#the last word of a bluebird

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 4

construction worker!rafe and shy!reader spending their day off together (as one does) but rafe simply can not keep his hands off her and maybe she just really needs him...

c/w: fluff, rafe being a tease, semi-public thigh riding, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.9k

ugh i have such a soft spot for him

series masterlist

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It’s a tranquil Tuesday; they’re strolling around town and soaking up the last lemony rays of the August sun, before autumn drops all the marmalade leaves and brings a chilly breeze along with its visit.  

The balmy weather of the sunlit afternoon coaxes her to remove her cardigan; a featherlight fabric she brought in case the wind decided to pick up. However, she doesn’t need it now, not when it’s so pleasantly mellow and thermal. And without a word, Rafe reaches an arm out and plucks the piece of clothing from her, casually throwing it over his shoulder and holding it for her.  

She mumbles out a soft thank you, and even if the thin material really doesn’t weigh a thing and it wouldn’t have been a bother to hold onto it herself, she still feels all gooey inside from the sentiment.  

They have lunch at her favorite place; a small picturesque restaurant with leafy vines and scarlet roses trickling down the brick wall as they sit outside on a little patio, enjoying their meals with cheery bluebirds chirping and the passing laughter of pedestrians on the lively streets as their background music. And when their tummies are full of yummy food, they decide to get ice cream.

But as they’re padding along the pavement and she’s mindlessly licking her cone, some of the sweet treat drips down her chin without her noticing.  

“You’re so messy,” Rafe tuts and reaches out to grab her jaw in his hand, angling her chin to face him before swiping a thumb under her bottom lip—catching the cold dessert and tucking the digit into his mouth, humming when the strawberry ice cream melts on his tongue. 

Her eyes round out at the nearly obscene sight.  

“Mm tha’s good, but mine’s better,” he thinks out loud before laving his tongue over his own mint chocolate chip flavor.  

He notices her gaze linger, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “Want some?” 

“Uh…no. It tastes like toothpaste,” she complains, trying to clear her suddenly foggy mind with a shake of her head.

“Yeah, but in a good way,” he grins. 

“There’s no good way for ice cream to taste like toothpaste,” her brows crease. 

“There is, alright? Here, try it,” and instead of offering his cone to her like a normal person, he dips his thumb (the one that was just in his mouth) into the frozen delicacy and pushes it past her lips before she has the chance to refuse. 

A sound of surprise escapes her throat when he presses down on her tongue, letting her get a proper taste of the minty sweetness. He lingers for a moment too long because suddenly, there’s an itch in his lower abdomen, the sight of her sucking on his thumb urging him to push another digit in, make her gag around his fingers.  

He clears his throat, an attempt to shake the thoughts away before he’s pulling his thumb out from her greedy little mouth, no complaints or grumbling about toothpaste following after. She merely blinks up at him, seemingly having lost the ability to speak with her doe eyes all dumb.

“S’good, right?” he asks, a mocking lilt to his tone. 

“Mhm,” she manages out, brain mushy and mind clouding over with a starry haze that seems to follow her for the rest of their walk, merely nodding and humming out responses to his questions while he finds it all entirely too amusing, unable to wipe the taunting smile off his face.  

When a group of people pass them by on the narrow sidewalk, Rafe settles a heavy palm on her waist, pulling her closer and preventing her from stumbling into them. However, instead of removing his hold on her after they’ve successfully bypassed them, he opts to slip a warm hand in the back pocket of her jeans; tugging her to his side once again. And she really can’t contain the stupid smile from pulling at her lips in response.

Absentmindedly, he continues on with whatever story he was telling her (she stopped listening the moment she felt his touch on her) as if this is all completely mundane for him and they aren’t walking around like an enamored couple right now.  

Then, as if for good measure, he mindlessly squeezes her ass with the hand stuffed in her back pocket, causing her to look up him, but there’s merely a lazy grin hanging on the raspberry mouth she remembers kissing just the other day on his couch. Her brain nearly short-circuits and she has half the mind to scold him. After all, they’re in public and he’s practically groping her.

However, she’s unable to open her mouth when he gazes down at her— his eyes mirroring morning dew underneath the amber glow of the waking sunbeams.

“So, what do you think?” the question suddenly breaches her eardrums, making her pause.

“About…what?”  

An amused chuckle tumbles from his throat. “Said your boss wanted to renovate the cafe, right? Could, uh, help with that, give her a discount ‘n shit?” 

“Oh. That’d be— great, yeah. I’ll make sure to…let her know,” she barely manages out because his palm resting on her ass is making her thighs press together and it’s getting more and more difficult to inhale and exhale like a regular human by every passing second.

Once they’re back in the shelter of his truck, instead of starting the engine, he turns to look at her, causing her to shift ungracefully in the leather seat, trying to ignore the ache deep in her marrow that’s been bothering her the whole way back.

And since he’s wearing shorts, her eyes zone in on his thighs, heavy lids blinking as she tries to avoid his stare. 

“You want somethin’?” he raises his brows.

“Hm? No… why would I—”

“You think I don’t see the way you keep lookin’ at me?” he rasps out. “Been feelin’ a little needy after you sucked on m’thumb, haven’t you?”  

“I…um—” 

“Bet you’re so sticky right now, must be uncomfortable at this point, no?” his face creases in faux concern as a faint whine leaves her. 

“C’mere, yeah?” he encourages, patting his thigh before she clumsily wobbles over the console, settling on his lap.

“Didn’t tell you to sit there, did I?” he says before lifting her up and setting her back down so she’s properly straddling his thigh. “Now that’s better?” 

“Rafe…someone could see us,” she suddenly remembers, turning her head and peering through the car window at the busy parking lot; girls in bikinis carrying towels, couples laughing and chatty families all thriving under the beaming sun.  

“Honestly don’t really give a shit. Why don’t we just…let them see how much of a dirty girl you are, hm?” he grins, showcasing pearly white teeth and making her whine in response. She flits her eyes towards the window once more, inspecting the seas of people loitering about, but she doesn’t think anyone’s noticed them yet.

However, she doesn’t have any more time to observe before he’s yanking her back to face him once more, fingers digging into her jaw.  

“Look at me,” his brows furrow, seemingly upset that her attention isn’t on him. 

“Sorry, I jus’...” 

“Relax, alright? They can’t even see your face, just a horny slut humpin’ me,” he reassures her before mushing her cheeks together and smudging a sloppy kiss on her lips when she drags out his name, flushing in humiliation.  

“Why don’t we, uh, take these off, hm?” he mumbles, not even bothering to wait for a response before he’s dragging down the zipper of her jeans. Then, he’s tugging them down her legs, leaving her in just a flimsy pair of underwear.  

She gasps when she feels his firm thigh against her drippy cunt, relieving some of the tension in her limbs.  

“This shit gets you off, doesn’t it? The fact that anyone could jus’ look through the window and see how fuckin’ desperate you get for me?” he asks, something mean glinting in his eyes. 

“Go on then, if you want it, you gotta work for it, yeah?” he leans back against the seat, his long legs spreading out and a smirk painting over his face as he simply gazes at her. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt more embarrassed, cheeks burning when she gives a tentative roll of her hips against him, whimpering out because the fabric between them is not only paper thin but also soaked through at this point.  

“There you go, sweetheart. That feel good?”  

She mewls, nodding all frantic and rutting against his thigh some more. Then, he’s plucking at her panties, pulling the sodden material to the side and allowing for her to really feel the sturdy muscles there; skin to skin. She grows louder and louder as her swollen clit keeps bumping against him, making him smear his mouth over hers— muffling her whines when her thighs begin to grow sore.  

“Rafe…m’tired— can you…”

“You’re tired, huh? What if I’m tired too?” there’s something in his mocking question that tells her he’s anything but.  

“Rafe, can you jus’— can you help?” 

“Where’d your manners go, hm? Why don’t you ask nicely?”  

“Rafe please, need to…can you help me please need you to— need you to help,” her distressed eyes are turning watery when he merely chuckles, low from his chest. 

“You don’t even know what you’re sayin’ do you? Get so dumb every time we do this, couldn’t even fuck you properly before you passed out on me that night in your bed, remember?” 

“That’s not fair, I was so sleepy—” 

“Wha’s not fair is me havin’ to do all the work while you jus’ whine like a helpless baby,” his voice is condescending, making wet droplets stain her cheeks.   

“M’sorry, don’t mean to...”  

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” he says while gripping at her hips, supporting her weight and dragging her over his thigh, making her moan out loud.  

“Can’t do anythin’ yourself, can you? Need m’help with everythin’ yeah?” his rugged paws roll her hips against him, hard, again and again.  

“Mhm. Need you—” a loud noise leaves her throat when he suddenly pushes his leg up against her— forcing her puffy clit to harshly rub against the skin that her weepy cunt has made so wet, to the point where he can feel it whenever she glides against it. “Rafe, m’gonna…” 

“Yeah? Gonna soak m’thigh for me?”  

She whimpers when he presses her down firmer.

“Shit, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he mutters out, blue gemstones fixed on her trembling form before the knot in her stomach begins to loosen— the piece of yarn snapping as she begins to unspool in his arms, crying out because she feels so delighted she doesn’t know what to do.  

“There you go, jus’ do anythin’ I ask, don’t you?” he murmurs, her head dropping against his steady chest while his blunt nails scratch at her scalp.  

There are stars in her eyes, nearly a full-blown galaxy while his strong grip steadies her and makes her feel like nothing else matters; only this moment. Him and her.  

And she wants to stay in the safety of his hold forevermore because she’s positive the only reason her poor heart is beating these days is because of him.  

As an afterthought, she wonders if maybe she’s just in love.

[cuppajj]

Neo beasts x reader head cannons? 🥺

You know what anon? Just for you

Beast Ancients AU - Neo Beasts x Reader Headcanons

Congratulations! Someway somehow you’ve attracted the attention—and affection—of the Neo beasts. How do each treat you?

Saint Vanilla Cookie

This implies that he’s decided not to purify you out of his intense compassion. In fact, he’s settled for something arguably much worse: saving you for last, so you can witness his deliverance.

You’re his lamb, his bluebird, and he never lets you forget how blessed you are to be one of his

He’s gentle in almost every way. Voice, touch, words. He especially likes cupping your cheek and cooing sweet little things. Sometimes they’re laced with dark promises

On his orders, the Lambs of Penance are your personal servants and won’t let any harm befall you. Cream Wafer speaks to you respectfully, but you can hear a little envy in his voice

Saint pays attention to every little detail you have, the things you like, and your wishes. He wants to see you at your happiest because a tainted soul as yourself should never feel sad. He’ll wipe your tears away

But don’t assume he’s perfect; he’s far from. Saint stays true to his personal promise that you will be safe and happy and alive until the day he finally saves you, and that means that any potential threat to you will be dealt with by his lambs. If he thinks something will taint your soul further, he’ll be sure that it’ll never have the chance.

In fact, why don’t you stay with him? In his timeless kingdom, amongst his loyal followers and all the orchids that will watch over you. It’s the closest you’ll be to the light.

Make no mistake, saint is two steps away from being a yandere. He just wouldn’t get his hands dirty, and he would never change to that typical yandere-ish behavior. The oh so benevolent saint just wants to see you safe, and if that safety is under his wings, so be it…

Dragonberry Cookie

As the Beast of Pride, the way she loves is bold and loud. She will make it known to you that she loves you pretty quickly.

While she throws parties pretty frequently already, you’ll be center stage at a lot of them with her as she makes you dance together and drinks herself stupid with a bunch of glasses poured your way as well.

If you’re the shy type, expect to be embarrassed or put in big social situations a lot since she’s a massive extrovert who would bring you along to things. Outside of parties and other events of the sort, she would also love for you to watch her spar with Wildberry and her other soldiers

She’ll also give you lots of gifts

She does have a pretty big ego though, so she expects praise and validation from you. Compliments, acts of service, things that assure her you’re not just mooching off of what she gives you. If she thinks you’re not being grateful, she’ll get bitter and confront you about it, which will or won’t go well depending on how well you can prove your point to her

She’ll kill for you 100%. She might even do it in front of you. If you get messed up from that? It’s okay! You’ll get over it in no time.

Despite all this she does respect your boundaries, she’ll give you space if you’re vocal about it. She disappears on occasions and comes back covered in battle wounds and jam anyway.

You know about Pitaya locked up in her basement but you know not to touch them, let alone try and free them if you’re hero enough. She might just have to punish you for that if she catches you doing something you shouldn’t. Don’t worry though, it’s just this once, because you’ll surely never try anything again, right?

Big hugger, her love language is touch so expect hugs and kisses and mandatory cuddle sessions. Honestly if you’re just as messed as her then she’s a pretty solid lover

Frigid Cacao Cookie

It’s hard to tell he cares for you because he’s so distant, even from you.

You’re allowed into the throne room without summons, but the furthest into it you can go is to the foot of his throne. Like everyone else in the citadel, you’re not allowed to touch him.

Your days in the citadel are quiet. The outside is cold but the hallways and your room are warm, the latter always supplied to the brim with what you need.

Tiny licorice creatures slink in and out of your peripheral vision, watching you curiously. Sometimes they slink up to you, purring and chittering, and some might even be balancing trays of food, warm towels, clothes, or other things on their heads. Little do you know that Cacao has been ordering them to take care of you

While he doesn’t forbid you from leaving the kingdom, he’ll want you to come back to him one way or another. Ideally on your own, but one of the licorice oozes that have been watching you since you left could also bring you back.

You might see him out and about on rare occasions, and he might look at you. On even rarer occasions he might ask about your well being

The only thing he’s strict about is that you absolutely cannot attract attention from the other neobeasts, especially Saint Vanilla. The beast of Penance is already curious about learning what things make Cacao go soft; he does not need to learn about you.

Also don’t bring up Choco, he has a reaction to it

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Pampers you. Pampers you and pampers you and pampers you and pampers you

Thinks you’re the sweetest little thing and pinches your cheeks and everything

She’d be more than happy to show herself off, as well as all of her achievements. She gives you treasures from her conquests regularly

She’s similar to Dragonberry though where she expects praise, but unlike her she doesn’t get as angry. She doesn’t see her gift giving as a transactional thing, she does it because she can. You just gotta tell her how wonderful she is

The oases are a popular spot for her to bring you for food and refreshments, cared for by gold-adorned servants as she gushes over the grand vision for her kingdom. She’s honestly quite excitable and loves talking about herself and her plans.

Pay no mind to the scans that are run on you while you sleep, or the diagnostics of your information that run deep in her servers. She doesn’t think it’ll need to happen soon, but she’s planning to put you in a sarcophagus and hook you into her virtual world to make you live forever. She’s not going to let something else she cares about go.

Midnight Lily Cookie

The tamest one honestly

Unlike the others, she sees you as an equal. She knows your personal space and doesn’t encroach on it too much or too little, makes sure you’re well cared for and healthy, and keeps you safe. She also lets you leave and trusts you to take care of yourself. Being Beast of Sovereignty, she encourages the people under her to do whatever they please within their allegiance to her, and this includes you.

She’ll play the harp for you and ask you how she did

You also get lots of gifts and compliments from the other faeries for being the lover of their queen

She does have preferences though. She likes honesty and expects you to keep promises, she prefers if you do something for her in exchange for her doing something for you, and to not question her motive and means to take down her other half. She will get very defensive with you and shut down the conversation pretty fast

The flora in the silver kingdom bloom to their fullest around you both, but when Lily is upset with you, they curl or bud as you pass by them.

Speaking of chlorokinesis, get used to seeing her show no mercy with her plants. Unlike Dragonberry though, she’ll do her best to help you if the sight of bodies skewered on flower stems is too much. Maybe stick to the heart of the kingdom for your own good, where you’re less likely to see how the rest of Beast Yeast challenge her kingdom.

She has a whole bunch of rules set up when Saint visits. While she’d encourage not being with him at all, if you really want to see him, she made it expressly clear to him that he cannot purify you.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Rook Hunt: In Plain Sight

THE NEIGE MERCH HAIR CLIPS… and his makeup box being similar to the box the queen provided to hold Snow White’s heart…

Rise and Shine!

"I burn and turn red easily. Of course, I'm in the habit of using sun protection and shading my skin from harmful UV rays now, but my skin still bears marks of damage."

“Damage?” you had squinted at him, searching for those imperfections he had spoken of. “Strange. I don’t see anything like that.”

And then he had given that mysterious smile, a finger to his wistful lips. "Ah, because I hide it well. Shall I show you my secret? Attendez, s'il vous plaît."

His “secret”, as Rook had put it, was not magic.

You knelt down, peering into his circular mirror lines with lights. Rook, flaxen hair pinned back with various clips—bows and a bluebird-shaped one—met your gaze in his reflection. His forest green eyes creased slightly, a sign you had come to learn meant he was amused.

Graceful hands unlocked a wooden box. The lid flipped open, revealing various tubes hidden inside. Mascara, lip gloss, eye liners… A treasure trove of makeup.

He selected a container filled with a fair creamy substance. Twisting the tube open, it revealed a slim applicator with a fluffy end.

“This comes highly recommended by Vil,” Rook chirped. “It’s a long-lasting, sweat-proof, and crease-free concealer. The formula is hydrating enough to stand up to the elements, but strong enough to not melt off during the day. Ideal for the life of a busy huntsman!”

He continued to babble as he dotted the concealer across his cheeks and nose. The spray of freckles there slowly disappeared behind a layer of skin-like color. You followed the flick of his wrist, watching how artfully he buffed out the product upon the blank page called him.

“This type of applicator is known as a doe foot. It is named for the small, slightly slanted foot of a female deer, also known as a doe. When I was first introduced to cosmetics, I thought that all applicators were named after animal anatomy! It would have certainly helped me in memorizing them."

“It sounds like he really drilled this information into your head,” you murmured, brows raised. “It shows in how you look too. You’re so different from how you were back then. More…”

You conjured the image of Rook in his Savanaclaw days. His hair was longer then, scraped back into a bushy ponytail resembling the hide of a ratty beast. Sometimes twigs and leaves would snag in it. Rook’s school-issued dormitory pants were torn at the knees, and he was always nursing some kind of bruise or dirt stain. Without sleeves, his large arms were on full display, the muscles straining and shifting when he tugged on a bowstring.

Compared to now…

You scanned Rook’s floaty white pajamas. A long-sleeved night gown over trousers, plus a cap he had removed earlier.

Covered up was the first thing that came to your mind. You settled for something else.

“… Demure, mindful.”

Those, you knew, were the last words anyone—particularly fae, beastmen, and merfolk—would bestow upon Rook Hunt. He knew it too, if the twinkle in his eyes was of any indication.

Rook slotted the wand back into its bottle and turned to you, wiggling a hand to present bis finished face. “Voilà! The results of Pomefiore’s teachings.”

You looked at him.

Hesitated.

“… Can I?”

“You may,” he said with a faint chuckle, his lids drifting shut.

You gingerly cupped his cheeks in your palms, careful not to smudge his makeup as you slowly tiled his head back. It was like you were handling porcelain, too afraid of dropping it. His Adam’s apple bobbed—up, down—like your heart’s rapid thumping. Your thumb brushed aside a golden lock.

Skin as smooth as silk, an even shade throughout. Fine hair like fresh wheat spun into gold. And mouth a pale pink, like the blush of an apple blossom.

No hat to hide it all.

Like this, he was almost like a princess trapped under a glass coffin.

The truth of him, in plain sight. A raw, gentle beauty he allowed few others to glimpse.

Breath caught in your chest.

“… Sorry. I’m afraid I still don’t see those ‘marks of damage’ you were talking about before,” you apologized. “With freckles or without… Frizzy hair or not… Covered or out in the open… Rook-senpai is still beautiful in every way.”

He cracked an eye open a sliver. “… Oh la la, aren’t we feeling feisty this morning?”

“Yes. I’m the Magic Mirror,” you teased, laughing as you released him from your grasp. “I only speak the truth.”

“So you do.”

Rook loaded his doe foot again. But this time, he cheekily dabbed the wand on the tip of your nose, leaving a light blob behind.

“H-Hey…!” you protested, hands flying there to wipe the spot clean. “Rook…!”

