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anthonys237thfreckle · 2 months

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Love in Oklahoma - Javier ‘Javi’ x F! reader

prompt: javi and his girl bought a small farm in Oklahoma, reworked it and adopted little nancy!

TW: mentions of injury, implications of smut

i saw @tempesttamers make a post about seeing anthony ramos with nancy and they needed a javi fic who has a miniature cow named nancy lol. it was such a cute idea, so thanks for that!

Whenever it wasn’t tornado season down in Oklahoma, the excitement was buzzing for the next one. Everyone round the bonfire of another cheap motel, all the storm chasers would gather and share stories of chasing a twister or two, the failures, close calls, successes… reminiscing the adrenaline high everyone felt in their own way.

But you and Javi had no place to stay apart from those motels. Your homes were far away from the southwest, and though storm season was over, Javi still needed to do a lot of research and analytics for storm patterns, their paths, conditions, humidity levels and even sometimes forecasts. Storm Par was busy all year.

Since he dragged you from your own job in the city down to Tornado Alley, you felt like you belonged down there, among the wheat fields, cheap food, thick humid air and wide skies; you and Javi would stargaze at times, and they seemed brighter down there for two reasons. One, there was no pollution for them to shy away behind and two, Javi was there - the man who seemed to make everything brighter.

So rather than stay basically homeless, Javi saved up some money and bought a little house with a farm. Barely half the size of a football field, it was selling for pretty cheap, so you Javi bought it for the two of you.

It wasn’t grand, but you two loved it very much. A small, simple, two story farmhouse with a porch, wide and welcoming, its wooden steps leading up to the red-brick house. Inside, it was definitely in need of some handiwork, but it was inviting nonetheless. After all, blank walls are nothing but a canvas to store potential. Dark stained wooden floorboards run throughout, giving it a rustic elegance. Though scuffed by generations of footsteps, they were very well polished. The kitchen, an open wide space, the heart of the home, had a traditional water pump basin and sink. You grinned when you saw it, turning to Javi who raised his eyebrows in shock and chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amusement. The sink sat beneath a window with a picturesque view of the backyard. White wooden cabinets adorned the walls, giving the kitchen its own light. Though the house was partially furnished, providing you with a large, rectangular dining table, some vintage pantry cabinets, and some sturdy chairs the previous owners left behind.

The second floor was led by some creaking wooden steps, and after climbing the short flight, you were met with a master bedroom with a large window overlooking the front yard, connected to a bathroom with checkered floor tiles, one of your new favourite things. They had a normal tap unlike the kitchen basin downstairs, and large mirror with some storage units and a shower. The other room, another bedroom, was smaller in comparison, but still had a window and a large bookshelf covering one whole wall. The other bathroom, almost as large as a room itself, was spacious, with two sinks, a rainshower, and bathtub.

Needless to say, you two fell in love with the house.

Once you two moved in, you both started to rework the place a little. Javi invited some close friends from Storm par and you invited Kate and the Tornado Wranglers to held paint the walls. Once that was done, everyone went out for dinner at a local diner, letting the stench of fresh paint air out. 2 weeks of relentless reworking went by, the crew made everything a lot faster; the house was homely, cozy, inviting. A bit of a contrast to the two city people you two were, but all the hard work made it all the more impressive. All your old stuff was shifted in, the crew helping you move all the heavy furniture, then left you two to do your own thing. Once everything was furnished, you both fell asleep on your shared bed upstairs, holding each other close.

After a day of rest, you both spent from sunrise to sunset out on the farm. Javi drove you to the farmer’s market, finding people who sold nearly mature crops with the purpose of repotting. You both bought 3 tomato plants - one in each colour: purple, red and yellow - 2 cucumbers, some Napa cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, some raspberry and blueberry shrubs. Once back the sun was high, you both slathered some sunscreen on and spent hours outside, repotting everything into the fertile southwestern soil.

The Tornado Wranglers came over for housewarming, bearing gifts; Kate bought you a pot of flowers, with her own recipe for a fertilizer which wasn’t damaging. Tyler brought a handmade sign saying ‘Not our first farmhouse!’ with the ‘Not’ crossed out in red paint. You accepted it with a laugh, and Javi just rolled his eyes playfully. Boone bought you both a vintage polaroid camera, and you had the idea of taking a photo of everyone who visited this house, and sticking it on the wall near the entrance, as a cute little housewarming idea. Lily brought some food, her famous enchiladas. Dani bought you two a weighted blanket and a toolbox, knowing how handy that can get. Dexter bought you two some encyclopedias and books you two would definitely enjoy. Everyone shared laughs and jokes and memories over dinner, and you both realized how this farmhouse really changed your lives.

You both started living a new life together, which contrasted everything before.

You always had a knack for baking and cooking, but only did so occasionally, because you could always buy bread from the supermarket, and you were busy. Now that you had joined Storm Par (once you cornered Javi and Scott into finding ethical investors) you both worked from home, giving you a lot of time for each other, and equally important, yourselves. Now, not a weekend went by when you went on a baking spree, pulling in Javi to help you out leading to flour fights, stolen chaste kisses where he’d lift you onto the counter, and everything in between. You baked sourdough, focaccia, dinner rolls, peanut butter cookies, muffins with fresh blueberries from the yard.

Javi rarely ate breakfast, mostly because he was too lazy or never had the will to eat anything shitty anyways, so every morning he’d be blessed with a platter of fresh herbed butter on sourdough toast, free range eggs from some chickens you both bought, and crispy organic bacon. Now, he claims breakfast is his second favourite meal, and when you ask what comes first, he just gives you a knowing look, which ends up with him getting flicked on the forehead.

All in all, your lives had changed for the better, but it was only about to get even better.

As you both drove back from the farmer’s market one evening, you saw a little curled up black and white creature on the side of the road

“Hey, baby, look..” you pointed over, and his eyes followed yours.

“Is that-” he slammed the breaks, rushing out of the car, you following behind.

It was a baby cow, or a miniature one, and its leg had a horrible gash on it.

“Its owners probably ditched her, pool gal…” He said softly, stroking the calf’s head when he found no ear tag on her.

You and Javi shared a look, and a silent communication went between you two. You needed to help her out.

You rushed over to your trunk, pouring out some milk and giving her some sustenance in the hopes of earning her trust. After carefully lifting her, making sure she didn’t thrash around, Javi put her in the backseat after you put a blanket down. You sat with her, the animals’ head resting in your lap. You drove a little way out of town for a vet, and after a quick checkup, you were given some ointment, and since the calf was abandoned, you both decided to keep it.

“Come on, Nancy” Javi said soothingly, carrying calf back into the car.

“Nancy?” you chuckled “We’re naming her already?”

“Yeah” Javi said with a chuckle “I like Nancy” he smiled, petting the calf’s head

“So do I” You said after a moment of thought. “Let’s get going”

Once everyone was back home, you brought out a wheelbarrow, and Javi put Nancy in there, the both of you gently bringing her to the barn. Once she was settled on a pile of hay, Javi gently tied her neck to a pole, making sure it wasn’t cutting anything off. You brought a bottle of milk with you, feeding her as her big black eyes got drowsier.

“Can I sleep here with her?” Javi asked you with concern.

“In the barn?” you laughed “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, (name)” Javi said, a look of determination you couldn’t fight.

