#THEY'RE FINALLY TOGETHER AGAIN BUT NEITHER OF THEM REALIZE IT (YET)

[flovey-dovey]

AU if Emmet somehow poofed into Hisui same as Ingo but also, same as Ingo, forgor everything but his name...

Emmet: Hello! I am Emmet. I'm not entirely sure why I'm here, but I believe there's someone I'm trying to track down. He's verrrrry important to me (I think)!

Ingo: Hello Emmet, I am Ingo. I also have no memory of where I came from. It's strange, but now that you bring it up I feel like I might be missing someone important to me too...

Emmet: Oh?

Ingo: Yes... Well, I hope you find him. It's been a pleasure meeting you. Take care and drive safely!

Emmet: You too! All aboard!

Everyone else:

[neversetyoufree]

The way Noé Archiviste is written is so good. I'm so obsessed with him.

He's such a protagonist—endlessly hopeful against adversity and filled with kindness and attempted understanding toward everyone he meets. He's a good person! He wants to save everyone! He is genuinely and utterly without any sort of cruelty or unfair bias.

Yet, the more the series goes on, the more he's written as a very obvious parallel to our antagonists.

The most blatant example of this is the Ruthven parallel. Ruthven once happily said that he liked vampires, and in the same way, he liked humans. Noé repeats this exact same line when he has tea with Ruthven.

This parallel doesn't reflect too poorly on Noé, since it's pretty clear that something Happened to Ruthven to change him between his speaking that line and him becoming our antagonist, but it is an interesting way to tie the two of them together. It raises certain questions in readers' minds. In what other ways are Noé and Ruthven still similar, and how might Noé change to become more like him?

Then there's Noé's toxic optimism. The "you should be a little bothered, actually" aspect of him. Noé is the mirror to Vanitas's toxic pessimism. He latches onto the good in the world to a fault, and in this way he detaches from reality and endures an endless series of abuses to his person without even understanding they're abuses.

That is also one of the defining traits of Mikhail. Misha is unsettling in part because he is completely detached from any understanding of severity. Misha happily recounts being abused and watching his mother die not because he's cruel or hateful, but because he doesn't understand what's happened to him or why those things are bad. Misha wants to bring Luna back to life because he's in denial of the reality of their death. He believes he can just resurrect them and everything will be fine, and he'll get to play happy family again.

If Noé went just a little bit more extreme with the over-optimism, he could disconnect from reality just as badly as Misha has.

Finally there's my favorite parallel—the tie between Noé and his Teacher. Noé Archiviste has a tendency to watch others in fascination, trying to figure them out from the sidelines while he fails to understand his own impact on them, and he absolutely loves the Blue Moon. He thinks the Blue Moon is beautiful. Teacher spends his time collecting interestingly damaged children in putting them in awful situations, apparently just for the fun of watching what they'll do next, and he calls The Vampire of the Blue Moon "the most beautiful creature in the world."

Noé's curiosity-driven fascination with Vanitas's trauma and his love of the blue moon—neither of these are necessarily a problem on their own, but when written in direct parallel with The Count of Saint Germain, they become somewhat alarming.

In the same way that Misha is "worse" than Noé because his obliviousness to his trauma leads him to harm others, Noé's teacher is surely a worse person than him because he lets himself harm others in pursuit of his interests. Noé doesn't do that. But what would it take for that to change? He's pushed boundaries before. He learned to hurt Astolfo and Misha in the name of protecting those he cares about. What other strange places could his headstrong nature lead?

What might Noé do when his fascination and his obliviousness intersect? When the parts of him that are Teacher and the parts of him that are Misha overlap? What would he do to see Vanitas again? What might he do without letting himself realize how terrible it was?

Noé is a good person. He's one of the best people. But in his attentiveness and his optimism and his love, there's the seeds of something that could lead him down a very dark road. Each of the above antagonists is a little bit a part of who he is.

Misha wants to bring Luna back to life. Ruthven is working toward some mysterious aim with the dead or dying Faustina. And given how he talks in mémoire 55, I wouldn't be surprised if Teacher also had an interest in bringing back The Vampire of the Blue moon in one form or another.

In all his fascination and love and hope, would/will Noé be able to let Vanitas die when death is preferable to the alternative? This is a story about the inevitability of death, and the denial of that inevitability creates nothing but horror and perversion. Noé is growing and learning to understand both Vanitas and the moral complexities of the world, and we can only hope that he learns enough. We can see through his many reflections in other characters what he might become if he can't accept painful reality.

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hi, it says your requests are open! Can I request a nsfw scenario for Giyuu and his crush going to a public bath house, and the receptionist mistakes them for a couple so they have to share a bath.. hehe.. and he gets a boner and tries to hide it?

thanks and feel free to ignore im kind of embarrassed aaaa

AAAAA THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for being my very first ask! I hope you enjoy!

I'll try to work on the other asks tomorrow too! Thank you so much!

NSFW under the cut...

Bathing with Giyuu 💦

You've traveled with the water hashira long enough to know when his quiet stoicism slips into panicked silence. 

To the uninitiated, Giyuu's facial expression is one of dead calm, but his deep blue eyes give away far more than he realizes, and right now he's shitting himself. 

"It'll be fine," you sigh, standing shivering in your yukata. It's morning and the sun has barely begun to warm the world up. "I won't peek. We'll just bathe, get out, and never speak of this again."

You're mostly trying to assure him, but there is a little part of you that's nervous too. It's just a simple mixup; the lady running the bathhouse just mistook you for a married couple and sent you to the same private onsen. And if the pair of you weren't so damn introverted you could probably have the mistake rectified fairly quickly, but the thought of the awkwardness and the apologies... no this is somehow simpler.

Giyuu is already in the bath, submerged up to his shoulders, the steam and clear water doing very little to obscure his… everything. 

He sighs as you shiver and says flatly, "Fine. Get in. But if you tell anyone about this, especially the other hashira…"

"My lips are sealed… turn around."

He does as you ask, turning his back and lowering himself until his chin is touching the water. He stares at the rocks surrounding the edge pool as if they're the most interesting thing in the world.

Your heart races as you slip off your yukata and leave it hanging from a nearby tree. As desperate as you are for this bath, and as much as you tried to brush it off, it is a little weird to be naked with Giyuu.

You quickly get into the water. It only reaches your bellybutton, but you can crouch and fully submerge your body just like he's doing. "Okay, I'm in." 

You expect his shoulders to relax but if anything they get more tense. What little you can see of his face is bright red. "Ugh this was a bad idea."

"It's fine! Come on Giyuu, we've been traveling and fighting demons for days without a break. Everything hurts. I need this bath. If it's so awful sharing with me then you can always get out."

He shakes his head firmly, still looking away. "No. Absolutely not."

"Okay well… let's not make a big deal out of it." It is pretty fun to annoy him so you tease a little. "We're just two unmarried friends, bathing together…naked. Nothing weird about it."

He brings his hand out of the water to pinch the bridge of his nose. You brace yourself for his exasperated reprimand, but in the same heartbeat as he opens his mouth to speak you hear something. You sense movement behind you. 

He hears it too and the pair of you instinctively stand, both on high alert. After days of fighting for your lives against demons, neither one of you can fully relax yet. It takes a moment to realize it's daytime. The demons are all hiding from the sun. You're safe. Your yukata just slipped down from the tree branch.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you turn your head to face him. "Probably just a squirr- oh god!!"

You're naked. He's naked. The water is waist deep on you but he's taller…

And God, he's rock-fucking-hard.

He doesn't speak. He just releases a panicked grunt, attempts to cover himself with both hands, fails to conceal it fully, and dips down to hide beneath the water. 

And you just freeze as your heart lunges against your ribs. That image is burned into your mind forever; his lean, muscular body… the way it curved. The veins…

"Sit down!" He says finally. 

You bring up your arm to cover your tits. "Oh! Right."

As you submerge your body in the water. You're facing each other, both bright red, unable to make eye contact. Your heart is racing and you're pretty sure his must be too.

You're the first to break, your eyes sliding across to him. The corner of your mouth tugs upward.

"Not a word," he whispers.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Giyuu's eyes flicker to you and then away again. 

You can't hold it anymore. A laugh sputters out of you. "We're so ridiculous."

His well-practiced stoicism starts to falter, and a faint smile curves his lips. "Yeah. We are, aren't we?" 

It feels good to laugh; days of tension and exhaustion slip away, rising with the steam of the onsen. And it feels even better to laugh with him. 

[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. 

[jumpingjoltiks]

Would you consider writing some enemies to lovers with Emmet or Ingo? 🥲

YES!! I WOULD LOVE TO.

