island; tyl; drabble; i saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields
Hurt/comfort/FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF
i started writing this last night and i finished it when i woke up??? wow
--
The slack in his shoulders when he entered the doors, barely pushing it closed with his fingers was signal enough, but the way he tossed his jacket off along with his police suspenders and discarded his gun in the closet where he couldn't see it could only show her more. Her eyes softened... his were closed, as he explained being forced to shoot a criminal holding a hostage. They weren't dead, but in the hospital in critical condition. It wasn't a criminal for their own personal justice, just a higher up of a smuggling ring, holding a ransom. He trembled, trying to walk away from her, praying to anything that the criminal would be in the clear soon, and not get a call in the opposite direction-- Yasu took his hand. She rubbed it with both of hers, their rings clinking together, to calm him down.
Made him the decaffeinated coffee he liked, because if he had the other kind, this was one sleepless night he couldn't handle. Her thin fingers massaged his his shoulders down to his back, and up, and down, until she rested her face on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him, whispering encouragement dabbled between sweet nothings, pressing her lips against his neck with a soft kiss as he still remained stationary. It wasn't that he didn't want to hold her back-- it was that he needed to be held, and she understood.
The synth of love could only be understood between two people who really felt it-- the closeness to feel one another's beating heart, to know the same warm feelings that tried to blanket the fear and doubt were felt between them at the exact same moment. It was instinct, knowledge that was primal. They were never afraid to say they loved one another, while the synth of love was enough for other people, reserving the three words for points in time where the impact would hit hardest, there was never fear, slight hesitation in saying 'I love you' for fear that the response would be less than love between the ex-witch and the detective.
So a love that spoke freely and felt just the same was a love with no fear.
When he set his coffee aside, Yasu moved to his lap instead, slipping her hands beneath his arms for another embrace, this time returned, tightening with the passing moments. He nuzzled her bare neck and the scent of her skin and hair had become so natural to him that it became an indicator to his body's response that if he were ever so close to her, he would have three natural reactions; to get closer, or to relax, or both. Security and sanctuary were in her arms, for him. A mutual feeling, though it was her turn to play the role. He didn't like pills, and with reason. Unless it was a painkiller for a wound, he'd avoid taking whatever he could at any chance, and that included when he needed something for sleepless nights. Before Yasu shared his bed, it took him sometimes hours to fall asleep with that racing mind. When she finally did, warm, soft skin with rough fingertips, though not as rough as his, the faintest scent of roses had him sleeping soundly.
Little did he know it was the same for her. He was so strong, lean. Pressing her hands against his torso gave an unrelenting toughness that had stood up to more things than Yasu could ever fathom, there were scars, and there was the golden eagle over his heart, matching the one on her leg. He didn't wear cologne, but had always used the same soap enough for it to be recognizable to someone who got close frequently. Sometimes he would smell of gunpowder, or smoke from fire, or anything with that bizarre life of his. The fact that he always came out of it was what made it appeal to her. Gentle around bandaged wounds, fiercely loving where his body didn't ache, she loved to love him. To kiss and touch. She had spent far too much of her life being immaterial that her hands very desperately sought to hold. He never minded. He got the feeling that the servant had lost the sense of telling apart the tangible and intangible, and really needed to feel to understand again.
They were lovesick fools, overindulged and not caring. Keats could take one look at them and immediately put pen to paper. Friends would most likely get nauseous if the two didn't have the common sense to keep their youthful hearts private. In time, she realized he had fallen asleep. Gently, she moved so she could take his cell phone and put it on silent, and for him, she would watch for it to light up with any news on the killer in the hospital.
Before her eyes blinked closed for the rest of the night, the cyan light of a new message lit up-- bullet out, stable condition, ready to start filing charges as soon as the criminal woke up. She put the phone on the side table, whispered that everything was okay before finally settling in.
He murmured back that he knew.
i started writing this last night and i finished it when i woke up??? wow
--
The slack in his shoulders when he entered the doors, barely pushing it closed with his fingers was signal enough, but the way he tossed his jacket off along with his police suspenders and discarded his gun in the closet where he couldn't see it could only show her more. Her eyes softened... his were closed, as he explained being forced to shoot a criminal holding a hostage. They weren't dead, but in the hospital in critical condition. It wasn't a criminal for their own personal justice, just a higher up of a smuggling ring, holding a ransom. He trembled, trying to walk away from her, praying to anything that the criminal would be in the clear soon, and not get a call in the opposite direction-- Yasu took his hand. She rubbed it with both of hers, their rings clinking together, to calm him down.
Made him the decaffeinated coffee he liked, because if he had the other kind, this was one sleepless night he couldn't handle. Her thin fingers massaged his his shoulders down to his back, and up, and down, until she rested her face on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him, whispering encouragement dabbled between sweet nothings, pressing her lips against his neck with a soft kiss as he still remained stationary. It wasn't that he didn't want to hold her back-- it was that he needed to be held, and she understood.
The synth of love could only be understood between two people who really felt it-- the closeness to feel one another's beating heart, to know the same warm feelings that tried to blanket the fear and doubt were felt between them at the exact same moment. It was instinct, knowledge that was primal. They were never afraid to say they loved one another, while the synth of love was enough for other people, reserving the three words for points in time where the impact would hit hardest, there was never fear, slight hesitation in saying 'I love you' for fear that the response would be less than love between the ex-witch and the detective.
So a love that spoke freely and felt just the same was a love with no fear.
When he set his coffee aside, Yasu moved to his lap instead, slipping her hands beneath his arms for another embrace, this time returned, tightening with the passing moments. He nuzzled her bare neck and the scent of her skin and hair had become so natural to him that it became an indicator to his body's response that if he were ever so close to her, he would have three natural reactions; to get closer, or to relax, or both. Security and sanctuary were in her arms, for him. A mutual feeling, though it was her turn to play the role. He didn't like pills, and with reason. Unless it was a painkiller for a wound, he'd avoid taking whatever he could at any chance, and that included when he needed something for sleepless nights. Before Yasu shared his bed, it took him sometimes hours to fall asleep with that racing mind. When she finally did, warm, soft skin with rough fingertips, though not as rough as his, the faintest scent of roses had him sleeping soundly.
Little did he know it was the same for her. He was so strong, lean. Pressing her hands against his torso gave an unrelenting toughness that had stood up to more things than Yasu could ever fathom, there were scars, and there was the golden eagle over his heart, matching the one on her leg. He didn't wear cologne, but had always used the same soap enough for it to be recognizable to someone who got close frequently. Sometimes he would smell of gunpowder, or smoke from fire, or anything with that bizarre life of his. The fact that he always came out of it was what made it appeal to her. Gentle around bandaged wounds, fiercely loving where his body didn't ache, she loved to love him. To kiss and touch. She had spent far too much of her life being immaterial that her hands very desperately sought to hold. He never minded. He got the feeling that the servant had lost the sense of telling apart the tangible and intangible, and really needed to feel to understand again.
They were lovesick fools, overindulged and not caring. Keats could take one look at them and immediately put pen to paper. Friends would most likely get nauseous if the two didn't have the common sense to keep their youthful hearts private. In time, she realized he had fallen asleep. Gently, she moved so she could take his cell phone and put it on silent, and for him, she would watch for it to light up with any news on the killer in the hospital.
Before her eyes blinked closed for the rest of the night, the cyan light of a new message lit up-- bullet out, stable condition, ready to start filing charges as soon as the criminal woke up. She put the phone on the side table, whispered that everything was okay before finally settling in.
He murmured back that he knew.