For you, an aerospace engineering professor at the university, life consisted of elegant equations and the sterile silence of a laboratory. That was until Joel Miller arrived—shaking the building to its foundations with the roar of a construction site and a cloud of cedar dust under the scorching Austin sun.
NAVIGATION
Chapter One: A Crack in The Foundation - Jan 28, 2026
Chapter Two: Controlled Demolition - Jan 29, 2026
Chapter Three: Yield Point - Feb 01, 2026
Chapter Four: Structural Integrity - Feb 07, 2026
Chapter Five: Load-Bearing Walls - Feb 11, 2026
Chapter Six: Tensile Strength - Feb 15, 2026
Chapter Seven: The Blueprint - Feb 22, 2026
Chapter Eight: The Plumb Bob - Feb 24, 2026
Chapter Nine: The Cornerstore - Mar 1, 2026
Chapter Ten: Static Equilibrium - Mar 14, 2026
Chapter Eleven: Resonant Frequency - Mar 19, 2026
Chapter Twelwe: Vaccinium Myrtillus - Mar 24, 2026
Bonus Ficlet: Artemis - Apr 3, 2026
Chapter Thirteen: Phase Transition - Apr 5, 2026
Chapter Fourteen: Thermal Expansion - Apr 14, 2026
Chapter Fifteen: The Doppler Effect - Apr 19, 2026
Chapter Sixteen: Shear Stress - Apr 21, 2026
Chapter Seventeen: Center of Gravity - Apr 24, 2026
Chapter Eighteen: The Curing Process - May 11, 2026
Chapter Nineteen: Thrust-to-Weight Ratio - May 24, 2026
Chapter Twenty: Latent Heat - May 25, 2026
Chapter Twenty One: Escape Velocity - Jun 1, 2026
This post also serves as a taglist. Just comment if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters!
A meet cute with Javi, and we stumble on an unintentional little praise kink.
WC: 1200
It's not a thousand words, but A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words Challenge hosted by the irrepressible @the-blind-assassin-12 ! Thank you Alyssa for hosting such a fun challenge!
The number 3 rattles on its tracks, and as it rounds a curve, the wheels start to squeal.
The P.A. crackles to life, and a staticy voice announces, Clark Street! Next Stop Clark Street!
"Clark Street? Did I miss..."
You open your eyes to the muttered question filled with worry beside you.
Turning your head toward the fellow next to you, his warm brown eyes were perfect circles, his brows disappearing into his honey brown curls. His head swiveling and his neck long to locate a sign. He looks like a meerkat.
"Where are you headed?"
He jumps a little, coming out of his little bubble of concern.
"I, ah, well, I was going to Broadway."
"Times Square Station?"
"Yes, Times Square," though his voice is anxious, it was also warm and accented.
"That's... you've overshot by a bit. Doze off?"
"I, well, no, I was going over this script I'm writing, and I just got lost in it, I guess."
He looks down at his watch, then up at the map, grimacing as he counts the stops.
"Well, it's no big deal, we're crossing into Brooklyn, but you can just jump off and pop back on going the other way."
"I think I am going to miss my appointment." Then he looks down at his feet, his brows tightly knit and the sweetest, saddest pout you've ever seen.
"Eeshh, I'm sorry. Can you text whomever you're meeting?"
He quickly nods as he pulls out his phone.
"If anyone can get this meeting moved to tomorrow, it's Nick." He starts typing away, his phone pings, he reads, snorts in embarrassed amusement at whatever it said, and types some more. Then sighs.
"Sssso, what's your script about?"
This guy. It's as if the clouds parted from the sky, his face radiant. And he launches into a summary, but then starts including asides about influences and particular shots that must reference this or that.
Chuckling, you suggest that he should name the dog after Gene Hackman's character in The French Connection.
His eyes go round again, but this time in surprised delight, and he starts scribbling the note on his script.
"Well, this is me coming up," you sigh, pointing up to nothing in particular. "Nice talking to you."
