Paul stares before he realises he’s staring. Because- God, because. This boy is so different, something cut from a film, made of things other than grimy Liverpool streets.
He’s slouched and bored and just- he’s nothing like Paul’s ever seen. Strong, aquiline nose and sharp lines that both push away and invite you to look, sideboards like the teddies from London, from America, and a squint
in his eye that match the suave of his jacket and drainies. Paul wants to let his body loll into non-existence just to stare at him, at the lines and slopes of his face.
-
Or Paul sees John before July 6th, and the two meet because Paul decides they will
Why I like this fic:
This fic has two of my favorite things- their first meeting and a lave-at-first-site pinning that sets your heart a flutter. The author shows Paul’s blind determination for John so impeccably well, before finally giving the slightest peek into Paul securing his rightful place as John’s number one boy.
all by design - when_the_pawn - The Beatles (Band) [Archive of Our Own]
despite nightmares plaguing your sleep, there’s always someone warm to wake up to.
the nightmare is something else. there's someone chasing you with a knife first, before the scene shifts and instead you're faced with something more threateningly personal. it twists and turns into a horror show and the you in the dream can only duck and hide or run. except there's only so many places to hide in or go.
"-by. hey."
the monster lurks in the corner of your eye, and you're sure this time it's going to get you. you can almost feel it's slimy limbs encircling your wrist, and just the thought of it sends a shiver down your spine.
"-ke up. baby."
the floor creaks underneath the monster's weight and you close your eyes, accepting your fate. you hear its breath hovering so close to you. and just as it's about to open its cavernous mouth-
"baby. hey. come on, wake up."
the first splash of oxygen into your lungs jolts you awake. the room is dark, but familiar; nothing like the long hallways or dim streets you were traversing much earlier. there's a warm heat along your shoulders and on your hand, but it's comforting rather than revolting. slowly, the nightmare dissipates as you sink backward onto your savior's embrace.
"wanna talk about it?" chuuya asks, rubbing your shoulders and squeezing your hand.
you take a deep breath. "i don't remember all of it. just a lot of darkness and running around from monsters and people that weren't... safe."
"well you're safe now," he assures, presses a kiss on your temple as your breathing slowly evens. he takes his time with you, never rushing, knowing how much these nightmares shake you so deeply. you do your best to focus on his warmth and his company instead, letting go of the disturbing imagery that tried to sear itself into your brain.
once you're calmer, you turn to bury your head into chuuya's chest. the sound of his heartbeat is clear and steady, the one thing you need right now. he combs through your hair with his fingers. you're safe now, his voice echoes in your mind. you're safe now. you always are, when he's around.
noticing you licking your lips, chuuya offers you: "water?"
and you instantly feel how dry your throat is. had you been shouting while you were dreaming? is that how you'd gotten chuuya awake? the nightmare creeps along the edge of your mind again.
"that'd be great, but..." you say, drifting off. "i don't want you to leave me."
chuuya smiles. "that's easy to solve, princess."
carrying you with one arm, you feel the warm touch of his ability surround you as he carries you off to the kitchen. you know that he could carry you with both arms right now if he wanted to, but he knows that the heat of tainted sorrow around you will envelop you in a comforting embrace. which works exactly as he thought it would. you lean against his shoulder as he walks.
when you get to the kitchen, he places you gently onto the counter. when he lets go of you to get you water, you grab onto his wrist suddenly, still shaken.
chuuya presses a hand to your cheek. "i won't leave ya. i promise."
gently, you let go. he turns to get the pitcher of water from the fridge. the water tinkles faintly as he pours it into a glass. you watch him closely, like he'd disappear if you look away for one moment. when he hands you the glass, you take it, but you quickly take his hand in yours as well.
"see?" chuuya says, softly, his voice still slightly deep from sleep. "still here."
"still here," you echo, before finally taking a sip from the water. the cool washes through your mouth and down your throat, a grounding sensation. you're here now. chuuya is, too. and you're safe. you empty the glass, relieving the parched feeling.
chuuya lifts his other hand to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear. "think ya can try to get some more sleep?" he asks, concern in his tone. "too early."
you nod. "as long as you're with me."
"stupid. i'm not going anywhere," chuuya assures you. "i'll protect ya. so you can sleep easy."
together, you return to the bedroom, which you're sure is now devoid of nightmares. forever and ever, for as long as chuuya is by your side.
Micro fic request for your little notes headcanon about the first time Logan finds one and the subsequent call/chat <3 I love that idea SO much -aj
Aww, I really do love this HC so thanks for this, aj 🥰 Have some love-sick men being love-sick men.
Rating: G
No content warnings for this one.
Credit for all characters goes to @lumosinlove
With sleep ruffled hair and barely open eyes, Logan rummaged through his underwear drawer, trying to find a sock that at least vaguely matched the one in his hand. His fingers grasped something that definitely was not a sock and yawning, Logan forced his eyes open a little more to inspect the paper.
He suspected it was a training note that he'd meant to dispose of in the locker room shredder. If only the media knew the secrets to the Rags next game strategy lay amongst his briefs.
"Oh," Logan whispered as he unfolded the paper, easily recognising Finn's careful script.
If you were a library book, I'd definitely check you you out.
Logan barked a laugh, the sound loud in the empty room, but not in the sad, lonely way he'd come to hate. Smoothing out the creases of the note, Logan set in on top of his dresser and went to find his phone.
Logan: you're a nerd
Finn's call came even quicker than Logan had been expecting. The garbled greeting, however, did not meet his expectations.
"Hello?" Logan said tentatively.
" 'ood 'orning," Finn returned, the words still barely comprehensible, followed by another string of nonsense that Logan loosely managed to translate as "I'm brushing my teeth."
