#that is not directly overhead of the one place I can sleep on the landing

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all it's two am and I have a not that weird question for you because there's lightning and I can't do flashing lights so I can't sleep! How do you get blackout curtains on windows that already have those. What's the word. The slats things that go up and down and mostly but not entirely block window light when you want them to? Those! If the window already has those how do you blackout curtains? (are they called blackout curtains? the curtains that completely block light)

[robinavich]

goldilocks | jack abbot

jack abbot x attorney!reader | 5k words | ao3

synopsis: jack has trouble sleeping. you don't make it any easier.

content: 18+ mdni, age gap, swearing, super soft sex (not like super graphic bc I'm weak), reader is annoying as USUAL and jack is just so in love

a/n: teehee. LOL? tbh can I be honest. I'm not sure what this is fr

sorry for using an andrew cody gif. as if u could blame me LOL up top ladies! shoutout @doctcrrobby dani for putting this in my mind. also my dad was in the army and dude literally sleeps on the couch every night and I'm always like dad let's go get you a new mattress and he's like I'd rather fucking die. I don't know why I told you guys that I think I just had to cite my sources on that single line.

Jack’s back ached. It has for years—a legacy of abuse stemming from unforgiving cots, and the punishing weight of rucksacks weighing as much as he did, and strain from bodies thrown over his shoulder en route to safety. It ached from responsibility, and it ached from the perpetual guilt that he’ll probably never rid himself of.

It also meant no bed was ever right. One was as hard as the unyielding ground while gunfire split the air overhead. Another bed he tried sagged beneath him with every twitch, threatening to pull him under. They were too warm, too short, too something.

He felt like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks only had one foot and lumbar pain.

After his wife died, it got worse. Beds were suddenly too cold—cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature. A vast expanse of isolation that chilled him to the bone. More often than not, Jack found himself wedged diagonally on his too-small sofa, sweat gluing his skin to the overheated pleather, or lying stiff on the ground with nothing but a pillow under his head to protect him against the hardwood floor.

Rest was always just out of reach, as elusive as the peace he naively once thought he could help secure. 

Then he met you.

Your bed was great, sure. Amazing, even. Your comforter’s woven out of straight springtime sunbeams, and your mattress stuffed from clouds that angels slept on, probably. Best sleep of his life in that bed.

Beyond the composition, though, what he felt the most is what it meant. It was the one place where Jack could rest. Really rest. Where his body didn’t have to stay coiled beneath the surface, waiting for the next sound, the next shadow, the next inevitable loss. It was the only place no longer had to sleep like a soldier.

Under those covers, he finally understood why kids hide from monsters under their blankets—like a piece of cloth would save them from the horrors. Not because it was logical, but because that softness, that warmth, meant safety. The comforter was flimsy armor, but it was armor nonetheless. A quiet prayer stitched into fabric, whispering you’re okay.

Not every night was easy. Not every nightmare stayed away.

But the difference now was that he had somewhere to come back to.

And with you wrapped in his arms, face buried in his neck, he knows that he could die contentedly in this refuge beneath the covers. That he would kill to have this feeling etched into his very soul.

Most nights, that’s how it was.

Tonight, something’s off.

He doesn’t know what. Can’t quite name it. Just something needling at him.

Poking and prodding him at the edges of consciousness.

Teasingly dangling REM cycles behind closed eyes, only to yank them back, leaving him tangled in restless sharp awareness.

“Psst.”

Not metaphorically.

It comes again, hushed and more incessant. “Pssssst. Jack.”

Jack’s eyes groggily flutter open, eyes rolling as they adjust to the complete and utter darkness that welcomes him back to the land of the living.

A jab in the skin directly above his heart.

He looks down.

It’s your stupid-ass finger nudging his chest. Robbing him of peace.

His muscles unconsciously tighten, instinctively drawing you nearer to shield you from whatever shadow you woke him for.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Jack asks, fatigue pulling his tongue off tempo and lagging behind a brain already whirring to attention. Really, the words come out more of a was wrong? Reyoukay?

Slowly, the rest of his body starts to power on, returning his senses to their rightful place. Distantly, he can hear sirens shooting down far-away streets. The gentle patter of rain on the window. The warm vanilla of your shampoo washes over him.

“You never answered me,” your soft voice drifts up to him. “About the penguins.”

Jack’s eyebrows come together, forming a small crease between his slowly closing eyes.

A deep inhale inflates his lungs.

“When I called you the other day,” you unhelpfully remind him. Like his silence was from lack of memory, not from trying desperately to keep his composure upon understanding he’s been yanked from his beautiful, glorious sleep for something like this.

“When I had my entire arm in someone’s chest?” Jack’s tired voice cuts out like a spotty Bluetooth connection. He clears his throat.

Stronger now, “Is that what you’re referring to?”

You snuggle closer to his chest, attempting to completely ignore the laws of physics prohibiting fusion of bodies, and nod, hair tickling his skin with every pass.

His arms reflexively tighten around you, rough fingers slipping under your shirt to trace the ridges of your spine. A pleased hum rumbles in his chest at the small shiver that runs down your body in response. His head dips down, burrowing against yours so gently tucked into his neck.

“Honey, why do you only want to have this conversation at—” his wrist tilts up and he peels open a single eye, immediately sliding it shut again, “—three in the morning?”

Your shoulders rise in a small shrug as much as they can snuggled safely in your cocoon of Jack and comforter.

“Could have a different one. Just missed you when I was sleeping,” you sleepily whisper, words so tooth-achingly sweet that Jack absently thinks that you should be a poster child for the American Dental Association.

His heart clenches in his chest—slow and nearly unbearable—because of course you woke him up to tell him that. Of course that’s the reason. And you say it like it’s something so obvious, like missing him when you sleep is something you’re well acquainted with and just wanted to keep him updated on what’s going on.

How do you manage to inadvertently weaponize the most innocuous things?

Jack exhales slowly and shifts down, lips gently placing a kiss on the tangled hair near your temple.

He doesn’t even know if you understand the effect you have on him.

“Never gotta miss me, kid,” Jack mumbles against your skin, lips brushing your temple. “Always’ll be here.”

He feels you shift against his chest—a quiet rustle under the blankets—trying to make space for your hand to wiggle free. 

With a groggy blink, Jack’s eyes open, vision sluggishly pulling into focus.

Hovering in the corner of his periphery, he sees it.

Your hand wedged between the both of you. Pinkie looking back at him. Patiently extended. Waiting.

“Promise?” you ask, and your voice is so soft—so small. It’s not a question, really, but the thought that there could be a drop of doubt in your mind pains him. Not after the way he looks at you like you hung the moon, not after the way he builds a home out of every room you’re in.

It twists in him, slow and aching.

Jack’s throat tightens marginally. His curls his own pinkie around yours.

“Promise.”

You shift, nudging your nose up along his chest until your lips are just shy of his neck like the thought of any distance between the two of you is a federal offense, breath a quiet puff against his skin. The blankets shift with you, rustling like trees in the wind. Your voice comes out half-asleep, muffled by the blankets and your lungs smushed against his chest.

“Break that promise,” you murmur, “and I get to take your pinkie.”

Jack blinks down at you, eyes drowsy and soft. There’s a moment he doesn’t say anything. Just looks—memorizing the way the streetlights bleed through the window and highlight the soft curves of your profile, illuminate the way your hair sticks straight into the air. The way your lashes fan against your cheek, and the way your hand—so much smaller than his—rests gently over his ribs, like you’re making sure he stays put.

You’ve never looked more beautiful.

He leans down and captures your lips—quiet and careful, sealing an unspoken vow. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead to yours, his voice low and steady.

“Kid,” he whispers, “you have my whole life.”

The words drift into the space between you.

They’re unmet with any response.

In fact, you’re silent for so long, Jack figures you’ve fallen back asleep.

He lets his body begin to sink, tension softening, breath evening out with yours.

Almost gone.

The holy choir of REM harmonizes in the distance, beckoning him with open arms, ready to anoint him with a divine blessing he’s worked so devotedly to earn.

Your voice slices through the quiet like a celestial record scratch, violently yanking his soul straight back into the prison of his body.

“See, you say I can have your life,” you mumble exasperated. “But won’t answer my question.”

Jack groans.

Loud. From that ancient, grizzled part of his soul that pre-dates the Geneva Conventions. One that can only mean holy shit, I’m going to kill you. 

“Alright,” he relents, releasing you from your pinkie promise and rolling off of you with all the enthusiasm of a man summoned to war. “We’re doing this.”

“Nooo,” you whine. Your hands smooth around his middle and pull him back in place. He grumbles in your arms, melting back into you.

You reconnect your pinkies.

“What’s the fucking question?”

You snuggle into his chest, mumbling, “Stop being so bitchy.”

His eye twitches and he makes a half-hearted attempt to push you away, which you halt with the force of a barnacle, clinging to his chest and pulling him on top of you.

Up at three in the morning. Demanding a metaphysical inquiry into the emotional state of flightless Antarctic avians. Jack shoving you away.

And all you want is to do is be close to him. 

He curls himself around you once more.

You sigh, loud and dramatic, like you cannot believe he had the audacity to wake you up to talk about this.

“Something about penguins?” Jack prompts.

“Do you think penguins get sad because they can’t fly?” you morosely recount, voice muffled by his bare chest. 

A beat passes, Jack’s shoulder lifting in time with your inhale.

“They probably don’t even know they’re missing out,” you continue, somehow completely articulate despite waking up not ten minutes ago. “But they are. Like, they don’t know that they’re taxonomically classified as birds. So, like, they don’t know they’re a bird that can’t fly. And they’re the only ones that can’t fly. In the entire southern hemisphere.”

Every sentence is acknowledged by a gentle press of his lips.

Against your neck, God, you’re insufferable.

The freckle right behind your jaw, God, I’m obsessed with you.

The soft curve of your ear, God, never stop talking.

Jesus Christ, it’s true, you are insufferable. But he would lay here and listen to you read a Wikipedia article about regional variations of the protected left turn signal if it meant you stayed this close, tucked in his arms, forever.

“I’m sure there are other birds in the southern hemisphere, sweetheart,” he murmurs in your ear, eyes drifting closed as your warmth consecrates his. On his next breath, his arm tightens around your waist.

“Albatross,” you agree.

Jack nods, already half-asleep again. “Sure.”

“Skua.”

He opens one eye. “Suka?”

Genuinely, Jack has never heard of that one before.

“What the fu—?” You twist in his arms, head coming up to glare. “Did you just call me a bitch?”

His eyebrows retreat to their exasperated place high on his head before his eyes have even finished opening fully. “How could you have possibly gotten there?”

You narrow your eyes, singular eyebrow ticking up in response, scrutinizing the sincerity of his confusion. Content with whatever the fuck he guesses you see, you slowly slide back under him.

Jack blinks into the dim, blue-tinted air of the room, the glow of the streetlights outside barely brushing the edges of your faces, his mouth coming together in half-formed, extremely confused words.

Your lips, warm and close, graze against his neck with every syllable, and he tenses, fighting back a shiver. “Crazy metathesis there, Abbot. Skua. S-k-u-a. A seabird.”

“There’s no way that’s real. You’re making that up.”

A laugh ripples out of you, soft and sharp, shaking your small frame. Your laughter seems to fill the quiet, swirling with the distant patter of rain. “You think I’d go through the trouble of inventing fake polar-adjacent birds just to gaslight you about penguins?”

“Sounds exactly like the kind of thing you’d do,” he replies, fingers tracing absent, looping patterns along your side. Blankets slide off his arm with a soft rustle as you squirm under his touch.

You’re silent for a second.

He knows he got you.

And he knows you know he got you.

Checkmate, your voice echoes in his head, tugging the corners of his mouth into a fond smile.

A small, displeased sniff twitches your nose.

“Yeah, well, shut up, so…” you sulk.

The rain hitting the window grows louder, the once soft patter growing to a sharp tapping on the glass. It’s like the storm wakes up as you do, deafening all the earlier sirens and yelling people. Wrapped in the warmth, and the darkness, and the percussive sound of water dripping down the windowpane in winding rivulets, it feels like the world has been narrowed to just this room.

And he guesses that he’s rubbing off on you, because you keep talking through it all.

“What, so, do you think that even if they don’t know they’re penguins, they probably see other things with wings and are like, must be nice?” you ask. “Was that your point?”

Jack didn’t even have a point with his follow-up question. It was just something to keep you occupied, in the same way he gives his nieces an anatomically correct model heart to play with when they come over.

He just wants to keep hearing your voice. So, he hums, faux contemplative. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, or whatever.

“Could also be an innate longing to fly,” he says.

You squint over at him like he’s a very confusing legal document. “What?”

“Like how humans want to live in the forest and hunt and gather.”

You blink. “Do they?”

He nods against your neck, self-assured, and rumbles, “Deep evolutionary memory.”

“Uh-huh,” you mutter, skeptical.

Then, after a moment, he says, “There’s definitely something innate, alright.”

He doesn’t specify what.

You don’t press.

Mostly because you know Jack Abbot well enough to know he probably means something like the innate desire to go back to sleep.

“So you do you think they’re sad?”

“I think,” he shifts, settling more of his weight on you, which you receive with a happy sigh, “they go so long without something, they forget what the weight of that loss even feels like.”

He pauses, almost lets it stop there. But then Jack says, “Penguins also mate for life. I think. I saw it on a documentary.”

“Oh!” you whisper, soft and full of sleepy delight. “That could be us, Jack.”

Your voice curls around those four letters identifying him as him, dripping with sleep and affection and something bordering reverence. You always say it like that, like it means something, but tonight, with his watch blinking 3:07AM and a storm crawling outside the window and you curled up in his arms, it hits different. Hits deep. Like gospel. Like divine direction spoken through the mouth of the world’s most annoying, sleepy prophet.

Four simple letters, his truth and his life.

Jack’s hand finds the nape of your neck again, thumb rubbing slow circles into your hairline. He breathes in—long and deep and steady.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “that’s us.” 

A beat passes.

“Could’ve been puffins, though,” he mutters as an afterthought.

The quiet stretches.

Jack tightens his grip, just a little. Doesn’t know how else to say what’s caught in his chest.

“If they are sad,” he concludes, “Maybe it gets lighter when they’re with the one they love.”

Jack doesn’t expand, but he’s pretty sure this time he isn’t talking about the penguins. Not even a little. He’s talking about the way he said that’s us instead of that could be us. He’s talking about how you slot against him like a divinely ordained puzzle piece. About how, with you, loss doesn’t press so hard against his ribs.

Maybe penguins can’t fly.

But Jack knows—a bone-deep truth—that if you were a penguin, he’d learn. Even if his body wasn’t anatomically built for such an action, he’d learn. Just to show you the sky.

Your arms tighten around him, your hand sliding up to scratch lightly at his scalp. The touch undoes something in him. 

“I love you, know that?” you whisper.

His palm splays wide across your hip and he swallows.

“I know, kid.”

Then, more softly, “You love me too?”

And even though he’s half asleep and mulling over your avian philosophy, there’s zero hesitation.

“I love you more than I ever thought I’d get to,” he confesses softly.

The comforter slips a little as you shift, tangling your legs with his and nestling yourself closer beneath him.

It hits him sometimes, how much he loves you—hard and sudden, like a blow. The kind he’s trained to roll with. But there’s no training for this, no drill that teaches you what to do when someone curls up in your arms in the middle of the night and trusts you so absolutely, so unconsciously, that it feels like a genuine extension of the self.

You're ridiculous.

And he would do this for the rest of his life.

He would let you poke him awake at 3:00AM for every stupid, nonsensical question in your brain. He would spend every hour learning the rhythm of your thoughts, memorizing the way your voice gets sleepy and small when you ask if he still loves you like you’re not already written into his genetic code.

“I love you,” he whispers again.

God, he does. He loves you so much it’s physically stupid.

“I know.” You trail the tip of your nose across his chest and gently press a kiss right over where his heart beats. “Just like hearing you say it.”

“I’ll say it as many times as you need,” he murmurs. “I’ll write it on every fucking thing you bring Robby to sign if that’s what it takes.”

“Those go to insurance,” you mumble against his skin. “You can’t just write in love declarations.”

“Says who?”

“Canon law.”

“Sounds made up.”

“You’re made up.”

Jack laughs, full this time, chest vibrating under your ear.

He presses a kiss into your hair again. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

“I’m tryiiiiiiiing,” you whine petulantly. “You keep talking, Abbot.”

He shifts just slightly, hand smoothing down your back. You sigh in response, one of those unconscious sleepy noises that makes him bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from absolutely melting into the mattress.