Dearly Detested

Pairings: Emmet x gn!Reader

Warnings: None :)

You and Emmet have known each other since you were both in school - Rival Classmates

While you're both equally intelligent and passionate about battling, you have better social skills then he does. and it pisses him off.

No matter whether he beats you in a battle or not, your classmates still side with you. It isn't fair!

In your mind, this uppety jerk has been far too blunt with you. He's insulted your battle strategies, insisted that bug types (ugh, ew!) are the best, and has generally been a pest demanding battles from you.

Thankfully, once you're old enough, you're able to part ways and go on your separate journeys. You both breathe a sigh of relief at never having to see the other again.

Cut to many years later, you've just started work in Nimbasa, and who do you happen to see on a local billboard - surely it couldn't be that smug bastard and his shithead twin?! No way they're so successful!

Oh you have to beat him in battle.

You pick out the strongest members of your team and start to challenge the double lines.

It's... much harder than you expected. You're not used to double battles, but you're determined to knock that stupid grin off his face.

Emmet, meanwhile, is very satisfied watching his old rival get their team knocked out again and again.

When you finally reach him, he's almost impressed. Almost. But he can't help rubbing it in your face a little.

"I am Emmet. You have spent a long time getting to my car. Do not worry. This will be your final stop."

You're so angry that you let it get to your head, and you lose. Badly. All of your hard work and here you stand, humiliated.

"What a shame. I expected better from you. But you know, in a Double Battle, if you misread one thing, the rest will be totally different. Please win 20 battles in a row, and fight with me again."

You're going to kill him. You're actually going to kill him.

The next time you come through, you have a new strategy. It works well for you. You work through his team methodically - this time you won't let your emotions get the better of you - and you come out victorious.

"Not bad! That was a verrry exciting battle. It was fun! The next time you challenge me, I won't lose."

Your ire has been cooled by your victory. Despite yourself, you find that challenging the subway has been the most fun you and your team have had in a while. So you go again. And again.

Your battles with Emmet are always new and exciting. You try to come up with as many interesting strategies as you can, and you can tell he's doing the same. You challenge each other. It's fun to have someone who can keep up with you.

Emmet has been keeping an eye on you during your battles. There's a lot you can tell about someone from the way they fight with pokemon. You're different then how you used to be - smarter. Nicer too. You treat your team so well, even when you lose you're never upset with them.

Over time, bitter banter makes way for a certain playfulness between you. You've been fighting for so long that most of the bad blood between you has been washed away with the flow of time.

One autumn afternoon, you're buying popcorn for a flick at the local movie theater, and who should happen to saddle up beside you but the subway boss.

"Look what the purrloin dragged out! Didn't realize you ever left the tunnels."

By wild chance, he's here to see the same movie that you are. You sit together because you know each other and it's convenient. Definitely not for any other reason, you tell yourself. Certainly not because you're friends.

When it's over, you still have much of the afternoon left. You could go home, or...

Neither you nor Emmet want to part ways quite yet. What a difference from how you used to be, when you couldn't wait to get away from him. You spend most of the afternoon together, walking through one of the local parks and just talking. It's nice. You have more in common then you thought you would.

Perhaps this could be the beginning of something wonderful.

Thanks for reading 💕

Emmet happy that he won and reciting his script vs Reader wanting to gut him

[villainousauthor]

Hi!! If this requests is something you don't wanna do, ignore this!!

So basically, in the middle of a fight, the hero just goes up and kisses the villain, and then backs up, and the villain is just standing there like: 🧍‍♂️

Trying to process what the heck just happened.

If the kissing isn't comfortable for you, head pats or like a sweet little smile or something like that is fine to!!

Again, if you don't wanna do this you can ignore/delete it that's fine by me!!

Have a great day/night!!

:D

The Hero breathes heavily, trying to catch their breath and manage to stay upright at the same time. The fight has been brutal so far, and neither Hero nor Villain have pulled any punches.

Hero gasps as their back is slammed roughly against the concrete wall of the building with a thud. Villain's fingers clench around the collar of their clothes tightly. Hero can feel the heat rolling off their body as they press closer.

"Ready to give up yet?" Villain's asks confidently, a wild grin on their face. They speak as if they know Hero isn't, and as if that makes this even more entertaining. Villain seems to live off the excitement their brawls bring, hungering for it like a person starved.

It's infectious and draws Hero in even more. They're addicted to these encounters just as much. The way Villain grips them tightly, the way they handle Hero so roughly, the way their eyes shine when they have Hero pinned. Hero can never get enough of it.

"Cat got your tongue?" They question, and Hero just then realizes they got lost in the moment, Villain's close presence fogging their brain like usual.

Before they can even properly think through their actions, Hero is throwing themselves forward, grabbing the Villain.

At first, Villain thinks this is some sort of counterattack until they feel hands gliding through their hair, and as those soft lips meet their own needily, they jolt.

Any of their defenses immediately lower, and they can't help the sigh that leaves their lips before the Hero pulls away abruptly, stepping back.

Hero looks at them, eyes wide as if they can't believe what they did, and Villain knows their own expression probably looks similar.

Several long and tense seconds pass before either speaks up.

"That...is not a part of our usual fights." Villain finally manages, voice unsteady. Their fingers twitch at their sides, unsure of what to do now. Their heart thumps in their chest, and they can hear it loudly in their ears.

Hero gulps. "I- I know." They look away as if they can't meet their eyes now, and Villain doesn't miss the deepening blush on their face. "I shouldn't have done that."

"No, you probably shouldn't have." Villain says, feeling inclined to agree. Their heart continues to beat wildly, and they feel the urge grab Hero yet again.

Hero turns away, embarrassment obvious on their face. "I should leave." Villain sees that they're about to flee and panics.

Before Hero is even able to register it, Villain is grabbing them by the face, sharp nails digging into their jaw roughly as Villain's lips claim their own desperately.

It's a rough and messy kiss, teeth clinking together as Villain kisses Hero as if consume their very essence. It's passionate, possessive, and aggressive in every way their fights are.

Hero bites Villain's bottom lip, and they groan out in response. After a moment, Villain pulls away panting, through their fingers still hold them tightly. "Just because you shouldn't of, doesn't mean I didn't like it."

[ohmynabiii]

𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ; 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

short and sweet fluff <3

your first kiss

𝐜𝐰 : none, all ages are welcome to read :)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.6k 

—

“It’s always in these quiet moments, just after sunset, when the world is painted in soft twilight, that you feel most at ease beside Seungmin.”

His shoulder brushes yours as you walk, the touch lingering like an unsaid promise. You’ve only known each other for a month, yet it feels like a lifetime — like you've always known the sound of his laughter when it slips from his lips, the way it builds until he’s clutching his stomach, his hand instinctively covering his mouth. You’ve learned the little things: his favorite foods, the ones he wrinkles his nose at, how his eyes light up when he talks about baseball, and the way he turns shy under your gaze, his confidence faltering for just a moment. And somehow, he’s memorized the same small, intricate details about you.

There’s something about Seungmin that draws you in, like you could lose yourself in the depths of his eyes, in the rhythm of his words. The nights you spend together have become a ritual, drifting into conversations that spill into the evening air, neither of you wanting them to end. He listens as if each word you say is something to be treasured, and when he speaks, you find yourself hanging on every syllable, drawn in by the sincerity behind them. 

Now, like you’ve done many nights that sacred month, the two of you walk side by side through the familiar streets, the conversations between you flowing as effortlessly as the night breeze. There’s a tension in the air, subtle but undeniable, something more than friendship settling between the spaces of your words. And though neither of you has said anything, it lingers, waiting to be acknowledged.

“You’re really intelligent, you know that?” The words escape your lips before you can stop them, but now that they're out, you can’t help but follow through. “I mean, the way you speak… it’s so thoughtful, like you’ve really considered everything before you say it. It makes me want to keep listening.”

His eyes widen at your sudden confession, the surprise evident as a soft blush creeps up his cheeks. He quickly turns his head toward you, as if searching your face for sincerity, but the warmth in his eyes betrays the shyness he’s trying to hide.

“You’re not just smart, Seungmin… you make people feel like their words matter.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in your voice, but the relief of finally saying it outweighs your nerves. You’ve been wanting to tell him this from the moment you realized how deeply he listens, how effortlessly he makes you feel heard.

For a moment, he’s quiet, as if weighing your words carefully. Then, a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his blush deepening under the fading light. “I didn’t know I did that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice low and warm. His eyes flicker to yours again, and there’s a softness there, something unspoken hanging between you, lingering in the space of the moment. 