Then he takes your raised hand in both of his, cradling it and looking into your eyes, the very picture of earnestness.
"Thank you so much for - everything... I just," he sighs, "my friend Nick, he has a tight schedule tonight, so now I am on my own. I guess I can eat dinner at the hotel, but-"
You look at him, for a beat, and surprise yourself-
"Well, if you want, you're getting off here anyway, to turn around- we could have dinner, and then you can head back to Manhattan."
"You wouldn't mind? I would love that!"
"Not at all," you said, and introduced yourself.
"I'm Javi."
The train squeals to a stop, and the conductor announces again that it is the Clark Street Station.
"So where are we going?"
"Well, lots of good places to eat, along the way to my neighborhood- "
"Sounds great. What neighborhood are you in? So many cool Brooklyn neighborhoods from movies! Would I know it?"
"I dunno, I'm in Red Hook."
"Hm. It does sound familiar..."
You don't get all the way to Red Hook, regardless of how sweet this guy looks, you know enough not to bring him to your apartment. You stopped at a café with lots of open seating outside, not too far from the Station.
Javi chats away about his favorite New York movies, but doesn't forget to ask about you and your interests... and your favorite New York movies, Nick Cage movies, and if you like cheesecake.
This is so unlike you to be so impulsive with a stranger, no less. But the man just seems like a walking, talking green flag, and it was kind of nice not to just go home after work and stare at the TV or scroll on your phone... or, let's be honest, do both, only half-paying attention to the show or movie you put on. Thinking this sort of guiltily, you blurt out-
"Is it true that studios push writers to have characters narrate and repeat plot points because we're all splitting our attention between screens?"
Javi sighs the sigh of the woe-begotten and beleaguered, "It is a problem. And of course there are people who notice and complain about the writing being childish if you do it, AND if you don't do it there's people who complain about plot holes, that they didn't know what was going on!"
Suddenly, Javi looks at you suspiciously and waves a forkful of cheesecake at you. "And which one are you?"
You laugh and grimace. And he looks to the sky like he's looking for strength.
"I am both," you admit. " But, but, I don't complain. When I realize I am getting distracted and don't know what's going on, I put my phone down and rewind. I promise!" You cross your heart. "Honestly, I'm usually good, I futz with my phone mostly when I'm listening to the news or other more listen-not-look type things. But I have caught myself being bad." You look at him with big, sad, guilty eyes. "Sorry."
"Naughty," he jokes, wagging a finger. "You have to be a good girl if you want good stories."
You choke a little on your cheesecake, trying to recover with a sip of your drink. Javi just looks at you with concern.
"Are you okay?"
Relieved, he didn't seem to notice your ridiculous reaction. You try to move on-
"Fine! Anyway, Nick Cage, huh?"
The two of you veer into a small park. You know it's time to part ways, but you're just not sure how to do it. Luckily, Javi is so much more outgoing than you; he takes your hand, just like that, so easily, it doesn't feel weird, forced, or too forward... It's just friendly.
"Can I see you again?"
"Oh yes, please," you blurt out, but you refuse to feel embarrassed by it. "I'd really like that."
"Great!!" Javi is sweetly acting like he's the one who has won the big prize at the carnival. He pulls out his phone and you get yours, he takes a quick selfie with you and sets it up for you to type in your details. He texts you the selfie, and you save it and his number.
"So we just went south, you just head up a few blocks to Clark Street and hop back on the train." You press your lips together in a small smile and go to wave. But he steps into your space, brushing your cheek with his soft lips, with a small kiss. You think, oh, Europeans, and you ready yourself to kiss the other cheek... but he murmurs your name and your knees liquefy.
Then his lips reach your ear-
"Until next time. Be good."
His lips curl into a wicked smile that you are shocked to see on this Labrador of a man, and he heads toward the station, leaving you staring, mouth open just a little.
THANKS FOR READING! 💚 YOU CAN FIND MORE JAVI AND OTHER PPCU FIC ON MY MARSTERLIST!