Soft lips brush the hollow of his throat as you murmur something half-asleep, unintelligible, and Jack exhales sharply, jaw flexing once. It’s not fair—the way even your unconscious affection feels deliberate. The way you can press your mouth to his skin like that, so casual, and not realize you’re rewiring every nerve in his body.

He shifts on top of you, just enough to turn his head, to press a slow kiss to your crown.

“Jesus,” he mutters into your hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re a doctor,” you murmur. “Just resuscitate yourself.”

Jack huffs a laugh, low and warm. “That’s not how that works.”

“Sure it is,” you insist. “They let you keep the paddles in your car, right?”

His brows pinch together. “No—”

“Then what’s the point of medical school?”

He huffs a laugh. Beneath him, you wiggle, trying to escape the air tickling the sensitive skin of your neck, and he groans.

“Honey, please,” Jack mutters, mouth still pressed against your skin. “Stop moving.”

You go still for half a second, just long enough to make him think he’s won, before you shift again—less of a sleepy squirm and a little more intentional—and his hips respond before the rest of him catches up.

“God, you’re so annoying,” Jack groans, the sound muffled where his mouth is pressed against your neck.

His hips shift against you again. Your breath hitches, hands scrambling for purchase at his shoulder, fingers clutching fabric and muscle like your body’s trying to ground yourself in him.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, barely audible. “But I’m yours.”

Something flickers across Jack’s face, and his hand slides lower, under your shirt and over the curve of your waist—broad palm settling flat against your skin like he could hold you together with touch alone. His thumb moves in slow, hypnotic circles, brushing tenderly just beneath your ribs.

“I’m yours,” you say again, quieter this time.

And Jack stills for half a second—just enough for you to feel the tremble that runs through him, the sharp exhale that catches on something jagged in his chest.

His breath stutters, raw.

“Goddamn right you are,” he murmurs, his voice thick and hoarse and impossibly soft.

He raises on his elbow just enough to see you, drinking you in like he needs to memorize every inch before he dares move another step forward. Then, slowly, deliberately, his mouth drops to your collarbone—gentle and unhurried, lips warm and reverent.

Not so much kissing your skin, as reading it like a sacred text.

Every gasp and mumbled word you say is repeated in kind. His quiet prayer, said as a devout disciple.

Every sound from your lips something new to learn and to replicate—answering each quiet whimper with the same patience and care you might use when translating something holy.

Every press of his mouth, devout exegesis. 

His nose nudges your shirt higher, one kiss at a time, until his mouth is moving over your sternum, your ribs, following the rhythm of your heart.

You breathe his name, barely a sound.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into your skin. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.”

You nod before your brain even catches up. Of course. You’d fucking let him do anything.

He eases your shirt up, slow and careful, ceremonial in the way he lifts it from your body. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t tug or fumble. Every movement is tender, reverent, every inch uncovers a secret you’ve chosen to share with him, and he refuses to take it for granted.

And when he looks back up at you, his expression unravels. All the smartass quips and dry commentary gone. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth believing in.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he breathes, voice cracking under the weight of sacrament. “You don’t even know.”

Fingertips dragging across your waist, featherlight, hesitant. His thumbs brush over the dip just beneath your ribs and his mouth follows, open and warm. He kisses your stomach like it means something. Like it’s sacred.

Your body arches under him, chasing the heat of his mouth, and he cradles your hips with both hands, trying to steady you—trying to steady himself.

You’re already trembling. You don’t even realize it until he whispers against your skin, “You’re shaking.”

You laugh soft, breathy, half-lost in the haze blooming behind your eyes. 

“Because you’re being so nice to me,” you murmur.

Jack lets out a shaky breath, chest tight. He presses his forehead to your bare stomach, arms tightening around your waist.

“God, you have no idea,” he says, muffled, “what I want to do to you.”

Then he’s slowly kissing up your chest, lips dragging languidly, following the dip between your ribs, the rise of your sternum, the hollow at the base of your throat—pausing, breathing, letting himself feel the shape of you with his mouth like you’re a language he’s only just starting to learn.

One hand drifts up to your face, fingers brushing tenderly through your hair, tucking it back with a care so gentle it makes your breath hitch. He tilts your chin slightly, and his mouth finds just below your jaw, warm and soft and deliberate. He lingers there, just for a moment, committing the cadence of your pulse to memory. Then your jaw. The corner of your mouth. The faintest brush of his lips, hesitant and full of awe—unsure whether kissing you is a right or a privilege.

And then he is kissing you. Fully. Deeply.

Like it’s the first time all over again.

Like he can’t quite believe you’re real, and even less that you’re his.

“I swear to God, I could die like this,” he breathes. “I could live like this. Please let me live like this.”

And you feel it, all of it. In his hands, in his voice, in the way his body fits against yours like it was made to be there.

You pull him in closer. There’s no space left between you, but it’s still not fucking enough. Not until his body is pressed to yours, bare and burning, skin to skin, and the sound he makes when he slides home is a choked-off groan that you feel in your ribs.

Your name slips from his lips like a prayer.

His movements are slow—agonizingly slow—like he’s not trying to fuck you, he’s just trying to stay inside this moment as long as he can.

His mouth finds yours again, and he kisses—soft and shaking and so full of love it leaves you breathless. He murmurs against your lips, praise and want and desperation all tangled together.

“So good,” he breathes. “So perfect for me. You’re mine. Say it again.”

Your eyes are damp, lips parted, breath catching with every push of his hips.

You cup his face, grounding him to you, and whisper, “I’m yours,” more certain this time.

Not a confession. A confirmation.

Jack groans softly, forehead dropping to press against yours like he’s trying to soak in the words, let them burn themselves into his bones. His hand cups your face, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, eyes flicking down to your lips as if he's still trying to process that you said it. That you mean it. That he gets to have this. Have you.

He kisses you again, slower this time. Deeper, with a quiet desperation. The kind of kiss that makes your chest ache. Like he’s trying to tell you all the things he doesn’t know how to say. Like he’s memorizing you molecule by molecule. 

And still, he doesn’t rush.

He shifts, just enough to press further into you, his body cradling yours like he was built for it. Like there’s nowhere else on Earth he could possibly belong. His hands move over you with care—palms dragging down your sides, fingers tracing every dip and rise of your body as though mapping something sacred.

“You feel like home,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. His voice sounds broken around the edges, like it’s unraveling under the weight of how much he means it.

You tilt your chin up to kiss him again, gentler now, your fingertips skimming through his hair, down the strong line of his back. 

The roll of his hips is unhurried, worshipping rather than commanding, and your breath catches on a soft gasp that he kisses off your lips. Each motion drags sparks across your nerves, and every one of them is lit by the way he looks at you. 

Like you’re something miraculous.

“I’ve never—” he breathes against your cheek, like the words are betraying him by coming out at all. “—never wanted anything like I want you.”

He’s trembling a little now too. Not from nerves. Overwhelmed in the way only someone completely, irrevocably in love can be.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his, bringing one hand to rest against your chest. Right over your heartbeat. And then you echo his words from earlier back to him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you feel him break open just a little more.

His mouth dips lower again, dragging a trail of kisses down your neck, across your collarbone. He presses his lips to the space just above your heart like he’s trying to seal your promise inside of him. His hands, ever careful, move with intention—cradling your body, anchoring your breath to his, grounding you both in the kind of intimacy that’s so deep it feels like silence.

And when you come—quiet, breathless, your whole body curling toward him—Jack holds you like he’s cradling something holy. Like he’s never known anything more divine. He follows not long after, his body shaking with the force of it, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.

Afterward, he doesn’t roll away. He doesn’t loosen his hold.

He just stays there. Wrapped around you. One hand pressed flat to your spine, the other curled protectively over your waist, lips brushing lazy kisses into your hair as your breaths slowly begin to sync again.

“Still mine?” he murmurs, voice warm and quiet and nearly drowsy.

You nuzzle into the curve of his neck. “Always.”

Jack hums, eyes fluttering closed. You feel the smile against your temple.

“Good,” he whispers. “That’s all I’ll ever need.”

You’ll fall asleep again soon, he knows. You always do. But Jack stays awake.

Just for a while.

Just to keep looking at you like this.

Because in another life, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten to have you. Maybe someone else would’ve held you like this. But he’s got you now. And no amount of battlefield trauma, or paperwork, or middle-of-the-night penguin debates is ever going to make him take that for granted.

He’s tired.

But he’s yours.

[ghost-town-story]

FebruarOC Day 14: Nymar

(Combining with the ockissweek prompt "rain")

The change in weather happened gradually. First was the wind, as it picked up from a steady breeze into surging gusts. The sails rippled and snapped against the changing air currents and Kess’s skirts whipped around her ankles, leaving stinging lines along her legs with every particularly violent gust.

Not long after she noticed the wind picking up, Kess saw clouds gathering on the horizon. White at first, they grew grey and dark as they sailed towards them, and Kess swore she could see the occasional flash of lightning within their depths.

“Storm’s coming.”

Kess startled and whirled around. Nymar grinned at her as he slid down the rigging to land on the railing. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he added, hopping to the deck next to her.

“It’s alright,” Kess said, turning her gaze back to the horizon. In her brief glance away, the distance between the clouds and the ship had been halved. “Does this mean we’re close to the Sea of Storms now?”

Nymar laughed. “We passed into the Sea of Storms a few hours ago,” he explained. “We just got lucky and got a grace period before the storm started. It happens sometimes.”

“Does Taz know?” Kess asked.

“Mhm.” Nymar leaned against the railing, looking so casual Kess might’ve thought they were sailing into a safe harbor, not the most dangerous waters known. “I took him belowdecks once the wind picked up and told him to lay down. With any luck, he’ll sleep through the worst of it.”

Kess winced in sympathy. Taz had only just gotten over being seasick on calm waters, and sailing into a storm wasn’t going to be good for him. “How long should it take for us to get through, do you think?” she asked.

“Depends,” Nymar shrugged. “For one, we don’t know if we’re trying to sail straight through, or if the place we’re looking for is somewhere in the middle of that storm. If we do end up going straight through, with a good wind it’ll be just a few hours.”

“And if we don’t get a good wind?”

Nymar gave her a wry smile. “Could be a couple days. But let’s hope not for Taz’s sake.”

Kess worried at her lower lip. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked. “Every sailor I’ve heard talk about the Sea of Storms has said even sailing near is courting death, and we’re trying to go through.”

Nymar snorted. “No offense dear, but no Aslerean sailor can hold a candle to a Catatian pirate. And though you do have a point and most pirates also avoid the Sea of Storms, there are three people who have successfully crossed it, several times each. My father, my sister, and me.” He counted each of them off on his fingers as he said them. “So, since you have both me and Nerissa here, I think we should fare alright, don’t you?”  

The wind howled across the deck, tangling in Kess’s skirts and bringing the dark clouds directly overhead. Overhead, the sails made a cracking sound. Nymar didn’t even flinch.

Kess reluctantly conceded his point. “I trust you,” she said. “It’s just… a little unnerving.”

“So was the Labyrinth,” Nymar pointed out. “So all you need to do is find that courage again.”

“Easier said than done,” Kess sighed.

Nymar gave her a sympathetic smile, but he was interrupted by a shout from one of the pirates in the rigging. “Stormborn!”

“Yo,” Nymar called back.

“Cap’n wants you at the helm with her before the storm hits,” the pirate yelled.

“Got it.” Nymar pushed himself off the railing, but faced Kess briefly. “Get belowdecks,” he said, lowering his voice. “You’ll be safer there, and I’m sure Taz will appreciate the company.”

“Okay,” Kess agreed, but she caught Nymar by the sleeve as he made to turn away. “Mar.”

“Hm?”

Kess tried to look as serious as she could. “Be careful.”

Nymar grinned, but when Kess didn’t waver, something in his face softened, going from cocky to caring. “I’ve done this before,” he said. “Plus, Taz would kill me if I did something stupid, if Issa didn’t get to me first.” He pulled her close to kiss her on the forehead. “But I’ll be extra careful just for you, okay?”

Kess closed her eyes and resisted the urge to cling close to him. “Okay.”

Nymar didn’t let go immediately, having none of Kess’s self-restraint as he tucked her hair behind her ear. Only after another call of “Stormborn!” did he let go, looking as reluctant as Kess felt. “Stay below,” he said. “I’ll come get you if anything happens.”

Kess nodded. Nymar shot her one last, reassuring grin before he turned and headed down the ship towards his sister. Kess watched him until the first few drops of rain splashed onto her face, encouraging her to heed his warnings and head for relative safety.

[l2bbocsstuff]

HAVE LOVE WILL TRAVEL

Another drabble from prompts I get on a Discord server I belong to.

Asami answered her cell phone on its third ring.  Opal was on the other end of the call and she blurted out, “Where the hell are you right now?  I tried the mansion but no one answered.”

“I’m never home on Sundays…at least I haven’t been since Korra’s down south.  I thought you knew that.”

“I guess I didn’t put two and two together, sorry!!  How long has she been gone?” Opal questioned.

“She’s been gone for two months and I’m going crazy without her.  She tells me all the time how much she misses me and I miss her too.  I mean we talk every second day but I’m just not sleeping well without her.  I just need to feel her next to me.  Plus, our anniversary is coming up and I don’t know if she’ll be home or not.  I feel like I’m losing it Ope.”

Asami knew that the confession she had just made would have Opal’s problem-solving skills kick into overdrive.  It did not take long for Opal to respond.

“Aren’t you the CEO of a multi-billion yuan company?”

“Yes, I am and that’s why I’m in the office right now.”

“And you’re missing your wife?”

“More than the three years she was gone.”

Asami could picture Opal raising one of her eyebrows as they spoke on the phone.  “Oh My Raava.  You’re the boss.  You’re allowed to say, ‘Fuck it’ and just leave the city to go see your wife you know.  I mean if I was you, I would book a first-class ticket to Harbour City right now and screw the consequences.  You have great people who work for you and they can take up the slack.  You did train them.”

Asami couldn’t argue with that.  “I so hate it when you’re right.”

“No, you don’t.  You love me!!!”

“Yeah, I guess I do.  Thanks for the pep talk.  I’ll book right now and I’ll send some emails to my team while I wait for the flight.  Thanks, Ope.  See you in a week.”

With that Opal and Asami hung up and Asami opened a travel site on her computer.  It took about fifteen minutes to get her flight and car booked.  The flight was leaving in three hours.  Plenty of time to get everything done.

___

Four hours later and in the air above the Mo Ce Sea, Asami was very glad for the tasty food she was being served by the cabin crew.  She hadn’t eaten anything since the bagel she had before she left for the office.  She could hear Korra in her head saying that she shouldn’t skip meals.  Asami smiled to herself and began to read the in-flight magazine.  She blushed because it was the newest edition of “Life in RC” and she was on the cover.  The story was about the new 3D printing machines that Future Industries had designed for home use.  Asami continued to peruse the magazine until the aircraft's captain came on the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Harbour City.  We are encountering some turbulent weather so it might get a bit bumpy.  We should be on the ground and at the terminal in a little under thirty minutes.”

Asami put the magazine back into its proper place and tightened her seatbelt.  Although the landing was a little choppy, she was relieved and grabbed her carry-on luggage from the overhead bin.  After thanking the crew, she stepped out of the aircraft and headed directly to the car rental place.  Asami knew that winters in the Southern Water Tribe could be wicked so a top-of-the-line Satomobile vehicle with all the bells and whistles was what she had booked.  As she got to the counter, the attendant was smiling.  He began, “Hi, I’m Kasen.  Are you here to pick up a vehicle?”

“Nice to meet you Kasen and yes, I’m here to pick up the SUV I booked.”

“Name?”

“Asami Sato.  I booked a new Scorpion XL this morning online.”

“Yes, ma’am.  I see the reservation right here.  I’m glad you picked this vehicle because the weather yesterday was pretty horrendous.  There were whiteout conditions in the town; subsequently, the roads were impassable.  With this machine, you will have no problems on the roads today.  May I please see your driver’s licence and credit card.”

Asami handed over what was asked for and was relieved that she wasn’t recognized this far south.  Once the transaction was complete, she walked out the front of the terminal and strode over to her ride.  She was very thankful for the heated seats and heated steering wheel.

As she drove through Harbour City along the waterfront she was amazed by the large chunks of ice washing up on the beach.  I guess it really was one helluva storm.

The trip to the Chief’s palace took about forty minutes and when she arrived, she was met at the door by the security staff.  Asami was escorted to the front door of the Chief’s living area.  She knocked.

She heard “Coming” from behind the door.  It was Korra’s voice.  Asami’s pulse began to race as she waited.  She was almost frantic.  The door was flung open and there stood the Avatar in all her glory.  Korra’s brow furrowed for a second and then a 1000-watt smile burst from her lips.

“Asami!!  What are you doing here?  I mean I love that you’re here but why.”

