sound… The whole castle has very good acoustics for this sort of thing, in fact.”

“You make it seem so easy,” she smiled, her eyes tearing up at the sheer scope of all she had to learn to just survive the next few weeks.

“I promise you’ll find it easy too,” said Ominis, placing his warm hand on top of hers as she held his arm. “Open fields, now that can be an issue. But inside, here? You’ll get used to it in no time.”

Sebastian followed them for breakfast, but walked at a bit of a distance, letting Ominis explain things. Going to the Great Hall was a bit faster today than going to the dungeons had been the day before. She walked a bit more confidently already…

Breakfast was spent learning more about judging distance by sound.

“Here, now you try,” said Ominis, handing her a jug of pumpkin juice and an empty glass.

He’d just demonstrated how easily she could guess when a cup was close to filling by the sound the liquid made as it was poured — from a deep sound to a high one. She filled it just the right amount.

“That’s very good!”

“Really?” she grinned.

Feeling around the plate with the cutlery was done easily enough, but finding out what each pile of food held relied more on her sense of smell…

“Ah, I… wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What did I just pick up in my spoon?”

“What does it smell like to you?” asked Ominis with a little smile.

“Mashed potatoes…?”

“Well, I just hope you like parsnip porridge.”

And getting food onto her plate presented another difficulty… A few sausages rolled away before she gave up and picked them up with her hands rather than the fork, her knife kept slipping and clanging loudly on the plate whenever she cut into something, and her fingers landed in mustard sauce more than once.

After a little trial and error and a bit more cursing, she finally managed to get something she really liked. She moaned with pleasure, but it was cut short by Sebastian’s giggling.

“Whot?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Nothing,” he said with an obvious smile.

“What did you take?” asked Ominis curiously.

“It’s a seed cake,” she said defensively. “Just a little syrupy, that’s all.”

Sebastian laughed into his fist.

“What?”

“Nothing!” he said again. “Just… always thought you hated spotted dick.”

“Ewww!”

By the time breakfast was over, she was more angry than upset. Ominis considered it an improvement — at least she wasn’t on the verge of crying anymore. He supported her elbow with his hand as they walked out together. When the sounds of students passing by got louder, he felt her clinging to him more.

“Don’t be nervous…”

“Oh,” she said, her hand relaxing, “sorry.”

“It’s not just that,” he chuckled. “I could hear your breathing pick up, and your footsteps too, as if you were stomping on the ground.”

“It’s that obvious?!”

“It is,” he nodded. “For instance, how do you think I feel now?”

She sighed, feeling completely at sea as they walked together to class, in a direction she couldn’t tell, surrounded by noisy students — and Ominis was testing her.

“I don’t know… Calm, I suppose.”

“Why is that?”

“Your voice is low, and your arm is steady, and… and I can hear you smiling when you speak.”

“That’s quite good,” he chuckled.

What Ominis didn’t say was that he also felt worried about her, and worried about how useful he could be in these following weeks, how good of a guide or a teacher… He thought that it was obvious from his clipped tone and his lingering silences, but was glad to be proven wrong.

The first class of the day was, predictably, horrible. They had Charms, and the girl could scarcely follow the instructions on wand movements, had no idea whether the egg she was given had been shrunken and enlarged according to instructions, and was left feeling around for it awkwardly in order to tell where it was.

“How do you even know where to point your wand?” she sighed frustratedly.

“That’s where the echolocation spell will come in useful,” said Ominis from beside her. “It’s not just the direction, but the depth as well, how far something is from you.”

“We have to practice that more,” she grumbled, waving her wand uselessly. “Undercroft, after class.”

They ended up spending every break in their schedule that day in their secret room, with Ominis placing random obstacles in front of her while she tried and tried and… finally succeeded in making her wand cast the spell. It was just before they had to go to dinner.

“I did it!”

“Not bad,” said the boy — and she could hear his voice approaching, could hear his steps resounding in tighter and tighter echoes. “The cast is still pretty weak though…” She could tell he had his hand in front of her wand, judging the strength of the pulse for himself.

“It’s such a strange sensation… I can feel the shape of your hand in mine, through the wand, but it’s…”

“It’s a bit blurred, isn’t it?” he smiled.

“Yes, as if… as if through a fog.”

“Well, I’ve never seen fog,” Ominis chuckled, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

They went to dinner together and this time she walked on her own, holding her own wand in front. She grinned at being able to sense Ominis’ own echolocation spell, like rings on the face of a lake meeting each other.

“Can you feel people’s features with this spell?” she asked quietly as they entered the Great Hall.

“Not particularly… The size of someone, perhaps, but it is not so fine as to tell you what somebody looks like.”

“Can you tell the difference between, for instance, Sebastian and Garreth?”

“Naturally,” he laughed. “Garreth smells of toxic fumes. Sebastian smells of Confringo.”

Although that dinner was still speckled with splashes of sauce and spilt pumpkin juice, each meal got easier as the week progressed. Her echolocation spell, as well, got stronger. She wasn’t exactly confident enough to run through Hogwarts’ halls, but she found it easier to avoid running into people — and not get bumped into either, as her hearing became better at picking up all motions around her.

Attending class was easier too. She soon learned how to take notes on her own, although she wasn’t sure when she’d get the chance to read them. Ominis taught her a neat trick of holding onto the inkwell and use her fingers to precisely dip her quill in it. To tell whether she’d taken enough ink, she could test it on her finger first and see if the tip felt wet.

“You’re sure you don’t want a self-writing quill?” he asked.

“I want it,” she said, but first I want to do this on my own.

Ominis smiled. “And keep track of the parchment too. Find something as a placeholder for where you left off. Don’t want to write on top of what you’ve already written.”

With his guidance, she mastered a fairly simple system of holding onto the parchment with one hand, finger poised on her last line, and then cupping the inkwell with the other before dipping her quill.

What she still had trouble with well into the second week was spellcasting.

“How… just… how?” she hissed, smacking her wand up and down during a particularly troublesome Transfigurations class.

She heard a subtle laugh, and knew that it was Ominis. “Having trouble?”

“How am I expected to transform this damned ferret into a feather duster when the damned thing keeps moving?!”

Ominis had mastered the spell quickly, she thought, as she could hear no more animal squeaks from his side. About half the class had finished, judging by the mix of sounds from satisfied students and ferret trills.

She felt a warmth approach her from the side. Ominis took gentle hold of her wrist.

“Here,” he said, “maintain the location spell, and do the motions of the transfiguration spell from your wrist.”

She tried it a few times, his hand constantly around her wrist.

“Listen to where the animal is too, don’t lose track of him in case he runs away.”

She grit her teeth and frowned, ready to give up, but with Ominis’s help, she finally managed to do it just before the class was done.

“Bloody annoying,” she sighed, dropping her wand to the desk and wiping her sweaty palm on her robes. “Thank you, Ominis,” she mumbled. “Doubt I could’ve done it without you…”

“You could have,” she heard him smile. “Just would’ve taken you longer.”

To help calm her nerves, the boy suggested they go for a walk around the lake.

They walked and walked until the sun set. They could feel it as the air cooled all around them, as the evening grew loud with nightbirds, as the grounds became silent with all the other students gone inside the castle…

It felt strange to walk beside Ominis like that, without a word, without a touch, only the quiet sound of his footsteps in the grass. The water of the lake lapped on the shore beside them in lazy little waves, stirred perhaps by the creatures underneath or the light breeze. It set her senses on fire to feel how different it was to have that large, cold body of water on one side, and the warm shape of Ominis on the other — because she could feel it, could feel every detail. Even the wet earth underfoot and the grass, the dead leaves and dry branches, they all had a scent of their own that filled her mind more than the mere image of them ever could. Although she missed her sight very much, she could not deny that she felt more connected to everything around her in this way…

Her hand reached out and took Ominis’s arm — his right one, where he held his wand. Not even needing to ask, he switched it to the other hand and held her palm in his.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, but from his tone, she could tell he wasn’t worried.

“No,” she said. “Just wanted to feel your hand.”

“Well, there it is,” he chuckled. “Bit clammy… Sorry about that. Always gets that way when I hold my wand too long.”

“Mine too,” she smiled.

Their fingers interlinked as they kept their slow walk around the edge of the Black Lake. A thought kept swirling in her head, and she was torn between giving voice to it or keeping it to herself. She didn’t know if Ominis could tell, but —

“What’s on your mind?”

— of course he could.

“How did you know?”

“I swear I can hear you thinking sometimes. It’s the same with Sebastian.”

She laughed, but said nothing.

“So?” he asked again. “What is it?”

Her hand tightened slightly around his. “I was wondering if you might seem to the touch the same way you look. The face, I mean, and all that…”

“Ah,” he said, his tone teetering somewhere between amused and nervous, “you want to try to… ‘see me’ with your hands?”

“Could I?” she asked, her face turning slightly toward him as if she could better detect how he was reacting to all of this.

“Only if I could do the same,” said Ominis with a tight smile.

They reached as far around the lake as the grounds permitted and sat together on one large, smooth rock. Beneath them, they could hear the lapping of the water, quiet and gentle, and owls hooting far off in the woods. It felt almost as if she were floating on air, cross-legged, far from the ground, with nothing surrounding her but the cool night.

They tucked their wands in their pockets and fiddled their thumbs, both too timid to start.

“Well, you asked,” said Ominis after a prolonged nibbling of his lips, “so you go first.”

“Alright,” she sighed, her mouth pulled up into a nervous smile.

She stretched her hands before her gently and was almost startled when they reached his chest. His school uniform was much like hers, a little rough, but well tended to. Moving upwards, she reached his neck, and quickly skipped it until she felt the smooth line of his jaw with both her hands. For no reason at all, her eyes closed. Perhaps it felt more peaceful that way…

His chin was delicate and pointed, leading up in soft angles to his ears. Moving inward, her thumbs traced his high cheekbones, his temples, his arched brows, then dipped delicately over his eyes — his were closed as well. She smiled as she tickled the surface of her fingers with his long lashes.

“Well?” asked Ominis. “Is there a resemblance?”

“I think so,” she smiled. “You look the way you feel.”

“Oddly poetic of you,” he chuckled.

Her hands slid slowly down his face, framing his slightly long nose, falling then to his lips, soft and full. She gasped at feeling them, noting things she never realised before: how delicate they were, how defined, and slightly dry… She traced down to his chin again when she felt them part.

“Yes, I suppose that’s you,” she joked. Her giggles filled the tense air around them. She could feel him smile against her fingertips.

“My turn now,” said Ominis.

She squeezed her hands in her lap as she waited, and then the boy surprised her by cupping her face and slowly bringing them together, covering her like a mask.

He felt her from chin to forehead, taking in the full plains of her features, before he began to touch them each in part. He brushed her eyebrows upward, traced the shape of her eyes, ran his finger delicately down her nose to the tip, and brushed his thumb against her lips while his other hand caressed a broad path from her forehead to her jaw. She felt very thoroughly known after this…

They walked back to the castle in silence, hand-in-hand. As they did, she noticed in herself a feeling of… peace, of not caring anymore that she couldn’t see. She missed the colours of everything around, of course, the beams of light, the peaceful glow of the Slytherin dorms, the star-filled sky at night, but she didn’t feel like she lacked anything anymore.

That made it all the more shocking when, three and a half weeks into her blindness, she began to see vague shapes of light. Ominis’ thin face bloomed into a smile when she told him. She could see it in spite of the cloudiness of her vision.

She still used the echolocation spell to get around, and breakfast became easier, but the blending of shapes and colours so overwhelmed her senses that often she would close her eyes when she wished to concentrate.

It was probably for the best, as she fell behind on her coursework and had never gotten to practice reading Braille with Ominis. Her notes, she now could tell, were atrocious, and her fingers were horribly stained even now.

As the days passed, her vision gradually improved, and by the end of the fourth week, she was almost back to normal. Her eyes teared, unused to all the details.

“Come now, no need to cry over it,” said Ominis with an awkward laugh. They were returning from another visit to the Hospital Wing, where the Nurse had checked her progress.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffled. “How could you tell, anyway?”

“You mean aside from your voice being all choked up and your breathing irregular? Just a lucky guess.”

“I’m just feeling… too much, I think.”

Ominis took her hand in his. “I know,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll miss it too.”

And she didn’t need to ask what he meant.

[takemichiwhore]

Recipe for chaos.

In the early morning on the Going Merry, tensions were brewing between Sanji and Zoro. The argument had started innocently enough, a dispute over who Luffy needed more – the cook who provided him with delicious meals or the swordsman who protected him. But as their stubbornness and pride got the better of them, their heated words filled the galley.

"You're nothing without me, Marimo! Luffy needs my cooking more than your swords!" Sanji declared, his foot slamming down on the table to emphasize his point.

Zoro shot back, "Hah, as if! Luffy needs my strength to keep him safe. He doesn't care about your fancy dishes!"

Their voices rose, echoing through the ship, and their argument grew louder and more intense. Unfortunately, their quarrel reached its peak during breakfast preparation. They knocked over pots, spilled ingredients, and ruined the meal they were trying to prepare for their beloved captain.

As Luffy wandered into the galley, his eyes widened at the chaos before him. His once-hungry stomach growled with disappointment, and his usually cheerful face turned stormy. "You guys... you ruined breakfast?"

Sanji and Zoro's argument ceased instantly as they realized the gravity of their mistake. Luffy's angry expression sent shivers down their spines, and they watched helplessly as he grabbed a nearby frying pan.

With incredible speed, Luffy knocked their heads together with a loud clang. "You idiots! I can't eat this!" he shouted, pointing at the charred and inedible mess they had created.

Their heads throbbing from the impact, Sanji and Zoro exchanged glances and then looked down at the ruined breakfast, thoroughly chastised.

For the first time in their pirate lives, they had managed to anger their captain to the point where he wasn't speaking to them. The silence was deafening, and their hearts ached with regret.

Determined to make amends, Sanji and Zoro decided to put their differences aside. Sanji took charge of the kitchen, whipping up Luffy's favorite dishes, while Zoro set up a small dining area on the deck, overlooking the open sea.