Heyyy not sure if I'm doing this right but could you please write prompt #49 please 🌞
dad!harry castillo
prompt 49: harry writes “i love you” on a post-it in adella’s lunchbox. she keeps it in her pencil case for months.
prompt list
⸻
The note is an afterthought.
Not because it means little, but because everything else that morning feels louder. More urgent. The clock, the stove, the small chaos of getting a seven year old out the door with matching shoes and brushed hair and something resembling a balanced lunch.
You’re at the counter, half leaning, half standing, your coffee untouched and cooling near your elbow. The baby monitor hums softly beside it, a low, constant reassurance. Estelle had gone down twenty minutes ago, finally, after a stretch of fussiness that left your shoulders tight and your nerves just a little frayed.
Harry is already moving through the kitchen like he’s been awake for hours.
He probably has.
There’s a quiet efficiency to him in the mornings now. Not rushed, not frantic, just steady. Like he’s learned the rhythm of the house so well he doesn’t have to think about it anymore. He moves around you without bumping into anything, opening drawers, closing cabinets, reaching for things before you even realize you need them.
“Where’s her lunchbox?” he asks, not looking up as he checks the fridge.
“By the sink,” you say, voice still thick with sleep.
He finds it immediately. Of course he does.
It’s the one with the cartoon bear on the front. Slightly faded now, the edges worn soft from being carried every day. Adella insists on that one, even though there are newer ones tucked away in the cabinet.
“It’s lucky,” she told him once, very seriously. “And the bear looks like you.”
He didn’t ask why.
He just smiled and said, “Then I suppose I better pack it right.”
Now he sets it on the counter and opens it, already scanning what’s inside like it’s a checklist in his head.
“Did she eat the strawberries yesterday?” he asks.
“No,” you say. “Traded them for crackers.”
He hums. “Of course she did.”
He takes them out anyway. Replaces them with apple slices this time, cutting them fresh with careful, even strokes. He doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t cut corners. Everything is deliberate.
You watch him for a moment.
There’s something about it that still catches you off guard sometimes. This version of him. Sleeves pushed up, hair still slightly mussed from sleep, standing barefoot in the kitchen packing a lunch like it’s the most important thing he’ll do all day.
Which, to him, it probably is.
Adella comes in then, dragging her backpack behind her, one sock halfway off her heel.
“I don’t want apples,” she announces.
Harry doesn’t even look up. “You liked them last week.”
“That was last week.”
He glances at her now, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “So what changed in the last seven days?”
She shrugs. “I’m different now.”
You smile into your coffee.
He considers her for a second, then nods like that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“Fair enough,” he says. “What do you want instead?”
“Chips.”
“Not happening.”
She groans, dropping into the chair at the table like her entire life has been ruined.
“You’re ruining my life,” she mutters.
“I’m saving your life,” he corrects calmly, sliding the apple slices back into the container anyway.
She narrows her eyes at him. “You don’t know anything.”
“I know you’ll eat them if you’re hungry enough.”
She huffs but doesn’t argue further.
You watch the exchange, something warm settling in your chest. It’s so easy between them now. The push and pull. The quiet understanding. The way he never raises his voice, never rushes her, just meets her exactly where she is and nudges her forward.
He finishes packing the rest of her lunch. Sandwich cut into neat halves, a small treat tucked into the corner, napkin folded properly.
Then he pauses.
Just for a second.
His gaze lingers on the open lunchbox, like he’s thinking about something else entirely.
You don’t say anything. You’ve learned to recognize that look. It means he’s about to do something small. Something that will matter more than he realizes.
He reaches for the pen sitting near your coffee mug.
Then, without making a big deal of it, he pulls a small yellow post-it from the stack by the phone.
Adella doesn’t notice. She’s busy kicking her legs against the chair, humming something under her breath.
You watch him.
He leans slightly against the counter as he writes, his hand large around the small square of paper. His handwriting is neat, deliberate, the same way he does everything else.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Just writes it.
Three words.
Simple.