Asami’s voice came out as a squeak.  She pleaded, “I needed to see you.  I needed to hug you.  I needed to kiss you.”  The CEO’s eyes filled with tears. 

Korra lifted her hand and wiped the droplets away from her wife’s cheek.  Asami leaned in, embraced Korra and kissed her fiercely.  The relief she felt was almost overwhelming.  The couple's weeklong vacation brought them both the comfort and support they each needed.

[2025iceland]

Blog #2: The Bridge Between Continents

The itinerary for the trip postulates that the day we flew into the country was day one of the trip—May 19th, for reference—and that our visit to the Bridge Between Continents happened on day two—May 20th. But I think that’s stupid, especially because I stayed up for upwards of forty hours straight, and at that point time is dead and meaning has no meaning and everything completely blends together. Flying through multiple time zones creates a soul-sucking void in a person’s brain, and don’t think we had been off the plane for any more than three hours before we were floundering around in a spit of sand dividing two tectonic plates. It was like we were being tossed into a ravine of death as a sacrifice for Norse gods.

Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration but the point is that we were all exhausted. As we stumbled about like pathetic newborn lambs, I remember thinking in my state of absolute delirium that this was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen in my life.

Despite being absolutely delirious, I believe that this thought was perfectly rational, and I stand by the sentiment. It was so otherworldly. It was almost like visiting a different planet. On my previous trip to Iceland in 2021, my family and I never really strayed outside of Reykjavík, so while I got a taste of the unearthly landscape during the bus rides to and from Keflavík International Airport then, it was not until this recent trip that I was able to explore it more thoroughly. I agree with my poor sleep-deprived self that it was one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. What I do look back on regarding this particular excursion and cringe at, however, is my inability to take decent photographs. Not even Snapseed could save this one. What on god’s green earth is that angle? How was I capable of twisting my neck in such a way without my skull detaching from my spinal cord? These are questions that have no answers.

Anyways, regardless of my baby sheep behavior and my baby sheep levels of photography skills in the moment that I took that particular photo, the Bridge Between Continents is truly a fascinating place to visit. According to Iceland Travel, the Reykjanes Peninsula is located right on the Mid Atlantic Ridge, meaning that it sits directly on top of the ever-moving (albeit, slowly moving) Eurasian and North American tectonic plates (https://www.icelandtravel.is/attractions/bridge-between-continents/). There is a bridge overhead that you can stand on to look out across the rift in the land, and I’m not entirely sure how they keep that up to code since the tectonic plates are moving away from each other at a rate of a few centimeters every year, but it didn’t collapse while I was standing on it so it’s not my problem to worry about.

The landscape around the rift between the Eurasian and North American tectonic plates is desolate, yet oddly beautiful at the same time. It’s eerie, and it’s almost haunting, but maybe that’s what makes it so ethereal.

[wildbornsiren]

Weather the Storm | Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd/F!Reader.

Weather the Storm. Synopsis: In the middle of a thunderstorm, you get a visitor. But Bob’s not quite himself.  1,524 words Female/AFAB reader Warnings: ptsd, flashback, anxiety, nightmares. Angst with a happy/soft ending.  Notes: Thanks to @princessmisery666 for the beta and bunny bouncing. Many thanks to @therebeccaw​  for the moodboard. Likes are welcomed, comments and shares are so loved. Thank you so very much for reading. I appreciate it so much, and it means the most. 

The walls of your bedroom shake with the force of the thunderclap, the room illuminating briefly by the flash of lightning. You’re curled up under the blankets, cell phone clutched in hand trying desperately to ignore the storm raging around you. There’s a moment of silence, punctuated by heavy rain when you hear a much smaller bang coming from downstairs. Hesitantly you peer out from the edges of the comforter, straining your ears, when it comes again. Clutching a smaller blanket around your shoulders, using it as a makeshift hoodie, you leave the safety of your bedroom, and into the main part of your house. The sound comes again, realization settling in that someone is at your front door.

Your hand shakes, and you press your palm against the door, looking through the peephole. Biting back a gasp, you unlock the door, yanking it open. “Bob?”

The man blinks, slowly, eyes landing on your face. His hands tremble as he runs them through his hair, pushing the soaked locks away from his face. Water drips from his nose, his eyes red and swollen. A thin white-tee shirt clings to his frame, transparent from the rain, dark gray sweats waterlogged and low on his hips. He’s barefoot, his watch on the wrong wrist, and his mouth is moving, voice too soft to make out any of the words.

You know better than to reach for him, watching him pace on your narrow porch. “Bob?” Thunderclaps, loud, directly overhead and he shrinks back. “Bobby?”

He blinks then, some clarity coming to those baby blue eyes. His tongue darts out to lick his lower lip, and he says your name.

“Come on in, sweetheart.” You offer your hand, and he takes it. He follows you through the door. “Do you remember why you’re here?”

He shakes his head, trying in vain to wipe the water from his glasses with his wet shirt. You take them from him, using your tank top to dry them, and hand them back over. “Do you even know where you are Bobby?”

“With you.” He says softly. “I’m with you.”

“Yes, but why are you here?” He shakes his head, flinging water everywhere. “Come on, let’s get you into something dry at least.” You turn, heading back to the bedroom. There’s a box tucked in your closet of clothes your ex had left behind, and while they may not fit well, they’d do for Bob in a pinch. Bob’s following behind you, holding on to the hem of your sleep shirt. You retrieve a pair of sweats and a shirt from the box, leading him to the bathroom, and pointing at the toilet. “Sit.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He says, staring down at the linoleum. He lifts his arms as you tug his shirt up off. You drape one towel over his head, handing him a second one, but he doesn’t take it. Brow furrowed you start to dry his chest and shoulders, wincing when you wipe over black and purple bruises and scrapes. He's more muscular than you expected, lean and long, his hands resting on his thighs. His breathing is short and shallow.

“How’d you get these?” Gentle fingertips trace the edges of one of the bruises.

“We had to eject two days ago. It’s hell on the body.” His voice is thick, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I’ve been cleared. Can’t sleep.”

“You said that.” You place the towel on the counter, starting to dry his hair with the one on his head. “Still keyed up?”

His arms circle your waist, and he leans forward, his head resting against your torso. “I close my eyes and I can feel the flames, I can smell the smoke. We can’t eject.” You feel his shoulders hitch, as he presses his face harder against your midsection. He flinches against you when another loud clap of thunder rattles the walls. “It sounds like the engine blowing.” He hiccups, “she did everything right, everything. We still lost it. What if something else went bad.” 

“You’re safe here.” Gently, you take his arm, bringing his hand to your chest, resting it over your heart. “Yes, things went bad, but you’re here now.” You press his hand a bit firmer to your chest. “The nightmares, the thoughts, they aren’t real. This is real. I’m real. You’re here, and you’re safe.”

He nods, and you can feel the wet spot on your shirt from his tears. “You’re a safe place.”

“I’ve got you.” Something in your chest twists. Your friendship with him was still so new, the two of you connecting just a few months before. You had fallen into an easy pattern of weekend movie marathons and exhausting every option on the local Thai take out menu.

Sure, his shy smile and unrestrained laugh sent butterflies spiraling in your stomach. How when you got sleepy but refused to turn the movie off, he’d pull you close, one arm over your shoulder, letting you settle against his chest, the slow brush of his fingertips against your arm—and how after you said goodnight the ghost of his touch lingered. It was an easy friendship.

He sighs, some of the tension easing out of his frame. “Feels good.” He murmurs. You realize then that you had been skimming your nails up and down his back, across his shoulders.

“Here,” you hand him the shirt. “Put this on and then get out of the wet pants. I’ll be right outside.” You manage to untangle yourself from his arms and step toward the door.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t go.” He’s watching you and he looks so goddamn lost. “Please.”

Instead, you keep your back turned to him. You can hear him getting out of the wet sweats and twin thumps as he drops the wet clothing into the bathtub. His arms are around you once more, pulling you to his chest. He molds himself to your back, his chin resting on the top of your head. He’s starting to warm up, though there’s still a tremble to his hands.

“Do you want to lay down?” You can feel his heart racing against your back. “Watch a movie or something?”

“If I lay down, I’ll close my eyes, if I close my eyes…”

“We’ll watch a movie.” You make the choice for him. “Come on Bobby.” You lead him back through the house, his hand tight on yours, and you find yourself marveling at how well they fit together. His fingers lace with yours and you rub the back of his hand with your thumb. The storm is still going strong, though less boisterous than before. He lets go when you sit on the end of the couch. “Come on,” you pat the spot next to you.

He stands there for a few minutes, before his hands land on your knees. Gently, he’s putting your legs on the cushion, and you shift so your back is resting against the arm of the couch. He crawls onto the couch with you, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, his head resting on your stomach. Your fingers card through his damp hair, and he rumbles softly, the vibrations in his chest rolling through you. His arms slide behind you, hands warm on your back.

“Your phone is ringing.” He murmurs.

You glance down your body, and while his gaze is locked on the television, his eyes are heavy. His words are softened by the low drawl of an accent, and his breathing has finally leveled out.

You manage to snag your phone off the coffee table, Bob’s number flashing across the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey, is this—” the voice on the other end asks your name. In the background you can hear two more people arguing.

“Yeah, why are you calling from Bob’s phone?”

“Is he with you?” There’s worry in the raspy baritone. “He’s not where he’s supposed to be, and he left his phone.”

“He’s here.” You cut in, “He’s here with me.”

The relief is tangible, coming over the phone in waves. You hear the man call to the people in the background that Bob’s been located. “How is he?”

“He had a nightmare.” You glance at Bob once more, his eyes are closed, his breathing deep and slow. There are flickers of emotion on his face, but he seems restful. “I don’t even know how he got here, he doesn’t have shoes or his wallet.” You clear your throat.

“Text your address. One of us can come get him.”

“Can you wait until morning?”

“You sure?” the man asks.

“He’s sleeping.”

The man on the other end of the line chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Leave him there. One of us will come in the morning.” There’s a pause, “Thank you, for taking care of him.” Another pause, “thank you isn’t enough really.”

“I’m glad I could be what he needed.” You say. You let him know your address before hanging up. A second rumble draws your attention from the movie, and you glance at the man draped on top of you. Bob’s snoring, his face soft and relaxed, his body heavy against yours.  ------------------- Tagging in: @writercole @shadeds-library @iloveprettyboysblog @ratcatcher2world @callsign-phoenix @callsign-fox @hoe-on-the-range @evansrogerskitten @topguncortez @lt-natrace @therebeccaw @cowboybarbie @yespolkadotkitty @green-socks @mayhem24-7forever  @jostystyles @a-reader-and-a-writer @hederasgarden @rhettabbotts @mandylove1000 @butaneandthebeast @princessphilly​

[kinok0s-writings]

Something I wrote for @vex-bittys, happy valentine's day <3

A Tale of Two Corals

The welcoming sun hung overhead in a cloudy sky, letting its warm rays hold any living being with tender caresses, the breeze running through treetops accompanied the beams of light with a passive coolness to make sure no one got too warm, the two working in rare balance to make such an important day perfect. It was a day of blooming spring, barren branches growing blooms on their limbs and once hibernating creatures awakening, even the migrating birds have begun their trip home as winter was melting away about as fast as the ice seeped into the earth as water. A place where many could see these steady changes were in a park just by a large town, -it was still too small to be declared a city, a respected place that was made up of a decently thick forest altered slightly with added benches, trash bins, and upkept dirt paths. It was a piece of land where many would go to get as close to near raw nature as peacefully possible without having to go far, but it was also a place where wild animals, even bitties, could stay without much threat of deforestation or being hunted down. The paths were scarce, not traversing through the entire forest like a broken web, and not many diverged far away from them. However, just because it didn't have threats that the untouched pieces of the wilderness had doesn't mean surviving was easy, even if so though it was home, at least to a coral bitty who grew up as a hatchling here. He was currently occupied with rummaging through his burrow almost frantically, looking through his hoard of trinkets he took from those who ‘no longer needed them’ and collected throughout his life within the vast woodlands, purpose in his every movement. The coral snake lamia lived under the roots of a tree close to one of the aforementioned trails,- one that wasn’t often used by the humans and monsters that ventured through, just as he liked it. It kept him away from others, (so what if he was alone, it's not like he was lonely or anything, and if things went his way, he wouldn't be after today), and it may be a bit on the small side, but it was easily defendable and hidden from anything he didn't want to take on in battle. Though it wasn’t super hidden he supposed, for if it was he wouldn’t have met Carnel that night so long ago, just recalling the memory of meeting the other coral made his bones get warmer, -the sun must have directed its rays directly upon him again.

It was another day spent gathering food for the night, light still occupying the land as he slithered down his own paths through the rest of the forest, his movements stealthy and on edge as he expended his reserved energy. Often he would sleep most of the day to figuratively charge himself up and hunt for leftover litter some disrespectful traveler has tossed to the side, for unless he was desperate he never had the energy to hunt live prey, especially during winter when he's at his most sluggish. The chill often irritated him and made him much more grouchy, but his mood lately hasn't been as bad as it typically is during the season, - specifically with how annoying it's been this year; how can he be grouchy though when he managed to come across a bag of barely touched popato chisps? It’s been strange, every now and then he’ll come across some manufactured food left behind as if waiting just for him, and he was very skeptical at first, but nothing was wrong with it anything left behind at the bench it always seemed to be around. It wasn’t altered, there was no trap set up, the food was just simply left there without regard, and who was he to deny such careless abandon? Looking back, he should have probably asked more questions, like why had no other critters gone after the food, why was it barely touched, and why was it always tucked in a spot he could find it? He could feel excitement at the weight of the bag tucked under his arm, the dead grass parting easily as he sped through it the short distance to his home, declaring his hunt over. The sun had by then stooped low enough that the skies were painted in dark violet hues fighting with amber clouds like spilled ink, a battle so bright it put the earthen ground through a filter, a breathtaking view if one would actually stop to admire it. The forest was winding itself down, beings getting ready to spend the last hours of daylight exploring or hunting for food just as the coral had, some even tucking themselves into an early slumber, meanwhile the more nocturnal had begun to stir, awakening to begin their nightly routines. Most visitors have returned to the safety of their homes around these times, but a human woman and her bitty, a coral like him, had begun taking his path through the trees nowadays, making him change the routine he had gotten so used to. Instead of lounging in the last rays the sun would give him before nightfall and enjoying his meal he's forced to return to his home early lest he be seen and given annoying pity for being a wild bitty; it wasn’t like seeing the pair made him envious or anything, no, just the thought made him sick. The lamia huffed and pushed away any thoughts that felt laced with things he refused to touch as he maneuvered his body down one of the many entrances to his burrow, carefully pulled the bag of chisps under the roots, only to discover another already there. Immediately defensive, clasping his meal with clawed phalanges he released a warning hiss, moving away from the entrance to give the intruder a clear path of escape, before his eye lights registered what, or who, he was looking at. It was the bitty that made him change his routine, the one that came through with that woman, and his sudden presence must have taken the other by surprise, for it took the coral a full second to hiss back instinctively before quickly raising his hands as if he just remembered something.

“hey wait, calm down, i ain’t gonna touch nuthin’, didn’ realize this is yer place.”

He was skeptical, eyeing the offender, before slowly situating himself across the other, -putting his body in between the other and his stash just in case, the underground much cooler than the surface still being warmed by the last of the sunrays. The silence was thick, but the rustling of the aluminum bag eventually cut through it, causing most of the tension dissipate as he visibly loosened his grip after sizing the coral up, deciding the sudden company wasn't worth him putting off his sought after meal. It was probably after the two avoided looking at one another for several painstakingly long moments and a stomach slightly more full with eaten popato chisps that he decided to finally speak the other, voicing a question that was really bugging him.

“where’s the human? didja run away or somethin’?”

The look of disbelief he got in return was near chuckle worthy as the other shut that train of thought down fiercely, squishy the possibility like a berry.

“no. no, we were just doing some hide n seek rounds before we left, i jus seemed to end up choosin yer home as my spot for this round.”

The accent the other had made him think he was from deeper in town, it was much thicker than his own, and even though he wouldn't admit it anywhere besides his thoughts, it was actually kinda nice to listen to. He didn't exactly have much of an accent, for he himself had only picked up speech from the other bitties he had come across, a few had forgotten how to speak in their natural sound based tongue, so while they had been kept under his wing he had to learn. It wasn’t like he took care of them or anything, he just occasionally comes across some abandoned souls and puts it upon himself to male sure they don't die after their first night in these woods. It was usually done either by teaching them how to live in the woods eventually on their own or by taking them to the ends of the park where they can easily find the adoption center and get a different kind of help he can't offer. The wild coral eventually shrugged at the answer given and decided he could manage allowing the hiding bitty to stay here until he gets found, as long as he didn’t touch his things tucked behind him. He even set the bag down between them after several more moments had been sapped away like the warmth draining from the surrounding soil, -being replaced by a crispness an upcoming snowstorm could only bring. The chisps now subtly open in a way that broadly showed he didn’t care if the other took a few even as he continued to eat, both later on getting lost in hushed conversation as they got used to being in the burrow for one together.