“Fufufu. Those candid, unguarded expressions of yours are delightful.”

He dropped the concealer back into its box. Humming, his hand hovered over an eye pencil. Rook held it up, angling it slanted against your body from a distance—an artist ogling his next masterpiece.

“I would love to capture you upon a canvas,” he mused, tracing the outline of you in the air. “Like the polished face of a looking glass… you speak with both sincerity and clarity. That kind of honesty is a rarity.”

“Y-You should focus on finishing your makeup first, or else you’ll be in for a scolding from your dorm leader,” you advised, though your voice was but a mumble. “Geez… you’re always dumping so much praise onto me.”

“Beauty of all kinds should be seen and shared. It just so happens that you have a bounty of it—and so, there is much of you for me to acknowledge.”

“And there’s still so much of you I have to figure out…” you added with a sigh. Somewhat resigned, but also half longing.

“Oh my. Then it sounds as though we have a long partnership ahead of ourselves~”

Grinning like a vulpine, the huntsman began to draw with his liner, forming sharp points at the edges of his eyes. You observed quietly, a birdwatcher to a hawk.

One day, I’ll unlock all of your secrets. Like this chest you keep your makeup in, or those sleeves you cover your limbs with. I’ll expose your ‘truth’… Rook Hunt!

[panerasbox]

—10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU; 29 Days To Go

Pairing: melissa schemmenti x fem!reader

genre: slight angst but not really? workplace romance.

Word count: 641.

summary: Melissa sarcastically lists all the things she finds annoying about you from your humming and love of glitter pens to your clumsiness and overly cheerful demeanor. However, it becomes clear that beneath her complaints, Melissa is actually developing feelings for you and doesn’t hate you at all.

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

Melissa rested against the doorframe of the teacher’s lounge, watching you carefully re-staple a bulletin board display that seemed perfectly fine just five minutes ago. A low groan escaped her lips, quiet enough so only she could hear it.

It was so typical. Just her luck. She couldn’t just go through life hating everyone equally, keeping things simple, business as usual. No, Melissa Schemmenti apparently had to go and develop a thing for the new teacher's aide. The younger, slightly-too-earnest, sometimes-clumsy, always-humming teacher’s aide currently wrestling with a rogue staple remover like it personally offended you.

It was ridiculous. You drove her nuts half the time. She mentally started ticking off the list, a familiar internal rant she’d been running lately.

1. I hate the way you hum. Seriously, who hums that much? Especially that one vaguely cheerful tune she couldn't identify but now heard in her sleep. It was like living with a cartoon bluebird, only less feathers and more… glitter pens. Which brought her to point two.

2. I hate your obsession with glitter pens. And organizing the supply closet by the color spectrum. ROY-G-BIV? Seriously? It took me ten minutes to find a black Sharpie last week. Chaos builds character, kid.

3. I hate that you always offer me half your weirdly healthy lunch. Kale chips? Quinoa salad? What happened to a good ol' Philly pretzel? She appreciated the thought, maybe, deep down where she didn't like to look, but still. Annoying.

4. I hate how you trip over literally nothing. The hallway floor, your own feet, a dust bunny – it was a hazard zone just watching you walk sometimes. Made her want to wrap you in bubble wrap, which was an insane thought to have about a coworker.

5. I hate that you actually listen to Janine’s enthusiastic rambles. Like, you nod along and ask follow-up questions. It just encourages her! Someone had to be the voice of cynical reason around here.

6. I hate the stupid little doodles you leave on memo pads. Little smiling suns, badly drawn cats… she found one on a supply request form yesterday and almost didn’t throw it out. Almost.

7. I hate that you make me laugh. Not just a chuckle, but those unexpected snorts that escape when you say something accidentally brilliant or just plain weird. It was undignified.

8. I hate that you remember how I take my coffee. You’d handed it to her one morning without asking, and the fact she hadn't even needed to correct you was… unsettlingly nice.

9. I hate the way you look sometimes. Not like, look look, but when you get that determined set to your jaw trying to fix the copy machine, or when you genuinely smile because a kid finally understood something. It did weird things to her stomach that definitely weren't indigestion.

Melissa pushed off the doorframe, the internal rant reaching its stupid, inevitable conclusion.

10. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close. Not even a little bit. Not even at all.

She hated that this bubbly, slightly-annoying, glitter-pen-wielding aide had somehow burrowed under her defenses like a ridiculously persistent groundhog.

Just then, you finally conquered the staple remover with a triumphant "Aha!" and turned around, beaming, holding it up like a trophy. "Got it! This thing was really stuck. Morning, Melissa! Did you need something?"

Melissa just shook her head, a barely noticeable smile on her lips that you might not even notice. "Nah. Just… watch where you’re walkin’, kid. Wouldn’t want you takin’ another spill."

It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but for Melissa Schemmenti, it was dangerously close. And the fact that you just grinned back, completely oblivious? Yeah, she hated that too. Maybe.

[hischierhoney]

Snowglobe // pt. i

ski patrol!nico hischier x reader

summary: an unfortunate turn in the weather leaves you trapped on the ski hill, and your vacation plans a bit in disarray, but there are worse people to be stuck with than Nico. 4.7k words

warnings: winter storm, mentions of danger (but everyone is fine!), suggestive content and mild (very mild!!) angst upcoming in part ii.

You’ve heard before that the weather on the mountain can change quickly, but you never really understood what they meant until this very moment. You’re standing, facing down the run, staring out at the dark clouds rolling in, thick and churning like the ocean. Dread settles in your stomach as the flakes begin to thicken around you

It’s probably fine, you think, bracing yourself. It’s just- you’re pretty high up on the hill, all things considered. It would take you a while to ski down under normal conditions. But the world is turning into a snowglobe, and the visibility is going to be awful, and-

“Hey!”

You turn toward the noise. You spot the person easily, clad in that signature bright red ski patrol jacket. He’s skiing towards you, waving an arm frantically.

“Hey,” he says again as he skis up next to you. “They’re closing the mountain.”

“Oh, yeah, I figured,” you nod, gesturing down the hill. “Was trying to work up the courage to ski down. Any suggestions on the route? Or should I try and take the lift-“

He shakes his head. “We’ve been told to shelter in place. They closed the lifts. I’m surprised you got all the way up here, you must’ve been the last one up.”

“Shelter in place?” You say, nose wrinkled. “Where?”

“There’s a ski patrol hut nearby,” he says. His face is pinched, at least what you can see of it beneath the helmet and goggles. “Look. I know you don’t know me, but I really can’t recommend skiing down. If something happens, we may not be able to get to you.”

You hesitate. He’s standing in front of you- you can barely make out any features on his face, but he sounds trustworthy enough. Besides, they wouldn’t hire him if he wasn’t. You look down the mountain again and swallow, hard. The visibility is fading fast- the tree you’d been looking at before has disappeared.

“Hut it is,” you reply. “As long as you promise you’re not crazy.”

The man laughs, and it makes your own smile grow. His laughter is contagious. It keeps you level headed all the way to the little hut on the side of the slope.

“I promise,” he says, in a firm, kind voice.

There’s a tiny space heater inside that’s already going on full blast. The man helps prop your skis up next to the door, and you stand there, shivering, a little unsure what to do. You survey the tiny room. There’s a couch, a microwave, a little sink. An electric kettle, a little desk, a portable radio that’s seen better days. And, thankfully, a bathroom.

You turn to the man to ask how long it’s going to be, but he’s staring out of the window, radio held to his ear, so you wait. There’s chatter he seems to be waiting for a break in, something about the Bluebird lift. Finally, there’s a break in the noise.

“Base, Nico, checking in,” the man says.

“Go ahead, Nico,” a voice crackles through.

“Safely to the Daisy Chain hut,” he says. So, he must be Nico. You test out the name on your lips, silently. “I’ve got one guest with me.”

“Okay, Nico. Hold tight. We’re predicting a break in the weather in the next fifteen, we may be able to get you to the gondola and down or at least to the Bluebird lift building with everyone else. But hold tight for now.”

You eye the swirling gusts outside skeptically. Even with a break in the weather, an escape seems doubtful. The Bluebird lift is far enough away, and down the hill from here, which is a risky maneuver when the weather could pick back up. The gondola is even farther. Anxiety flutters in your chest. You shuffle slightly towards the couch, closer to the little heater. You take a seat but stay dressed, figuring you’ll need to be ready to go pretty quickly.

15 minutes later, Nico’s still staring out the window. His shoulders are hunched. You hear his name crackle over the radio.

“Now’s your gap,” the other person says. “Should stay at this rate for the next ten minutes. Your call, Hisch.”

The wind is still blowing, strong. There’s a tree just outside the window, you saw it coming in, but from here, you’d never be able to tell. Nico sighs, heavily, shoulders sagging. He shakes his head.

“No way, Shel. Visibilty is shit.” he says, wincing at his own use of profanity. “Not when we’re safe here. We’ll make do.”

“Affirm. What’s your guest’s name? We’d like to let their friends know they’re safe.”

Nico turns over his shoulder towards you for the first time since you entered the hut. You try and look brave, but from the way his hard set expression softens, you think you’ve failed pretty spectacularly. He tilts his head towards you, and you tell him your name without a second thought. He repeats it back over the radio, listens to a couple instructions, and then sets it down on the desk. He turns fully towards you with a sigh. You feel incredibly small, suddenly, like a kid in a bad thunderstorm. So unsure about everything.

…..

Nico’s kicking himself, hard. Directly to where it hurts the most, probably. He walked into the hut and proceeded to ignore you for the next near half hour. No regards for your worries or your comfort or anything. He feels like an asshole. Sure, he was worried, but he could’ve taken a few seconds to get you comfortable- you’re still in your ski boots, for god’s sake.

He clears his throat. “Hi. Sorry. I’m Nico.’

“I heard,” you say, blinking up at him from the couch. “What’s the verdict, Nico?”

He sighs, again. “Not gonna lie, we’re gonna be here a while. Probably overnight. The snow and the wind is a bad combo.”

You nod solemnly, and then sit there, waiting, quietly. You look scared. It makes his chest ache.

“Hey. I promise you, I’m getting you off this mountain safely, okay? Just gotta wait it out. For now we can get comfortable. I’d give you a tour but I think you’ve seen it all, honestly.”

You laugh slightly- that feels like a win- and start unzipping your jacket. “What, no hidden rooms?”

He laughs at that, too. “Unfortunately not.”

A few minutes later, your outer layers of clothing are hung up next to his, near the door, and your boots are there, too. The hut is a bit drafty, and he winces again when you shiver slightly. There are emergency blankets in the kit under the sink, but he doesn’t want to pull those out if he doesn’t have to- would probably send the wrong message. Instead, he unzips his black puffer coat, leaving him in the hoodie he’s wearing underneath. You need it more than him.

He holds it out with a low “here.”

When you look up at him through your lashes, he feels his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, Nico,” you say, softly, a smile slipping across your face.

That’s better.

…..

Nico’s puffer jacket is warm. Cozy. Comfy. And honestly, it’s a sweet gesture. It’s amazing how something like that can make you feel just a little safer. Suddenly, the storm outside doesn’t seem quite as scary. You watch as Nico putters around the hut, digging through drawers and starting up the electric kettle. He’s tall, and broad, the ends of his dark hair poking out from beneath his beanie to match the slight dusting of stubble on his face, paired with a well kept mustache. You check your phone, but it’s just as you expected- no cell service.

“Aha!” He exclaims, making you flinch slightly. “I knew this was in here.”

He stands up with a deck of cards in his hand, smiling triumphantly, and you start to melt even more. Outside, the snow is piling up, but in here, you’re warm.

Nico sinks down onto the couch next to you, sitting at the other end. He opens the pack of cards, shuffling them back and forth in his hands. You try not to watch too closely, but you’re unsure where else to look. His face, maybe? But god, he’s-

He’s cute.

You noticed it in the smile he gave you out on the mountain, even. But here, in the yellow light of the hut, undone and face on full display, he’s almost overwhelmingly handsome. Strong jaw, big dark eyes, the sweetest smile when he catches you looking.

“Have you ever played Jass?” He asks. You shake your head, and he grins. “That’s okay. I can teach you.”

Nico’s a good teacher, and you’re a fast learner. It takes you a couple rounds to beat him, and he smiles happily when you do. Next, you teach him a different game, one of your favorites. He bears his confusion with a smile, but he’s quick, too, catching on far too fast for your liking.

Eventually, you lean back on the couch, your stomach rumbling slightly. You laugh at the sound, but Nico frowns.

“You’re hungry,” he says. You shrug. “We have ramen packets? Microwave popcorn?”

You groan, softly. “I could fuck up some ramen right now. We can save the popcorn for a midnight snack.”

He laughs, a full laugh, unmuted, from somewhere deep in his chest. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he does. You laugh, too, and bite your lip when he’s not looking. His laugh is pretty, too. It’s almost unfair.

This is going to be a long night.

…..

Nico’s never been more proud of his ramen doctoring skills than when you have your first bite. You sigh happily, eyes squeezing shut, and he grins in response. Maybe it’s just the feeling of a good meal at the end of a long day, but either way, it makes him happy.

He promised he’d keep you safe. This is part of it, that’s all.

He sits down next to you with his own bowl. It’s dark outside now. He sees your gaze flicker to the window every so often, brows pinching together, the same way he does when you’re not looking. He doesn’t like it either, honestly, but he hopes you know he’s going to keep his promise.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. “Tell me a fun fact about yourself.”

It’s so unexpected he nearly laughs around a mouthful of noodles. From the smirk on your face, the timing was deliberate. He bites back another laugh and swallows, wincing at the hot food. It’s fine. Worth it, to see you laugh again.

“Huh,” he hums. “Are we doing ice breakers now? We’ve been here for four hours.”

You nod enthusiastically. “No time like the present, Nico.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately. He likes the way you say his name. The way your lips form around the word. He should probably stop watching you say it. Bad for his health, he thinks, the way it makes his heart rate kick up.

“Um. Okay. When I was 16, I moved to Canada by myself to play hockey,” he says.

You blink at him. “Like. The NHL?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Nah. I was trying, but it wasn’t for me. The whole time, I just missed skiing.”

You nod slowly. He can see the gears in your brain turning. “And now it’s your job to rescue poor saps like me.”

He shakes his head, nudging his elbow against yours. “Now it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good day on the mountain. I take it very seriously. Can’t you tell?” He asks, gesturing at the haphazard pile of cards on the table and the bowl of ramen in your hands.

You break into giggles again. “Mhm. You’re doing great, all things considered, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “10 out of 10 hospitality. Would recommend. The host even gave me his jacket.“

He grins, and shifts on the couch. Leans a little closer, his knee knocking into yours.

“Your turn for a fun fact,” he directs.

You groan. “What if I don’t have one?”

“You started this!”

…..

Nico’s kind. Warm, really, feels like the best word to describe him. He makes your chest feel a little fizzy. His laughter is contagious, his smile even more so.

But he’s just doing his job.

You keep reminding yourself of that, because if you don’t, this would all feel a whole lot like flirting. The two of you are huddled on the couch, now, leaning close to peer at the screen of his phone. He’d remembered he had a couple episodes of Scrubs downloaded, said something about watching them with someone named Jack during lunch breaks. You selfishly hope that Jack isn’t more than a friend to him. And then, you remind yourself, again, for the millionth time, that he’s just doing his job.

His shoulder bumps yours when he laughs at something, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his thigh next to yours. The thing is, he’s not pulling away. That’s a good sign, at least, right?

The hut is chilly, even with the space heater. A little shared body heat never hurt anyone. When he slips an arm onto the couch behind you, not touching but hovering near your shoulders, you lean into him, just slightly.

He doesn’t pull away.

A while later- you’re not sure how long- you wake up with a start. Your head has fallen against his chest, curling into the warmth of him. You grimace, feeling a little embarrassed, until you feel the weight atop your head. He’s fallen asleep against you, too.

“Nico,” you say, in a hushed tone.

He hums in response.

“Hey, Nico,” you repeat. He lifts his head slightly. “Wanna figure out a sleeping arrangement?”

He swallows, lifting his hand to scrub at his jaw. His other arm stays around your shoulders, his hand resting against you, you notice. You try not to think about it too much. Try not to lean into the touch. Try not to let your mind run wild with the idea of falling asleep against him, again. You regret waking him.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “You take the couch. I’ll…”

You look around the room. There’s an office chair that seems to be on its last leg. No shot. The only other option is-

“”I’ll take the floor,” he says.

“Like hell you will,” you protest, elbowing his side lightly. “Don’t be silly, you worked all day today.”

“And it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good day-“

“Yeah, well, you sleeping on the floor will ruin my day,” you snark back.

You turn to look up at him. In the low light, you can see his one brow raised, the smirk on his lips. He’s so close, now. It hits you, then, that it wouldn’t take much to close the gap. You could lean in, press your lips to his. He could wrap that arm around you, all the way, hold you close. Kiss you back. Pull you into his lap. Hell of a way to stay entertained in this tiny hut. It would keep you warm, too.

You blink, hard. Fight the urge to shake your head.

“We can share the couch,” you say, before you can even really think it through. “It’s wide enough, we can each take one end. We’re gonna need our beauty sleep.”

Nico sighs, then pats your shoulder. “You drive a hard bargain. I accept.”

He sticks his hand out to shake yours, like it’s a business deal and not a sleeping arrangement. You laugh, again, and feel the warmth of his hand in yours all the way through your body.

…..

Nico lays there in the dark, listening to your breathing evening out, one emergency blanket laid out over the two of you. He’s trying not to move, knowing the tinfoil like material with crinkle, not wanting to wake you. From the angle he’s at, he can just peek over at you, your face barely visible in the low light.

You’re beautiful, he thinks.

Outside, the wind howls. A constant reminder of why he’s here, that he’s not laying next to you for the fun of it.

It’s his job to keep you safe. As soon as he fulfills that promise, he’ll probably never see you again.

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the anxiety that makes him feel.

…..

You wake up to blinding sunlight, an empty couch, and the strangest scraping noise you’ve ever heard. It takes you a solid minute to get your bearings, even longer than that to realize that Nico’s not in the bathroom and that he also hasn’t left you to fend for yourself. The scraping noise is a shovel. The sunlight means the storm has cleared.

You shove the thin emergency blanket off of you, shuffling towards the door. When you open it, you squint, nearly blinded by the sun reflecting off the fresh snow. You hear Nico before you see him, just by the sound of his laughter.

“Morning, sunshine,” he calls out, leaning on the snow shovel. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

You squint at him. He’s not even wearing his jacket- you still have his puffer coat on. It’s just him in his snow bibs and his long sleeve shirt. He sticks the shovel into the snow again, and you watch his muscles flex, his undershirt leaving little to the imagination.

“You should’ve woken me,” you manage to get out, your brain barely working. “I could’ve helped shovel.”

He shakes his head. “There’s only one shovel.”

“We could’ve shared.”

He laughs at that, taking a couple steps through the snow towards you. “Okay, let’s get you some coffee, sleepyhead. Maybe a poptart. We’ve got a date with Jack.”

Jack, as it turns out, is Nico’s coworker. Which, in reality, probably doesn’t rule him out as someone who could be more than a friend. The way Nico grimaces at Jack’s loud voice over the radio does, though. That, plus the affectionate eye roll and the hand motion he does, as if he’s telling Jack to hurry it along.

“-so they’re gonna get Bluebird spinning here, soonish. We’ve got twenty to go down, plus me, Lukey, Siegs, and Timo. You’ve just got a plus one, right? We shoveled out earlier and your route looks pretty clear from our point, I’d just take Lark down to the Stork cutoff, or- Siegs says maybe-“

“I can’t cut in,” Nico says, mildly exasperated, mildly affectionate. “He won’t hear it.”

“-and just avoid the area under the lift, in case there’s any ice stuck to it-“

When Jack finally stops talking, Nico responds with a short and sweet 10-4 and a relay of the plan. You start cleaning up before you go, while he puts on a kettle and makes some instant coffee. It’s bitter and a little grainy, but it wakes you up, even if you’re both grimacing at each other over your paper cups.