“Alright, let me get the limoncello candle” you said in fake annoyance. Javi smiled, and called out.

“Love you, baby!”

—

Once you came back with the lit limoncello candle to ward off any bugs, setting it in the corner, you brought some sleeping bags and a bottle of water and milk, for you two and Nancy.

“I’m sleeping here with you” You said, handing him a sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to..” Javi said softly, never taking his eyes off Nancy as he stoked her head, tracing the blotches of black on her cream fur.

“I want to” you reassured, settling into the sleeping bag. “G’night, Javi” you murmured after giving him a sweet peck on the lips.

“Love you” he said, watching you over his shoulder as you settled in for the night.

“Love you too” you yawned “You know, if you changed your mind-”

“No” He interrupted you stubbornly “I’m staying here with Nancy” He reinforced.

“Whatever you say, baby” you chuckled, closing your own droopy eyes. “Make sure to actually catch some sleep”

“Yeah, I will. I promise” He nodded. “Goodnight, (name), I love you”

“Love you too, Jalapeño” you chuckled “Goodnight”

Javi chuckled at the nickname you loved using, and watched as you fell asleep. He looked over at a now asleep Nancy and smiled. He was so happy he bought this little home with you. He looked over at you again, then crawled over, unzipping the sleeping bag.

“Javier….” you whined “I was falling asleep!”

“Hold on just a second, baby..” He unzipped the sleeping bag, detached the zippers on his own one, and attached the two bags together and crawled inside, zipping it back up.

“Now we can cuddle!” he grinned, and you shook your head with a chuckle, burying your head in his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Okay, now really goodnight.” you murmured with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, really” He chuckled, nodding. “Goodnight, love”.

And with that, you both fell asleep in the barn, in each other’s arms, alongside your new companion. Javi dreamt of your lives progressing in this little farmhouse, filling it up with kids, maybe a German Shepherd… ironically, the house did have a white picket fence too, which made everything all the more cliche. But he didn’t care how much of a sap he was around you - since you seemed to love it anyway. Your lives had gotten so much.. lovelier.

If anything, you both found more love here, in Oklahoma.

#foryou #fyp #tumblr fyp #anthony ramos #twisters 2024 #twisters movie #anthony fucking ramos #twisters #javier rivera x reader #javi rivera #javi x you #javier ‘javi’ rivera #javi x reader #javier x reader #nancy #nancyfromtwisterslmao #NANCYSASTAR

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talesofadragon · 10 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞

Summary: Theodore Nott came to learn that an inciting incident can alter the course of history. Lucius Malfoy’s fall led to Draco’s dark mark and the death of Dumbledore. The rise of the Dark Lord urged Harry Potter into hiding and Death Eaters into prominence. And then there was Amycus Carrow, with his tainted hands on Y/N, who forced Theodore Nott to do the unforgivable.

Warnings: Sexual assault, attempted rape, graphic description of violence, panic attacks

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Non-Slytherin!Reader

Genre: Angst | Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 5.8K

All Masterlists | Theodore Nott Masterlist

𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐬. The lines between the two flow steadily, each following its own cadence. And yet, despite their distinct course and the light years between them, they somehow find a way to draw parameters of joint space. Somehow, someway, they eventually overlap—meeting each other at the apex of catalysts and the twists between junctures to shape history and write the present.

Today starts like most stories do: quaint and subtle, setting the tone for an inciting incident that will tip this fable on its axis.

It’s a typical day, or as typical as it could get during Y/N’s last year at Hogwarts. She’s sitting at the far end of her Defense Against the Dark Arts class, donning the same apprehensive expression as all her classmates. The turmoil that governs the halls is a jarring contrast to the flourishing and effervescent school of witchcraft and wizardry Hogwarts once was.

In this mangled reality, there are specks of the idyllic tales she’s heard about, and witnessed, growing up. Slytherins and Gryffindors sustain their infamous rivalry while in search of their individual purpose, purebloods hold themselves on par with Merlin himself, and more often than not, students find refuge in a forgotten nuke in Hogwarts when the burden of magic becomes too heavy to bear.

In the first drafts of the story, Hogwarts held its students under one embrace. But now, as we’re nearing a hazy end, an isolating veil drapes over the school, fracturing it into fewer than four houses and dividing it more than ever before.

“Now, as Barty Crouch Junior has so tirelessly shared, you have already been acquainted with Merlin’s three most formidable spells,” Alecto Carrow, one of Voldemort’s trusted Death Eaters explains. Her heels dig into the marble floors of the classroom, their screeches ricocheting across the walls in warning.

“The Unforgivables,” her brother Amycus eagerly finishes. His yellow teeth wither under the dim light of the darkened sun as his arms open wide. It’s unsettling how he and his sister welcome such misfortune so openly.

As it happens every single time the Carrow twins revel in the darkest boulevards of magic, Y/N shifts in her seat until she’s nearly imperceptible. Each time, her eyes rove the expanse of the classroom, seeking out the comfort of peculiar hazel eyes. Within just ten seconds, her wandering gaze comes to rest on the idle brown walls, a weight of defeat settling upon her.

Upon her reluctant return to Hogwarts this year, Y/N was met with a torrent of unimaginable changes, starting with students being separated not only based on their house but also their blood status.

Purebloods became a procession of peacocks—majestic, refined, otherworldly. Only allowed to flick around with students of the same upper class.

Half-bloods, on the other hand, belong to inconsistent ideologies. They teeter on the precipice of honor, waiting for Death Eaters like Umbridge and whoever else is in the Ministry to decide their fate.

Muggleborns, it's best not to get started.

Y/N doodles a few meaningless shapes, swirling her quill around the parchment as she thinks of Theodore. Lately, it's become increasingly difficult to talk to him, let alone spot him, with all the changes in place.

Her classmates know she’s not paying attention and that she's only pretending she has her nose buried deep in her notes. Her quill, which scratches against the parchment, is nothing but a ruse to get the Carrows off her scent.

This class truly has nothing to offer except for a modicum of nostalgia and a barrage of abuse, so if the Carrows are so gullible to believe that Y/N is actively listening, then so be it.

By now, she takes it a step further, looking up to meet the eyes of the young children brought forth by the Carrows. She’s mastered the art of stoicism to a T, gazing at their expressions without showing a measly emotion. But every single time, she finds herself transported eons back to a time when things were drastically better.

Her memories vary, depending on whatever catalyst she encounters. She recalls seeing a girl with ginger waves once, and her mind acted on autopilot, bringing her back to the times she and her friends would huddle in their common room to animatedly talk about the latest Weasley prank.

At the previous hints of pink, she remembered Umbridge when she was finally escorted outside of Hogwarts grounds.

And today, her memories are not too different. Bittersweet at best and wistful at most.

She finds a boy biting down on his lower lip. He’s a Gryffindor, judging by the color of his tie, more so by his audaciousness when he decides to lift his head and contain his fear. His eyes are hazel, edging closer to honey brown underneath the dim light of the classroom. And her mind is cruel enough to conjure the image of Theodore hovering above her naked body with lustful hazel eyes and abused fiery lips.

Theodore doesn’t particularly fancy his eye color—he doesn’t quite fancy much about himself. He’s not oblivious to his popularity, but unlike Draco Malfoy, who shines like the stars, Theodore Nott glows like the moon in a dance of subtlety and intensity; a paradoxical luminosity that always leaves Y/N in awe.