His human found him shortly later that night, but it was far from the last time they came across one another, after that point meeting up at the closest bench to interact more often, until eventually it became a near every day event; it became so frequent it had become routine to sit in the grass and soak in the sun until discovered by the other. At first he only humored the idea as long as he got some food out of it, but eventually he got too absorbed in the times they spent together he forgot to even eat whatever was brought, -eventually being saved for a morning meal instead. They progressively became friends, and now the coral wanted them to be more, so much more. He’s grown to trust Carnel with things he wouldn’t trust himself with, feelings that he wasn’t fond of voicing, and in return for that trust he received no judgement, just support they shared between each other wordlessly. Many times during their interactions they found the setting sun to not be warm enough, or grown bored with their meeting spot and shared sights that made them understand the beauties of each others worlds, and they don’t talk about how nice it feels when the tips of their tails seemed to intertwine with minds of their own. The colors of the sunsets always seemed to be unique, a symbol of the small adventures they always went on with the occasional help of Carnel's human. Even now the time spent apart felt to stretch far too long, and today he wants to voice his feelings in a way he can trust himself to not mess it up, -words can just be too hard sometimes. A distracted hiss left his fangs as he scoured his collection, the sun rays moving with time tugging their leash and encouraging him to keep note of the time he spent searching through each object of meaning, needing one that was as perfect as the day. Suddenly, a glint of red caught his eye lights and he isolated it from everything else, finding the perfect thing, excitedly grabbing it with a plan thrusted into his mind while he left to wait at their spot; moments now filled with such soul-fluttering anticipation he couldn’t pause to let doubt inject its venom into his thoughts. The item alone was possibly mate worthy, but he knew he could make it perfect it by braiding some string and combine it with the spare material he had, objects luckily not left behind despite in his scatterbrained thoughts fueled with purpose. As the lamia nearly buried himself into the green blades of grass growing throughout the forest floor he quickly he occupied himself with the daunting task at hand, trying to calm his shaking hands to make a straight stitching, adrenaline contradicting his need to be precise.

The wild-borne bitty sighed, grabbing the hand of the coral following him when he kept lagging behind with his much too cautious movements, ignoring how nice their phalanges felt entangled together like puzzle pieces, or the fact that he didn’t try to pull away.

“it’s not that much further, but if you keep being so slow the sun will have left before we get a chance to see it. you’re lucky i don’t just carry you.”

It was an empty threat, and neither of them would have actually minded if he had decided to do so, but they also knew he was right, timing things with the sun was always a fickle thing if one got as distracted as they did. Just as he said, it didn’t take them much longer to get to their destination, a small pond hidden away far from any path, so hidden in fact only an inhabitant of these woods would know how to come across it. Despite his claims of missing it, they arrived just in time to watch the changing of vibrant oranges, yellows, and pinks as the colors melted together like they were watching entertained paint strokes on canvas be infiltrated by spilt water. The scene melting away was reflected and framed by the shadows of overhanging tree branches, leaves giving the darkening border more character as fireflies begun flickering about. The air seemed to taste sweeter in those moments, hints of dream-like appeal noticeable in the air as if glitter in the dust, and as the sun set and the glassy water was splattered with awakening stars. It was enough to steal one's breath away, as the stars above tried to shine brighter than the disappearing sun, while the stars around them danced to an inaudible song, it was a rare moment where it felt as if nothing could go wrong. Amidst the forest ambience composed of the songs and gossip of hidden creatures, an indecisive voice took the moment for courage, taking advantage of how it seemed the forest let them in upon a secret that they now shared only amongst themselves.

“do ya… do ya think livin’ with ma ‘n i would be so bad? we can visit here every day if ya want, but we could make the journey together, ya know?”

The ambience seemed to grow ever more quiet, as if the weight of the spoken words were not only felt between the two lamias, a stone thrown amongst the pond that created powerful ripples through their surroundings. It was such a large thought, one so looming with a shadow so thick, to leave all he’s known his entire life, it intimidated him so much that not even the unspoken squeeze of their still connected hands could ground him enough to choose his words any differently. His eye lights pulled away from the enchanting scene in front of them and instead took in the rivaling coral next to him, the crimson eye lights catching their favorite rubies with a decision behind them.

“how bout this? the day we become mates is the day i’ll go home with you to your burrow. seems to me you’re just gonna have to suck it up and keep visiting me.”

The hesitancy was set in his words, yes, but it was but a mere weed hidden in the middle of a rosebush, overshadowed by the promise lacing his decision as if ice preserving a flower, and they both could see the blossoming bud connecting them. Soon they explored the edges of the pond, spending their time together as much as they could before they inevitably had to go back so the coral and his human could return to their home, but in the midst of that exploration he had found something.

Footsteps were audible in the distance, coming down his path with quickened steps, as if the owner was were fueled with excited adrenaline, and he knew exactly who they belonged to -it was a hidden fact he could tell her footfalls amongst all the others after good year and a half of visits to his neck of the woods. Ironically, it was only until he could see those pretty red rubies he's grown to love could he feel doubt sink its fangs into him, and he began to fret, fiddling with his phalanges. What if it turned out it wasn’t as perfect as he thought, what if the meaning had been forgotten or not as important to him? It was now that he could notice the small flaws to his stitching with the beginner level skills, and the strings he had hand woven holding it all in place wasn’t exactly the best to use as thread, but it wasn’t like he had much to work with. He hid it the crafted object into his coils while the human smiled at him as a usual greeting, but today she seemed to have a knowing expression etched into her face, (what did she know?), especially as she let Carnel slip off her arm and to his side. His soul thrummed between his ribs as he held up a hand to stop whatever the coral was going to stay and looked to the sky, his crafting had helped time pass by him like a babbling stream, the sun now nearly setting. Moments of confused silence was held between the three before the colors began to bleed out, a sight the two have stayed together to watch nearly every day, but the warmth of the sun held a tenderness this upcoming night that could only be rivaled with the softness in his eye lights. With a 'now or never' aura coming off of him he gazed fondly at his visitor’s face, a paradoxically nervous yet confident smile on display as he reached into his coils to hand over the gift with a bated breath.

The coral laughed, nearly doubled over as he watched his host’s poor balancing attempt fail in nearly slow motion, the pieces of shiny rocks, soft blankets, and small trinkets scattering themselves away from the exasperated lamia’s arms. The other probably wouldn't have admitted it, but the noise of his laughter seemed to have ebbed the other’s displeasure and instead he couldn’t stop the grin crossing his skull, -a huff leaving his mouth as he looked away to try and hide it.

“ya know, ya try to carry all this at once, see if ya will be laughin’ then! lucky i’m even showin ya any of my stuff.”

The words held a slight playfulness he could pick up on, even as he scoffed while he began cleaning up the mess, the thought of how honored the wild lamia actually was instead hidden by teasing as he helped gather everything. Especially teasing as he proceeded to show off how easily he balanced things on his arms and tail, light hearted smugness on his expression as he then chuckled as he carefully began moving with the objects, it wasn't as if he was trying to impress him of anything.

“i dunno, i still seem to be laughin’ here, ya sure yer not just clumsy?”

The hand-made satchel seemed to fit perfectly around the other’s torso, with a deceivingly spacious capacity thanks to a little magick, and a beautiful red gem stitched in to be used as the latch, a piece of carnelian pulled from some lost jewelry. The warmth of spring was against his bones again, making him flush, pride swelling within his marrow as the gift was examined with such a pleased expression. It was enough to give him that extra bit of courage that while the other was fawning over the handmade item, he finally spoke up with a hopeful brightness to his eye lights, the tip of their tails curling around each other. It was suddenly as if they were the only two souls in the woods at that moment, the forest around them seemed to grow silent with the anticipation of the words about to leave his mouth with hushed excitement, time seeming to slow as the moment was being burned into their story. Not a creature dared to make a sound, the breeze held the leaves silent, and the sunset began to grow dimmer until it seemed like the remaining light danced within the gem given to the one so rightfully named after it.

“will you be my mate?”

[etherrreal]

“when you pass out at practice”

Pairing: tsukishima x reader ; kyotani x reader ; aone x reader Genre: comfort-fluff ; drabbles & headcanons Summary: the reader hasn’t been taking care of herself which leads to her passing out at practice  Word Count: 2295 Warnings: fainting, or passing out, from sleep deprivation/not eating/heat exhaustion, some explicit language because i’m an adult A/N: thanks for the fun request! i took a little bit of artistic liberties with the scenario to keep it from being so repetitive so I hope you don’t mind! -Luna

it was rare that you had a beautiful sunny day on a weekend with no chores to attend to or work to complete

so when your boyfriend Tsukishima texted you and asked you to come join him for casual volleyball practice outside, you decided to take him up on that opportunity

however, not even a cap and some cold water could stave off heat exhaustion

Despite it being 95°F and so humid that the air feels thick when you breathe, it is a beautiful day outside. The sky is completely clear of clouds; the sun is shining directly on you as you, your boyfriend, and Yamaguchi head out to practice at the open field nearby Karasuno. The change of scenery was refreshing and even with it feeling just as hot as it usually does inside the school gym, the occasional breeze and lack of sweaty stench was a huge welcomed change. 

There’s very little shade provided by the trees, but you lay out a small blanket under the nearest one anyway. You become the bag and bottle keeper when Tsukishima and Yamaguchi hand you their items, your boyfriend dropping it haphazardly onto the blanket while Yamaguchi delicately places it down with a ‘thank you.’ 

You usually don’t get to see Tsukishima practice, seeing as his normal practices run until the dead of night, so it was fun watching them set and serve the ball back and forth. When the occasional ball lands by your feet, you get the chance to enjoy setting it back to them, even if it often falls short or misses the target completely. 

“Thank god you’re not on our team,” Tsukishima teases, as he watches the ball you set fall 6 feet away from him.

“Yeah, because I’d kick your ass. I know I’m a threat, and you should fear me,” you retort sarcastically. Before he turns away to retrieve the ball, you see him crack a small smile at your tomfoolery. 

However, after a few hours of getting up and down repeatedly to send the balls back under the beating sun, your head starts to pound. Your body is radiating so much heat it makes you want to remove your skin. You know it’s just a matter of time before you start feeling physically ill, as well. You loosen your cap and drink some cold water in hopes that it will relieve some of the tension, but you just feel the same.

You decide to lay down on the blanket, cap laid over your face to block out the sun. You don’t know if you passed out or if you simply tuned out everything around you for a bit, but you jump when you suddenly feel something wet and cold touching your neck.

You reach up to swat it away, thinking it was a bug when you hear Tsukishima’s voice. “Stop that. I’m trying to help you, dummy.” 

Relief washed over you to know that it wasn’t a beetle crawling up your neck but instead your stoic boyfriend pressing his plastic water bottle there to cool you down.

“Yamaguchi thought you died,” he brought up suddenly. “He actually ran to the store to get some more water after I told him to stop overreacting.”

You chuckle, picturing Yamaguchi already mourning over your body just because you were lying down with a cap over your face. “It’s sweet that he cares though, in his own weird way.”

Suddenly, the sky and Tsukishima’s crouching figure are in full view as he flicks the hat off of your face, feeling annoyed that you praised his friend and not him. “What do you think I’m doing, huh?” 

“Aww, do you want me to tell you how you’re the bestest, sweetest, most handsome boyfriend I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing, and that I’m so grateful that you’ve graced me with your help?” you whine in a sarcastic tone, making grabby hands at the tall blond hovering over you.

He slaps your hands away, knowing that if you get your hands on him, you’d squeeze his cheeks and ruffle his hair like you always do. “Well, that’s the last time I ever take care of you.” 

You know he doesn’t mean it and that, if you were ever in some form of peril, he would casually stroll rush to your rescue to make sure you’re okay. You hope that when you look up at him he can see how much you appreciate his efforts.

“Thank you, Kei,” you say sincerely.

“Yeah, whatever.” He sounds dismissive, but you can tell by the scrunched eyebrows and soft look in his eyes as he gazes down at you how much he worries about your well-being, and you’re genuinely grateful to have him be your unofficial nurse. 

you heard from some classmates that your math teacher was seen printing out math quizzes

*cue studious panic*

 you decided to completely skip lunch and use that time in the library to hit the books hard

your stomach was rumbling, your head was hurting, and your vision would become spotty if you stood up too quickly

you completed your quiz at the end of the day, but by then, you were starving and ready to get something to eat

in your panic, you forgot that you were supposed to meet kyotani after school so you could force him to go to practice that day (or else Iwaizumi would have your ass)

he heard your stomach make monstrous noises and when you let him know you hadn’t eaten, he looked more upset than usual to see you not taking care of yourself

“Let’s skip practice and get some food,” he suggests.

“What? So you can skip out on one of the few practices you go to? Absolutely not!” you reprimand.

“But you need to eat.”

“Look at you being a sweet boyfriend who cares,” you tease, watching him roll his eyes like he’s annoyed, but the pink hue dusting his cheeks says otherwise. “I’ll be fine. I should have an extra granola bar in my bag somewhere.” 

"Whatever, if you say so." He turns his body diagonally, a gesture you know means 'walk with me.' Kyotani has never been keen on PDA, but one thing you have noticed is that he prefers for you to walk directly by his side at all times. To others, it may look like he’s uninterested in you, but you can tell by how often his arm brushes yours that it’s his way of showing affection. 

You stroll across campus together, enjoying a quiet conversation with Kyotani about your day thus far. It doesn’t take long for you to reach the gym entrance, already hearing the balls slamming against the ground inside. You both switch out your shoes before walking in, him going to join his teammates and you finding a seat on the sidelines, seeing Iwaizumi give you a thumbs up for your job well done. 

You take a moment to search through your bag for that granola bar you mentioned earlier. After sifting through books, loose notes, and forgotten pencils and pens, you realize you have no snack to tide you over until the end of practice. 

The market is just down the road. I could probably go pick something up and be back quickly.

You wave Iwaizumi over, figuring you’ll tell him your plans while Kyotani is distracted so he won’t follow you out. You see his back turned to you as Oikawa speaks to the rest of the team, gesturing wildly with a volleyball in hand. 

As Iwaizumi gets closer, you stand up and immediately begin to sway. Your vision grows spotted, and your head feels like it’s floating. 

You hear Kyotani yell out your name before everything goes black.

When you wake up, the lights are beaming overhead as you lay in some sort of bed. Once you’re coherent enough, you sit up, looking around to see that you’re in the school nurse’s office. You pick up your hand to hold your still aching head when you notice a very angry Kyotani attached to it, already glaring at you.

Your mouth opens and closes repeatedly, not quite knowing what to say after you just passed out in the middle of practice.

"I told you that we should've gotten something to eat," he starts, growling out each word.

You shrink into yourself, feeling embarrassed that you've upset him and couldn’t even take care of yourself properly. "I'm sorry, Kentaro.”

He notices you plucking the lint off your shirt to avoid direct eye contact with him. His eyes close as he collects himself, realizing that now’s not the time to lecture you for something you couldn’t have predicted.

He sighs, standing up slightly to lean over your slumped figure, laying a kiss on your temple. He mumbles a quiet apology against your skin, feeling bad for snapping at you when he should’ve been more kind. He’s working on that, slowly but surely.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he says, holding your hand while you stand slowly from the bed. You wobble slightly, Kyotani quickly wrapping his arm around your waist to stabilize you. You give him a nod when you’re firmly on your two feet.

“From now on, if you’re hungry, tell me.”

You agreed reluctantly, not exactly wanting him to worry so much but knowing he wouldn’t let you leave without your compliance. 

From then on, he always makes sure to check on you to check if you've eaten or if you need one of the many granola bars he now carries, and while sometimes it's annoying to have him acting like a mother hen, it's also very heartwarming to know that he cares about you that much. Not to mention, he’s saved your ass many times when you have to study overtime for another intense math quiz. 

the end of the semester was coming to a close and you were scrambling to get everything done on time

there weren't enough hours in the day to study for finals, finish projects, complete homework, and also take care of your human needs, like eating and sleeping

so, you just didn't sleep one night, opting to stay up with some caffeine to power through all of your work

at the beginning of the next day, you felt energetic and peppy, but as it went on, the sluggish feeling started to settle in

by the end, you were feeling absolutely exhausted and ready to drop at any moment

however, you still wanted to accompany Aone to practice that day, as it was your favorite part of your week

aone initially insisted that you head home without him, but he realized it might be safer to go with him after practice, just in case you fell asleep on the train

It feels like it takes ages, but eventually, practice begins to wind down, soreness seeping into each and every team member’s muscles after hours on their feet. A few of them are still practicing quick attacks with each other, but Aone is one more move away from passing out from exhaustion.