Then you get suited up. You give Nico his jacket back, albeit reluctantly- it wouldn’t fit under your layers, anyways. He’d folded your dry clothes before he went out to shovel, and set them near the space heater, which means they’re nice and toasty when you slip into them. Then you follow him back out into the sun, fidgeting with the straps of your helmet.

He turns, frowning slightly, and comes closer.

“Here,” he mumbles, his fingers brushing against your chin. “You’re a little twisted, that’s all. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you say, blinking up at him.

He has long eyelashes. Thick, dark eyebrows. Wrinkles near his eyes- smile lines, so happy all the time that it shows on his face. It makes your heart skip a beat. His fingers are warm against your skin, despite the cold.

He shrugs. “No problem.”

Right. Things like this are just a part of his job.

You strap into your skis and take off behind him. The snow is powdery and light, the mountain peaceful and empty. You think, for a second, that you should’ve take a photo of the hut, to remember it by, but it’s too late now, and he’d probably think it was weird. You turn over your shoulder for one last look, the tiny building disappearing into the distance.

It’s not a long trek over to the top of the Bluebird lift. You sort of wish it was longer. Nico stays by your side the whole time, pointing out birds in the trees or a particularly interesting bit of wind drifted snow. He’s smiley, again. He loves this, you can tell. You get why he chose this life.

The lift comes into view not long after that. There’s a few people milling about, a couple in red jackets. One of them, the tallest one, lifts an arm and waves. Nico waves back.

“That’s Luke,” he says.

Like he wants you to know. Like these people, who are important to him, are ones you should know, too. Something about that makes your heart twist, makes butterflies swirl in your stomach.

When you ski up to the lift, the shorter of the two red jacket clad men greets Nico with a hug. There are others coming out of the building now, more skiers, followed by two more Ski Patrol guys. They greet Nico, too. You hesitate, wondering if you should just go. If you should mingle with the other “guests”, or maybe just wait it out on your own. You were silly to think Nico cared about anything other than getting you there safely- his job is done, isn’t it?

As if on cue, he turns around, dark eyes sparkling, and waves you over. He introduces you, and then the rest of the guys- Jack, Jonas, and Timo. Luke, too, though you already knew his name.

“I taught her Jass,” he says, and Jonas and Timo both hum and nod approvingly. “She beat me. Or, at least she says she did. I think maybe she cheated-“

You scoff, elbowing him, feeling indignant. “I wouldn’t even know how to cheat.”

Nico’s smirking next to you. He nudges his shoulder against yours. You bite back a matching smile of your own.

“Impressive,” Luke says. “Jack’s been trying to beat Nico for years.”

Jack glares at Luke- similar faces, similar mannerisms, you’d bet they’re brothers. “Yeah, well, I think Nico does cheat when he’s playing me.”

There’s a loud noise, and then the lift lurches into motion. You swallow down a little bit of resentment. It’ll be good to get off the mountain, to meet back up with your friends. They’re probably worried, despite the check in Nico gave to let them know you were safe. It’s just…

Nico’s arm is pressed against yours. You swear you feel the warmth, even through all the layers. You don’t want it to end. You want to stay right next to him.

Jonas starts directing people towards the lifts. “Guests first,” he calls out.

You find yourself a little frozen. You realize, suddenly, that you’re probably going to end up riding down alone, or with a total stranger. And it’s fine. The lift is safe. It’s just- you’ve heard horror stories about storms, about lifts having damage, about people getting stuck. You don’t want to get stuck alone.

“Hey,” Nico says, nudging your shoulder again. “I’ll ride down with you, if you want. We’ll just have to go last.”

You blink up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “Told you I’d get you off this mountain safely, right?”

You feel the smile creep across your face. “Right.”

When you look away, Jack is smiling knowingly at the both of you. You smile right back.

…..

Nico wraps his arm around your shoulder on the lift.

He does it without caring about what anyone else thinks. He knows he’ll get shit from all his friends on the seats behind the two of you, who can see it so clearly, and probably see right through him, too. All he cares about, though, is the way you lean into it, the way you nestle so perfectly into his side. The weight of your head against his shoulder, his chest, just feels right. The world around you is peaceful. Slow. The lift is at half speed for safety reasons, and he’s not complaining.

He points at a forested area. “There’s a secret run in there. It’s one of my favorites. Take a left at the top of Gray Jay and you’ll see it.”

You grin. “Already found that with one of my friends yesterday.”

He laughs. “Here I am trying to tell you all the mountain’s secrets, but you’re an expert, huh?”

You shrug and look up at him, eyes wide and soft. “Tell me another secret.”

You’re gorgeous.

That’s no secret. And it’s also not something he can say to you. Not now, not while he’s working. You’ve trusted him to keep you safe. He might ruin it all by saying something like that.

So he smiles, points towards another run. “If you take that and veer right, you’ll get to this open powder area that almost nobody touches. It’s perfect.” Then he frowns. “But maybe wait a day or two. After all that snow… could be a little sketchy.”

You nod. “Got it. But hey, I know who to ask for if I get into trouble, right?”

Nico’s heart flutters. “Yeah. You call, I’ll be there. Promise.”

He holds his pinky out towards you. It’s hard to tell, because he’s wearing mittens, but you laugh and do the same, wrapping your finger around his as best as you can. It makes his chest ache.

…..

There are people milling around at the bottom of the lift. Friends and family, waiting for their loved ones. You think you spot one of your friends, in her signature bright pink jacket. You sigh as you inch closer to the ground, both you and Nico sliding off the lift easily.

You come to a stop just outside the landing zone. Nico follows suit. When you turn to look up at him, he’s smiling, cheeks rosy pink along with the tip of his nose. You want to kiss him. You want him to kiss you.

He doesn’t.

One of your friends calls your name. At the same time, someone calls his. You try not to look disappointed.

“Sorry,” he says. “That’s my boss. You’re good now, yeah?”

You nod. “Off the mountain, safe and sound.”

He smiles and nods. “Then my job here is done.”

You swallow and nod again. “Thanks, Nico. For everything.”

Just doing his job, you think.

He smiles softly. At the last second, he reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “For you, anytime. I mean it.”

Then he skis away, leaving you wishing for just one more moment with him.

…..

Nico doesn’t always let them drag him out to the bar, especially after a long day like today. Honestly, he’s a little exhausted, and he probably won’t last long before he decides to try and get an uber home. Normally, he’d walk, because it’s damn expensive to catch a ride, but his legs are like jello.

He’d spent the day hard at work, getting things back up and running again, filling in where he could. He’s ski patrol, but he’s handy with a hammer, able to help with basic maintenance when lifts go down. He’d also spent the day with Jack yapping his ear off about all the Karens they’d spent the night with at the Bluebird lift station.

“Can’t believe we had to deal with that and you got to spend the night with-“ Jack had started, and then paused.

Nico filled in your name, helpfully, whacking at a stuck lift bar and grinning when it fell into place.

“Yeah. She seemed like much better company. Like. Did you guys kiss?”

Nico had sighed. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that. I was working.”

Now, Jack’s sitting at the bar next to him, yapping his ear off, again. Nico takes a sip of his beer- he loves Jack, he really does. He’s just re-running all the things he’s done and said in the past 24 hours, questioning if he missed his chance with you. He could go home, wallow about it, but that would mean giving up on the real reason he came out in the first place. The one he won’t admit out loud. The reason he keeps scanning the room over Jack’s shoulder.

When he hears the unmistakable sound of your laughter, the sound that’s been etched into his brain since he first heard it, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his suddenly racing heart. Then he flags down the bartender and orders another drink.

find part ii here!!

…..

thanks for reading! part ii coming soon!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE GREEN IN YOUR EYES MAKES ME FEEL WARM INSIDE ; MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

synopsis; in the comfort of a familiar bookstore, you find a boy. a pretty boy, who’s always reading, who doesn’t speak unless he has to. you’d like to get to know him — and maybe you will.

word count; 4.6k

contents; megumi fushiguro/reader, gn!reader, fluffy!!, lots of pining from afar, bookstore au, no curses au, reader is an overworked student bc uni is beating my ass, gumi is kind of awkward but hes cute <3, gojo mentioned twice (stay safe), can u tell im excited for christmas … :'3

a/n; bookstore employee gumi who hates every single customer except for you is so real to me

(@riaki its here …🙇‍♂️)

he’s there again. 

with a decisive step forward, you drag the door open, and the flutter of a bell resounds throughout the bookstore. a precious little jingle, alerting him of your presence. 

the boy at the counter gives you a glance. his navy eyes settle on your bundled up figure, and a flicker of familiarity blooms in the scope of his iris, a kind of recognition. something that makes your heart feel like a clumped up little ball of snow. 

(oh. it’s you.

you can almost hear the silent words fall past his lips.)

it only lasts for a second, barely even that, your gazes overlapping — then he’s back to reading. 

today, you recognize the book in his hands. the hardcover looks just a tiny bit worn, but still well taken care of. well-loved. and it’s a pretty rendition; a butterfly just above the title, snakes crawling on either side, vines stretching out across the scope of the image. there’s a kind of mystique to it. pretty.

wuthering heights, you read off the cover.

a little odd, in hindsight. you’ve only ever seen him read nonfiction. maybe he decided to broaden his horizons?

after a brief moment’s contemplation, your feet begin to move. taking another small step forward, inching closer, while the door falls shut behind you. blocking out the snowfall and colourful lights illuminating the street. 

mitten-clad hands go to brush stray snowflakes off your shoulders, as you shift from foot to foot, halfheartedly attempting to warm up your numbed toes. wallowing in the atmosphere of the cozy little bookstore; breathing in the smell of peppermint, the hint of freshly brewed coffee. from the boy, you assume — he’s got his usual mug on standby, a cute little black dog etched into the ceramic. steam rises from it, floating up into the air, and a fragrance of espresso wafts throughout the store.

low christmas music plays from the speakers, barely audible. pleasing to your sensitive ears and tired mind. it’s the usual mix of well-loved songs, for the most part, but then some you haven’t heard before. you can only assume he picked them out himself; pretty instrumentals, or low, gravelly voices, adding to that particular atmosphere simmering around you. nostalgic, a little melancholic.

the boy behind the counter looks angelic. 

he always does, when he’s reading — and he usually is. gentle, in the way he turns the pages, awfully delicate, keeping them still between his thumb and forefinger. lips pursed, brows just a tiny bit furrowed. concentrated, immersed. dark eyes trailing over the tiny letters, scanning the ink of the paper, twisting the syllables inside his mind. almost tasting them on his tongue, with the way he wets his lips. they look a little chapped.

for some reason, the sight seems to render you sort of speechless. frozen. like he’s a pretty bluebird seated on your windowsill, chirping softly in the wake of morning, and you’re afraid of scaring him away.

— his eyes meet yours, and you visibly stiffen.

it’s smooth, the motion of his hands. how swiftly he flicks the book shut, placing it face down on the counter with a twitch of his lithe fingers. not before slipping a pretty bookmark in between the pages, lilac-coloured, with flowers embroidered into the silky texture. you wonder if he made it himself. 

his voice spills out into the air, a little raspy. deep, but velvety, sending shivers down your spine. he clears his throat, and you watch his adam’s apple bob. ”do you need anything?”

a second passes. 

it catches you off guard, the mellow sound of his voice. when you’re so unaccustomed to hearing it. excluding the brief words you’ve exchanged paying for your novels, you’ve only heard it a select few times — mostly from afar, not-so-sneakily listening in on his conversations with the pink haired boy and pretty girl who sometimes come in and never look at any of the books. 

(there’s the tall guy with the not-so-seasonal sunglasses, too. but when he enters the store, all you pick up on are usually grumbles and threatening hand gestures.)

but now, that low, low voice is directed at you. 

it can’t be good for your physical health. or mental, for that matter. you’re not sure you remember to properly breathe, and you’re almost certain hearts aren’t supposed to flail the way yours is right now. 

when the boy behind the counter tilts his head, just by a hair, you’re finally snapped out of your little trance. stumbling for something to say, stuttering out a response, your hands grip at the insides of your pockets.

”well, um — i’m looking for a book.”

a moment passes. the song coming from the speakers changes into an instrumental, kind of jazzy. it’s nice.

”… a specific book,” you elaborate, under your breath. gnawing at your bottom lip, feeling a bit of heat on your ears. clearing your throat, as you step forward, tearing your mittens off with your teeth.

searching for a certain image, your numbed fingertips begin to tap at the cold screen of your phone. the warm air of the bookstore envelops your chilled knuckles, and a shiver runs through them.

the boy watches, silently, as you get closer. 

you don’t notice him glancing at your reddened hands, and when you look up to see a glimmer of something displeased in his eyes, you only assume it’s because you’re taking too long. speeding up slightly, you hear a low click of his tongue. his back straightens.

when he gets up from his chair, you notice that he's tall. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him do anything but sit behind the counter with a book in hand, either reading his own or scanning a customer’s. 

and, upon closer inspection — he’s maybe just a little bit too pretty for words. smooth, pale skin, a sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, dark eyes that hide a subtle kind of softness. pierced ears, a glimmer of silver on his earlobes, same as the rings on his bony fingers. his nails are painted black, a little chipped. and he’s wearing a big, bright green christmas sweater; one you really can’t imagine him picking out on his own, if his previous all-black turtlenecks and gray sweaters are anything to go by. 

while you fumble with the phone in your grasp, the pads of his fingers go to silently tap at the edge of the counter. a rhythmic motion; forefinger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over again.

it’s a little bit distracting. when he moves his hand a certain way, his big sweater sleeve rides up just a tiny bit, showing off the blue veins of his inner wrist. you think you catch a glimpse of a mole or two on his pale skin, and you swallow down a gulp, feeling a little like a victorian man seeing a girl’s ankle.

and then finally, you locate the image in question. swiftly showing him the cover of the book you were assigned to read. he squints a little, blinking drowsily, a flutter of his pretty eyelashes that has your heart skipping a beat. 

you clear your throat.

”i’m supposed to read it before christmas break, but i couldn’t find it at our library…” you tilt your head, a little sheepish. ”do you have it here?”

he stares at the screen for just a second more. then he’s angling his head to the left, finger pointing towards a corner of the store. ”it should be over there,” he hums. monotone.

a tentative smile forms on your lips. you thank him, and his eyes find yours.

all he does is shake his head, softly, brushing you off — a silent don’t worry about it. maybe a tad gruff, but you sense an acute gentleness to it. something tender, kind of. or maybe you’d just like to believe the kindness you sense in his eyes is real, more than just a delusion. 

but you don’t have time to dwell on it. the boy behind the counter goes back to reading, cradling the spine with his pretty hands. when he tries to grab the handle of his mug, one of the rings on his fingers knock against the ceramic, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

you go to hunt down your own book, still thinking about his voice, how it trickled like honey from out his lips. 

the bookstore is entirely empty, tonight. no loud noises drilling into your groggy brain, no people to chatter amongst themselves and disrupt the illusion of peace you gain when you spend time here. a tiny respite, from your studies, from the stress and fatigue that you’ve come to associate with winter. hunting for christmas gifts, finishing late assignments, trudging through the snow. pretending that you have it all together.

but here, none of that matters. 

a sense of calm washes over you, as your eyes trail over the books by the science fiction section, and a soft sigh tumbles from your throat. gradually, your hands begin to warm up, and you look out the window.

outside, the world is blanketed by a veil of snow and frost, pure whites and murky grays as far as the eye can see. falling down to earth, smothering everything in a bitter chill. a cold, cold embrace. but when looking at it like this, from inside a cozy bookstore, with a pretty boy by the counter…

it's a breathtaking sight. 

little snowflakes descending, dancing in the wind. desaturating your world. if you close your eyes and focus, you think you can almost feel the wind nip at your fingertips, almost taste the fragrance of dried tea leaves and caramel fudge from the tiny shop across the street. almost bask in the green and red of the decorative lights in the skeletal trees, illuminating the city, buzzing with artificial warmth.

(your heart feels light.)

it doesn’t take long for you to find the book you need. keeping it safe and warm between your arm and torso, you walk back to the counter, gaze still lingering on the windowpane. the little snowflakes fluttering about, the glimpses you catch of passerby and their knit scarves in the darkness of the winter evening.

the boy behind the counter is as efficient as ever. he takes the book, fingertips resting exactly where yours just were, and scans it in a matter of seconds. you pay, and he puts it in a plastic bag, handing it to you — all while his copy of wuthering heights sits on the counter, pointedly, as if beckoning you to mention it.

before you can think to stop yourself, you’ve parted your lips. 

”is it good?” you ask. finger pointing at his book.

the boy blinks. eyelashes fluttering. once, then twice. he seems a little caught off guard, but still speaks within a split second. almost like he doesn’t even think about the answer. ”yeah.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. you shift a little, from foot to foot, plastic bag in hand. ”i’ve been meaning to read it,” you say, desperate to prolong the conversation, ”but i haven't had much time lately.”

a chuckle slips from your lips. it comes out sounding just a little exhausted. 

(he glances at the dark bags beneath your eyes, but you don’t notice.)

”i think i might buy it in time for christmas break, though…” you lift your gaze to meet his own. showing the briefest glimpse of a smile, polite. 

he doesn’t return it. lips pursed, silent, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. a navy blue, little splotches of a murky green blooming in the corners of his iris. they only appear when you’re this close. soothing, somehow. they’re pretty.

he isn’t saying anything, not a single word, and some part of your heart clogs up like a clump of wet snow. subconsciously, you trap your bottom lip between your teeth, digging into the soft flesh before letting go. cowering a little under his intense gaze.

did you annoy him? 

(he probably doesn’t want to talk to you. maybe he thinks you’re hitting on him, or something. are you hitting on him? that doesn’t matter. he must be stressed — it’s holiday season, after all. the last thing he needs is some annoying customer taking up his precious reading time. 

gosh, what were you even thinking?)

you’re just about to excuse yourself, mentally berating yourself for forcibly striking up a conversation with an obvious introvert — 

when the sound of something sliding against wooden material catches your attention.

you blink.

the boy behind the counter does a little cough. under his breath, clearing his throat. he wets his lips, in what you immediately recognize as nervosity — absentmindedly fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. 

”here.”

when you look down, a certain book is placed on the edge of the counter, right in front of you. wuthering heights.

another blink. you look down at the hardcover, and then back up at him, but he’s not meeting your gaze. if you look closely, you think you see a slight flush to his neck, red like a candy cane. 

”you can borrow it,” he says. a pause. then he continues, clearing his throat again, a hint of hesitance in his raspy voice. ”… if you want to, i mean.”

”… ah.” is all you can answer. barely a word, more of a weak little hum. an absent tremble of your voice.

outside the comfort and warmth of the bookstore, the wind whistles, digging its claws into the city. tiny whirlwinds of snowflakes dance from street to street, fluttering about joyously. you vaguely pick up on the song from the speakers changing, into a poppy christmas-themed kpop song.

a moment passes.

your muddled mind finally reacts. on instinct, sending little instructions to your frozen limbs. to your heart, face down on the floor, completely useless.

”oh — no, there’s no need!” you blurt out, putting your hands up hastily. waving him off. ”it’s fine, i can just buy my own copy!” 

but the boy only clicks his tongue, with that signature furrow of his brows. ”you’re a student,” he states, just a little gruff. but then there’s that kindness. ”you shouldn’t waste your money.”

you’re just about to protest, when he continues. ”besides,” he sighs. ”i’ve already read it. you can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

and again, your instinctual desire is to protest. unsure of what to say, somehow exasperated by his trust. that’s what it is, isn’t it? trust. trusting a stranger, a customer he’s barely even spoken to, not to just take his book and then never return. trusting you to be a decent person. a good person.

isn’t that naive?

something sprouts like a snowdrop in a ridge between your ribs, though, and you know that it’s happiness of some kind. you’re glad, that he has something even vaguely similar to trust in you. 

glad that he’s acknowledging you, in a way. your presence, the sneaky glances shared between you. the comfortable feeling that sleeps inside your veins when it's just you and him, silently passing each other by, in a quiet bookstore that feels a little like heaven on earth. a safe haven, of sorts, with no incompetent professors, tight deadlines or numb fingers.

it’s just him, and cozy christmas music, and a pitter patter rhythm of your heartbeat that sounds a little like jingle bells to your muddled mind.

a lump forms in the back of your throat. you gulp it back down, and part your lips. an unsure question spills into the open air. 