You quickly look away, a sudden wave of shyness bubbling up inside you. The air between you feels almost too thick to breathe, the quiet weight of something unspoken pressing down on your chest. As your eyes wander, searching for something—anything—to break the tension, you spot it: a faint, glowing light in the distance. A small, vintage photo booth sits tucked away at the corner of the street, its neon sign flickering invitingly, like it’s calling to you.

Your heart skips a beat as excitement overtakes the nerves. “Look!” you exclaim, pointing at it. Without thinking, you grab Seungmin’s hand, a burst of adrenaline pushing away the lingering tension. “We have to take pictures!”

He blinks, caught off guard by your sudden enthusiasm, but follows you with a soft laugh. “A photo booth?” he asks, amusement mingling with a hint of nerves in his voice. He’s been unusually quiet all night, but you don’t dwell on it as you pull him closer.

The booth looks even more charming up close, its faded paint and soft, glowing interior giving it a nostalgic warmth. You lift the curtain and slide inside, barely able to contain your excitement. Seungmin hesitates for a moment before sitting beside you, the small space forcing your knees to bump and shoulders to press together. The closeness stirs something inside you, a flutter of nerves that you try to ignore.

You fumble with the coins, your excitement getting the better of you, and one slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor of the booth. “Oops,” you mumble, bending down to grab it, just as Seungmin does the same.

Your heads collide with a soft thud, both of you freezing at the unexpected contact.

“Ow,” you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your forehead as a nervous giggle escapes your lips. Seungmin’s eyes widen, a startled smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice soft and apologetic, his own hand brushing against his forehead. For a moment, you’re both stuck in this awkward dance of flustered apologies and quiet laughter, neither of you quite sure what to do next.

You finally manage to pick up the coin, the air between you lighter but still charged with something more, something unsaid. As you straighten back up and drop the coin into the slot, the machine hums to life again, the countdown starting on the screen.

“Ready?” you ask, glancing at Seungmin. He nods, but there’s something in his expression—an intensity, a quiet sort of tension that wasn’t there before.

The first flash goes off, capturing your smiles, your faces still a safe distance apart. For the second shot, you make a funny face, and Seungmin laughs, some of his earlier nervousness melting away. But by the third picture, things shift again. You’re closer now, your knees brushing with each breath, the air between you thickening once more. 

The countdown for the third photo begins, but this time, Seungmin doesn’t move. He glances at the screen, then back at you, his expression unreadable. The numbers tick down, and just as you expect the flash, he speaks, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question hangs in the air, quiet but heavy, and your heart skips a beat. You weren’t expecting it, and the sudden vulnerability in his voice makes the moment feel more intimate, more real than anything you’ve felt with him before.

You meet his eyes, wide and sincere, and for a second, all the playful banter, all the lingering tension, comes rushing back to you. You’ve thought about this, about him, but the way he asks—careful, as if he’s giving you a choice, a way out if you want it—makes your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect.

The camera flashes, but neither of you move. 

You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Seungmin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath, and slowly—so slowly it’s almost painful—he leans in. His hand hovers near yours, as if unsure whether to take it. His eyes never leave yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But there is none.

When his lips finally brush yours, it’s tentative, soft, like a question being asked again with each gentle movement. The kiss is hesitant, sweet and shy, as if he’s afraid of moving too fast, of breaking whatever delicate thing has been building between you. Your heart hammers in your chest, every inch of your skin buzzing with nervous energy.

The final flash of the camera goes unnoticed, the picture snapping without either of you caring. All that exists is the warmth of Seungmin’s lips on yours, the closeness that fills the tiny booth, and the quiet realization that everything between you has changed.

When he pulls back with unsteady breath, his face is flushed, and he looks at you like he’s unsure of what to say, his breath uneven, lips parted as if he’s trying to figure out what just happened. His expression is a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something that’s been building between you all night, maybe even longer.

You smile, feeling as flustered as he looks, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to settle. “That… that was nice,” you murmur, your voice shaking a little, as if you’re afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Seungmin glances down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah… it was,” he mumbles, his blush deepening as his eyes flicker back up to meet yours, his shyness mirroring your own.

You both sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, the world outside fading into the background. Seungmin finally looks at you, his eyes soft yet searching, and you feel a warmth spread through you as you meet his gaze. “I think I blinked… can we do it again?” you suggest shyly, gesturing toward the camera. A shy smile breaks through Seungmin’s earlier nerves as he reaches to put another coin into the machine.

“Definitely.” His response makes your heart race with anticipation, a flutter of excitement at the thought of capturing this moment again. As the countdown restarts, you lean back in closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you once more. You can feel the electric buzz between you, and in that sweet, shy moment, you both know this experience—filled with laughter and a hint of longing—will linger in your memory long after the photos are developed. The camera flashes, freezing another moment, as you both bask in the promise of what’s yet to come.

—

𝐚𝐧 : hope you enjoyed!! please don't hesitate to share any feedback :)

thank you for reading!! more to come soon...

🦋

[cruyuu]

hello 💕 love your sukuita analyses and edits 🙏 my friend and i were looking through Gege's official chosen songs for each character specifically for yuji and sukuna now that the manga is over and i don't know if many people noticed Yujis first song was "Heart ni Ho wo Tsukete" and the lyrics are??????? literally canon sukuita 😭 "burn your loneliness" "don't turn to ashes" "you and i are together" "will we love each other? will we turn to ashes?" like 😭😭😭 if you haven't checked it out please do because we were losing it

Hi jenjen and thank you!

I already heard Heart ni Ho wo Tsukete and I agree. The lyrics are crazy. The song is quite beautiful, tho, shipping aside.

As someone who loves looking into stuff and finding connections, it's interesting to me that a character song is hinting at having a deep emotional connection with someone as a way of pushing on through the worst of "the worringly bad state they are in".

Sure, some would say "It doesn't have to mean that" as in "It doesn't have to be abt sukuita" but I like to think that it does because it's not like the story itself relied heavily on Sukuna and Yuuji- beginning with their reluctant union and ending with their parting- right? It's not like Yuuji taught Sukuna something about love and managed to reach him, right? That definitely didn't happen lmfao.

Also... how do you even begin to explain these lines?

I’m attached Deeply attached to you It doesn’t go in a single line I’m attached to you And the lies we tell each other

Remember that this is coming from a song picked for Yuuji, so it's supposed to represent him. Who is he deeply attached to, so much so that the attachment he shares with that person "doesn't just go in single line"? Who does he tell lies to?

Who, again, said he'd do anything to kill that creep and then asked for his return to his body, said that he is the only one who can accept him and would live with him?

It's all so mind-numbingly sweet, very confusing and terribly funny. It makes me want to hurl myself off a cliff. Gaze into the sunset with the cigarette in my hands and just sigh like I'm seventy thousand years old. It makes me want to squeal, screech and not at all act composed like I usually am.

Like, sukuita's relationship has been at the very center of the story even if it was out of focus for a while. Yuuji was with others and Sukuna was with others but then when they met again... those others just couldn't compete. One of my friends joked that they're lowkey that sentence "I have been looking for you in other people only to realize you've been right in front of me this entire time." and I can't help but giggle. Hell, the story itself is proof of it lol

Like I keep mentioning in my posts, these two tend to just act weirdly around each other. It's not even "just hate", neither "indifference", because everything that Yuuji did made him reluctant to part with Sukuna in the end, and no matter how much Sukuna dismisses Yuuji, he's also praising him and acknowledging him over and over and over. Yes, they can't see eye to eye, yes, they're fundamentally different from one another but Yuuji still managed to try and understand him. Sukuna also ended up accepting Yuuji's viewpoint and considered taking on a different path, finally changing after years of remaining stuck in a single mindset.

Like not one person had managed to change his mindset for all those years yet Yuuji- the idiot, brat, thing, whatever- did. In just a couple of months lol. That was the final seal on just how important he was to him in the end. The only one to beat him, the only one to reach him, the only one to come running back with arms open to still allow him to live no matter if he destroyed everything in his life.

Lol.

Which brings me to:

If we burn our union If we burn everything Won’t we love each other? Won’t we love each other? Won’t it become ash?

It fits them all too well. Love under the guise of hate, killing as an expression of love, hate as an expression of fondness. Everything flipped onto its head because, after all, aren't they too, (from human to curse in Yuuji's case, from curse to human in Sukuna's) when around each other?

I swear figuring out these two (and, in general, just trying to think about their relationship or write an analysis) makes me want to bang my head against the wall. All I'm saying is, if Gege ever goes to create a tragic romance manga, they have my full support because they knew what they were doing, twisting and intertwining these two to perfection before they ripped them away. They made them so entertaining, both as individual characters and when they collided with each other.

Yeah. I despise it here (affectionately).

I hope both you and your friend have an amazing day or night and thank you for the ask!