He walks over to you sitting on the sidelines, watching you take longer and longer between each blink. Yet, when he gets close enough, you still manage to give him a small smile that kicks his heart into overdrive, his face, no doubt, resembling a tomato because of the gesture.

He sits on the creaky folding chair beside you, taking gulps of his water to try to cool himself down. He almost chokes when he feels your head press up against his shoulder, hand resting on his forearm gently. Sitting still as a rock, he tries to take his mind off his cute partner cuddling up next to him.

"We should stop somewhere and pick up some food on the way to the train,” he suggests, doing his best to ignore the warmth filling his cheeks. “Do you want anything specific?"

You're silent beside him. At first, he thinks you're contemplating what to eat, seeing as you're very particular with your cravings. But when two minutes pass, and there's not even a peep from you, he looks down carefully to find you knocked out against his shoulder, face squished uncomfortably and mouth parting with each deep breath you take.

Aone never pictured this happening to him –mostly because he didn't think he'd ever have a partner who'd feel comfortable enough around him– so he didn't quite know where to go from here. He could wake you up to at least bring you home, but if this is the first time you've slept in over 24 hours, he didn't want to deprive you of more necessary sleep.

The only way Aone can think of bringing you home is to carry you all the way to the train station and... Well, that's as far as he manages to get, but future Aone will figure the rest out.

He asks Futakuchi to gather his things for him because he doesn't want to risk waking you. After some light teasing, he hands Aone his packed duffle and helps put on his jacket with minimal stirring from you.

Aone thanks his friend with a nod before turning to you and slipping his arms under you, one beneath your knees and the other behind your back. He freezes when you begin shifting around, but relaxes once you settle into him.

Aone waves at his team on the way out, with what movement he is allowed, and begins his trek to the train station nearby. 

His arms are aching after hours of practice, but it doesn’t matter, because you nuzzling into his neck with an adorable sigh gives him enough strength to carry you halfway across the country if he needs to. 

Written by: Luna

[neon-junkie]

Mornings on Kamino

Summary: Crosshair's two moods are: bastard, and needy. But his needy side only seems to come out in the mornings. Pairing: Crosshair x Reader Reader Description: Reader is gender-neutral. This fic does not include any descriptions of their appearance. Word count: 610 Tags: Established relationship, Cuddling, Fluff.

Notes: Bless @schlorbe​ for getting me hooked on what Crosshair’s morning voice would sound like ;-; I just had to write a little something for it hehe

It doesn't matter what time of day it is, Kamino is always the same: dark and gloomy, yet oddly peaceful. The waves continue to crash and turn outside, rain pattering against your large window, complimenting the storm brewing overhead. Your alarm hasn't yet gone off, but the time indicates that it's early; slightly too early to get up, but not early enough to go back to bed. With a sigh slipping from your lips, your head falls back onto the pillow, eyes slowly trailing over to check on your partner. Crosshair is sound asleep, breathing lightly, hands resting on his chest. He stirs when you gently touch him, moving a hand off his chest so you can curl up against him, but Crosshair wakes with another idea in mind. "Sorry," you whisper. "I didn't mean to wake you." "You didn't," Crosshair denies, and you know he's lying. He sleeps lighter than a feather, despite living and growing up on Kamino - Crosshair must be used to all that background noise, but even your presence is enough to wake him. Maybe him being a light sleeper has something to do with also being a soldier? For the worst reasons, unfortunately. He rolls over, grunting lightly as he shuffles down the bed. Crosshair lightly manhandles you into position, stretching your arm out so he can curl up to your chest. Oh, he's in one of those moods? He lets out a satisfied hum as his arm comes to rest around your waist, his forehead pressed just beneath your jawline, legs entwined together. "Comfortable?" you question as you coddle him. "Almost," Crosshair groans, and tilts his head up ever so slightly to speak directly to you. "You know what I want," he states in a rough, groggy morning voice, his tone raspier than usual. "Why don't you be polite and ask for it?" you suggest with a smile, kissing the top of his head playfully. Crosshair whines, and like the drama queen that he is, he even pretends to sob. The hand around your waist is removed, finding your own, and the bastard has the audacity to place your hand on top of his head, signalling what he's after. "C'mon, use your words," you softly reply. Matching Crosshair's stubbornness, you massage his scalp for a few seconds, as if to advertise what he could get if he simply asked for it. Another grumble can be heard against your chest, followed by Crosshair speaking up. "Please play with my hair," he both asks and demands. His morning voice alone is more than enough to entice you into giving him attention, but the manners? Perfect. Crosshair may be a bastard, but he does it politely. Your fingers get to work, ruffling up his silver locks as you begin massaging his scalp. He lets out what can only be described as a mix between a groan and a hum, an incoherent jumble of satisfied sounds. You smile, and your smile grows as Crosshair snuggles up to you even more, desperate to engulf himself into every single part of you. He's needy, touch-starved and desperate, and now that he has you, he's going to take everything he can get, and everything you have to offer. Slowly, Crosshair tilts his head up to place a kiss wherever he can reach, landing on your jawline. He mumbles a quiet "thank you," before moving his head back to the comfortable curve of your neck, enjoying the way that you're making him feel. The alarm is due to go off at any moment, but until then, you savour being in your partners company, enjoy this tender moment before getting up for work.

[iamthecomet]

Where I live, I'm on a couple acres of land, my grandparents' home has been here for around since around the 1950's or so, and was built in a sort of peculiar way, because my grandfather wanted to be able to see over the hills and valleys.

It's built like a barracks, partially chunked into a hill with a flat front and an equally flat roof.

But that's not the important part.

So my entire early childhood, and part of my adult life, I spent a lot of time/lived there, and it never felt "off" to me or any of my family members, yeah?

Well, jump forward to when we were moving out (still on the land) we were getting the new owners, family members, acquainted with the house/the property in general.

One of them had also spent a lot of time there when they were little, so they also felt... comfortable.

But it seems to be a common thread that anyone who didn't grow up there gets an almost sinister feeling that they're being watched.

In particular, there's this short hallway with a large hand-painted mural on it that my grandmother did as a memorial piece decades ago, but even that isn't what puts people off.

It's the studio.

If you're standing at the end of the hallway, no matter how bright the overhead light is, no matter how much light creeps in the window.

It feels dark and cold.

I say feels dark, because, well, it's hard to explain how a space can be bright and still so... weird.

Anyway, I've had people legitimately ask to leave after standing there in the hallway without any prior knowledge about this quirk of the home.

It scares them more than the basement or the attic there, and it's barely ten feet in length.

Meanwhile I was walking down that hallway daily for 4-5yrs after high school.

Also had a guy genuinely shiver saying the place was haunted, but it is what it is.

ooooh yes, my favorite! situational hauntings! That's wild. It's almost like the house (or ghost, or whatever) likes people who grew up there, but has its eye on people who didn't. Very strange. I swear there's one room in my parents' house that feels like that, but I only really felt it when I was younger--and all my friends did too. Young people never wanted to sleep in that room.

But adults are fine. I've slept in it as an adult and been fine.

I could, of course, chalk it up to an overactive teenage imagination. The wildest thing about my house is how much it lacks that particular feeling. I am very familiar with the feeling of standing in an old dark house and feeling like someone is standing behind you. It always happened to me in my parents' house--my whole life. It sometimes happened to me in various apartments and other living situations.

But this house? I can't recall ever feeling it. No hair on the back of my neck standing up as I bolt up the dark stairs, or go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Just a strange, complete, silence. A peaceful one. Fun house fact: Because my house was a parsonage, and there absolutely were funerals here. There are two, interesting, things this house has. One is a coffin door. It's just an extra door on the side of my house that leads directly into the dining room (which is open to the living room with a big cased opening). You could never get a coffin in the front door and around all the corners of the entry way into the living room, so there's a door there for ease of access. The other is that the only room in my entire house that has "fancy"casings around the windows and doorways is the living room. Most of my casings are simple, flat, nondescript. The ones in the living room are pretty. because, you know, funerals. but despite the funerals (or maybe because of them) this house is the chillest place I've ever lived and I do not understand it.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

#1: the proposal | plan b.

pairing: angel reyes x black!reader | chapter rating: 💙

total # of parts in series: 10

join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

I keep falling for boys and mistaking them for men

series sum: After several failed relationships, you decide that you’re over waiting for Mr. Right to come around and help start a family. In a drunken ramble, you ask your best friend if he’ll be your donor. You didn’t expect him to say yes. As you and Angel enter uncharted waters, you both realize neither of you fully thought the initial proposal through.

words: 1.8 K

What is it they say…hope breeds eternal misery.

Or, as Angel Reyes likes to say, “I don’t know why you’re wasting time on that asshole.”

Asshole is the nicest term you can dub your boyfriend--correction, your ex-boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

It’s strange how quickly two letters--a simple prefix--can change your life.

One minute, you’re joining your boyfriend and his family on a getaway to the beach. The next, you’re being kindly escorted out of a restaurant for tossing a drink in his face.

When you’d left Santo Padre Friday afternoon, you had a single thought in your mind. He’s finally going to propose. The nervous behavior, the talks about moving to a bigger apartment, him inviting you to a weekend getaway with his family.

How else would a rational person explain this behavior?

Well, according to Michael, all of those things do not add up to a proposal. They add up to “softening the blow."

As you sit on the curb waiting for your uber, with Michael's big splurge of the evening in hand--a bottle of Cabernet, you realize his explanation was complete bullshit. How is dragging you to Santa Monica for the weekend "softening the blow?" If he was going to break up with you, he could have done it in Santo Padre.

As you double-check the ETA on your uber, you remember.

Michael didn't drag you to Santa Monica to break up with you. He dragged you to Santa Monica to ask you to "take a break."

Apparently, there's a difference.

As Michael put it, with his birthday fast approaching, he'd had an epiphany. He needed time to "get out there" and "explore" his options.

"We're in our thirties," he'd explained. "We only have a few years left before we're expected to settle down, have kids. I think we should take this time to get everything out of our system, so by the time we come back together, we're ready to start that family you're always talking about."

The nervousness you'd seen the past two weeks? Had nothing to do with hiding a ring, or trying to find the perfect opportunity to pop the question. The nervousness was Michael trying to find the right time to ask you not to renew the lease of the apartment, you share, at the end of the month.

The talk about upgrading to a bigger apartment? Had nothing to do with having an extra room for the kid you've both talked about having. It was so that he could move in with his two best friends.

Michael’s epiphany left you in shock. You were caught between realizing the entire revelation wasn’t a complete joke and realizing you were expected to ride home with his family in the morning. The drink tossing didn’t come until Michael rubbed his hands together, a knowing smile sliding onto his face.

Taking your shocked silence as a lack of protest to his idea, Michael nodded over his shoulder. “You wanna head back up to the room...have some fun our last night together?”

The weight of Samantha--wait. No. Savanna...Sabrina? No, Salena.

The weight of Salena’s body presses Angel into the mattress. Her body is nearly directly on top of his, her face nuzzled into the warmth of his neck.

He’s not used to women sleeping over. Angel has one rule. He wants to sleep alone. Translation, be gone when he wakes in the morning.

That’s why, when he wakes to the sound of a slamming door, Angel is pissed.

His initial thought is that Salena let the door slam on her way out. The only problem is, Salena is still in bed with him--sleeping soundly. If she wasn’t, he would have been up able to react quicker. Because if it’s not Salena leaving, it means that someone is coming in.

“You need to go,” Angel mumbles as he manages to escape her grip.

Salena responds by rolling over and ignoring his request.

When he leaves his bedroom, Angel finds his entire house in darkness. His hand runs down his face as your voice fills the air.

"Ow--shit!" Your keys and purse fall to the floor as you bump into the coffee table.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

“What are you doing?” You counter the slurring of your speech causing Angel’s head to shake. “...standing in the dark like a fucking creep.”

“Are you drunk?”

Your head shakes. Even if half-asleep, Angel knows you’re not drunk. You’re hammered, at least by your standards. He’s known you long enough to realize you’re a lightweight. A two and a half-hour ride with a bottle of Cabernet meant you were well past your limit.

“And why are you back early--did you drive here?”

“No,” you scoff. “I took an uber obviously--”

A second trip into the coffee table silences the rest of your response.

“Alright, come on--” Angel takes your hand in his, preventing you from falling forward.

“I don’t need your help.” Yanking your hand free of his grip--with more force than necessary--you stumble backward. Between the late hour and his body still attempting to shake off its grogginess, the action is too fast for Angel to predict. “Or any man’s help for that matter...fucking men--always thinking they need to save me--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you--and fucking...fucking Michael--that piece of shit...” Despite your previous attempt to escape him, you turn on your heels causing Angel to bump into you. Instinctively, his hands find your waist. An innocent attempt to help maintain your balance. “--I said I don’t need help walking, Angel--”

“Clearly.” The smirk on his lips narrows your eyes.

The pathetic attempt of a shove you apply to his chest is enough to tip your already unsteady balance.

In his defense, Angel isn’t used to “rescuing” you from a drunk faceplant. Usually, the roles are reversed.

It may not be the smartest move, but it’s the quickest way to prevent another one of your escape attempts. Angel tightens his grip on your waist, pulling a small yelp from your lips as he lifts you off the ground throwing you over his shoulder.

The sudden shift in your posture blurs your vision--sending the room spinning. The rush of blood to your head causes your palm to come down hard in frustration against Angel’s back.

“Put me down…” Angel’s head shakes as your slurred speech trails off for a moment. Seizing the break in your resistance, he carries you across the darkened room towards the security of the sofa. “...what the hell are you doing in my house anyway?”

“This is my house.” Angel huffs as he lowers you onto the sofa. “If you get up, I’m not stopping you. I'm serious, I'll let you bust your ass this time.”

But moving from the sofa has already left your mind. Instead, your focus has drifted. Scanning the living room as Angel disappears. Despite his words, you're still not sure why you've ended up at his house and not yours.

“Here drink this,” Angel sighs as he returns. He hopes the glass of water will miraculously sober you up. Between failing to kick Salena out, and you showing up drunk at 3 in the morning, Angel is considering giving up women. At least for a few hours.

Angel’s steps come to a slow halt as he rounds the sofa to find you gone. Somehow, in the time it took him to fill a glass with water, you have slid down to the floor. Your back against the sofa, you’ve given up the impossible task of unfastening your heels. Instead, you’re tugging at them. Groans of frustration fill the air once the heels remain in place.

The shaky breaths and trembling of your fingers widen Angel’s eyes.

“Shit--are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” The shaking of your head only seems to push the tears out faster. The blurring of your vision makes the task at hand impossible. “I’m not crying.”

“My bad, you’re not crying,” Angel repeats, hopeful it’ll make the crying stop. Handling a crying woman is not his strongest suit. In fact, he tries to avoid crying women at all costs. He focuses on the easier task of removing your heels. He offers you an encouraging smile once he’s done. “See, you’re all good.”

“No, I’m not.” Reaching forward, you grab the nearest heel, launching it as hard as you can. “Michael got me these.”

You manage to grab the second heel before Angel can. You launch it in the same direction as the first.

“I’ve always hated those ugly fucking shoes.”

The second heel doesn’t land in the middle of the floor like its predecessor. Instead, it flies straight into Salena’s arm as she rounds the corner.

“Ow--what the fuck? Angel!”

The overhead light cuts on, temporarily blinding both you and Angel. When you open your eyes, you find a half-dressed Salena standing over you. Your discarded heel in her left hand, her narrowed eyes focused on you.

"So, this is why you wanted me to leave? Your girlfriend is home?"

"Neither of us is his girlfriend, sweetheart." you correct.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed ever again,” you clarify, your voice muffled against your palms. “Not until you wash your sheets.”

In the time it took to get Salena out of the house you’ve found that your body has begun to crash. The idea of laying down the only thought of your mind. That’s why the moment he’s settled alongside you on the floor, Angel’s shoulder becomes your pillow.

“Please don’t say I told you so.”

Passing up the opportunity to be right, is not in Angel’s nature. But one look at you, he’s biting his tongue.

“I never liked him.”

“You've never liked anyone I’ve dated,” you laugh quietly.

“That’s because you only date assholes.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Exactly.”

Angel's arm drapes around you, the gentle squeeze he gives bringing a weak smile to your lips.

“That’s it,” you sigh. “I’m done dating. Forever.”

“Dating is overrated,” Angel notes.

