#Filter Blue Grad

[upthespiralstaircase]

Looking Across by JMPaul Via Flickr: Film: Fuji Superia X-TRA 400iso Camera: Canon A1 Shot: July 2,2015 2:20pm F-stop: F4 Shutter: 1/1000 Lens: 28mm Filter: Blue Grad Location: Maligne Canyon, Jasper Nation Park, Alberta, Canada

[zugmode]

first day of class is off to a good start

[running-with-kn1ves]

Wrong place, Wrong Person

A/N: This is kind of written as needing a part 2, but I haven’t thought much farther ahead lmao. Its origin story is from the grad student shuffle when chris says ‘get hard when your professor bums a cigarette off you.”

TW: Power imbalance, smoking, implied stalking. 

Synopsis: In an attempt to calm your nerves after class, the stoic and hardened face of your professor finds you, his attitude oddly different from that in class. 

“Got one more?"

The familiar, rough voice of authority almost made you jump, twinges of fear crawling up your neck as you shrink around the item between your fingers. guarding it out of view.

Your professor stood with an anxious frown towards the billowing smoke leaving your lips, the bags under his eyes creasing as he looked from you, down to the cigarette longingly.

The habit of hiding whenever you smoked was almost instinctual. What were you-- fourteen again? You were a grown adult slaving beneath capitalism and working toward a profitless degree, living with two asshole roommates who made the whole house rot with the stench of weed. There were no adults here to scold you.

"Oh, yeah, sure." You fumble in your backpack for the new packet of Marlboro Lights, fingers tugging on several cigarettes by accident. Dropping one back in, you held the other out to your professor with an unceremonious grip at the filter.

He sighed --with either relief or dismay, you couldn’t tell-- plucking it from you with a skillful, steady hand. The professor rummaged around in his blazer pocket, coming up empty handed and moved down to pat around on his pants. 

The pack of smokes hung from out of your heavy bag in a crumpled, unorganized fashion as you tried to hide them from any more prying eyes. The sound of crunching tobacco made you wince as you zipped up the bag. Hoping he didn’t see you make a mess of yourself, it seemed you hardly were noticed at all as he continued to search his back pockets, getting more aggravated by the second. 

"Say, you don't happen to have a lighter?" He suspired, almost exhausted by speaking. 

Wordlessly you feel around for the beaten blue lighter with a cigarette in your hand, quickly putting it to rest in your mouth to free up your fingers. Mistakenly, you inhale thickly as its tip glows bright orange with one hand on your bag and the other deep in your pocket.

The smoke immediately pours down your throat, biting your gums and causing a wretched blaze in your chest like that of a burning dumpster fire. It rises from out your nose, along with a long, croaky sound within your throat.

"Look at you, practically a pro." He gruffly chuckles, holding his unlit cigarette with patience unbecoming of his usual swift, booming lectures. 

"...yeah." You squeak, trying not to fall into a coughing fit as your eyes begin to water. 

Seeing the desired lighter in your twitching palm, the professor gets close to hold out his newfound cigarette. He looks up expectantly, waiting for you to light it. 

You attempt to flick it a few times, palms sweaty as you try not to pay attention to how close he is, close enough to cast a shadow that engulfs you entirely, hiding you from the voices on the other side of the stairs. Your thumb slips again and the small spark dies. 

"Dammit," Surrounding the lighter with your palm, you try to get it to flame.

"There's no rush now, you'll get it." He encourages, awfully kind for how much his foot is tapping in anticipation.

The soft masculinity of his voice made you sweat, finding it even harder to light the lighter. 

"I swear, it was just working a few minutes ago," You laugh, keeping your voice down as another wave of students walk down the stairs you're hiding beneath, their voices echoing into the night. "Must be karma for this kind of vice." 

You try to sound nonchalant with the joke, but fail once a flame pops from the hot iron of the lighter, you can’t stop the victorious “aha!” from leaving your mouth.

The professor just looks at you, a small, polite grin spreading on his face. He looks mildly amused, raising an eyebrow at your small win.

He leans down to puff on the cigarette, his head of chestnut wavy curls clouding your view and wafting cedarwood and cypress. In a class of just over one-hundred students, you hadn't gotten a chance to speak with him one-on-one over the past semester, let alone witness that he’s got a better hair care routine than you. 

 The leftover scent of library books rests on his blazer, a tangy aftershave layered on his throat and jaw despite looking as if he hasn't shaved in a few days-- oddly neat for the dark grown-out stubble. It took slightly burning your thumb for you to remember the task at hand. 

Your fingers shake to light the tip of his cigarette as he puffs a few times, stepping away once it began to properly smoke. 

The look of exhaustion on both your faces seems to calm as he takes a long, thin inhale from the cigarette.

A part of you feels envy, both for the smoke between his smooth, downturned lips, and for the relaxation he seemed to get just from smoking. For you, it's become a nervous habit that rarely gives you any ease, just a bad taste in your mouth and the stench of ash on your jacket.

“Tonight was a poor excuse of a lecture. Barely half the class showed up.” His husky voice was somehow smoother with the smoke coming from his frowning mouth. The dead look was slow to shift into a small coy smile, a glint flickering behind his glasses. “Good thing my star student decided to show up though; I think hope truly would’ve been lost if you weren’t there.”

“You�� actually recognize me?” You gave him an incredulous look. “I mean, I barely remember the faces of who I sit next to, I can’t imagine you have it much easier.”

“Of course I do, how could I not-- you��re the only one ever taking notes.” He scoffs a little, peering over to look at the notebook sticking out of your bag.“Though, I’d say you’re failing where the rest of your classmates are excelling; hand-written notes are not as time-efficient as typing, especially considering I don’t naturally repeat myself when I teach.”

“I remember better when I write.” You say sheepishly, shifting on your feet as his gaze seems to travel all over you, contemplating.

He never seemed to make eye contact with anyone while lecturing, fully focused on his laptop or glaring at the clock; so to feel his eyes bore into you now, without anyone else around in the basking of a lamppost and a cloud of nauseating fumes, was awfully unnerving. 

Your professor goes quiet, taking another long drag. 

Following suit you puff on your own cigarette, starting to get sick of the taste. It felt good to smoke when you were alone, but now each breath felt like a heavy cloud in your lungs, burning your chest.

“S’bad for you, you know.” He stares straight ahead, seeing through the three-story building across the university courtyard with a neutral kind of exhaustion.

“We’re out of school hours, you don’t have to lecture me.” 

At that, he smiles. 

“Sorry, habit. Seems like I know all about the bad ones,” He adjusts his glasses, brushing back a curl tugging at his cheek. “Though coming from someone who’s been smoking a pack a day for the past decade, I think I have a right to say something.” 

Giving one good puff from the smoke, you look at it for a moment. It seemed so large in your hands, so small in his. 

Dramatically you drop the cigarette. It barely smolders as it hits the ground, the dying embers of ash snuffed into nothing but sand as your foot grinds it into the sidewalk. 

“Voilá, oh wise one,” You look at him expectantly, pointing to your handiwork. “In exchange, can you give me an A for the midterm due Friday?”

You half expect him to greet you with a reprimanding grimace, but something else comes out instead. Hidden behind his bitten bottom lip, the sound makes you do a double take; are the noises coming out of his serious, permanently-scowling mouth, laughs?

The professor covers his face with the cigarette between his fingers, hiding his low chuckle.  

“You should listen to your elders without expecting anything in return; didn’t anyone ever teach you good manners?”

The smile in his voice created a small grin of surprise on your face, wondering how something so foolish could get him to break his ‘life is an inescapable prison’ disposition.

“I don’t think ‘elder’ is the right word to describe you,” You chirped with a confident grin, looking at the man that barely had a decade over you. “And, is that a nooo?” 

His dark, oaky eyes peered into you, almost with a playful scolding. 

“Let’s leave it up to the content in the paper.”

“Damn.”

You looked away and sighed, pulling from the unwavering gaze he held to your eyes. 

Under the stairs, in the cover of the stars, you felt safe; tonight was a slight chill for late March, but greatly welcomed. Save for the occasional nipping breeze rustling the magnolia trees, the campus fell completely silent. It had a tender spot in your heart when no one else was here, and you could sit --usually alone--undisturbed. 

“Ah, look over here for a second.” 

His voice breaking the silence once again, caught you off guard. You never knew if you’d get used to him sounding this way-- calm and deep, a kind of transformation he had undergone the second a lit cigarette touched his lips. 

A cold hand and the scent of burnt tobacco came to graze below your cheek. Your professor was trained in on something beside your lip, his eyes squinting at it. 

Gently, his thumb scraped a small fleck tainting the smooth valleys of your skin. You stood impossibly still, wondering what kind of large bug or blemish had risen. The grey spot was smothered between his fingers as he let it fall to the concrete floor. 

“You had some ash on your cheek.” 

The professor looked down at his hand softly, eyes almost becoming gentle.

“Oh.” A warm buzzing of where his thumb once sat pulsed against your skin. “Thanks.”

Standing beside the wall, you tried to think of something else to say, to get your brain working again. The professor seemed closer than he was before, or maybe you were just now noticing it; his body leaned against the concrete wall behind you in an elegant slump, right shoulder nearly touching your own. An essence of relaxation made him appear more human than you had ever seen, smoking his cigarette, unbothered. 

He puffed a few times, letting smoke leave through his half-parted mouth. His drags were slower. Shorter than before. Savouring. 

The cigarette was nearly down to its filter, at the part where inhaling became a painful chore and most would rather light a new one. 

“I guess I should probably go home.” You say, feeling a little wobbly and nervous now that nothing was further being said; now that he had touched, and gotten closer to you in the past few minutes than he had all semester. “Gotta start working on that paper.”

“Right.” He’s quick to stand up straight, flicking away the butt of his cigarette. 

“See you next class.” You wave shortly, turning before the tense moment could grow any worse.

The idea of sitting up front with a full view of him next Monday made you want to curl into a ball; you could handle group projects and public speaking if desperation called for it, but you could not handle an awkward, uncomfortable tension which seemed to cling to the air. There was still so much left of the semester, too much was riding on him at least writing you a letter of recommendation for this to be the end. 

“Wait,” The sound of your professor’s ‘lecturing voice’ blurted out, as if you were leaving without picking up that week’s notes. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Picking up the black briefcase he left against the wall, he strode forward to meet you. Walking past, he led the way for you to your vehicle.

A part of you feels relieved, seeing the tension diminish as his usual hardened glare returned; maybe he’s just a normal guy after all-- just used to putting students in awkward situations and bumming cigarettes off of them occasionally.

 But another part wonders how he made the accurate guess of where your car is. 

[xenosagaepisodeone]

If you're a relatively young person with no degree who is competent using a PC and stuck doing blue collar work, i truly believe that you should just lie about being a recent college grad and apply for admin/entry level desk work. most jobs will filter you if you don't have a degree, so lying about something basic (humanities is probably ideal since theyll assume you have social competence/awareness and a chance of Not Leaving) will at least get your foot in the door. and of course, entry level jobs never check that shit. you can emphasize your experience with computerized systems during the interview process and reference how school helped develop your tech literacy and research/presentation skills. I am insisting this because the world is a better place with computer touchers in it 🫶

[meowdy-all]

Fic idea! When jayce and viktor disolve into the cosmos they like...become the arcane. Two halves of a whole, yin and yang. And when they merge, they become the universe/arcane herself.

Cause Mage viktor is...a mage yk? And Viktor basically ascended to godhood. What's one more step? Boom, they ARE the fabric of the universe and magic.

So they dissolve into the universe and become AwareTM of every timeline, possibilities, the forming of stars and planets, and culture in an instant. They see the rise and fall of gods, countries and cities, everything in the span of an instant. They are here together, not better than they ever were, still the same, just with more power and awareness and love than they ever had.

And then they get dropped right into them being arrested after they make hextech. So now you have Jayce and Viktor who have the will of the arcane at their fingertips and the entire universe in their brains that have just been dropped into a grad student and an assistant and are actively being arrested. Cue minor meltdowns in their cell bec omfg we wove the fabric of the universe, WE made the magic this whole time? So they use the skills they have to help Zaun while also playing the council. Water filters air filters, they're going to actually help this time instead of letting their dream be corrupted, and it will actually work bec they have the very fabric of magic and the universe in their hands. When they figure out how to use it.

Jayce has to relearn all of his notes on magic bec Cosmic Jayce was crazy and some areas of magic have such insane rules that cant even be applied in his mortal body what was he thinking? And Viktors notes are no more help to himself or jayce either.

So they have to relearn their magic with mortal limitations, which is kinda difficult when you're used to making stars and black holes with a thought and a wave of your hand. There's a lot of nosebleeds and migranes.

While they relearn their magic (and their bodies *wink wonk*), they also take to tutoring Powder and Ekko after they adopt them (sue me, i love that trope)

Idk how that fits in here, but im a sucker for Jayce being ekkos older brother figure, and i think powder and jayce should be friends. and i think viktor would love ekko even though he chucked an anomaly at his face. Jinx and viktor are self-explanatory.

Its a fix it so everyone lives. The explosion still happened but vanders actually fine so are mylo and claggor (yk jayce and viktor control the magic, even across the distancehe could remive the magic from the stone, they know the explosion has to happen but it doesnt need to kill anyone else), vi didnt get arrested. But vi still hit powder and called her a jinx. Powder runs away, jayce and viktor are already on their way to zaun bec they Know. They run into powder (for some reason she trusts them) and they go get ekko and help him too.

A few months later, powder is in therapy (so is ekko tbh) , she still introuces herself to people as Jinx, but Jayce, Viktor, and Ekko call her powder. Jayce helps when Powder has her moments considering yeah hes been through the same thing, he cant really hwlp, but he can comfort (the whole reason i want then in the same place anyway i love them both)

Zaundads sees Jayce and Viktor standing to the side, vut a flash of blue hair catches their full attention. Right there, getting everones attention, is a girl with a single calf length blue braid. And before their brains can catch up, Powder starts her presentation!

Vander and Vi have been looking for powder since. Eventually, once the water filters and air filters get made, Silco and Vander make up; and silco joins them in searching. Jayce and viktor have made their own connections in zaun, and while some people are suspicious of help from a piltie at the start (esp silco and vander) the years of effort theyve put in to help has given them a reputation. Eventually, powder and ekko start a project to bring more light to zaun. They start by making prototypes for street lights.

Eventually they decide to do their big project reveal; and this time, Zaundads and Vi decide to go. No one knows what they're revealing, but they've never had a presentation this early. Hell, the last presentation was for their streetlights. What else could the possibly have?

When it's finished, powder leaps off her improvised stage and striaght into jayces arms where he spins her around. Then, he pulls her and ekko into hugs. They can faintly hear Jayces 'im so proud of you' over the loud murmurs of the crowd. They see viktor come over and eatch them all hug again.

When it's over, Zaundads and Vi are watching in shock. They've spent years looking for her, and she was this close? How many times had vi run past her, or just missed her?

This was really supposed to be a 'we need more jayce being a magical girl, how about i make him one half of the most powerful entity to ever exist'

[specialagentartemis]

@consolecadet:

Some of these are obvious to me (of course scientists! of course linguistics! topics you are interested in) but I'm curious if you have a sense of why you favor dialogue, em-dashes, and desperation

I started thinking about this and writing an answer and then it got Long, haha.

Regarding dialogue, I know exactly where that comes from: listening to a lot of audio drama podcasts, and especially Wolf 359. That one really shifted how I think about characterization! In an audio-only medium, everything has to be conveyed by either soliloquy or dialogue—and it makes every single thing inherently and necessarily a character moment, because everything that is happening is filtered through what a character thinks about it, what a character says about what they think, and how they present it to whoever they’re talking to.