As the sun began to set, they surprised Luffy with a spread of delicious food. His eyes widened in surprise, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he saw the effort they had put in for him.

Sanji and Zoro exchanged nervous glances as Luffy approached, unsure of his reaction. But without a word, Luffy leaned in and planted a quick kiss on each of their cheeks, his forgiveness and gratitude evident in that simple gesture.

[shadowbriar]

Fred Weasley - Selene and Helios

Pairing : (F/M) || Fred Weasley x Reader  Word Count : 4k Warning : Mentions of food. Injury. Kinda foul language. Prompts : It’s always been you.” Prompt request is still open. You can find the link to the prompt list here. Notes : If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

The Great Hall was filled with students, trying to fill their empty stomachs before facing the upcoming classes. Some were trying to multitask, finishing the essays that could’ve been done earlier had they not played around too much during the weekend, while the rest were throwing jokes and conversing with their peers in bliss. A very mundane Monday morning in Hogwarts.

Until the couple enters.

She watches the squabble with a displeased look, feeling pathetic to her best friend who’s now begging for his girlfriend’s forgiveness. Fred was chasing her, evidently pleading for another chance. Eversince the two started dating, the talk around the castle would always revolve around them. Not due to their lovely romance, no they were far from being the power couple people thought they would be, but because of the frequent public quarrels the two would hold. She believes for whatever sick reason his girlfriend has, it was no accident that their arguments were always of public amusement. Perhaps the attention and murmurs about their fight brings her a certain degree of pride, knowing that she’s the centre of attention. As if dating the Fred Gideon Weasley wasn’t already a haughtiness to brag about.

“Not again,” Lee rolled his eyes at the sight, turning to George “Couldn’t you do something about it? It’s an embarrassment for us all at this point.”

George shrugs, “What exactly do you want me to do? Send her a Self-propelling Custard Pies?”

“That’s an idea.”

“Fred would kill me.” George snorts and nudges her “The only person that could talk to him out of the relationship would be this Sweetheart right here.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” She scoffs, spreading the jam to her toast in annoyance “I’ve tried talking to him, to break up with that vile wench, for months and he’s yet to do it. At this point I’m convinced that she’s slipped him some kind of love potion cause there’s no way in the seven hells that our Fred would ever stoop so low for some girl like her.”

She clears her throat, realising that her jealousy has bleed out. The envy she’s tried so hard to contain for the past month slightly erupted, leaking the drops of resentment through her words. She mentally cursed herself and tried to keep her nonchalant veneer, hoping that the boys would be as oblivious as they always have.

It is one of the worlds’ greatest unsolved mysteries how none of her closest friends seem to notice her brewing infatuation for the older Weasley twin. Don’t ask her when the butterflies started because she couldn’t recall the time when things were anything but lovely whenever he’s around. It was as if he amplified the colours in her world, blessing her with warmth and laughter that she could find nowhere else. Nowhere but his side.

She knew that being bitter over his love life isn’t a very good best friend thing to do. She shouldn’t feel this much resentment, knowing and seeing him with someone else when she never made any advances with her feelings. But the stories Fred shared with her, the choked tears he always tried to hold at night, and the stunts his girlfriend would make him do in public made her seethe. She couldn’t help but to think of how much better their lives would have been had she been the one he’s dating. She would never let him make a fool of himself in public. She would never make him cry at night. She would never make him think that he didn’t love her just enough.

She wanted to rescue him from the collapsing building before it crushes him whole. No, she could never forgive that devil spawned woman if she ever hurt him that severely. She’d hex her to death if it ever comes close to that, for sure. But she couldn’t find a way to save him without having to break his heart. She’s convinced that Fred really loves her, hence all the effort he’s done to make her stay. As much as she’s tormented, she wouldn’t want to be the reason Fred would have his heart broken.

“I just don’t understand.” George mutters, snapping her back to reality “Why would he be so hell bent on keeping her around when his heart’s bound for another?”

She raised an eyebrow, confused at the younger twin’s comment but before she could ask him to elaborate, Fred joined the table with a forced smile.

“Morning.” He greets the group, taking his seat next to her “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

The group nods, not uttering a word at the awkward atmosphere around.

“Here,” She pushed a plate to him “2 toasts, this time it’s blueberry jam cause you had strawberry yesterday.”

The same thing with not knowing when exactly did she start to fall for the loud and obnoxious boy, she wasn’t sure either when she picked up the habit of doing things Fred would unconsciously do. They’ve done this for years. Whoever came to the table first would be the one to make the breakfast for the other. She knew exactly of his preferences, how he likes fruit flavoured jams better than chocolate or peanut butter. She knew which slice of the bread is his most favourite and the degree of burnt he likes to have on his toasts. And even if there’s no toast served at the table, she knew exactly what to get for the boy.

Sometimes she wonders if he’s simply oblivious of her affection or chose to ignore it all together.

Fred smiles gratefully, “What would I do without you?”

“Die of starvation, most probably.” She comments, brows furrow in fake thought “Or of boredom from the long hours of detentions. Or of critical injuries from your stupid pranks.”

“You love my pranks.”

“That I do.” She agrees, nodding “But not when you get hurt from it.”

Fred stares at her fondly. His facial features were soft, staring at her as if she was the most invaluable thing in his possession. Thankfully before she could over analyse his gesture, before a slight hint of hope blooms in her heart that perhaps he might share the same impressions as her, Fred gave her a friendly nudge and laughed it off. As always giving a clear sign that they’ll never set a toe out of the platonic line. Ever.

—-

Spending the break at the Burrow would forever be something she wished she could live forever in. She loves waking up to the smell of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, the warm breeze and the melodious sound of birds chirping in the morning. But if she has to choose just one thing that made her love visiting the Burrow, it would be the evening drive with Mr. Weasley’s flying car.

She wasn’t sure what kind of sweet talk the Weasley twin did to grant access to the car again after the accident with Harry and Ron back in their second grade, but somehow the prankster has managed to regain their parents’ trust on driving the said car. Fred would always say that it was because they’re driving with her that his mother couldn’t find the heart to say no. She’s been loved by the family as if their own for years and Mrs. Weasley has always had a softer spot for daughters.

“Where are we going again?” She asks as she puts one of her hands out of the window, trying to feel the wind passing by through her fingertips “And why isn’t George coming with us? I thought you twins couldn’t function without the other.”

“I wanted to show you this spot I found.” Fred answers, a giddy smile plastered on his face “I came across this place when I went with Dad, so not even George knew of this place.”

She turned to face him with an amused expression, “So I’m the first to ever enter Fred Weasley’s secret sanctuary? Why, I’m flattered.”

“Well, you are my best friend.”

Her smile dims down. She turns her head away, not wanting Fred to notice her change of demeanour. Best friends. That’s all she would ever be in his eyes. Somehow the title gives her more of a heartache than pleasant these days.

A couple minutes later she finds the car slowing its speed as they reach a grass field. She could see a pond up front with ducks swimming around its surface. The sight brought her bright smile back. She’s always loved lakes and ponds and it warms her heart that the place Fred could find his peace at is somewhere she could feel connected to.

“Pretty neat, isn’t it?”

“Neat? This place is gorgeous!” She squeals, turning to the boy with a joyful expression “Why didn’t you tell me we’re going to the pond, I would’ve brought a swimming suit!”

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, would it?” He scoffs “Besides, if you brought your swimming suit then Ginny would ask questions and she would want to come. And if she comes, Hermione would want to come. And if the girls come, Ron and the rest of the family would want to come and we know how limited the seating is in the car.”

“Well, we can always get here with a broom or apparate.”

“That’s beside the point, alright? This is my spot. I get to decide who gets to come and not.” Fred says as he rolled his eyes, seemingly faking an annoyed tone “Don’t make me regret showing it to you.”

She smiles, turning back to see the scenery. The place was so peaceful she couldn’t help but wanting to get out of the car, yet seeing that Fred had made no move she didn’t want to be the first to get out. Staying in the car would do, so long as she’s with him.

“She hasn’t replied to any of my letters.”

She blinks, not turning to face the boy.

“I’m not sure what I did wrong.” Fred continues, words laced with dejection “I tried so hard to impress her, to show her that I cared for her, but all she did is toy with my feelings.”

She takes a deep breath. Of course, the reason he wanted to bring her to his secret hideout was not to share his little haven but because he needed someone to talk to. Someone who’ll be foolish enough to listen to him no matter how tormented she really is on the inside. Just how ridiculous it is for her to think that she was special in his eyes for him to have shown this place out of spite.

“Do you reckon I made a mistake?” He asked, voice creaking softly “Did I try too hard with her? Am I making her uncomfortable?”

“Fred, listen to me,” She turned to him, placing her hands to his shoulders “You did nothing wrong, alright? She’s just that thick on the head to ever realise how lucky she is to be with you, to be the girl you try so hard to impress, try so hard to love. You’re the best boyfriend any girl could ever ask for, believe me.”

He flashed an unsure smile.

“I mean honestly, the only question you should be asking yourself is why are you still with that wench when it’s obvious that you deserve so much more than that.” She continued “Seriously, you could pick any girl in the castle, any girl. I’m sure they would say yes to you and would treat you much better than her.”

“Any girl?”

“Any girl.”

“Including you?”

“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” She fakes a laugh, pushing his shoulder lightly in a friendly stunt “It’s hot here, we should get out of the car.”

She fans herself with her hand, hoping the warmth creeping up to her cheeks would soon die down. She prays that he wouldn’t notice her peculiar act nor how crimson she is. His question has taken her aback, completely fallen off guard. Thank Godric her mouth could act faster than her brain cause if she had to wait for her brain to function, the secret will surely be out and she’s certainly not ready to burn their friendship down.

Yet instead of opening the lock of the doors, Fred takes her hand and entwines it with his. He does this ever so gently, the most tender act he’s done to her that made her stomach flips even harder. Their fingers lock each other ever so slowly, as if wanting to savour every passing second that their skin is in contact.

“Thank you,” He says softly with a smile “For always being there for me.”

She nods lightly, smiling as fondly to him, “You’ll do the same for me.”

“Yeah,” He chuckles crisply “I’ll do the same for you.”

—-

She could tell of what her nightmares for the next weeks to come would be. She couldn’t shake the horror, the sight of him falling off of his broom when the bludger hit him right on the head. She’s never felt her heart beating faster, her legs to run quicker than a couple hours ago when she tried to catch his stretcher before it entered the infirmary. After all these years of being the Gryffindor beater, Fred has never had any serious injuries and to have watched him fall from such height indubitably made her worry.

Now waiting for Fred to wake up from his slumber, she finds herself sighing, watching the boy with bandaged head still with worried eyes. Madam Pomfrey assured her that he’d sustain nothing serious and that he could leave the Hospital Wing the following morning, but until she could see his brown eyes and smile again, she would not be able to rest.

“Uh, my head.” Fred groans as he gradually gains his consciousness “What happened?”

“Nasty bludger to the head.” She says, letting out a relieved huff “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit in the head with a bludger.” He retorts, making her smile that his joking side is still intact “Did we win?”

“We did. Did you think Harry would let the snitch slip after you fell from your broom like that?” She asked with a raised brow “But that’s irrelevant now, do you want me to call for Pomfrey? Make sure your brain isn’t all jumbled up inside?”

Fred rolled his eyes as he sat straight up, “I’m fine. No need to worry your pretty little mind for me.”

She flashed a smile, nodding in understanding.

“So, uh,” He speaks again, rubbing his nape in nervousness “Did she, uh, did she come to see me?”

Her brows furrow and smile dilutes, feeling a sense of anger to spark within.

“I mean it’s dark already, reckon it’s late at night and all.” He continues “Did she come at all?”

“No, she didn’t.” She answered short, venom thick on her tone “Doubt she even cared.”

Fred flashed a pained expression.

“Look, Fred, I know this is the worst timing for me to tell you this but you have to get it together, alright? She doesn’t deserve you!”

He watches her with no words, looking baffled at her expression.

She stood from her seat, running her hand through her hair frustratedly. Merlin knows just how much she tries to calm herself, to tell herself to bottle the anger and jealousy in. Fred’s just gotten an injury, for Godric’s sake. The last thing she should do is to project her anger at the poor boy.

But she couldn’t shake the image of him helpless, laying on the ground weakly after the fall. She couldn’t forget the heavy tears falling from her eyes as she tried to follow his stretcher to the infirmary. She couldn’t forgive the fact that even after the match was done, the only people who came were his family and closest friend. No sign of that wretched toad. And to know that he still hoped for her to have come hurts her beyond words.

“She doesn’t care, Fred, she never did!” She yelled, not caring how her words echoed through the empty ward “Just how much more heartbreaks do you have to sustain to see it? She doesn’t care! Why are you tearing your heart apart for someone who clearly doesn’t give a damn about you?”

He gulps, not looking heartbroken but rather appalled at the turmoil.

“It hurts me to see you like this, to see you throw away your pride for someone who always stomped it to the ground with a laugh. It hurts me to see that you care so much for someone who never even returned just a smidge of all your efforts. It hurts me to see that you’re so dead set to love someone who never deserved you in the first place. It hurts me and I can’t take it anymore, alright!”

“Love-”

“You are vexing me to my bones, Fred Weasley.” She says with so much bitter passion, fists tightly curved into a ball “It infuriates me that you could show so much love and patience for someone so wrong when I’m here, standing right in front of you, when I’m here showing and giving you all the love and care you deserve.”

Her eyes widened. No, she did not just profess her feelings to him, she couldn’t.

Fred was quiet. He looks as if he’s just seen the ghost of himself, barely blinking as he tries to digest the words she’s just uttered. He prays to whichever deity out there that he heard her right, that it wasn’t the potion Pomfrey gave him that made him hear things, that it wasn’t due to the fact that his brain is all scrambled to make him hear the words he’s been dying to hear all these years.

“I-” She stammers, looking away from his gaze “I have to go.”

“No, wait-”

She didn’t let him finish his words, finding her feet to run out of the Hospital wing as fast as it could carry her. She wanted to hex herself to death right then and there. How could she let it slip, especially at the worst possible timing? How could she let her rage and envy take the better of her? How could she lash out on him when he needed her to be of his support?