It’s a phrase Angel has told you nearly a million times over the years. Typically, after you’ve watched him ensnare yet another naive woman with his smile. You typically roll your eyes at Angel's mantra, but right now, you don’t even bother.

“I’m serious, if you see me even blinking at the same guy twice grab me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Angel chuckles.

He knows there's no point in taking the promise any further. If Angel is a cynic when it comes to dating, you’re the poster child for hopeless romantics.

When you fall in love, you fall hard. When you get heartbroken, the fallout hits the hardest.

“I can’t wait until my forties to have a kid.”

“What?”

“I’ll be in my sixties when they graduate high school--my sixties!”

“That’s what this is about?”

“...he doesn’t want kids...at least not right now...he wants time to explore other options before being shackled to me forever.”

“I’m going to kick his fucking ass.”

“When you do, can I watch?”

“Fuck that, you’re getting in a few hits.”

“I can’t believe I wasted three years on him, thinking he was going to help me start a family,” you groan. “When I could’ve just asked you.”

Angel laughs, his smile growing as you giggle.

“I’m serious. Definitely would’ve happened faster.”

“If you want to have sex with me, there are much easier ways--”

“Shut up, it is not about sex,” you assure him as your eyes drift shut. “I actually pride myself in being one of the few women in this town you haven’t slept with. Being immune to your charm is a superpower.”

“You still ended up here tonight,” Angel grins.

You softly smile.

“That’s because you’re my best friend, and you always give the best hugs when I feel like shit.”

series taglist: @youlovetkay @mochachocolatteyaya @chaneajoyyy @sesamepancakes

angel + all mayans tags: @turn-thy-paige @finalgirlhales @jadesid @poetically-0riginal @diaryofkali @babaohhhriley @katastrophic04 @partypoison00 @rose-bliss @mayansxlover @joannasteez @headrushxreeta @brwnlikefoxy @nemesis729 @destiny-tsukino @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies @straightestgay-voice

all stories: @rosieposie0624 @amberritonicole @agoldin @est1887@toni9 @chaneajoyyy @relaxing-najee @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @seize-the-droid @glimmerglittergirl @cutiebubbleboo @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @sincerelykas @brattyfics @ladyofsoa@browneyes912 @beiroviski @sadeyesgf @mrsmarvelous1995 @everyhowlmarksthedead @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @demonquartz @appropriate-writers-name @ughdontbeboring @cocotheclown @thesandbeneathmytoes @queenbeered @starrynite7114 @wiccanmetallicrose @tomhardydallasstarsgirl

[guesspls]

2, A Broken Town

Following the path left by the previous explorers, Sec walked jubilantly. When night fell, he built himself a small tent and woke up every morning, preparing to go. Will he be able to reach a new land? He doesn't know, but he's very confident in himself.

Sec gradually got used to the cold of the forest, the vastness of the sky and earth, and the growls of animals. Go and rest, go and rest. When it lacks food, he hunts animals, when it lacks water, he looks for freshwater springs to drink and store.

How long has it been? Sec doesn't know anymore. He has a notebook, recording his journey to new places. But so far he has not written anything more. But he thinks it must be a month now.

-------

He saw a trail.

Following that path, he found

A village.

At first glance, this village does not have much development. Just a small village in the suburbs, located under a cliff. Looking up at the cliff directly overhead, Sec shivered, deciding to visit the village.

--------

Entering the village, Sec clearly saw the shabby. This village is quite small, even there are villages with only lonely street vendors, there is no market like where Sec used to live. In the middle of the village there is a small well with a bronze bell. The rows of sketchy trees, luxuriant grass. Even so, the people in the village are very sociable. The children saw Sec waving happily, playing simple games, the adults working in the small fields, the old people sitting and talking to each other. Although the other houses were all shabby, out of nowhere there was a large and spacious house in the center. The house is surrounded by a large, enclosed fence. Sec walked around for a while and then decided to talk to the old people in the village.

"Grandpa, how long have you been here?"

The old man smiled and replied:

"I have been here since I was born, kid. Let me tell you, this place used to be so beautiful and famous, but now everyone has gone elsewhere."

"Then why don't you go with them?"

"I'm old now, can't stay for too long, you're know. I'd rather stay here than go," the old man coughed and then continued: "I'm staying here, with this land, rich or poor, I'm happy. "

Sec jerks his head

"Then whose big house in the middle of the village belongs to?"

"Ah, it's the village head's, he's the one receiving the village subsidy."

"?" Sec was dumbfounded, the old man saw his face and said

"Poor kid, let's me tell you. I don't know how the village chief is, but the village is getting poorer and the village chief is getting more and more." The old man sarcastically said.

"You can not complain to the main city? I mean, their rules are pretty much the norm everywhere, and the top people always follow them, don't they?"

"Who gonna bring justice for me, for us, little poor people in this small town? Even if people accept it, they gonna follow the village chief anyway. That's why people move away."

"...." Sec didn't talk, he don't know what to say.

"Child, I advise you not to stop here, go west, there is a prosperous harbor, otherwise go east, where there is a new immigrant village."

"Is your family there too?"

"Yeah, but I'm here alone, because I'm an old man, I just gonna turn into a weigh for them"

"Do you want to go there with me?"

"I couldn't walk even if I wanted to. My body was too weak to go a long trip."

" Right .... "

"If you stay here overnight, you can stay here in my house. I don't mind either."

"Thank you, grampa." Sec nod.

Sec thought of the people in the village, then looked out the door, at the spacious house, with the lights on inside, and then at the lantern the old man had lit. "How can people treat each other like that?" Sec thought, but thinking back, he himself could not do anything, only sighed. He cooked the old man a bowl of soup from what he had and the rabbit he hunted, then cleaned up a bit. Lying in bed, a certain feeling kept him from sleeping.

He didn't notice a few rocks starting to fall.

----------

" Oh little child, How was your stay? "

" I'm... good, thank you grampa "

" Nice, nice, why don't you go to sleep? Something on your mind? Did what I say was too much ? "

" Haha, I'm good. Just.... hard to get to sleep" Second smiling nervously.

"What about listening to a tale, young boy? I have a good one I always told my child when they go to sleep "

"A tale?"

"Yes, A tale about the Pied Piper "

[sassycassie-s-writing]

A Future That’s Worth It

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+ (lots of implications but nothing explicit)

Original Idea: Nothing in particular.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I have some headcanons on height and weight of the characters that I used for this one. Have fun!

^^^^^

The bed dipped behind me. I’d been more than halfway to sleep, but the movement shocked me awake. I rolled over.

Rhysand gave me a lazy smile. “Evening, love,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

“Technically no, but a little bit.”

“Sorry.” The look on his face implied he was in no way genuinely apologetic. He shuffled to get more comfortable, one wing draping over the two of us, and loosed a long sigh. I snuggled against his bare chest, eyes on his tattoos.

“Something the matter?” I asked quietly. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder.

“If I never have to truly fight again, for the rest of what will hopefully be a very long life, I will be grateful,” he said, breath fluttering my loose hairs.

“Me too,” I agreed.

I felt a claw against my mental shields, a single, gentle drag against the black marble I used to keep my private thoughts private. A request for entry. I reached out tiredly to feel his own mental shield was already lowered. A rare occurrence for him. He had one of the most complex shields I’d ever experienced.

I let the shield drop. His presence overwhelmed me almost immediately. I’d probably never fully witness the extreme depth of his power, but it dominated over my little well of magic by what was probably thousands of times.

His presence was the comforting, healing darkness of lovers clinging to one another. The gentle shade under a wide oak tree on a hot summer day. Nothing of the sharp, secret darkness of spies and assassins. The soft night of dreams. “Do you feel peace, now?” I asked. “Now that the King of Hybern is dead and his army decimated?”

“It’ll take years for me to reach true peace for that, after all the pain and death and suffering. But I feel peace right now, holding you. I feel a grim tranquility in knowing I would gladly cause more carnage if it meant keeping you safe. I hated releasing that beast inside me during the war, but I’ll always go feral to protect what’s mine. You, our family, this city, our people. All of it. I would fight until my own death to ensure the future of those I’m responsible for.”

“Self-sacrificing fool,” I teased. There was no bite to the words.

“You’re one too,” he retorted with the same tired lack of malice.

“Never said I wasn’t. Therefore, you can’t call me a hypocrite.”

“Touché.”

I wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer to me. “Get some sleep, High Lord. We both need it.”

He brushed some of my loose hairs from my face. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.” I smiled slightly.

The sweet caress of his darkness in my mind soothed all the day’s worries. If neither of us ever had to pick up a blade for a battle ever again, it would be too soon.

I reached up with the hand around his waist and stroked the bone of his wing. He shivered, but he’d taught me where to touch to calm, and where to touch to excite. His other muscles were pliant, relaxed, as I ran my fingers gently over his wing.

We put each other to sleep not long after that.

—

“—told him it was a bad idea, but he was just like, ‘Stop telling me how to live my life!’” Mor’s loud voice woke me the next morning as the doors opened downstairs, the last bit dropping as low as she could go in a horrible but hilarious imitation of Cassian. Amren’s laughter followed.

The bed was empty besides me, but Rhys’ side was still warm.

I got up and pulled on my dressing gown over my nightgown. I brushed my hair briefly so it wasn’t quite so tangled and ventured out of our room.

Mor and Amren had already made it to the kitchen and were raiding the pantry for breakfast.

“What’s a bad idea?” I asked around a yawn.

“Cassian was gonna challenge Azriel to a flying race. From the House to the roof here,” Mor explained, pointing directly overhead.

“Azriel’s gonna win,” I said.

“That’s what I said. Cassian didn’t listen.”

I chuckled, joining them for breakfast.

Amren looked around. “Where’s your High Lord?”

“I was gonna ask you two the same thing. I assumed he got out of bed and came down to talk to you guys. Sheets were still warm when I woke up.”

Mor’s expression turned to one of amused dread. “He’s gonna join the race,” she said.

“I bet you’re right,” I replied. I rubbed my eyes. “They are five-and-a-half centuries old and they still behave like children.”

“Glad you’re his mate and not me,” Amren said with a smile as she drank from her goblet and shuddered. She hated food still, but she no longer had a choice.

“Frankly, me too,” I said. “I can’t imagine the chaos the two of you would cause.”

Mor laughed.

I assume you’re at the House of Wind? I thought down the bond, pushing the thought hard to make sure he received it.

Yep, Rhys’ voice replied in my mind.

I’ll be on the roof. Mor and I will referee.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. The words were too laced with laughter to be the truth.

Children. All three of you, I fired back.

All I got in return was his rumbling laughter. Distant thunder promising a welcome summer storm.

“Wanna join me on the roof?” I offered to Mor and Amren.

“Not really,” Amren replied.

“I will,” Mor said.

The two of us climbed up the stairs and sat on the white-painted iron chairs. Mor had a cup of tea and I had a mug of molten chocolate.

I looked up at the House of Wind. So far, there were no figures flying around its peak.

Mor lounged on her chair and eyed me. “Aren’t you cold?”

I shrugged. The early spring air was still clinging to the cold of winter and my satin dressing gown and nightgown were clinging to the cold right along with it, but it was something of a welcome change after the stifling heat under the covers in bed. “I’ll be fine for how long it’ll take Rhys and his brothers to get here.”

You ready? I asked.

Waiting on you, he replied.

We’re ready.

Then look up.

“They’re going,” I said to Mor, turning my attention back to the House.

Sure enough, three figures leapt off a balcony near the peak, streaking in a straight line toward us, wings barely extended to keep them aloft and at the angle they wanted. From their distance I couldn’t make out who was who yet, but I knew it wouldn’t take long.

“Five gold marks on Azriel,” I said.

“Aren’t you supposed to always bet on Rhys?” Mor teased.

“Azriel is lighter than Rhys and Cassian. I’m making an educated guess.”

She laughed. “Okay. Five gold marks on Rhys then.”

We watched them get closer.

“Rhys is going to be offended you bet against him,” Mor remarked.

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Rhys can winnow and Azriel… kinda does to. With the shadows. I’m not sure how he does it,” Mor mused. “But, Cassian—he just flies everywhere. So he’s probably a little better at it than both of them. More practiced, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah… how about, if Cassian wins, we each give Amren five marks?”

Mor laughed. “She’d love and hate that. That we made her bet for her and chose Cassian.”

I shrugged. “Probably. But she wouldn’t mind the money.”

“Not at all.”

I caught glints of blue and red. Rhys was on the left, no Siphons, with Cassian in the middle and Azriel to the right. I still couldn’t tell who was in front, but it looked like I might have been right about Azriel. He looked like he was barely ahead of Rhys and Cassian.

As the three drew closer, I realized this was the future we’d fought the war for. The future full of fun and joy. The future of stupid games and meaningless bets. No gambling lives. Just a few marks for no reason other than fun. If Rhys never turned into that beast again, if he’d done enough to ensure our safety and security—finally—then it was all worth it.

They were close enough to see their faces now. Mor and I cleared a place where three could land all close to the same time and not knock over any furniture or trip. While Mor thought it’d be funny, I didn’t want anyone to face-plant off the roof.

Azriel slammed feet first into the roof. I thought I heard the attic rattle. Rhys hit barely half a second after, with Cassian right behind.

Mor gave me a long-suffering glance and sipped her tea. “I owe you five marks,” she said before flouncing back downstairs.

“You placed bets?” Cassian asked.

“You’re surprised?” I retorted sharply. Azriel snorted quietly.

“Fair enough,” Cassian said.

“You bet against me?” Rhys sounded offended even as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. His warmth banished the cold clinging to my dressing gown.

I shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to rise to his bait. “Azriel’s lighter than both of you. Skinnier. He can probably cut through the air easier. I made an educated guess,” I said, repeating what I said to Mor. I tilted up onto my tiptoes and kissed Rhys’ chin, since he was too tall for me to reach his cheek.

Rhys chuckled. “That’s okay, because I owe Cassian ten marks. I bet on Azriel too.” He kissed my forehead. The four of us still on the roof started making our way down. “So, what’s for breakfast?”

“Whatever anyone can find!” Mor shouted from below.

I grabbed Rhys’ wrist and held him so Cassian and Azriel would get ahead of us. When we were alone, I wrapped my arms around him. “This is the future we—you—fought for,” I whispered. “Is it worth it, to you?”

“I can’t think of anything more worth it.”

“Me neither.”

We held each other for a few more moments.

Then Cassian was calling us to haul downstairs before the food was gone.

Laughing, we descended.

[hermannsthumb]

for the autumn fic meme.. newmann #20 like newt chasing leaves and hermann outwardly is psh, childish and internally heart eyes and is crunching the leaves around his feet with his cane when newts not looking (this became really long lol feel free to just post it not as a request)

20. Crunching Leaves

from autumn fic prompts here

this is such a cute idea

-------------------------

"It's weird having a break from things, isn't it?" Newton says.

Hermann hums noncommittally. He prods the small fire in their chiminea with the end of a rusted poker (dug up from a garden shed that's seen better days), and moves his leg back just in time to avoid spraying his trouser hem with sparks. Newton tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his knuckles and gives him a small smile. "Even a small break," he amends. "It's like a mini vacation."

Hermann is not sure—if given the opportunity to do so—he would've picked the northwestern United States as his ideal vacation spot, nor would he spend three out of their four days there networking and lecturing at an international Kaiju Science conference, but he supposes he understands Newton's point. The location of their rental cabin is remote and wooded, which has made for rather calm, picturesque evenings by the living room fireplace, and everything (even their sparse accumulation of groceries) is on the PPDC's budget, which means it's hardly the hit to the wallet it would have otherwise been. Ideally, he would not have to handle Newton on a vacation, either, but Hermann supposes nothing can be perfect. He watches silently as Newton pours himself another cup of coffee from the rental kitchen's French press. "Mm," Hermann says.

Their flight back to Hong Kong leaves tomorrow afternoon. Over their shared dinner of instant mashed potatoes and fish sticks from a box, Newton had suddenly become deeply incensed that they had not taken full advantage of the rental cabin, and dragged Hermann outside onto the small back patio to do some proper autumn things—to Newton, that meant finding two wooden deck chairs languishing under moss and ivy at the very back corner of the property, lighting a campfire in the dusty chiminea with an ancient book of matches discovered under the sink, and attempting to roast marshmallows with a broken tree branch. He gave up on the marshmallows after he kept burning his beyond recognition, too impatient to hold them anywhere but directly in the flames. Hermann had not bothered in the first place. He's always been somewhat repulsed by their texture. "Have you ever been camping?" Newton says.

Hermann shivers at the thought of willingly spending time inside a tent. Even sitting outside beneath trees right now (where twigs bounce from above onto his clothing, bugs keep landing on him, and all sorts of things to set off his hay fever) is pushing the limits of his patience. "Absolutely not."