”are… you really sure?”

”yeah.” he doesn’t even skip a beat. fingers tapping at the edge of the counter, over and over again. another slow moment passes. ”we can… talk. about it.” he coughs into his closed fist. ”once you've read it.” 

with a soft furrow of his brows, he averts his gaze. his voice comes out sounding soft, albeit a little rough around the edges. ”if you want,” he adds.

you’re so distracted by the flutter of his long eyelashes that you barely even feel your lips stretch into a smile. your hearts skips around happily within the confines of your ribcage, and you’re worried that you might look a little too excited — but how could you ever hide your joy, when he’s acting so dangerously, uncharacteristically cute?

”yeah!” you blurt, teeth peeking out when you flash him a bright smile. and finally, he meets your gaze. pretty eyes fixed entirely on you.

at your evident enthusiasm, his shoulders seem to relax. the rapid tapping of his fingers ceases, and he opts to simply bite down on his lip — attempting to obscure his own smile. but you see it, anyway; a tiny, tiny smile. the softest little curl of his lips. you’re entirely mesmerized, all the same. 

a hand goes to rub at the back of his neck, and he does that cute little cough again, and you wonder if the warmth sprouting in your chest will be enough to protect you from the snowfall on your way back home.

angelic; that’s the impression he always seems to leave you with. you wonder if he has any idea just how pretty he is. if he has the slightest clue. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to tell him, yourself.

you wonder if you’ll get to know him, someday. if you’ll ever get to know the pretty, quiet boy behind the counter of your go-to bookstore, who radiates a softness so palpable you wish you could stay there until spring blooms beyond the windows and melts the frosted glass. 

with tentative hands, a little shaky — not from the cold, but the anxious and excited tingle of your bloodstream — you reach for the book on the counter. taking it into your arms, cradling it gently, like it’s so fragile the pages could scatter away if you aren’t careful. with a steady hand on its spine, you begin to flip through the pages, until three little words on the first blank page catch your attention. 

without thinking, you repeat the little scribbled down sentence under your breath. hoping for something. more lulls of his voice, maybe, mumbling to yourself but hoping he’ll hear.

”happy birthday, tsumiki…”

the boy stiffens. 

a silent beat. then he clears his throat. ”my sister,” he explains, and you hum.

so he has a sister. a tiny fragment of his existence, now known to you, a little piece of trivia. you want to collect them, want to put them all in your pockets and carry them around, like little precious bells. 

”megumi,” he blurts out, sudden, and you look up from the book to meet his gaze. ”my name,” he elaborates. and then a pause. ”i work here.”

…

in a matter of seconds, his face reddens. ears and neck slathered over with that sweet cherry hue, blooming across his pale skin. a soft giggle slips from your lips, before you can think to bite it back, and that red hue exacerbates. 

”mm,” you hum, an amused smile on your face. eyes crinkling as you look at him, book safe and secure in your arms. ”i've seen you.”

megumi looks a bit like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. squirming slightly, shifting from foot to foot, tugging a little at the sleeve of his sweater. looking into your eyes, and then back at the counter.

it’s sweet. it makes you feel closer to him, somehow. like you aren’t the only nervous one here. like you aren’t the only person in this city who’s a little bit of a mess. 

(it makes the sludge piling up inside your brain feel just a little more bearable.)

”… thank you.” you smile. ”i’ll take good care of it. and i’ll bring it right back when i finish it.”

a low hum. megumi brings a hand up to fix his bangs, nimble fingers running through dark locks. absentminded — a nervous habit, maybe? ”don’t worry about it,” is all he says. 

again, that sweet dichotomy; a hint of something gruff, hiding an unmistakable softness. a little like snow. cold to the touch, enough to make you want to stay away, but then it melts on the skin of your palm. turns soft and warm beneath your touch.

unable to fully hide the smile still lingering on your lips, you allow yourself one final inhale — letting that scent of peppermint and espresso invade your mind, soothing every frazzled nerve inside your brain. then you put wuthering heights in your bag, protected and snug, and get ready to leave. 

it’s still snowing. if anything, it seems to have gotten worse, enough that all you see when you glance towards the frosted windows are little clumps of snowflakes. obscuring everything else.

just when you’re about to speak, say a little goodbye, a voice spills out into the air.

”… the snow’s supposed to get worse. apparently.”

his navy eyes carry a gentle hue, as they look into yours. maybe a little worried, like a protective mother wolf towards her cub. you blink, and megumi sees it as his cue to continue.

”you can stay until it gets better.” 

a brief pause. his signature cough reaches your ears, and it’s enough to have you smiling, even before he adds a tiny if you feel like it. nonchalant, or at least you think that’s what he’s going for. he mostly just sounds like an awfully caring person trying awfully hard to appear uncaring.

and again, a little smile slips itself into the curl of your lips. all giddy and nervous, a little flustered. but happy. now you won’t have to walk through the relentless snowfall outside, feel the wind chew at your reddened cheekbones. now you can spend just a bit more time with him, bask in those quiet, drawn out moments of pure peace, browsing through books while he sits and reads behind the counter.

”thanks,” you breathe. adjusting your knitted scarf. ”i think i'll look at the books a little more, then.”

megumi’s eyes soften. relieved, you think. hope. it’s a subtle shift, but still enough to notice, enough to see. little splotches of a mossy green sinking into that sea of ink blue.

you think he must feel a little embarrassed, though. like he’s gotten too close to broaching the line he’s set up between the two of you. because he quickly fixes his gaze entirely on a book in his hands, a new one — was it just waiting beneath the counter? 

you don't think much of it, but you note that he's back to his usual nonfiction. something on astronomy, you think.

and with one final glance at his tousled hair, you begin to stroll through the store. languidly, walking to whatever spine captures your attention. savouring the tiny words on the back of the books, wallowing in the peppermint and espresso that wafts through the air, only growing heavier while you’re busy admiring the white opaque frosting of the windows’ glass. 

at some point, the low whirring of a coffee machine buzzes from afar, and when you turn to the counter megumi isn’t there. 

a little later, when he comes back, he’ll be carrying two mugs — matching dogs etched into the ceramic, one black and one white. he’ll put one of them on the edge of the counter, closest to you, and then meet your eyes. give a vague nod towards it, but nothing else. you’ll notice the red tint to his ears, though.

and when you do, a warmth will blossom in your chest, enough to chase away the phantom ache of the winter chill soon to envelop you.

when the little bell of the bookstore jingles its jolly tune, and the door shuts itself as you cross the threshold to leave, megumi lets out a barely audible sigh.

he thinks his heart may be beating just a smidge faster than usual, a little out of rhythm. palms against the counter, he allows his eyes to flutter shut — trying not to acknowledge the heat he feels on his face when he finally begins to process your interaction. 

he smooths a hand over his face, skin just a little sweaty. chewing at his bottom lip with two sharp teeth.

god.

really, it was no more than a stupid twist of luck. that you happened to come in just when he started reading it, that you noticed and didn’t question him on any of the contents. that you believed him when he said he’d already finished it.

and, sure, maybe he was secretly really hoping you’d come in. really hoping you’d notice it, that it’d be enough to make you strike up a conversation with him, something, anything. 

he happened to see you eyeing it once, that’s all. twice, and then thrice, each on different occasions. tsumiki’s old collection came in handy, rotting on the dusty shelves of her room — although he has no memory of her ever reading it.

(he remembers some, though. remembers her reading a few of them to him, on nights he couldn’t sleep. remembers the soft lull of her voice, how the whole world seemed blanketed by a wool of safety.

he wonders if he’ll ever get to hear it again.)

megumi’s heart feels warm. despite everything. 

even though he didn’t even get past the first half of wuthering heights, and has no idea what the hell he’s going to be able to talk to you about. even though he thinks heathcliff is a dick and catherine is a brat, and wishes they could save everyone else the trouble and just talk to a psychiatrist.

even with the cold baring its fangs outside, and the cup of espresso sitting right in front of him, still untouched, made with the store’s shitty coffee machine. even in the ugly sweater gojo forced him into. even though he doesn’t even really know you, not even at all, and still somehow feels certain that you’ll come back with tsumiki’s book in tow.

trust. 

megumi thinks it’s a little weird, how just that single overlapping of your gazes when you first stepped in seemed to solidify such an abstract notion. he’s always had a sense of it, though — a sense of goodness. an ability to seek them out, those good people, bubbly and cheerful and so tragically hard not to love. 

no matter where he goes, he ends up finding them. like tiny sunflower seeds persisting beneath the winter snow. blooming when spring comes around, in a burst of golden vermillion.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, megumi allows himself to wallow in the solitude of the bookstore. tired eyes soaking up the words on the pages he flips through, slowly, utterly at ease. drinking his shitty coffee, trying to ignore the itchy feeling of the sweater on his skin, unable to forget the memory of your stupidly pretty smile. 

so pretty he thinks it might just keep him warm, all throughout winter, until you return once more. bringing with you the glimmer of snowflakes on soft skin, and a pleasant fragrance of tea leaves from the cozy shop across the street.

a single sunflower, persisting even through the cold. 

megumi smiles. a tiny curl of his chapped lips, while he flips the pages of his book. content in the knowledge that this won’t be the last time he speaks to you.

(now he just needs to read up on some good papers on wuthering heights.)

[mothhball]

hiiii i saw your drabbles requests post :)

um...how would neil feel about cockwarming?

NEIL LEWIS X READER

summary patience is a rare virtue...

warnings SMUT!! this is just filth lmao <3 dom reader supremacy, subby Neil, cockwarming, no specific mention of reader's genitals

notes thanks for the request!!! this one got a little short because I'm fighting to get my groove back lmao

! MINORS DNI !

main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 472

"This would have a runtime of two minutes and thirty seconds if they would just talk to each other.”

Neil groans into the crook of your shoulder, tightening his grip on the flesh of your thighs which causes you to shift in his lap and him to whine in response. The movie you’re trying to watch continues to flicker across Neil’s tube TV, presenting both of you with scene after scene of (admittedly) shallow entertainment. But god, every once in a while, you just want to watch something fun and sappy instead of one of Neil’s favorite black-and-white masterpieces that were shot on “authentic, good ol’ fashioned film” and feature a beautiful actress that got traumatized by a director.

Sometimes you just want to watch a rom-com. And in a last-ditch attempt to turn movie night in your favor, you suggested a little reward if Neil managed to make it through. To sweeten the deal.

“What did we agree on regarding catty remarks?” you prompt, trying not to smile when you hear him sigh and grumble into your neck.

“Little to none,” he mutters, placing his chin back on your shoulder to try and brace through the last thirty minutes of the movie. His silence lasts for a minute. A valiant effort, considering you’ve been squeezing his cock inside of you since the two of you got settled on the couch and he handed you the remote.

“Can’t you at least, like… grind a little?” How cute. He’s trying to bargain with you. But he hasn’t earned it just yet. You shake your head, clicking your tongue in disapproval when he bucks his hips up into you without your permission.

“Don’t,” you hiss, reaching under yourself to grab onto the throbbing base of his cock and squeeze. The strangled noise that leaves Neil’s lips is almost enough to break your own resolve. Almost. Not looking at him makes it easier to stay resolute, but you can feel him trembling, hear him panting right against your body. His grip on your thighs is twitching, betraying the desperate need that fills every cell and fiber of his heated flesh.

“Please –“ he chokes out from behind gritted teeth, “Oh fuck, please…”

It’s an exercise in restraint for both of you. Delicious torture in the comfort of your living room. And in a moment of wicked delight, you wait for his breath to steady before you clench around his aching cock, sending him spiraling again.

“Just 20 more minutes, baby. And then I’ll ride you while the credits roll,” you promise, treating yourself to a little glimpse over your shoulder to look at his flushed cheeks and watery eyes. He nods, you smile and turn back toward the TV to enjoy the next line of cheesy, overacted dialogue.

This really is the perfect movie date.

@tkappi @ddawgg1 @wiseyouthinfluencer @cillianslvt @ilovedottore

@vegasisthinking @paradiseprincesss @sagepixie @rosiemarieyn @bloodandglitter207

@luvlloyd @smxkyqvxrtz @4doorsup @biblicallyaccuratebee @nocturnest

@ilovetoxicfictionalmen @hanawrites404 @celebrities-imagines @kiss-me-cill-me @ptolemaniac

@0loveoak0 @nnattu @ashdrinksoatmilk @vampmary1411 @ink5ouls

@calicoartie @pretty-bluebird @detroitbecomevenom @mandies24 @x0xomady

@mcumorningstar @cilliansprincess @ellebellebarnes @strangeobsessed @ryecosse

[gretavangroupie]

Bluebird Lane - Chapter One

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.0k

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Pining.

A/N: Gigantic, massive thank you to @gretavanmoon and @builtbybrokenbells for endlessly encouraging me with this one and daydreaming with me. I hope you all enjoy chapter one of what will be a sweet little mini series. Thanks for reading!

“God I hope this one works,” you groan, hitting your blinker as you make a right turn. The AC is cranked up to ten in an effort to combat the Nashville heat, but right now, in the heat of the day, it was a losing battle.

“This will be what? The fourth, fifth one you’ve toured?” Blake asks, her voice filled with laughter.

You shake your head as a smile passes your lips, “It’s not funny, Blake, and yes. Fifth, and this one has to work. It’s my favorite one and it's the last one that's in my price range.”

“Damn, did that other one fall through?” she asks, sounding sympathetic from the other end of the phone. 

“Yes, my application was denied and they didn’t even tell me why. The others never even bothered to call me back. If this one doesn’t work out I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t want to do another year in an apartment,” you say, feeling your heart rate start to pick up as you get closer to the house. “I cannot bear the hour commute for a minute longer, and I have thirty days until I have to be out of my apartment now.”

“There’s nowhere else?” she asks. 

“Not in my price range that’s close to work and has space for a little garden…” you answer, knowing that the last part isn’t the most important. 

She laughs because she has listened to you talk about starting a garden for the last two years,“So what is your plan, then?”

“I’m going to go to this open house, make sure it looks like the pictures online, and if I like it, I’m going to see if they will let me do the application right there. Like, this is the one. It’s right by my office, it’s close to everything, and it’s right in the sweet spot of my budget.” you answer, chewing the skin on your bottom lip as you pull up to the curb. A nervousness washes over you as you lay eyes on the old house, “Okay, I’m here, please wish me luck. I have to get this, Blake.”

“Sendin’ up prayers to the big man as we speak,” she giggles, “Call me after, let me know. I’ll be sitting on my couch stalking my ex's new girlfriend.”

“Blake–” you start, listening to the line beep as she ends the call. You let out a laugh and shake your head, taking a deep breath as you look over the outside of the house. It truly is perfect, the sweetest little historic cottage you’ve ever seen. You felt drawn to it, even from the photos online. You knew it was your last chance at a house before you signed a new lease on an apartment you didn’t want. 

You gather your courage and step out of the car, taking in the sights of the quaint neighborhood around you. Most of the houses on this street looked similar, in various states of aging. This one, however, looked well kept and cared for. The black numbers on the front porch post read ‘19’, and for some reason you just knew this house was meant to be yours, that is, until you heard the sound of a car door shutting behind you. 

Out stepped a guy, dressed fairly nice with a pair of dark sunglasses perched high on his nose. His hair was long and hung over the shoulders of his dark blazer. You knew it was an open house, but you didn’t expect others to be here when you got here. You felt a twinge of competition spark within you, and you found yourself thinking that you would do whatever it takes to get this house instead of him. 

The porch light was off and the front door was shut. You knew the open house didn’t start for  another few minutes so you didn’t dwell on the fact that the realtor wasn’t there yet. You took the time to walk around the yard, taking inventory of the current landscaping and seeing if you recognized any of the well established plants. Much to your surprise you were able to spot a flourishing blue hydrangea bush, and some creeping Ivy on the side of the house. There seemed to be decent shade from the giant Oak tree that hung over the house, setting the perfect scene for your new garden. You could already picture the vegetables you would grow here, and prepare in the little kitchen inside. You were absolutely dead set on this house, and as you stood in the shade of the Oak tree admiring the greenery all around you remembered him. 

He made his way to the side of the house, not caring at all about the plants the house was surrounded by,  but looking at the foundation of the home instead. He crouched down at the crawl space entry, taking a closer look. You felt your eyes cut towards him, already feeling possessive over the home you wanted so badly. He shouldn’t even be here, this house was for you. His eyes flick over to you, noticing you watching him with your arms crossed across your chest. 

“Cute place,” he says, peering up at you over his sunglasses. He seems smug, you aren’t sure if you like this guy too much. It doesn't help that he is mysteriously attractive.

“Sure is,” you answer shortly, not wanting to give him any inkling about you or your intentions. 

You both snap your heads towards the road as you hear a car door shut, knowing the realtor must have arrived. You start to walk towards the front of the house seeing an older man make his way up the front porch steps and into the house, shutting the door behind him. You find yourself walking a little faster up to the front door in an effort to beat the man behind you, really wanting to make the first impression with the realtor.

In a huff you knock on the front door first, stepping back a few inches as you clutched your purse to your side nervously. The man finally joins you on the porch, standing a few feet away from you with both hands in his pockets, waiting for the door to open just the same as you are. You can smell his cologne wafting off of him, and while you can admit it did smell good, he was your competition right now, and you weren’t giving him the time of day. 

Make a good first impression. This is your last chance at your own place. 

Finally, after what felt like way too long, the front door swung open, revealing the sight of the older man in a pair of pressed blue jeans and a white t-shirt. A trucker hat sat atop his head, and a warm friendly smile was on his face. 

“Well, hello there,” he said, waving the two of you inside, “I reckon you’re here for the open house, is that right?”

“Oh, um, yes sir,” you answer, looking suspiciously behind you at your competitor. 

The older man flicks his eyes from you to the man behind you and grins, nodding his head as he hobbles further into the house. 

“Well, alright then, sorry I kept you two. I’m Ralph, and this is 19 Bluebird Lane. Got two bedrooms and one bathroom, decent little kitchen to do your cookin’, and a nice family room. Yards’ just big enough to make ya’ sweat when you cut the grass, and the grocery store is just a few minutes up the road.”

You stand in the empty family room, taking a quick glance at the house and finding it has original wood flooring and vintage fixtures. Your heart swells as you imagine your things filling the space, and how you would decorate for holidays. It’s everything you ever imagined for yourself, and you have no doubts in your mind that this is the house for you. Your competitor walks around the house, the echo of his boots on the floor almost abrasive. He doesn’t say much, the occasional sound leaving his lips as Ralph continues to talk about the house. You try not to stare at him, but you can’t help it. You are hoping he will find it outdated or tacky and leave. You can only hope. 

“You know Ralph, I have had my eye on this place for some time. Always caught my eye when I drove by, and when I saw it up for rent I knew I needed to come check it out. Hard to find these old Craftsman style houses in such great condition. What was it, built around the thirties I’d say?” The man asks, and you suddenly feel stupid. You could never even guess what year this home was built, and now his praise has gotten the leg up on you. 

“Sure was son, built in 1931.” Ralph answers, positively beaming at the man's words. “I did my best to take care of her, put a lot of work into it years ago, and still today.”

“It definitely shows, it’s an amazing place.” the man says, sending you a smirk. 

Ralph leads the two of you down the small hallway towards the bedrooms, gesturing towards the master bedroom and the guestroom. The bathroom for the home sits across the hallway from the two with floor to ceiling baby blue tile and a matching tub. A small window lights up the bathroom in the late evening sun, and if you close your eyes you can almost picture yourself doing your makeup at the sink, soaking away in the vintage tub, or opening the windows to listen to the birds chirp early in the mornings. 

“Ralph, can I ask why you’re renting instead of selling it outright?” the man asks, rubbing his fingers over his chin.

“Well, son, because I have to pay for my new apartment. I don’t need this place all to myself and I know to sell it, it would need a lot of work that I don’t think I will be able to do by myself. I fixed a few things here and there, but I think renting is probably my only hope,” he answers, his features falling into a gloomy expression. 

“I see,” the man says, “Well, I’m sure glad you are. This place is fantastic. I love that it’s all original fixtures.”