And how would she face him after this?

—-

The following morning she tries her best to avoid the redhead boy. The moment she entered the Great Hall she could already see him seated on their usual spot, two plates of toasts in front of him, one she knew was supposed to be hers. But given their unpleasant exchange last night, she finds herself seated far across the table, joining the group of friends she barely had ever spoken with and trying to blend in with them. Anything to not face her cause of death just yet.

She’s also skipped all the classes that they shared during the day. Having to switch seats with someone else doesn’t feel enough. She has to avoid the man altogether to keep her sanity.

And such effort was successful until he found her sitting by the Black Lake.

“Love-”

“Leave me alone, Fred.” She says fast as his voice enters her ear, packing her belongings “I don’t want to see you.”

“Please, I just want to talk-”

“Not now, Fred.”

She begins to walk away from the boy. Heart aching because of the fear of what he has to say. She knew that he couldn’t avoid him forever, but the event had only happened last night and she barely had processed everything that’s happened. She needed more time and space to think and contemplate.

“I love you!”

Her pace was at halt as she heard his scream, not daring to turn her body to face him.

“There, I said it, okay? I love you.” He repeats, despair evident in his tone “Now you can keep walking away from me, and I kid you not, I’ll keep on yelling until you stop and listen to me, so it’s your choice. We can either be civil and talk privately or I can keep on yelling the three words for the whole castle to hear and you know I have no shame left to my soul.”

She finally turns to see him who now has a bright red cheek, chest heaving in a tidal wave of emotions.

“I love you.” He repeats, this time with a much softer tone “And I’m sorry that it’s taken me forever to say it but I love you, so much I’m going to combust if I have to spend another day not telling you how I truly feel.”

She stares at him with unconvinced eyes, “Don’t joke with me, Fred.”

“I’m not joking.” He says fast, coming closer to her to prove his truth “You can ask George, he’s been hearing my yearnings of you for years. If any of the words I spoke just now were lies I’ll cut my own tongue and feed it to Errol.”

“But-” She stutters, not comprehending any of his words “What about her? You’ve been dating her for years and-”

“I only dated her because I thought you would never see me that way.” He explains, gently taking her hands in his “I thought if I could try to love someone the same way I love you, I could make them fall for me and I would be able to bury my feelings for you. I thought you never loved me that way, so I had to find an outlet to express my affection but Merlin knows that everything I’ve done for her, I pray that I could actually do it for you.”

She gazed into his eyes, trying to find any trace of lies or jest he might be pulling.

“I love you.” He repeats, placing one hand to her cheeks “It’s always been you.”

Her expression softened, accepting his genuine words, “Then why haven’t you said anything? Why did you have to make assumptions about my feelings instead of actually asking me about it?”

“Because I’m not ready to lose you completely if you don’t feel the same.” Fred explains, his eyes filled with guilt “I’d rather get myself crushed by the Whomping Willow than to lose you.”

She rolled her eyes, “What is it with you and wanting to conjure so much injury to yourself.”

“I’m only trying to prove my point.” He grins “I dare say those words because I knew you wouldn’t ever let me get to that point, to hurt myself that severely. You’ve always been my saviour, after all.”

She grins back at the comment. The trouble that’s been plaguing her mind all night dissipates, evaporating into thin air and exchanged into a blissful delight that now sparks every inch of her fibre. For once she could finally embrace the jolt of electricity on her spine and not fight every butterflies exploding in her stomach.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Kiss me?” She asks, baffled at his question “What about her?”

“I dumped her this morning, I couldn’t care less about her.” He snorts, the typical Fred Weasley bravado’s apparent “She could jump off the bridge for all I care. I only want you.”

A proud and satisfied smile creeps to her face as she nods in approval. Fred grins back, the hint of redness on his cheeks still evident as he leans in. She has to quietly pinch herself as their lips touch, making sure that none of the events happening was a dream. Fred was pulling her so close she could feel his heart pounding in a frenzied rhythm inside his chest. This is really happening.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Fred chuckles as he pulls away “I’ll forever curse my stupidity for having wasted that many years of our lives being a coward.”

“Well you have forever to make up for it.” She smiles, giggling “Now kiss me again or I won’t ever forgive you, Fred Weasley.”

[perditus]

Closed starter for @empyreanparadisaea || x

“ Meet back here when you’re done. Don’t worry about taking your time I’d rather you be thorough than miss something. If we need to spend a few days then so be it. ”

An affirmative, followed by all-too-familiar bickering, is the only response the Duke receives as the trio ventures off towards the Sumuru Akademiya. Jurieu and Lourvine are intelligent enough to make up for whatever consistent quarrel they had with each other thankfully. Otherwise, Wriothesley might not have endured it for as long as he had. 

Unfortunately the guard he sends with them doesn’t seem as resilient, but the Duke’s word is law. 

Once the trio has finally departed, Wriothesley sets his sights on the local market. Officially they were there to gather information for their current project, something Wriothesley had decided was too important to leave to normal guards. Clorinde had been paid a significant sum of mora to watch over the Fortress while he’s away while Sigwenne had simply volunteered to help as well. He had a sneaking suspicion they were a little too eager to agree just to get him out of the Fortress but he didn’t press.

Admittedly he was just a little excited about browsing their tea selection as their brews had always been his favorite. That was how he ended up walking through the streets of Sumuru city, eyeing the different stalls and their wares. He stuck out like a sore thumb though, the darker shades of his outfit contrasting heavily with the brighter colors of Sumuru. 

The humidity was giving him cause to reevaluate his outfit decisions though.

After a few minutes of scoping out the area he doesn't seem to find the types of stalls he's after. Their wares are high quality but mostly fabrics and small nick knacks instead of the tea leaves and vegetables he was searching for. So, instead of wasting his time walking around everywhere his eyes lock on to the first resident he notices, clearing his throat slightly when he approaches them.

" Ah, sorry to buy ya but I don't seem to know this place as well as I thought. I'm lookin' for the stalls that sell more like food. Care to guide a stranger? I'll pay you for your troubles"

[alexa-fika]

Little Gardener's Pirate Odyssey Chapter 1

Female child!oc x reader!

A/N I have been doing drabbles and writings for a long while and even longer character and world-building, but this is the first time I have gone out and published them, so let me know what you guys think; these are the results of maladaptive daydreaming

Please let me know what kind of warnings I should add or overall anything I could improve on

Ivy dividers by @firefly-graphics and @sweetxmelody

Chapter 2, Chapter 3

The sounds of cooking rang through the Baratie kitchen, the scent of freshly baked bread, the sizzle of fried meat, the mouth-watering aroma of stew, and the inevitable sound of another fight brewing among the kitchen staff, the shouting overriding the muffle sobs coming from one of the cabinets.

Alexandra could hear the cooks quarreling among themselves; she glanced at her familiars teary-eyed, unsure what to do.

"It's okay, sweetpea. I'm sure it will settle down eventually, and then we can sneak out," A small fairy softly says, caressing the young child. Alexandra's other familiar, Rogue, offers no comforting words, attention glued to the cabinet doors for any incoming danger. A sudden slam above her causes her to shriek, and the kitchen falls quiet. Alexandra's eyes widen at the sound of approaching footseps as she grabs Rogue and quickly scoots into the cabinet as far as she can.

Light flows into the dark cabinet as a blond young man slowly opens the door. The young man's eyes widen, the cigarette in his mouth falling to the floor. The sobs of the girl snap him from his shock as he gently approaches her.

"Hey there, little lady, don't be scared; what are you doing there?" A threatening hiss from Rogue causes Sanji to still; he raises an eyebrow, a slight twitch in his frown as he hears him hiss, now standing between him and the young child.

"Im sorry, what's that?" he asks the girl.

"Is that your pet?" He tilts his head, unsure what to think of Rogue hissing at him.

"Get your hands away from her; I won't let you hurt her," a deep voice growls from the shadow entity. 

 "Look, I'm trying to get her out so I can actually help her." He keeps his hands on the floor and doesn't move close to Rogue.

"I know how she's feeling. She's scared, confused, and doesn't know what to do." He keeps his voice calm and measured,

 "And I'm trying to help. Don't you think coming out to talk with me would be better so I can at least try to help her? Do you have a better idea?"

"Rogue, he doesn't mean any harm. Please give him a chance; we can step in if anything happens," Viridi states.

"Please don't hurt him," the four-year-old whimpers

"I'm sorry"

His attention was quickly directed back to Alexandra at this.

Hey, it's okay. I'm not here to hurt you or that little creature. What's your name, little lady?"

"Alexandra," she manages to get out between sobs.

"Where are your Parents, Alexandra?

"I don't have parents," she sniffles.

Sanji frowns at the information.

'Poor thing must be terrified,' He thinks, watching how the small girl makes no move to get out from the far corner. He tries to move closer to the girl but sills as she scoots back even more, her ears flattening against her head and her tail wrapping around herself. He sighs as he sits in front of the cabinet to look less menacing.

Viridi and Rogue both watch the scene unfold, virii whispering comforting words to the girl and Rogue sitting in her lap, providing her silent comfort.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, there was so much noise and people started fighting and I got scared; Im sorry," her words barely decipherable between her cries.

"Hey, hey, its okay, no need for apologies. You didn't do anything wrong; I'm Sanji. Would you like to get out of that dark corner? he says, gently reaching her hand out towards her

She stares at his hand, sniffling.

"I want to help you, okay? But I need you to come out of there; I can take you somewhere you'll be safe, alright? Will you come out and talk to me?" His voice is gentle, patient, and kind; his friendly smile is reassuring

She slowly nods her head, grabbing his hand hesitantly. He gently pulls her out of the cabinet and picks her up. She looks around and shrieks at the sight of all the chefs standing there looking at her and Sanji. Sanji notices and turns around with a scowl.

"Don't you guys have anything more important to do? We have a full restaurant. How about you worry about yourselves and take care of the customers?" he growls. Reactions from the kitchen vary from turning around, ashamed at being caught, to rolling eyes to grumbles, but eventually, the chefs fall back into their routine as Zeff, who was among them, turns around and starts screaming at them as well.

"Lil eggplant, take that one upstairs and help her settle in," Zeff grumbles, turning around to face Sanji.

"I was already going to, old fart, lay off' he mutters, walking upstairs with the trembling girl in his hands. Viridi and Rogue trailing behind them.

"You're safe now; it's just us now, little Lady; it's okay," he reassures her. Alexandra lifts her head her sensitive ears registering that they were now far away from the hustle and bustle of the kitchen.

"Im sorry," she whispers, sobs still evident in her body

"Hey, it's okay, no one is mad a you; you are safe here," he reassures her as he sits down, placing her on his lap and bouncing her.

She lets a small teary giggle, Her. white eyes changing to a vivid and happy green.

With the soft and reassuring voice of Sanji, Alexandra's mood slowly lifts, and her sobs recede to slow sniffles as she looks up at Sanji with a content sigh, realizing she is safe with him.

I'm still working on decorations and outlines so let me know what you guys think.

[nightiingaled]

Mel, The Place Between & The Horrors | Fic

Content Warnings: mild gore, suicidal ideation, death(s), healthcare-associated PTSD, car crash, choking

She knew something was different the moment she stepped foot onto the dirt the Doorway spat her onto. This was not the same place she had been before and yet it had to be the same. It was. There was the plain that overlooked the lonely sea before it – water and dirt – left for the Entities to create. Mel had spent months and years in The Place Between making different worlds that would never exist except in the recesses of her mind now. Maker had been there then, but she did not see the strange man now. Strange – he had told her back then that he could not escape this place. She hoped perhaps he had been wrong.

But something felt off. Wrong. Most notably was a storm was brewing in the distance over the sea. It had always been sunny the last time she was here. An incessant type of light that came from nowhere, it simply was. It had never been dark, but the distant clouds were racing closer and closer and the light seemed to be dwindling into shadow.

A wind that should not have existed moved the grass of the plain to and fro and Mel felt something tight in her chest. She let her fingers move with the grass, watching it curiously for a moment. It calledto her, she realized. Rest here. Let us hold you close. Rest here - forever.

NO!

Mel wasn't sure if she yelled the words aloud or if they simply stayed within her mind, but whatever noise was drowned out by the sound of thunder roaring above her head. Bright flashes of lightning glittered in her eyes as the storm all but covered the remainder of her light. The world was not cast in pitch as she expected, but dim grey colors similar to oncoming dusk.

The rain began – a violent downpour that drenched her clothes as the wind ripped and tore at her hair. Strange. She felt the world around her and it hurt, the rain hurt her. She wasn't supposed to be able to feel anything here. Maker had described them as ghosts, creatures that passed through the Place Between, but never a part of it.

But the chill settling into her bones as the rain continued seemed to differ. The wind slashed her face, the raindrops pelted her and the thunder above rattled something deep with in her. But nothing prepared here to see a creature lit up in the bright burning embers of a lightning strike.

It didn't look all that frightening, after all she had seen in her line of work and life up to this point. It reminded her of a werewolf, except a werewolf who had begun to go bald down their back. And in the place of hair there were spikes protruding.

“Hey...there...”

The only other denizen she had ever met here was Maker. She didn't even know if there were supposed to be other denizens in The Place Between. Whatever the creature was, and whether it belonged here or not didn't seem to matter. The next flash of lightning showed her its teeth as it growled loudly at her and stepped forward.

The ground rumbled as it moved and Mel took an instinctive step back. Then she realized in the dim light around her that it was not alone, no, it was one of several and they had all surrounded her in a semi-circle, growling not warnings but threats.

“I have no quarrel with you,” she told them, adamant that there was some intelligence to them, that they would understand her language. And in the light of another strike, she saw some sense of understanding indeed. But not agreement.

“Quarrel....with...us...anyway,” one growled lowly.

She doesn't move out of the way of the strike – half because she cannot see it and another because she does not believe it will hurt. They cannot hurt her. Nothing can hurt here. Maker had said so. A ghost, she was nothing but a ghost here.