It means that for a long time I’ve operated on the principle of,

Rather than have a character think something, have them say it; rather than have them say what they’re thinking directly, have them talk around it.

When I write too much thinking, it can get very static and navel-gazey. Instead of having a character think something, they say it, and it becomes something much more dynamic, because they have to say it to somebody, who will respond!

so my stories often end up very dialogue heavy. Partially also because I feel like I don’t know how to write scene setting description all that well, and action is no fun if it’s not super character-y. And plot is hard, lol. I’m still working on that one. So dialogue ends up doing a lot of work. and listening to a lot of audio drama podcasts has made me really appreciate just how much work it can do.

As for the isolation/desperation bullet point… there are definitely elements of the depression/grad school experience I could psychoanalyze myself about hah, but also a big part of that comes from my fascination with the dramatic tension and heightened emotions of what people do when there are no good choices. The desperation and the isolation go together, it’s about being trapped and a physical location or a dilemma with no third option. It’s the Kobayashi Maru thing. It’s my long-standing love for the sci-fi plot where a small crew goes to a strange and distant planet/star/deep sea trench/Antarctica, and get their shit wrecked by what they find there. It’s about the small scale tension of running out of air, running out of food, knowing there are monsters at the door, knowing that no one is coming to save you or if they are, they can’t come in time—what do you do then?

Partially it’s also the influence of my long-standing love of wilderness survival stories, something I’ve loved since I read Hatchet and Island of the Blue Dolphins as a kid.

And these things kind of reinforce each other—small casts and high tensions in an isolated environment, or dealing with a singular overwhelming unsolvable no-win-scenario, means that a lot of the drama gets conveyed through dialogue. Which I like writing XD

And for the em-dashes. I am simply a wordy fuck who loves my long sentences 😅

[ashcoveredtraveler]

Headcannon Dumping

-The Blue Lake is a saltwater lake, but the salt filters through the ground making the rain not salty. Miners then mine the salt from the side or under in the lake.

-Vessels that either gain better ability/control of soul or inherited plant-ness of their mother, they can continuously gain soul from the ground beneath them or even in the air.

-Dirtmouth has an open sky above it, so it is home to a snow festival and lantern lighting events along with winter stolses.

-Important members of the court or guards have spells placed among them to make them live longer. Those would be: Monomon, Quirrel, Lurien, his butler and The Great Knights.

-I think the Pale Court mod actually encompass how The Great Knights would have fought in Hallownest glory days. But if that was the case, then I would think that every other boss would need to be upped like Pure Vessel, Hive Knight, maybe the Nailmasters.

-The Archives operates as a University or maybe a grad school for anyone in the STEM field. The archives also operates as a school for kids who are unfortunate, like orphans or for those who are considering an higher education but their area doesn't have it, like those in Fungal Wastes or Greenpath(not like those places done have any education, they have a different type that can't be applicable all around Hallownest).

- In game, the crystals in Crystal Peaks were apparently bought as they were admired by Hallownest individuals even though we only see the crystals in peaks(and I don't know what PK would allow objects to be sold with The Radiances influence in them). This would have been one of PK's sources of research on how to defeat her.

-Moth Lurien

-Moth Xero

-Soul Master is a cicadia, and I only think this is the case because of this post by @cupcakeshakesnake

-The amount of vessels that died in The Abyss is the same amount as the bugs that were killed by the infection. It's like would you kill a million people to save a million people, but pk ended up killing 2 million people all together

-Void doesn't just stain things black, it washes color out. If there is a black spot of void colorful wallpaper and you are able to wipe it away, a light outline of the design would stain but it would be pale white color.

-On contrary to some beliefs, you actually can't apply to become a Great Knight either by good, bad or questionable actions(I was brainstorming how all of the Great Knights got recruited, and I will make a dedicated post to it).

- Not everything in Hallownest is actually Hallownest. Forgotten Crossroads, Dirtmouth, City of Tears, Waterways and Queens Gardens are actually part of Hallownest while everything else is a territory of Hallownest and is partly governed by it.

-PK has eyelids along with eyeballs. You can see the eyeballs from the reflection in the dark but both of them are very very dark, making his eyes to appear hollow.

-This headcannon is depending on how much I want PK to suffer, but he can permetly go blind. Wyrms don't have sight, so when he can actually see his body is unable to support it and just degrades.

-There are Queens idols with the king's idols, but they aren't seen around as much as kings idols as the king is credited to creating Hallownest. However her idols are found in hospital, mostly in the maternity ward, and the households in new families.

[chicago-geniza]

Contemplating going back to grad school but my farsightedness is so severe that even with reading glasses, I would need some of the accommodations for visually impaired students--large-print books, audio "narration" software for assigned texts in PDF format, that sort of thing. My glasses work less well with computer screens; I'm not sure why, maybe they need a blue light filter or something. The problem is that I'd be reading texts in three or more languages, which use three or more alphabets, and that's a lot of highly specialized software. I'm also dyslexic, which makes reading archival documents EXTREMELY difficult in conjunction with my vision. I would need a LOT of help, and I'm not sure any department would be willing to provide it

[misswriteress]

[Begin Image Description: A woman from the neck down with long, dark curly hair falling over one shoulder in a slightly off-the-shoulder sweater with a sun choker necklace with a white-grey filter and a mist overlayed on top; the words Phoebe Winters is written in scratched, burned light blue and grey lettering with two overlapping light blue and white hexagon banners surrounding it.

End Image Description]

Phoebe Winters

24. She/Her. Parapsychology Grad Student. Intern at Luna Paranormal Investigations. Far too excited when talking about ghosts.

Phoebe isn't your typical student of parapsychology, coming from a wealthy, well-known family that has been a part of Calgary's elite for centuries she grew up in the lap of luxury but as she often says, that luxury came at the cost of her individuality and happiness, and she often had a habit of speaking out or defying her family which angered them greatly. Her interests had to be "appropriate" for the family, and ghost hunting was not one of them. Her relationship with her family was always difficult, but became even more so after her mother's death under unusual circumstances which increased her interest in the paranormal and eventually she cut ties with her family completely when she was accepted into the relatively new Parapsychology degree program. Luna saw her talent and passion for the field, and took her and Victor on as his grad students, in Phoebe's case her ability to make connections between historical research found and the patterns of the haunting impressed Luna greatly, as well as her ability to empathize with the stories of the ghosts. When he decided it was time to hire interns for his own company, Phoebe immediately jumped at the chance for the position, eager to get some real-life experience in the field.

Phoebe's playlist

[darkmoonkestrel]

daily kestrel 103:

Matt graduated today!! Peyton got some good pics (some with snap filters: look at this grad was my favorite), we suffered in the arena seating and left early bc multiple fears of heights in the group, had to come home and get Paige's teeth that she forgot in the rush this morning, and ate at a really good seafood place

I rode with Matt to go to park with his nephew, friends went back to his house to nap, family went to do whatever, and although I had Matt string Rowan's bow for me, I only fired a few shots and just laid down at the barn and read fanfic the rest of the time (some Beka and started on the Kalasin/Maura lady in waiting slow burn I've had saved for a while)

came back to Matt's house and chilled for a little bit, I ended up taking like a 40 minute nap before we ate dinner so I wouldn't be so exhausted, and I was going to play fortnite with the kid but mine needed to update and took over an hour, so we didn't get to do that. we did however teach kiddo and Harley how to play Epic Spell Wars, which was very fun - Hunter picked it up quick and was ruthless, although Harley got the closest to winning before we all tapped out in favor of sleep. I went outside to try to find Harley before we got started and ended up slipping on the smooth concrete in my socks and busting my right knee and my ass, but I survived

before bed I was complaining about my hair color and saying I needed to redye it, which prompted Paige to remember her made up line of truthfully named hair dyes - we added poorly done pink to the lineup, which already consisted (to the best of our memories) of mental breakdown brown, I thought it was rockin red, depression blue, prescription pink, and oops it's orange

Harley also heard back from Karilyn, I'm gonna need to take Luna to my mechanic to check her out and make sure she's not leaking coolant into the engine, and I need to call my doctor on Monday and follow up about my cough that came back, so the things somehow still keep coming, but I persist

[tongue-like-a-razor]

May I request college and hangman.

I’ve been trapped in my dorm for two days due to weather. My brain is melting.

Oh no!! I hope you're able to escape before cabin fever sets in!

So, I don't know what happened here but this mini drabble kinda got away from me hehe Back when I was in college, I, for some reason, romanticized long distance relationships because of all the angst and feelings involved. Then I got into a long distance relationship and it was HARD seeing all the happy couples and wishing my SO was around to cuddle with. The reunions were intense which was great and it worked out in the end but, overall, do not recommend lol Anyway..enjoy! Also, I figure this drabble is long enough to warrant a gif.

3k Celebration Mini Drabbles

He just shows up. Out of the blue, unannounced, wearing a suede jacket and faded blue jeans and a patronizing expression on his face. His dog tags catch the light filtering through the dome of the rotunda.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” you say without so much as stopping as you pass him. “But this is a bad idea.”

“You weren’t returning my calls,” he says, falling into step with you as you rush across campus to get to your next class.

“I’m in college,” you respond curtly. “I’m busy.”

He steps into your path. “I’m in the Navy,” he says, as if you need the reminder. “I’m busy too. But I came all the way out here, so the least you could do is talk to me.”

“You’re going to make me late.” You try to walk around him, but he holds out a hand, pressing it gently into your abdomen. You sigh, trying to ignore the way your stomach lurches at his touch.

“I miss you,” he whispers, his fingers contracting on your waist, scrunching the material of your shirt.

The words bring up a whole slew of emotions you’ve been actively repressing for months. “We had a deal,” you remind him, suddenly breathless. “No strings.”

He nods, but his hand is pulling you closer.

“You’re stationed three thousand miles away,” you reason as he tugs you toward him, as he rests his other hand on your hip. “And I won’t be back in San Diego till next summer,” you continue in this vein although you’re not even buying your own bullshit. The actual source of your resentment stems from something entirely unrelated to geography.

“I can wait.”

“Right,” you scoff, shaking your head. “Like you waited two whole days after I left before hooking up with half of the new recruits?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw the photos,” you say, pushing his hands away from your body.

“Nobody hooked up with anybody,” he says tersely. “That’s what this is about?”

“This is about me needing to bust my ass this year so that I can get into grad school and you not distracting me in the process.”

“Y/N,” he says. “I promise you, I didn’t hook up with anybody.”

“Must’ve been tough for you.”

He gives you a hard look. “Not really.”

You exhale sharply, doing your best to avoid his gaze. Wooing women is second nature for Jake, so you’re not really falling for his act. “I’ve got class, Jake,” you say, brushing past him. You’re halfway to the door when he speaks again.

“I’m being deployed.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks and you freeze, glancing back at him in alarm. “Where?”

Several passing students eye the two of you curiously as you speak to one another across the hall. “I can’t say,” he responds, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

You bring a hand up to your mouth as your eyes fill with tears. “For how long?”

“Six months.”

You close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for spending the next six months worrying about never seeing Jake Seresin again. Perhaps not even the following summer when you return to San Diego to visit your aunt.

“I’m going to come back, Y/N,” he says, although you detect a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “I want to come back to you.”

You blink at him through your tears, swallowing anxiously before walking right back to him and throwing your arms around his neck. “You better fucking come back to me, Jake Seresin.”

He brings his arms around you, holding you tightly against his chest. He sighs and chuckles into your hair. “You got it, sweetheart.”

3k celebration

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter five: try to walk away

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 8.6k (long but lots to cover)

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced/virgin reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, mentions of food/eating, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, etc.), polite southern manners (use of sir), feeling familial and self-pressure, oral sex (f), fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, likely poor spanish grammar, ANGST

a/n: here it is -- the end of summer #1 with joel </3 more to come from these two. and a HUGE thank you to lovely sweet el @northernwindd for the beta read!!! appreciate you v much bb

Sunday morning air filters through the cracked window, the warmth from the sunlight radiating over your exposed skin. Goosebumps rise every few moments from a combination of the oscillating fan in Joel’s room and the way he’s been looking at you since the two of you woke up together this morning. Navy blue sheets drape over your nude body, head resting on the pillow while you lay on your side facing him. Birds chirp loudly to each other outside, melodic background noise to the slow-rise conversations you and Joel keep pulling each other into.

From how you take your coffee to where you saw yourself in five or ten years, there weren’t many topics off-limits in the vulnerable morning after. Joel learned that you take your coffee with enough milk to change the drink to caramelly color, and you learned that Joel takes his black. As for future plans, you both conveniently skate around relationships, focusing more on what you see for your careers. Joel confidently tells you that he wants to build his contracting business to be able to take on a more managerial role and be able to spend more time at home with Sarah, which stretches a smile across your face.

“So you’re telling me I’m out of a summer job in the next five to ten years?”

“‘Fraid so, darlin’. But you won’t need me by then, you’ll be off livin’ lavishly in Boston and making ads that we’ll be seeing on billboards down here.”

The look you’re sharing with Joel tightens your chest, your vision glazing over to fuzz Joel out barely out of focus. You can’t really tell if it’s from the emotion that’s filling your ribcage and squeezing your lungs or if it’s from attempting to keep your eyes open on him to not miss any minute signal of body language from him.

“Maybe so, but that will just gimme an excuse to come down and visit. To see all my billboards.”

He comes back into focus when you blink the moisture away, a crisp image of the crinkles next to his eyes and dimple on display.

“Oh, yeah? That’s the only reason you’d visit? Nothing else bringin’ you back?”

A hum rolls out of your chest as you pretend to think, index finger tapping against your chin. Joel huffs out an exaggerated sigh, cocking a brow as he looks at you expectantly.

“Guess my parents, and my brother if he’s still here. And I would love to see Sarah as a teenager, she’s gonna be so fun.” A smirk coats your words, teasing laced in the words.

Large hands ghost over your bare sides, fingertips moving quick and featherlight in a tickle that draws a loud giggle out of you.

“Quit ticklin’ me!”

“I’ll quit when you stop lyin’ through your teeth.”

“Okay, okay! Ask again, I’ll be honest.” You catch your breath when his hands stop, arms wrapping around your back to pull you closer,  inches away from his chest.

“Okay, I know my kid’s the best, but she’s the only reason you’d stop by?”

“I’d come to see you in a heartbeat. Might even be the first stop on any visit I make, but I think you knew that this whole time.”

The shoulder raised toward the ceiling shrugs up and down, a quip of a smirk raising one side of his mouth.

“I had a feelin’, but I like hearing you say it.”

“Mm, anything else you like hearing me say?”

“Think you know the answer to that, darlin’.” A wink follows his answer, his elbow moving under him to prop him up as he leans over you moving onto your back.

“Yes, I do, sir.”

Joel looks away to the side, a chuckle exhaling shortly out of his mouth before he turns back to you and shakes his head.

“Mi diablita, eres demasiado (My little devil, you are too much).”

Joel’s hand lays on your thigh, thumb brushing back and forth while he steers his truck with the other hand. The cab is silent besides the soft trill of the radio and the wisping wind that whips in through the cracked windows as you head to pick up your car in the mall parking lot.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, to recognize that you have to drive four miles away to go home when you live forty feet from Joel’s. Something swirls in your stomach, a similarly sinking feeling that guilt brings you but you don’t feel guilty about being with Joel. It’s not an ideal situation, and you would never want him to be subjected to neighborhood ostracization or gossip — but is avoiding that worth the dull burn you feel when you have to slink home after kissing him behind closed doors or staying the night? Not being able to go see him when you want to unless you sneak around to do it? Is it all worth it to him?