I love you.
He folds the corner slightly, just enough to make it easier to grab, then tucks it carefully into the side of her lunchbox, between the napkin and the container so it won’t get lost.
It’s quiet.
So quiet that if you weren’t watching, you’d miss it entirely.
He closes the lid like nothing happened. Slides the lunchbox toward her.
“Done,” he says.
Adella looks at it, then at him. “Did you put dessert?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“If I tell you, it ruins the surprise.”
She considers this, then nods, satisfied.
“Okay.”
She hops down from the chair, grabs her backpack, and slings it over one shoulder.
Harry steps in automatically, fixing the strap, tugging it into place so it sits properly on her back.
“Shoes,” he says.
“I’m wearing shoes.”
“You’re wearing one shoe.”
She looks down, surprised.
“Oh.”
You laugh softly.
He crouches, steadying her as she slips the other one on, tying it for her without making a big deal of it.
“You’re going to be late,” you say gently.
“We’ve got time,” he replies, not rushing.
He stands, brushing his hands together lightly, then reaches for her jacket.
“Arms,” he says.
She lifts them, letting him slide it on, her small body leaning into him for just a second before she pulls away again.
It’s quick. But you see it. He does too.
His hand lingers at her shoulder just a second longer than necessary.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready.”
He glances at you then, a small, quiet check in.
“You good?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah.”
He walks over, presses a kiss to your temple, quick but warm.
“Text me if you need anything,” he murmurs.
“I will.”
Adella is already at the door, bouncing slightly on her toes.
“Come on, Daddy!”
He smiles, soft and immediate.
“I’m coming.”
They leave together.
The door closes. And the kitchen feels different in their absence. Quieter.
You take another sip of your coffee, now lukewarm, and glance at the counter where the post-it stack still sits.
You think about the note. About how small it was. How easy. How unannounced.
You don’t say anything about it when he comes back later. You don’t need to.
Because you already know...
He didn’t do it for recognition. He didn’t do it to be seen.
He did it because, somewhere between cutting apples and tying shoelaces, he thought...
She should know. And that was enough.
Hours later, when the house settles into the slow rhythm of the afternoon, when Estelle wakes and you move through the quiet routine of feeding and rocking and swaying, when the sun shifts across the floor in long, golden lines—
You find yourself thinking about it again. The note. Folded carefully. Tucked into a lunchbox with a cartoon bear.
Waiting to be found. And you imagine Adella opening it.
Maybe not right away. Maybe halfway through lunch, distracted, trading snacks, laughing with friends. Maybe she almost misses it. Until her fingers brush the edge of the paper. Until she pulls it out, unfolds it, sees the words written in her father’s careful hand.
I love you.
Simple. Uncomplicated. Certain.
You imagine her face.
The way it might soften. The way she might pause, just for a second, in the middle of everything else.
And keep it. Not because she’s told to. Not because it’s important in any obvious way.
But because it’s his. Because it came from him. Because it means something she can’t quite explain yet.
You shift Estelle higher on your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to her head.
And you think—
This is how he loves. Not loudly. Not for show.
But in these small, steady ways that slip into the spaces of everyday life.
And stay there.
Lunch is loud in the way only a room full of children can be. It echoes.
Plastic containers snapping open, chairs scraping against the floor, voices layered over one another in a constant, overlapping rhythm that never quite settles. Someone is laughing too hard at something that wasn’t that funny. Someone else is already complaining about carrots. There’s the faint smell of peanut butter and juice boxes and something warm from the cafeteria line that no one can quite identify.
Adella sits in the middle of it like she always does.
Not at the center of attention, not trying to be, but surrounded anyway. Two girls on either side of her, one leaning too close, the other talking with her mouth full. There’s a boy across from her who keeps tapping his spoon against the table, over and over, like he’s trying to create a rhythm no one else can hear.
Her lunchbox sits in front of her.
The same one she carries every day. The cartoon bear on the front a little more faded than it used to be, the corners softened from being shoved into her backpack and pulled out again without much care.