And their claws tore her apart, slashing through skin like it was paper. Mel would have screamed out in pain but part of her jaw came apart with the slashing of their saw-edged weapons, as another slash destroyed her shoulder and chest. They got her heart in the second slash and it was only a matter of time before she felt her life slip away from her.

It had all happened so fast...

Mel woke on the ground to the rain pelting her in the face. The chill in her bones had grown so deep that it ached to move when she went to sit up. Her entire world seemed shaky, the ground under her hands giving way and making her fall face first into the mud. Mel tried to remember something important, but her brain felt like it was full of cotton. So tired, she thought.

Rest here, the dirt called to her.

Maybe....

Memory came flooding back as Mel picked herself out of the mud, struggling. She had been attacked. She had died. She tried to get back to her feet, searching through the dim for the monsters that had attacked her. They were long gone it seemed, or perhaps they had never existed at all.

“Please...” She looked to the sky, tears welling up in her eyes, and then to the dirt, “I need to get home...I can't stay here.”

You're never leaving!

The storm became a cacophony of sound once more – the thunder rumbling in a consistent pattern as the lightning followed quickly behind. The rain slapping her body and face made welts on her skin and she grimaced through the pain. She'd had worse, she told herself. She'd had so much worse.

The next creature came from underground. The lightning struck a few feet from her and she jumped back, watching as the burning bit of ground began to surge upwards. The being was made of enough light itself that she could see its outline without the lightning strikes to guide her. There was little else to see beyond that, she realized. Nothing but a shadow creature crawling its way out of the mud, outlined in the light of a storm. And only one of the creatures came forward, shambling towards her like something out of a zombie movie.

“No!”

She took another step backwards and another, trying to escape but found that she was standing on the edge of a cliff. She did not remember a cliff being here, but when she tried to step back once again, her foot dangled into nothingness.

Fine. She planted her foot down, digging her bare feet into the mud. The creature continued shambling forward, grabbing out for her with hands of pure energy. Mel tried to punch it but hit nothing, the shadow giving way around her fist in a haze.

But the shadow made clear contact with her skin with its own hands, sending electricity jolting through her. Mel let out a scream as pain tore through her, the searing feeling of the shock racing through her muscles and stiffening them. The woman collapsed forward onto her knees, sagging sideways as the feeling left her body. The creature reached down for her, but Mel, dazed and confused, still managed to dart forward out of the way. Against a person or any other creature, she would have taken them at the knees and knocked them over. However, the creature simply dissolved into haze and reformed as Mel stumbled and slipped forward into the mud in front of her.

The hands were on her again before she completely turned around, sending another shock of pain through her body. But this time it pressed her down against the dirt, choking her. Stop...Stop...Her muscles spasmed, legs shaking. She struggled for air, gasping desperately. She remembered her brother, remembered him nearly killing her this exact way. And she saw the faceless form above her take his shape and she forced her eyes to shut. Hands flailed, smacking into nothing but haze and shadow. “Help....help me....” she managed to force out. Wishing for someone, Tyler, Thanatos, Elisiel – anyone to help her out of this mess.

You're alone here, the shadow said, pressing harder against her throat.

And she was. She was totally alone in this moment. For all her friends and makeshift family – she was all alone in this moment, right now. And that made her more afraid than anything. And then there was no more air in her lungs and darkness swept over her once again.

She woke, standing on her own two feet, staring once more at the grasses being thrashed by the winds around her. Even in the cold of the rain, there was a warm, inviting feel to the touch of the grass. It begged her yet again. Stay here with us forever. Be at peace here.

Mel closed her eyes. She could feel that peace it offered at the tip of her fingers. So calm, so ready to hold her tight – to keep her safe from the cruelty the human world had become. No more fighting, no more Moros. Just peace.

But she thought of her friends – no – her family. What about them? They needed her!

“Help! Somebody!”

A new voice broke through the sound of the storm and Mel turned her head to look for the owner. The form of another being hovered in the distance. In the dim gray Mel could just barely make out humanoid features. As the sky lit up with lightning once more, she observed what looked to an young woman hovering near a car. Mel forgot about the mysterious warmth of the grass, and the storm and anything else that screamed that she should be careful about what was happening.

She hurried over to the woman and the car, the form in the driver's seat giving way to shape into another humanoid figure. A man she would assume was barely older than her if she could get a good look at him. The faint light did little to help her, but in the shine of another lightning strike she realized it mattered even less. The man's face was a bloody, broken mess; the top left of his head was busted and obvious parts of broken skull and brain matter shone through the blood. And when he breathed, the two sides of his lungs lifted at different intervals.

“What happened?” she asked, coming to a sudden stop and pulling on the door handle. Where did they come from?

“He crashed the car!”

The car indeed had been crashed. The front end was shoved all the way forward and the driver's side door was jammed tight. But what had they crashed into? There was nothing but grass for miles. There wasn't even a road.

Mel rushed to the passenger's side door and managed to open the door and crawl in. She ignored glass digging into her muddy bare feet and hands, trying to angle herself to get to the man in the driver's seat. “Sir....can you hear me?”

He was gasping for air, his chin leaning into his chest as he blubbered around the blood pooling from his head and nose. Mel reached out and gently grabbed the back of his neck the way she had been trained, lifting his head while keep the spine from moving. His breathing began to get slightly better, for the barest of moments. But she didn't know what else to do. She needed to stop the bleeding. She needed to get them to help.

“Ma'am, I need you to help me with.....Ma'am?”

And then she saw it...the papers on the dashboard. The name spelled out. She remembered this. This had already happened. This man....He was your friend. Mel stumbled out of the car door, heart racing. The woman was at her side now, face red with tears and rage.

“You were supposed to save him!” the woman cried out, grabbing onto Mel's shirt and shaking her. Shock froze Mel in place as she let the woman shake her. “Why didn't you save him?”

“I tried!” Mel blurted out. “I did everything I could!”

“LIAR!”

The slap across her face startled her. So unexpectedly sudden and yet the sting was nothing compared to the words lashed out at her. “If you had done better, he would've kept breathing! You could have saved him!”

Mel felt tears trickling down her face now. “I did my best!”

“You don't get to cry!” The woman screamed, and the dirt rumbled with thunder and her voice. “You failed! Your best wasn't ENOUGH!”

The woman pushed Mel violently backwards and Mel, unsteady on her feet, stumbled backwards and landed into the grass. Mel waited to be assaulted by the woman, to be kicked or hit, but nothing came. She sat up and saw the car, the woman – it all had disappeared. Mel choked on a sob, burying her head in her hands.

Do your friends really need you? You can't save them.

“No.” Mel said and yet the thought seemed so far away – it almost felt like it didn't belong to her. They need peace. Mel knew she didn't bring them peace. She brought nothing but turmoil. It would be better to rest here where she belonged. Yes. She needed to rest.

Rest here...

Okay. Yes.

Mel let herself fall backwards into the grass of the plains, feeling her body float on top of its swaying form. The rain started to dwindle to a trickle but the sound of the storm and wind continued, rumbling underneath her. Tears continued down her face, dripping down from her eyes and into her ears.

It's better this way...I can't hurt them anymore...

The grass began to take hold of her body, tendrils wrapping her into its warm embrace. Everything inside of her started to ease. She could rest now. She didn't have to worry about hurting anyone else. She didn't have to worry about failing her friends again. She didn't have to worry about anything. Mel began to close her eyes.

You can rest....

A soft melody started to play in the distance. A slightly familiar sound that Mel couldn't quite place. It tugged at a part of her, the part not quite wrapped up in the warmth of the entwining grasses. The more it went on, the more Mel realized she wasn't ready to stop hearing the song. She hummed it under her breath, a smile cracking across her tear-stained features. It felt like Home.

Her eyes snapped open. “I'm not ready,” she announced, sitting up.

The grass gripped tight to her and she pulled against it, breaking free only to be grabbed once more. We will not let you go!

“Yes...you will,” And she says the words so firmly and yet so gently, like chastising a child. She blinked the remainder of her tears away and pulled once more against the tendrils trying to hold her back. She understood now. She understood everything. “Because you're me.”

The tendrils fell away from her, allowing her to stand upright to face a new humanoid taking form in front of her. The rain had stopped, but it was still up to her to use the light of each lightning strike to take in the visage before her. She saw before her – herself – or a part of herself. The other her looked tired and frail. She needed a haircut and her eyes were sunken and rimmed in shadow. But it was still so obviously...her.

“I'm so tired,” she whispered. “Please let us rest.”

Mel offered a consoling smile and took several steps forward, shaking her head, “Not yet, I'm not ready.”

“But our friends...,” the other's voice shook as she spoke.

“This isn't about them...it's about us. We need to live for us.”

“We do nothing but hurt them...” the voice cried.

“Then we do better.”

“But our best...”

Mel placed her hands on the other's shoulders and looked herself in the eyes. Mirrored there was all the agony she had been suffering lately, all the fears and stress hovering over her. How she worried it was never going to be enough.

“If we stop now, our best will always fall short.”

“Why?” the other's voice was suddenly firm now, fingers suddenly digging into Mel's back, “Why fight this?”

Mel wrapped her arms around the ghost before her and pulled her into a tight embrace, making a soft hushing sound.

“Because I want to get better.”

“Good.” A soft voice whispered against her shirt and then the form in her arms disappeared causing Mel to almost tumble forwards.

The storm broke, giving way to the strange sunless light once more as the storm clouds began to simply break apart and dissolve. Mel blinked as the brightness blinded her, the woman looking around her once more.

Nothing seemed to have changed about the terrain. The plains with its grass, now dry and waving in what was a calm breeze. The beach at the edge with its waves lapping the edge of the sand. The cliff in the distance and on it, waiting for her was a Door.

“Go on home, little one,” a voice behind her said, but when she turned to see who it belonged to, she saw no one.

Mel hiked up the hill at a pace that was neither running nor walking and she stood before the hovering shape before her. The Door was old and made of what looked like mahogany and when Mel pulled it open, it was heavy.

All she could see on the other side was dark purple fog and silver starlight. But she thought of the one place she wanted to go. Home.

And stepped through.

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

Bonus Scene: Draco Malfoy's Adventures in Dating

Bonus scene time! This is one I've been holding onto for a while now. :)

Yes, it is indeed titled that. When I went to dig this out of my files I was delighted to see past me had titled this accordingly. It's so delightfully apt.

This doesn't really go for any year because it spans some months.

Let me know your thoughts! :3

**

Move on, right? He had to move on. The best way of moving on was…finding someone else to date!

That was easier said than done. Especially when he wasn’t even sure who to ask out.

Pansy was out for very obvious reasons, as were the other Slytherin girls that he knew.

At this point Draco wasn’t genuinely interested in anyone, but he could admit when someone was aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

He was aware that Abbott was interested in Padma Patil, but Parvati was also pretty and also rather bright if one disregarded how she liked Divination.

“What about Wayne?” Parvati seemed disbelieving after he asked her out. “Does he know you’re doing this?”

That had been the last reaction Draco expected. “Yes,” he answered, ignoring the fact that no, Michael did not know Draco was asking Parvati out this very second. He only knew that Michael had encouraged this, which was why Draco was asking Parvati out in public and risking public humiliation.

Parvati squinted at him, clearly unconvinced. “Aren’t you together with him?”

Draco wished that was the case but no. “If I were, then I wouldn’t be asking a lovely person such as you out, would I?”

Parvati snorted, then covered her mouth. “Oh God, that looked like it hurt for you to say.” She patted him briefly on the arm. “Thank you for the compliment, but I’m afraid I’d have to decline. Whatever’s going on with you and Wayne, you can work it out instead of trying to get back at him.”

Draco went back to the drawing board after that conversation and considered the other options in Hogwarts’s admittedly limited dating pool. They all shot him down with various reasons that usually involved Michael.

It was absolutely mortifying how many people knew. And by now also frustrating because they had never been together. Only people thought they had been or that they were on the verge of something that shouldn’t be ruined because of a mere quarrel.

“No,” Greengrass said when Draco glanced askance at her.

“I didn’t say anything,” Draco protested.

“You didn’t have to. My answer is still no.”

“You don’t know what I was about to ask!”

“I don’t have to. You trying to ask people out is all over Hogwarts by now.” Greengrass gave him a look over the essay she was writing. “I know what you’re doing, and I have too much self-respect to put myself in that mess.” That said, she busied herself with her essay, shutting the conversation down.

“Definitely not,” Zabini said when Draco glanced his way.

Draco threw his hands up. “I wasn’t thinking about it!”

“Either way, no.”

With Greengrass and Zabini out for obvious reasons – the chief being that Draco had never even considered asking either of them in the first place – he was relegated to desperate measures.

Draco was considering just how to approach Romilda Vane when Pansy stormed up to him in the Common Room, fuming. “You!”

“Hello,” Draco said absentmindedly, contemplating just how desperate he was to ask out the girl rumored to be brewing love potions for Potter. “And, no, I’m not asking you out.”

“Well, fine!” Pansy shrieked. “I don’t want to be asked out by you! You and – and that damn Hopkins!”

Draco’s head snapped in her direction. “Watch your tone,” he snapped.

“I don’t think I will!” Pansy shot back. “Do you know that he’s going around bragging about what he can do in bed?!”

Draco blinked. “What?” That didn’t sound like Michael at all.

“First you have to talk about those things at breakfast! Now he’s going around and saying he’s better than all of us!”

“He’s what,” Draco said blankly, deliberately ignoring the reference to that one Breakfast Conversation that he really didn’t need to know about but which he’d still heard about through the grapevine.

“Pansy!” Nott came up behind her, trying to grab her arm but almost getting slapped in the face.

Pansy whirled on him. “And you! You could be better! He was right! That was – that was absolutely awful!”

Nott turned an unaesthetic shade of red. “You certainly didn’t seem to think so at the time!”

“How was I supposed to say ‘that was disappointing; I thought you’d last longer’?!”

Draco slowly took a step back, mind whirling at what he’d just inadvertently found out about Pansy and Nott’s relationship. And that apparently Michael…had insulted it? Why? Michael didn’t normally go around insulting people.