The pickup coming to a slow stop interrupts your spiraling thoughts, Joel’s hand patting your thigh to grab your attention. When you look over at him, brows creased with soft concern and brown eyes churning with sympathy. A tight smile presses your lips into a thin line, your hand laying over his.

“Before you go, um, I wanted to ask you somethin’,” his opposite hand stills on the steering wheel, curling his fingers around the frame tightly, “Sarah’s birthday party is coming up this Saturday. We’re havin’ it at the house, but I was wonderin’ if maybe you would come? Sarah told me about a million times that she wanted to invite you.”

Taut cheeks from your narrow smile relax, teeth showing when your top lip curls up. Your hand squeezes his under it, turning on the bench seat to face him more head-on.

“I’d love to come if Sarah wants me to,” his eyes dart to yours from their position looking out the windshield, eyes wide with hope, “But, do you want me to be invited? I mean, I know you said when you were planning the date that Tommy would be there and her friends’ parents — and her mom — so if it’s going to be too much, I can celebrate with Sarah bef—”

“My sweet girl, you’re fixin’ to work yourself up into a tizzy about nothin’,” Joel interrupts himself to lean over and catch your lips in a pacifying kiss, continuing when he pulls away, “I want you there. Probably will need you there, ‘cause I need help throwing the perfect “Little Mermaid, Lilo & Stitch, and Finding Nemo” party.”

A bellowing laugh rolls out of your chest, shaking your head as you reach out to pat his thigh, “Joel, honey, all of those movies are set in or around the ocean. Just make it sea-themed and Sarah will be extremely happy. I can help get things together this week.”

A long sigh exhales and deflates his chest, a sheepish grin on his face, “See? Need you there, sweetheart, ‘cause I clearly need the help.”

A few more kisses are exchanged, Joel escorting you the five feet over to your car and standing in the open door while you slide into the driver’s seat. His frame leans into your car, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Really liked havin’ you at home this weekend, darlin’. And being able to take you out on a date.”

“Me too, Joel.”

The look on his face is unreadable before his smile replaces it, a metallic thump sounding above you as he hits his palm against the roof of your car.

“Drive safe, sweet girl.”

The sound of children’s screams and laughter slowly muffled as you slid the porch door shut and stepped into Joel’s kitchen. The last of the snacks you’d come early to put together need to be brought outside for the kids, and Tommy’s been out on cooler duty — keeping it stocked with drinks for the parents in attendance. Your parents were out of town dropping your brother off at his new apartment for his sophomore year, so it was only you, the Millers, and some kids and parents from Sarah’s class and camp.

Standing at the island, you pour some more tortilla chips from the bag to fill up the bowl in front of you more, getting lost in fluttering around the kitchen to get everything perfect before you bring it all out. You don’t notice the sound of the door to the garage shutting or Joel’s footsteps coming through the living room to the wide entry to the kitchen. What does pull your attention away from your task is his voice, a smile playing at his lips as he watches you.

“Think you know this kitchen better than I do at this point, sweetheart.” He crosses the room and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in the private moment. 

“I just know where all the stuff for the party was cause it was Sarah and I that went to the store to grab everything yesterday. And I put it away,” you shake your head with a grin, “You wanna grab some of this to bring it outside?”

His chin rests on your shoulder as he watches your hands move, his hands bunching up the fabric of your dress at your hips.

“Mhmm, can do, darlin’. In a minute.” He presses his lips to your exposed skin next to the strap of your dress, dropping the fabric from his hands and gripping you to turn you around to face him. A gentle kiss is placed on your lips, you pull away after a moment and him chasing you to pepper pecks on your lips and cheek. Your laugh pulls him away from your face, a boyish grin showing his dimple.

“Thank you for your help today, sweetheart. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. You made Sarah’s birthday real special.”

“You don’t have to thank me, I would have helped even if I didn’t get an invite,” Joel chuckles and squeezes your waist as you continue, “You’re the one who planned the day and invited everyone and got all the games and everything outside. You’re the hero of the birthday. And you’re a really good dad.”

Sincere gratitude fills his brown eyes as you get lost in them, a comfortable silence falling over the room as you take each other in. It’s only interrupted at the sound of the screen door, you flipping around quickly to busy yourself and cover up the intimate moment with Joel.

Tommy strides in, oblivious to how close you two are standing as he crosses over to the fridge to grab another six-pack of beer to put in the cooler outside.

“Either these parents are drinkin’ like fish, or we’re gonna have some drunk eight-year-olds on our hands.” Tommy turns to face Joel next to you when the sound of the doorbell echoes rings throughout the house. After the first ring, it keeps going incessantly and the two brothers share a knowing look.

Joel sighs, rolling his eyes and brushing his fingers against your lower back subtly when he moves to go answer the door.

“Y’all know who that is just from the bell?” you ask Tommy, a bracing expression on his face when he hears the door open.

“Yeah, it’s something that Ti—” he’s cut off when an unfamiliar voice speaks quickly at Joel in the other room, annoyance slick in her words. 

“Why’d you have to move across all of Austin, Joel? Makes the drive over here impossible. And made me late for my daughter’s birthday, so thanks for that.”

“Tiff, you’ve known my address since we moved and have known the time for the party for two weeks,” Joel’s voice gets louder as he follows Tiffany, Sarah’s mom, into the kitchen where you and Tommy are standing still. She looks over at Tommy, dropping her gift bag on the counter.

“Nice to see you, Tommy,” Tiff’s voice is laced with tension as she looks at the younger Miller.

“Always a pleasure, Tiff,” Tommy counters, a sarcastic smile on his face.

You’re watching it all from the far end of the kitchen, twiddling your thumbs out of nerves at the shift in energy. Tiff’s attention drags from Tommy, across the party food laid out on the island and up to you, her eyebrows raising.

“And you are?” 

Her head bobbles as she asks, Joel stepping forward and giving you a quick apologetic look before he makes introductions, giving Tiffany your name before saying, “She’s Sarah’s nanny for this summer. And our next-door neighbor. And this is Tiff — Tiffany — Sarah’s mom.”

He makes a vague gesture between you and her, his shoulders tense under his white t-shirt. He slips his hands in his back pockets, eyes avoiding you as Tiff locks hers on you like prey.

“Nanny, huh?” Her lips press together into a thin line, nodding slowly as she surveys you head to toe. Right before she speaks again, the door opens, and Sarah bounds in with her curls bouncing.

“Hi, Mommy!” She runs over and gives her mom a hug, pulling away and looking around with a big smile at all of the adults closest to her in a room altogether.

“Everyone come outside! I wanna show you my cartwheel, I think I got it perfect now!”

“Uncle Tommy’s gonna come out and watch you, and we’ll be out in a minute, Bug.” Joel smiles sweetly at her, his eyes turning to Tommy as he jerks his head outside.

Tommy puts a wide smile on his face, chasing Sarah back out the door to go play. Joel huffs out a sigh as Tiff fills the silence again.

“So, can we just address the fact that you two are definitely fucking?” She points between you two with a cold laugh and you try your hardest to keep a poker face.

Joel rolls his eyes, turning to face Tiffany head-on.

“Tiff, it’s Sarah’s birthday party. We’re not talkin’ about my personal life right now, and even if we were, there’d be nothin’ to talk about.”

“Oh, bullshit. But whatever, you keep your secrets to maintain the spark of sleeping with someone that much younger than you. And it isn’t personal if it’s someone who’s takin’ care of Sarah. That affects me, and her too. Better not be doin’ anything in front of Sarah.”

“Quit bein’ ugly, Tiff. I’d never do anything that would negatively affect Sarah and you know that. Now let’s just drop it, ‘cause there’s nothing even going on, and enjoy celebrating our daughter’s birthday.”

It’s like watching a tennis match, the two of them going back and forth across the room from you. You feel like slinking out of the door if you could without drawing attention to yourself, but you definitely can’t do that so you’re as still as a statute. The people-pleasing tendencies in you are screaming at you to say something to diffuse the tension.

“Joel’s right, there’s really nothing. He’s just my boss, and I wanted to come today 'cause Sarah invited me.”

Both of their heads snap to you in the corner of the kitchen, Joel’s stare softening as he sees the manifestation of your anxiety in the way your fingers can’t stop fiddling. Tiff scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest.

Joel speaks much more relaxed to you, “You do not have to defend yourself, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart? Well aren’t you just a precious thing, huh?” Tiff’s got a Cheshire smile on her face, shooting Joel a smug glare that makes your blood boil. She has the audacity to come over and blame all of her mistakes today on him, and to top it all off, accuse him of sleeping with you? And to call you ‘precious’? That’s a slap in the face in the South.

He is, obviously, but she absolutely doesn’t need to have the satisfaction of being right.

You watch her cross the room to head to the door to the backyard, sending a smirk to you. You muster one of your most polite smiles, catching her arm.

“Lovely to meet you, Tiffany, you’re so…self-willed. I can see where Sarah gets it,” you let go of her arm and hold your hand up to your chest to give her a “Bless your heart, hon.”

Which is Southern for “Fuck you.”

The door shuts hard behind her, shaking in its frame. You look at Joel, his hand pinching the bridge of his nose and eyes closed. You walk over to him and rest a hand on his shoulder. He jumps at your touch, his hand dropping from his face and his eyes opening to look at you to his right.

He immediately averts his gaze towards the floor, his downcast expression and furrowed brows telling you what he was going to say before he even speaks. You pull your hand away and swallow, giving him a tight smile.

“I’m gonna head home. I don’t want to be the subject of anything else between you two during Sarah’s birthday.”

“Darlin’, I’m sorry about all that. She’s quick to temper and insults. And with her talkin’ like that, I just don’t think we should—”

“I get it. There are a lot of people here, and she’s Sarah’s mom. Kinda pulls rank over her nanny,” you laugh to attempt to break the tension, biting harshly on the inside of your cheek, “I’ll see you Monday.”

“I really am sorry, sweetheart…Thank you for all your help,” he caresses your cheek, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Let me walk you out.”

You shake your head, patting his chest, “No, no you go spend time with Sarah. I’ll call you later to hear about her reaction to my gift.”

Joel nods back to you, watching you from the kitchen as you leave him with a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, gathering the things you’d brought for party preparation and stepping out their front door. The echoes of giggles and screams carry all the way to your house, only stifled by the door closing behind you as tears sting your eyes.

The streaks on your face were long dried, your sundress exchanged for an oversized t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and place taken laying out on the couch as your third episode of Friends reruns starts. You curl into the throw blanket laid over you, pulling it up to tuck it under your chin. Rachel and Ross are yelling back and forth about if they were on a break or not, the sound tinny from the loud volume you’re playing it at. The couple on the TV is drowned out by a loud and steady knock on your front door, your head snapping in the direction of the entryway. You slowly climb off of the couch, tiptoeing over to attempt to hide yourself from any possible danger. Looking through the peephole, you see Joel’s back, all wide shoulders and messy hair as he kicks his feet against the pavement of your porch.

There’s a tightening in your chest as you debate whether or not to open the door or let him think you’ve gone to sleep already, but it is only 9pm and he knows you can be a bit of a night owl.

The deadbolt clicks undone and you twist the knob, gingerly pulling the door toward you. Joel turns around at the noise, half of his mouth quirking up in a nervous, closed smile. There’s nothing said for a few beats, the two of you only staring at each other.

You break first, huffing out a quiet exhale and leaning against the doorframe.

“You need something, Joel?”

A flash of hurt travels through his eyes at your aloof tone, pressing his lips together before he speaks.

“Wanted to come by and bring you a slice of cake,” he admits sheepishly, holding up an ocean-themed paper plate with a piece of the funfetti cake you’d baked for the event on top of it.

You extend your hand out to take the treat from him with your eyes dropping from his to follow the movement. His fingers brushed yours and his other hand gently closed around your wrist to keep you there for a moment.

“Can I come in? And maybe we can talk, or just hang out, sweetheart?”

Your eyes flick back up at his face, brown eyes pleading with you.

“You don’t have to get back to Sarah?”

He shakes his head, “Her present from her Uncle Tommy was a ‘sleepover at his house with loads of candy and doing what your dad says you can’t do’. She took him up on that offer tonight.”

You can’t help the chuckle that slips from your mouth, a faint smile on your face as you nod.

“Can’t say I blame her,” you take a step back and jerk your head to the side to gesture inside, “C’mon in.”

Joel kicks off his shoes in the entry, following you back to the living room and taking a seat next to you on the couch. You curl your legs up underneath you and face him, leaning your side against the backrest after lowering the volume on the TV further.

“So, what’d you wanna talk about?”

Joel lets out a deep sigh, leaning back and swiping a hand over his face before he looks at you.

“Today. All of that shit. You leavin’ early wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for everything Tiff said, and you ending up being in the middle of us arguing like we always do.”

“Yeah, there was certainly a lot…passion there.” You bite your lip and he shoots you a warning stare.

“Easy there, darlin’. Ship’s long sailed there.”

You laugh and nod slowly, silence falling between the two of you again.

“I meant what I said. It wasn’t fair to ask you to leave early or imply that you should. I just, I didn’t want anything to kick up dust or have anybody pick up on…” he trails off, not wanting to say what he thought out loud.

“Yeah.” It comes out as more of a sigh than a word, turning towards the nearly mute show playing on the TV.

Joel shifts closer on the couch, one of his hands coming up to hold your jaw and turn your head back to him.

“I care about you — so much, sweetheart, I do. I need you to know that. I just, I don’t want you to get hurt from what everyone says or have this affect your family or somethin’.” His thumb brushes your cheek, eyes locked on yours.

“I get it, Joel. I do. It was just, I don’t know, it was just hard to see you so easily say I was nothing but Sarah’s nanny today. That’s what upset me the most, how smooth of a lie it was — if it was even a lie.”

He cringes at the last part, a sting to his heart as his eyes linger closed for a moment.

“It wasn’t a lie, my sweet girl. You’re—you’re mine. In every way you’ll let me have you. You’re not nothing to me. You’re, you’re something incredible.”

There’s a candor in his eyes and in his words that mollifies the heartache burning your throat and your chest, your body melting into his touch and falling closer to him, chasing the warm puffs of air that blow from his lips.

You kiss him, his plush bottom lip puzzling in between yours in a tender touch. Both of you are still there for a breath before you pull back just inches, eyes looking at his through your lashes.

“I want you to have me in every way. I want you to be mine.”

“I’m yours, darlin’. You tell me what you want, I’ll give you anything.”

He searches your expression, waiting with bated breath for you to respond.

Instead, you stand from the couch and smile softly as Joel’s clearly confused, his hand grabbing yours to tether himself to you. You squeeze his fingers, tugging on his arm to get him to stand.

“I told you, I want you to have me in every way. I want it to be you, the first time. All the time.”

Joel smiles tenderly, wrapping his arms around you to squeeze you against him.

“Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Ahead of him, you guide Joel up the stairs and to your bedroom. He shuts the door behind him despite it only being you two in the house, enclosing you in the bask of the warm, yellow lamplight from your nightstands.

Joel observes the space that he’d peaked into so many nights this summer, a smirk playing on his lips as he reminisces. Your touch pulls him back to you, his smirk turning into a grin as his eyes filled with affection. His fingertips graze your cheekbones, one holding your jaw as he murmurs to you.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. Que hermosa.”

His lips capture yours in a wistful caress, the exchange heating up as his hands move from your face to dance along your curves, giving soft squeezes to your supple skin. Little, faint sounds that you’re making encourage him further, his large frame walking you backward as he tugs your t-shirt over your head — discarding it to the floor haphazardly.