[artificial-transmutations]

Two sides of the same coin - Buddies

"Yoooo Pete!", Tom shouted across the whole gym floor. He had just spotted his workout partner and waved.

"Hey! What's up?", Peter called back from where he was working out.

Tom walked towards him, wearing only his red gym shorts, showing off his toned body. Both of them would qualify for the dictionary entry of "jock": Both were young men in their twenties who met over their obsession with working out, drinking and picking up girls. Tom was the larger one of them both and had medium length blonde dyed hair, while Peter was half a head shorter and not quite as bulky as Tom. Still, both of them had definitely bodies that turned a lot of heads - and they knew that well.

"Are you doing anything later?", Tom asked the other jock after they had said hello with a short hug. Emphasis was on short, of course, since neither of them wanted to come across as gay.

"I don't think so," replied Peter. "Why?"

"Care for a post-workout beer?" suggested Tom.

"Sure." Peter responded, "But we will have to earn that first!"

"Yeah, let's go work out some more then," agreed Tom enthusiastically.

The workout was long and intense, with Tom and Peter spotting for each other in tandem. Back in the locker room, as Peter was waiting for Tom to finish his shower - the gym showers were pretty small and there was a mutual understanding between them that they would absolutely not shower together, that was gay shit - he spotted something on the floor under a bench. Curious, he bent down and picked it up: It was an old coin that looked like a silver dollar or maybe even a quarter.

"Nice", he said to himself and pocketed the coin, not realizing it vanished once he put it in his pocket. Tom finished his shower quickly afterwards and they both headed for Tom's apartment. It was close to the gym and a good place to enjoy a beer.

As usual, when they entered the apartment, it was sparkly clean. Both buddies were neat-freaks, and it was way easier to bring home girls that way. Peter flopped down on the designer couch and looked expectantly at Tom. "You mentioned beer?"

"Yeah, sure," Tom answered, going into the kitchen and opening the fridge door. He pulled out two bottles of cold beer and handed one bottle to Peter. "Cheers!" They clinked their bottles and took a sip.

Peter liked this kind of beer very much: It wasn't too bitter but still full of flavor. "So how are things with your new neighbor?", he made casual conversation. "The hot one", he added for not-needed clarification.

Tom smiled. "She's nice," he said, taking another swig of his beer. "Aaand really hot. Did I mention she left her door open while changing last week when I came home? She didn't seem to care if anyone saw..."

"Wow!", exclaimed Peter in disbelief. "And you're telling me you haven't fucked her yet?"

"Well, no... But I'm planning to." He took another sip of his beer before going on: "I mean, have you looked at her boobs? Just the right size!"

Peter had felt horny since they exited the gym, and his buddies graphic description didn't make things better. He tried to casually readjust himself to hide his boner. "They're nice, yeah. But what about the ass?" He asked curiously.

Tom nodded, thinking about her tight little bubble butt. "Yeah, she has a great booty. And she's got a killer rack, too."

God, Peters cock was throbbing. What was wrong? A little dirty talk didn't usually excite him so much. He reached down to his groin to readjust himself again, shivering slightly as he touched his cock through his shorts. His friends' comments made him feel strangely aroused, almost as if he would get a hardon just from looking at her.

"What is it with you today?", Tom finally asked, noticing the change in his friend's demeanor before suddenly laughing. "Are you having a boner, dude?"

"Yeah," admitted Peter, feeling embarrassed by the sudden realization of his erection. "It's your fault, talking about that hot babe."

"So, you're saying", continued Tom, laughing, "I am giving you a stiff one? No homo, man!"

Peter laughed nervously and looked away, trying to hide his hard-on. "Shut up, dude!"

But it was no use. His cock was harder than it ever was, and it was aching to be touched. He looked at Tom. They didn't have that kind of relationship, but he *needed* to touch himself now. Excusing himself to the bathroom would be even more embarrassing. So, he just fished out his leaking rod out of his shorts and mumbled "God, sorry, I hope you don't mind." as he slowly began to stroke himself.

"Dude! What the fuck!? Are you jerking off?! Do that at home!" Tom shouted, shocked by what he saw. He couldn't believe his best friend was doing that in front of him. He wanted to say more, but there was something else catching his eye: On the right arm that Peter was using to jerk his cock, he could see some hair growing in. Just a light coating, but clearly visible. Usually, Peter was well groomed, just like himself. His left arm followed suit.

"Dude! You're getting hairy!" Tom exclaimed, even though that adjective was really far from true yet. Peter looked down on the arm Tom pointed at, without stopping his slow jerking. Tom was right, this coating of hair hadn't been there before. As he looked to his legs, he could see the same thing happening there. For some perverse reason, this only served to make him even more horny. He moaned, as another spurt of precum wetted his hand.

"Dude, are you okay? Why are you fucking jerking yourself off in front of me?" Tom asked concernedly. He felt bad for his friend who seemed to be getting turned on by his own body changes. A small diamond patch of dark hair had now appeared on his friends chest and he could see small bushes of hair growing in under his armpits. That was when Tom smelled it. The manly smell of musk and sweat, coming from Peter. His armpits were damp from sweat, as this new smell only turned him on even more.

"Oh God Tom, I'm so sorry, but... I... You...", With a defeated grunt, Peter grabbed his buddies head with his right hand and forced it between his legs, and over his cock.

At first, Tom was surprised, before he tried to resist. It was no use, however. Even though Tom was supposed the stronger one of them both, Peter had his hand firmly at the back of Toms head and pressed him into his groin. Peters cock, which was slick with pre rubbed against his mouth which he kept closed at all costs.

"Come on!" Peter whined, increasing the force even more. "I need someone to suck me off here."

"I'm not..." Tom began to answer, only to recognize his mistake right after. As he opened his mouth to answer, Peters cock was pushed inside. He could taste the salty flavor of Peter's precum on it and almost gagged. He wanted to byte, but somehow didn't find the strength for it. He let out a soft involuntary moan instead as Peter's cock slipped deeper into his throat until it hit his tonsils.

Meanwhile, Peter noticed a visible trail of black hair running across his previously hairless cobblestone abs. He felt really bad basically face-fucking his workout buddy, but he just couldn't restrain himself. He *needed* to bob his bros head up and down his cock with his strong paw. As more and more hair grew in on his belly, he felt his body filling up more and more. His muscles were joined by a substantial layer of fat, giving him a burlier look by the second. At the same time, his smell intensified further, filling up Toms apartment.

Meanwhile, Tom was undergoing a change of his own. Every passing second, he felt weaker and weaker, his body visibly shrinking in on itself. It didn't help that his nostrils were simultaneously attacked by the increasingly intense stink of Peter and his large pubic bush that was growing in either. He was being used, and he hated every second of it, but found himself powerless to do anything about it.

Where Peters stink reached the apartment, it began to change, subtly at first, then increasingly fast: The designer couch became a cheap red leather sofa. In the kitchen, dirty pans and plates were piling up, a patina of dust and grime covered the surfaces. It looked like a wardrobe exploded over the room, as dirty laundry scattered over the floor, adding to the stale and stinky air with the same aroma that Peter was emitting full force now. If anything, this only served to excite him more. While his left hand went through his beard and his dense pelt of body hair, he grabbed more and more of Toms shrinking body with his right hand and pressed it into his groin, not caring that it changed into a wooly cloth like material that had seen much, much better days already. It was ripped and ragged, stained by numerous stains of various sources. Mainly, of course, cum, but also pre, sweat and even the occasional bit of piss that had leaked into Toms fabric body.

The cum rag that was once Tom was fully aware of everything happening to it. It could still taste and smell, all across its filthy fabric body, and was forced to absorb another huge load of cum that Peter shot into it, even though it was still damp from the previous one.

Panting, Peter threw the used cum rag onto a pile of clothing on the floor. He didn't care that his hairy body was crusty with dried up cum or that he stank like a cave man. Taking a shower was not a concept the new Peter needed, he was a real man after all.

If you're a fan of the theme, check out my other two sides of the same coin stories!

[g0thnico]

How I would make Nico and Percy an end game

(a very long text that I wrote at 3 am):

Before Percy threw himself into the River Styx, Nico would declare himself, as neither of them knew if this would work, so all that romantic tension that was between Percy/Rachel/Annabeth would turn into Percy/Rachel/annabeth/Nico, this would help Percy think more about his feelings about Nico, so he would be "rejected" by Rachel and still be thinking about Nico's declaration. thanks to that Annabeth and Percy would never have dated and Percy would still be thinking that during the holidays after the war in Manhattan.