"I used to go camping every October when I was a kid," Newton says. "I loved it. This place kinda reminds me of the campground we'd go to. So many—" He waves his hand around, and adds, lamely, "Trees."

Hermann privately thinks that all forests tend to look the same, but he doesn't tell Newton that; it's not as if they can take a stroll through the woods whenever they'd like back in Hong Kong, where they spend about ninety percent of their waking moments toiling away in the dark and the damp of the basement laboratory, and he's not keen to put a damper on Newton's good spirits. He knows Newton has spent more than a few days off of work hunting down the nearest hiking spots, always returning (often the following morning) with his pockets full of leaves and interesting rocks he looks up online. Hermann has always, quite frankly, found it endearing. Not that he would ever confess such a thing to Newton.

He pokes the fire again. This time, sparks shoot out at Newton's boots. Newton doesn't bother moving out of the way. "I never spent much time outside as a child," Hermann says. "Too busy with school, I suppose." When he was not doing schoolwork for his classes, he was practicing whatever his mother and father decided school was not sufficiently instructing him in (for the Gottlieb children were expected to be exceedingly accomplished and well-rounded in their skills)—advanced mathematics, languages beyond their native German, even piano, for a spell, before Hermann finally confessed he loathed the instrument, though he still retains enough of it he reckons he could play some Chopin should you sit him down in front of one. He used to have a treehouse—a hand-me-down from his elder brother, as most of Hermann's things were—he would keep his telescope in, and he would fall asleep there some nights, one eye still pressed to the eyepiece. That was when he still had the full capabilities of his left leg that were required to shimmy up and down a ladder, of course.

"Didn't you live on a farm?" Newton says.

It was not actually a farm, as Hermann frequently reminds Newton, merely a former farmhouse on what was, at one point, likely farmland, but that must've been at least a hundred years before the Gottliebs moved in. The house was certainly old enough. Newton never fails to roar with laughter over it anyway, and Hermann knows it's because he's picturing Hermann's in dungarees and milking a cow or some such nonsense. Hermann can see Newton's mouth twitching into a broad grin even now. "Hardly," Hermann says. "I really do mean I was too busy to have the time to do much else. My mother and father preferred it that way."

"'Much else'?" Newton echoes.

"Childish sorts of things," Hermann says. A dead leaf drifts from a tree overhead and lands near him on the patio. Hermann stabs it with the poker, debates condemning it to the fire, and then flicks it off to the side inside. He drops the poker back on the ground. "Er. Playing. Indoors, or outdoors."

This sobers Newton up. "You mean, like, being a normal kid?"

"I suppose," Hermann says.

"Jeez, dude," Newton says. "That's...kinda depressing."

Hermann shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. He doesn't think much about it these days. He doesn't think much about his childhood in general, really, and certainly doesn't waste time moping over it—there are much more important things that require his attention. "Is it?" His coffee's gone cold. They've been out here for quite a long time; the sun has almost set on the horizon, and the chill of the October evening is settling upon them fast. Hermann suddenly wishes he'd thought to pack a thicker sweater. Or, oddly enough, a book. It feels like the appropriate setting to read something, perhaps even aloud to Newton (not that they would ever agree on what to read). Perhaps he and Newton might draw their chairs together, and toss a heavy blanket over themselves, and Newton would put his head on Hermann's shoulder and poke fun at Hermann's taste in literature, but listen intently anyway...

The fire pops. Hermann coughs and shoos his traitorous thoughts away. Another leaf drifts down, this one landing in Newton's hair, and Newton's smile returns as he extracts it. He clenches his fist around it with a satisfying crunch. "I love fall," he says. He raises his boot above another leaf and slams it down with an even louder crunch. His smile widens into a grin. "Hey, do you remember if there was a rake in the shed? I kinda want to make a leaf pile."

"It's nearly dark, Newton," Hermann points out.

"And?" Newton hops to his feet. "I'll be right back," he says, and, his scarf flapping behind him like a cape, tears off back in the direction of the shed, taking care to trod on each and every dry leaf in his path.

He returns a minute later empty-handed. "No rake," he says.

He jumps on another leaf. Then another.

"Don't be such a child," Hermann sighs, though his heart twists in his chest at the sight of Newton so unabashedly happy. He often envies Newton for how carefree he can be sometimes, though he has a sinking feeling what he's feeling now is nothing remotely like envy. Newton really is a thorn in his side.

Newton, rather appropriately, sticks his tongue out at him, and then jumps on another leaf. The force of it jostles his glasses so far down his nose they threaten to fall to the ground themselves. "I'm having fun, man. This is the first time I haven't been stressed out of my fuckin' mind in months." He pushes his glasses back up. "I wish we had another day here."

Oddly enough, Hermann finds himself agreeing with Newton. But he'd prefer an additional day without Newton, of course—Hermann would love to have a day all to himself here, where he could sleep in late, take advantage of the bathtub (which he's been too shy to so far, given that their cabin has only one restroom and he shares it with Newton), and devote as little time as he pleased to all things kaiju-related. Well, maybe he'd let Newton stop in for dinner. Or for a passionate debate or two. Or to share a blanket and a book, if only in Hermann's wildest fantasies. It does sound a bit like a bore without him.

While Newton's back is turned, Hermann uses his cane to crunch a few dry leaves littering the ground by his feet. The sound really is quite satisfying. "Can we go inside now?" he says. When Newton turns to him, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright behind his glasses, Hermann must affect a frown to keep himself from smiling. "I'm—er—I'm getting a bit cold."

[teacupfulofstarshine]

jet-lagged heart

summary: logan’s research in antarctica has finally finished, he has job offers from three of pretoria’s major universities, and there are three plane tickets sitting in his backpack. he’s going to south africa to be with virgil. he’s going home.

(or: a fic about the first time virgil and logan meet in person, set in @lovelylogans absolutely phenomenal sense8-inspired 2021 big bang fic)

CW: minor anxiety

wordcount: ~1.7k

pairing: romantic analogical, platonic sides

read it on ao3!

It has long become habit for Logan to wear his earpiece constantly. He can’t remember the last time he took it off other than sleeping and showering - he puts it on daily along with his glasses. 

“Hello there,” a familiar voice says, a familiar weight draping around his shoulders. Logan smiles, leaning back and tipping his head against his boyfriend’s shoulder. “How are you, hmmm?”

“Excited,” Logan says. Virgil presses a kiss against his cheek, and Logan feels the uncontrollable urge to stim. One hand flaps at his side, and he can feel his cluster flapping in unison - a surge of joy from Patton, fond exasperation from Roman and Remus, mild annoyance from Janus, and nothing but lovelovelove from Virgil. 

“Today is the day. When does the plane leave?” 

Logan glances down at his wrist, only to realize that he isn’t wearing his watch. He blinks, and suddenly the arm in front of him is bare and tattooed with a bright blue paw-print-patterned watch on it. He blinks again, sees himself and Virgil reflected in his mirror, and quickly does some mental math. “Approximately four hours from now.” 

“Did your virtual interviews go well, umthandi?” 

“I have offers from three separate universities around Pretoria. Will you help me select which offer I should accept?” 

“Of course.” 

“Thank you, kochanek,” Logan hums, turning to nuzzle into Virgil’s stubbly cheek. 

“I have your bedroom prepared in our apartment,” Virgil says. Logan turns to look up at him in confusion. 

“Are we not sharing a bed?” 

Virgil flushes slightly, and Logan feels him rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know that sometimes you get anxious when crowded, and sometimes you get overwhelmed by the presence of other people. I thought it would be best to prepare a place where you could retreat and rest from the world.” 

Logan laughs, and he feels Patton laughing with him (even if Patton doesn’t really know what he’s laughing about.) “What?” Virgil says, and when Logan turns around he sees Virgil standing in front of a jacaranda tree in his yard, pouting. 

“You do not count as people, kochanek. None of our cluster does. You haven’t for some time.” Virgil becomes even more embarrassed - Logan can feel it surge in his chest. He leans forward and gently kisses Virgil’s nose. “I appreciate your sensitivity. It’s one of the many, many things I love about you.” 

Virgil presses a hand to Logan’s cheek, and Logan leans into the warmth before he can stop himself. He watches Virgil smile at him, blinks and sees the lovestruck expression on his own face, and closes his eyes happily. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Did you buy the -”

“Yes, Janus,” Logan sighs, swinging his carryon over his shoulder and tapping at the Bluetooth. “For the seventeenth time, I used the money that you and Roman wired me to buy tickets for the seats around me so that no one will notice me talking to myself when I have to take the earpiece out.”

“You had better be bloody cautious.” Logan takes a step into Janus’s office, careful not to disturb the papers spread across the carpeted floor in an intricate web. Janus, sitting in the middle of the madness, reaches out and underlines something in dark yellow highlighter. “I will not have someone sending me psychic pain because they were stupid enough to get caught and experimented upon.” 

Logan is familiar enough with his cluster to feel the worrypanicfearterror don’tgetintotroubleican’tgetyououtofpleasepleaseplease vibrating in Janus’s chest. He reaches out and squeezes Janus’s shoulder, pretending he doesn’t notice when Janus drops his head briefly and squishes his hand. “I promise to be careful, Janus.” 

“You better,” Janus says. Logan takes another step and glances up at the arrival and departure board to find his gate.

*~*~*~*~*

“Had to take the earpiece out for the flight, huh?” Remus says, lounging upside-down in the empty seat next to Logan. Logan, who is focusing on his e-reader, offers a discreet nod. “Sucks to suck, my man. Sucks to suck.” 

Logan doesn’t verbally respond, and Remus takes it as full permission to keep going. “Your boyfriend was telling me all about poison plants the other day - did you know that a deadly nightshade and a tomato are in the same family?” 

“Solanum lycopersicum,” Logan murmurs, glancing around to ensure that no one is paying attention to him. Remus babbles on about plants for a few more minutes, flipping himself upright and flopping into Logan’s lap. “Do you mind?”

“I don’t, actually, thank you for asking!” Remus laughs. Logan puts his hand below his e-reader, where no one else will see it but Remus, and flips him off. “You’re gonna have to come visit the rest of us soon or we’ll think you’re playing favorites.” 

Logan looks directly at the exaggerated fake pout on Remus’s face and says, “I do have a favorite. It is not you.” 

Remus rolls his eyes and slides off the seat, disappearing before he hits the floor.

*~*~*~*~*

Patton looks up with a mouthful of sandwich to see Logan slumped in the air in front of him, one hand pressed against his forehead. 

“Rough flight?” 

“Travel headache, plus a visit,” Logan mutters. Patton hums, narrowing his eyes just slightly to judge which member Logan saw by the frown pinching his face.

“Remus?” A nod. “I’m sure he meant well.”

“Unexpected.” 

“Don’t you have your earpiece in?” 

Logan shakes his head briefly. “Not on a plane.” 

“Ah.” Patton reaches out and gently pats Logan’s shoulder. “How much longer until you land in Pretoria?” 

Logan glances down at his watch, then in front of him. Patton blinks and he’s sitting next to Logan, staring at a screen at the front of the plane that tells the expected arrival time. “Ninety minutes, give or take.” 

Patton leans over and gently presses against Logan’s shoulder with the side of his head. “Hang in there, Lo. I know you can do it.” 

Logan sighs, again, but his face relaxes a little. Patton blinks again, and Logan disappears just as his students return from the lunchroom. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Virgil, calm yourself down,” Andisiwe says. She offers Virgil a cup of coffee, but he doesn’t take it, too busy pacing back and forth in front of the arrivals and departures board. 

“The flight was supposed to be in ten minutes ago,” Virgil says. “The board still says that the flight was supposed to be in ten minutes ago, so why isn’t the flight in?” 

“You cannot control the weather,” Andisiwe says. She sets the cup of coffee down on the small airport end table next to her own depleted cup, her purse, and the book Virgil brought in a fruitless effort to distract himself. “We knew that he might experience some turbulence leaving Antarctica, to say nothing of the layovers and connecting flights and the myriad of other things that come with air travel. You would know if he had been hurt or killed, would you not?” 

Virgil’s entire body runs ice-cold at the mention, and he takes a few quick, panicked inhales. He feels reassurance flood his body - his mother’s hand on his shoulder, Patton’s arm around him, Roman’s hand on his back, right between his shoulderblades. He feels Logan’s hand slide into his, and he exhales shakily. 

“You’re right,” he says, speaking to his mother and his cluster in unison. “Thank you.” 

Patton and Logan both squeeze gently, Roman rubs his back and pats him a few times, and his mother smiles at him knowingly. 

“Has he arrived, then?” she asks. 

Virgil blinks, and he’s sitting in a plane, watching Logan collect his luggage from an overhead compartment and head down the aisle. He blinks again, and he’s back with his mother. 

“He’s offboarding now,” Virgil sighs. Andisiwe pats his shoulder and takes a seat next to the end table she’s claimed, taking a sip of her coffee. Virgil takes a hasty swig of his own before turning back to the gate. 

It isn’t long before he spots a familiar face, backpack and duffel bag slung over his shoulders and rolling suitcase behind him. Logan’s hair is slightly mussed, glasses smudged, tie loosened. Virgil blinks and he’s looking at himself, taking in his own wide eyes and spreading grin and feeling an immeasurable amount of love well up in his chest. He blinks again, view changing but love remaining, and Logan is smiling at him, speeding up to a not-quite jog as he weaves through the crowd. 

“Logan,” Virgil breathes, reaching out as Logan releases the handle of his suitcase and slips his bags off his shoulders. He spreads his arms, and Logan slides into him effortlessly. Virgil buries his face into Logan’s hair and inhales the familiar scent of shampoo and body wash and Logan that haunted him all those months Logan was in Antarctica. He feels himself slip briefly into Logan’s body, feels strong arms around him and kisses being pressed into his hair repeatedly (he hadn’t even known he was kissing Logan’s head) and hears a rabbit-rapid heartbeat. 

“I have missed you,” Logan sighs softly, and Virgil lets his whole body relax around Logan’s. 

*~*~*~*~*

“Is the apartment too small?” Virgil asks, anxiously opening the door and shooing Logan inside. He’d insisted on taking the majority of Logan’s luggage, despite his protests; Logan just smiles fondly and steps into the living room. It’s furnished with a television, a sofa, a small bookshelf in front of the window full of plants, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on the wall. Logan notes with increasing joy that there are two whole shelves cleared off for him to put books on, once he unpacks or has his mother send some from Poland.

He can see over a small dividing wall into the kitchen, with a table in the center and two chairs. There’s a hallway leading down to an open door, through which Logan can see glimpses of a toilet and bathtub, and one door on either side of the hallway; he presumes those lead to the bedrooms. 

“Is it okay?” Virgil repeats.

“it is perfect,” Logan says. “Truthfully, the specifications of the apartment do not matter. We could live anywhere in the world so long as we lived together. The apartment is wonderful because it is ours.” 

Virgil takes Logan’s face, hands warm, and Logan leans up to kiss him again. 

[sashi-ya]

{+18} – Cherry Blossom & Tangerines – Trafalgar Law x Y/n – Part 2

Modern AU. Living in Seoul, Sk. Trip to Jeju Do (Island). Everybody is alive. No spoilers. Female reader. No physical descriptions. Everybody is +18, canon ages. Chopper is human.

Tw: anxiety, fear of flying. No further tw warnings. Mostly SFW. Nami x Vivi & and some ZoSan.

A/N: The AU is inspired on Jeju Island, SK. I've made some research on cute places from there, such as touristic attractions and coffee shops. Even though, it may not be 100% accurate, so keep in mind is mostly inspired♥

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31059467

Word Count: 4K

» List of parts: {P1} {P2} {P3} {P4} {P5} {P6}«

Chapter 2. “Law?!...” I said surprised. “Y/n-ya?...” he asked, also surprised, but before I could say anything else, Luffy came running through the aisle and hugged Law, and I came to the conclusion that he was, indeed, Zoro and Luffy’s friend.

I moved my stuff out of the way, and after he got rid of Luffy, Law helped me to put my backpack on the overhead locker and then sat next to me.

I remained silent for a little bit, waiting perhaps for him to talk, but he didn’t. The flight attendant announced the takeoff was about to happen, so we fasten our seatbelts as the plane started moving. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and I could see how he seemed a little bit nervous. I thought it was my imagination, but when the plane gathered a little more speed through the runway, he began to breathe faster.