There’s nothing more covering your chest, and Joel eagerly arcs down, one arm around your waist as his mouth encapsulates one of the peaks of your breasts, sucking and prodding his tongue over the perked-up nub. His name comes from you breathlessly, his lips removing with a faint pop.

“Lay down on your bed, sweetheart. ‘M gonna take care of you,” he pulls his own shirt over his head, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them off his legs before he moves to kneel on your bed in his boxer briefs. You do as he said, climbing onto your mattress and propping yourself against your pillows. Joel asks with a tug to remove your shorts, you give him a yes and lift your hips for him to pull off your shorts and panties, leaving you completely bare.

His hands skate back up your calves, hooking in the creases of your knees to spread your legs for him. They continue their journey up your thighs, one moving to skim over the softer skin at the inside near your throbbing core.

“Eres divina, mi dulzura. Una visión absoluta. (You are divine, my sweetness. An absolute vision).” His gaze pours over every inch of you, his touch exploring every spot his eyes linger. The attention he’s paying to you simmers inside of you, a quiet beg slipping out.

“Please, Joel…”

“What, baby? What can I do for you?”

His fingers are rubbing circles down your torso, stopping to brush against the curls at your mound while he waits for your command.

“Touch me please, like you did before.”

He hums contently at your request, licking his lips and swiping a finger through your arousal. His thumb presses languid circles on your clit. He bows his head down to yours, lips pressing against yours in unhurried kisses, swallowing the delicate whimpers that seep from your throat. Your sounds get louder and more persistent when he glides one of his fingers into you, a slow rhythm building before he adds a second.

“Taking it so well, darlin’. Feels good, yeah?” He speaks against your skin as his mouth dawdles along your neck to your collarbone, teeth grazing and lips sucking a mark onto your chest.

“Mhm fuck, Joel, I love your fingers inside me.”

“Gotta get you ready for me, sweet girl. Think you can take another?”

At your nod, he thrusts in a third, the stretch of his thick fingers reeling you to toe against the edge, your mind clear of anything other than the feeling of him filling you up. Your head pushes back into the pillows, his name repeated in a prayer each time he hooks against the spongy spot on your walls.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, my pretty girl. Show me how beautiful you look filled up with my fingers, squeezin’ around me,” his jaw dropping ajar to mirror your own as your release barrels into you, hands gripping Joel’s shoulders and digging you nails in. He works you through your euphoric descent, humid kisses pressed into your breasts.

Your fingers card through his hair, pulling his head up to yours and kissing him deeply. Joel hums a moan into your mouth, tongue melding with yours and grinding his tented boxers against your drenched heat, a dark wet spot forming on the light grey fabric. He pulls back, lips swollen red and puffy as he rasps out.

“Will you let me taste you, darlin’? Wanna feel you come on my mouth,” his nose nudges against yours as his words add to the humidity between the two of you, a whimper from you in protest.

“I want you inside me, please.”

“I will, sweet girl, promise. Gonna make it easier to take me. And I wanna have you on my lips for the rest of the night. Pretty please, sweetheart. I’m beggin’, even just a little taste.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh lightly, “‘M all yours.”

“Debes ser de mis sueños, cariño (You must be from my dreams, darling.) Don’t know how I found you.” A path down to your thighs was carved by his mouth, kisses, bites, and licks left on your skin. Joel settles on his tummy between your legs, his arms hooking under your thighs to leverage your hips up to his mouth.

Joel purses his lips and exhales, sending cool air onto your wet folds. You hiss, one hand finding his hair as he chuckles darkly, his hooked nose nestling into the curls at the top of your center, inhaling deeply before his mouth finds your clit.

His tongue flicks your bud, flattening against it and moving in slow, teasing circles. He pulls his tongue back and puckers his lips around the button, sucking with a lewd noise as he takes some of your arousal in, exchanging for his own saliva.

“So sweet, pretty girl. Fuck, can’t get enough of you.”

The strong muscle of his mouth licks up from your tighter hole to your clit, a few figure eights flicked against it and driving your hips to jerk up involuntarily.

His thumb replaces his tongue, freeing it to dip down along your folds and lick into your tight cunt, a quick rhythm found that has you drenching his chin, high-pitched moans hyperventilating from your chest.

“Oh my god, Joel…”

A chuckle rumbles from him, vibrating against your skin and adding to his treatment of your cunt. Your fingers tug in his curls, eyes screwing shut tightly.

Right near the peak of your pleasure, he switches up his positioning and brings his lips back to nurse on your clit and two of his fingers replace his tongue inside of you.

The nearly pornographic noises he’s creating between your legs mix with your wanton moans, quick huffs of air giving you enough breath to shout his name as you come hard. Your hips push against his face to ride out the high, Joel moaning as you take control to fuck his face to keep it all going for yourself. Twinkles of light sparkle in your vision when you open your eyes again, colors kaleidoscoping at the edges of your gaze. You sit up to look down at Joel still on his stomach, a drunken smirk on his face when he looks up at you.

He groans as he lifts himself to rest his weight on his hands, climbing over you to bring his face even to yours. Your come glistens on his skin and coats his mustache and beard, a giggle slipping out as you shake your head.

“You’re a mess,” you say as you reach to wipe him clean, his head jerking back and eyes widening incredulously.

“Don’t get rid of it. Told you I wanna be tasting you for the rest of the night. You’re gonna taste yourself, too.” He smirks smugly, tracing the tip of his nose along the side of yours, his lips ghosting yours before catching you in a sloppy kiss.

“You taste good, don’t you think?” He winks as he studies you from above, a smirk still evident on his face. Your hand coasts down his soft torso, wrapping around his hard length after you slip your hand beyond the waistband, stroking him slowly as you watch his cockiness fall. His eyes flutter close, mouth ajar as tiny whimpers escape from his throat.

“I need your cock.”

With a shudder, he opens his eyes, the shade of them nearly black as his tongue sweeps across his bottom lip.

“Care to ask nicely, sweetheart?”

His low timbre sends a tingle that flutters your walls around nothing, huffing out before correcting your manners.

“May I please have your cock?”

Joel tsks from over you, his head slowly shaking left to right.

“Not quite. Again.”

“May I please have your cock, sir?”

He hums satisfied, kissing you tenderly and smirking against your lips.

“That’s my good girl,” another smack of your lips connects you two before he pulls away, looking at you adoringly, “You sure you wanna do this, my sweet girl?”

“Absolutely. Nobody else I’d want it with.”

“Ay Dios mío, ¿Cómo podría renunciar a ti? (Oh my god, how could I ever give you up?)” Disbelief floods his eyes, taking one last kiss from you, slow and sweet. Joel pushes himself up to stand on his knees, making quick work to strip himself of his boxers. Your mouth waters as you look at his cock sprung against his stomach, pre-cum dripping from his head and a twitch jerking it before his hand wraps around and gives it a few lazy strokes.

He spreads your legs wider, making sure the position is comfortable as his hips crowd against you.

“Alright, sweetheart, it might be a little uncomfortable at first, but the beginning's gonna be the worst part. Once you feel good about that, rest will make you feel even better.”

You nod in understanding, feeling heat prickling around your whole body as nerves bubble in your stomach. Joel smiles tenderly at you, guiding his hard cock to line up at your entrance.

“You ready, cariño?”

“Yes, ‘m ready. Please, Joel…”

He takes the moment of your relaxed exhale to push the tip of him inside your walls, the stretch of his girth burning you in a different way than his fingers. It’s not an overly painful burn, feeling like the stretch of a muscle. His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing your skin and speaking quietly.

“You alright, darlin’? ‘M not hurtin’ you, right?”

Your head shakes quickly, breathing out a breath you were holding and feeling your body relax around him and adjusting with the lack of tension.

“Not hurtin’. Just feels…different.”

“Different’s alright, sweetheart. ‘S just something new.”

Joel’s chest is taut as he breathes through his own pleasure, willing his hips still until you give him the go ahead to push a few more inches of himself inside of you. You feel fuller than ever before, even without all of his length inside. He pulls his hips back slowly, the drag of him inside squeezing a moan from you. He starts at a slow pace with only a few inches of himself, encouraged to give you more with the louder, repeated sounds you're making under him.

“Fucking hell, pretty girl. So tight, god…”

“In a good way?”

“Yes, baby, course it’s good — everything about you is good, no, great. You’re makin’ me feel so unreal right now. You’re perfect.”

After a few more slow thrusts, he slips himself inside of you completely, his head rolling back with a moan of your name as you gasp loudly at the feeling of him against every part of your cunt. He loses his composure, lack of self-control seeping through as Joel starts to really fuck you, quick snaps of his hips burying him to the hilt.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, mouth opening with silence choking any words from your mind. One of his hands grips your waist to hold you in place on the mattress as he drives into you, the other cupping your breast and squeezing while his index and thumb pinch your nipple.

The attention all over your body ripples pleasure throughout every one of your nerve endings, his name falling from your mouth over and over in breathy whines. He folds over you, lips finding the shell of your ear and whispering to you as he pushes you to toe the edge of Cloud Nine.

“Te adoro, hermosa. Cada toque tuyo se siente como la luz de una estrella tocando mi piel. Cada beso me respira nueva vida. (I adore you, beautiful. Every touch from you feels like the light from a star touching my skin. Every kiss breathes new life into me.)”

He doesn’t translate for you, leaving his words a mystery to your love-drunk brain. With his next thrust, he pushes you over that edge, a fall from the heavens as you plummet back down from euphoria into your body.

“Fuck, baby, you’re made for me. Gonna make me come, god damn.” His hips move back to leave you, your instant reaction to hook your legs around, digging your heels into the flesh of his ass to keep him inside.

“Please, please inside of me. I’m on the pill, take it religiously,” you whine out a beg, desperation slick in your tone. 

“Who am I to deny you, my sweet girl?” He shakes his head, hips thrusting into you a few more times before he spills his come, coating your walls and rolling his head back with a throaty groan. Both of you are still as you catch your breaths, his cock softening inside of you before he pulls it out slowly and lays next to you.

“You alright?”

A laugh first before answering, “‘M feelin’ amazing right now.”

Joel chuckles himself, a kiss to your cheek before he climbs out of your bed and traipses down the hall. You hear the swish of water from the tap turn on and off, bare footsteps slapping quietly against the wood floors as Jole comes back in through your doorway.

He cleans you up with a wet, warm cloth, exhaustion weighing your eyelids. Fluttering around your room, he moves smoothly as he gets the covers out from under you, tucking you in before discarding the cloth in your hamper and climbing under your comforter on the opposite side. He wraps you up as the little spoon, nose buried in your hair to smell your shampoo. 

Half awake, you reach to shut off your lamp. A confession floods your mind in the dark, faint voice whispering to him behind you, “I love you.”

It’s been a week.

A week since you revealed your heart and yourself fully to Joel.

A week of him not acknowledging either event.

A really weird fucking week.

Your return to school looms over your head, this lull coming at the most inopportune time.

Every day you see Joel, it’s awkward and disjointed in your embraces and kisses when Sarah’s off playing or he’s walking you to the door. Nothing feels as smooth as it was before last week, and there’s a nagging feeling in your chest that Joel taking your virginity ruined everything. That your friends were right, that guys never wanted to be that for someone because “women get too attached.” It sounded like bullshit to you before, and you don’t feel like you’re any more clingy than you’d acted before, the most attention you ask for is a kiss goodnight when you leave his house. He was always the one initiating more.

One night, you’d had a horrible thought that now he’s had you, he didn’t want any more. That it was about the chase, the finish line at the end of the summer that he’d crossed early.

But Joel wasn’t like that. He couldn’t be that type of guy.

He was a father. And a good one at that. An honest man. Someone who looks out for his family, even for strangers.

How could Joel become so lackadaisical with someone he said he cared about?

Today had been another stuttered dance of a goodbye, a chaste peck against your lips and a mumbled “see you tomorrow” before he sent you on your way, the door already closed when you glanced over your shoulder.

It had been eating away at you, carving out a part of your heart as you mulled over it all night. Your parents were asleep at this point, and looking out your window quickly, you saw his living room light still on.

You padded silently downstairs and slipped on shoes, quietly leaving out of your front door and crossing over to Joel’s porch. You knock instead of ringing the bell, not wanting to wake Sarah. The minute it takes Joel to answer the door feels like an hour, the courage you had about this confrontation fading with each passing second.

The entrance cracks open, half of Joel’s revealed as he takes you in. The rest of the door swings open, concern washing over his face with a furrowed brow and downturned mouth.

“It’s late, sweetheart. What are you doin’ out over here? Did something happen? Do you need help with something?”

With your arms crossed over your chest, you shake your head, glancing back at your house over your shoulder and debating if you should just forget this whole thing. Maybe he’s been having an off week — maybe it’s not worth bringing up if it could make things worse before you’re going to be three hours away at school for nine months.

The smallest part of you still urges you to push, to make him say what he’s feeling, even if it’s as simple as ‘I had a bad week at work’. If he can’t talk to you about what’s wrong now, what could happen if something starts bothering him when you’re going to have phone calls and limited visits?

It’s easier to justify a breakup when the person isn’t around for you. 

“Nothing’s happened, I—well, I wanted to come talk to you about this week. Just, things’ve been off. With us.”

Joel’s eyes hit the floor as you say that, his shoulders tensing along with the forearm that’s gripping the door. Anxiety pools in your stomach, the taut silence adding to your nerves. Is he angry?

“Think you should come in and sit down, sweetheart.”

That can’t be good.

You trail behind Joel after he shuts the door, following him into the living room and sitting at the end of the couch he gestures to. He sits near the middle, not quite the complete opposite end but not the spot he would have chosen before this week. Quickly grabbing the remote off the coffee table, he shuts off the TV and leaves the two of you in near darkness save for the soft light of the lamp behind you.

“Guess I should explain myself for this week.”

You can’t bear to look at him right now, your eyes turned down to your lap where you're picking at nails and a hangnail around your thumb.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot this week. About us. About the summer,” Joel sighs, his own eyes watching your nervous hands, “It has been a great summer. One of the best for me, I really do mean that. You’re so incredible, darlin’ b—”

“But what?”

Your gaze has risen to Joel, bile burning your throat when you see the look on his face — no hint of a smile when he said those words, no joy in his eyes. His mouth is in a downturned pout, his eyes rounded with sadness. The placement of his hands on his thighs is rigid, back straight as he cheats himself to face you more.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep goin’. For us to continue…this.”

Tears blur your vision until you blink them back, a few stray ones falling down your cheeks. You sniffle as Joel brings a hand up to wipe the drops from your cheeks — you let him, thinking it might be one of the last times, if not the last, he ever does anything soft like that for you.

“Why?”

Water wells the corners of your eyes again, lips pressed into a hard, flat line to hold in your sobs. Joel’s hand lingers against your skin, a flash of regret in his eyes that makes you think he’ll take it all back and you can forget about this ever happening.

But that look fades, replaced with the sadness from a minute before.

“You’re gonna be away at school, sweetheart. Three hours away. Busy as all get out for your last year. And I’m gonna be here. Bein’ a dad. And a mom too, most of the time. Plus with working full time on top of all that, I just, I couldn’t even promise a phone call to you, sweetheart.”

“But you could come visit on the weekends that Sarah’s at her mom’s…or-or I can come down. I would drive down every weekend to see you.”

“How'd you explain coming home every weekend to your parents? And you'd miss all the fun of your senior year for me? I couldn’t let you do that, darlin’. I wouldn’t want you to ever resent me for taking something like that away from you,” he shakes his head, definitiveness laced in his words, “I didn’t get to have all those experiences with Sarah being born, I didn’t even go to college. You have so much ahead of you, I don’t wanna hold you back.”