Percy would be kidnapped by Hera, she would remind him of Annabeth to manipulate him, he would find Nico and remember him (even though that shouldn't happen) okay, everything goes normally, but Percy's decisive moment in his decision would be when Annabeth saw him and immediately spun him around in a judo strike. From that moment on, he understood which of the two really cared about him.

Everything would go on normally again until they find Nico in the jar, Percy rescues him and they have a talk about feelings (as much as they both hate it, Percy knew it was necessary) They kind of go into a state of "let's get to know each other before we date" and that doesn't last long because suddenly Percy is in Tartarus with Annabeth. In Tartar, Percy and Annabeth talk about this situation with Nico (he doesn't mention that Nico also likes him because Nico hasn't come out of the closet yet) and they understand each other, realizing that maybe they would be better as friends anyway, They find bob and Percy is like "did Nico say that?" And falling more and more in love. When he poisons that goddess to save Annabeth, he feels resentful when she simply acts like he's a monster and tells him not to use those powers.

On the other hand, Nico and Jason go to Cupid to get that scepter and Nico has to admit about his crush on Percy, but that's not so bad now that they're in a situationship, Cupid is kind of happy about it instead "muahahaha unrequited love! Pain! Suffering!" But he's still upset about being pulled out of the closet, but Jason accepts him and suddenly he became the #0 percico shipper.

when they meet again, after tartarus, Annabeth and Jason end up finding a way to get Percy and Nico alone to clarify things (and even kiss but that doesn't happen), Nico explains about cupid and Jason and Percy vents about Annabeth and misery.

This is a good start for them to get to know each other better and Jason was 100% trying to get them together, but it will take a while because they need to develop more to be ready to really to fall in love.

When they have to separate, when Nico stops to take the Athena Parthenon, Percy promises that as soon as this war is over, they would go on a date. and when Percy is leaving to prepare and face Gaia, he gets a lucky kiss.

(in this part I'm only going to talk about Nico because Percy's part doesn't have anything very relevant to the couple)

I don't remember exactly the order of things that happened in this book but:

Nico meets the Artemis hunters and something in him tells him to reveal himself to Thalia, after all, if her brother knows why not?

Before taking his nap, he ends up revealing he will go on a date with Percy to Reyna, he doesn't know her reaction as he went to sleep afterwards but she was like "oh, good for you man"

When he meets Hades, they have that father and son conversation and at the end he just says "...and I'm dating Percy" and hades "...the son of Poseidon? Wasn't there someone better?"

When Nico arrives at camp and Will Solace is babbling about births, and he just holds Nico's hand to place on his chest, in Nico's mind it's like "get out, I have a boyfriend" but he doesn't say that

This whole Nico arc is basically him finally feeling good enough about himself to come out to his friends and dad, but not good enough to disclose it to anyone. Still, it is a greater evolution than the original book.

The end of the war arrives and Nico is slowly turning into a ghost, Leo has died and so has Octavian, the air smells of death and victory and they need to rest.

The first thing Percy does as soon as he is free is to look for Nico, who was in the infirmary after using his powers a lot. Despite being tired, Nico never asks Percy to stop talking when he starts to tell every little thing about the battle when they were apart, and as soon as he finishes Nico lets out a "I love you, but right now I need to sleep for the next week." Percy thought he was joking when this literally happened. Reyna explained that this was normal and during Nico's nap, he planned their date.

The date: Percy was dressed up (like, with an improvised suit) and had a (stolen) rose in his hand, he took Nico to the entrance of the camp where Sally was prepared as his official driver (inside she was MY SON'S FIRST BOYFRIEND!!!) and there were snacks in the car because the trip would be long (They spent this time in the car talking about Nico's journey and how he came out to his father, Thalia and Reyna). Percy had asked for reservations at an Italian restaurant (a real one, with Italian chefs), because he remembered that Nico is Italian and he probably hasn't eaten real Italian food since he was a kid. They talk about everything, school, camp, friends, family. Until they both realize that neither of them know exactly what they want to do in the future. Nico wanted to continue life the way that is, doing missions for his father, traveling and meeting Percy (usually to save his life buuut who cares) While Percy wanted to have a normal life, going to camp in the summers to meet his friends and help the New demigods, but without going on missions all the time or risking your life, only if absolutely necessary, but still working in the mortal world (he doesn't want to go to college) and have his own house.

To conclude: they both followed their respective lifestyles, but they still met practically every day, and when they didn't, they called each other. Eventually they were falling in love. They only told a few people (Hazel, Reyna, Rachel, Annabeth, Jason, Grover, Thalia and Clarisse) and it was ok!

no one expected that this would end, But love is like that, it's very unpredictable

[ughtyrell]

Alive Ben, siblings reaction to his vaguely controlling, possessive behavior towards Klaus.

Au where Ben is alive again and continues to stay with Klaus even though the others don't understand why. They don't understand that's where Ben wants to be, is glad to be now that he has a physical body. That he's spent years only able to watch Klaus. Klaus is his in a way no one will ever understand. Even Klaus might not really get that either. Well. It's Ben's business anyways.

Having spent 13 years at Klaus's side as a ghost its not strange that Ben would continue to stay at his side even after coming back to life. Really. They others get it. They need time, Ben will realize he can part from Klaus and become apart of the family again! Klaus will realize he can't hog Ben to himself and continue to expect Ben to be there. They can both separate and be apart of the family. Together but separately from each other.

But it's not happening. Not really.

They don't seclude themselves exactly. They spend time with the family. But, never apart from each other. They come down from their room together. Yes, their room. Because they share a room now and neither have said anything about it and when any of the siblings had tried to ask about it they just seemed confused. Like they're the weird ones for even questioning it. But that's besides the main issue. It's almost like they don't realize that they can be apart from each other. That if one leaves the room that doesn't mean the other has to follow.

Another thing is how Ben acts now. More opinionated, which is good! Except he says things without thinking and is constantly looking at Klaus because he knows it will make Klaus laugh.(Which explains so much about Klaus's behavior of inappropriately laughing in situations actually.) Not caring if he's offending another of the siblings. He insults Klaus just as much if not more than he does anyone so that's just how he is now probably. They let it slide. Though they realize that Ben is less likely to let it slide if someone makes a comment on Klaus. Even if he was the one who started it. It's different he said, while looking at them with an offended anger in his eyes.

They notice other things too. Like Ben's mother hen behavior that made them laugh in the beginning. Some saying how finally someone is here to rein in Klaus. But it becomes a bit much and soon makes the others a bit uncomfortable watching Ben constantly comment on what Klaus is doing at any given moment. To how he sits, talks or just what to do. Klaus doesn't seem to give it any thought or mind. Complaining to them in theatrics, asking them if they see what he deals with now?? But he complies most of the time, the other times Ben is able to make him or sighs like he didn't really expect Klaus to do what he wanted but it was a old routine they did. So they don't say anything about it. Yet.

Ben knows he's weirding out his siblings with how he acts and doesn't leave Klaus alone but he honestly can't bring himself to care much. He's finally real, can finally actually be with Klaus and not just attached to him. Klaus is finally his, properly. He can wack Klaus on the head, turn him in the direction he wants Klaus to be, give him orange juice for breakfast and Klaus can only comply or fight Ben on it. And Ben knows Klaus isn't going to do that. It's satisfying and calming. More so that Klaus allows him to do all this. He doesn't care if his siblings think he's a freak, this is much more important to Ben. Of course he's happy to be with his whole family again. But it's better with Klaus there right beside him, he doesn't want to think about learning on how to be apart from Klaus. The thought makes the horrors stirr and him nauseous. It's better this way. The rest can either get used to it or leave them alone. He finally has Klaus in his grasp and he's not letting go.

Klaus is probably well aware of Ben's feelings and actions that are possessive but he honestly doesn't care. Too used to it and Ben is his bestfriend so he doesn't see a problem with it. Makes him feel secure even, he was afraid Ben would ditch him the moment others could perceive him so all this is actually pretty reassuring. Healthy? No. But when has he ever cared for healthy?

The siblings coming to the realization that it isn't Klaus who's hogging Ben. It's Ben borderline keeping Klaus to himself and not letting his hold on Klaus slip an inch.

More scenes include:

Ben dragging Klaus around with him wherever and whenever he wants to go. A siblings telling Ben he can go on his own or, better yet they could join him instead of Klaus! Ben staring at them for a moment and then saying he can wait until Klaus wants to go with him but they're welcome to come when it happens.

The siblings talking over things they've seen and if they should be worried?

One of them eventually commenting on it and saying how Klaus IS his own person you know that right Ben? And Ben immediately saying no he's not.

Klaus not helping at all because he just goes along with it all so nonchalantly even as the others are increasingly worried for him.

[rafyki]

Curious about Valdangelo headcanons? Please?