Shit. This is not going how you hoped.

Your eyes flick to Ralph’s, the smile returning to his face as he listens to the man speak kind words of his home again. 

“What if you had someone who was willing to buy it as is, all cash?” the man asks, and suddenly you feel the blood drain from your face. He wants to buy it… You look at him with panic in your eyes, and you feel the hope of your dream house slipping through your fingers.

“It would have to be the right buyer. I ain’t gonna sell this to just anyone.” he pauses, “The developers have tried to buy me out of this place for years. Want to build condos just down the street and I won’t do it. ‘M afraid if I sell it to any old Joe Schmoe they will tear it down, and I can’t let that happen,” he says. “We sure did love this place. Forty years we lived here, and my parents before that,” he continues,  reminiscing on times past. 

“You and your wife,” you ask softly, confirming with him. 

“Yes, my Gail. She loved this place. Said she never wanted to live anywhere else. We sure did fill this place with memories, but I have to tell you it’s just not the same without her. The memories hurt a little without her to share ‘em with,” he says, twisting his hands together. 

“To be quite honest with you two, it was her dyin’ wish that this place would be home to another couple like us. I promised her I would try, and for several weeks now I have been havin’ people come view the house, and none of ‘em was ever a couple. It never felt right. I made that promise, ya know?  I was startin’ to lose hope on it, then you two showed up at the door.” he says, letting his eyes meet yours. 

You look over to the man standing next to you, seeing that he is just as perplexed as you are. You aren’t a couple. You don’t even know this man’s name. You decide that the best course of action is to tell the truth,  “Oh we–”

“You know Ralph, we really do love the place,” the man interrupts, looking over at you with an indecipherable look in his eye. You recoil slightly, realizing that the unknown man next to you is playing into this poor man’s fantasy.

“A place like this is meant to house love. That’s all it’s ever known,” Ralph pauses, nodding his head. “I’ll tell you what, if you two like this place, I would be more than happy to rent it to you. Rent is twenty-one hundred a month, with the utilities.”

“That’s amazing, Ralph,” the man smiles, “Actually, would you mind giving us just a moment to talk about it?” 

A smile crosses his face as he looks at the two of you, “Sure thing, I’m gonna go take a sit on the porch, you two just come find me when you’re ready,” he says, turning and making his way to the front porch. You hear the front door close and you turn to the man, practically fuming with anger.

“What are you thinking?” you scold, not even able to begin to process what could possibly be going through his mind. 

“I’m thinking we both want this house,” he says matter-of-factly. 

“Aren’t you going to try and just buy it from him?” you ask, pouting a little. 

“Ahh, you know, coming into this, yeah. I think so, but I’ve had a sudden change of heart. I can see you have your heart set on it, and to be honest, so do I.” he pauses, starting to pace around the room. “He’s made it pretty clear he isn’t wanting to rent the house to a single renter, and I get that, so this is about the only option.”

“I don’t even know your name! Why would I– What are you, insane?”

A smug smile crosses his lips, “My apologies, I’m Jake.” he answers, peering at you through the lens of his sunglasses.

You cut your eyes at him a bit, trying to decide what to say, “D–Do you always wear sunglasses inside?”

Again, he smiles and nods his head, “Pretty often, yes. They are prescription.”

“Oh,” you squeak, suddenly feeling rude for asking. 

“And your name is?” he asks, his voice a little deeper and more sincere. 

“Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, do you want to live in this house?” he asks, leaning back onto the wall. 

“I mean, yeah. I do, but I wasn’t planning on having a roommate,” you answer truthfully.

“Well lucky for you I'm practically never home,” he says. “Would only be here from time to time to sleep and do laundry.”

“And why is that?” you ask, as if it’s your business. 

“I’m in a band, we travel a lot.”

“So why are you doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

“Because, like I told him, I like this house, I always have. It’s close to my office and my brothers and it’s not some cookie cutter new build. It’s what I want, but I know it’s what you want just by the look on your face when I talked about buying it from him. He doesn’t want to sell. He wants to rent it to a couple, and I’m pretty sure that since we both showed up alone, neither of us fit that bill.”

“So you– you want to just lie to that sweet old man and tell him that we are together?” you ask. 

“Essentially, yes.”

“You don’t feel bad?” you question, your brows furrowing together. 

A small laugh leaves his chest and a bright smile parts his lips, “Of course I do, but I’m trying to make this work for both of us.”

“You said you’re in a band…Is that your only job? Are you sure you can pay your part of the rent?” you ask accussingly. 

An even larger smile fills his face, “Yeah, sweetheart. I can afford my share of the rent.”

“And you’ll clean up after yourself?”

“You won’t even know I’m here,” he nods. 

For a moment you consider running out of the house. Running out and signing the lease on the shitty apartment across town and never looking back at this insane proposition. But something about the way he has presented this has you considering it. 

“Can I think for a second?” you ask, pacing around the room. 

“Be my guest,” he says, gesturing into the air. 

You step out of the bedroom and walk into the kitchen, letting your mind play through various scenarios to try and come to a decision. Truthfully, you don’t really have another option. You had been ghosted on every other property you looked at. It was this or the apartment you didn’t want. This way you get the house you want, and the garden space you want, but for less money and half of the responsibility. 

It seemed like a no brainer, but you were still feeling hesitant. Maybe you should keep looking. Maybe you should just let him have the house. 

You open a kitchen cabinet, seeing a few old recipes still taped on the inside door, where they have sat for twenty years at least, and you feel your heart drop. You know you will feel awful lying about being with Jake, but at the same time, you know this place is the one and you can’t keep second guessing it. 

You decide right there in that perfect little kitchen that you’re going to do it. You would rather live with a stranger than in a shitty, loud apartment for another second. With a deep breath you walk back into the bedroom, finding Jake taking a look out the window. 

“How do you know I’m not a serial killer or something?” you ask, quirking a brow at him as he turns to face you. 

He chuckles a little and shakes his head, “Well, I don’t. But I'm willing to risk it. Serial killers don’t typically seek out homes in the center of town while admiring the flower bushes...”

You suck in a deep breath, and let it go, licking your lips before answering him. “Okay.”

“Okay you want to do it?” he asks, stepping closer to you. 

“I don’t really have another option.” you admit.

“You won’t regret this, I promise,” he smiles, stepping forward and offering you his hand to hold. 

Your eyes flick down to his outstretched hand before flicking back up to his face, “What are you doing?” you ask, a bit taken aback. 

“I was hoping we could go tell Ralph the good news,” he smirks. “Kinda have to pretend to like me if we are going to sell this.”

You feel your blood run cold. You hadn’t considered that part until this very moment. It was just for a few minutes. You could do that, right? You placed your hand in his, letting him wrap his warm fingers around yours as he smiled, leading you out of the bedroom and towards the front door. 

“Just follow my lead, okay?” 

You nod and step out onto the large wrap around porch finding Ralph sitting in a rocking chair. 

“Did you two come up with a decision?” he asks, working hard to pull himself up out of the chair.

Jake pulls you closer to his side, never letting his hand leave yours, “We sure did, Ralph. We would love to rent this place from you. I promise we will take great care of it, isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You feel a tingle in the pit of your stomach as the pet name washes over you, his eyes locked on you, urging you to answer his question. 

“Um, absolutely. We both love it. It’s exactly what we wanted,” you agree, tilting your head to rest on Jake’s shoulder. You feel his grip on your hand tighten, and you swallow nervously. 

“My Gail would be so happy. Thank you both so much,” he smiles, fighting back the tears coming to his eyes. “We can do the paperwork and I reckon you can move in a few days once the money is sorted.”

“I can write you a check for first and last month's rent and the security deposit today, if you’d like?” Jake offers, and you feel a twinge of shock. No wonder he laughed when you asked him about rent earlier. 

“That would be fantastic, son. Boy you sure are makin’ this easy for me.”

“That was the goal, sir,” he smiles, following Ralph back inside as he pulls you along behind him. 

—

You spend much of the next hour filling out the renter paperwork and sending the documents to the appropriate places. Jake definitely took the lead in all of this, writing the checks and getting the information to transfer the utilities into his name. You knew the two of you would discuss all of this later, but for now you just let him. 

Ralph led you both out of the house, practically beaming as he walked towards his car. “I sure am glad you two came by today. I can tell that you two are perfect for this place. I will get all this paperwork sent off and get some keys made and be in contact with you by the end of the week.”

“Thank you so much Ralph, we can’t wait!” you smiled, waving as he got into his car and drove away.

Jake immediately drops your hand, and for some reason you feel a twinge of sadness at the sudden loss of warmth. 

“Well, we did it,” he grins. 

“I can’t believe he bought it,” you laugh. 

“I can, you’re a great actress, I even believed it there for a minute,” he grins, giving you a subtle wink. 

“So…Now what?” you ask, quickly remembering that things were not just that simple. 

“Now, we figure out logistics I suppose…” he answers, looking down at the watch on his wrist. “Shit,” he grumbles. You take notice of the shiny silver wristwatch, wondering what he is late for. You stand awkwardly trying to figure out what to do next. 

“I have to run, but we need to talk everything through. I know Ralph said he will call me when the paperwork goes through and the check clears, so I’d give it a day or two until I hear from him.” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. 

“Okay, so am I just supposed to wait to hear from you in the meantime?” you ask, feeling a little left out of the loop. 

“Yeah, I mean, I can call you as soon as I hear from him, and I know we need to figure out the money stuff– actually, let’s just exchange numbers really quick, then we can figure all this out. I can call or text or whatever you prefer.”

“Oh, okay yeah,” you answer. You pull your phone from your bag and open your contacts, handing it to him as you reach for his. You quickly type your number in deciding to be a little cheeky as you add your name in as ‘Girlfriend’.

“I sent myself a text to make sure it goes through,” he says, placing your phone back in your hand. You smile and nod, locking your phone and putting it back in your purse. You hand his phone back to him, watching him shove it into his pocket as he turns to head towards his car. 

“I’m really sorry, I hate to run like this but I am running really late to this thing, and really I don’t even want to go I just–Sorry, anyway,  I will text you here in a little bit to see if we can’t figure some of this stuff out.” he says, walking alongside you to your car. 

“No worries, I will start making arrangements for this weekend tentatively?” you ask, wondering if that's too soon. 

“Yeah, I think that sounds good, I will do the same, and I can help you with whatever, just let me know.” he says, reaching for his car door. 

“Alright, well, um thanks… for this, I will talk to you soon, I guess?” you giggle. 

“Yeah, you will,” he smiles, lifting his hand to wave as he gets into his Jeep. 

You wave as you get into your car, shutting the door behind you and letting out a breath. “Holyfuckingshit.” you breathe out. You had done it. You got your dream home. Maybe not the way you planned, but some way, somehow, you’d done it. 

His tail lights lit up your face as he started his car, pulling away from the curb as you started your car. Your hands were shaking from the adrenaline of it all, and you knew you still had to call Blake to fill her in. 

You turn your head to look at the house, the yellow porch light glowing in the dusky night, warm and inviting. Your heart lurches in your chest as you realize that is your new home, and though it’s not exactly how you thought things would go today, you couldn’t have asked for a better outcome. 

You both turn your separate ways, and as your car hits the freeway you hit the speed dial to call Blake. The call rings out twice before you hear her exasperated breath on the phone. 

“Hello!?” she shouts, clearly feeling a bit concerned. 

“Yes, hello…” you answer. 

“What the hell! I thought you got kidnapped or something!” she continues, “You couldn’t text me or something?!”

“Well, things took a dramatic turn when I got there!” you laugh. 

“What kind of dramatic turn?” she asks. 

“Well when I got there there was another guy there to see the house at the same time. We ended up touring the place with the guy selling it, who is just the sweetest little old man named Ralph, and he was telling us all about his wife and how they lived their for forever, and at the end of the tour he basically told the two of us that he was hoping a couple would want to rent it because it was his wife’s dying wish or something…”

“Shit, so you didn’t get it, now what?” she asks. 

“No, actually, see… I did get it. Well, we kinda got it.”

“Huh?” she yells. 

“So the guy, his name is Jake, totally hot, you’d be obsessed with him, anyway, he wanted the house like, just as bad as I did. When Ralph said that to us he basically offered to buy it from him in cash and Ralph said no he wanted to rent it. So Jake kinda looked at me for a second, then when Ralph walked away he told me that he would be willing to rent the house with me if I wanted to.”

“Y/N, no. Oh my god, no?”

“I know, I know, it’s actually fully insane, but Blake what other option did I have?” you question. 

“Wait so how?”

“We…kinda just pretended to be a couple. Ralph thinks we are together. Offered it to us on the spot. We accepted. Did the paperwork and all that. That’s what took so long.” you answer nervously.

“Oh my god, Y/N. Who even is this guy? He could be a murderer!?”

“He’s not. I don’t think... His name is Jake, he is in a band and they tour a lot apparently. Said he will hardly be around. It sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me,” you say. “He also fronted all the money for the thing. We are gonna talk about it soon I think. We exchanged numbers.”

“So right now you’re telling me that you are going to be sharing a house with a guy that you don’t know at all, don’t know his last name, don’t know a thing about him other than he is in a band and has a little money…”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” you laugh. 

“And you’re not nervous about this, like at all?” she questions. 

You laugh a little, “I mean, no. Something about him was oddly comforting. I could just tell he is a good person.”

“Do you know how insane this is?”

“Yes. But, I really had no other choice. I decided right then and there that I was not getting another apartment. Now sharing this house is going to be even less of a financial burden because it will be split in half. This is the best case scenario for me, Blake.”

“I know. And as crazy as it sounds you have the best intuition of anyone I know. I know you’re smart. You also sound really happy so…I guess I am happy too.” she says, the smile audible in her voice. “So, tell me about this guy, you said he’s hot…”

“Oh, I’m going through a bad spot! I will call you tomorrow! Love you!” you say, tapping the red button on the screen and ending the call. You toss your phone to the passenger seat as you switch lanes on the highway, making the hour drive back to your apartment. You could see the light at the end of the tunnel, so glad to finally be rid of that place. This time next week you would be moved into your new place, enjoying the quaint neighborhood and the peace and quiet, and you were hopeful you wouldn’t regret the decision to take on an unexpected roommate.

—

JAKE POV

The gravel crunches as you pull into the parking space, throwing your car into park and twisting the keys in the ignition. You were late, really fucking late. You jump out, throwing the car door shut behind you as you sprint into the front doors of your office. It’s pin drop silent except for the sound of Josh’s voice echoing from the conference room. 

“Fuck,” you mumble, knowing you aren’t going to hear the end of this. 

You quietly make your way into the conference room, seeing Josh sitting across from the laptop on the table, listening as the interviewer speaks. He cuts his eyes to you as you shut the door behind you, placing your keys and phone on the chair by the door. He silently tells you to ‘hurry the fuck up’ as he turns back to the interviewer, making a joke about your untimely arrival. 

You take the seat next to him apologizing for your tardiness and taking the brunt of the rest of the interview. You spent the next thirty minutes talking about the plans for the second half of tour and the excitement you held about making stops in Japan and Australia for the first time in several years. You finished out the interview on a positive note, knowing that as soon as the call ended you were going to catch some heat for being late. 

Of course, as expected as soon as the call ended Josh turned to you with a sour look. 

“Why the fuck do we schedule these meetings around your day if you can’t be bothered to show up at the time you fucking choose!?” he shouts, standing up from his chair. 

“Look, I know. I was just down the street. I fully expected I would be here on time, it’s my mistake.”

“Where the fuck were you? You know I hate doing this stuff alone.” he asks. 

“I finally got into that house over on Bluebird,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders. He knew the house, you’d spoken of it often since your arrival to Nashville a few years ago. 

“Oh, yeah?” he softens, “It’s for sale? You gonna buy it?”

“Wanted to, the owner doesn’t want to sell. Offered cash, too.” you pause. “Toured it and signed the lease just now. That’s why I was late.  Probably moving in this weekend.”

“Shit, really? That’s– Okay.”

“Yeah, but…” you pause, swallowing nervously. “I seem to have acquired a roommate in the process.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Someone else was at the showing. She wanted that house as bad as I did.” you nod, rubbing your hand over your chin. “Something about her… I just couldn’t take it from her…”

“A girl…” he asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise. 

“Yeah, seem’s sweet. Super gorgeous. Her name is Y/N. She has no fuckin’ clue who I am, which, is even better.” you laugh. “The catch was that the owner wanted to rent it to a couple. His wifes dying wish or something… So, I talked her into pretending we were together so he would rent it to us. Kinda works out, she will be there to watch the place when we’re gone and she works so she won’t be around during the day…felt kinda, I don’t know. Just felt like the right thing to do.”

“Jake, you are moving into a house with a stranger.” he states. 

“Yes,” you answer plainly. “But she is cool, I promise.”

“This is a bad idea,” he says, beginning to pace the room. “She could– I don’t know, I thought you wanted privacy– she might tell the whole world–”

“She won’t,” you interrupt. “I can tell. She won’t.”

“How do you know she’s going to pay her share?” he asks.

You laugh and shake her head, “Because the first thing she asked me is how I’m going to pay mine.”

He tilts his head in agreement, “Fair enough.”

“It’ll be good. Just trust me. I have a good feeling about it.” you urge. “I don’t know much about her, at all actually, but I know you’re going to like her.”

“Will be the first roommate you have had that isn’t me,” he smiles. 

“And a girl,” you laugh, “But it will be fine. I want that house and if this is how I have to have it then so be it.”

“Whatever, man,” he sighs, “But definitely has nothing to do with the ‘super gorgeous’ girl, right?”

You smirk and shrug your shoulders, “You’ll see. You’ll get it.”

“Whatever, hey you wanna grab a bite?”

“Nah, actually, I need to uh– I need to get home, have some things to take care of.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow?” he asks, opening the door of the conference room. 

The two of you walk towards the doors, shutting off the lights in preparation to leave, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you then.”

“On time.” he points, opening the door. 

“F’course,” you smirk, knowing damn good and well you will be late to that too.

—

Two hours later you found yourself on your couch, watching highlights with a box of leftover Pad Thai. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you thought of your new place and how easily it fell into your hands. Though, you also found yourself feeling thankful for the girl who just so happened to arrive at the same place at the exact same time that made it so that things could fall into place. 

You reached forward, grabbing your phone from the coffee table and settling back into the couch cushions as you unlocked the screen. You scrolled through your contacts looking for her name and to your surprise you came up empty. You felt a wave of panic wash over you as you looked again, still not finding it. 

You sat up a little, trying to figure out what was going on until you remembered sending yourself a text from her phone. As you open your messages you smile, shaking your head as you see her contact, not labeled with her name at all, and instead, ‘Girlfriend’. You tap the thread, seeing your message to yourself as you type into the box to reach out for the first time. 

You

8:13PM: Girlfriend, huh?

Girlfriend

8:17PM: It felt only appropriate…

You grin to yourself that she answered so quickly, and you wonder if maybe she was thinking about you, too. 

You

8:18PM: Suppose you’re right, we made a deal after all…

8:19PM: Obviously I haven’t heard from Ralph yet, but I figured we could maybe figure out our end of things if you aren’t busy?

Girlfriend

8:20PM: Yeah, sure that works for me. 

You glance at the time realizing it is kind of late, and you know she likely is working tomorrow. 

You

8:22PM: You sure? I didn’t realize the time.

Girlfriend

8:23PM: Yeah totally! I was actually thinking about it earlier, and if you want I can just venmo you my share of the rent and utilities every month, that way it comes from just one of us and he won’t get suspicious?

You

8:25PM: Actually yeah, that would be perfect. I can just let you know how much when I get the bills?

Girlfriend

8:27PM: Yeah! Sounds good to me!

You

8:28PM: Also just so you know, in about three weeks I am leaving for tour and I will be gone for about two months. I will obviously still pay my half of everything, but you will have the place to yourself. Just wanted to give you a heads up. 

Girlfriend

8:29PM: Oh, wow, thats barely enough time for you to get moved in and settled lol 

You

8:30PM: Unfortunately that is just kind of how my life is, never can get too comfortable anywhere before its on to the next place. 