“How come you’re the one that gets to decide what I should do with my senior year? You’re not even giving me a choice. You’re not even giving me a chance if you do this, Joel.”

Tears fall freely at this point, not bothering to hold them in. Anger burns white hot in your chest, jaw clenched as you think about how he’s gone and decided what your life was going to be from now on.

“Sweetheart, you know it’s not like that—”

“It is. My whole life I’ve been making decisions to please people, if you can even call what I did making decisions. I listened to my parents, did the extracurriculars they told me to, never partied or got in trouble. I went to the college that they thought would be the best for me, even chose my fucking major — my career path — based on one thing my dad said to me years ago; he said ‘Y’know, you’ve got a smile that could sell ice to a penguin.’ I was twelve when he said that. And immediately I thought — if I could sell things like he said, he’d be proud of me, so I went into advertising,” you sit up on the couch further, shaking your head in disbelief, “I thought this summer was the first time I was choosing for myself. That nobody knew about how much I felt for you, that I was the one who was deciding that I wanted you. And when I decided that, when I told you I loved you, I wanted you to know that I was always gonna choose you. That this was the one path I could fully control.”

“Now I think I realize that I wouldn’t have done anything about it had you not kissed me first. I would have never made that decision without you deciding first. I’ve been following blindly my whole life. I wanted you to be the first thing I really chose. But I never really had a choice when it came to us. You were always gonna call the shots for what happened to us.”

“I didn’t go into all this knowing it was gonna come down to this at the end of the summer,” Joel’s voice is low and raspy, “I would never hurt you on purpose or string you along, sweetheart. I was in the moment with you. It was easy to forget about anything else when I was with you. You know I'm not going anywhere, I’ll always be here if you come back. But I think we both know you're destined for great things after you graduate.”

“I need you to do this for me, darlin’, please. Go have fun, be selfish this year. Spread your wings, mi mariposa. My butterfly.”

You stand from the couch, a sob escaping your lips as you turn to walk out the door. Joel follows you closely, grabbing your arm and turning you to face him.

“Joel, I don’t want to do this back and forth anymore. We’re done. It’s fine, it’s what you want and I am clearly not going to change your mind.”

“I just—I want you to know that I’m always going to care about you, sweetheart. I'll always be here for you.”

A sharp pain crackles in your chest as your heart crumbles, shards of it nestling to prick your lungs and steal the air from them, scrape against your ribs, spread everywhere in your body until it all hurts. Without another word, you take your arm from his grasp and leave out the front door. No looking back this time, no seeing if he’s watching you walk away from his life.

The trunk of your car slams shut with a push, all the belongings you’d brought home packed up again to make the drive back to school. You’re moving in earlier than you thought you would, heading back at the same time as your roommates instead of at the last second like every summer before. 

It’s been a dull last few weeks.

You didn’t have your job anymore to fill your days. Joel had messaged you that you were off the hook the morning after, and you spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet tears about not being able to say goodbye to say goodbye to Sarah. You had barely gotten glimpses of Joel, mostly seeing his truck parked in the driveway or coasting down the street in the mornings, but not much of him.

You’re not entirely sure if that’s helped or not.

But it doesn’t matter much now anyways, decisions were made and now you were finally leaving home.

On your driveway, your parents hugged you goodbye, your brother has already left for his school year to start baseball season training. With one last kiss on the cheek from your mom and a pat on the shoulder from your dad, you climbed in behind the wheel and backed out of the driveway. As you face towards the exit of your street, you take one look at the Miller house.

Joel’s standing on the porch with Sarah standing in front of him, a beaming smile on her face as she waves wildly at you. You roll your window down and wave back at her, laughing as she yells out a goodbye and good luck to you.

Flicking your eyes up to her dad standing behind her, hands on her shoulders and a closed, faint smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He lifts his hand in a short wave to you, and all you manage is a nod of acknowledgment back to him. You start driving away, watching both houses next to each other shrink in the rearview mirror. You blast the AC after rolling your window back up, turning on the radio to fill the silence and distract your mind.

The station host finishes up an ad read and immediately goes into the next song, trills of piano and slow, bright vocals.

American Pie.

taglist: @beskarandblasters @undrthelights @swiftispunk @joelsversion @clingontolife @elizabeth01585 @wandaandellie @asirenbyanyothername @ellenmunn @ja-ehyun @livinxdeadxgrl @sw33tp1xie @starsandsaints07 @marisemonteiroo @brunetteeras @whydontyoysaynodoja @beee-haw @shmaptainshmerica07 @jenna-mcgraw19 @whore-4-pedro @spursgirl14-blog @katifefe @joelmillerswifu @itsgiorgiaz @soph55 @grapejuicesny @wild-hearts-runfree @youcancallmeelle @lisa-ru @jupitren @ziggy-star @miaispunk @oneofutoo @starkovli @thatgeminigirlx @marchai @bunnyskisses @houseofballoonsth @casual-obsessions @pedro-pascal-lvr @bimbodolls-world @burningnerdchild @tuquoquebrute @mrsvedder12 @estelivi28 @helllsent @bongsrconfusing @addictedtotlou @brittmb115 @angie2274 @owod3 @pedrostories @pedroholicx @theelishad @johnwatsn @sunakochansama43 @elissaaa @felicityofbakerstreet @atinylittlepain

[bibblelevi]

This is a random little blurb I wrote when I was thinking about Professor Ackerman, and I don’t know when I’ll get around to a full fic, so have this instead

Warnings for power dynamics (Reader is in grad school, Levi is a professor, teaching a separate subject), age difference, light degradation, condescending Levi, fem! Reader

You tuck your phone into your back pocket and huff, dropping your chin onto your folded fingers. Levi studies you from across the table, the sounds of conversations between friends and drunken wailing tapering off into background noise. He finds himself zeroing in on you, a table space away.

“What’s the huffing and puffing about?” He swirls his glass around.

You shrug. “You know. Boy drama.”

He hums with a lift of his brows, but otherwise appears uninterested. He takes a drink.

“Don’t you want to know about it?” You tilt your head, lowering your lids and quirking the corner of your mouth. “Professor?”

His eyes meet yours, and he isn’t stupid—he hears the shift in your tone. The way your pitch heightens and your drawl smooths over. You sound the way his liquor feels going down.

“Oh, I don’t care,” he says.

“Hm.” Your back meets the chair, your legs crossing. You move a piece of hair over your shoulder and draw attention to the angular slant of your jaw. Are you wearing lipstick today? The color suits you.

“Have you ever had a problem making a woman come, Professor?”

Levi nearly spits out his drink. He doesn’t expect such a crude, vulgar word to fly out from your mouth so easily, but he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like he has much of a filter himself. But you do—your prim and proper little self. Except for now, apparently. He can’t say he doesn’t like it. He can’t say he doesn’t like how you look, or how you sound when you speak, or how you bat your eyes at him and pretend you know more than you think you do.

“Can’t say that I have,” he recovers with ease, without any indication you caught him off guard to begin with. “Why?”

You sigh, rolling your head around your shoulders, anticipating the pop. “Eren can’t ever make me come.”

“Poor girl.”

Your gaze snaps on his. Your thighs squish together, reminding you of the ache that’s been prevalent since the other night.

You’ve never met a man who could turn you on just by looking at you, but Professor Ackerman is a diamond in the rough. And you love shiny things. Especially because you rarely own them.

His tone borders on condescending, mirroring the aloofness he already poses. You like it, too, for some reason. It makes you hot. It makes you want to hear him say more condescending things, but in a lower voice and straight into your ear.

“You want me to make you come?” he asks.

Now it’s your turn to choke. Suddenly, you’re losing all your gall, gaping under his piercing gaze. His eyes are blue-gray but look almost black in this lighting, and his fingers look so long and thick wrapped around his glass; you can’t help but imagine two—no three—of them stuffed inside you, beckoning you to climax. He stares dead on. He doesn’t use any tactics. He doesn’t need to. He’s the kind of man who can say whatever vile thing he’s thinking and be commended for it.

You blurt out, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” The rest of his liquor slides down his throat. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a fifty dollar bill—more than enough for his drink, your drink, and the tip. He looks at you again. “Do you want me to make you come?”

Your eyes are round, and as the heat blooms across your cheeks and travels below your neckline, you give a small, apprehensive nod.

He folds his blazer over his forearm then takes a step towards you, his hipbone pressing into your knee. You can smell him—the expensive cologne and the whiff of aftershave still clinging to his neck. You want nothing more than to shove your nose right where he smells the strongest and taste him.

“Use your words,” he demands. “Do you want me to make you come?”

You swallow. “Y-yes.”

He gives a single shake of his head. “It’s not like you to crack under pressure like this.” His mouth comes closer to your ear, the space thinning until there’s nearly none left. “You’re a smart girl. You can speak in full sentences, can’t you? I know you write in them all the time—I’ve read them. And don’t forget your manners.”

You repress the urge to gnaw on your lip. Your chest dips with a shaky intake of breath. You can feel the heat of him so close, or maybe it’s emanating from what’s already pooling between your thighs. There’s an insatiable pounding—you have a feeling he’s the only one who can do anything about it.

So you stomp on your pride and you whisper, “I want you to make me come. Professor.”

He stares, waiting.

You clear your throat, your words feeling smaller, tighter. “Please, sir.”

He gives a satisfied hum. “‘Sir’?” he mutters to himself, but you don’t miss the way the corner of his mouth tweaks a bit. “Hm. Come on, now.”

You scramble up from your chair, your legs tingling like they fell asleep. You refuse to believe his effect on you is this jarring.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

Holy fuck—his place? You linger close behind him, careful not to accidentally knock his heels.

“Your… Your place?”

“Yes.” The draft from outside floods in as he opens the door, holding it long enough so you can scamper outside. Fresh snow crunches beneath your boots.

“You’re not like, taking me to your dungeon. Right?”

He stays close by your side while you walk through the parking lot, the keys in his hand jingling with each step. “I didn’t realize we were living in medieval times?”

“I meant a freaky sex dungeon.”

“Oh, right. That.” He glances at you then back ahead. “I’m revamping. The room’s off limits.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Of course not. Idiot.”

[austarus]

HR Wells x Reader - Reversal of Denouement

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes​ for being my beta reader.

Word Count: 8251

MASTERLIST

A low groan left HR's lips. His body felt numb, his chest ached - tingled as his heart beats steadily. Is it beating? The darkness of his eyelids eased the stinging coming from his mind – it wasn’t so bright. The headache formed there. His body screamed at him as the novelist made the slightest of movement. His left shoulder in particular had protested in desperate agony. He couldn’t move it very much, the area succumbed to restraints of some sort. HR’s throat felt raw as his body throbbed, the blood coursing meticulously through his blood vessels. The sound of a soft voice greeted his ears, but his eyes refused to open.

"I... you, HR... even if... see it." The voice was so familiar, so gentle. So sweet. "Should... better." A drop of water hit his numbed hand, static still prominent there from the little movement his body had done. “I wish…” The dark-haired doppelganger could only understand fragments of what the speaker was saying. He felt a pressure on his hand, tender skin holding onto his before something tickled his forehead. Feather-light. What was it? Who was it? A few moments passed and he heard nothing, the novelist only assumed that the voice’s owner had left. He didn’t want to be alone right now though, not with the darkness.

It had become unbearable.

Since... Since when did…? How...? Oh. Right. Savitar... Am I dead? Is this where spirits wait for their turn to pass into their designated afterlife? Have I really...? Events from earlier resurfaced to his mind, his senses coming together. Right, had to protect Iris. For Barry – it was my fault Savitar had gotten to her. My big mouth. Even if Barry didn't really see me as a helpful friend. At least... At least I proved Savitar wrong, who ironically is a version of Barry. That's hella twisted. He huffed out a breath before venturing back into the calmness of sleep. Maybe a little more rest will help?

***

HR cracked an eye open: this time, harsh filtered light had greeted him. The novelist grunted in pain, adjusting himself slightly to assess where he was. What day was it? What was the time? How long have I  been here? A yawn left his lips this time, his throat and mouth as dry as a desert.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up?” HR’s eyes met Cisco’s, who stood with a tablet in hand. “How’s sleeping beauty feeling?”

The Wells doppelganger cleared his throat. “Like I’ve gotten assaulted by an Amtrack bus, and not the good kinds.” HR’s baby blue eyes scanned the room, landing on the flower vase that was set on a table near him. Blue forget-me-knots and pink hydrangeas stood proudly in their vases, nurtured well. HR felt his heart swell, his eyes not daring to leave the delicate petals that accented the med bay in better tones. Cisco handed him a cup of water to which HR downed it immediately.

“Amtrack does trains.”

“Not on my Earth, Francisco.” The author couldn’t help but ask, his eyes lingering on the flowers once more. “Did Tracy bring those?”

Cisco pursed his lips, an odd look present on his face. He wanted to tell HR, but… “No. Um, she didn’t.” Tracy had been visiting, though it had become some sort of a nuisance to all her complaining at this point. She hadn’t even known HR for that long, anyway.

“Oh?” His shoulders dropped subtly in disappointment. “They’re beautiful, I was just wondering and…”

“Let’s just say, a special someone’s been… dropping by and bringing a new flower each day. That’s all you’re getting from me, Aurora.” Cisco reasoned with the Wells doppelganger. The mechanical genius knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. It killed him, but… “I wouldn’t move around too much, if I were you. You’ve got a fractured shoulder and that chest wound. I’ve been told to relay the message that you’re to be on strict bed rest until that shoulder further heals.” HR lowered his gaze to see the cross-body sling. He clenched his slinged hand and unclenched it to bring some feeling into the limb.

“What about my chest?”

“Miraculously, that’s been healing really well since day one.” Cisco kept the talk real, showing the injured doppelganger the schematics and pictures. “You got lucky that it missed your heart by a centimeter.” A stab wound like that should have… I wonder if she knows that I know.

HR blinked at the seriousness in his injury, the looming idea of death from his decision. “How long was I out?”

“A week and a half.”

“What?” HR’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I-”

“HR!” Tracy’s sudden voice pierced the room, stunning Cisco and triggering an ache in HR’s head. The grad scientists shuffled over to him, both forgetting that Cisco was in the room. “HR, my love, how are you? Are you feeling okay? Is there any pain?” He continued checking his friend’s vitals and adjusting dosages to the IV and morphine administered – as per your request. The room was growing ever louder with HR and Tracy. Tracy embraced him, minding his injuries as she continued to fuss over him. It made the Wells writer smile, yet… his heart didn’t swell as much as it used to.

Odd.

Cisco sent you a quick text while the two were preoccupied, but you were already at the Labs. You stopped just outside the entrance, the wall and dimly light hallway obscuring you from who remained in the med bay. They wouldn’t be able to see you from where you stood.  A shaky breath left you as you clutched the Freesia flower in hand. Your heart shriveled in your chest as you backtracked. Hearing his voice is enough. After all, with Tracy around you couldn’t be near him – those dirty and hateful looks she’d send you. Best to keep my distance, I guess. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him though, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart and would never reciprocate your love. You pushed down the lump in your throat. Hastily, you sent Cisco a text to check on the flowers. Silently, you trailed away from the med bay and to the upper levels of STAR Labs. I wonder if he liked the flowers. Standing at such altitude with the wind blowing lightly had calmed you a bit. Looking down at the flower, you gripped it tightly before you began to pick off the petals one by one. The little moments you had with the goofy novelist surfaced to the forefront of your mind with each petal you held. Your little curious escapades. The little talks. The nights you’d visit him when Tracy wasn’t around.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” You murmured, a stray tear trickled down your cheek. The freesia symbolizes unconditional love and honor. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

***

A frown presented itself on HR’s lips as he tilted his head to crack his neck. The crack relieved him tremendously. It didn’t make sense. The novelist mused to himself, setting aside the current chapter draft he was working on. The voice I heard was… different. It didn’t sound like Tracy’s. HR couldn’t get that voice out of his mind – the tenderness that was laced in the tone of that voice. Nothing like the slight shrill in Tracy’s. He eyed the flowers once more that day, their presence was prominent. If Tracy hadn’t brought those, then who had?