You should know I've been wanting to write a valdangelo fic for a while now, so imma go a lil wild with this ask lmao

It got long, so under read more~

I think they grow somehow close on the Argo II - not in the "they're friends" sort of way, but in the "somehow they understand each other even without really knowing each other way". Because they're pretty similar, you know - they're both hiding, always hiding part of themselves, and pretending pretending and pretending. Somehow, they know that the other one is the only one who really sees them on the ship - Nico can see that Leo feels left out, that he feels like the seventh wheel, can see that his humor and bubbly personality is as much as a farse as his own stand-offish and closed off attitude.

Leo is kinda the same - he's scared of Nico at first, of course he is, but then it's like he realizes that the way ppl treat him, the ostracization he's going through and his closing in himself, remind him way too much of himself.

They're kind of a mirror to each other - they take one look at each other and they're like 'oh fuck this guy might understand me', but they don't want to be understood at first, you know. They want to keep hiding.

Except that- it's the two of them on a ship full of couples and somehow they end up together. It's during guard duty, bc ofc they get paired up. And it's?? Strangely comfortable?? They stay silent and it doesn't feel forced, it feels strangely nice. Leo has no need to pretend with Nico, and Nico finds Leo's presence weirdly calming. So they start actively seeking each other's company out. Not really a proper friendship, but something close to that.

(lemme stop here with this or this will get like 6k words long lmao)

(anyway, this is how it starts)

The way they get together is kind of a mess (bc of course it is). They kiss, bc neither of them has had their first kiss yet and like 'we're buddies ofc we should help each other out with this kind of things!'. It makes sense, in a way. Also, Nico really wants to know what kissing feels like, so what's better than trying it out with his friend?

Makes sense, yes. Except that it doesn't , bc was he supposed to like it that much? Probably not. Maybe it was just bc it was the first kiss, you know, he didn't know what to expect and he was too excited - yeah, that must be why he liked it so much. Better try it again to see if it really is that good right? Right.

(this is what's going on in both of their heads, ofc)

And so, they're friends. Who kiss sometimes.

Leo is used to have crushes. He gets crushes so easily, and just as easily they go away. His crushes are a flash in the pan - they hit him all at once, and then all at once he realizes it's stupid and it goes away, replaced by something else. He thinks it might be his ADHD brain who doesn't allow him to focus on anything or anyone for longer that five seconds.

He's waiting for his crush on Nico to go away. He expects it to happen, expects to wake up one day, look at him and go back to see him as nothing more than a good incredible fantastic friend. He expects to find some other pretty guy or girl who will steal his attention this time too.

It doesn't happen. He can't look at anyone but Nico.

As for Nico, Nico is the opposite. He has only had one crush in his whole life, and it had felt life consuming, like it had been eating him up on the inside. That's why it takes him a while to realize he likes Leo like that. His feelings for Leo are soft and fuzzy, they make him feel good and nice about himself, he doesn't want to run away when he's with Leo (and isn't that a beautiful feeling?). Leo makes him smile and laugh and makes Nico feel so light, he didn't even know he still had it in him to feel like that. So at first he doesn't even understand that what's he's feeling is a crush.

Of course when they both finally realize that yes oh my god it's a crush and no it's not going to go away, they panic. They panic and they avoid each other because they don't know what to do, this wasn't supposed to go like this! Why is it so complicated! They don't talk to each other for days and it's miserable for the both of them.

(of course it take some intervention by their friends to help them out)

(actually, everyone thought they were already together. They're the 'they're the last to know they're already dating' kind of ship)

(again, lemme stop here with this, bc this is already getting long lmao)

Sometimes, often, Leo speaks in Spanish. He does it without even realizing it - when he does it with other people, they usually point it out and make him repeat himself in english. Nico though, Nico is Italian and speaks the language, and Spanish and Italian sound so much alike he can basically understand most of what Leo says. So he understands, and whenever Leo speaks in Spanish, Nico replies in Italian, and so they have these whole conversations in two different languages. People looking at them from the outside are like 'wtf', but it's their thing, you know.

They call each other the sweetest and sappiest pet names in Spanish and Italian, it's almost a challenge for who can find the most romantic and tooth-rotting ne to call the other.

(they start to call each other pet names even before properly getting together, which is part of the reason why everyone thought they were already together)

THIS GOT LONG OMG I should stop here lmao I definitely need to write a fic

Thank you so much for the ask!!! 💕

[bunni-v1]

Sfw list with ace? Thankyou

🍓I got some free time FINALLY!!! I'm still incredibly busy and my plate is so full, but I can write something in my inbox! I'm so tired guys, you have no idea, but I'm pushing through as best as I can. Wish me luck please ;-;

A - Affection: Ace is not an affectionate guy, at least, not in the traditional sense. He's not gonna be caught hanging all over you, kissing you every five minutes, or absolutely begging for your attention. No, he's like violent. Not like, beating you up violent, but punching your shoulder or giving you a noogie violent. It looks like he's bullying you, but that's just how he shows he cares dw.

B - Best friend: He's such a dick I hate him. Ace is an asshole, and he knows that and is proud of it. He's gonna be mean to you and pick on you and all that fun shit. You can pick on him and be mean to him in return. He's got your back, you've got his. It's all equivalent exchange with him. However, he will defend you till his dying breath. If someone else is being mean to you, he's not gonna have it. He's a bros bro, a homie, and an irreplaceable best friend.

C - Cuddles: Contrary to what I said earlier, he does like cuddles! He's not cold-hearted, and he does enjoy being a boyfriend. He's not always wanting to cuddle, but he enjoys them whenever he's in the mood. He has to be the big spoon, though, that's his only rule. (He secretly likes the idea that he can protect you no matter if you're bigger than him or not).

D - Domestic: Settling down isn't something Ace really thinks about too hard. If he had to give an answer, yeah probably would be it. He's a college student, he's not even in his twenties yet, so thinking about settling down isn't exactly something on his to-do list just yet. On another note, when he does settle down he's pretty good at doing chores and balancing out work and home life. You're never going to feel like you have to do too much at home compared to him, but you will have to hear him complain about it while he does it.

E - Ending: Ace is probably the nicest out of everyone? Weird, I know right, but he's not as heartless as people think. If he falls out of love with you, he's just gonna be upfront about it. He's not gonna make it all about what you did wrong or what he did wrong, he's just gonna be honest. You'll likely end things on good terms and go back to being best friends shortly after.

F - Fiance(e): It's not that Ace is afraid of commitment, it's just not something he actively thinks about. That isn't to say he's not committed, he is! He's not in a relationship with you just to waste it on a one-night stand, he just won't want to think about marriage until both of you are at a more stable point in life. Like, you know, not drowning in student loan debt. He definitely brings it up after two years of being together, because he likes the idea of marriage, just not yet.

G - Gentle: He is not, as I've already mentioned, gentle. His form of affection is physical and rough, and his words will always be sharp and pointed, but he knows when to reel it in and stop. If he is actually pissing you off he stops and apologizes. Yeah, he pouts and is grumpy, but he's not going to keep harassing you.

H - Hugs: Again, he likes hugs a lot. He won't admit it, but they're probably his favorite form of affection. He's a good hugger too. He's got the big brother-type hugs, you know the all-encompassing warm ones that you. just can't get enough of.

I - I love you: It takes him a while. He just doesn't think about the fact that he needs to say it at some point. It'll come naturally when it comes, that's Ace's philosophy on it. When he doesn't finally say it, it's in such a casual setting neither of you even realize what he said.

J - Jealousy: Ace does get jealous, and it's over the most stupid shit too. He doesn't feel threatened by anyone, because why would you be with him if you weren't willing to be loyal. Nah, he gets jealous of Grim and Deuce. He wants to be the center of your attention specifically when those two are around, and he rarely gets his way so he just sits there and pouts until you give him what he wants. (He pouts for a long ass time).

K - Kisses: Kisses fluster him so bad it's so funny. He doesn't know why they make him so hot in the face, but they do and it's incredibly funny. If he had to pick a favorite place to kiss/be kissed, he'd probably say cheek kisses. Only because they're the only type that doesn't make him feel like his head is about to explode.

L - Little ones: Ace is unsurprisingly not a big fan of kids. He's not good with them, and he himself is a giant toddler so can you blame him. He's like a textbook case younger sibling, and it shows the most when he's around little kids. He doesn't know how to act appropriately, unfortunately, that makes the kids think he's super cool and cling to him.

M - Morning: If you don't get out of bed first, neither of you are getting up. If he has an eight am, you're gonna have to be the one to get him up or else he won't go. He's not a morning person, and he spends most of the morning wobbling around groggy and grumbling about how tired he is.