“No!” Pansy shouted, slapping at Nott’s hands again. “I don’t even know why I bother!” She ran off to the girls’ dormitory, leaving Nott staring after her.

Following a stunned moment of silence, Nott turned to Draco and hissed, “Not a word!” and stalked off.

Draco was certainly intending on never mentioning this again or even thinking of it.

At least until someone asked him in a sly voice, “So is he really that good?”

“Is who good?”

“Wayne Hopkins. Is he really as good as he claims he is?”

Draco almost said “better” before stopping and thinking that perhaps he should clarify what they were referring to. “In what?”

“You know.”

“I…don’t?” Oh bloody hell, Draco hoped they weren’t referring to what he thought they were—

“Is he as good in bed as he claims he is?”

Draco went flaming red in a second, muttered a quick excuse, and fled.

More people asked him similar questions until Draco eventually just said “This is absolutely none of your business” and did his absolute best to pretend he wasn’t imagining what everybody else was clearly picturing.

No, that had never happened and Draco hadn’t really thought about it either because all he had hoped for was a little something but now that the doors had opened it was impossible to not think of it.

It wasn’t helping him get over Michael at all.

Speaking of that, Draco should just ask Romilda Vane out and get it over with.

“You’re asking me out?” Vane’s eyebrows had risen at least an inch since he got the question out. “Wait, is this a threesome deal?”

Draco masterfully resisted the urge to scrub that visual image out of his brain. “No.”

“Oh.” Vane looked mildly disappointed at the denial, and now Draco really wanted to apply a Cleaning Charm to his own brain. “Well, did you pick up any tips from him?”

Tips? Tips?

Draco closed his eyes, pictured Voldemort’s gruesome face before he could ruin everything by blushing, and then met Vane’s eyes again. “You could find out,” he offered with a grin, though his stomach squirmed at the thought.

Damn Michael and Pansy. Damn Michael for insinuating that he knew things.

Vane smiled at him, the sight akin to a predator sighting prey. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Draco managed, still grinning. “How does Hogsmeade sound?”

“Perfect.” Vane beamed at him. “I look forward to it.”

Draco couldn’t quite manage to reciprocate the sentiment but did have to think that he finally got a date. If only because Vane wanted to know if Draco had… No, he couldn’t even think that.

Unfortunately, he had to keep thinking about it because Vane kept shooting him sultry looks and winks whenever he caught her eyes. He was beginning to regret asking for a specific date and not just doing what Weasley and Lavender Brown were doing – minus the snogging.

Thankfully the Hogsmeade weekend came quickly. Vane seemed perfectly happy to go to Madame Puddifoot’s, which was no longer as nauseatingly pink as it had been last month for Valentine’s Day.

Draco had fully intended on sitting through the entire date, even if he would have to skive off near the end so Vane didn’t start getting ideas about what would happen after.

“—but you’re friends with Loony Lovegood, right? Or you spend time with her?” Vane was saying. “God, I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

Draco had only tuned in the moment she’d said Luna’s last name, having been otherwise nodding and humming his way through the conversation thus far. “What did you call her?”

“Oh, Loony Lovegood,” Vane said, blinking innocently. “Because she’s loony, you know? All those creatures she talks about – and she’s so strange—”

“Or perhaps,” Draco said, smiling tightly, “she’s discovered some species that we’re not aware of. I do recall that Newton Scamander was at one point also considered just as strange.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“What – but – Draco—”

“Better not let Wayne hear you say that name either,” Draco said, recalling quite clearly what Michael’s expression had looked like the last time someone had mistreated Luna in his hearing.

“Oh, Wayne.” Vane made a face. “You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you? Why? He clearly doesn’t want you!”

Draco stilled, closing his eyes at the self-doubts that plagued him and told him that was why Michael had turned him down. He reminded himself of Michael’s face last month and at the lake. And how he’d told Draco multiple times he did love him, but not like how a human could.

It was fine. It was fine.

“Better that,” Draco said eventually, opening his eyes and glancing back at Vane, “than this.” He took out some money, placing it on the table to pay for their meal. “Have a good afternoon.”

He headed out of the café without another word, thinking that had gone absolutely terribly but surely it was only upwards from here on out?

…It was not upwards from on out.

Mandy Brocklehurst was certainly much pleasanter than Vane but entirely uninteresting and also insulted Luna to his face.

Luna had seemed absolutely delighted when Brocklehurst came to breakfast the next day with all her robes in disgustingly neon colors. She had also seemed to realize that it was Draco’s doing, giving him a small hug in the corridors.

The girls outside of Ravenclaw didn’t insult Luna but they were also wholly uninteresting and seemed more interested in what Draco could do for them than anything else. Even those who were interesting – such as Katie Bell – ended the date by patting Draco on the shoulder and telling him he was sweet and that maybe he should just try and talk to Wayne.

Draco did eventually move on to the boys because maybe that was different? He’d thought Wayne was a human boy at first (actually, how did that work with angels? Was Michael a boy? Michael was a boy’s name, wasn’t it?), so it stood to reason that maybe he’d find another boy interesting enough to date?

Potter started avoiding Draco like he had the plague once word spread that Draco was also dating boys. It was clear he had no interest in being asked out. Draco was only offended that Potter even thought Draco would ask him out.

“Sectumsempra!”

No, like hell was Draco asking Harry Potter out.

Smith and Finnigan both asked Draco out, but Draco turned that down because he wasn’t interested in what those two were clearly offering.

The other Slytherins were out for obvious reasons, which just left Draco with whatever boys weren’t already dating. In the end everything ended the same way it had when he’d dated the girls, which left him with nothing.

Hogwarts’s dating pool was depressingly small when one seriously considered it.

“Maybe you’re not giving anyone a chance,” Luna said one evening.

“I’m giving them chances,” Draco mumbled, his sense of propriety the only thing keeping him from face-planting on the table. “I’m giving them all plenty of chances.”

Luna didn’t say anything, just patting him on the back.

Draco could definitely see why Michael liked her so much.

Well, there was always the chance he’d find someone over summer. Maybe his mother had some recommendations.

-

Draco’s mother didn’t have any recommendations aside from just…giving it time. That time and space would help heal a broken heart but pushing it wouldn’t do anyone any favors.

“He said I was supposed to try and find someone,” Draco murmured, fingers brushing against the petals of a flower.

His mother sighed from beside him. “I don’t think he meant immediately, Draco. I won’t pretend to understand what goes through his mind, but I do know he loves you very much.”

“Mother—”

“Shush, Draco.” His mother shot him a quelling look. “I know he loves you very much,” she repeated in a gentle tone, “and he only wants you to be happy. What do you think he thought of what you were doing?”

“I don’t know.” Michael hadn’t said anything about the dating, respecting Draco’s wishes to keep quiet. “I don’t think he minded.” He certainly hadn’t seemed jealous or upset about anything. He’d always been there when Draco was tired of making nice with people he didn’t really want to know.

His mother was quiet for a long moment. Then, “What do you want?”

“I want…” Draco let out a long breath, closing his eyes. He wanted it to stop hurting. He wanted for it to be over with.

“Oh, Draco.” His mother rested a hand on his shoulder. “You were always a sensitive child.”

Draco didn’t meet her eyes.

“No one says you have to move on now,” his mother told him gently. “He certainly didn’t. There’s no rush, Draco. Simply take your time; you have that now.”

Time… Draco certainly had that, didn’t he?

The next few months stretched out before him. Months during which Draco didn’t have to see Michael every day for classes. Months during which Draco could do just what Michael wanted him to – move on.

“Does it get better?” The question slipped out before Draco realized he asked it.

His mother cupped his face, angling it slightly down so she could meet his eyes. “Sometimes.”

It wasn’t what Draco wanted to hear, but he appreciated the honesty.

-

It was Ginny Weasley who initiated the conversation, sending him a letter via owl suggesting a surprise birthday party for Michael and inviting him in on the proceedings to surprise Michael as well.

Draco had thus far managed to avoid seeing Michael entirely, even though he kept in contact with him through letters.

He thought it was going well so far. Putting space between them and no longer seeing Michael’s face everyday meant that his heart no longer felt like it was about to crack when he saw him or thought about him. It meant that Draco could think of Michael warmly and fondly without wanting to…well…those things.

A quick head shake put a stop to those thoughts. He’d had enough of those at Hogwarts thanks to the rumor mill.

He wrote back to Weasley confirming the party and also that he would be coming. He then asked what she would be doing to hide the party from Michael, who could literally read minds. He suggested some tips that he’d picked up during his initial Occlumency lessons – tips that anyone should be able to do even if they had no talents in the mind arts.

Seeing Michael on his birthday – his human birthday – was certainly a good test to see if this whole “space and time” thing had worked out. If Draco was really over him.

He thought he was. It didn’t feel the same like it had before, so Draco must be, right?

Luna asked him the same question one day when she was visiting for some tea. Draco hadn’t been sure it was a good idea but she’d invited herself over in one letter and the next thing Draco knew he was introducing her to his parents.

“I think it worked,” Draco said when Luna asked him if he was really fine with everything. “It doesn’t feel the same way, you know?”

Luna nodded, chewing her lower lip. “Are you going to tell him?”

“Yes.” Because this was what Michael had wanted. Draco was tired of putting space between himself and his best friend because of feelings. “I’m not dating anymore, though. That was utterly useless and ridiculous.”

“Well, of course it was,” Luna said. “They didn’t fit your energy at all.”

Draco decided not to ask what she meant by that. Knowing Luna the answer would be as clear as glass, only slightly comprehensible if you turned your head and squinted, or as muddy as swamp water.

Afterwards his mother asked him if he liked Luna? She seemed like a sweet girl if absentminded (which was code for “extremely strange and possibly addled”).

Draco barely thought about it before wrinkling his nose up in distaste. Luna? Really? She was admittedly sweet and nice but Draco didn’t think of her at all like that. She was almost like…

He didn’t have any siblings, but Draco thought that their relationship was like that between a brother and sister. It felt easy in a way that the strained relationships he had with Michael’s other friends didn’t feel like.

His mother must have read something of his thoughts in his face since she didn’t press further.

Draco put those thoughts out of mind in the few weeks remaining before August 31st, and then it was the day and he was Flooing to Weasley’s house. He was told to remain quiet and in the background until Michael arrived with Luna; Macmillan and Finch-Fletchley were emptying bottles of ridiculously shiny glitter into bowls as Draco was told this.

His first sight of Michael since term had ended was that of his friend covered in glitter and blinking in surprise. His dark brown hair was sparkling with glitter and he’d managed to rub it out of his eyes but it still dusted his cheeks and forehead.

Draco’s first thought was He looks ridiculous, followed by Bloody hell, he’s cute and then Oh, shit.

Draco almost missed his cue when Luna said they had one more surprise for Michael. He managed it after Bones poked him in the shoulder.

Michael looked – he looked surprised to see Draco. Surprised and pleased.

Draco’s chest warmed at the thought that he was able to make Michael happy and oh shit, he was still screwed.

It didn’t feel the same as it had before. It felt like more and that was just not on.

Only Draco was so damn tired of trying and trying to push it away and do what Michael had told him to. He’d tried, hadn’t he? He’d tried and there wasn’t anyone else in Hogwarts he could date unless he went for the younger years and that was just gross.

“Well…” Draco coughed, glanced at Michael and realized that was a bad idea when all he could see was glitter and Michael’s face and quickly looked away, rubbing his neck nervously. “You’ve got…glitter.”

“I know.” Michael didn’t sound bothered by this fact. “You’re here.” He said it like he hadn’t expected Draco to be here at all – like Draco’s presence was a gift.

Or maybe Draco was just projecting.

“I am.” Draco swallowed past the dryness in his throat, wishing for something to drink. He looked quickly at Michael and then elsewhere, eyes landing on the magically enchanted clock. It was interesting enough to hold his attention so he wouldn’t just be staring at Michael. “Luna invited me, but the party was Weasley’s idea.” 

“I didn’t think I’d see you before Hogwarts.” There was no recrimination in Michael’s tone, but Draco felt guilty nonetheless.

“Yes, I…” Draco wasn’t sure how to explain his thought processes at the beginning of summer. It had been so hopeful back then and now? “I’m here,” was all he managed, smiling weakly. “And, er…” He tried to release some of the tension in his shoulders. He’d had a plan, didn’t he? About what to tell Michael? “I wanted to tell you something.”

Everyone else had disappeared, ostensibly to give Draco privacy to tell Michael what he was supposed to – that he was over Michael now. That things could go back to normal.

But things weren’t fine.

Draco could lie, couldn’t he? He could tell Michael that and pretend things were fine and push everything down. He’d done it long enough and he was tired of not being able to talk to Michael like he’d used to.

He didn’t expect Michael to move closer. “I’m all ears.”

Draco almost laughed at the unusual phrasing, biting his lip before it could break free. He flexed his hands, the words sitting on the tip of his tongue. It’s done. I don’t need time anymore. We’re good now. We can just be friends.

Only when he moved to speak, he instead said, “I made Head Boy.” And then, like a train wreck, he also said, “And Quidditch captain!”

Michael’s smile was blinding; Draco’s heart skipped a beat or several. He wasn’t entirely sure, and he almost missed Michael congratulating him.

He definitely felt it when his cheeks heated, and he had to duck his head before Michael could see, covering the motion by lifting his hand to his hair. “Thanks.” Then, because he was already committed to this conversation, he added, “I’m going to be overhauling the Quidditch team this year – recruit based on talent.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

The quiet confidence in Michael’s tone had Draco’s stomach squirming in pleasure even as his chest warmed at the same time.

Breathe, breathe. Draco managed a deep breath that helped calm some of the anxious fluttering in his stomach. Once assured that he wasn’t blushing any longer, he dropped his hand and straightened, smiling at Michael.

It was fine. It would definitely be fine.

Draco could do this. “You look ridiculous, by the way. I can’t take you seriously covered in glitter like that.”

“That’s fine.” Yet Michael glanced down as if to check that he was indeed covered in glitter.

He was. Draco felt vaguely sorry for the person who had to clean the mess up as the floor at Michael’s feet was just as sparkly.