He never particularly bothered her during their first couple of years at Hogwarts, which explains why they never interacted until their fifth year. Back when Umbridge was foul toward the student population, especially vile toward anyone of lesser blood.

Dennis Creevey, who had been a first-year at that time, fell victim to her malice. His penance for being born to muggle parents was bloodily etched on his hand. Y/N tried to help him, even though her own hand was hurting just as badly. The healing spells didn’t counter the dark magic infused in the quills, and while she could handle the pain, the poor eleven-year-old couldn’t.

"May I?" a voice softly breathed from behind her, causing her to jump slightly. She turned to see the unexpected sight of Theodore Nott, dressed in an emerald green tie and an aura of pristine silver. Y/N's breath caught in her throat, and her hands trembled, a reaction heightened by the delicate hints of cinnamon swirling in the air.

When Theodore pulled out his wand, Dennis cowered. And to her surprise, Theodore’s face fell. Yet he quickly covered his crestfallen expression with a mask of pure stoicism.

Y/N’s gaze meandered away from the Slytherin and settled on the young Gryffindor. “It’s okay, Dennis,” she recalled herself saying at the time, even though she hadn’t mentally given her words the green light to tumble out of her mouth. Both Dennis and Theodore seemed equally surprised, turning their heads her way. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

Maybe it was the softness of Theodore’s hazel eyes, or maybe it was how he abstained from touching the boy's bruised hand and elected to kneel to his level. To this day, Y/N doesn’t know what exactly made her fall for Theodore at that exact moment in time.

Yet, all she knows in certainty is that she’s in love with Theodore Aurelius Nott. Pureblood, Slytherin Elite, Son of Darkness. But what can she do if one glance at his hazel orbs leaves her drowning in the depths of his moonshine?

“Miss Y/L/N!”

Y/N’s head jerks when a protruding voice disturbs her reverie. She chances a glance at the front of the classroom, finding Alecto Carrow’s lidded eyes on her. Bright and sage, a stark contrast to the malevolence nestled within them.

“Yes?” Y/N wonders aloud.

“Given your diligence in recording the theoretical aspect of The Unforgivables, I believe it’s time for you to engage in the practicalities of said lesson,” Alecto announces with a tone that leaves no room for negotiation or refutation.

With a sharp nod, she ushers Y/N out of her seat, beckoning her over until she's two steps away from her. Y/N stands idly, unaware of whether she's going to role-play as the tormentor or the tormented. But her internal questions are answered the moment Amycus Carrow shoves the Gryffindor boy with hazel eyes into her line of sight.

"Go on." Alecto wears a sinister expression as she levels Y/N with a taunting smile. "Demonstrate your aptitude to the class.”

Y/N doesn't step back nor does she shy away. She clings to the apathetic front she's adopted from her boyfriend, her gaze falling on the young boy, and her thoughts drowning out Alecto's sharp voice. By the time Amycus asks her to draw out her wand, she's mustered up enough confidence to answer with a terse "no."

“What do you mean no, you insolent brat!” Alecto bellows, being the first to succumb to her temper. For a snake, she is known to be as hot-headed as a lion.

“I refuse to perform any curse on anyone,” Y/N clarifies, purposefully refraining from calling her “professor.” And if she had half a brain cell, perhaps she would’ve figured it out.

“Is that so?” Alecto challenges.

“Yes.”

“Very well, despicable half-breed. You know the rules. You’re either the rodent or the snake. Guess you’ll always be the former.”

She's calm and aloof on the outside, but Y/N is dreading what’s coming next. She’s never fallen victim to the Cruciatus, though she has heard all about it from Theodore and his friends—even once from Harry.

She watches with steady eyelashes as Alecto draws her wand and points it at her. Although the curse is released, and screams reverberate across the walls, both Alecto and Y/N remain silent.

To Y/N's horror, the young Gryffindor boy thrashes on the ground with clenched fists and agonizing wails. Above him, Amycus stands like a conductor, his wand beckoning the crooked notes of the boy's voice to rise to a crescendo.

Finally, the screams die down, extinguishing and feeding the anguish of every student at once. Amycus turns to address the class, dismissing them all except for one. “You go ahead, Alecto,” he directs toward his sister. “If the little mouse wishes to squeak, then she’ll have to suffer graver consequences than what you have to offer.”

Whatever Amycus has in mind seems to appease Alecto. Her expression is mirthful as she grabs the robes of the young Gryffindor boy and sweeps him out of the class, using his body as a cleaning broom.

The students all file out, their glances lingering on Y/N. As the last of the students leaves, Amycus turns to the young girl.

“Your wand, Miss Y/L/N,” he demands. Y/N debates not giving it to him, but she knows if she doesn’t, he’ll come and collect it himself. So, she reluctantly hands it over. “Ah, pretty little thing. What’s the core?”

“Dragon heartstring.”

“Fitting for a spitfire like you.”

“I thought I was a meek little mouse,” Y/N counters, making Amycus grin.

“You are a lot of things, little girl,” he replies as he twirls her wand in his hand. “The wood?”

“Larch.”

“Enlighten me, Y/L/N,” Amycus voices out. If Y/N’s a mouse, then he seems to enjoy being a cat. His long and calloused fingers trace her wand while he circles her, trying to break her resolve. “What does the wood say about you?”

The question strokes her ear, carried by Amycus’ ghastly voice. Y/N stills, not seeing where he’s going. She jolts as Amycus taps the wand against her thigh, particularly the exposed skin between her skirt and stockings.

“It’s best paired with wizards and witches who possess hidden talents,” she replies tersely.

The hum coming from her side indicates that Amycus is listening—paying attention, though, not so much, considering he’s rather preoccupied with poking her skin with her wand while rotating around her.

He’s playing with his food, Y/N tells herself, knowing this is just another trick of his. Somewhere in his sadist brain, his senses are sparking with delight at the prospect of Y/N’s discomfort, relishing the power he has over her.

A part of her wants to jam her wand in his eyes, pluck his eyeballs out, and proceed to stuff each in his nostrils. But another part of her stands idle, not even blinking as he keeps up his ministrations.

Amycus smiles, taking up more of her personal space. Y/N’s senses are lit on fire as he traces her wand across her body. “Is your mouth a part of those talents, filthy witch? You don’t talk much, but rotten girls like you must know how to use their mouths.”

“To scream, I presume,” Y/N breathes. Her quip hits Amycus right in the face, and the maniac grins. His face is painted with a nefarious glee, that of a predator eager to feast on its prey.

SA and Attempted Rape Content Begins Here. Skip Through This Scene by Scrolling to "Scene End."

The unsettling sensation against her ribs dissipates when Amycus pulls the wand away, but the apprehension still lingers. As she mentally prepares herself for the inevitable pain that comes along with the Cruciatus, Amycus’ hand cups her chin, and his molten lips crash against hers. The sensation is so crippling and unfavorable it sends her tumbling back into the table.

The pressure on YN’s cheeks intensifies until it becomes sharp and metallic. Fingers dig into her flesh, paving a path for Amycus’ tongue to follow. Though her hands slap against his chest, legs flailing around, he continues his exploration in the depths of her throat.