N - Night: Ace is also a night owl, and he really likes to stay up late doing random shit. A lot of the time both of you take a train somewhere and just wander around and talk. In other cases, you stay up late playing video games together (sometimes Deuce joins). Late nights are when you and Ace have most of your deep talks together, and you really get to see who he is underneath all those layers at night.

O - Open: It takes him a minute to start opening up to you. It's not like he has some dramatic backstory or anything, it's just another case that he doesn't think too hard about it and therefore doesn't open up until it feels right. It's during one of the late-night sessions where you're wandering around the empty streets where he just tells you a ton about him.

P - Patience: With Ace, it's a toss-up. I don't even know if you could describe what he's feeling as anger, but it's somewhere along those lines. He's constantly just irked at something, whether it's something someone said or his own responsibilities, he's got an underlying annoyance. To say it ever goes so far as anger would be stretching, and I doubt it's ever directed at you. I guess I would say he's easy to rile up but hard to actually piss off.

Q - Quizzes: Ace remembers most of the important stuff that he needs to. He knows your birthday, the important anniversaries, and your favorites and all that. However, sometimes he just forgets. You can chew him out for it because even he knows he deserves it, but it's not like he was trying to. He just blanked. He makes up for it tenfold though, grumbling the whole time.

R - Remember: Going back to the "I Love You" bullet, that has to be his favorite memory. The two of you were chilling on the couch in ramshackle, playing some game or another (he can't remember the name of it, it wasn't that fun, but you made it a blast). You'd kicked his ass in a level, and instead of pouting he was laughing and having such a good time. And he just let it slip. "I love you." Without missing a beat you said it back, smile just as wide as his.

S - Security: Ace is fully aware that you can handle your own, therefore, he doesn't really step in unless you ask him to. It's a way he shows his respect for you and your relationship. The one time he'll go above that though is if someone is insulting you and you aren't around to defend yourself. He puts that person back in their place so fast he breaks the sound barrier. He expects the same from you, of course. Equivalent exchange and such.

T - Try: At the very start, he's not doing a whole lot. It's not like he doesn't care, it's just that he's a broke college student and he wants some lighthearted fun. Once you start getting serious he puts more effort into things. It's still not extravagant dates, but things you'd expect from him. Movies, arcades, amusement parks, etc. Fun stuff, but things that you can enjoy mutually!

U - Ugly: He doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut. He'll make a nasty comment to you that'll hurt your feelings and then realize that what he said was uncool. He speaks before he thinks in a lot of cases, and it causes a whole boatload of issues for the two of you. He'll cut it eventually, it just takes a whole lot of work.

V - Vanity: He doesn't really care all that much about looks, on both himself and you. Sure, he thinks you're the most attractive person in the world, but that's not what matters to him. He isn't that shallow. He takes good care of himself, but he's not doing insane skincare routines like Vil is.

W - Whole: He wouldn't feel incomplete without you. In his mind, the two of you are separate but equal. You are just as important to him as he is to himself, but you are not the same. He misses you when you're gone, but he can function without you by his side 24/7.

X - Xtra: Ace has wanted to grow out his hair since he was in middle school. The only issue is, he has no idea what he'd do with it. He's not great at styling hair, and honestly, he doubts his would be easy to work with due to how thick and coarse it is. He gave up on the idea in high school. After meeting Jamil though he's been thinking about it a lot and asking him a lot about hair care.

Y - Yuck: Sensitivity. To an extent, he understands getting upset over things because emotions are uncontrollable and human. If you can't take his teasing or his jokes, though, it's such a turn-off for him. His love language is teasing (mutually), so he couldn't be with someone who can't take that.

Z - Zzz: He will go to sleep in one position and then wake up in another. Sleeping with his head on the pillow, he'll somehow wake up completely turned around. He's woken up on the floor, hanging off his bed, in DEUCES bed. It's so odd and no one knows how he does it cause he's so quiet while he sleeps.

[littlemissmarianna]

Sometimes Carlos feels like the parent of an errant child. He turns his back for one second, and TK is gone. He was right here when Carlos reached for the avocados, but now his boyfriend is nowhere in sight.

"He went that way."

The woman sounds amused, and why shouldn't she? Carlos knows he's the picture of confusion, looking left and right, then left again as if TK will suddenly reappear.

"I think he recognized someone."

Carlos nods, though her comment just heightens the mystery. At this point in their relationship, Carlos and TK know the same people. Why wouldn't TK mention this person to Carlos? Why would he just walk away without a word?

"Thank you," Carlos says, giving the woman a parting smile as he heads in the direction she pointed.

It hasn't been that long.

Hopefully TK is right around the corner.

Or not.

Carlos sighs and shifts the groceries from one hand to the other as he walks to the next aisle, wondering why he tells himself he can fit everything in this basket when he knows damn well he needs a cart.

He always ends up needing a cart.

Whenever they shop together, TK follows Carlos around with a knowing little smirk until Carlos finally admits defeat. When the basket begins to overflow, TK takes his cue. He kisses Carlos and heads back to the front of the store for a cart.

That's their routine.

Playing hide-and-seek is not part of their routine.

TK should be safe in the grocery store, and yet, Carlos feels himself begin to panic when aisle after aisle turns up empty. The cans and boxes are in perfect rows on each shelf, and the strangers seem friendly enough when Carlos passes by them...but TK has vanished.

"Okay."

Carlos is done with this. He takes a calming breath and sets the basket on the floor as he does what he should've done to start with – he calls TK.

"Where the hell are you?" Carlos says as the phone rings with no answer.

He's this close to asking an employee to page his boyfriend over the store's intercom when Carlos suddenly sees TK standing by the checkout line. The instant relief is followed by annoyance, then concern.

Because TK is completely frozen, completely transfixed.

Carlos frowns and follows his gaze, his heart sinking when he realizes who TK thought he saw.

The woman in line – the woman TK is staring at – looks just like Gwyn from behind. Same height, same hair color, same overall style. Carlos thinks TK's mom even had the exact same sweater this woman is wearing.

Thankfully she seems unaware of TK's focused attention, but she does turn as Carlos approaches. She smiles at him and TK, looking nothing like Gwyn now that she's facing them.

Under normal circumstances, Carlos would smile back, but he barely glances at her as he grasps his boyfriend's arm.

TK startles at Carlos's touch, but he doesn't pull away. He blinks as if a spell was just broken; his face pale, his expression as blank as the night he received that phone call.

The night they found out Gwyn was gone, and their lives would never be the same.

It's been six weeks since then, but the pain hasn't faded.

If anything, the loss hurts more now.

It's sharper, deeper.

As they stand there together attracting an audience, TK stares at Carlos in disbelief – like he doesn't understand how he somehow just lost his mother all over again.

Carlos doesn't think twice. He leaves the basket of groceries on the floor and wraps his arm around TK, leading him past the gawking strangers and straight to the Camaro.

When TK is settled in the passenger seat, Carlos fastens his seatbelt and presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s temple before closing the door and crossing to the driver's side.

Neither of them speak as Carlos pulls out of the parking lot, as TK stares into nothing.

They're a mile from home before TK turns in his seat, his eyes welling with tears.

"I'm not crazy," he announces as if Carlos needs the reassurance. "I knew it wasn't her. I just..."

Carlos nods as he reaches for TK's hand, brushing a kiss across his knuckles.

"I just..." TK seems determined to say this even as his tears continue to choke him. "I just wanted it to be."

"I know, baby."

Carlos wants that, too. He wants Gwyn back.

"Is it..." TK takes a shuddering breath as they park outside the loft. "Is it always gonna feel like this?"

"I don't know," Carlos admits. Grief is different for everyone. "But either way, I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not," TK replies, tears streaming down his cheeks as Carlos wraps him in a hug.

[faerunsbest]

ROLAN IN A BACKWARDS MOVING RELATIONSHIP

LISTEN (this is once again to @drizztdohurtin making a Rolan post)

listen

hear me out.

What if Rolan meets Tav and eventually they're comfortable with each other. They're not emotionally well connected yet but they're friendly and have an undeniable chemistry there. Despite wanting to get closer neither have time for a relationship so instead, it takes a sharp turn and becomes more and less at the same time. Rather without warning Rolan finds himself embedded in her, she is comfortable and welcoming and so understanding when there isn't time to cuddle, no time for dates or togetherness.

Now this would happen a few times before it comes to his attention sometime later that shes with child and he damn near faints when he finds out. Of course the one who tells him is probably one of his siblings(nose little eavesdroppers) WHO HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS HAPPENING.