Before he could lose his nerve, Draco continued speaking, saying part of what he had originally meant to say. “I’m done with needing time. I – er…” He couldn’t say it. He swallowed, shrugging. “I’m done,” was all he managed.

He was sure his Occlumency shields were still up, but Michael was looking at him as if he knew that wasn’t everything Draco meant to say. His expression was concerned.

“You can take more if you need it,” Michael said quietly.

Oh, Draco knew that. He knew Michael would give him all the space he needed or wanted. He knew Michael would break this friendship off entirely if that was what Draco decided.

“I know, but I don’t.” It was a lie that Michael either didn’t catch or didn’t call Draco out on, and then they were in the kitchen. The kitchen Michael wasn’t allowed to be in because Weasley was trying to hide the cake from him.

“Did that go well or not?” Abbott asked Draco once Michael had been shooed out and told to find Macmillan and Finch-Fletchley. “I can’t always tell with Michael.”

Draco didn’t verbally answer, taking a chocolate-covered spoon from beside the sink and inspecting it closely.

“…Not well, then?”

Draco’s answer was to stick the spoon in his mouth.

“What did you say?” Luna asked.

“Head Boy,” Draco mumbled around the spoon.

Abbott and Bones glanced at each other. Weasley was too busy inspecting the cake layers to react, poking at them and muttering to herself.

“Let’s go outside,” Luna thankfully suggested, and she took hold of Draco’s arm before he could react, pulling him out the back door.

“You can de-gnome the garden while you’re out there!” Weasley called after them.

Draco wanted to ask what she meant by “de-gnome” but his question was answered a moment later when a couple of gnomes gave him beady-eyed glares from the hedges. It figured that the Weasleys had a gnome infestation.

“You can pick them up and throw them over the hedge,” Luna said when Draco didn’t say anything. “It might make you feel better.”

Draco didn’t think he was quite far enough gone to actually stoop to manually de-gnoming a garden. He could, however, do it with magic.

“Were you not able to tell him?” Luna asked him once Draco had levitated his first gnome.

“I told him I don’t need time anymore.” Draco spun the gnome around several times and then let it go flying.

“But…nothing else?”

Draco exhaled through his nose, picking another gnome to be his unlucky victim.

Luna watched this gnome go flying as well before she broke the silence. “It didn’t change, did it?”

Draco mutely shook his head, firing a silent Levitation Charm at one fleeing gnome. It swore at him when it took hold.

“Feelings are funny like that,” Luna said softly. “Sometimes you try pulling them out, but they just go dormant. And then it’s spring and they’re growing again.”

That was certainly a poetic way of looking at the situation.

“They don’t feel the same,” Draco said eventually. “It’s – it’s different.” Why? Because he knew Michael better now?

Luna made a small humming sound. “Why don’t you tell him that?”

The last thing Draco wanted was a repeat of the last conversation they had about Draco’s feelings. “He doesn’t want to hear it. You know that.”

Luna didn’t say anything as Draco sent two more gnomes flying over the hedge.

“He wants to give you a choice.”

The latest gnome fell back to the ground with an insulted swear. “He what?” Draco turned to her. “How is this a choice?”

“He thinks he’s not good enough for you,” Luna said, deadly serious.

Draco scoffed before he could think the better of it. Really? If anything it was the other way around!

“Didn’t you hear?” Luna didn’t look away from him. “It’s what he told Michael Corner – that he’s not good enough for you. He wanted to give you the choice to choose – to try and find someone else.”

“Shouldn’t it be my choice to begin with?” Draco snapped.

“Yes.” Luna’s fierce tone surprised Draco. “It is your choice, Draco. It’s always your choice. It’s your free will; Michael won’t take that away.”

“What was that he did before then?” Draco muttered. “Telling me that I had to move on?”

“But you tried, didn’t you?” Luna pointed out. “He wanted to give you an option – something to choose from. Because you didn’t know before.” Draco could feel her looking at him. “But you know now, don’t you?”

Draco rubbed at the bridge of his nose, thinking of all the dates he had been on and just how awful they had been. It really hadn’t been fair on any of them, but at least he knew better now. “Yes.”

“You could tell him.” Luna’s voice was quiet. “Tell him now since you did try.”

“I don’t…” Draco didn’t think that would change anything. At the end of the day, Michael was still an immortal archangel and Draco was a human.

Maybe Draco needed more time. Maybe Draco needed to just pretend things were fine and back to normal and they would eventually become normal. It was only another year.

He could pretend things were fine for another year and then take all the time he needed to really try and move on and find someone else. Someone who wasn’t in Hogwarts and didn’t know Michael.

“I just want to be friends,” Draco finally said, because he knew that was true.

Luna said nothing, touching his shoulder comfortingly.

One more year. Draco could do this.

[callsign-bunnie]

will you please pretty please write me Gaz and Alex being soft and sweet with each other? waking up early in the morning with gentle kisses and laughter and noses rubbed together? Pls?

Ahhhh, soft little babies

--

Gaz's eyes fluttered open to turquoise ones staring back at him. He flushed and smiled softly, recognizing them immediately as his fiance's. "Good morning, love..." He murmured before stretching and yawning.

Alex's face broke into a grin and he leaned over, kissing Gaz's cheek. "Good morning. God, I could wake up to this forever."

"Hopefully you will." Gaz looked around the room, groaning at thinking about everything he had to do that day. Laundry, cleaning, cooking. It was all bullshit! He had so much stuff to do, every day!

Alex pulled him over, somehow handling Gaz so his back was to him. "I can see it in your eyes. You're looking for something to do."

"There is stuff I have to do." Gaz laughed and closed his eyes, but he wiggled to press back more against Alex, unsure he wanted to tear himself from his arms. "But... I think I like doing this more."

"You do. You definitely do. Stay in my arms." Alex nodded, nuzzling the back of Gaz's shoulder. Gaz gave in so easily. He always had to Alex. Alex could probably get him to do whatever he wanted, honestly. But... Gaz trusted Alex not to use that in bad ways.

"Alright." Gaz nodded and smiled.

They stayed like that for a few moments, in silence. Neither were asleep but neither were ready to be awake yet. Eventually, Gaz's stomach started to hurt from hunger, so he pried himself from Alex's unwilling arms, kissing his hands and arms when they tried to pull him back, and then he pulled himself out of bed.

Alex stared at him with a soft, joking pout and Gaz just laughed, leaning down and rubbing their noses together. "I'm cooking. Don't you want food?"

Alex groaned and rolled onto his back. "I suppose..." He stretched big, almost taking up the entire bed, and then he was getting up and joining Gaz after tugging on his boxers.

Gaz was usually dressed in their house, but he was lucky to get a pair of boxers on Alex. Any time he tried to get him to wear more, Alex would groan dramatically and just say "no one is coming over and if they do, I'll get dressed." Which... fair. No one was coming over.

When they visited England, Rudy and Alejandro would come over. Soap and Ghost were over rather often, but not often enough to worry about them showing up unexpectedly. And Price preferred they come over to his apartment.

During the brief period that they'd lived with Price when Alex had just moved to England, that had been a common bicker between Alex and Price.

Of course, Price also just wore boxers in the house so... Neither could really get any sort of leverage in the quarrel. It'd been pretty funny to watch.

Eh, Gaz didn't mind watching Alex do mundane stuff in his boxers, either. So... admittedly, he didn't fight too hard on it. He got started making eggs and sausage, smiling when Alex wrapped his arms around his middle.

Gaz felt soft kissed on his neck and then he swayed his hips a little, laughing when Alex followed him. "To think, you almost didn't move to England."

"I almost made the stupidest decision of my life." Alex murmured, burying his face in Gaz's shoulder. "God save me, I'm so fucking stupid sometimes."

"Yeah, but you come to your senses, eventually." Gaz shrugged, flipping the eggs. "You always do."

"Always for you, baby." Alex kissed his neck and then pulled away, crossing to the kitchen to the fridge. He got out orange juice and a bottle of cold brew as Gaz finished cooking.

Neither of them particularly enjoyed hot coffee and it was annoying having to wait for it to brew, so they had a k-cup thingy and then they also drank cold brew regularly.

Gaz plated their food and set it down on the table, kissing Alex's cheek as he sat down. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Baby."

--

Hey, want to get added to a tag list for this ship or AU? Reply to this with "add me to the tag list for [ship/au]" and I will tag you in everything I post for whichever you choose. If you want to be added to a different tag list, send me an ask or dm.

@deadbranch

[a-fluffer-nutter]

Can't Beat a Bender

A/N - Hi! This is a fic I wrote for my friend and I apologize sooooo much for finishing this so much later than I had hoped! Life is wilding. Anyway, here is an Avatar: The Last Airbender fic that I hope you all enjoy!!

      He was the older brother, of course he was going to be a pain in the ass whenever he could be. From harassing Katara and Aang for their very apparent crushes on one another to bothering Suki with desires for affection. He has always been annoying, especially to Katara, and after the fall of Firelord Ozai, nothing ever changed.

     He had found himself watching Toph, Zuko, Aang, and Katara sparring at the school Toph now taught at, something about teaching a new generation of metal benders or something. After her classes had concluded, the friend group had descended onto the field to train. There really wasn't a looming threat or anything, Sokka had informed them, but the benders still wanted to keep their abilities honed. 

     "Gotcha, Twinkle Toes!" Toph yelled as she lifted a spire from the earth that closed around the Avatar's leg and plucked him out of the sky. 

     "Katara!" Aang yelled out for help, as his team mate was rolling away from one of Zuko's flames. 

     "I'm coming!" Katara yelled, throwing the young Avatar a thumbs up before pulling a reversal on Zuko, where she lunged forward before he could react and grabbed his hands, shackling them together with a thick layer of ice that crawled up to his shoulders. As Zuko stumbled backward in surprise, Katara spun around and bended the entirety of a puddle of water that had been left behind from the morning's rainstorm. Forming the water into a whip, the water crashed down into the rock formation that was now trapping Aang up to his neck. The rocky cage shattered into thousands of pebbles, which Aang quickly bended into disks. He chucked these disks at Toph, who steadily dodged each one, blocking them all with pillars of earth. Her plan was working, until she felt the rope of water encircle her, freezing her legs and arms together in a position that she couldn't touch the ground beneath her. To stop her further, Aang hoisted her up into the air with a gust of wind and held her steady. He then kicked the earth, capturing Zuko as he was rushing Katara, having freed himself from the ice, and pulled him into the ground so only his head was sticking out. 

     "We won!" Aang and Katara yelled in unison while high-fiving. 

     "Barely," Sokka shrugged, yawning from his seat at one end of the training field. 

     "As if you could have done any better," Katara retorted, arms crossed as Aang gently released Toph and Zuko. 

     "I could've beaten them both with my eyes closed in half the time," Sokka scoffed, hands on his hips, looking down at his younger sister as he approached her on the field. 

     "That's so silly, Sokka," Aang laughed, now interested in this sibling quarrel. 

     "Ah, you don't believe me then?" Sokka raised a brow. Katara simply rolled her eyes with a scowl as Aang smiled.

     "Of course not!" Aang replied. 

     "Well, we'll have to see tomorrow. I wouldn't want to do it now as you are all tired."

     "Tired of your bull-" Katara was cut off by Aang clearing his throat. "Fine, I'll make you regret everything right now."

      Sokka looked unamused, until Katara turned around to yell at Toph, who was chatting with Zuko about who knows what. 

     "I'll leave you all to this," Zuko let out an awkward laugh, not wanting any part of this sibling quarrel and left, thinking of what kind of tea to brew when he got home. 

     "Toph, would you hold him still for me?" Katara asked sweetly, but Toph could feel the malicious intent radiating. 

      "With pleasure," Toph laughed before stomping the ground. The earth shifted between her and Katara before rising beneath Sokka, which knocked him off balance. As he fell, rocks began to encase his legs and his arms. Flat on his back, his body was now in the shape of a cross, arms stretched out to his sides and legs pinned together. 

     Katara walked over to her brother and beamed down at him. He opened his mouth to protest, but she put a finger to her lips. 

      "Not so tough now, huh? And you even had your eyes open."

     "I obviously wasn't prepared. Duh," Sokka rolled his eyes, looking bored. "You proved your point. Toph, let me go."

     "Nah," Toph stuck her tongue out. "I beat you with my eyes open."

     "Very funny," Sokka drawled, then let out a grunt as Katara plopped down into his lap. Brow raised, he eyed his sister suspiciously 

     "You're gonna think this is hilarious after I'm done with you," Katara teased as she rolled up Sokka's shirt, revealing his torso up to his central ribcage. Sokka squirmed under her weight as she adjusted, making an audible groan of discomfort, when she looked down at him, wearing a smirk as she relished in the situation. She may not weigh that much, but right now, to Sokka, she carried the weight of the world.

     The smile Katara flashed him made Sokka start to sweat. Before Sokka could let out a nervous retort, Katara leaned over and planted a long raspberry on his upper belly, just above the navel. 

      Letting out a screaming laugh, Sokka's head tilted back, unable to resist the ticklish sensation. Toph winced from the sudden elevation in sound, while Aang let out a laugh. 

     "Sokka can't stand it when I do this," Katara beamed as Sokka gasped for air. "So, this is the best payback I know."

     "Let me go!" Sokka exclaimed, before falling back into laughter as Katara blew another raspberry into his stomach. This time, though, Katara didn't let up, and just kept blowing them in quick succession. 

     Sokka knew he needed to escape. Katara could be ruthless when she wanted to be. He tried to shift out of the earthly shackles, but knew it would be no hope. Toph was the best Earth bender in the world. 

     "Toph sucks at Earth bending," Sokka managed to let out between raspberries. 

     "Excuse me?" Toph stomped the ground angrily, but Sokka could feel the rocks around his limbs releasing a little. 

     "Yeah, she's the absolute worst!"

      "Oh, I'll show you! Move over Katara!"

     So that didn't work. Sokka was in hysterics in no time as Toph began wiggling her small, calloused fingers in and around his navel. 

"Now what?" Sokka thought. "Maybe I could jus-"

Sokka's train of thought was interrupted by a particularly devious raspberry placed on his navel. He let out another scream and his brain was buzzing.