She doesn’t open it right away.
She’s busy.
Trading, negotiating, listening, talking.
“I’ll give you two crackers for your gummy bears,” the girl next to her says.
“That’s not fair,” Adella replies immediately. “Gummy bears are worth at least three crackers.”
“Two and a cookie.”
“No cookie. Three crackers and half your juice.”
“That’s too much juice.”
“You have a big one.”
“It’s not that big.”
“It is that big.”
The boy across from her interrupts. “I have chips.”
Everyone turns to him.
“What kind?” Adella asks.
“Barbecue.”
She considers it. Barbecue is good. Not her favorite, but good enough to matter.
“I’ll trade apples,” she says.
“I don’t like apples.”
“You haven’t even tried them.”
“I don’t need to try them. I already know.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me.”
She rolls her eyes in a way that feels older than she is.
“Fine,” she mutters, finally reaching for her lunchbox. “Your loss.”
She flips the latch open.
The familiar smell hits her first. Bread, fruit, something sweet tucked somewhere inside. It’s the same every day in a way that makes it feel safe. Predictable.
She starts pulling things out one by one.
Sandwich.
Apple slices.
Napkin.
Small container with something inside she hasn’t opened yet.
She’s halfway through the motion, already distracted again by the conversation happening around her, when her fingers brush something that isn’t supposed to be there.
Paper. Not the napkin. Something smaller. Thicker.
She pauses. Just for a second.
Her hand lingers inside the lunchbox, fingertips grazing the edge of it again like she needs to make sure it’s real.
“What’s that?” the girl next to her asks, leaning closer.
“I don’t know,” Adella says, a little quieter now.
She pulls it out.
It’s a small yellow square.
Folded slightly at the corner.
Nothing special about it at first glance. It could be anything. A note from the teacher. Something she forgot. Something her mom tucked in without telling her.
But it’s not her mom’s handwriting.
She knows that immediately.
Her fingers unfold it slowly, careful without realizing she’s being careful.
The noise around her doesn’t stop. But it fades.
Not completely. Just enough that it feels like it’s happening somewhere else. Somewhere a little further away.
She looks down.
Three words.
Written in a hand she recognizes without thinking about it.
I love you.
There’s no name No explanation.
But she knows. Of course she knows. Her dad. It’s her dad.
Something shifts in her chest. It’s small. So small she doesn’t have a word for it yet. But it’s there.
Warm and quiet.
“Is it from your mom?” the girl next to her asks.
Adella shakes her head.
“My dad,” she says.
She doesn’t mean to sound the way she does when she says it. But there’s something in her voice. Something a little softer. A little more sure.
“Oh,” the girl says, like that explains something. “What does it say?”
Adella hesitates. Just for a second.
Not because she doesn’t want to share.
But because it feels like something that belongs to her in a way the rest of lunch doesn’t. In a way the noise and the trading and the talking can’t quite touch.
Still, she turns the note slightly so they can see.
“It just says ‘I love you,’” she says.
“That’s it?” the boy across from her asks.
She shrugs, but there’s no dismissal in it.
“That’s it.”
He frowns. “That’s kinda boring.”
She looks at him then. Really looks at him.
And for a moment, she doesn’t feel like explaining it.
Doesn’t feel like she has to.
“It’s not,” she says simply.
He shrugs, already losing interest.
“Okay.”
The conversation shifts again. Something about recess. Someone forgot their homework. Someone else is telling a story that doesn’t quite land but keeps going anyway.
Adella folds the note back up. Carefully.
She smooths the edge with her thumb like she’s memorizing the shape of it. Then she doesn’t put it back in the lunchbox.
She keeps it in her hand for a second longer. Looking at it. Feeling it.
Like it might disappear if she doesn’t.
“Are you gonna eat your apples?” the boy asks again, eyeing them.
She glances at them.
Then back at the note.
“Yeah,” she says.
He looks surprised. “You just said you’d trade them.”
“I changed my mind.”