He gets a chance to ask about it, Tav just laughs and says yea she wasn't gonna bother him about and not to worry shes got it handled. He refuses to not help not be a part of things moving forward, so he makes time, rearranging everything in his schedule to make sure he can be at every meeting with the clerics and healers. He keeps his nightmares and panic attacks to himself, only his siblings aware of how terrified he is.

They keep finding him trying to get a nursery ready and falling apart because he doesn't know what to do. They have to remind him about his own life and that he basically already raised them, he'll be great.

At every meeting he does his best to make sure Tav has everything she needs or wants, he holds her hand when she looks pale and sick over certain smells. One thing after another and he doesn't realize until its almost over, halfway through the 3rd trimester how hard, how difficult its been on her.

He goes to bring her things he knows shes been craving only to find her laying on the bathroom floor heaving and struggling to breathe. Rolan cant help but fly into a panic over it, a slight outrage when he gets her into bed and she waves him off looking horrid and discolored.

"don't worry it happens all the time. Don't worry about me..."

He doesn't know if hes angry she didn't tell him this was happening or at himself for not seeing it. Looking around her place signs where everywhere. Grubby places down low she couldn't bend to reach and clear out, towels tossed here and there from continuously trying to clean up messes. Her small low fireplace cold and untouched.

"Enough! I'm bringing you to the tower and that's it- I'm going to take care of you."

Shes too tired to argue and fight, she can only huff in indignation while he and his siblings pack up her entire apartment and move her into the room beside Rolan's.

Imagine his face when he sees how much her body aches from just standing, her hand pressed to the small of her back and how slowly she needs to move down stairs. The discovery that the warmth of his body alleviates so much of her persistent aches and pains.

Deciding to share the bed so he can keep her comfortable. Watching the color come back to her because she isn't struggling anymore.

Cal and Lia on the sidelines watching the way he lets her lean on him when they're walking. Seeing him on his knees with an ear to her belly, grinning bright and wide when he feels little kicks.

The way he keeps buying pillows an leaving them EVERYWHERE, so she can tuck them behind her back when she sits or under her belly if she needs to lie down. Not a single room is safe from the hoard of pillows. Time gets closer and he finds himself pressing kisses to her face at night, while they stay up talking when shes just too uncomfortable to sleep.

He makes discoveries about her own fears, and alleviates them with the confidence he gained. By the final stretch he's asked her to stay n the tower, just stay even after she doesn't need help anymore. Just stay with him.

Instead of a sweet romantic yes, he gets

"ah, shit."

only to realize her water has broken and its time to go.

[starryredpandawrites]

Halloween with the Siblinks

Hey fam, I've been working on the next update and I wanted to post it yesterday for Halloween BUT I'm not quite finished with it yet.

So, instead, have some headcannons of what what I think Halloween would be like for Audrey and Bendy (in both forms) and a rough draft/outline of a scene for their very first one.

Btw, I would love to hear anyone else's headcannons/ideas about what any of the siblinks' Halloweens would be like so feel free to respond/reblog this post with your ideas and/or tag me in any posts that you make yourself :)

For their first Halloween together, I think Audrey would play it safe and plan on the two of them staying home together. She explained the whole holiday to Bendy and he was intrigued (Ink Demon form) and very, very, very excited (toon form) about the whole thing. He wanted to go trick-or-treating but after a few arguments he settled for just giving candy out to people and letting them see him in "costume". Audrey would have been more comfortable just hiding away and setting a bowl of candy outside the door but he gave her puppy-dog eyes and she couldn't say no.

At first, she didn't want to decorate to deter people from coming but realized how out-of-place Bendy would look answering the door to a normal apartment, so she goes all-out with the decorations. Obviously, they carve pumpkins (with Bendy's cartoon as the theme).

During the days building up to the holiday, Audrey talks about Halloween and tells him stories of her experience with it. Joey was too old to take Audrey trick-or-treating (plus, he wanted to keep her existence on the down-low) but he bought her lots of candy each year and she would help him pass it out. At one point, she told a story about a group of teenagers that showed up and took almost all of the candy they had and they ended up running out of treats to pass out super early. Both her and Joey were upset by this and he would talk about it every year after that, so she made a promise to herself to always buy extra candy so they wouldn't run out. She says offhandedly about how she believes teenagers should leave the candy/trick-or-treating to the kids, forgetting once again how Bendy takes everything literally the first time he hears it.

Anyways, the day before Halloween, Audrey is super stressed and has everything prepared in advance (and has had it prepared for weeks). Bowl of candy is filled with backup bags stored in the kitchen, and her costume is nicely laid out so she can jump into it right after work (she dressed as Alice Angel or some cartoon character to fit the theme). She also sets a chair by the door as a plan B just in case she gets caught up at work so that he can just set the candy outside the door.

She goes over the plan/what trick-or-treating will look like to Bendy. She'll do the talking, he'll hold out the bowl, then they'll go back to watching a scary movie together.

However, she forgets to mention her plan B.

Halloween happens and Audrey gets caught up at work. She is really, really sad about it but knew it was a possibility. She's still working on setting healthy working boundaries with her boss/coworkers but at least she gets paid overtime now.

When she gets home, late, she finds the chair exactly where she left it before and all of the candy she bought is gone.

Bendy is in his Ink Demon form, sprawled out on the couch and watching a horror movie. There's a half-full pillowcase of something on the floor next to him and several empty bags scattered on the floor but Audrey doesn't notice them at first.

Audrey: "Bendy! Did you eat all the candy I bought? That was for the kids!"

Bendy, glances at Audrey once before looking back to the TV, clearly unbothered by her anger.

Audrey storms over to the TV and turns it off.

Bendy jumps up with a challenging hiss and goes to turn it back on but she blocks him. Insert tense moment where they're boths staring at eachother, neither backing down.

Finally, Bendy basically asks, WHAT'S YOUR PROBLEM?! but imagine it with spookier, more eloquent words.

Audrey: "You ate all the Halloween candy."

Bendy: I DID NOT!

Audrey: "Then where is it?!"

Our inky demon boy stomps over to the pillowcase, picks it up and, in true asshole fashion, dumps its contents over Audrey's head.

Candy spills out of it, and Audrey is now surrounded by a ring of assorted types of candy. To her growing horror and surprise, she notices a lot of the candy is definitely different from the type(s) she bought at the store.

Audrey, no longer angry, just scared: Where did you get this?

Bendy: FROM THOSE WHO SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN OUT TONIGHT.

With some interrogation, Audrey decodes the Ink Demon's cryptic yet blunt answers and confirms that he did not set the bowl outside the door. Instead, he answered the door himself, switching between his Ink Demon for and his toon form depending on who was outside the door.

At some point, he was running low on candy (he was passing it out in handfuls) and began to panic. However, the next group of people that came to their door was a group of rowdy teenagers and he overheard them making fun of their decorations.

Bendy is now pissed and remembers what Audrey told him about teenagers and how candy should go to kids instead.

So, when they open the door, he pulls a Grunkle Stan and jumpscares them. They all scream and run off, leaving their bags of candy behind.

He didn't expect that but isn't going to just leave free food/candy lying around, so he takes it inside.

When he runs out of Audrey's candy, he starts giving that candy out instead. Whenever he inevitably started running low on candy, he would wait for a group of teenagers to stop by and jumpscare/steal their candy to give out to the little kids. The idea of just giving less candy out to each group of kiddos never passed his mind.

Audrey is horrified (and a little impressed) and fully expects someone to report them and for the police or the Gent Corporation to show up and cart them away. She quickly takes down their decorations and starts preparing for a hasty getaway when someone inevitably shows up to investigate the appearance of the demon in her apartment.

Except, they don't.

A few days pass by and she still hasn't heard from either group. However, she has heard from her neighbors.

Everyone had something to say about her brother(s)* presentation. She gets mixed reviews (all the ones that got Toon Bendy loved it but some of the ones who got the Ink Demon thought they went a little overboard) but overall most people were very impressed.

She debates relaying this to Bendy because she doesn't want him to get too cocky but decides it would be wrong to keep it from him. Sure enough, Ink Demon Bendy is hyped and is now thinking of other ways to scare people next year and Toon Bendy is just excited to see more people. In both forms he is very disappointed to learn that Halloween only happens once a year/every 365 days.

*Everyone assumed Toon Bendy was her little brother but some people were arguing on whether the Ink Demon was her brother, friend, or even boyfriend. She VERY quickly shot down the third option. Now everyone assumes she has a little brother that lives with her full-time and an older brother that stops by every once in a while.

Disclaimer, personally, I have nothing against teenagers trick-or-treating and kept going out with my little sister until her senior year of High School. I just thought it would be funny if Bendy stole candy from kids/teenagers and figured this would be a good excuse for him to do so lol