It feels like he’s finally thrown her off a cliff, yet with all the energy Y/N can muster, she pushes his body away and slaps him across the face.

He looks at her with unadulterated rage. Y/N forgoes reading his face in favor of bolting toward the door. But before she reaches the handle, she’s yanked back by her robes. The fabric tears, as does her heart. Amycus then throws her on top of the teacher’s desk and catches both her wrists in his hand.

“Pitty your blood is impure, little witch. If you had to match your filthy mouth with something, I’d rather it be your pussy than your blood.”

“Get off me,” Y/N enunciates with a quiver in her voice. It seems to feed Amycus’ wicked desires because she suddenly finds him nipping at her neck in pure delight.

“You’ve disobeyed my direct order. When witches are bad, they’re punished.”

“You’re sick!”

“And you’re delicious.”

Y/N takes a deep breath, burying his face further in the junction between her neck and shoulder. His kisses are filthy, heavy, frigid. They make her body feel like ice—they make her feel as if she's been snatched and thrown into the depths of the Dark Lake.

Amycus' hands grab her waist and flip her over until her gaze meets the darkness of the desk’s wood. If the sensation of the wand against her thigh left acid in her mouth, then Amycus’ fingers left her with bile overwhelming her senses.

“What a pretty little ass you’re hiding under here. It was made to be ruined.”

Y/N doesn’t have time to panic. In fluid movements, Amycus lifts her skirt, rips off the shorts she typically wears beneath, and spanks her ass.

She yelps, struggling against the hand against her back that’s keeping her on the desk. She’s hit one more time and then two and three. The slaps are forceful and fiery, leaving her skin scalded and singed.

A roar erupts from the depths of her soul when she feels a finger easing her thong. The force of her scream catches Amycus off guard, enough for Y/N to elbow him and dive to the ground for her wand.

“Cruc—”

“Oh, so now you want to cast it!”

With ease, Amycus manages to slap Y/N’s wand away. He ruthlessly places his palm against her stomach, pushing her back to the ground.

Her head aches from the force of the blow, a scream barrelling through the space between her lips when Amycus towers over her, digging his obsidian nails into her skin.

“It’s a shame that the most delightful toys happen to be the filthiest. Maybe this will teach you and your kind that you will forever remain beneath us.”

Y/N cries as Amycus incapacitates her lips. She squirms underneath his body, vaguely aware of the fabric he’s tearing in half, though oblivious to what clothing item it belongs to.

She tries to non-verbally cast a spell, but her mind is too distracted to focus on the incantation. All she knows is that she needs to get Amycus off her. And yet, no amount of strength in her hands or her spells manages to draw him to a stop.

His spit traces her lower lip, tantalizingly closing the distance between her mouth and collarbone. Y/N shudders, bellowing at the thought of his saliva trailing her skin.

She wails, screams, and shouts until she realizes that Amycus probably cast Silencio without her knowing. Though futile, she tries to push his body weight off her, even resorts to kicking his ribs.

It doesn’t work... until by some miracle from Merlin himself Amycus’ body flies toward the back wall, releasing her.

Scene End

Y/N gasps, pushing her palms against the tiled floor and lifting herself to a sitting position. Her chest heaves as she looks at the discarded fabric of her skirt, the scattered buttons of her shirt, and the remains of her robe that are haphazardly strewn across the room.

Faint sounds register at the back of her mind. A heavy breath, mirroring her own, emanates from behind, accompanied by an erratic heartbeat that matches hers. Amidst it all, she picks up on Amycus’s forlorn groans, muffled by the surrounding darkness. Resilient ropes now bind his hands and feet, rendering him completely motionless.

“Get Y/N out of here,” a voice orders. It’s far away—at least, Y/N thinks so. But despite the fog around its edges, she can somehow sense the enmity lacing it.

Before she can process the shadows creeping closer to her side, a robe is draped over her shoulders as arms wrap securely around her.

She thrashes against the man holding her, trying to repel his hands from her body. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says in a low octave. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. I promise you. He can't touch you anymore.”

The voice carries a bit of an edge, yet it’s the most soothing sound she’s heard all day. Her lips quiver as she internally fights with her thoughts, head spinning and shaking in defeat.

The halls around her move fast, time seemingly irrelevant at this point. She’s crying and mumbling incoherently, burying her face in the fabric of this stranger’s clothes, which smell like a familiar blend of mint and citrus.

The robe is wrapped tighter around her shoulders, and she receives a faint squeeze as she’s brought up a staircase. Words are whispered, a door is opened, and voices mingle with one another until a delicate tone enters her headspace.

“Draco, who’s that you’re carrying?”

“It’s Y/N,” the male voice, the one belonging to Draco, replies. Draco kicks open a door and places Y/N on the bed. She wails even more at the action, curling herself into a ball—at this point, she doesn’t know if she should be relieved or terrified.

“What the hell happened to her?”

“Lower your voice, Pansy! Can’t you see she’s scared enough?”

Pansy stutters for a few seconds before asking again, “Who did this to her?”

Draco hesitates, looking between the two young women. “Amycus,” he replies. And though it’s barely a mumble, it’s enough to send Y/N spiraling.

Pansy’s jade eyes tread carefully as they peer over Y/N’s frail body. She sees the red marks on her hands and the blood that seeps from the cuts on her face. “Cruciatus?” she asks, but something in her tone makes it obvious that it’s just wishful thinking.

“No,” Draco answers. Y/N’s sniffles and shudders fill the air as Pansy and Draco exchange silent glances. Y/N clutches her throat, rubbing it to try and get herself more oxygen.

“What do we do?”

Draco's footsteps echo as he retreats toward the door. “You're going to her clean up. If Theo hasn’t killed Amycus yet, I’m going to join him in his pursuit.”

There was something in that last line that clamped agony around Y/N’s heart, squeezing like a vice. She wept, only vaguely conscious of Pansy’s soothing touch in her hair and the remnants of Draco's anger looming around the room.

The mirror in the bathroom captures two girls in its glassy frame. One of them is put together while the other looks worse for wear. Y/N stares at her wild reflection, moroseness painting her irises. A tiny sob escapes her barely parted lips, and Pansy decides to tear Y/N’s attention away from the broken girl staring at them through the mirror.

She softly holds Y/N's hand and helps her to the shower, turning her head when Y/N undresses and then carefully cleans her blotched skin. Once they’re done, she lends Y/N some pajamas and underwear, giving her the privacy and space to change into them before helping her dry her hair.

Wordlessly, Pansy leads Y/N away from the mirror. Her grip is firm as she swings open the bathroom door. Y/N squints against the sudden invasion of light from the room beyond. Her gaze takes in the expanse of her surroundings and the rich emerald hue of the Head Dorm's walls. Then, her eyes lock on two men. One with platinum blond hair and the other with brunette locks, both embracing the shadows with deadly intent in their fiery eyes.

She bristles, caught between shying away and clutching the attention she’s receiving from them. Y/N doesn’t dwell on their appearance for too long, afraid to develop the ability to read their eyes and stumble across the shame and pity possibly nestled within them.

Pansy whispers something under her breath, which Y/N fails to hear under the barrage of despondency she finds herself in. She feels Pansy’s hesitant touch on her forearm, briefly catching her and Draco retreating away, the door to the room closing behind them in a soft thud.