"Why did you call me if you're brushing your teeth?" Logan asked. He shook his head with a fond exasperation.
A click, a rush of water and a rather disgusting spitting noise later, Finn answered. "Sorry, got excited. You found one of the notes."
"Ouais," Logan smiled. "Wait, one of...how many are there?"
"I'm not telling," Finn said, the coy smirk leeching into his voice.
"Harzy," Logan whined. "Leo! Le! Peanut!"
Finn's laugh filled the room, much like his own had earlier.
"Hello, good morning to you too, my love," Leo said and Logan knew he wore the same fond exasperated expression, Logan had been not 5 minutes ago.
"Bon matin, mon soleil," Logan practically sang. "How many notes did Finn write?"
"Oh," Leo laughed. "Don't ask me, he's been hoarding those things like a fucking squirrel for weeks."
"Weeks!"
"Just enough until I next see you," Finn said, smooth as melted butter.
God, Logan loved this man. "You didn't have to."
"I know," Finn said, and Logan imagined his small shrug. "But you deserve to know how much I love. And this way, I get to tell you a thousand times a day and you can't stop me."
There better not be a thousand. "Alright," Logan groaned. "I've got to go. Gonna be late for practice. And you are too."
"Speak to you later, love," Leo said. "I'll message you about Assassins, I think Cap wants to join."
Today's fic was written by @sometimesiwrite, a gift for @on-a-lucky-tide!
The fic is
The Plague of Broken Things
Rated: Gen
Characters: Eskel
Eskel is on the Path during the height of summer. After he takes his annual sojourn in the hills, he happens upon a village he's never visited before and encounters a curious curse the likes of which he's never seen.
“Deeply invested in your studies? I know. Now stop apologizing.”
Hajime sighs, because you don’t sound angry, and that’s a relief. He takes your hand in his and breathes even more easily when you let him and even squeeze it back.
The two of you have been planning to go out tonight, to celebrate his birthday, but neither of you had actually made concrete plans. Just a little bit of ‘maybe we can eat at this restaurant’ or ‘how about let’s watch this’, without actually deciding on the time and place. By the time Hajime realized it was 7:00pm on the night of his birthday and he was still in the library poring over lecture notes, it felt too late.
He really hadn’t forgotten. He’d been thinking about it all day. But he didn’t set an alarm and he was in that corner of the library where the windows were blocked by the shelves, and so—
“Hey,” you say, laughing under your breath as you pull him closer to you. “You’re thinking too loud. It’s fine. Relax.”
He sighs again. He feels how tense his shoulders are. “Sorry.”
“I should be the one apologizing,” you say, a little more sheepishly. “It’s your birthday, and I have nothing prepared, I couldn’t even buy a gift—”
“We’ve established this, you’re reviewing for exams—”
“—regardless, you make ridiculous plans for mine, so it should have been a fair exchange,” you insist. “I don’t think the fancier places would still have open slots at this hour, but maybe those a step down or two would be able to let us in… anything you want to eat? Or maybe there’s a gift you want? Something useful’s fine too, I don’t mind buying you pens or a notebook. It’s on me.”
Hajime begins to hum in consideration, mulling over your question. You allow him a moment, comfortable silence enveloping the both of you as you walk the dimly illuminated street out from his university onto the station.
Then, worried by his silence, you begin to ramble again. “I mean, if not that, well, it’s not much, maybe some yakiniku, or that half-fancy sushi place… then I’ll ring somewhere fancier tomorrow and see if we can get a slot on the weekend. What do you think?”
It’s only at that moment, when you turn to him, when you notice that his empty, idly thinking gaze had turned towards you. Hajime always looked so intensely at you like he was memorizing every inch he could look at. Like you were transparent.
Your cheeks turn cherry red. “Hajime?”
“Nabe,” he finally says, turning back to face the street like he’d only been distracted for a moment. You’re still staring at him.
“Nabe?”
“I miss eating your cooking,” he admits, ears turning pink. “We haven’t had much time recently… so I thought…”
“Sure!” you say, immediately, before he takes it back, squeezing his hand that was still in yours. “C’mon then, let’s hurry before the grocery stores close!”
And later, when Oikawa asks what you did to celebrate his birthday, he’ll frown when Hajime says they only had a little bit of homemade food, but then he sees the look on Hajime’s face and not another word comes out of his mouth.
It may have just been plain old sukiyaki, just beef and tofu and udon and carrots and mushrooms, but it was all he could ask for. Those moments of quiet adoration: choosing vegetables in the store, preparing ingredients together in the kitchen, smiling when you open the rice cooker because rice is good, leaning next to each other in content fullness after enjoying what you’ve cooked together…
And later that night, when you sleep a foot away from him because “I’m so sorry baby but it’s really too hot tonight”, he reaches out to twine a pinky with yours and you squeeze it back. That small warmth and the sound of your even breathing… These, Hajime knows, are the things he treasures the most.
handlebar mustaches and chinstrap beards by scribblemetimbers
G | 6k words
“My goodness!” Aunt Caroline says, squeezing and pinching Robin’s cheeks. “You look so beautiful! So much like me!”
“Thanks,” Robin manages to force out, and it’s almost rote at this point: Robin, you’ve put on weight, you look so beautiful, you look like me, and Robin internally sighs because the next in that order, without fail and with much feeling, is:
“So! Any boys?” Aunt Caroline asks brightly.
Fuck.
“Hundreds,” Robin says blandly.
“Robin!”
In which Robin's meddling, match-making relative is in town to trample over boundaries like a rampaging bull, Steve chooses the worst moments ever to practice restraint, Billy helps by being his usual asshole self, and Robin has a revelation.