“You always change your mind.”
“So do you.”
He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again.
“Whatever.”
She takes a bite of one of the slices.
It’s crisp. Sweet. Better than she expected.
She chews slowly, still holding the note in her other hand.
The rest of lunch moves on. It always does. But something about it feels different now.
Not in a big, obvious way. Nothing dramatic. Just…quieter. Like there’s a small, steady thing sitting underneath everything else.
She finishes eating. Packs everything back up.
Except the note. That stays out.
When the bell rings, chairs scrape back, voices rise again, the room shifting into motion all at once.
Adella stands, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.
She hesitates for a second. Looks at the note again.
Then, without thinking too hard about it, she opens her pencil case.
The one with the slightly broken zipper and the colored pencils she doesn’t always sharpen properly.
She tucks the note inside.
Between the pencils and the eraser that’s worn down to a small, uneven shape.
Closes it. Zips it halfway. Just enough.
It doesn’t feel like putting it away. It feels like keeping it. For later. For no reason she can explain.
The rest of the day passes like it always does. Lessons. Numbers. Words on a board. Someone whispering when they’re not supposed to.
The teacher calling on her once, twice. She answers. She listens.
But every now and then, without meaning to, her hand drifts to the zipper of her pencil case.
Just touches it. Not opening it. Just checking.
Like she needs to make sure it’s still there.
It always is.
When the final bell rings, she packs up slowly. More carefully than usual.
She makes sure the pencil case is zipped all the way this time. Tucks it into her backpack like it’s something fragile.
Something that matters.
Outside, the air feels different. Cooler. Quieter than the lunchroom. Parents waiting. Cars lining the curb.
She scans the crowd automatically.
And then she sees him.
Standing a little apart from everyone else. Hands in his pockets. That same calm, steady presence that always seems to find her first.
Her dad.
He sees her at the same time.
His expression shifts immediately.
Softens. Like it always does. Like it’s something he doesn’t even think about anymore.
She starts toward him. Faster than she means to.
He meets her halfway.
“Hey,” he says, reaching for her backpack, taking some of the weight without asking.
“Hi.”
“How was your day?”
She shrugs.
“Good.”
He studies her for a second. Not suspicious. Just attentive.
Like he’s trying to read something small in her expression.
“Yeah?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He nods.
“Alright.”
They start walking toward the car. Side by side.
His hand finds the top of her head for a second, brushing her hair back gently.
It’s habitual and she leans into it just slightly. Just enough that he notices.
He glances down at her.
“Everything okay?” he asks quietly.
She looks up at him. For a second, she thinks about telling him. About the note. About how it felt.
But something stops her. Not because she wants to keep it from him. But because she doesn’t need to say it.
He already knows.
In a way.
She can feel it.
“Yeah,” she says again, softer this time.
“Okay.”
He opens the car door for her. Helps her climb in. Buckles her without rushing.
His hands steady. Familiar.
She watches him for a second.
Then, without thinking too much about it, she leans forward. Wraps her arms around his neck.
It’s quick and unexpected.
He stills. Just for a fraction of a second. Then his arms come up around her automatically. Holding her close.
“What was that for?” he murmurs, voice low.
She shrugs against him.
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask again.
Just holds her there for another second longer than usual.
Then lets her go. Closes the door gently. Walks around to the driver’s side.
When he gets in, he glances at her again. A small smile at the corner of his mouth.
“You sure it was nothing?” he asks.
She looks out the window, hiding her own smile.
“Yeah,” she says.
But her hand drifts to her backpack.
To the pencil case inside it. To the small yellow note folded carefully between colored pencils and a worn eraser.
And she thinks—
Not nothing. Not even close.
Something she’ll keep.
Longer than she understands yet. Longer than she needs a reason for.
Just because it’s his. And because he thought of her. In the middle of everything else. And wrote it down.
Like it mattered. Like she mattered. Like that was enough.
You find Javi sitting on the porch steps just before sunset, cigarette untouched between his fingers, staring out at the field like he’s trying to solve something out there.