The team had helped situate HR in his room in order to vacate the med bay should another imminent event occur. He had overheard Cisco tell Wally that you were preoccupied with something in Star City – a bit of disappointment twinged inside him. HR had taken up doing bits of physical therapy for the rest of his body without moving his shoulder as much. His shoulder and arm remained in a crossbody sling. The flowers sat on his bedside counter; he tended to them as best as he could with the limited movement he had. Tracy protested that they don’t need to be around, but the novelist was vehement on keeping the plants. HR won’t deny the fact that he had gotten annoyed several times with her around when he needed thinking space for his writing. He couldn’t write with noise and nonsensical chatter, especially if it’s mainly coming from someone who doesn’t want to really listen to his input. She’d go on and on about her scientific research and such, but wouldn’t hear a word from HR regarding his writing. The longer the novelist was confined to his room for rest, the more he had time to think – to contemplate. Yes, he liked Tracy, but… it just seemed that she didn’t really see HR. She does all the talking; she doesn’t really ask about how I feel about things or ask me about my life, even things about Earth-19… It’s like she doesn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face. It’s not even my face that Tracy sees, just Randolph’s. Was I too quick to jump at the first person who showed interest in me? Had I rushed into ‘forever’ with her?

He tabled those thoughts for now. HR reached for his laptop; one hand opened it to start it up. While the device loaded, he grabbed his black-clear glasses and set them on his face. If anyone saw him as such, they wouldn’t be able to tell the physical difference between him and his handsome, yet grumpy doppelganger. Except for the eyebrow scar, but that was obscured by the glasses. HR did a couple of searches with a concentrated look. Surely, it was the person with that… angel-like voice.

“Hydrangeas,” HR whispered as his eyes skimmed over the text that had popped up. “The hydrangea represents gratitude, grace and beauty. It also radiates abundance because of the lavish number of flowers and the generous round shape. Its colors symbolize love, harmony and peace.” The Wells doppelganger scrolled further. “Pink hydrangeas symbolize heartfelt emotions.” Interesting. HR continued his research, glancing at the other flower type that resting in the vase. “Forget-me-nots symbolize true love and respect. When you give someone these tiny blooms, it represents a promise that you will always remember them and will keep them in your thoughts. They are also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness.” A particular link caught his eye, he clicked on it. The novelist read to himself the text once more, “Based on Christian lore, the story about forget-me-nots is that God was walking in the Garden of Eden. He saw a blue flower and asked it its name. The flower was a shy flower and whispered that he had forgotten his name. God renamed the flower as forget-me-not saying that He will not forget the flower.”

HR swallowed thickly; contrary to popular belief around here, he wasn’t stupid. Sure, he wasn’t a science-based genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an expert on other aspects of life and had basic common sense. The author was emotionally intelligent and intact with the world around him. These flowers weren’t picked out on accident. But who would do that? Who doesn’t want me to forget about them? The dark-haired man shook his head slightly as he shut his laptop. A surge of sadness welled inside him at the notion of ‘being forgotten’. Who had he done that to? He’d get to the bottom of this mystery in due time. Right now, I need to jog my memory on what I was writing. A hand found a rough draft paper, his eyes scanned over the words he had typed out. His brows creased as the written notes he’d made on the paper as well. (Y/N) … I had… What had I been writing about again? The novelist read each line, each note he had made no drafts and scratch paper.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up as realization hit him the more he had read on. The drafts, the notes, all of it – the little novel he had been writing regarding his adventures. But this particular part of his story – the ‘angel’ in his story. The one who stuck by him since coming here, the one who had given him a safe space… And the one he hadn’t seen since waking up. How could he forget? HR lowered the paper; his eyes became half-lidded as guilt shot through him. Before Barry had gone to the future and gotten hints of Tracy with her Speed Bazooka, HR had been working on his book. A book that he had pushed off to stick with Tracy and help in any way that he can to make the speed weapon possible. He had gotten distracted from doing the things he loves. A few conjectures arose in his mind as he slipped his glasses off, one arm end pressed to his lips. His heart hammered into his chest; you were among the last faces he had seen before passing out that night.

The irony. How could I forget that (Y/N) was the ‘angel’ in my story?

***

“Look at you, up and at ‘em.” Cisco strolled into the lounge with a cheeky grin. The mechanical genius didn’t take HR for granted anymore, not with the stunt he pulled. No, Cisco willingly checked up on him – not just for you, but for himself. HR had truly become one of his close friends in the end, especially with all the advice about Gypsy. “What are you cooking up this time?”

“Just an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, Francisco,” HR turned to the mechanical engineer who continued to tinker away at the schematics to get Barry out of the Speedforce. He offered Cisco some with a gesture only for the scientist to politely decline. “I haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere. Um, is she also…?”

“Oh, you know how she’s like. Either up in the vents or chilling in her birds’ nest on the roof. And on that note, our resident hummingbird has become quite the firecracker.”

HR raised an eyebrow at his friend. “How so?”

“She punched Savitar square in the face then decked him multiple times over when Barry brought him in. Harry had to be the one to pull her away – well, more like carry her away kicking and screaming bloody murder at him. It sounded badass; wish I had been there to see it.”

The Wells doppelganger gritted his teeth at the mental image of Harry carrying you – touching you. The thought ruffled his feathers for some reason.  HR expertly masked his irritation, turning the stove off and assembling the food on his plate. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you, HR.”

“…”

“He almost killed you.” And that was unforgivable, especially to her. “We almost lost you. She almost lost you.”

A rough sigh escaped HR as Cisco had sent him a knowing look before exiting the STAR Labs lounge. The Earth-19 man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Only a fool would misunderstand Cisco’s subtle intentions. HR knew what he had to do – he’d been reflecting on his time here, thinking about the people around him, about the relationships he’s formed. The novelist glanced outside – the sun shined, the birds chirped, and the trees rustled with the wind. 

And the world continues to move on.

***

“When are you going to tell him?”

“…” You tensed at the abrupt voice. You snapped your head up, eyes darting to find Cisco approaching you with pocketed hands in his gray-black jacket. He wore a Bulbasaur shirt. The clouds surged by with the intensity of the breeze. Your hair blew over your shoulders slightly. Tilting your head, you turned back to watch the city. Days had passed and you refused to see HR, content on what Cisco had been telling you. He’d been recovering tremendously well, but… you didn’t really want to hear about what he and Tracy were up to. It wounded you. “Tell who, what?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ms. I’m-going-to-put-my-feelings-in-a-box.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohohohoho, no. I am tired of the love eyes, the lingering gazes, the pining. It ends.” Your best friend came to sit down next to you with that frustrated look on his face. “I know you have powers.” Your heart stopped in your chest at his accusation. “I know you used your powers to heal HR.” You bit down on your lip, not wanting to validate his statement. Cisco saw “I analyzed the wounds, looked at his healing at a microscopic level. I’m not Caitlin, but even I can pick up a few things. His cells were excelled to heal, but there were residues of your genetic markers at the wound point. You stitched his wounds together, cell-by-cell. My point is: why didn’t you say anything? Your powers are a-”

“-A curse.”

“What?”

“They’re a curse.” You threw a hard look at Cisco, making sure your hands wouldn’t touch him. “I can’t be playing God, Cisco. And… it’s unpredictable, volatile. I could either heal the life in my hands or take it away. I could rip someone ‘cell-by-cell’, Cisco. There’s no ‘in between’, not this time. He got lucky with my powers. He got lucky I didn’t make things 100% irreversible.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco eyed the gloves you wore; it wasn’t the season for leather gloves.

“Because I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“You don’t want to give yourself false hope, you mean.”

“…I can’t even heal a plant, Cisco. No matter how hard I tried, it wilted further. It’s a curse.”

“That’s not guaranteed every time, you know. It takes practice – discipline to get your powers to work with you instead of for you.” He nudged your shoulder with his, turning his gaze to the flock of birds drifting through the wind. “You know, he broke up with Tracy.”

“Ok?”

“Happened a week ago. She didn’t take it well and let me tell you. Tracy Brand was livid – the rage and yelling were off the charts. I think she has Harry beat. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, it was too superficial to begin with.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to sound uninterested, but deep down you were relieved. You heard a little ring in your ear. You wondered…

“She’s gone, won’t be coming here anymore.

“Ok.”

“So, go make your move.”

You turned abruptly to face him. “Cisco, have you thought that maybe HR doesn’t want to dive into a relationship right away? That… maybe he needs space to focus on himself?” All were things you had contemplated for yourself before.

“And what better way to do that than with a new roommate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surprise, you’re getting a temporary roommate while we fully fix up things around the labs. I volunteered you since you have the space and the patience to deal with HR.” Your blood froze in your veins.

“Francisco Ramon, I am going to-”

“-Thank me, you’re going to thank me.” He had already breached away before you had the chance to strangle him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the idea of HR living with you, even if it was a temporary living arrangement. You scolded your heart for beating loudly in your chest. One hand gripped tightly to your other. An audible sigh escaped you as your mind played with the idea.

Shit, what am I going to do?

***Day 1***

Cisco blew out an exhausted breath, setting down another box on top of a box in the guest room. You and the mechanical genius had been breaching back and forth with HR’s things as said novelist was crippled. His arm would take about another four weeks to heal. About 20 percent of shoulder fractures are displaced and may require some type of manipulation to restore normal anatomy. Occasionally the rotator cuff muscles are injured or torn at the same time as the fracture. Fortunately for HR, his rotator cuff muscles weren’t as damaged. This can further complicate the treatment. Therefore, in that time, HR would just be handling the lighter stuff, bless his heart. The novelist entered the room with his black backpack slung over his functioning shoulder – it was the last thing that he could carry.

“I think there’s one more box left,” HR pointed with his thumb towards his back direction, the breach closing behind him.

“I’ll go get it, not a problem. Why don’t you two get started on unpacking, huh?” HR shrugged with one shoulder and stepped away to set his bag down by the bed. Cisco threw a cheeky look your way when HR had his back turned, his eyebrows wiggling. ‘Have fun love birds,’ the scientist had mouthed at you. You flicked him off with a deadpanned look. Instantly you dropped it when the Wells doppelganger turned as Cisco snickered before he breached away. He gave you a confused look, but you waved it off.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For allowing me to stay obviously. And for all the help since I’m, well, a bit tangled up at the moment.”

He was referring to the cross-body sling that clung onto him like a spider. HR rubbed the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his bicep flexed at the motion in that gray short-sleeve shirt. Calm the fuck down, it’s just a toned muscle. You’ve seen things like that before.  The puppy-like smile HR sent you had your cheeks warming up. The gentle smile that made your heart melt all over again. You cleared your throat as you reached for a box. “It’s no big deal, HR.” Undoing the tape seal with scissors, you opened the box- and the first thing you see are a pair of handcuffs accompanied by a silky black blindfold.

“What’s in the box?”

A little noise left you as you shut the flaps of the box, trying to seal it again. The flaps remained downward in the box. “Nope, nothing. Just some clothes here. I’m going to get that one box from the living room.” You had backtracked right into the door, your nose throbbed in response at the collision. “Ow,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the skin.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” your response was quick, but not rude. A deep chuckle made its way to your ears as you scrambled out the room, your heart hammering in your chest. Your thoughts scolded you for being so awkward and flustered around him. Be cool, just chill out… The man you’re hopelessly in love with is just living with you temporarily, it’s not like anything will amount from this. You picked up the last box in the living room, hoping that just clothes would be in here and not anymore kink toys. I mean… I have toys, too. AW SHIT, I HAVE TO HIDE THEM!

HR’s eyes never left you as you made your panicked exit. He let out a little breath before shuffling over to the box you had been attending to. Immediately, he face-palmed hard when he had opened it with one hand. His face felt impossibly hot at what you had seen. She must think I’m an idiot or something. His mind thought back to when you helped him shop for some new clothes then it had gotten ruined from a meta. His hand fell away from his face, the image of your kind grin imprinted in his mind. I am an idiot, though. A fool.

Once Cisco returned, you three continued unpacking HR’s things for the time he’d spend here. The labs were still in ‘piss-poor’ shape according to Cisco and that he’ll need to consult with Harry and Wally regarding repairs.

“HR, how are you showering?”

“Um, like a normal person?” A dumbfounded look crossed HR’s features as he set the plate of sandwiches down. The novelist had knitted his eyebrows at Cisco. He had taken up to experimenting in the kitchen when he wasn’t writing. The tea and coffee were still brewing in your kitchen.

“No, I mean with how your shoulder is injured,” Cisco snuck an evil look at you, you returned it with a glare, “must be hard handling it alone.” You knew exactly where this dumbass wanted to take this conversation, so you stayed silent as to not get caught in the crossfire.

HR thought to himself for a moment. “Just a bit, but I’ve gotten used to the mild discomforts and pain. I can mostly reach everything thanks to my long limbs. But I think the nice thing is that it’s an internal issue, not an external one. An external injury or wound would require me to really have help with showering that way the area doesn’t get infected or irritated with the contents of soaps.” A laugh fell from his lips, but his mind wondered what his friend was playing at while you were around.

“I’m just saying, if you ever need a hand well,” Cisco trailed off with a smirk, chomping on his third sandwich.

Oh, I see. Devious, but a futile effort. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one I ask for help,” HR teased with a smirk of his own for Cisco to drop his in disgust. A cough escaped you, which had HR’s eyes land on you. Your eyes met for a moment before you deviated your gaze. HR felt hypnotized for a moment. Hm… The engineer quickly recovered from HR’s snide remark.

“Alright kids, I’ll be going now. The labs require some diligent work that I, a capable and distinguished engineer, could only do.”

“Yet, we still have the occasional security issues,” You sipped your tea once the snarky comment was out. HR stifled a chuckle, but you heard it. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly at the notion.

“Hey, that’s not fair. They always come up with something new to invade our space by.” Cisco pointed a finger at you, mocking a hurtful expression on his face. It dropped into a sneaky smile. “Make good choices and always use protection, you two!” He breached away before you could throw your cup at him.

***Multiple Days Pass***

Through his time here, you noticed HR fueled to write what’s on his mind in the guest room. You could only assume that he continued his adventure story. Sometimes he would venture out for some coffee or take a walk to give his creativity a break. Keeping that in mind, you gave HR the space he needed as well as all noises to a minimum. You knew he liked the quiet atmosphere to pour his heart and soul into words as he did research for a scene. Pulling your jacket on, you compiled a list of groceries before you stepped out of your apartment. Locking the door, you headed out to the store picking up a few necessities as well as some snacks for HR. Like Harry, the novelist can easily lose himself in his task – which meant that he tended to forget about eating and such. You found a bag of Jitters coffee beans, adding it to your cart of items. Buying some snacks and fruit, you’d leave a note in the kitchen of the snacks when he emerged from his writing cave.