      "Don't kill him," Aang giggles, as both girls attacked Sokka, with them both sitting on one of his legs, so there was absolutely no movement in either. 

      Aang could be his escape plan. Sokka could barely focus on anything except for the devilish sensations caused by both Katara and Toph, the latter now also blowing raspberries on the other side of his stomach. 

      "Aang," Sokka choked out, "Help me!"

       Sokka tried to sound as pitiful as he could, which wasn't the hardest thing to do in his current state. He knew Aang would help, the boy was the nicest person in the world. 

      "Maybe you two should stop," Aang's voice trailed, being overshadowed by the hysterical laughter that was cascading from Sokka's mouth. 

     "What did you say?" Katara nearly screamed as she threw herself up from her bent position and pointed her finger at Aang. His eyes widened in fear, Katara's eyes being consumed by the fire and rage that only a younger sister could harbor for an older brother. The couple ignored the fact that Sokka was still wailing as Toph was blowing raspberries into his stomach, her fingers dancing along his sides. “If you don't help me destroy Sokka right now, I will kill you.”

     “Sorry, Sokka,” Aang frowned apologetically as he sat down, cross-legged next to Sokka's exposed side, though he knew Sokka couldn't hear him over his own hysteria. At least, he thought. 

     Sokka was down two options of escape and there wasn't much else for him to do. His brain was muddled, muffled, and manic. His tongue was tied, stammering as he cackled, three pairs of lips harassing his sensitive stomach. His joints tugged, thrashed, bashed, as he struggled in his restraints. Sokka was a strategist, but he was stumbling. There were no thoughts buzzing around in his head, just laughter. 

     “What's wrong? Can't take it?” Katara cooed, fire consuming her words as she pushed herself up to look at his face. 

     His thrashing was slowing, which was certainly her fault. Every time he even slightly squirmed one direction, she would either blow a raspberry on that side to move him back to his starting point or Toph would. Every second Aang would take a break between raspberries, Katara would notice and work harder, tickling with more malice to not give Sokka a second to scheme. This wasn't to say that Aang was doing a bad job, quite the opposite, actually. His raspberries felt different, slightly more ticklish in a way. They weren't as harsh, but...fun. Aang would playfully blow raspberries up and down Sokka's rib cage and down his side, covering as much ground as he could, but definitely was not trying to be as harsh as the other two were.

     It was about thirty minutes after the attack started that it ended. Sokka started coughing, choking on his own laughter, and Aang practically dragged Katara off her older brother after she delivered the longest raspberry she could, one that practically broke her brother. His body slumped as soon as she was pulled away, completely limp, exhausted, done.

     “You made your point,” Aang calmly said, giving Katara a soft smile while manipulating the air around Sokka to pump more into his lungs. He squeezed her hand, feeling her boiling blood cool through her veins. 

      “You sure did!” Sokka all but yelled, though his voice was hoarse and this exertion of effort led him into another coughing fit. 

     Sokka let out a tiny yelp as Katara looked over and glared, daggers shooting out of her eyes. 

      “I'll go back to shutting up now.”

      “Smart,” Toph laughed, stretching her arms over her head, feeling her shoulders pop as she stood. Toph tapped the ground with her foot and Sokka was unleashed from his shackles. 

      “Want to go get some food?” Aang beamed, leading Katara to the exit. She nodded, rubbing her jaw to ease the pain from all the work it has just performed. 

      “Let's go then!” Toph pummeled her way between the couple, spinning around with a smile. “I'm starving!”

       The three left together as Sokka just laid on the ground, his body contorted into a tight ball. As the mush that his brain has melted into reformed, Sokka had many schemes plotting out before him. 

      Finally, Sokka sat up with a wicked smile. 

[catb-fics]

The Devil Next Door Part 1

Van’s your new next door neighbour who you love to hate… Enemies to (eventual) lovers ❤️‍🔥

Words: 2k

Warnings: none this part, Van being a royal pain in the arse and Bondy being his usual lovely self

Story Masterlist Main Masterlist

It was a quiet neighbourhood and that's how you liked it. No troublesome neighbours quarrelling over garden fences, no domestic dramas and no disrespectful residents throwing late night parties until ungodly hours. Even the children that lived on your street were well-behaved. It was calm and peaceful... some might say dull and uneventful but not you. You liked the quiet. It was perfect.

That was until he moved in next door.

You think back to a week ago. You'd been brewing your first coffee of the day when the screeching sound of brakes and a noisy, tinny car stereo had cut through the quiet sounds of the morning. You'd just expected it to be a delivery driver so you didn't rush to your kitchen window. You weren't nosey like some of the curtain-twitchers who lived on the small cul-de-sac so you didn't pay any heed when the loud metallic thunk of several vehicle doors slamming emanated from right outside your house. It was the voices that got your attention. Loud and brash with a Northern lilt, spoken at such a volume that from your spot over the far side of the kitchen you could hear every single word that was uttered. You didn't even have the windows open.

"That's gotta be the longest journey of my life. Thank fuck we're here at last!"

"Don't know what you're complaining about. You weren't bloody driving!"

"I did my bit! I was navigating."

A loud, hearty laugh.

"You call that navigating? You sent us the wrong way down the M1 for thirty miles!"

"Well? If you'd have bought that new van with the built-in sat-nav you wouldn't need me to direct you, would ya? Honestly mate, I don't know how this old heap of junk got us here in one piece."

"Well it did, didn't it? And here we are... home sweet home!"

WHAT?

You'd crossed over to the window in a flash, craning your neck to see outside without revealing your presence.

There were two men on the driveway of the house next door, one was lugging a huge guitar-shaped flight case and an amp across the gravel and you watched as the other disappeared behind the open doors of the beat-up transit van and emerged with what looked like the biggest speaker you'd ever seen in your life. They were both dressed in black, skinny ripped jeans, threadbare jackets and scuffed boots with unkempt manes of scruffy hair. They had that just rolled out of bed and on to the stage, wanna-be rockstar kind of look about them and your heart sank as they jostled each other and unloaded box after box, the calmness of the morning punctuated by their colourful language and The Strokes 'Juicebox' that was still blaring out of the van's speakers.

You lived in a semi-detached and the house adjoined to yours had stood empty for the last month. The owner was also your landlord and you'd been trying to contact her over the last few weeks to no avail to see if there was any news about new occupants. You'd been hoping for an elderly couple or maybe some young professionals, neighbours who'd blend in well into this sleepy suburban area. Not this pair of misfits who were now trampling carelessly all over your freshly planted flowers.

You watched on in horror as one of the lads stumbled with a sloppily packed cardboard box, the contents spilling out all over the path as the bottom fell through. Crockery and glassware shattered into pieces all over the paving slabs, jagged shards skittering across on to your front lawn.

"Christ Bondy, watch it would yer! That's my favourite mug you've just broken!"

Loud curses followed as the other stooped to pick up the mess. "Well if you'd packed stuff properly that wouldn't have happened! And it's not just your favourite mug, that's like every mug we own smashed into bits now. I'm dying for a cuppa as well!"

"Don't bloody blame me. You're the one carrying it!"

"Keep your voice down will ya, the whole street'll be out here soon!"

Oh... so they were actually aware that other residents lived here!

You tried to keep calm but you could feel your temperature rising. It hadn't helped that you'd been on a late shift the previous night and you were exhausted. Before you could even think about what you were doing you'd whirled around and made for the hallway, flinging open your front door and stepping outside. You stood on the driveway in just your bare feet and your nightwear, one hand on your hip, the other still grasping your coffee, face like thunder, glaring at the two boys.

"I hope you're going to clear that mess up!"

Two heads immediately swivelled towards you and two pairs of curious eyes fixed on yours. Only one pair stayed there though. You were suddenly aware of how undressed you were as one of the lads surreptitiously gave you the once over before he forced his gaze upwards and was full of wide-eyed surprise again.

"Alright love! D'ya live there then? We're just moving in like. Pleased to meet ya!"

You grasped the edges of your robe, drawing it tightly around your body, nearly upending your coffee all over yourself in the process. In your haste to confront your new neighbours you'd temporarily forgotten that you were wearing only the thinnest, briefest silk slip underneath and they'd more than likely got a right eyeful.

"Yes I do live here," you said indignantly, purposefully ignoring the hand the other lad was outstretching in a greeting. "And it's a nice, quiet, respectable neighbourhood and I'm hoping it's going to stay that way."

You knew you were being rude, uncharacteristically so, but you just couldn't help yourself. Having two loud, lairy musician types moving in next door was your worst nightmare come true. All you could think about was band rehearsals at decibels loud enough to pierce your eardrums and raucous parties going on until the early hours. It's not that you were boring and stuffy, you knew how to have fun with the best of them. It's just that your job demanded that you worked long and often unsociable hours and the last thing you needed was constant disturbances.

The boy who'd offered his hand stepped forward with an apologetic smile. He was tall and slim with a mop of wild dark curls escaping from under the black cap that he wore. Undeterred by your brusqueness he kept his hand pointed in your direction.

"We're so sorry for all the racket lass. I promise we won't make too much more noise. I'm John by the way. Johnny Bond. But ya can call me Bondy if ya like. That's what everyone calls me."

"Amongst other things!" The other lad sniggered, and you glanced up to see a pair of striking blue eyes peering at you, a cheeky smirk with a hint of mischief.

You found your cheeks warming and quickly looked away, tentatively reaching your own hand out which Bondy took immediately, shaking it in a warm greeting.

"I'm Y/N," you told him, snatching your hand away immediately lest he thought you actually approved of your new neighbours. You weren't ready to let your guard down quite yet. "So... where are you from?"

Both boys started to talk at the exact same moment, tripping over each other in their eagerness to speak. You could make out 'Newcastle' from the capped Geordie boy and something that sounded like 'Llandudno' from the other.

Bondy spoke again. "We've moved here to be closer to London. There's not much of a music scene in Llandudno is there Van?"

Van...

You tried to ignore the way your interest was piqued as you learned his name, the fact that the cheeky smile he was giving you hadn't left his lips since the moment he'd first clapped eyes on you.

"Yeah," Van chuckled, pulling on the lapels of his worn black jacket as he shifted where he stood. "Booking gigs ain't easy when you're living in the arse-end of Wales. I've wanted to get out for years but never had the opportunity 'till now." He paused to look up and down the street with an unimpressed look on his face before he turned to address his friend. "Although I'm not sure this is much better. It's a bit dead ain't it Bonds? Thought we were supposed to be moving somewhere lively, you know, venues, bit of night life. Seen more life in a retirement village!"

Irritation rose in you at his blatant disrespect for your peaceful neighbourhood. "Some of us like it quiet actually!"

"No, no this is great," Bondy cut in quickly. "It's only a short drive into the city and it'll be nice for some peace and quiet in between gigs and stuff. It's perfect... just what we were looking for."

Van huffed under his breath. "What you were looking for maybe."

What was his problem? You'd have been quite happy to see him get right back in his bucket-of-rust van and drive back to where he came from.

"Well, if you don't like it you can always go and find somewhere else to live."

Your cutting tone didn't go unnoticed. Van's eyes narrowed a little, the smirk falling quickly away but not for long. He folded his arms across his chest, fixing you with a look like he was sizing you up, just like a fighter might weigh up an opponent over the other side of a boxing ring. Well, if he was spoiling for a fight he'd picked the wrong girl to mess with, that was for sure.

"I'm sure we'll like it here just fine." Bondy's voice cut through the stony atmosphere and you turned to look at him, catching the loaded glare he shot in Van's direction. "Come on mate, stop being so pissy. You know we can't afford rent in the city, it's about three times the amount. We could only afford a tiny little apartment there." He gestured around him. "Come on, there's loads of positives. It's lovely round here, the house is massive, we've even got a garden! And we'll save a fortune."

You watched on as Van's gaze immediately returned to you, his words dripping with sarcasm. "You're forgetting something... the welcoming neighbours."

A retaliation bubbled up in your throat but you held it back, determined to rise above it and not give Van the satisfaction of knowing just how much he'd wound you up. You'd left petty arguments and childish sniping firmly behind you when you'd left school. You weren't about to let a cocky, rude and obnoxious stranger come crashing into your orderly life and turn it upside down... or so you thought.

So you bit your tongue and turned away, offering Bondy a thin smile as he shook his head and rolled his eyes, announcing that you needed to get going as you had a busy morning and a million things to do.

"It was really nice to meet you Y/N," he called after you, and you had to admit that actually the feeling was mutual. As far as first impressions went he seemed friendly and polite, a stark contrast to Van who didn't seem to have any mind for anyone else other than himself.

You stopped in your tracks, turning to give him a smile, a genuine one this time. "You too Bondy. When you're all settled in you'll have to pop round for a coffee."

"I'd like that," he replied, and you nodded, purposefully keeping your eyes on him so there'd be no mistaking that your invitation wasn't being extended to all in your present company.

It didn't stop Van though who as you'd come to learn couldn't stand not having the last word in any situation.

"Well, if you're putting the kettle on now love, mine's a tea, nice and strong, not too much milk, no sugar!"

Then he shot you a mischievous wink, flashing you a smug grin which should have infuriated you, and it did... but that wasn't all. It also made your belly flip, a little spark of something igniting in you that you weren't quite sure what to make of. So you ignored it, and him, swiftly turning and making your way back into your house.

And that's how it all began...

[fratboykate]

*slides a brand new $20 in your direction* What's the thing that's going to come out that will bring Tiny Tom down? What's the secret? I got more where that $20 came from. I need him to get fucked so bad. Tell us, Papi.

It's Saturday morning and the quarrel that erupted two days ago has yet to be resolved. The tension in the apartment is palpable as Ereka, Kate, and Yelena all keep to themselves, living in individual little islands, and barely communicating. Ereka has been mostly holed up in her room, only leaving for school. Kate has busied herself in the kitchen since she woke up until a few minutes ago when she disappeared to the back of the apartment. Yelena, who is having a rare good morning, sits on the couch with Russell. He talks at her and Yelena listens intently while a children's educational show plays on the TV in the background.