He hears you before he looks up. “Thought you were inside.”
You walk over with two beers in hand and hand him one. “I was. Then my aunt asked when you’re finally going to marry me, so I decided to escape.”
That gets a real laugh out of him, quiet but warm. “Smart choice.”
You sit beside him, shoulders brushing. The air is still warm, the kind of Texas evening where everything feels slower. Horses by the fence, music coming softly from the house, voices from your family inside. For a while, neither of you says anything. You just sit there. Easy. Comfortable. The kind of silence that only happens when being near someone feels natural.
Javi looks down at the bottle in his hands. Turns it once. Twice. “You ever think about how weird this is?”
You glance at him. “You’ll need to be more specific.”
A small smile. “This. Me. Here. Your family actually likes me. Your uncle offered me a horse yesterday.”
You laugh. “That means he loves you.”
“Terrifying.”
You lean your head against his shoulder. “I like you here.”
He goes quiet. Then: “I like who I am here.”
That hits harder than it should. You look up at him, and he’s already looking at you. No jokes this time. No walls. Just Javi. “I think,” he says quietly, “I forget to tell you enough… how much I love this. Us. You.”
Your chest tightens.
He gives the smallest shake of his head, like he’s annoyed at himself for even struggling with the words. “But I do. Every day.”
And just like that, the whole world feels still.
♡ ── ♡ ── ♡
Thank you so much for reading ♡ Likes, comments and reblogs always make me happy and help the story find more people ♡
Clint Flood took his baby as far away from Oakland as he could get. Moving and working his way east and eventually north, far north. Nowhere felt far enough to keep his little girl safe until he found himself in a job as the cook and keeper of a remote marina in a place named Mooney Harbour. He finally thinks he's found a place they could make a life in and now that summer's come and gone Clint is getting ready to hunker down for his first ever Canadian winter.
In the first weeks of fall She appears. A mysterious vision across the water, staring at the little lighthouse at sundown night after night, he can't help but wonder about the woman who seemed to appear in his new home just as everyone abandons it.
Warnings: WIP, eventual smut and mentions of violence.
AO3 Link
Part One - The Man
Part Two - The Light Keepers
Part Three - Contraband Wood
Part Four - The Harvest Moon
Part Five - Goddess of the Hunt
Part Six - Clint Flood Buys a Turkey
EXTRAS
Clint Flood's Turkey Troubles
Devana (or Dziewanna) is the goddess of the hunt, forests, and wild nature. She is often associated with the moon, protecting wildlife, and the essence of nature. In Slavic tradition, she is revered as a guardian of the wilderness and was heavily featured in fertility festivals during spring.
Clint Flood took his baby as far away from Oakland as he could get. Moving and working his way east and eventually north, far north. Nowhere felt far enough to keep his little girl safe until he found himself in a job as the cook and keeper of a remote marina in a place named Mooney Harbour. He finally thinks he's found a place they could make a life in and now that summer's come and gone Clint is getting ready to hunker down for his first ever Canadian winter.
In the first weeks of fall She appears. A mysterious vision across the water, staring at the little lighthouse at sundown night after night, he can't help but wonder about the woman who seemed to appear in his new home just as everyone abandons it.
Warnings: WIP, eventual smut and mentions of violence.
AO3 Link
Part One - The Man
Part Two - The Light Keepers
Part Three - Contraband Wood
Part Four - The Harvest Moon
Part Five - Goddess of the Hunt
Part Six - Clint Flood Buys a Turkey
EXTRAS
Clint Flood's Turkey Troubles
Devana (or Dziewanna) is the goddess of the hunt, forests, and wild nature. She is often associated with the moon, protecting wildlife, and the essence of nature. In Slavic tradition, she is revered as a guardian of the wilderness and was heavily featured in fertility festivals during spring.
Prompt: "Can we stay like this for a little while longer?"