On the way back, you stopped by at Iris’ studio to check up on her. A few groceries for her as well were in hand. Cecile and you did your best to visit Iris. But you can’t deny that you blamed her to a certain extent. Had she spoken up once she had left Savitar’s place disguised as HR, HR wouldn’t have been hurt that night on Infantino Street. Surely, she could have contacted her father or Cisco or something. The transition could have been smoother. HR wouldn’t have been… The journalist was faring; she pushed through the pain and as Barry had told her ‘to keep living’. So, Iris did. She hadn’t been herself since Barry went into the Speedforce – she pushed too much, the smile wouldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. You sympathized; she lost the love of her life. But you almost had too.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just… taking it one day at a time.” You nodded at her response, a small smile on your face. “How are things with you and HR? I heard of the temporary living conditions.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m in my bubble and he’s in his doing his writing.”

“Right. Nothing going on whatsoever?”

“Iris.”

Iris set her cup of hot chocolate down and raised both hands in mock defeat. “We all saw it. We all see it.”

“See what?”

“How smitten you are for him.”

“I’m not-”

“-Don’t say you’re not. If you weren’t you, Harry wouldn’t have to pry you off Savitar before you clawed his eyes out.”

“…” You just looked into your tea, the honey that settled at the bottom. Iris placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look at her.

“The heart will want what it wants, (Y/N). Pushing your feelings into a box and denying it out loud won’t change things.”

“I know.”

And my heart wants him, over and over again. Even if he can’t see me.

***

HR tapped his pencil against the desk at a steady pace. His mind wouldn’t focus on the words in front of him, on the scene he wanted to set. Instead, it kept drifting further from it. Further towards you: your eyes, your smile, the kindness that you held; the serenity that your existence held as the world continued to turn and chaos had unfolded at each turn. HR didn’t see much of you while he was here, the novelist missed your company. You were here, but you weren’t really here. You were either in your room or at the balcony with a book or on the couch with your Switch. He didn’t want to bother you, but… sometimes HR just wanted to sit beside you and pull you close to talk. To hold you in his arms and ask you about your day, to understand what you were thinking. HR cracked his back in a stretch from where he sat on his bed, being mindful of his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt as it had originally done a few weeks back. The Wells doppelganger noticed that you were careful to avoid touching him or him touching you. Not even a hug that you used to graciously give him. You were especially guarded with your hands. A rough sigh left him as he threw his pencil down. The frustration was setting in, he was getting nowhere. You consumed his thoughts. HR wondered if you were revolted by him but doesn’t verbalize his thoughts to you. He didn’t think you’d give him your truthful answer. Maybe she is revolted by me. She did find the cuffs and the blindfold… No, she knew about the cuff stage thing well before that.

The sound of the front door greeted his ears followed by the soft tune of music. A frown made its way onto his face. Might as well take a break. HR stretched once more when he fully stood up, a little noise of relief left his lips. He cracked his back once more before smelling himself. For safe measure, the novelist sprayed a bit of cologne on himself and turned off the candle he had on. He mentally noted to take a shower after dinner since his last was yesterday. He liked the feeling of being clean, to be honest. HR carded a hand through his hair. I need a haircut soon, too. Yeesh, I feel like I’m letting myself go. Once I’m all healed it’s back to proper cuts and the labs’ recreation room. He wanted to go back to lifting weights and doing yoga for body stability purposes – especially now because of his shoulder. HR rested a hand on his chest, the wound had healed completely, but a scar remained. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the groceries on the table and heard you whisper along with the lyrics. The music was set to a low level that your whispers were audible enough. He watched you sway a bit with the tune.

So please don't break my heart

Don't tear me apart

I know how it starts

Trust me I've been broken before

Don't break me again

I am delicate

Please don't break my heart

Trust me I've been broken before

The guitar tune pulled at his heart, feeling the raw emotion behind the lyrics. He eyed you for a moment. HR cleared his throat to make his presence known, he knew you didn’t like to be snuck up on. However, a little gasp left you from where you were. “You went out shopping?”

You looked up from where you crouched to put away the cereal. “Uh yeah, we were running low on some stuff.” You shut the cabinet and went to the other items you had bought. The music continued to delicately play.

“Need any help?”

“Um, sure. Uh, just set these into the cabinet on the left.” Normal, be normal. He’s not going to eat you or anything. Distance is good. Distance keeps you safe. You didn’t meet his eyes, the eyes that’d pull you in and never let you out – your heart shook with him here and the song that played. You were hoping HR wouldn’t come out while you prepped dinner to have a sort of peace of mind. The next song played before you could stop it-

My last made me feel like I would never try again

But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt

Come closer, I'll give you all my love

If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything

“I like this song,” HR started as he was finishing up with putting his side of the groceries away. Another guitar-like song that brought out the soft feelings of love and rejection. HR mused to himself if fate had planned this out. If this was some sort of sign or a cruel joke… You had stopped yourself from clicking the button to skip the song at his comment. You don’t know what possessed you to let him indulge in another song that you’ve cried to late at night. “Hey, I can cook dinner tonight. I have something I’ve been wanting to try. I’m not that crippled so I can manage with a few cookware.” HR chuckled to himself, a goofy grin on his face. Your heart leapt in your chest; his grin caused a small smile to pull at your lips. “You can wash up first?”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting his icy blues. You felt your cheeks warm up slightly as the nerves crawled up your spine. “Oh, ok. Cool, yeah. Can’t wait to see what you cook up.” You nodded, ducking your head away and shuffling out of the kitchen with that shy smile on your face. You missed the longing look he had sent you as you fastened your steps to head to your room.

God I love that smile. What goes on in that little head of yours? We used to be so close… before Tracy came into the picture. HR pulled out the spices and the chicken breast. He shook his head and proceeded to prep the food with his one useful hand. I need to consult Francisco.

***

“We need to talk,” HR’s voice broke the silence in the side lab of the Cortex. He had breached to the labs using the Breach Extrapolator after he had showered and such. His damp hair was pushed back in HR’s normal style.

“About what?” Cisco raised a concerned eyebrow at the writer, stopping what he had been doing.

“(Y/N).”

A nervous laugh left Cisco as he went back to attempting to make the necessary modifications to the Speed Bazooka. Tracy was reluctant to help the mechanical engineer after the breakup. “What about (Y/N)?” Cisco put down his screwdriver. “Did you do something weird to her?”

“What? No! I- we used to be closer. We always talked, we’d hang out after a long day here at the labs.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, maybe it’s just me, but things have changed.”

“How so?” Cisco was wondering what conclusion HR was leading himself to.

“Things changed when Tracy came into the picture.”

Cisco made a little ‘o’ with his mouth with a little nod before closing it. He pushed a rough sigh past his lips, he was getting really tired of this puppy love game. “Why do you think that?”

“Francisco, she flinches when I get close – almost when I touch her… Does she hate me?”

“I think you and I know the answer to that one. But I think the real question should be: Why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Do you love her, HR?”

The novelist tensed a bit. “…” HR pursed his lips as Cisco walked around the table that the speed weapon was mounted on. Blueprints were scattered on one table while the glass board held variables and equations he could not decipher. “What?”

“I said what I said,” the mechanical genius smoothly responded. One look at HR and Cisco knew that he was baffled by his forward words. But they needed to be said. “Now run along and use that head of yours to think about what your heart wants. Barry isn’t going to get himself out of the Speedforce.”

***

Cisco’s words mulled through HR’s mind as he breached back to your apartment’s living room.  Only the lamp light on the side table was on. HR’s eyes landed on you, who laid on the couch with the book you had been reading on the back ledge of the couch. The novelist took off his shoes and set down his bag. He had detoured to the bookstore, looking for the next installment of your current book. The Wells doppelganger had assumed you didn’t buy it yet as it was vacant from your bookshelf. The gentle giant stepped silently closer to you; the dim light cast over you like a glow. There were slight bags under your eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Spotting a large and fluffy blanket near, HR grabs it and lays it on top of you. He remembered you mentioned to him prior that you easily get cold, especially at night. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, HR contemplated something before his body moved impulsively. The novelist placed a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips lingered for a few more seconds. Pulling back, HR watched your chest rise and fall.  He turned the light off and stumbled over to his room with his phone light guiding him. He knew what he was going to write. Cisco’s question pestered him enough though.

Do you love her, HR?

HR took one look out his door before shutting it, his heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he whispered, “Goodnight, my angel.” Only the shadows that lingered were a witness to the fondness laced in those simple words.

***

You woke up with a start, you hand instantly smacking right into your chest. Heavy breaths left you as your nerves were in overdrive. Cold sweat beaded your skin as you gasp for air. It was another night terror – the same one for a few weeks now; a new way in which you caused HR’s death. Swallowing thickly, you screw your eyes tightly shut and whisper the mantra that calmed you down. After a few minutes, you started to regain control of your breathing – the thoughts that ravaged your mind finally ceased like the tides subsiding after a tsunami. You blinked languidly, hating nights like these. They weren’t rare, but they weren’t an uncommon occurrence. Deciding that you needed to step out for some air, you did so with the intent of getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Your fingers found the lights for the dimmers in your room, setting it to its lowest setting for you to see yourself out.

Cracking the door open, you were instantly met with the scene of HR passed out on the couch again. He’s been doing that for around two weeks now, the couch his new base of operations. His mouth was slightly open as little snores escaped him. A lovestruck smile crossed your features at the sight. Papers were littered around him, on the ground, and on the tables. Must be the manuscript he’s working on for his final draft. I hope I can read it at some point. Coming back from the kitchen with the water in hand you couldn’t help but stop to admire the sight. You noticed the glasses still perched on his face. Moving as silent as a ninja, you inched closer to pull off the glasses from his face. They’ll break if he keeps them on while he sleeps. Then he won’t see for shit when reading things. You nibbled on your bottom lip as your eyes drifted to the papers. One peek won’t hurt anyone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seating yourself on the ground, you leaned your back against the foundation of the couch. You were opposite to where HR’s upper body was. If there were any telltale signs of him waking, you’d hightail out before he could fully wake up and process what you were doing. Picking up a small stack, you started sifting through them. Your mind became engrossed with the words – the beginnings of the story he had spun about his adventures as to how he came to Earth-1. Then… mentions of an angel eluded you. It couldn’t be Tracy, could it? I know they broke up, but… on the other hand, it doesn’t mean that he can’t say that she was his angel at the time. Like a character development thing leading to their break up?? Well fuck, I don’t even think he’d mention such a personal thing in his book. I know I wouldn’t… would I? I don’t know. A little smile danced at your lips while you read on about the synonymous things regarding Team Flash that you failed to notice HR rouse from sleep.

“Do you like it?” Lethargy intertwined his words. A stunned noise left you as you clutched the papers. You turned to see HR rubbing his eyes before gazing at you.

I could get lost in those eyes if I stared too long.

“Uh, yeah, its- it’s really good,” you stuttered, setting the papers down in your lap. Embarrassment of getting caught gripped you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you taking a peek. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in it.” HR shifted his lithe body to sit next to you on the ground.

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s not that important, I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so,” HR’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m here if you want to talk.” You nodded at him, whispering a little thank you. HR ran a hand over his knee, he took a glimpse at you who stared at the papers. He noticed what chapter you hand been reading – the angel was making an appearance in the story. The hair at the back of his neck stood while you thumbed the words on the paper back in forth, just lost in your mind. Your hair was messy from sleep, the bags under your eyes were still there. It killed him how you wouldn’t confide in him anymore. But he didn’t push you. You would open up to him if you wanted to or not, even if he wanted you to do so as so his mind can be at ease with knowing what’s going on with you. Cisco’s question sprang up in his mind once more before he licked his lips, his eyes watching you. “I do.”

You gave HR a strange look. I do, what?

“Tracy wasn’t her.” Realization struck HR the more you whispered with him.

“Huh??”

“I heard this voice before I woke up.” The novelist fully turned to you with intense eyes, the enlightenment in them – the fire that burned brightly. “The tenderness in it could rival any tasteful delight in the multiverse.”

“A voice?”

“Mm, it made me think that only a heavenly deity would have such a voice.” You remained silent as he spoke. “I never got to hear that voice since my coma… until now?”

You tensed at what he was insinuating. “Now?”

“How could I forget?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“How could I forget about you?” The baritone huskiness in his voice made you melt with the way he said those words. You swallowed, trying to calm the butterflies that raged in the pit of your stomach. “The flowers that were left – beautiful, delicate, yet meaningful. You left those after visiting me.”

“…”

She didn’t deny it. “But you never visited when I was awake because of Tracy.”

“She hates me.”

“And I was too blind to see that until I broke up with her, she threw quite a fit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you must have loved her so much that it would be hard to let go.” She was your angel, after all.

“She didn’t even know me. Truly know me.”

“… Did she hurt you?”

“Slightly, but the bruise is gone.” You and he were silent for a moment. Only the sound of a distant car horn was heard from the streets. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“The flowers, the visit…” HR licked his lips as a rough breath left him. His nerves were climbing, but he needed to do this. “Cisco told me what you did to Savitar when you saw him. How angry you were that Harry had to pry you off him – I was so angry.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know then… but I know now.”

“And?”

“Tracy was never the one written in my story – she didn’t care. She didn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face obsessed with coffee. You did.” HR tucked your hair behind your ear, carefully gauging your reaction. He saw how you tried not to flinch away from him. “Do you hate me?” He asked as he retracted a hand from you, happy that he was at least getting through to you.

“Never could I feel such a way towards you.” You hesitated for a moment before testing the waters. You started to explain, “I- the night you were stabbed by Savitar I… I just broke. I pushed Tracy away, I had Barry rush you back to the labs. You were dying, unconscious on the gurney and… I got to work trying to resuscitate you. I had Cisco take care of Tracy while I worked, I needed space to think clearly, but I couldn’t. When- when the others were preoccupied with Iris’ appearance, I used these powers.” It was now or never. “I was desperate. Your life was hanging by a thread- I didn’t think it was going to work, but nothing else was working. You were bleeding so much. But I had to try. I…” Your glassy eyes locked back on his, your hands pulled close to your body. HR understood now why you never tried touching him. Why you are avoiding getting too close. “Cisco found out, he confronted me. But these powers, life isn’t guaranteed. They’re volatile, unprecedented – regardless of how I feel in the moment the balance can tip between giving a life and taking one.” There was a tightness in your chest as your voice cracked, “I’m cursed, I could hurt you.” I’m dangerous.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“But I do,” HR reached a hand out to hold yours. Tension filled your heart as panic started to settle. “You wouldn’t let yourself hurt me. It would pain you too much.” HR squeezed your slightly shaky hand, his other hand still bound by the cross-sling. “My life is in your hands.”

“How can you trust me so much?”

“Because love cannot be built without a foundation of trust.” He placed a sweet kiss on the knuckles of your hand. “And understanding.” He took the other and kissed it, baby blue eyes shifted back to yours with such intense emotion. The adoration that filled the author to the brim for you. Just for you. Only you. The one who saw him for everything and anything that he is. His safe space – the one other thing he wanted to be for you as well. He wanted to eliminate any fears that resided in your heart, the pain and doubt that remained.

“Do you hate me?”

HR cupped your cheek tenderly as he leaned close, your heart wanted to stop as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears. Your half-lidded eyes shut slowly as his lips skimmed over your own. “Never in my life, angel,” the novelist whispered as he captured your lips in a tender and sentimental kiss.

Never in my life could I hate the one who my heart has yearned for.

[fairy-writes]

Congratulations again on 600, can’t wait to see everything else you’ll do in the future! I absolutely love this idea for an event, it seems like so much fun! I’d love Kunikida, Aizawa, and Ranpo, if that works, please! As far as what I look like, I’m 5’8”, on the curvy side, I wear glasses, and I usually alternate between professional outfits and a fandom t-shirt and jeans. I have medium length, loose curly hair, dyed red at the bottom, and blue eyes!