"Mama..." Russell mumbles a long string of unintelligible toddler words, which end in. "...Mith Dawers. We go."

Yelena smiles.

"Ты видишь мисс Дэнверс только по будням, детка. Вы видите ее в... понедельник, среду, и пятницу. Сегодня суббота. Это выходные. нет школы сегодня." ["You only see Miss Danvers on the weekdays, baby. You see her on...Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It's Saturday today. It's the weekend. No school today."]

"Oooooh." Russell frowns, seemingly disappointed. "But we go Mith Dawers."

Yelena shakes her head.

"Не сегодня. Через два дня" ["Not today. In two days."] Yelena shows him the number two on her hands. "On Monday."

"Wuss. Old." Russell excitedly points at the two fingers Yelena holds up.

"Yes! Two. That's how old you are. Two and a half."

"Can you..."

A knock on the door interrupts her. Yelena looks over at the entrance, confused. She momentarily struggles to stand. Her now twenty-three-week pregnant belly has started to throw off her center of gravity, which means this couch effectively becomes a trap whenever she sits on it. Before she's forced to figure out how to get up from the sofa by herself, Kate jogs out of the hallway, rushing to the door.

"I got it. You're fine. I got it."

Yelena stops struggling and watches the foyer from where she sits, intrigued to see who could be at the door so early. Another impatient knock rings through the apartment.

"Coming!" Kate yells, a few steps away from the door. Kate's heart races as she swings open the door to find Tom standing in the hallway. She can feel her blood boiling at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here?” Kate snaps, her annoyance discernible.

“Getting my kid. It's my day.” Tom replies with a tone of entitlement and Kate’s irritation instantly grows.

“This isn’t how drop off goes? She’s not supposed to be with you until ten. It's barely eight.”

"You're not gonna bring her, so I came to get here." Tom barrels past Kate, forcing himself into the apartment. "Ri! Daddy's here! Let's go! Come on!"

Kate's eyes dart toward Yelena, who has now mustered all her strength to stand while holding Russell. She silently heads for the hallway, holding the baby close, away from the brewing conflict. Meanwhile, Tom continues to propel his way into the apartment, flouting Kate's objections.

"Hey!" Kate chases after Tom. "No, we're not doing this. I told you I would bring her and I will. I bring her to your house at ten, and she stays with you until Monday night. That's the deal."

"I'm here. You don't have to bring her anymore. RI! EREKA! Let's go!" Tom insists, propelling himself past Kate anew. Kate repositions herself in front of him once more, stopping him from proceeding any further into the apartment.

"Thomas, stop. I don't think she's even up yet."

"I'll wake her up then. Help her get ready." Tom barks.

"You're not allowed back there. Go home. I'll have her at your place by ten."

"My kid's back there. I can go back there." Tom argues, his voice growing louder and demeanor more belligerent.

Kate is at her wits' end.

"You have no idea the problems you've caused for me this week. Get out because I don't have the patience to deal with you today." Kate shoves him toward the door.

"I'm not leaving here without my kid!" Tom bellows.

After Kare doesn't budge, Tom erupts in a fit of drunken rage and shoves her back, sending her flying into the wall. Kate winces in pain when her body makes violent contact with the plaster. Ereka bursts into the living room just as Tom attacks Kate, her eyes widening in shock at the scene unfolding before her. Without a second thought, she charges at Tom and slugs him in the chest. Yelena steps out at the exact moment, Russell left behind in the nursery, unaware of the chaos erupting in the living room.

"Don't do that! Don't ever do that again!" Ereka shouts at Tom, breathing heavily, while she whacks him again.

Yelena looks like she's about to attack Tom, but Kate steps in front of her and intervenes.

"Don’t. Please. You can’t." Kate pleads with her before she turns back to Tom, who clutches Ereka by the arm and drags her to the door.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Kate screams as she approaches him.

"It's my fucking day today." Tom yanks the girl harder.

"Let me go!" Ereka protests, struggling to break free. Tom trips over his own feet as he drags her along, losing his grip on her. Ereka takes a step back and glares at him. "Are you this annoying to your other kids?" she asks, her tone laced with bitterness. "Oh, wait! You're not because you don't see them."

"Shut up." Tom threatens.

"Maybe if you spent time with them, you wouldn't be so obsessed with us."

"What other kids?" Kate's eyes fly back and forth between Tom and Ereka.

"She doesn't know what she's fucking talking about." Tom replies, his voice trembling.

"I don't?!" Ereka sneers. "Grandma and Aunt Viv have whole conversations about how you have to go to court because their mom is suing you for money you don't give them. They've been talking about it for months."

"SHUT UP! SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Tom marches up to his daughter, his face red with anger.

Yelena audibly scoffs and laughs acrimoniously in the background.

"What the fuck?" Kate mutters. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Tom punches a hole in the wall and dashes out the door, leaving the three women behind in the living room.

"Ereka..." Kate murmurs, her voice strained. She glares at her daughter, silently demanding answers.

Ereka hesitates for a moment, then takes a deep breath.

"I've only known since around Thanksgiving. Grandma and Aunt Viv say a lot of crazy things when they're drinking, so after the first time I overheard them, I went through his mail. He always has it all stacked up in a corner. There were some papers from family court. It had their names and ages on it. I have two little sisters...Molly is nine and Talia is seven. Their mom's name is Lisa."

Yelena snorts in derision, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Of course. OF COURSE he's a deadbeat. Of course."

"Yelena..."

"I *still* can't say anything about him?!" Yelena exclaims, frustration clear in her voice.

"We don't know if it's true." Kate retorts, trying to keep an open mind.

"Are you calling her a liar?! He practically ran out of here. He got caught and his charade is over."

"I'm not lying." Ereka tells Kate assertively before speeding off to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

Now it’s just Kate and Yelena. Kate can feel Yelena's eyes on her and she quickly looks away, staring at her feet.

"I told you." Yelena says bitterly. "I've told you before, but you never listened. It's never been about Ri. It's always been about you. He's obsessed with you, Kate. If it had been about Ereka, he'd be a good dad. Instead, he's a piece of shit who uses Ereka as an excuse to get to you and back at you." Kate remains silent, unsure of what to say."I swear, Katherine…If you keep defending him after this, I'm done. In every way. I'm done. He put his hands on both of you. If that isn't the thing that ends all of this, then nothing will."

"Yele..."

Yelena cuts her off.

"No. Think about what you're going to say next. Actually think about it and very carefully because…this is it. There's no in-between anymore. He's gotten physical with both of you now. You have to decide, so...think."

And with that, Yelena walks away, leaving Kate standing in silence, her mind reeling.

---

An hour later, Kate slowly pushes open the door to Russell's room and finds Yelena sitting on the rocking chair, with the sleeping toddler nuzzled into her neck. Their eyes meet briefly as Kate steps inside and closes the door gently. She paces the room a few times before walking over to the rocking chair, squatting beside it, and placing her hand on Russell's back, above Yelena's.

"I can’t say I’ve always made the best choices, but I've never picked him over you. I never would…Let’s go back to court."

[fezilietrain]

The harem was alive with laughter and music, a celebratory air filling the opulent chamber as concubines danced and played instruments. The scent of rosewater lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet smell of fruits and pastries laid out in abundance. Valide Sultan, mother of Sultan Süleyman the Magnificent, had organized this festivity to honor her son's recent victory in battle. It was a display of power and wealth, a statement of the might of the Ottoman Empire.

Hürrem Sultan sat regally beside Valide Sultan, her sharp eyes observing the festivities with a calm exterior that masked the storm brewing within her. To her left was Hatice Sultan, Süleyman's beloved sister, engaged in a lively conversation with her close friend, Gülfem Hatun. On Hürrem's right was Mahidevran Sultan, the mother of Süleyman’s firstborn son and her fiercest rival.

The tension between Hürrem and Mahidevran was palpable, hidden beneath layers of forced civility. Hürrem noticed the glances Mahidevran kept stealing at her, and she could feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

As the music swelled, Mahidevran leaned in slightly, her voice just above a whisper but laced with venom. "Süleyman spoke with me personally when he returned from the war," she said, her lips curling into a smug smile. "He wanted to know how our son Mustafa was faring in his absence."

Hürrem's jaw tightened, her hand clutching the edge of her seat. She knew what Mahidevran was trying to do—to remind her of her place, to insinuate that Süleyman’s affections for Hürrem were fleeting. But Hürrem was not one to be easily ruffled.

"How fortunate for you," Hürrem replied coolly, her voice measured. "I'm sure it was a brief conversation. The Sultan has many matters to attend to upon his return."

Mahidevran's smile faded slightly, her eyes narrowing. "You forget yourself, Hürrem. You are but a slave, a Ruthenian slave who has been given more than she deserves. Do not think for a moment that you are irreplaceable."

Hürrem felt the sting of the words, but it was not the first time she had heard such insults. Still, something in her snapped. Before she could stop herself, she spoke, her voice sharp as a blade. "And you forget, Mahidevran, that it is not your place to question the Sultan’s decisions. I may have come from humble beginnings, but I have risen higher than you ever will."

The subtle bickering had now escalated, drawing the attention of those seated nearby. Hatice Sultan, who had been deep in conversation, looked up in surprise, her brow furrowing at the tension between the two women.

"Enough," Hatice said, her voice calm but firm. "This is neither the time nor the place for such quarrels."

But before the air could clear, Valide Sultan, who had been silently observing, intervened with a cold fury. "How dare you speak to Mahidevran Sultan in such a manner!" she hissed, her eyes burning into Hürrem. "You, who were brought here as nothing more than a slave, now think you can raise your voice against those above you? Have you forgotten your place?"

Hürrem's heart pounded in her chest as she tried to maintain her composure. "Valide Sultan, I meant no disrespect, but—"

"Silence!" Valide's voice cut through Hürrem's words like a knife. "You have overstepped your bounds, and you will pay the price for your insolence. Remember, you are only here because of my son’s favor. Do not mistake his affection for immunity from the consequences of your actions."

The other sultanas watched in silence, the room thick with tension as Hürrem's face flushed with humiliation. She felt the weight of every eye on her, judging her, condemning her. Unable to bear it any longer, she stood abruptly and left the room, her vision blurred with unshed tears.

Hürrem fled to her chambers, her heart aching with a mixture of anger and sorrow. She collapsed onto her bed, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. She cried until she felt empty, until the pain dulled to a numbing ache.

Hours seemed to pass in a blur, the silence of her room a stark contrast to the vibrant festivities she had just left. She was so lost in her grief that she didn’t hear the door open, didn’t notice the soft footsteps approaching her until she felt a familiar hand on her shoulder.

"Hürrem," came Süleyman’s voice, soft and filled with concern. "What has happened?"

She looked up, her eyes red and swollen from crying, and saw the worry etched on his face. She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze. "It’s nothing, my Sultan. Please, let it be."

But Süleyman was not so easily deterred. He cupped her face gently, forcing her to look at him. "Tell me, Hürrem. What has caused you such pain?"

The love in his eyes broke down the last of her defenses, and though she tried to stay silent, the truth slipped out. "It was Valide Sultan and Mahidevran," she whispered, her voice trembling. "They humiliated me in front of everyone."

Süleyman’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching with anger. He had seen the rivalry between his mother, Mahidevran, and Hürrem for years, but this was too much. Without another word, he stood and strode out of the room, his fury palpable.

Hürrem watched him go, her heart pounding with fear and confusion. She had never seen him like this, and she wasn’t sure what would happen next.

Back in the harem, the music and laughter had continued, though the mood had shifted slightly after Hürrem’s departure. Valide Sultan was in conversation with Hatice, when suddenly the doors to the harem burst open, and Süleyman entered, his face a mask of controlled rage.

The room fell silent, all eyes on the Sultan as he walked straight to where Valide Sultan sat. "Leave us," he commanded, his voice low but filled with authority. The concubines and servants scattered, leaving only the sultanas in the room.

Valide Sultan looked at her son, a flicker of worry crossing her face. "My son, what is the meaning of this?"

Süleyman’s eyes were like steel as he looked from his mother to Mahidevran. "What happened here tonight?" he demanded. "What did you say to Hürrem?"

Valide Sultan drew herself up, her voice firm. "I merely reminded her of her place. She was disrespectful to Mahidevran Sultan, and I would not tolerate such behavior."

"And what did Mahidevran say to provoke her?" Süleyman’s gaze turned to his former consort, his tone dangerously calm.

Mahidevran tried to defend herself, her voice wavering slightly. "I only spoke the truth. She attacked me first, called me names-"

Süleyman’s patience snapped. "Enough!" he thundered, causing both women to flinch. "Hürrem is my wife, the mother of my children, and she will be treated with the respect she deserves. I will not tolerate this constant harassment any longer. Do you understand?"

Valide Sultan tried to speak, but Süleyman cut her off. "This is not up for debate, Valide. You have overstepped your bounds. You may be my mother, but you do not have the right to insult my wife."

The room was thick with tension, the air almost suffocating as Süleyman delivered his final words. "This ends now. I will hear no more of this from either of you."

With that, he stormed out of the harem, leaving Valide Sultan and Mahidevran in stunned silence.

Süleyman’s heart was still pounding as he returned to Hürrem’s chambers. He found her sitting where he had left her, her eyes filled with worry as she looked up at him. But when she saw the tray in his hands, with her favorite dish carefully prepared, a small smile broke through her tears.

He set the tray down and sat beside her, pulling her into his arms. "It’s taken care of, Hürrem. They won’t trouble you again, at least for now."

Hürrem leaned into him, still shaken but comforted by his presence. "Thank you, my Sultan," she whispered.

He kissed her forehead, his anger melting away as he held her close. "I cannot bear to see you hurt, Hürrem. You are my heart."

They spent the rest of the night together, talking quietly until Hürrem finally drifted off to sleep in Süleyman’s arms. He watched over her, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the challenges that still lay ahead. But for now, she was safe, and that was all that mattered.

As the night wore on and the palace fell into silence, Süleyman finally allowed himself to close his eyes, falling asleep beside the woman he loved more than anything in the world.