Girlfriend

8:31PM: What’s your band called? Have I heard of you?

You laugh a little at her message, wondering if you should rip the bandaid off now, or later. But as your fingers type your answer you wonder if this conversation is better suited to a phone call. 

You

8:32PM: Would you be opposed to a phone call? I feel like I could explain better than I can over a text.

Girlfriend

8:33PM: That’s fine!

Shit, okay. You didn’t think she would say yes. Alright, it’s fine. You’ve talked about this a thousand times. So why are you nervous?

You clear your throat and tap the phone icon, listening to the line ring out twice before she answers. 

“Hi,” she answers, her voice soft and attentive.

“Hey, um, thanks for letting me call, I just feel like it’s a lot to explain over a text,” you laugh, swallowing down your nerves again. 

“No, it’s fine I get it,” she giggles, “I mean, we kind of have to get over the formalities now that we are going to be roommates.”

You smile, thinking about how different your life will be in just a week's time, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

“Okay, so your band. What kind of music is it?” she asks. 

“Alright, well, it’s rock music. It’s my brothers and I. We’ve been doing it for quite some time now, just moved to Nashville about three years ago, touring all over the place before that.” you pause, feeling your heart rate pick up as you dance around the answer. You don’t understand why you feel nervous to tell her, but something about her knowing that makes you feel like she may think differently of you. 

“Okay I have google pulled up, I’m ready to research,” she laughs. 

“No, no you don’t have to do that actually,” you say, “It’s just going to tell you a bunch of shit that they have been saying since we started the damn band.”

“The name, Jake…”

“Right, it’s Greta Van Fleet.” you answer, holding your breath a little. 

“Oh, interesting name, completely different from what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?” you smirk, crossing your feet on the coffee table. 

“I don’t know, something, um…more hardcore, I guess?”

“Nah, we aren’t hardcore rock,” you say, “Common mix up.”

“Okay google says you are like, really famous.” she says, her tone suddenly sounding serious. 

“I told you not to do that!” you urge. 

“Oh gosh wait there you are! Those are you brothers? Oh my gosh how cute. Sick eyeliner, Jake…”

You feel a warmth creep to your chest, just the thought of her searching your band had your heart twisting up. “Close it, I’m begging. I’d rather you just ask me instead of the internet.”

“Four million monthly listeners on Spotify, holy shit.”

“Okay, yeah, we are doing pretty well,” you tease. 

“Yeah I would say so! Oh my god, why are you moving into this house with me? You could buy like ten houses!”

“I don’t want ten houses, I want that one. And I never really planned on having a roommate. It just…kind of happened.” you say truthfully. 

“I feel like I need to listen to one of your songs?” she says, and you can hear her typing on her computer. 

“Wait, can you just–” you are interrupted by the sound playing through her computer speakers, “Alright.”

“I think I know this actually!” She sounds excited as she hears the riff of ‘Highway Tune’ play through. 

“Yeah, that one is uh– yeah that's a popular one,” you smile, just letting her have her moment. You suffer through it, knowing if you interrupt her she will probably make you listen again. 

“Okay, I get it now.” she says, pausing the song. 

“Get what?”

“Your vibe,” she says matter-of-factly. 

“Do you?” you ask, genuinely curious how that song in particular has told her anything. 

“Yeah, kind of like old school rock and roll. I like it. I really like it.” 

You feel a spark in your chest, and a smile crosses your lips, “Yeah, thank you. I– I really love what I do.”

She is quiet for a minute, “So you’re the guitarist I see.”

“I am, yes...” you answer hesitantly.

“So you’re going to keep me up all night playing,” she teases. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that. I do tend to keep late hours and I do like to work on stuff during those late hours, but I will do my best to keep my noise to a minimum,” you say, a hint of laughter in your voice. 

“Alright, fair enough.”

“Okay so what about you, then. You know what I do, what do you do?” you ask, letting your head fall back to rest on the couch. The sound of her voice is oddly soothing, and you let your eyes close as you listen to her speak.

“I’m a massage therapist,” she says, “I work at a little clinic near the house, which is why I wanted it so badly. I have been driving an hour to and from work for a few months now waiting for my apartment lease to be up.”

“An hour? Shit,” you groan. 

“That house was actually my last hope. It was also my favorite one. I can’t even tell you how relieved I am that by some miracle it worked out.”

“Seems like it was meant to,” you say, feeling thankful. “So massage therapy, how did you get into that?”

“Actually my entire life I swore up and down that I was going to be a journalist, but when I found out I am a terrible writer I had to make some quick adjustments. I had a really long exam one day and scheduled a massage for the next day, and when I walked out of that massage I knew that it was what I wanted to do. I went to school, worked at a few different places until I earned my chops and ended up here. I got a job at Lotus Room a few months ago and everything just clicked. I know I am where I am meant to be and I look forward to going to work everyday.”

“Wow, that’s incredible. I have had my fair share of massages the past few years, playing guitar is actually a lot more strenuous than you may think.” you laugh.

“No I fully believe you, most of my clients these days are musicians.” 

You raise your brows in surprise, “Oh really?”

“Definitely, maybe I can give you a roommate discount,” she jokes, laughing into the phone. 

Her laugh brings a smile to your face, and you can’t help but laugh too. “I feel like a girlfriend discount would be better.”

“Oh it is, but you aren’t ready for that. And it’s not a discount, it’s a special.” You feel a blush rise to your cheeks, and you catch a hint of playfulness in her voice. You have no right to even let your mind wander with that one.

You decide you need to change the subject, keep things professional, “So, let’s talk about furniture.”

“Okay, yeah, I have a shitty couch and a coffee table, my bedroom furniture, and a small kitchen table and chairs.”

“So, I have mostly everything because I am in a house already, but I will leave the decision up to you since I can throw my stuff in a storage unit.” you say, hoping not to stress her out. 

“I am going to go out on a limb and say that your stuff is probably a lot nicer than mine,” she laughs. You can hear that she is walking around her apartment, her voice softening as she sits down. 

“My couch is pretty nice, I think it will fit well in the house, too. If you hate it we can do something else. I’m going to kind of leave things up to you since I won’t be around too often.”

“That’s generous of you, Jake.”

Something about the way your name sounded falling from her lips has you squirming on your couch. 

“Yeah, no problem. I will send some pictures over to you and you can decide,” you say.

“Perfect. Anything else I should know about you as a roommate?” she asks, her voice sounding a little more tired. 

“Not that I can think of. I am a pretty clean person. I try my best to clean up after myself so you won’t have to worry about that. As I said earlier I am kind of all over the place with the times I will be around. I like to cook, so that's a plus I think.”

“Oh, that is good to know. I like to garden, so maybe you can benefit from that.” she answers. You feel another spark in your chest at the thought, but you don’t let yourself linger on it for too long. 

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Thanks for letting me call, I feel like this was good. I will let you know when I hear from Ralph, and I will send those pictures over sometime tomorrow.”

“Yeah, this was nice. I actually do have to go, I have a lot of listening to do before I go to bed since I am now suddenly roommates with some famous guitar guy.” she taunts. 

“I hear he is overrated and kind of an ass,” you add. 

“I guess I will be the judge of that,” she says playfully, letting a quietness fall between the two of you. 

“Alright, well I’ll talk to you soon…” Some part of you doesn’t want to hang up. You shove that part back down. 

“Talk to you soon, Jake! Goodnight…”

“Goodnight Y/N.” you say, ending the call and tossing your phone to the couch next to you. You run your hand over your face as you stare up at the ceiling, sitting in the silence as your mind replays the conversation and the sound of her laughter. 

You know it’s only a matter of time. You know it’s inevitable. In fact it may already be too late. 

That feeling in your gut told you so. Twice. You know you will fall for her. Your fate was sealed the minute you saw her admiring the flower bushes. The minute you signed those papers. You would have never offered the idea of being roommates if you didn’t intrinsically know your own fate. 

You may be going into this as roommates, but you wouldn’t be coming out of it that way. Of course, that was still to be decided, but if you had it your way, you know what you would choose.  

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[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Epilogue - Peace Ever After

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: None… the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. Also, our pair have some news for the world.

Word Count: 0.7k

Author’s Note: Multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl . Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This is the neat little bow I wanted to wrap this fic up with. I hope you have enjoyed this story; it's been a pleasure to write. Thank you for reading, and many thanks as always to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy!

Wiltshire, UK, 8th May 1945

Benedict’s arm is curled securely around your back as you dance together, Vera Lynn warbling from the wireless in the corner of your living room.

There'll be bluebirds over, The white cliffs of Dover, Tomorrow, just you wait and see…

His breath is warm on your hairline as you sway gently. A spontaneous, uplifting and tender moment to celebrate the end of the war. A lightness in your heart that this dreadful era is finally over and the overwhelming gratitude that all your loved ones have survived. This dance is also a peaceful, romantic interlude from the whirlwind your lives have become in the last few weeks. 

There'll be love and laughter, And peace ever after, Tomorrow…

The shrill ring of the telephone echoing from the hallway of your cottage interrupts your reverie.

“Ignore it,” Benedict whispers in your ear.

“But we just had it installed! It’s only our third call. How exciting!” You lean back and shoot him your best pleading face, and he sighs and, with an affectionate eye roll, gestures for you to go answer it.

You rush over and pick up the heavy bakelite receiver, a crackle on the line that is an operator.

“Overseas call for the Bridgertons from Madam DuLac,” the operator announces primly.

“Oh wonderful, yes, please put her through!” you enthuse.

“Salut y/n!” comes that familiar voice from the past after a short delay.

“Solene! It’s so wonderful to hear from you! How are you? How’s Paris?”

Benedict walks over at the mention of her name, hovering nearby to partially eavesdrop.

“I am wonderful. Paris is finally free and as beautiful as ever. On this monumental day, I wanted to check on the lovebirds who didn’t invite me to their wedding,” she jibes good-naturedly.

You can’t help but giggle. “We are very well, and yet again, sorry.” 

“Tu connais, there is one way you can remedy this,” she singsongs.

“Name it.”

“Your daughter shall be Solene oui? At least a middle name.”

You laugh heartily, then shoot Benedict a sultry look that makes his brow crease, intrigued.

“Why don’t you nag my husband about that?” you challenge lightly as he draws nearer.

He crowds into your back and takes the receiver from your hand, tilting it between you so you can both hear.

“What is my darling wife roping me into now?” he inquires dryly.

“Giving her a daughter that must be named Solene…” your ex-landlady chimes cheekily.

“Is she now?” his voice drops to a throatier register that immediately has you flustered. “And what is wrong with the son I just gave her?” he queries casually as he raises a flirtatious eyebrow at you.

“Vous avez un bebe?!?” Solene gasps. “Felicitations!!” 

“Oui!” You grin happily as Benedict's lips ghost over your temple lovingly. “We were about to send out telegrams with the news. Louis Jerome Bridgerton,” you pronounce proudly. “He is three weeks old, and he is our whole world…” your sigh so contented as you lean into your husband's attention.

“You named him after my brother-in-law?” Solene protests with mock indignance. “Then I definitely get the middle name for the girl!” 

“It was after the man who married us,” Benedict points out laconically before conceding, “who, yes, coincidentally is also your brother in law…” 

“And I shall expect a visit when petit Louis is a little older to see the wonders of Paris,” she hints unsubtly.

“Of course! His first trip will be to the Louvre,” your husband pronounces. “It was the very first place his parents went on a date, after all,” he adds, shooting you that trademark lopsided grin.

You elbow him mildly. “That was not a date!”

“It was for me, mon amour….” he side-eyes you heatedly. It makes you want to drag him upstairs and start on those daughter plans immediately.

“I should go and make my next call… to your sister and Phillip indeed; I just wanted to wish you a very happy Victory Day!” Solene interrupts your amorous moment.

“Et toi aussi,” you both answer in unison.

“Vive la France! Vive L’Angleterre! We won mes amis! Le monde est libre!”

You and Benedict’s eyes meet, a poignant moment, as the call disconnects.

“The world is free indeed,” he echoes softly, putting down the phone and sweeping you into his arms for a stirring kiss.

FIN

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[ushiko]

bluebird

song: bluebird

synopsis: letting go of a lover in the spring

character: nanami x gn! reader

word count: 970

A/N: not proofread; was part of a project I was working on and never finished. Enjoy !

I wish you bluebirds in the spring to give your heart a song to sing and then a kiss, but more than this I wish you love.

He never thought this moment would come. He believed that you two would see each other down the aisle and to possibly build a future with little feet running around the house. The future he imagined for you had involved him as he couldn’t imagine a time when you were not by his side. Now, the picture appears blurry, and it is less clear of what it holds for you too. That’s why he ultimately decided to let you go. He knew that he was holding you back from the future you truly needed and deserved.

His job put a hard strain on your relationship and put a space in between the sheets that could never be recovered. The worst image in his mind that plays on the cold, dark nights when he would pull you close to feel his heartbeat beat with yours is replaying the moment you realized his words were not of comfort but of heartbreak. He stood stern as he watched the heavy rain of tears fall down your cheeks and listened to the crack of your sobs as they thundered down on him. He loved you so much that he had to let you go. There was no other way.

I loved you, but I couldn’t keep you. I was broken, till I learned I didn’t need you

He wanted to hold on to the grip that you had on him, but he knew that this is what you needed and that he was too broken to keep you beside him. It felt like you had to constantly drag him along and keep him up till the point it took away your happiness. He couldn’t allow himself to be the one to take away your happiness.

“Ken, why are you doing this? I don’t understand!”

“It’s what is best for you. I can’t keep you here if it is just taking away your happiness. It wouldn’t be right. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know what’s right! How do you know this is what I want?! What about my happiness?”

You sob into his chest as he lightly pets the top of your hair and presses a small kiss to the top of it.

“Remember I told you in the beginning that your eyes are the most expressive thing about you?” he feels you nod against his chest as it begins to dampen with the tears still flowing from your eyes.

“Your eyes tell me everything. You’re tired and they don’t hold that same sparkle as before. They don’t look at me the same way they used to. The happiness in your eyes is gone and I took it away. I want you to find something that will bring that back. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find my way, all I care about is you.”

The silence filled the room as he stood and comforted you till morning when you wordlessly left with a heavy suitcase and puffy eyes. You shared one last look with the man who showed you how to love and what it means to be loved. He solemnly smiled at you which made the chips of your heart break even more.

“Bye, Kento,” you whisper to him as you place the object in his palm. With that, you ran off into the morning sunset with no place to go or a plan but just a broken heart and a clouded mind.

He stood on the doorstep looking down at the object in his hand as it glistened in the morning sun. It was a simple ring and was a promise that he made to you years prior that he would get you a better one when he proposed. Looks like he broke that promise.

That morning was the first time Nanami Kento cried and sobbed till his heart couldn’t take anymore.

Bluebird in the spring told me that your new girl make you sing guess my loving only clipped your wings so, I let you go

He saw you a couple months later in front of the old coffee shop that you two used to go to. He watched as you laughed and smiled with friends sitting around chatting with steaming coffee in front of you. You had a little pastry beside you which he bet included a little chocolate since you always enjoyed chocolate with your coffee. He smiled as began walking away with a small sandwich and coffee in his hand. The bluebirds were chirping happily as the sun was bright today as it finally began the season of spring with new plants growing and the dead leaves becoming alive again.

He was happy that he got to see you. You looked happy. He could see the expression in your eyes that you were enjoying life again. The sparkle that he saw there when he first met you began to look like it was growing back brighter than ever. The smile pressed against his coffee didn’t go unnoticed by his lovely coworker.

“Nanamiii, what’s go you so happy?” Gojo questioned as he pressed his face closer to Nanami’s.

Nanami frowned as he lifted the newspaper to block Gojo’s face, “Just saw a pretty bluebird that’s all.”

Gojo laughs, “You’re weird.”

He just hummed as he felt the warmth in his chest blossom. The guilt riddled in his body slowly began to melt away one by one as he finally knew that he made the right decision not just for you but for himself. He hopes that your wings become stronger, and you can find someone to fly right along side you.

He wishes you love in the spring with a new heart to sing.

✿ ushiko inc. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, repost on any social media, or plagiarize

[sage-nebula]

PKMN - Grounding Techniques, Ch. 1

Summary: One year ago, Professor Friede was thrown off the Brave Asagi into a free-fall from 30,000 feet. One year later, an Exceed researcher named Jule struggles with dissociation and dreams of flying he can never quite remember.

Word Count: 8,394 Characters: Friede, Sango, Onyx, Spinel, Agate, Captain Pikachu Genre: Drama Additional Tags: Hypnosis, Brainwashing, Amnesia, False Identity Snippet:

“Oh I could hide ‘neath the wings of the bluebird as she sings. The six o’ clock alarm would never ring . . .” The melody, sweet and gentle as it was, was enough to snatch him from his free-fall through the air, the wind, the sky, the clouds ice cold and sopping wet— “But six rings, and I rise—” The sweet, folksy melody cut off abruptly as his hand—not wet, not cold—smashed the top button on his clock radio. He lay there for a moment, still save for his breathing. He could feel the clock radio beneath his palm. He could feel the warmth of his blankets—a top sheet, and two soft, plush blankets—on top of him. And there was no wind, no trace of screaming on the air. Jule opened his eyes as his heart evened out, and was met with the cracked ceiling of his studio apartment above him. His ceiling, in his apartment. He was in his bed, in his apartment. His hand was on his clock radio because it had gone off, because it was 7:00 AM and he needed to get ready for work. Jule took a deep breath. In through his nose, out through his mouth. It was a dream. It had just been a dream. And now that he lay there, the sweat on his palm sticking his hand to the OFF button on his clock radio, much of it had already seeped away, like rain water into a gutter. With one more deep breath held and released, Jule pushed himself out of his bed and made his way to the bathroom—one little square of the apartment quartered off by curtains, containing a toilet, sink, and a shower the size of a boutique changing room. Truth be told, his apartment could hardly be called such; it was little more than a small room in the basement of a boarding house in downtown Levincia. The bathroom took up about a third of the space; the other two thirds were shared by his bed, nightstand, and the kitchenette. It had no windows and a host of safety violations, but the rent was cheap (by Levincia standards), and so Jule felt he had no room to complain. He spat his toothpaste out in the sink, and chanced a glance at the cracked mirror above it. Dull golden eyes curtained by shaggy white hair stared back at him. He frowned, running his finger along the dark circle under his right eye. Well, it made sense; he hadn’t been sleeping the best for a couple weeks now. He kept dreaming of—of— . . . flying . . . Jule splashed cold water on his face, and then grabbed his hand towel to rub away both the water from his skin and the last vestiges of the dream from his mind. It was, after all, just a dream; and as a scientist, he knew that dreams weren’t important.

[Continue Reading on AO3!]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

(a romantic interaction with silver please!) i was nervous, to say the least. even if it had been years since we've graduated from nrc, that shy and awkward sixteen year old girl i once was had become an even more socially inept adult, much to my chagrin.

it had been years since we last saw each other, and lilia just so happened to tip silver off regarding my whereabouts in the forest. finding me wasn't very difficult, as i was singing a very familiar melody, one that had an assortment of woodland critters as an audience. i paused, being able to sense his presence nearby.

and i smiled. "it's been some time, hasn't it?" i say softly, motioning for a dismayed silver to join with an outstretched hand, hoping he wouldn't notice the sound of my pounding heart and that he'd accept the gesture.

(also hullo miss raven! i hope you've been doing well ^^)

xhsbsjskal I’m not sure if I understood why Silver is dismayed?? I wasn’t able to find a smooth way to incorporate that into this interaction since there wasn’t a ton of context given 💦 Apologies!!

What comes after Ever After?

Silver is a spitting image of the Dawn Knight, but with hair the color of his namesake rather than the spun gold of his biological father. The shining tresses are long, almost forming a cloak over his pitch black armor. The metal plates are sleek and spiked, weaving an outfit most menacing—but his uncovered face is the complete opposite.

The pert mouth of a prince, wispy lashes cast over multicolor irises, the bridge of his nose as straight as his morals. So gentle, so graceful. The face of the boy you had crushed on all those years back, the face of the man you had longed to reunite with.