I love all sorts of geekery, anime (obviously), theater/musicals, video games, reading, and crafts. For dislikes, I hate when things are disorganized, especially events, and I’m not huge on dogs. I’m currently a grad student going for my MBA and working as a marketing intern for a theater in town, so it’s the best of both worlds, I’d love to continue in that type of work in the future! (I’m the type of person that follows brands on social media for fun XD) As far as hobbies, I like to do paper tole, cosplay, and I’ve started writing a little recently!

I tend to be really driven, I’m a hard worker and stubborn so if I set my mind to something, it’s going to happen one way or another, which likely explains why my Hogwarts house is Slytherin. I’m quiet at first, and while it takes me a while to warm up to people, I usually come across as at least polite to new people. With people I’m close to though, I tend to be a bit of an instigator; if someone is on the fence about doing something, or is too nervous, I’ll talk them into going through with it, and I have a bit of a dark sense of humor. As far as fun facts, I have a little bit of hearing loss, so I wear hearing aids whenever I remember them, and I don’t want kids at all, but I’m more than down with cats! Thanks again for doing this, sorry if it’s a little long!

Hello lovely! I hope you like your request! It wasn’t that long at all!

Kunikida Doppo Request: 

Compatibility: 96%!

How Did You Meet?: You were originally a client that Fukuzawa assigned to you!

How the Relationship Will Work From Day to Day: Kunikida meets you at the ADA first thing in the morning, where you get a few minutes of alone time to say hi and talk until everyone starts filtering in. Then it’s time to get to work with clients and missions! The two of you work so well together that you are usually a go-to pairing and are sometimes requested explicitly by clients. In addition, the two of you are both hard-working and stubborn, so there’s no job you can’t do together! He helps you study for your MBA when the two of you have free time and cheers you on every step of the way! He used to be a math teacher, so he knows a lot of tips and tricks on how to study effectively. The two of you go to theater shows all the time on your days off, so now the staff practically recognize you!

Marriage?: Absolutely! He’s all red-faced and blushy when proposing and can barely get his words out, but the two of you have a gorgeous ceremony with the ADA in attendance and Fukuzawa as best man and Yosano as your maid of honor!

Kids?: You two adopt an adorable little calico kitten from a litter of kittens at a shelter! Kunikida doesn’t want a dog, and cats are the perfect alternatives!

What Does the Future Hold?: No breakups or divorce for you two! Instead, you stay together well into your golden years and retirement and live a happy and full life together!

Ranpo Edogawa Request: 

Compatibility: 44%

How Did You Meet?: Through Fukuzawa! You had worked with him on occasion, so when Ranpo came into the picture, you naturally got to know him. 

How the Relationship Will Work From Day to Day: You are usually chosen to follow Ranpo around and escort him to his cases since you are the only one who can keep up with his quick mind. There’s usually some bickering and arguing along the way. That’s just how Ranpo is; he’s the epitome of a man-child, which also reflects in your relationship. 

Marriage?: Ehhh… Signs point to no for this one. But, if you do, tread carefully and be prepared for some significant marriage counseling. Ranpo just doesn’t seem like the marriage kinda man. 

Kids?: Most likely not. He is definitely not responsible enough for a child. 

What Does the Future Hold?: I see a potential break-up in the future (look at me sounding like an oracle, lmao). Ranpo is just so childish and has trouble taking anything seriously (don’t come for me if it’s different in the manga, I’m not caught up yet), and that includes relationships. 

Aizawa Shouta Request: 

Compatibility: 74%

How Did You Meet?: Through Hizashi and Nemuri!

How the Relationship Will Work From Day to Day: The two of you wake up at different times depending on your jobs (usually it’s Aizawa waking up at odd hours and leaving first), but Aizawa always makes it a point to give you a kiss before leaving your shared apartment. He also makes sure to text you throughout the day if he can to make sure everything is going well with you! He reminds you to wear your hearing aids and overall, just wants to look out for you.

Marriage?: Possibly? It takes several long discussions about it before Aizawa is ready to commit to something like that.

Kids?: Nope! But you do adopt several cats from rescues and shelters! Aizawa is partial to disabled or elderly cats because he wants them to have just as good a life as all other cats :)

What Does the Future Hold?: You two are going to be busy, that’s for sure! With Aizawa balancing two full-time gigs and you with your MBA and your work, the two of you barely have any time for each other. But if your relationship is destined to be, you’ll work through it and have a long relationship that lasts for years :)

[barnesand]

the scent of old stories [ i ]

Summary: You haven’t found your thing here in Brooklyn, but you hope that you’ve found it within the bookstore that happens to be on your work commute. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader AU: *chants* bookshop au, bookshop au, bookshop au. Warnings: No warnings for now! Author’s note: I’ve been down, and I just wanted to write something that made me happy. I don’t know if this is technically fluff, but it’s the start of something new and Alpine is in it. Word Count: 2,551 Words (I'm a damn monster) chapter two can be found here: x 

You’ve stumbled upon it during your early morning commute; it was a blur in your periphery the first time, your thoughts steadfast on the sweltering heat of your coffee cup, and it wasn’t until you successfully attuned yourself to your new schedule that you stole a proper glance at it. It was wedged between a coffee shop and insurance agency—two stories at least with gold flourishes and filigree painted at the edges of the window. Through that window you saw the aisles and stacks of books, all old and you gave yourself that short perusal to imagine the alluring scent of old stories. It was during that time that you decided you would take your day off to go inside; you had to.

You haven’t mastered the ability to resist a bookstore, especially one with old books in desperate need of a new bookshelf. Luckily, you had a couple of spots that have yet to be filled. And the Second Hand seemed to be the perfect place to lose a couple of hours scouring the stacks looking for some new companions.

Quick to remember the time that it closed, you tried your best to ignore the glee that settled into the pit of your stomach. How long have you lived in Brooklyn? Not long, and truthfully, you haven’t quite found the thing that made you love it. There were small things that you enjoyed, but you still managed to miss your hometown. You missed your favorite hangouts, the secrets about your home that only you knew. You didn’t have those things in Brooklyn, yet. All you knew was your job, and the streets you took to get there. Perhaps, the Second Hand could be your thing? There would be a seat that you always sat in, and an aisle that you visited so often you memorized all the books that were in it. You could be on a first-name basis with the employees and visit so often that you’d memorize their coffee orders.

Yes, you needed a place to cement your adoration for your new home.

Your day off finally came and dressed in your coziest turtleneck and jeans you followed your familiar work commute until you reached the Second Hand. There was something about the sing-song chime of the bell above a door that made you realize you were going to have a good time. And, just as you suspected, the scent of old stories filled your lungs. You weren’t a big fan of bookstores that looked clean and meticulously organized. You preferred a certain level of chaos—and the Second Hand provided that slight chaos. There were certain aisles thinner than most, due to an overflow of old books that have yet to find a place on the shelves. You could hear the soft mewl of a cat most likely prowling through the stacks above on the second store, and the small piles of books seemed to be on every step of the staircase. You made no effort to hide the elated smile that slid across your features. You clutched tightly to your coffee, making your way towards the staircase.

Indeed, that phantom cat you heard before—snow white and thick around the middle—was lurking on the second story. It leaned against the railing, eyes closed, and you could hear them purring from where you stood at the top. You made a note to ask the shop-keep (wherever they may be), if they had a name and if it was the kind of cat that welcomed a stranger petting them.

Despite being clear signs for each section, you instead made the decision to walk up and down each aisle without a single inclination of what you were looking for. Your fingers lingered over the spines, searching for the ones with the deepest lines. You preferred the ones that made you worry—the ones in which you knew you would have to restore the spines to a certain extent. Because, to you, that meant that it was someone’s favorite. It made you curious, made you wonder what about the story made someone read it over and over and over until the spine was only being held together by sheer faith.

The white cat began to follow you around, weaving between your legs when you stood still. You had to stifle a giggle once or twice when you moved and nearly stumbled over the cat—that was your mistake, you should have known the direction in which the cat was going—when they moved one way and you went the other. By the time you reached the top of the staircase again, prepared to make your descent to the stacks below, you’ve culminated several books.

You meandered halfway down the stairs before looking up, expecting the cat to follow. You tried to hide the pout, not wanting the cat to think you enjoyed your time together or anything.

You reached the bottom step, already scrutinizing over the selection you’ve made so far. Honestly, you should’ve come into the bookstore with at least a budget in mind. Knowing that you didn’t set a hard spending limit was your biggest trouble. Your second was that you hadn’t even looked down the aisles on the first floor, which meant that your stack would get heavier.

You stood on the last step, already looking at the spines—maybe you didn’t need another copy of Anna Karenina. You weren’t much of a Western fanatic, but the premise of it intrigued you and that felt like a good enough reason to keep it. No… no, you’d need a second opinion about it. You looked up to find the front counter mostly abandoned. Somewhere in the stacks you’d probably find an employee (or, if anything else, another customer). Moving towards the counter, you aimed to set your stack of books on the edge of it so that you could retrieve them later.

From the opposite end of the room, you heard a commotion through a cracked door. You stilled, waiting for the person to emerge.

And—fuck. You didn’t expect the person that emerged to look so good. Truthfully, you didn’t quite know which part of him you enjoyed looking at the most. Was it how he nearly filled the doorway with this wide shoulders? Was it how crystalline, even from where you stood, his blue eyes were? No—no, it had to be the stubbled that dusted his sharp jaw, and that dark coif of hair that made your fingertips tingle at the very idea of running through fingers through it? It could be the way his teeth caught his bottom lip for just a second, his brows furrowing apologetically at the sound from earlier, before his mouth curled into a smile.

All the above. That was your answer—all of it.

“Hi,” he said.

“Anna Karenina,” you blurted. You didn’t want to think about the shade of red you suddenly turned, or how dry your throat suddenly became. You sputtered; words unintelligible before you slammed your hand on your stack of books. “I, uh—hi!”

“Hi,” he echoed, only that time it was followed by a short laugh.

He moved toward the counter, and you quickly made note of how tight his shirt was around his shoulders—you also noticed the name of the store embroidered on the pocket of it—and you cleared your throat. He settled behind the counter, that smile of his still fastened onto his face. He was so… pretty, it almost started to hurt. He sat on a stool, placing his elbows onto the countertop and leaning in.

You cleared your throat again, remembering why you placed your books on the counter in the first place. “I’m trying to decide if I need another copy of Anna Karenina. You know I, uh, made the poor choice of going shopping while hungry.”

You sighed. You swore you weren’t always a dork—in fact, you’d like to think of yourself as the female Casanova if you put your mind to it. But there was something about the tilt of his head when he looked at you, the way his smile shifted into a smirk. He reached for the books you’d chosen, and you marveled at the size of his hands with a big gulp. He could see it—you just knew he could see how flustered you were.

“I think my first question to ask is how many times have you read your current copy? I mean, if you’ve only read it once, then what are the odds of you reading this one?” He went through the stack one-by-one, eyeing the spine before nodding to himself. You wish you knew what he was thinking. “I’m also inclined to say, you know, all of them.”

“That’s not a good sign for my back account.”

He looked at you, then, and you felt a pang—not in your heart, but in your gut. The kind of pang that caused chill to climb your spine and told that, oh, you want this man to do awful things to you. Which wasn’t something you felt often. He pressed a hand on top of your stack of books once he was finished and you tried not to think about the size of it. His blue eyes stared you down, and you watched as that smirk of his turned impish almost.

“I think I have a discount code here somewhere,” he mused, reaching into a drawer with his other arm.

You noticed it then, sleek black metal with gold embellishments. The sophistication of the design enamored you, and you couldn’t quite peel your eyes away from the way it moved—which was no different than how you couldn’t peel your eyes away from every single part of him. You swallowed, blinking away the haze before returning your attention back to the conversation.

“I would be eternally grateful,” you answered him.

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” he started to make casual conversation while he filtered through some papers. He paused to look at you, and his blue eyes looked just a little brighter when he did. “I’m Bucky.”

“Reader,” you greeted him. “And, yeah, I haven’t been in here until today. I’m new to town, so—”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Where ya from?”

You told Bucky where you’d come from, how you moved to Brooklyn for work shortly after grad school. For a moment, you started to wonder if he was taking his time looking for that discount, but each time he asked you more about your time in Brooklyn so far, and precisely what your job entailed, you didn’t mind him procrastinating.

“I mean,” you continued. “I’ve done the tourist-y stuff. The bridge. Coney Island. I just haven’t found the little local things that make it feel like home to me. It’s why I dropped in.”

You felt like you should keep that bit to yourself—like you were giving him way too much. For all you knew, he could have been making small talk for the sake of getting a sale. He probably didn’t want to know about your anxieties about living in a new city. But when Bucky looked at you, and listened, you thought you could spill everything. And it made that warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach grow hotter. He finally found what he was looking for, and your smile sank for a moment. The conversation would be over—you could, of course, return. But that meant making another dent in your bank account, and you couldn’t risk hemorrhaging funs all for the sake of looking at his crystalline blue eyes.

“This’ll take about twenty percent off your purchase today, but,” he lifted himself from the stool, leaning in. He tilted his head, in a sort of look at me way and you did precisely that. “I will give you Anna Karenina.”

“Ooh,” you enjoyed the sound of that. “But your boss—”

“I am the boss. And I’m giving this to you on one condition.” He drew in a deep breath, releasing it with a smirk. “Next time you come in; I’d like to give you an incredibly detailed list of things to do. I mean—every hole in the wall joint I can think of. And you gotta do ‘em.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

“I don’t think I have that kind of time—”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to find time. Because it’ll be a long damn list, Reader.”

He winked at you, and you nearly melted. As he started to ring up your purchase, slipping that new copy of Tolstoy into your bag, you’d reached the deepest shade of red. Again, sometimes you could be a Casanova. You could be flirty back—but you really couldn’t find it in you. All you could muster was the personality of a smitten girl and that was what Bucky would be receiving until you found your other self. He was inviting you to come back—he was practically bribing you to come back. Yes, it was because he was a local and wanted to provide you with the hidden secrets of Brooklyn, but he wanted you to come back so he could say it.

You blinked. “How would you know I did each one on your list? Bucky, I could tell you I did everything. Are you gonna quiz me? Should I take notes?” You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the counter.

You felt the white cat again, their purr vibrating softly against your jean-covered calf. You looked down with a small smile, knowing that the cat couldn’t resist you. When you looked up you found Bucky peering over the counter down at the cat.

“That’s Alpine,” he told you, and you were glad in that moment because you were so close to giving Alpine another name. “And—I guess… I guess I’d have to be there to make sure. For certain ones specifically—I’ll arrange it from solo to co-op missions just in case.”

“I-I, yeah.” You sputtered along, grinning from ear-to-ear almost. “You might.”

You don’t remember much about the transaction—but you quickly shoved your card and the receipt into your purse before you were tempted to look at the price. When Bucky handed the bag of books to you, his pointer finger brushed against your knuckles and your knees nearly buckled. You sighed.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said, nervously. “For the discount. And for the free book.”

He flashed another smile. “You’re welcome, Reader. Don’t forget the deal.”

“I will not.” Because you were sure he just asked you out—you were certain that he had. You wished he were asking you out. You’d understand if he meant in an utterly innocent way; he wanted you to enjoy Brooklyn the way he did, and you were okay with that. But, God, you wanted it to be because he wanted to ask you out.

The chime of the bell announced your exit, and you took your time strolling past the window. You were so glad that the Second Hand had been in your periphery that day. You were gleeful at the fact that, somehow, you’d found a place to love in Brooklyn.

Bucky and the Second Hand—and Alpine—had become your thing.