Silence runs freely around the room, undeterred by the confined space. Its loudness disturbs Y/N, forcing her to wince. She wills herself to say something, but all the words are lodged in her throat, searing it from the inside out.

Theodore takes a deep breath, the sound piercing the stillness in the air. But his words don’t leave his mouth the same way his gaze never paces beyond a fixed point on the ground.

“Why are you not looking at me?” Y/N asks. She’s surprised that she’s articulated her thoughts even though she doesn’t have enough strength to speak.

Theodore shakes his head. “I can’t”. His words have finally forced his gaze away from the ground, although he’s refusing to settle it on her.

“I wouldn’t look at me either. I get it.” Y/N sniffles. Darkness clouds her sight. She’s tired and aching, barely finding her grip on reality.

She wants to scream, and she wants to cry, but it’s like she doesn’t know how. Like her mainframe has been hijacked and forced to shut down.

Something in her periphery catches her attention. Theodore is now standing before her, hands trembling by his sides. They move to embrace her waist, to hold her shoulders, to cup her face; but they never do. They only trace invisible lines that mirror her figure. It’s then that she notices the fray in his gaze. Instead of the rejection and the indifference she expected to find, there’s dejectedness, misery, and pain.

“I would look at you forever if you let me,” Theodore answers with his hands hanging in the space between them. “If you would still allow me.”

“Touch me,” Y/N retorts. Hold me, find me, fix me, love me.

And Theodore does just that with unprecedented gentleness. He traces her cheeks with his thumb and pulls her by the waist closer to his side. His nose nuzzles her neck, breathing in her scent. His lips press against the shell of her ear, his warm breath penetrating her soul and sending a fond tingle down her spine.

He touches her, not like she’s a porcelain doll or a bomb about to detonate. Theodore touches her like she’s the most precious piece of art he’s ever encountered, and he’s afraid that even one stumbled breath could force her colors away.

“I love you,” he confesses. A loan tear accompanies his declaration, inscribing the words on the fabric of Y/N’s soul. “And I am so sorry. So sorry, my love, for what my absence and negligence have put you through.”

“Theo…”

“No, Y/N. Don’t. Don’t try to say anything.”

Theodore wipes her tears, gently tucking some loose strands of her hair behind her ears. Y/N nods, allowing her boyfriend to hoist her in his arms and carry her to bed. She hides her face in his neck, absorbing the lingering traces of his sandalwood perfume.

When he places her on the bed, she notices the change in his demeanor as soon as she tangles her legs with his and rushes to press his hands against his chest. Her eyes fill with tears, and she fails to prepare herself for the rejection that she’s afraid might be rushing her way.

To her astonishment, Theodore pulls her into a tighter hug, as if seeking a connection beyond the surface, binding together not only their skin but also the intricate layers below—souls, hearts, atoms.

“Did he…” Theodore pauses, choking on unspoken words. “Did he go far?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. You and Draco came just in time.”

“Barely,” Theodore denies. A stolen glance gives Y/N a clear view of his clenched jaw and crestfallen expression. The war may be looming, yet to find its way to the Wizarding World, but it has already made a dominion in Theodore’s features.

“Just in time.” Minutes pass while Y/N is cocooned protectively in between Theodore’s strong arms. They encase her, filling her being with the placidity and the tenderness that was robbed of her some time ago. Her eyes close, darkness not as fearful as it seemed now that Theodore’s hands are weaving through her hair, and his voice is carrying a tender lullaby. “How did you know?”

Theodore’s hands falter and the lullaby ends on an abrupt note. His arms pull Y/N closer to his chest as he ruefully explains what happened, “A Gryffindor boy found me. He was frightened and jittery. At first, I thought it was because Draco and I were standing together. Then he said something about Defense class, the Carrows, and the Cruciatus. Your name got suddenly tangled in the gruesomeness of it all, so I rushed to the class as far as I could."

“They wanted me to hurt him,” Y/N whispers in a small voice.

“I know.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Theodore looks at her with glassy eyes. “I know you would never.”

His hands sooth Y/N, featherless touches easing the altercation in her soul. She meets his gaze, heart shattering at the pain he harbors. She knows it’s not easy for Theodore to be a silent witness to torture and heartache, understanding his unconscious pursuit of absorbing pain and rooting it in his very being.

“Please,” she begins, “please, Theo. Don’t blame yourself.”

“I’ve failed you.”

“You haven’t.”

He declines vehemently, “I promised to protect you from the darkness, within me and beyond me. And I have clearly done neither.”

You had no way of knowing! Y/N argued in her head. You, alone, cannot stop this madness! So many rebuttals swarmed her head. She wanted to pelt Theodore with every single one of them until some sense got knocked into him. “Darkness,” he says so loosely as if he’s ever exposed her to any of it.

All her memories of Theodore exuded radiance, softness, and peace. He’s only ever steered her away from the darkness, whether it was from Umbridge’s rage back in their fifth year or Bellatrix’s terror at the end of their sixth.

To hear him speak of himself like this, as if he’s one of them, a shadow branded by the mark of death, hurts her more than everything Amycus did to her.

“What did you do to Amycus?”

The name causes Theodore’s heart to falter beneath the palm of Y/N’s hands. Her eyes trace the veins of his neck, astounded by the voraciousness of their color as his anger escalates. “Do not say that vermin’s name.”

Darkness, Theodore would call it if he sees himself now. And yet, all the world is witnessing according to Y/N is a darker shade of love and concern: just as sincere, a lot more warm.

“Carrow,” she concedes. “What did you do to Carrow?”

“I wanted to kill him,” Theodore answers, studying Y/N’s face for a reaction. “I almost killed him.” If he was looking for disgust or worse, fear, he couldn’t find it.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Draco called for Snape.”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly reaching for Theodore’s hand. He hesitates when he feels her fingers entwining with his, his entire body tensing up. Y/N whines, and he takes a deep breath. His fingers lace hers, squeezing her hand before bringing it to his lips.

“Are you in trouble?”

“No, treasure. No one but that scum is. Snape said nothing. He bound his hands and escorted him to his office.”

“Good,” Y/N replies.

“That’s not all,” Theodore intercedes, catching her attention. She shifts in his arms, waiting for his next words with a bated breath. “We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” came Y/N’s question, loud, sharp, and clear. It resonated across the room, its intensity surprising her.

“I didn’t kill him,” Theodore admits. He’s moved now, body peering away from Y/N’s hold to better study her features. She keeps them the way they are, with no sign of the acrimony or the resentment she suspects Theodore is looking for. “But I uttered the curse. Draco countered it somehow, and it rebounded. Hit the wall instead. It cracked it, the same way I cracked every single bone in his body and watched him bleed.”

As the words fill the space between them, Y/N rushes to grab Theodore’s hands. She inspects them, surprised to find them bruising. How did I not notice this? She whimpers at her late realization—her neglect. But now that his marred skin is beneath the scrutiny of her gaze, she notices that the blue and purple hues are rather dull in comparison to his story.

Almost as if Theodore understood her silent concerns, he says, “Cruciatus.” Y/N bristles, though her body is traitorous. It jolts, feeling the residue of the invisible needles and acid-laced knives. “Sectumsempra and a number of other curses that flew out of my mouth without thought when I saw you lying on the ground, bloody, bruised, broken. Torn apart by a mediocre middle-aged man, who deserves nothing but to be decapitated, torn limb by limb, until there’s not even a speck of his ashes left on the—”

“Theo,” Y/N calls. Her voice quivers, mirroring the tremble in her body provoked by those words. “Stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Theodore sniffs, head bending down.