Pairings: javi gutierrez x fwb!reader
Request
Word Count: 804
The alarm clock rings and you wake up startled. By your side lies your friend Javi, naked. He is so good looking, and that is the reason why you agreed to this again, for the fourth time. To top all of that, he is good in bed.
For a moment you just allow yourself to stay there, just looking at him and absorbing his beauty and his scent, fresh like the ocean breeze. Another reason for you to stay in this mess is simple: you’re falling in love hard. It’s impossible, Javi is a gentleman, a goofy man, so happy and vibrant. He makes you laugh and makes everything feel softer. But it’s getting difficult every day, so you won’t do it again, and this time you won’t.
Time is running by and you have to go. You try to get up silently, but you feel his arms grabbing you and pulling you back to him.
“Where are you going?” he mutters sleepy
“Well… some of us are not millionaires and have to work” you giggle as he kisses your cheek
“I can pay you for your day” he usually says this like a joke but this morning he means it
“Javi, I’m not a whore” you turn your face to him
“No…” he widens his eyes and stutters “I didn’t mean that!”
There is silence, he didn’t mean to hurt you. Never. Actually all Javi wants is for this to become more than friends. He loves your company and how you make him feel secure and happy, it’s not about sex, it’s about how it feels to be with you, all the pillow talk you had. However, he wants you close and that makes him scared of saying anything.
“I would never think that”
“I know, you’re too sweet for that, Javi” you smile softly “That’s why I like you”
“Like?” he raises his eyebrows and looks at you with those eyes
“Yes, I do like you” you smile, not understanding the disappointment in his voice
“Oh!” he exclaims
“What is wrong?” you narrow your eyes
“Nothing…” he swallows
“Javi, I actually wanted to tell you something” you sit up sighing
“What?” he also sits up, eyes glowing with excitement
“I think we should stop this, whatever we are doing” the words come out like they weigh three hundred pounds “I can’t do this anymore, I’m getting older and I need to find someone who wants me”
“Cariño” his voice is soft, his hand going up and holding your face “I want you”
“Of course you do, the sex is great and-”
“No! Yo te quiero” he closes his eyes “I need you. I’ve always thought that you were la mujer más hermosa I’ve ever seen in my life, that draws sighs ever since I laid my eyes on you. And now, I just can’t live without you.”
You stand there, frozen, you can’t believe he is saying this. You’ve never imagined hearing this coming out of his lips.
“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t let you go without saying that I’m in love with you and I’m willing to be this person who wants you, who wants a life with you, and who wants to pay you to stay here the whole day, just in bed with me, not even to have sex, only to have your presence”
“Javi…” you smile softly “I just-”
“If you never want to see me again I will not understand, and I’ll be really hurt-”
You cup his face and kiss him, this time soft and filled with the unsaid words. He smiles against your lips, his hand threading in your hair to deepen the kiss, your tongue slides into his mouth.
“If you only let me finish one sentence” you giggle into the kiss
“Sorry”
“I love you, Javi” you shake your head “I love your goofy ass self. I would never not want to see you”
“Are you serious?”
“Completely” you nod, leaning and rubbing your nose to his, just like he always does to you
Javi lays you onto the pillow with his lips on yours, smiling. It is gentle like he always is. His thumb strokes your cheek softly as he pulls back and just stares deep into your eyes.
“Cariño, can we stay like this for a little while longer?” his eyes are such a low blow, and that pouty lip
“Javi, I really have to work” you tilt your head
“I said I’ll pay you for the day” he nods
“Not simple as that” you giggle
“Call in sick” he mutters, hopeful “Put your actress skills to work for you”
“Oh god” you roll your eyes “Alright, I’ll do it”
“Eso!” he exclaims “Now, ven aquí” he pulls you to him, kissing your neck and lowering to your collarbone
“I love you. I love the texture of your skin, the taste of your saliva, the softness of your ears, i love every inch and every part of your entire body. From your toes and the beautifully curved arches of your feet, to the exceptional shade and warmth of your dark hair. I need you in my life, I hope you need me too.”