I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and I had to ask, “Law, are you ok? Are you feeling bad?”. He directed his gaze at me with blushing cheeks, and after a few seconds, he said “Y-Yes. I just tend to get a little nervous during the take off, but I’m… ok”. Poor thing, he was trying to cover his heavy breathing… “Don’t worry, it's completely normal, would you like me to hold your hand? You can squeeze it as much as you can”, I said kindly, keeping my cool just for him to see how it wasn’t a big deal, and nothing to get embarrassed of. I placed my hand, palm up, over the armrest that separated our seats and waited for him to hold it. He doubted a little bit, but he finally did it, first softly, still ashamed, but then firmly. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon, try to focus on your breathing”, I guided him, with a calm speech, and looking directly into his deep grey eyes, smiling kindly. He slowly calmed his respiratory frequency, and a few minutes after the plane was already flying at cruise level, he sweetly let go of my hand. Our palms were a little sweaty, but I couldn’t care less.

“T-Th- Thanks…” He said, looking at the floor. “Don’t worry, you saved me three times the other day, now I owe you only two” I said, winking an eye at him. Law smiled a little, but kept looking at the floor. I was about to point out the fact that he was Zoro’s friend when Nami peaked through our seat backs saying “Oi Torao, you finally decided to come with us!! You normally don’t go anywhere, I’m glad you separated from your books for good!... Oh, and you two must know each other, right Y/n?” she said pointing at us, “Both of you study at the same U and are becoming doctors soon”. Vivi who was next to Nami began to giggle covering his mouth. Suddenly I realized that both of my friends already knew who Law was, and began to suspect that for some reason they wanted to perhaps pair us up.

“I know him from other circumstances”, I said smirking at them, but with an underhand expression of “I’m gonna kill both of you for not telling me”. Law smiled at them, but didn’t say much, and the girls returned to their seats.

“So, your surname must be Trafalgar, right? I thought you were a Donquixote…”, I asked him. “Yeah, is a long story…”, he said with no emotion at all, and I realized it wasn’t a good topic, so I changed the curse of the conversation. “Oh, you were the one who was complemented by Dr. Marco? You are amazing, doc!”.

“Uhum, but I’m not that good. Dr. Phoenix is just an amazing teacher”, he replied. “Indeed, he is”, I said. The small talk came to an end when the flight attendant offered us something to drink. I opted for a glass of plain water, and so did Law. He then grabbed a manga from his little bag, and began to read. “Maybe he doesn’t wanna talk to me…” I thought, put my air pods on and turned on the music. Some minutes after I regretted not having any sleep last night, as my eyes were trying to close...

The voice of the captain announced over the speakers that we will be arriving on Jeju Island in a few minutes. I was being lazy to open my eyes, as I felt extremely comfy sleeping in that position… until I realized I had my head - and almost the right side of my body - over Law’s shoulder. “Oh my… I’m sorry!” I said gaining composure and sitting properly on my spot. Law gave me a smile with kind eyes, and said “Don’t worry, I was asleep too, I used your head as a pillow, I didn’t want to wake you up, though”. Behind us a few laughs from the girls were heard, and I asked, confused, “You… what?. But the landing was already happening and the cabin crew asked us to prepare, so I decided to shut my mouth. I gazed at Law to see if he needed any help with the landing, but he didn’t seem as scared as he was with the taking off.

We all descended the plane, waited for our luggage and headed to the car rental picking point. I’ve booked three cars, so we distributed perfectly on each one. Franky picked the blue Hyundai Venue. Usopp, Chopper and Brook went with him. Law chose a yellow Hyundai Sonata, of course he would, he looks so cool… Zoro, Sanji, and of course Luffy followed him. I chose the white Tucson, for me and the girls.

We left the airport and drove through the streets of Jeju, admiring the beauty of the cherry blossom trees and the yellow flowers on the side of the road. Law’s car was behind us, and sometimes I spied through the rear mirror, just to see his face fully concentrated on the road.

I asked Nami to put the GPS for me, because our Airbnb was a little bit remote from the center and I was afraid of getting lost. The girls and I sang the whole drive to the songs the radio was playing.

We finally reached the house. It was just as the photos, a white two-story house, big enough for all of us. The beach was next to our patio, the typical style of grey rocks of Jeju Do garnished the entrance and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore with a few seagulls squawking made the whole atmosphere unique.

I gave the entrance code to Robin and she opened the door. Luffy entered first running excited and went directly to the garden to see the beach. We followed him, pretty excited too. Inside, the house had a minimalistic style, everything was white and the floor and furniture was made of light wood.

There were four rooms, so the guys distributed in two of them, Robin and I went to another and we let Nami and Vivi have a room for them. We took turns to use the shower and got ready to explore the island right away.

Sanji suggested that we should go first to Dongmun traditional market to buy fresh ingredients for him to cook for us. He became a professional chef a few years ago and works with his father Zeff, on his well-known restaurant, “The Baratie”. His cooking skills are heavenly, and he loves to cook for us, so we agreed immediately.

We arrived after a 10 minute drive, the market was extremely busy, the food stalls offered a variety of typical korean dishes, kimbap, tteokbokki, tteokgalbi and fresh and canned ingredients, such as typical fishes from the island and the famous kimchi.

Luffy, as always, drove by the smell of the delicious food, ran desperately inside and tasted every single sample the sellers offered to him. Nami, Vivi and I, decided to try the famed tangerines of the island. Nami, who is an expert on tangerines, would give us the final verdict on if they are good as people say. The juicy mandarin slices we tried were exquisite, the sweetness mixed with a little bit of tartness made us want to buy bags of them.

I saw Law approaching us, he had separated from Zoro’s group who were trying the variety of Sojus. I called him with a big smile and some tangerine slices on my hands, “Law!! Come here, you should try this!”. He came closer also with a little grin. I stood on tiptoes and said, “Open your mouth!” and without any shame I offered him a big juicy slice of mandarin. He opened his mouth surprised, but accepted the fruit and while taking it, his lips softly touched the point of my fingers. It felt almost as if he was kissing them, or for a moment I wished it was the case… A little drop of juice ran from his mouth through the commissure of his lips, so I immediately rubbed my thumb over it to clean it. He fixed his eyes on mine, and for a few seconds it seemed as if the rest of the world stopped existing around us. He swallowed up the fruit and thanked me still without taking his gaze off me. The moment broke when the old lady at the tangerine selling stall asked us if we wanted a box or a bag for the fruits. I turned to her, and saw Nami and Vivi looking at the lady wanting her to shut her mouth. My cheeks thanked the interruption, though, because they couldn’t get any more flushed.

“A box would be great, thanks!” I told the seller. Law carried the box himself, and we reunited with the rest of the group.

Sanji had already gathered everything he needed, Zoro had bought his alcohol provision for the next few days, Luffy had his face completely stuffed with some meat, Franky had a cola on his hands, Brook a milkshake, Robin a bag of tangerine tea, Chopper of course some candy cotton on both of his hands and Usopp was eating some type of ramyon. We left the market and headed to our temporary house to leave the provisions and decide the plans for the afternoon and night.

“I want to go to Bomnal Cafe, I heard they serve delicious pastries! Can we go there?” suggested Chopper. “We can go there for the afternoon, and then have a picnic with a bonfire at the beach for the night. What do you think, guys?”, I proposed. “BONFIRE! BONFIRE! Sanji, you could also make some barbecue!!” screamed Luffy, excited, and everyone agreed that it would be a great idea.

Some of us headed to the coffee shop, while Sanji, Zoro, Law, Usopp and Franky stayed at home to prepare everything for the night.

The little coffee shop had a minimalistic, all white and grey, and maybe a little vintage atmosphere. We ordered a few pastries, puddings and lattes that tasted exquisite. We sat by a big window that let us admire the beauty of a little garden with cherry trees and a little pond with some fishies swimming peacefully. We were making stories for Instagram, taking photos, having fun. “Oi, Y/n, pose for me!” said Nami and took a photo of me with her iPhone. I didn’t have time to pose properly, so it was a pretty casual photo of me drinking a matcha latte. Brook insisted on me posting it, because he said it was cute. Chopper and the girls agreed with him, so I uploaded it to my Instagram.

Suddenly, a new notification popped up on my screen, “@DrHeartSteeler liked and commented on your photo”. “Hey guys, do you know who is @DrHeart…” I was asking them while opening the notification and realized it was no other than Law. “@DrHeartSteeler > Beautiful… place. Can you bring me one of those when you come back home?”. I hadn’t had the chance to say anything else when my friends began to make a fuss about the comment. “WHEN YOU COME BACK HOME?, Torao what the fuck?” said Nami laughing out loud. Chopper who was a little innocent, started asking why everyone was laughing, and it only fanned up the flames that were blushing my cheeks. “Yohoho… I guess you have to bring him “home” a matcha latte, Y/n, he probably misses you already…” mocked me Brook. Robin, who is the most mature of all of us, simply laughed and looked at me with kind eyes.

“Stop it guys, he is just asking for a latte…” I said, fanning my face with my hand. “Oh, yes, of course. He wasn’t even following your account. Before we left home, he asked Vivi for your user, right babe?…” said Nami and Vivi nodded with her mouth full of chocolate cake. I didn’t want to show the excitement I was feeling on my insides, so I simply replied that he probably wanted to follow me because he was already following everybody in the group. We decided to come back before the sun set, so we could see it on the beach and after buying Law his tea, and some pastries for the guys we left the pretty tea room and drove home.

“Guys, we are home! we brought you some pastries!!” I said, while carrying the papers bags, and Law’s latte on the other hand. Everyone came running to me and grabbed the bags, while Law, who was sitting on the couch reading, looked at me above his manga, as if he was waiting for me to say something. I tried to act cool, so I said “And oh, uhm, Law your matcha Latte. I hope it’s the right size for you”. He smiled at me, left the book on the armchair and stood up. He walked towards me slowly, I didn’t know if he was trying to be sexy or it was just how he was… Because he certainly was, only using black with yellow spots, swim shorts and a yellow open shirt, that let me admire his tattooed chest and abs.

“Thanks, Y/n-ya. When I saw your picture, I craved for…” he made a little pause, and continued while grabbing the plastic cup, “some matcha latte”. Well, now I crave... you… I thought. I gave him a look from head to toe, and said smirking “It’s nothing, now I only owe you only one favor, so, you tell me if you need something more”. “Mh... I’ll keep it in mind”, he said with his low sexy voice and a little side smirk. I smiled at him and went upstairs.

I threw myself on the bed and sighed loudly. My heart was racing, my lower parts were feeling funny and the sexual tension I’ve just experienced was too much to handle for me. “How hot he is, damn it”, I expressed out loud covering my eyes. “Who is hot, Y/n?” asked Zoro, who apparently was entering my bedroom to ask me something. I almost had a heart attack, but calmed myself down and asked him what he needed. He told me that we were getting ready to go to the beach to prepare the picnic and watch the sunset and if I could bring some blankets. I told him ok and he left my room laughing.

“I came here to rest, and I’m getting more stressed than during finals”, I thought, annoyed, while gathering for a few blankets and pillows to bring to the beach. I headed downstairs. Everybody has already left the house and I could see them walking towards the beach from our patio. I was about to leave and closed the door trying not to throw the blankets I had in my hand, when someone scared the hell out of me. “Oi, you almost let me locked in..., let me help you with that”, said Law who was still inside. “God… Law, you scared me… what are you doing? I thought I was alone…”. “Sanji forgot the salt shaker, I returned to bring it to him”, he calmly answered. “Oh, I see… Well let’s go” I said, still breathing fast from getting scared, and handed him a few blankets to help me carry them.

The chilly sea breeze kissed our cheeks, and the sound of the beach began to fill my ears. I was wearing a long silky dress that danced with the wind, as well as my hair. The sun was going down, everything was golden. Oranges, violets, reds, were the colours that tinted the clouds above the sea. Law was walking right by my side, and both were admiring the beauty of the evening lights that bathed the cliffs. I decided to stop, and take a picture with my analog camera, and as I did, Law kept walking a few steps more until he realized I had stopped. He turned around and looked at me, just when I pressed the shutter. “I’m sorry, I… didn’t know…” Law excused himself for appearing in the photo, but I wasn’t mad at all. I gave him a smile and told him, “It’s ok, you are part of the trip, I’ll give you a copy when I develop the film if you want”. “Thanks…”, he said, and we kept on walking admiring the beauty of the sun setting.

We finally arrived at where everybody else was. Law gave the salt to Sanji and helped him with the barbecue. I started to set up the blankets with the girls and told Brook to play some music with his guitar. The boys had already put up the bonfire and some torchlights that lit up our night.

The night was lovely, it was a little cold, but a few beers after I was dancing with the girls barefoot on the sand to “A lovely night” from the movie Lalaland. Suddenly, Robin said to me “Hey, Y/n… it seems that Torao-kun can’t take his eyes off from you tonight”. “Huh?” I told Robin, confused. She pointed to where the boys were cooking and I turned my face to them. Law was indeed looking at me, with a beer in his hand. I smiled gazing at him over my shoulder, and he did too. I turned back at the girls and kept on dancing covering my mouth, giggling a little. Vivi, Nami and Robin also giggled and gave me a complicit smile.

“Dinner is ready, everybody! “announced Sanji and we gathered all around the grill to receive the plates that surprisingly Zoro helped Sanji to serve. I guess alcohol and food made them somehow get along, at least for a few hours. I wonder when they are going to stop the fighting and begin the kissing… fufufu…

The brochettes were heavenly, we ate them sitting around the bonfire while singing “Binks no Sake”, one of Brooks classics. He is the musician of the group, and even started his professional career a few years ago as “Soul King”. He is such a talented guy.

As the night passed Law and I sometimes interlocked eyes, or exchanged little smiles. I took some more photos during the picnic and we kept on dancing until 3 am, when we decided to raise camps and head to our beds.

I was exhausted, yet, the idea of stalking Law on Instagram was on my head and didn’t let me sleep. I covered myself completely with the sheets and searched for his user on my phone. He has no more than 5 photos posted. One of them was with Luffy and Zoro, after training, another one of him and Rosinante -he called him “Cora-san” on the image caption, how cute - when he was a little boy. The rest of the photos were with some friends dressed up as pirates for Halloween and in the comment section they called themselves the “Heart pirates”, ha-ha funny.

I suspired whenever I zoomed the photos over his eyes. I was starting to like this man, way too much... I tossed and turned in bed trying to fall asleep, but I simply couldn’t, so I thought drinking some tea would help me. I went downstairs, trying not to wake anybody up and got to the kitchen. From the big glass door that looked at the beach I saw how the moonlight lit up the waves crashing on the cliffs and the whole kitchen. The scenery and the chamomile tea were slowly fading away the image of Law’s eyes, until I felt someone placing a hand over my shoulder. I slightly gazed at it, and it only took me a few seconds to know it was the tattooed hand of the guy who was keeping me awake. He was wearing black shorts, and a loose white shirt. His hair was more disheveled than ever. What is it with this guy that looks so good no matter what he looks?...

“I see I’m not the only one who can’t sleep”, Law whispered. “Yeah, I’m exhausted but somehow I can’t fall asleep… I guess it must be the bed, I don’t know. Do you want some tea?”, I offered him. “Yes, that would be great”, he accepted.

I was turning on the electric kettle when we heard some noises coming from the living room. I looked at Law and both of us peaked through the kitchen entrance to see what was going on…

“Shitty cook… we shouldn’t….”, “What? are you afraid, idiot Marimo?”. Sanji and Zoro seemed a little drunk and were somehow hugging and walking at the same time. At first I thought they were trying to help each other to go upstairs, so I started walking towards them to help. I couldn’t walk any further because immediately Law grabbed me by my waist, and pulled me back into the kitchen covering my mouth. “Shh… just wait”, he whispered into my ear and let go of me. What I saw next was something we’ve all been waiting for. Finally, Zoro and Sanji accepted how much they loved each other, and went upstairs kissing as two teenagers in love.

I opened my mouth and looked at Law with a surprised expression, that soon turned into a happy face. I started making little jumps in my place. “I knew it!!” I said and Law giggled almost without making any sound. With the excitement I didn’t notice how near we were from each other, until Law softly caressed my face with one of his soft hands. He, of course had the hands of a surgeon, long fingers, soft skin, perfectly cut nails. “Why don’t we do the same as them?” he asked me, and I gasped and stood still in front of him. He slowly approached his face to mine until the point of our noses were almost touching. I got lost into his grey eyes, my mouth was ready to receive his lips. The sweet torture of the moments before a first kiss, I wished I could make it last as much as I could, but at the same time, I wanted him to kiss me, passionately, now, right now.

My eyes probably showed how desperately I was for him to kiss me, that he smirked and finally planted his luscious lips against mine. He explored my mouth with his tongue, with no modesty at all, and as we were passionately kissing he lifted me up and sited me over the kitchen counter.

Without stopping the kissing, I open my legs to allow him to come further and as he did, he slid a hand to my sex…

Part 3

PT1