Y/N rushes to answer, shaking her head violently. “No. I can’t… I can’t watch you tear yourself apart over something you had no control over.”

“I—”

“Listen to me! Listen to me and not the lies inside your head. Does it hurt? Yes. Does it burn? More than a Fienfyre cast by the Dark Lord himself. But you weren’t there—no, Theo, come back to me and stop traveling in time inside your head.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” Theo defended. “Merlin, Y/N. I was supposed to be there! To stop all of this from happening. You’re in pain more than I am. So, stop subduing my anger!”

“I’m subduing your self-deprecation! I’m not blaming you, and I will not fan the flames of your anger. You had no way, no way, of knowing Carrow would do this.”

“I’m supposed to protect you,” he answers with a little less fight and a lot more shame.

“And you did, Theo,” Y/N assures, bringing herself closer to his side. “You got me out. You saved me. In time.”

“Barely!” Theodore screams, a deluge of tears running down his cheeks and burying his resolve in their undertow. “But I will save you this time. I’ll get you out. Both of us. I’ll take you away, somewhere you won’t be judged for your blood or your mistake in choosing me.”

“You’re not a mistake,” Y/N refutes, begging him to see. “Look at you. You call yourself a vision of darkness when your love and care are shining through.”

“My love is darkness, viciousness, and cruelty.” It’s almost as if he’s the one begging her to understand.

Tears cascade down Y/N’s cheeks, the saltiness and bitterness of them incomparable to Theodore’s words. “Your love is fierceness,” Y/N professes, taking Theodore’s breath away, “seamlessness, and warmth.”

“I made you live through pain,” Theodore pleads, hoping she agrees. But she doesn't.

“And I will live after it. With you.”

The confession shatters the last of Theodore’s resolve. He pulls Y/N closer, resting his chin atop her head and enveloping her in a secure embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he cries. His fingers weave through her hair, gripping the back of her head, anchoring himself in her presence—convincing himself that she’s here. “You are so strong, treasure. Stronger than life and death, brighter than light, and fiercer than shadows. I love you, my Y/N. And I swear on your head and on my mother’s last breath that I will protect you even if I have to do the unforgivable. No one will ever hurt you ever again.”

“I know,” Y/N nods as Theodore kisses the crown of her head. Each breath he takes, every word he utters, stitches through her soul, mending the threads of herself. “And I love you all the more for it.”

“You’ve endured a war. I’ll be damned if I let you face another,” Theodore promises, capturing Y/N’s lips and seamlessly merging his soul with hers.

Tomorrow remains uncertain, and control extends only so far across the horizon. Yet, with Theodore by her side, Y/N finds the darkness considerably less formidable. Even if he's willing to commit the unforgivable to shield her, forgiveness is a given. His love is the tranquility that follows the tempest, and she's ready to navigate through destruction with Theodore.

I never expected to write about a topic as painful and sensitive as SA or rape.

Hearing the multiple accounts of women around me made me see how these experiences are prevalent yet scarcely communicated. When I wrote this piece, it was with no intention to diminish the seriousness of the issue but rather use this platform as a conduit to raise the matter and bring it to light. Whether you’ve been personally impacted by this disheartening situation or witnessed someone close to you go through this, I want you to know that you are not alone. You are incredibly brave for enduring this, and there is no reason to feel ashamed. You lived through it and will live after it with even more fierceness and courage than you've ever had.

If you ever feel like talking, please know that I am here to listen, without judgment or reservation. 🤍

All-Fandom Taglist: @xxrougefangxx

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lets-try-some-writing · 7 months

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All those bugs are fun and all, but what if the bots were patrolling in a more high grass environment and then suddenly the whole field lights up (they’ll probably think they set off some sort of explosive and they kinda did). Then a huge swarm of fireflies comes flying around. I don’t think they would think it’s that gross but they’re more amazed by their hypnotizing beauty and nature.

This requires a short written scene.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Generally speaking, Ratchet hated insects. It wasn't just that the abominable little things looked like even smaller scraplets, but it was also in large part due to how... odd they were. If he looked at them with the optics of a Doctor, he could appreciate their formation and structure. Carapaces to shield from danger, senses on par with any far larger being, abilities that bordered on supernatural in light of their small size-

The list went on.

And yet, he still had to believe that he hated insects. So spindly, far too similar to the monsters of Cybertron. How could he possibly enjoy them in any capacity outside of the realms of medicine?

"Ratchet! Look!"

Smokescreen ran through the field, his pedes thudding with every step as hundreds of the small glowing insects ascended into the sky. They fluttered about aimlessly, their tiny frames flaring with bioluminescent light that vaguely reminded Ratchet of home.

"They are called Fireflies." Optimus supplied as he stood still in the center of it all, his optics drawn to the creatures that hovered around him. The glint in his optics told the tale of an Archivist not yet completely torn from his nature. The Prime held up a digit, allowing one of the fireflies to land on it. He smiled, and Ratchet found himself a little lighter seeing it.

"So small..." Bumblebee's binary voice chimed in. He reached out, barely prodding the little things as his optics spiraled wide in wonder. His door wings fluttered, and beside him Arcee smiled as she held the children in her servos. They were pointing in awe, glee etched onto their features.

Bulkhead and Wheeljack were doing their best to put a few of the insects into jars, but their digits combined with comparatively tiny containers and creatures led to them struggling mightily. They floundered in a desperate attempt to catch the bugs without crushing them. Ultra Magnus stood stiffly around the edge of the field, but even from a distance, Ratchet could sense ease from him.

He returned his gaze to the insects glowing above. If he didn't focus on the differences, he could almost imagine he was back on Cybertron enjoying the forests during a cycle off from the clinic.

He hated insects, but maybe just for a moment he could learn to appreciate them.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #team prime #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #arcee #bulkhead #wheeljack #smokescreen #ultra magnus #tfp kids

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declanmackinolty · 2 years

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ledparlightsindia · 2 years

Link

#SP001 ledpar light #led light #led par light #led par lights

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spicerackofblorbos · 6 months

Text

Amethyst | Leon Kennedy x bartender!fem!reader

☾ summary ➼ Your favorite customer finally returns after a mission. Your car broke down on the way into work, so he drives you home in the dead of night (morning?).

☾ content/warnings ➼ fluff, canon world, alcohol, alcohol consumption, cigarettes/smoking, fem!Reader

☾ wc ➼ 3.4k

Being late for work was par for the course for you. Your car breaking down just fifteen minutes from your destination was purely coincidence. But the cold, bone-chilling rain that drenched you from head to toe was entirely your shitty luck.

The time read half an hour past your scheduled shift by the time you burst through the door that led from the back alley into the fluorescent lit employee office of the bar you worked at. Muffled laughter and music weaves from under the heavy bar door into the office. With a frustrated sigh, you shake the water from your hair. As you’re in the middle of pulling off your soaked through sweater, your name is called from behind.

“Where the fuck have you been?” The voice belongs to your manager, someone who has not missed a cigarette a day in her life. Before turning around, you roll your eyes then force a smile to hide your annoyance.