Your pulse picks up in pace, your mouth drying. The song on your lips has long since gone out, and you don’t think you can start it again anytime soon.

He’s standing there. Oh, Sevens. He’s standing right there…!!

“It has,” Silvers says in a whisper—and in the quiet of the forest, it feels louder than it should be.

He peels away from the trunk he was leaning against and enters the clearing. The animals ringing you—deer, squirrels, birds, skunks, bunnies—shift, making space for Silver. His strides remind you of a noble gliding across a polished ballroom floor. The woodland critters, a crowd dispersing to make way for the guest of honor.

Then, magically, Silver bends the knee and kneels, meeting your gaze as he takes your hand in his. He offers that same small, subtle smile that had made your cheeks flush and your heart flutter. It still does, much to your dismay. You pray he doesn’t notice, and, thankfully, he doesn’t seem to.

Bless his obliviousness.

“I’m glad I got to see you again.”

Me too, you want to say, but the words bunch up like a wad of paper being crumpled. They refuse to come out, so instead you simply nod.

Your fingers find the back of a rabbit and sink into its plush fur. Stroking it manages to calm you for a few fleeting moments. The rabbit thumps a foot, either excited about the attention or in an attempt to encourage you.

“Father told me I would find you here.” Silver inclines his head slightly. “You never did like crowded places.”

“I like the company of the animals,” you mutter. It’s easier than dealing with people sometimes, you silently add. More comforting.

“I do too.” A plump bluebird has landed on Silver’s shoulder. It busies itself with prodding his chin with its beak. He chuckles, acting as if the touch tickles. “Even if we may not completely understand what they’re saying… they can communicate with us in their own ways. Words are not necessary to express yourself. I think you once sang a song about this. How did it go again…?”

“Ah, the one that goes…” You cleared your throat, then hummed a tune. It was floaty, whimsical—like two feet entangled in a jig. “Dancing is a language that is felt instead of heard. You can whisper and shout without so much as a word, like so 🎵”

“That’s the one.” His smile is a little wider now, more cocked to one side than the other. “You still sing just as much as you did before too. And you look so happy doing it.”

“D-Do I…?”

I think I’m happiest when I’m with you. The warmth unfurling in your chest and the tingling where your hands lock agree. But to say it out loud, to expose those raw feelings to him after so long…

“Yes.” He says it with such clarity, such certainty, like he’s swearing a vow. “I like listening to it. Maybe because it’s been so long since I’ve heard you. Would you mind if I asked to hear more? Only if you’d be willing to provide, of course. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Y-You’re not!!” you insist. Shock has your eyes flayed wide open. “I-I’m surprised you’d want me to… I mean, I’m not anything special—”

“Please,” he pleads, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek. It is springy and soft, like the petal of a pale rose. “Sing for me. Let me hear your truest feelings. I've missed that."

You splayed a hesitant hand over your throat, fingers fanning out. Anxious as you gazed out at your waiting, expectant audience. The animals that had gathered, the knight at your level.

Silver.

The drop of sunshine in your chest becomes a fully bloomed flower. Buttery yellow and bursting with hope. Banishing the darkness, chasing doubt into a corner for another day. Making space for confidence.

You take a deep, shaky breath.

And you do.

You sing.

For the forest, for its residents, for him. And every note is golden and lined in silver.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Alla Nazimova (A Doll's House, Camille, Salomé)—She was a proud lesbian, she was a director, she was artsy and experimental, she was instrumental in the rise to fame of Rudolph Valentino, she had the worlds biggest strap on energy

Xia Meng, also known as Hsia Moog or Miranda Yang (Sunrise, Bride Hunter)—For those who are familiar with Hong Kong's early cinema, Xia Meng is THE leading woman of an era, the earliest "silver-screen goddess", "The Great Beauty" and "Audrey Hepburn of the East". Xia Meng starred in 38 films in her 17-year career, and famously had rarely any flops, from her first film at the age of 18 to her last at the age of 35. She was a rare all-round actress in Mandarin-language films, acting, singing, and dancing with an enchanting ease in films of diverse genres, from contemporary drama to period operas. She was regarded as the "crown princess" among the "Three Princesses of the Great Wall", the iconic leading stars of the Great Wall Movie Enterprises, which was Hong Kong's leading left-wing studio in the 1950s-60s. At the time, Hong Kong cinema had only just taken off, but Xia Meng's influence had already spread out to China, Singapore, etc. Overseas Chinese-language magazines and newspapers often featured her on their covers. The famous HK wuxia novelist Jin Yong had such a huge crush on her that he made up a whole fake identity as a nobody-screenwriter to join the Great Wall studio just so he can write scripts for her. He famously said, "No one has really seen how beautiful Xi Shi (one of the renowned Four Beauties of ancient China) is, I think she should be just like Xia Meng to live up to her name." In 1980, she returned to the HK film industry by forming the Bluebird Movie Enterprises. As a producer with a heart for the community, she wanted to make a film on the Vietnam War and the many Vietnam War refugees migrating to Hong Kong. She approached director Ann Hui and produced the debut film Boat People (1982), a globally successful movie and landmark feature for Hong Kong New Wave, which won several awards including the best picture and best director in the second Hong Kong Film Award. Years later, Ann Hui looked back on her collaboration with Xia Meng, "I'm very grateful to her for allowing me to make what is probably the best film I've ever made in my life."

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Alla Nazimova:

HOT as hell. GAY as hell. TALENTED as hell. Producer, director, writer, actress. A silent era superstar who is credited with having coined the term "sewing circle" as a code-word for gatherings of lesbian and bisexual women. Has been called "the founding mother of Sapphic Hollywood" and was the owner/operator of the Garden of Alla Hotel in West Hollywood, which she bought in 1919 and sold in 1928 after deciding she wanted to go back to Broadway. In addition to starring opposite Valentino in Camille, she also had an affair with BOTH of his wives (Jean Acker and Natacha Rambova). In her day, she was one of the most influential women in the business.

"Nazimova was primarily a star during the silent film era, and her career in film started when she was almost forty. She was openly bisexual, and was engaged in two lavender marriages during her life while she carried on relationships with women (including at least one, and possibly two, of Rudolph Valentino's wives). She was brilliant and an autodidact - when she first moved to the United States from Ukraine, she spoke no English, but taught herself "in about five months" and went on to work as a screenwriter (among other things). Her predilections lay in art film, and she's credited with starring in / producing / directing one of the first American art films, the adaptation of Oscar Wilde's play Salome (1923). She has an elegant and commanding presence in all of her films, and is an absolute sensation to watch in motion."

Gif link, another gif link

A great actress who also produced a great deal of her films, Nazimova is absolutely mesmerizing to watch. She was also bi and coined the phrase "sewing circle" for sapphic celebrities.

Xia Meng:

[anonymous-dentist]

Bleeding Heart Part Six

Part One | Previous Part

-

Almost two months after his first altercation with Hombre Misterioso, Cellbit hears a knock at his door as he's editing the last of Roier's photos.

Yawning, Cellbit leans his chair back and runs a hand through his hair. He cracks his neck and blearily checks the time in the bottom corner of his computer screen: three in the afternoon. He started editing almost nine hours ago. He's been out of coffee for two and a half hours at least.

So he gets up, groans as his spine protests at the sudden weight, winces as his bones all pop in quick succession. Picks up his coffee mug, ignores the knocking at the door, goes to start a fresh pot of coffee.

His mug was painted by Richarlyson at one of those do-your-own-pottery places. It's a bright, ugly yellow with a red heart and the words, 'World's Okayest Dad' painted on it in black.

The knocking continues.

Cellbit checks his hair in his reflection in the microwave. Pulls at one of the bags under his eyes. Sticks his tongue out. Grimaces at how stupid and old and tired he looks. (Bagi is 26, he thinks, so he should be, too. But, wow, he looks older. Much older.)

More knocking.

With one last forlorn look at his bubbling, brewing, beautiful coffee, Cellbit finally goes to answer the door. He's in his pajamas (sweats and one of Felps' old shirts), and he probably looks like a walking corpse, but, like. Whatever, anyone stupid enough to actually come to his apartment knows that he works from home. They should know what to expect when bothering him.

But:

"Hi!" Bluebird cheerfully says as soon as Cellbit's door is open.

Cellbit looks at her. He blinks, rubs his eyes with one hand, and moves to close the door in her face.

But he's stopped by Bluebird sticking her foot in the door and weaseling past him and into the apartment. She apologizes as she does so, but Cellbit knows that she doesn't mean it; she's a hero.

"Nice place," she comments, walking to the couch and plopping herself down like she's right at home.

"Um," awkwardly says Cellbit. "Get out of my house?"

"Who, me?"

Bluebird actually, really, legitimately looks around the room dramatically, head and hair whipping back and forth as she tries to find whoever it is that Cellbit is actually talking to.

Cellbit balls his hands into fists by his sides. Fucking. Heroes.

Bluebird's costume is basic: black undersuit, light blue vest and darker blue pants, white ski goggles. Her hair is halfway tied back in a ponytail. Her weapon of choice, her now-famous scythe, is on her back and digging into Cellbit's couch cushions. The Federation's logo is right on her chest, and all her sponsors' logos run down her sleeves and the legs of her pants.

Cellbit hates her. She isn't even making an attempt to hide her identity- the goggles aren't doing shit. Heroes don't have to hide themselves. Their faces are on cereal boxes. Bluebird is no exception, especially now that her popularity is skyrocketing.

Bluebird, of course, is assigned to find and defeat Hombre Misterioso. The public thinks that her job is to capture them so they can be tried and imprisoned in the Federation's special underwater prison facility. But Cellbit knows that she's going to kill Hombre Misterioso, and it'll be framed as an accident, and she'll get 'suspended' for a month or so as punishment but, really, it'll actually be a vacation reward for a job well done.

"What do you want," Cellbit flatly asks.

Sighing, he nudges the door shut behind him and leans against it, arms crossed.

Bluebird stares at him for a moment.

(Bare arms crossed, scars and all.)

And then she lets out a breath and crosses her legs, fold her hands neatly on top of her knees and tries to smile. Tries, because Cellbit can tell that her heart isn't in it.

"Hey," she hesitantly says, "so I'm supposed to be asking you about Hombre Misterioso and stuff, but, real quick, I just wanna say that I'm really sorry if Cucurucho's been bothering you."

"You're wasting your time," Cellbit tells her. "Get out of here before I call the cops for trespassing."

Bagi would love to arrest a Fed, even if the charge wouldn't stick longer than an hour after arrest.

Bluebird winces. "O-kaaaay, sensing some hostility here. But, listen, we all just want this guy caught, right?"

"Sure. It's a real shame what's happening to all your heroes."

"It is! And you almost ended up like them, but! But you didn't."

"Yeah." Cellbit nods. "Because I'm not one of you. You're talking to the wrong guy."

He smells coffee.

Ignoring Bluebird for the moment, he walks through the main room and past the couch and the hero on it so he can squeeze into the kitchen. His apartment isn't small, but the kitchen table takes up a solid ninety-percent of the kitchen's floorspace. It even dips into the main room, making it real hard to get around at night when the lights are off.

He grabs his mug and the coffee pot and pours himself a fresh cup. He can feel the warmth radiating out from them both, and he shivers involuntarily. (He usually wears a hoodie when he's working, but he spilled coffee on it earlier in the afternoon and hasn't gotten around to getting a fresh one out of the closet.)

Bluebird, of course, follows him. She hovers in the doorway near the end of the table; her scythe is tall enough to almost scrape the top of the doorway.

Cellbit raises his mug to his lips.

"You might not realize this, but you were probably targeted," Bluebird says, actually almost sounding serious. "Your parents might be dead, but you and your sister aren't."

Cellbit jerks so hard in response that he spills his fresh, hot, boiling coffee all down his front. But he can barely feel it through the sudden rush of hatred in his body.

"My parents had nothing to do with the Federation," he snaps. He pulls his wet shirt out in front of him and wrinkles his nose. "Excuse me."

He puts his cup down on the counter and pushes past a surprised Bluebird to go to his room. He actually manages to close this door behind him as he pulls his shirt off and starts searching for a new one.

As he's digging through his shirt drawer, he hears a tap-tap-tap at the window behind his desk.

Dread filling his veins, Cellbit turns around and sees a familiar gas mask poking out over the top of his computer monitor.

Hombre Misterioso waves.

Cellbit, suddenly, feels rather faint.

"No, sorry!" Bluebird calls through the closed door. "That was my bad! I meant your, uh, the parents you and your sister share? Not your actual parents."

Cellbit points aggressively at the window and mouths, 'Get the hell out of here!'

Hombre Misterioso just waves some more. They're absolutely smiling under their mask.

It's the afternoon. They haven't been seen once in the day, only at night. Sometimes in the evening. Rarely at dawn. Not when the sun is out; it's theorized that their powers relate to the darkness like the Demon's.

"I have nothing to do with those people," Cellbit huffs. He turns back around and grabs a random shirt out of the drawer and starts pulling it on. "Cucurucho probably made you read my file, right? So you should know that."

"It... briefly mentions the Webbers, but that's not what's important!" Bluebid protests. "The Federation is really worried about your safety here, dude! My partner, Lavagirl, is currently talking with your sister about this exact same thing."

"You'll have better luck with her. She's actually on your payroll."

"Yeah, so her time with the Junior Heroes actually makes her a bigger target than you, probably, but, listen-"

Somehow, Cellbit's window starts to squeak open behind him.

He whips around and glares at Hombre Misterioso, who freezes in place with their fingers on the glass. Are those... suction cups on their fingertips? What, are they a thief now? A Spider-Man wannabe?

"No!" Cellbit shouts.

Hombre Misterioso flips him off with a palpable roll of the eyes.

Bluebird repeats, "'No'? Aren't you listening to me right now? Hombre Misterioso is trying to kill you!"

Cellbit laughs dryly. "Yeah, no."

He angrily drives his finger downwards: 'Get down.'

Hombre Misterioso shakes their head.

Cellbit rolls his eyes and points at his bedroom door: 'Someone's here!'

Hombre Misterioso shrugs and starts moving his window again.

Cellbit bites back a groan and rushes to slam his window shut, having to reach around his computer to do it. It slams, and then it's immediately being raised again by the goddamn menace on the fire escape outside.

"Are you okay in there?" Bluebird worriedly asks. "You didn't get burned or anything, right?"

"Mmm, yeah, no, I'm burned as shit," Cellbit lies.

He hisses, eyes narrowed, "Fuck off! There is literally a superhero in my living room right now!"

Hombre Misterioso responds by pulling their cape aside and revealing the hilt of their sword.

"No!"

"Do I need to call an ambulance or something?" Bluebird asks.

"No, I'm fine!" Cellbit replies. "I'm putting on some burn cream now!"

"...You keep that stuff in your bedroom?"

"My computer is old as shit and I have to run Photoshop on it. I burn myself daily. Just... get out of here!"

Cellbit, only vaguely panicked, suddenly grabs an exacto knife from his supplies drawer and drags it across his palm.

Hombre Misterioso lets out an alarmed-sounding electronic gasp, but Cellbit just grits his teeth through the pain and forces a string of his blood out of his hand and around the window's latch and then around the leg of the desk. It ties itself off with a neat knot; Cellbit forces his bleeding to stop and starts willing his platelets to kick into action.

"No, wait, I'm a hero!" Bluebird argues. "I'm trained in first aid! Let me help!"

"I'm literally shirtless!" Cellbit, wearing a shirt, shouts. "Get the fuck out of my apartment!"

"Not until I know you're okay! Do you know how much trouble I'll get in if they find out I let a civilian get hurt?"

Oh, Cellbit knows.

The window rattles and strains as the string of blood keeps it shut. (Blood is made of iron, after all.)

With his palm already scabbing, Cellbit storms towards the door and slams it open, blocking his desk and window from view with his body.

Bluebird looks up at him, determined.

Cellbit wants to stab her.

Instead, he says, "Look, I'm not the guy you want to talk to about this. Your partner is already talking to Bagi, but you both have forgotten about the guy who chased Hombre Misterioso away from me that time."

(The window goes silent.)

For whatever reason, Bluebird sucks in a sharp breath before attempting a smile.

"Oh, Roier?" she asks. "We don't need to talk to him."

Cellbit cocks his head. "Really? Because I was unconscious. I can't tell you anything about what Hombre Misterioso was doing. But Roier saw it all."

"And he talked to the police."

"But Hombre Misterioso has to be pissed at him for ruining their kill, right?" Cellbit asks. "Serial killers always end up escalating outside of their pattern, everybody who's studied them knows this. They lose control. The pattern now is Federation workers, but maybe it'll expand to people protecting Federation workers."

Bluebird pales.

Cellbit rolls his eyes. "Come on, have you really not thought of that? Aren't you guys supposed to be, like, crime experts?"

"Hey! I'm new!"

"Yeah, and you're letting a civilian stay in danger because you're too focused on protecting a failed lab experiment," Cellbit scoffs. "Trust me, if this guy knows as much about me as you think they do, then they know that I'm not the guy they want to kill. They're looking for people who like the Federation, not people who hate it."

Bluebird narrows her eyes. "That's a dangerous thing to say to a superhero, you know."

Cellbit shrugs. "Sue me. You read my file, you know that I'm more likely to be a suspect here than a victim."

She nods. "...Yeah, but you don't have powers. And they do."

He smiles bitterly. "Right."

He looks at Bluebird.

Bluebird looks at him.

"Well?" he asks. "It's a couple of hours until the sun sets, and Roier's going to be leaving work soon. In that area of town? It's only a matter of time until Hombre Misterioso catches him."

There's a quiet laugh from the window.

Cellbit quickly covers it up with a cough and a faux-pained wheeze. He grips at his chest, wincing.

Bluebird's eyes widen. "Oh, shit! Right! Your burn!"

He waves her off. "Don't worry about it, I texted my friend. He's a doctor, he's on his way."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Pac from Chume Labs? He probably helped develop your training program."

"Oh, shit, you're friends with him?" she gasps.

"What can I say? Us Brazilians gotta stick together."

"Huh. Fair. Well..."

She looks uncertain, but she nods, acquiescing. "Fine. If he's coming. But, listen, call the hotline if you see Hombre Misterioso around, okay? You might not have the... best history with us, but the Federation is good people."

Cellbit smiles. "Get out of my apartment."

Once she's gone, Cellbit lets out a scream into his hands and turns to go and yell at Hombre Misterioso some. What the fuck!

He storms to the window and drops the string. It falls apart, blood splashing onto the desk and the carpet.

He wrenches the window open and finds himself nose-to-nose with Hombre Misterioso.

Well.

Nose to gas mask.

"What do you want?" Cellbit growls.

"Who was that?" Hombre Misterioso replies.

"Bluebird. You know, the hero literally assigned to kill you?"

Hombre Misterioso's shoulders tense minutely. "Oh."

Cellbit rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Now. What do you want? The sun is out. And I hate you."

"Ouch."

"Don't act surprised. You're literally stalking me."

"I'm not. But I am here for a good reason."

"You are literally at my apartment." Cellbit blinks. He flushes red in both anger and embarrassment. "You saw me shirtless!"

"And it was very nice, but I'm here to tell you that I am going to kill Iron Boy tonight at midnight."

Iron Boy... former Junior Hero, graduated a few years ago into the mainline hero program, no known powers but an affinity for technology. Otherwise known as Tubbo, one of Pac's coworkers at the lab, and one of Cellbit's biggest haters for no good reason.

Tubbo isn't that old. He's a mentor hero for the Junior Heroes. He doesn't do much actual hero-ing outside of escorting the juniors on crime fighting field trips and testing out weapons for the lab.

Cellbit shakes his head. "Not him."

"Yes, him."

"Do someone else. Without him, the lab is understaffed until Mike gets back from his honeymoon, and we don't know when that's going to be. Kill him when Mike's back."

"Ugh, fine," Hombre Misterioso groans. They slump against the windowsill and rest their chin on their arms. "Who should I kill, then?"

"Why are you asking me?" Cellbit asks. "I'm not a villain, in case you haven't noticed. I'm retired."

"Whatever you say, enigmito." They drum their fingers against the inside of Cellbit's wall. "Maybe I should find Sharkboy."

"Fuck Sharkboy," Cellbit immediately declares. "If you can find him, kill his ass. But he's also retired. Nobody from the Order has been able to track him down."

"Maybe I should find one of those French heroes," Hombre Misterioso muses. "What do you think?"

"I think that I should give you Crow Man's phone number so you can ask him about this and not me."

Suddenly, Hombre Misterioso sits up and snaps their fingers.

"I know!" they excitedly say. "Man-Bear!"

Man-Bear... must be one of the newer heroes that Cellbit doesn't know about. Richarlyson might have heard of him, but. Yeah, no, Cellbit isn't going to ask him. He doesn't want to risk a repeat of the aquarium.

"Fine, Man-Bear," Cellbit sighs. He gives Hombre Misterioso a tired look. "Is that all? Can you go now? And never come back? And leave me alone?"

"I mean, you can come with me toni-" Hombre Misterioso starts.

They freeze.

Cellbit watches their still body until they come back to themselves in the middle of a different sentence and in a different pose: gesturing grandly with their hands and audibly smiling.

"-a team!"

"Yeah, no," Cellbit immediately says. "I can get you the Demon, if you want? But he's kind of on a murder break right now..."

(Fatherhood really has mellowed Bad out, hasn't it?)

Hombre Misterioso audibly grimaces. "I fucking hate that guy. Look, I'll call you with the details tonight when it's about to happen. You can show up if you want. If you don't, it's no big deal, you can just come to the next one."

"Please don't do that."

"Don't worry, I still have your number."

"I'm literally going to go change it as soon as you're gone."

"You won't." They tilt their head tauntingly. "You want to keep an eye on me. If you don't, how will you keep me away from your son?"

The hair on the back of Cellbit's neck stands on end.

"You haven't changed your number since I first called you," they say. "You won't do it now."

They laugh, slow and deliberate and absolutely just grating on Cellbit's ears.

"I'll see you tonight," they say.

Cellbit slams the window shut and backs away from it.

Hombre Misterioso wiggles their fingers in a farewell, and then they hop over the edge of the fire escape and drop out of view.

...Maybe. Maybe, Cellbit should call Bagi.

-

A/N: Let me know what you think in the tags or in my inbox! I want to hear your theories, thoughts, opinions, everything!

[dearharriet]

By Any Other Name; Sirius Black ☕️

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

summary: by the will of mother nature, you meet your charming downstairs neighbor—who has been dying to meet you just as much.

word count: 3K

warnings: fem!r, sexually implicit comments, lots of mentions of underwear and lingerie

authors note: me 🤝🏼 making sirius act like my other favorite scorpio (ryan gosling)

1978. London, England.

+

More than anything in the world, you wished you had a tumble-dryer. The London winds turned brutal in autumn, and you’d lost nearly ten items of clothing before the season was done.

A pretty sundress, a flannel you’d nicked from your father’s dresser. A skimpy little black nighty, the top only lace and the bottom sheer satin.

That one had been the most recent, only the day before. You blamed yourself, really; You thought you’d be coy and hang it outside for the boy downstairs to see, and the wind tore it off the line and blew it to who knows where. Now some creep probably had it in his sock drawer.

Despite all of this, you still did not have a blessed tumble-dryer. Which meant even at present, in wind that might’ve blown your makeup off, you were outside clipping your soggy knickers to the line. Three clips each, thank you very much.

You can’t say it was all that embarrassing. London wasn’t particularly a town of modesty or shame, especially in more recent times. All the ladies along your alley hung their undies out, and no one seemed to mind. Maybe you just lived on an especially progressive block of the city. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You hummed a soft tune as you hung the last piece of clothing on the line, feeling chilly yet accomplished.

The wind had died down just slightly, leaving the clothes swinging on the line—suspended between your building and the one neighboring it. You peeked across to ensure that everything seemed secure, just in time to watch a pair of silky pink undies slip from their clips and fall a story down into the alley.

You clicked your tongue, promptly making your way down the fire escape to retrieve them.

As you rounded the landing to descend the second half of stairs, you were aghast to see the boy from downstairs—the one you so desperately wanted to see your cheeky nightgown—leant against your flat building. He was smoking a cigarette languidly and intently watching your sad knickers which landed before him.

You stammered at first, unsure what to say. The remaining shreds of daylight were reflecting quite stunningly off of his pitch black hair, in a way that was all too distracting. Eventually, you settled for something apologetic.

“God, I’m sorry.” You inched forward until you could bend down and rescue the pink knickers from the filthy ground. You frowned at the specks of dirt on them. You’d have to wash them all over again. Or maybe you should just toss them.

Or cast them into the sea. Perhaps donate them to a bluebird to use for nesting. God, you were embarrassed.

For a split second you became mortified with a scenario where you kept the dirty undies and this handsome-boy-downstairs wanted to shag you, only to find you’re wearing the disgusting alley knickers. Your cheeks grew hot.

You pushed the underwear behind your back then, hoping he didn’t see them in full. When you looked up, he blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and smiled devilishly.

“Not to worry, darling. I’m quite accustomed to women dropping their knickers in front of me.”

Your mouth popped open in shock. A boyish but refined laugh bubbled out of him as you failed to respond.

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

“I can’t call you handsome?” You blurted, and Sirius’ smile got so much worse, which is to say humbler and far more genuine.

“If the shoe fits,” he mumbled.

A gust of wind blew and his hair billowed with it, just as he took a final drag of his cigarette. The embers lit his face warmly.

It fit. It definitely fit.

Sirius stomped his smoke out on the cobblestone and brushed his hands off on his slacks.

“I actually have something I want to give you.” Sirius inched toward his flat window, ignoring your pinched brows. “Wait right there.”

Contorting his long limbs, he slipped inside and disappeared.

Within seconds he returned, holding what you instantly recognized as your black nighty. He walked it to you, growing taller with every step.

“Think this belongs to you,” he prodded. You took the garment from him, smiling coyly.

“Do you happen to have any of the other clothes I’m missing?” You accused, and he ducked his head sheepishly.

“Just this one,” he promised, “it fell last Sunday, just here, like your knickers.”

You flushed. “Sorry.”

Sirius’ expression turned boyish. “You should be. I’d have preferred that you came with it.”

The wind picked up again and wafted his cologne with it, something citrusy and clean. A pit stirred in your stomach.

“Maybe next time,” you murmured, and slipped up the fire escape before he could respond.

+

You sincerely didn’t expect to see Sirius after that. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it felt too simple. Too convenient.

Stunning, charming boy downstairs, holding onto your nightclothes to give back to you…

He had to be a creep. There was no other explanation. Or worse—he was only trying to be nice to save you from embarrassment.

You kept running through your conversation with him, adding new motivations and hidden meanings. Each one was like a warning siren, and it kept you from seeking him out.

Sirius, however, was not dissuaded at all.

A week later and it was the turn of November. The winds were cruel and rain barely ever let up, and any sunny day became laundry day.

One fateful, blessed dry Friday, you popped out to hang your loathsome clothes. If being clean was this much trouble, you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore. You were halfway through the soggy hamper when someone downstairs began to whistle.

“Darling, do you do anything but laundry?” A familiar voice called, posh and smug and handsome.

You peeked over the railing, and Sirius was in the alley with an amused grin on his face.

“Do you do anything but watch me do laundry,” you shot back, which made him laugh.

Sirius was making a paper boy cap look very stylish, holding the lip of it to aid his theatrics. There was something quite old fashioned about him, even in his boyish demeanor.

“I like to hear you sing,” he defended. “You have a pretty voice.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t entirely realize you sang at all. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around.

“Does this seem a bit cliché?”

You looked around, too, at your balcony and the shaded alley; At Sirius, who was the shining image of a hopeless romantic, ready to profess his undying love.

“I suppose,” you agree. “Wherefore art thou? No—a minute is not enough.“

Sirius pushed his tongue into his cheek, grinning.

“I was imagining something else,” he said. “Let down your hair…Or—your clothesline?”

You snorted.

“Luckily, this damsel has stairs.”

Smile widening, Sirius raised his eyebrows, wondering if you’d meant to invite him up. You nodded, and he took the steps two at a time.

It was charming. While you were still reserved, you couldn’t help but admire his complexities. He’d seemed so subdued upon first meeting him, but now he was almost howling with excitement.

He was completely out of place on your terrace. A sharp and shining bachelor lording over your half-dead plants and damp t-shirts. He looked like he had a tumble dryer, and an iron, too. Or a maid. Definitely a maid. It was a mystery why someone so put together was living on the floor beneath you.

“What,” Sirius asked, looking dubious.

“What?” Your cheeks warmed. You’d been spacing out.

“You’re looking at me weird,” he accused, but he kept a lightness in his voice. “You don’t still think I stole all your clothes, do you?”

“No,” you denied. Then, feeling cheeky, you added, “just the nighty, right?”

He blinked, looking shy again. “Well. It—it fell.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. It fell,” you nodded, and watched his mouth open and close.

“Y’know, most neighbors bake something if they want to make friends,” you continued, enjoying his squirming, his brown pearly loafers scuffing on the grated platform.

You thought he was handsome when you met, with his cavalier confidence and dangerous smile, but seeing him so embarrassed was just as enthralling; His fair skin flushed pink, his broad shoulders hunched…his voice turned raspy and unsure.

“I was never good in the kitchen.” He said it like it was a fatal flaw, unfixable.

“No, of course not,” you said with unwavering mirth. “You’d hire someone to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius’ head snapped up, shocked, confirming your suspicions.

“What are you robbing my clothesline for, rich boy,” you teased, wrinkling your nose at him.

Scratching his jaw, he blew out a bewildered laugh.

“What gave it away?”

You snickered, making a sweeping gesture over him. “What didn’t?”

Sirius looked down at his pressed white dress shirt and well-fitted vest. He then ripped his hat off, deflating.

“Thought I was doing a good job of fitting in,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” you cooed, though you weren’t sure why. It should’ve been insulting, that this upper-class idiot was so upset at seeming as well-off as he was, but he kept striking you with an odd sincerity. He didn’t seem ignorant, he just seemed lost, and you felt sorry for him.

“If it’s any consolation, you look quite handsome.”

Sirius looked up at you through his lashes and shyly smiled.

“Do I?” He needled. You hummed affirmatively.

“If a bit chilly. Who’s been making your cuppas?”

Grabbing your basket, you backed away towards your window and slipped inside. You waited for Sirius to follow, hoping your invitation wasn’t too indirect. Thankfully, he crawled in after you, loitering by the window awkwardly.

“Well, don’t let all the heat out,” you called over your shoulder, dropping the basket onto your couch and bee-lining for the kitchen. Sirius closed the window and meandered further into your space.

“You’re not going to poison me, are you,” he asked from your kitchen threshold, watching you put the kettle on.

“I’m not sure you should be as paranoid as me,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But I’m fresh out, so not this time.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, good.”

“So,” you started, crossing your arms to mirror him, “who are these girls dropping their undies for you? I’m painfully curious.”

Sirius sucked his teeth, hiding a grin.

“I’m not sure you have enough tea,” he sighed solemnly. “We’d be here all night.”

Eyes tracing over the long hands splayed over his biceps, you bit your lip.

“I can imagine,” you humored. “A pretty boy like you…you never catch a break, do you?”

Sirius looked constantly unprepared for complements like this, and you couldn’t get enough. He was pink and silent and restless, faltering for something witty to reply with.

In the end, he just shook his head.

When the water was hot, you made up Sirius’ tea, and he thanked you shyly as his hand brushed yours. He put far too much sugar in it, and not a spot of milk, but you found that just as charming as the rest of him. You sat at your kitchen table, smiling over your cups.

“I haven’t had a good cuppa in months,” Sirius sighed, spinning his mug in absentminded circles.

“Thought you had a maid,” you prodded, and Sirius’ responding smile was bittersweet.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly, “not for a while.”

You took a slow sip of your tea, watching him carefully. As you set your cup down, you licked your lips, and Sirius instinctively copied you.

“So…no maid.” You leaned back, lifting a brow. “Who presses your clothes, then?”

Sirius frowned. “I do.”

“Oh.” You frowned, too. “But you can’t make a cuppa?”

“I—“ Sirius chuckled. “I can make a cuppa. It just tastes better when someone else makes it.”

“Ah.” Picking up your cup again, you smiled at him. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Sirius pulled his lip between his teeth as you drank, rubbing his hands on his slacks.

“Well I—“ he cleared his throat, “—I should go.”

Confused, you watched him as he pushed his chair back and stood, ducking to you gratefully.

“So soon,” you complained. It was odd. You’d been avoiding him all week, but once he was around you didn’t want him to go.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Sirius smiled kindly, if a little distant.

“Well, I invited you, handsome. That’s hardly intruding.” Your words were intentionally soft and sticky, cloying, to change his mind.

Sirius’s eyes swept over your face for a moment, his mouth chewing on words that never came out. Eventually, he left a thankful caress on your hand, where it laid dormant on the table.

“Thank you for the tea,” he expressed, and then he was gone.

You sat at the table long after he left, until your tea was cold and his empty cup was dry.

+

The whole week after that, you turned your conversation with Sirius over in your mind again and again, looking for what you’d done wrong.

He’d never seemed angry, even as he left. He was almost sullen.

In the days following, it was like he’d never existed. The alley had a Sirius-shaped hole in it every time you hung your clothes, and—as if it was missing him, too—the wind had stopped blowing.

Singing softly, you hung your final garments, enjoying the still evening while you could. When you sucked in a new breath, it was thick with the scent of burning tobacco. You looked down through the slats, and as you expected, Sirius was leaning where he was when you’d first met him.

Sucking your bottom lip, you looked at the cloth in your hands, and then back at Sirius. At the sudden absence of your voice, he’d looked up, and your gaze met his. He stilled, the ash growing perilous on his smoke, and watched as you held your dark nightgown over the railing. You let it go, and watched Sirius sigh, tracking its feathery fall to the ground.

When he looked back up, you were already halfway down the rickety stairs.

“Darling, don’t—“

“You know, it’s rotten manners to leave a girl wondering what she’s done wrong,” you scolded, plucking the gown off of the cobblestones. “Especially after being so charming all the time.”

Sirius winced. “I’m sorry.”

He looked frustratingly good, more casual than you’d ever seen him. His hair was messy and his collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. It only made you bolder.

“Well,” you prodded, “won’t you at least tell me?”

He furrowed his brows, his cigarette long forgotten between his fingers.

“Tell you what?”

“What I did,” you huffed, exasperated.

His face crumpled.

“Darling,” Sirius stressed, “nothing. You’re the loveliest neighbor I’ve ever had.”

The compliment felt like an insult, calculatedly detached, and you wondered if you’d invented the whole thing in your head.

“Why’d you leave, then?”

Sirius shifted, his expensive shoes crunching on the ground.

“I didn’t want to impose.”

Unbelieving, you shook your head in disappointment. It must’ve been something awfully offensive if he still wouldn’t tell you.

“I can’t afford the expensive teas, so if it tasted odd—“

“—Love, it wasn’t the tea, it’s—“ Sirius licked his lips, hesitating. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Lost, the corners of your mouth pulled down. Sirius sighed.

“The gown, I—“ He gestured to the satin in your hands. “It was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

Avoiding your eyes, he finally ashed his cigarette, but left it abandoned in his hand. Stepping closer, you batted your lashes at his shameful face.

“Sirius, if it worried me, I wouldn’t have invited you inside.”

“It should worry you!” His face contorted. “It was manipulative and debauched—“

“Debauched!” You grinned, eyes bright. “What exactly did you do to my nightgown, hm?”

Sirius’ mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Love, please.”

You stepped closer, pouting.

“You didn’t imagine me in it?” Sirius shook his head passionately, but his cheeks warmed. “Shame. I hung it for you, you know.”

Sucking in a breath, his cigarette met the ground as you waded closer. You reached out, tugging on the top button of his vest.

“Will it take a cyclone for you to ask me out?”

Sirius let out a heavy breath and shook his head. When he said no more, you tilted your head and pulled him into you.

“Well then?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Go on,” you said. “I’m not sure someone who likes his tea with seven sugars could be very scary.”

Brightening, Sirius took your hand where it fiddled with his vest. You watched with heat in your chest as he brought it to his face and pressed his mouth to it. He then turned it over and did the same to your open palm.

“Could I please take you out, angel face?” His breath was hot on the inside of your hand, sending chills up your neck. “To repay you for the stunning cuppa?”

Chuckling, you traced a feather-light finger over his jaw.

“Certainly.” You licked over your teeth. “I’ll wear my driest knickers.”

His smile slipped into wicked territory.

“Don’t sweat it, love.” A big hand smoothed over your shoulder, and you melted. “You’ll only be wasting your time.”

+

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

[vodika-vibes]

Hi, darling~ I'm back again with request #6!

I was going to stop at 5, but then I felt bad for leaving out Kix. So, this one is for him, with an aquamarine, at twilight. Who better to give some healing love than our beloved medic? He's got that weighted blanket charm

Please and thank you 💚💚💚

@the-bad-batch-baroness

First Choice

Summary: Kix is a man in love. He just needs to make her see it.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x F!Reader

Word Count: 622

Prompt: Aquamarine - Healing Love

Warnings: Reader's parents are bad. Not abusive, just bad.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I hope this is close to what you wanted and I hope you like it!!

“Bad day, Bluebird?” Kix asks as he props his feet up on her desk, an easy grin on his face as he watches her start in surprise, and then glare at his boots.

She pushes his boots off her desk, “No shoes on the furniture, Kix. Honestly.”

He laughs and props his feet up again, “Come on, bluebird. That wasn’t an answer. What’s got you so down in the dumps?”

She glares at him, her pen tapping an annoyed rhythm out on her desk, before she sighs, “You know how I was supposed to meet up with my parents today?”

“Yeah. It was a whole big thing, you were so excited.” Kix scans her face, “Didn’t go well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” She pauses, “You see, they never showed up. Again.” She clenches her jaw, and then slowly relaxes, “They commed, after the fact. They decided to go visit my brother instead.”

Kix exhales slowly, “Oh, bluebird. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She focuses her attention back to her work, “I’ve never been anyone’s first choice…I don’t know why I thought they’d start now.”

Kix winces, and drops his feet to the floor, “Come on, cyare. That’s not true.”

“No. No it is.” She won’t look at him, “You know, they never even came to my college graduation. My sister had a piano recital, you see, and they had to be there-” Her voice cracks, and she presses her lips into a thin line. “I’d like to be alone.”

“Absolutely not.” Kix slides his chair closer, “Alone is the last thing you need right now.” Carefully, he plucks the pen from her unresisting hands, and he spins her chair so she’s facing him, “There you are.”

“Kix-” She has tears in her eyes and she looks even more upset than when he first came into the room.

“You’re my first choice.”

She blinks at him, and then she scowls, “I’m not. You don’t have to lie-”

“Hey,” He presses his hands against her cheeks, “You’re absolutely my first choice.”

“I’ve never been anyone’s first choice. Ever.” She counters, “Why should you be any different.”

“Because I love you.”

She blinks at him. Once. Twice. Three times.

“What?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes.” Kix says, “Have been since the day we met.”

“That…doesn’t make any sense.” She mumbles, “No one-”

“Yeah, well. My name’s Kix and I’m legally no one.”

She blinks at him, and then scowls, “That’s a terrible joke.”

“Not joking. About any of it.” Kix gently, very gently, slides her off her chair and onto his lap, “Let me show you. Let me prove to you how I feel.”

“How do you intend to do that?” The tears have faded from her eyes, and her voice is hushed.

Maker, he loves her so much.

“Like this.” Slowly, giving her time to back away if she needs to, he presses his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. And, when she doesn’t pull away, and in fact, curls her fingers into the thick material of his blacks, he deepens the kiss. 

When she kisses him back, Kix is pretty sure that his heart is going to explode in his chest. “So,” He murmurs, once he breaks the kiss, “Believe me yet?”

“...I’m starting to.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to kiss you until you definitely do.”

And, well, if his Bluebird’s parents got a picture of him kissing her, as well as a long message thanking them for breaking her heart, because he’s going to make sure that they’ll never have the power to do that again-

Well, that’s no one’s business but his, now is it?