“I tried calling to warn you, but no one answered.” You retort, straightening out the moist tank top that ruffled up from taking off the extra layer. You glance over your shoulder at your unamused manager once settled.

“I was busy manning the bar that you should be behind right now.” She says back as she plops down into her desk chair with a huff. The sound of a metal scratching reverberates off the walls as they light a cigarette, the white paper tucked tightly between pinched lips. After taking a long drag, her eyes meet yours before demanding, “Get out there before I fire your ass.”

“You know you can’t, this place would fall apart without me.” You say sarcastically as you tie your apron around your waist. On your way out, you pass the mirror that you had propped up against a shelf so long ago. Tired eyes stare back at you, your hair practically dripping water down to your shoulders and chest. With a soft sigh, you push the heavy metal door and enter the busy bar.

As with most busy shifts, time flew by quickly. Your mind went into autopilot as you poured drinks, took food orders, and made small talk. The heated stares and flirty comments unfazed you because you knew they would lead to big tips. You aren't a stranger to using your body and kind smile for extra cash, being in this job for as long as you have.

About an hour before closing, the front door swings open followed by a pair of heavy boot steps and the door shutting closed. With your back turned, you’re in the middle of drying off some glasses to be set back on the rack. The bar has slowed to a crawl at this point with only a few patrons in the back talking quietly. The sound of a barstool sliding on the hardwood floor makes your ears twitch slightly.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” You say over your shoulder, picking up another glass to dry.

“Is that how you greet your favorite customer?” Someone says. The gruff voice makes you pause, a wide smile slowly forming on your face.

“Well, I’ll be. I figured you skipped town considering how long it’s been, Kennedy.” You tease before turning around.

Leon Kennedy sits on the stool directly in front of you, dirty blond hair swept back from fingers and held there by rain. His icy blue eyes look up at you in amusement, the smile underneath them reflecting the same. A few day-old scratches mar his pretty skin.

“And what, leave the only bar that carries my drink of choice?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest and leans back into the chair with a smirk.

“You can get that shit anywhere, don’t even.” You laugh as you reach below the bar to grab a small glass. In no time, a few ice cubes mixed with a dark, amber liquid is placed in front of him.

“So. Where’d you go this time?” You lean an elbow on the hardwood, propping your chin up to watch Leon. He takes the glass with nimble fingers and pulls it to his lips, opting to take a tentative sip before speaking.

“Spain.” His lips pursed before taking another sip.

“Bring me anything good?”

His eyes glance at you over the rim of his glass. There’s a sparkle in them that you know all too well.

Leon, being a long-time patron of yours, meant getting to know him well. You knew everything from what he does in his spare time to what he had for dinner the night before. All except for his line of work.

He was an expert at dodging questions that related to it, so you learned to stop asking about it. All you knew was that he traveled and would sometimes come back looking like he got the shit beaten out of him.

“Unfortunately, the plane crashed on the way here. Lost everything.” He shrugs, his lips twitching at the corners. “I was the only survivor.”

“Shame, would’ve been cooler had you lost a limb at least.”

“Ouch.”

You place a hand out expectantly, staring at him. About 9 months into being a regular, he started bringing you little gifts he saw during his travels. There’s even a shelf in your apartment dedicated to the weird and niche trinkets he gave you. In return, you gave him company and a few drinks on the house.

Leon rolls his eyes before setting his glass down and shifting so he can reach into his back pocket. Without effort, he pulls out something small and places it into your outreached hand.

At first glance, you notice the sparkle that reflects off the smooth surface. The dim lighting from the bar doesn’t offer much, but it was enough. You pinch the item, slightly bigger than a thimble, between your thumb and forefinger before putting it up towards the light and closer to your face to get a better look.

It’s a purple stone of some sort, imperfected by scratches and pock marks. No, not just any stone. It’s a gem. And it’s gorgeous.

“Leon, where did you go to find this?” You whisper with wonder. Your fingers twist the gem so that the light reflects off the surfaces radiantly.

“Found it in a small village.” Leon replies nonchalantly as he picks up his glass and takes another sip.

You tuck the gemstone in your palm and close your hand tightly, feeling the edges of it dig into your skin.

“This is wonderful, thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah. I knew you’d kick me if I didn’t bring you something back.”

Little did you know that every mission Leon goes on, he always has you on his mind. Even with the hell he goes through, he is always on high alert for something you might like. So far, he hasn’t failed.

“Damn right, I would have. That’s why you’re my favorite customer.” You laugh as you carefully slip it into your coin purse for safe keeping.

The last few patrons wave at you as they head out into the night, their jackets pulled over their heads to hide from the torrential downpour. As the front door shuts behind them, you hear the angry roar of the wind and rain as it slams down.

At this point, your manager had left you to close up for the night, so it's just you and Leon. The whole place is quiet now, bar for the classic rock playing on the speakers above.

“Are you planning on staying for another round or…?” You ask, raising an eyebrow at your blonde-haired patron.

“If you don't plan on kicking me out, sure. Can I buy you a drink?” Leon smirks again before tipping back the rest of his drink. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“If you're actually paying, sure.” You roll your eyes with a smile. You set your towel you were using to dry glasses onto the countertop then make your way to the front door.

Like every night, you lock the door, pull down the door blinds, and unplug the open sign. It's so dark outside that you can see your reflection clear as day. Without thinking, you find yourself grooming your hair out and straightening up your clothes.

“You were gone for a while. Any idea when you're heading back out?” You ask as you make your way back behind the bar. You busy your hands with two drinks this time, one for him and one for you.

“Hopefully not for a while. The last business trip was a… big one for lack of a better word. My superiors told me they needed time to get things in order, but I think it's just their way of telling me to take a vacation.” Leon grumbles, mindlessly playing with his cocktail straw. Despite the size of his hands, his fingers move with careful intent.

You can't help the way your heart jumps in excitement to hear he'd be staying longer than a few days this time. One time, he was gone for a few months and you thought he moved away. You didn’t expect him to come just to say goodbye to you, but you were disappointed nonetheless.

“Well, that's good. You could use a vacation. You're practically growing gray hairs already.” You tease. The drinks you made for the two of you are ones you've made plenty of times, so it takes you no time to finish up. You slide Leon his glass before taking your own and sipping on it. The alcohol burns down your throat and warms your insides.

“You would like that, wouldn't you? By the way, where's your car? I didn't think you were in tonight when I saw it missing from the parking lot.”

“Were you looking for me specifically? I'm flattered, Leon.” A small laugh escapes you before settling back down, wincing at the memory of seeing your old beaten car stranded on the side of the road. “She died on me on the way here. I had to walk in the rain for this shift.” It was your turn to fiddle with your cocktail straw.

You were so busy talking up strangers all night to even think about how you'd get home. By this hour, you don't expect any of the cab companies to be open.

As if reading your mind, Leon raises an eyebrow and asks, “How do you plan on getting home?” His voice has dropped its teasing tone, now full of concern.

“Eh, I'll figure it out. It's nothing you need to worry yourself over.” You swat your hand in the air in a dismissive manner, smiling at his thoughtfulness.

“It's almost 3 A.M.” He states, as if that would change anything.

“I know! I'm sure if I call my manager or someone…” You trail off, thinking.

“I’ll take you home.”

There's a pause as your eyes glance over to him to see if he's joking. His face is emotionless from what you could tell, and his voice did sound genuine.

“I couldn't do that to you. It's really out of the city, and besides you've had 3 drinks.” You point at the empty glasses off to the side, now filled with light amber liquid from the ice melting into the remnants of alcohol.

“Nonsense. This is just a quarter of the amount needed to get me even buzzed. I'm fine.” His eyes meet your skeptical ones. “But, if it makes you feel better, we can hang out here for an hour or so and then I'll take you home. Who would I be if I left you with some weird stranger or walking home in this weather?” Leon leans back in his chair, the old wood underneath him groaning at the shift in weight.

You stand with your arms crossed, pursing your lips in thought. You really did not want to inconvenience him this way, and making him wait even longer seemed like too much to ask for.

Your eyes scan his face for any regret for what he said, but you don't find any. Instead, you find worry etched into his forehead creases and downturned eyes.

“Fine. But I'm giving you money for gas.” You say, pointing at him.

“Deal.”

As promised, Leon stayed with you for an hour. About half an hour in, you realized he really was okay to drive, but he insisted on staying just in case.

You both spent that time chatting, more from your side than him. He had asked what you've been up to while he was gone and at one point probed to see if you had started dating anyone, to which you scoffed at. Even if there was someone interested in you, they would never hold a candle to Leon. You didn't know that he’s held the same thought for a while now.

On your way out of the office after changing back into your now damp sweater and gathering the bar keys, you catch yourself in the mirror again. Compared to hours before when you were disheveled and wet, you're now content – no doubt because of the company you've had for the past few hours. With a soft sigh, you flip off the lights and close the door shut behind you. Leon stands at the front with his hands in his pockets, waiting for you.

“Got everything?” He asks.

“I think so. I made out like a bandit tonight with tips.” You joke as you brush past him to the front door, unlocking it so you can both leave.

“What, really? You mean, other people like you?”

“Oh ha ha, very funny. I’m a very likeable person.”

Leon follows you out and waits for you to close up behind yourself. Everything locks with a click. When you turn around, you're faced with a mostly barren parking lot being completely wrecked with rain. It seems the heavy clouds haven't let up yet. Leon's little classic car sits at the edge of the lot closest to the road.

“Wait here, I'll swing by to get you.” Leon says as digs for his car keys.

“It’s just rain, I will live.” You roll your eyes, meeting his gaze. The hazy streetlight casts a soft glow against his face as he gives you a lopsided grin.

“Absolutely not. Stay.” He orders before ducking and running straight for his car.

You don't know why, but you find yourself obeying and planting your feet into the concrete. Under the small awning, you're safe from the rain, but not the cold. A cold wind blows through, sending shivers throughout your whole body as you wait. Leon's headlights flicker on and before you know it, he's pulling up, the passenger side door facing you.

You tighten your jacket around your shoulders and make quick work of getting into the car, throwing open the door and sliding into the leather seat before shutting it quickly. The rain patters on the roof, muffled from the metal barrier. Despite the old look of Leon's car, the interior is quite nice and clean.

“Is this one of your projects?” You ask in wonder, trailing your fingers along the dashboard. Your eyes cut to Leon's face and instantly your face gets warm.

His swept hair now darkened from the rain hangs in his face, water dripping onto his soaked clothes. He’s dismissed his leather jacket, now only wearing a black shirt that sat flush against his skin due to the wet material. Even in the dim lighting of the center console, you can see his well-toned muscles in his chest and stomach. And his arms, oh man.

You force your eyes away once you realize how long you must have been staring. Leon looks away as well and you can't see, but his face flushes as well. He’s quick to put the gear in drive and start for the main road.

“It is, yeah. I've spent the most time on this one. What do you think?” he asks.

“I'm not a car person, but it's nice. It's very… you.” You say softly, looking out the passenger window. You don't elaborate further as you're not entirely sure what you mean by that, it just sounded right.

Leon huffs in amusement, smiling to himself. He reaches over to the volume dial of his radio and turns it up, allowing the sound of classic rock to fill the comfortable space. As the drive goes, you give Leon step by step directions to your house.

“I didn’t realize you lived so far away.” Leon says after a bit, slowing down at a stop sign. It had been almost an hour since the car left your place of employment. He waits a few seconds before pulling forward, no traffic in sight at such a late hour.

“Yeah, it’s quite a drive. My car was on its last leg when I got it off the lot, so it makes sense to have died on me. I just wish it waited for a sunny day or something.” You grumble into your palm which you had pressed up against your face, propping you up as you watched the streetlights flash by.

The nice suburban homes slowly transitioned into older family style homes. Many houses were dark, their lawns peppered with decorative trinkets or kids’ toys left behind to be played with on another day.

“Ah, the one on the right just after this intersection.” You sit up and point to the one you’re talking about. Leon effortlessly pulls into the one car driveway, the headlights reflecting bright off the light blue paneling.

“Cute home.” Leon says, leaning back in his seat. He flexes his fingers as if they were sore. It makes you wonder again what he does for work.

“Thanks. It was uh, my grandmother’s. Before she passed.” You say softly, unbuckling your seatbelt. You meet Leon’s blue gaze once again and smile at him appreciatively. “Thanks for taking me home.”

Finally, it seems the worst of the rain had passed. A light drizzle now takes its place, much softer and less angry. You pop open the heavy door and start to slide out before stopping yourself.

“Hey, uh. I mean, I know we’re not strangers or anything, but I understand it’ll be weird to ask since we’ve only talked at the bar… but would you like to come in maybe? I’d hate for you to drive back home on so little rest.” You don’t look at him as you say these words, feeling the heat flush into your face.

It was forward to even suggest such a thing, but you truly felt bad for dragging his night out longer than planned. And you would feel even worse if he got into a car accident because of his exhaustion.

“Oh, uh. I mean, I don’t want to put you out or an-“ he starts but you cut him off abruptly, finally able to sneak a glance. His eyes are wide, but more in surprise and less of disgust, which is what you were expecting to find.

“No!” You clear your throat before continuing, “No, it’s not a problem. It’s the least I can do since you drove all this way. It’s almost five in the morning, and I have a couch.” You say quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. U-unless you don’t want to or can’t or whatever.” You say, suddenly shy and appalled at your audacious suggestion. The thought that he might have had a partner hadn’t crossed your mind until now, and your heart hurts at it.

“It’s really kind of you, and I think I will take you up on that. I’m more exhausted than I thought.” He groans as he stretches a little in his seat, but suddenly stops as he whips his head in your direction. “Not saying I regret spending my time with you, of course. It’s been nice to catch up. I just-“

“It’s okay, Kennedy, I know it’s because of work. Did you just get back into town or something?”

“Yeah, came straight to the bar as soon as the plane landed.”

“Damn, you must have really missed those drinks.” You laugh softly. The leather seat squeaks as you push yourself out of the car finally, facing the cool mist that hits your face. You take a moment to stretch, your body creaking from the long drive, before shutting the passenger door with a gentle slam.

Leon chuckles to himself softly before shutting off the ignition and unbuckling himself.

“Yeah, the drinks.” He whispers.

You can find part II here!

please do not copy, repost, or translate. everything but the characters and world belong to me, @spicerackofblorbos. if you liked it, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!

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