#and i will simply measure the shots with my heart

[writetheidea]

Too Much to Be Enough

Hello, I had another idea for a fan fiction. In this one, I tried writing with an unnamed character after someone reached out to me suggesting that I shouldn't tag "x reader" even if the character had a short name. They were not this polite in their wording. Kindly let me know if you find this more enjoyable and if you have any advice or feedback. This was thought of as a one shot. Upon requests a second part has been written.

Part 2

Pairing:  Franco Colapinto x female character

Plot: everyone thinks she's too much—too loud, too affectionate, too overwhelming—but as long as Franco loves her, she feels enough. When a painful betrayal forces her to question everything, she’s left wondering if even his love can truly be unconditional.

Tag: hurt/no comfort, angst.

Word count: 2077

Disclaimers: english is not my first language - I feel like you could tell from my writing style - so I apologize if some of the sentences structures are off, or if I use outdated or inappropriate-for-the-context words, I used a synonym dictionary to try and stop myself from repeating the same words, I still did do that though.

Franco Colapinto had become a rising star in Formula 1—his unexpected debut mid-season with Williams brought attention, intrigue, and the buzz of fans enamored by his unfiltered charm and skill on the track. To the world, he was a formidable talent, sharp in his focus and strategic in his every move. But to her, Franco was simply her Franco—the person she adored with every fiber of her being, the man who lit up her world with his easy laugh and grounded presence. She never tried to share him with the world; her joy was simply in being there. To Franco, she was a grounding force. To her, he was the brightest point of her life.

Their relationship had always been natural, filled with the kind of closeness that felt both unbreakable and safe. She loved to be near him, to catch the quiet smiles he reserved just for her or hold him close, her arms around him like a shield. She had a way of finding him when he was deep in conversation, slipping her arms around him or perching on the arm of a chair, just listening, watching him with eyes that spoke of adoration. She adored him openly and shamelessly, kissing his cheeks, bringing him little snacks between meetings, and laughing at his every story as if it was the first time she'd heard it. It was how she showed love—boldly, sincerely.

In public, her spirited affection sometimes drew raised brows. She was quick to laugh, unrestrained in her warmth, the kind of person who got excited over the little things. When she spoke, her voice had a way of filling the air, especially when she became passionate, her laughter rich and booming. Franco’s teammates would sometimes tease her for it, not unkindly, but she felt Franco’s protective arm settle around her back, his voice lowering to gently bring her back to the moment, a silent reminder that she was safe, that she didn’t need to hold back. She never felt like too much with him; she felt like enough.

When Franco got his F1 call-up, the world saw his potential, his brilliance. He went from a promising driver to a star almost overnight, and with that came the scrutiny, the endless, dissecting gaze of the world. There were new pressures, new challenges—he was praised and criticized in equal measure, and with him, she found herself swept up too. Fans adored him—his directness, his humor, his daring spirit. He was the next big thing, and with that title came every word spoken about him, every inch of him magnified. And suddenly, they wanted to know her, too. Who was Franco Colapinto’s girlfriend?

But their adoration of Franco didn’t extend to her.

She’d never been the kind of girl who worried about attention, but the way the public spoke about her… it was like a slow, smothering weight pressing down on her heart. They saw only a girl who seemed too clingy, too loud, and too unfitting of someone they had put on a pedestal. Her open affection was criticized as immature, her laughter labeled as attention-seeking. They dissected her every move and labeled her a distraction, tearing into her with the kind of brutality she’d never experienced. It felt like strangers were peeling her apart piece by piece, tearing away the person Franco had always loved.

She tried to ignore it at first, comforting herself with the knowledge that Franco didn’t seem to mind, that he even loved her as she was. Franco was all that mattered; his opinion was the one she trusted. He was the only reason she could keep her head up, brushing off the hate as long as she knew she had his love. And when Franco looked at her, his smile never wavered. She held onto that—the belief that he loved her as she was, even when the world made her question it.

But then came Brazil. She’d been watching from the paddock, her heart leaping every time he turned a corner, nerves twisting as he went head-to-head with some of the most seasoned drivers in the world. And then, the crash. It was terrifying, watching him collide and skid, helpless from a distance as her heart stopped, praying he was okay. Her relief was overwhelming when he emerged unharmed, but Franco’s face had been pale, his expression distant as he made his way off the track. She could see the weight of the moment pulling him under, the strain and pressure breaking through his usually calm demeanor. She wanted to reach for him, to pull him close, tell him she was there for him, that she would carry the weight if she could.

But he’d pulled away from her, muttering that he needed a minute to gather himself. Respecting his space, she’d wandered to the restroom, splashing water on her face, telling herself he’d come around, that he just needed time. She returned to his room, pausing outside, not wanting to intrude if he still needed space. And that’s when she heard it.

“��but don’t you think she’s a bit much?” The voice was that of his engineer, a man she’d thought liked her, someone she’d shared a few laughs with before. “She’s always there. Always talking, always needing to be… close. Must be a lot to deal with when you’re under this kind of pressure.”

She waited, her breath frozen, trusting that Franco’s response would ease her worry, that he’d brush it off as nonsense, defend her like he always had.

But his voice—the voice she trusted, the voice that had always assured her she was enough—spoke words she could barely stand to hear. Franco responded quieter than she’d ever heard it. “Yeah… I mean, sometimes. It’s a lot, too much, you know?”

She could hardly breathe, the words sinking in slowly, one by one, like sharp blades against her skin. He thought she was too much. A lot. The one person she thought she could be her fullest self with, the person who had always made her feel safe to love so openly, to be unapologetically herself—he was overwhelmed by her too. She was his burden, the weight that followed him. Tears began to blur her vision, but she stayed frozen, rooted in place as she listened to them continue, laughing and talking about her as though she were some trivial inconvenience, as though her love was suffocating him.

She backed away from the door, her heart breaking with every step. The tears came fast and hot, her whole body trembling with the force of them as she stumbled back into the restroom. Locking herself inside, she slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, feeling her heart shatter into a million pieces. She had fought so hard to believe in her own worth, to convince herself that she was lovable and that her affection wasn’t too much for him to bear. But he agreed. He agreed with them, with the strangers who hated her, who thought she was too loud, too affectionate, too clingy.

She had tried so hard to believe that Franco saw her the way she saw him—as irreplaceable, as the very air he breathed. But hearing his quiet agreement, the confirmation that the one person she thought she could trust didn’t love her as she was… it left her feeling hollow, like a fragile shell of herself.

---

When Franco found her, he looked at her with that familiar softness, his arms coming around her as he held her close. She clung to him, not because it made her feel better but because she didn’t know how else to act, didn’t know how to pretend it was all okay. He asked her why she was crying, and she forced herself to smile through the tears, saying it was because of his crash, that she’d been worried. He looked at her with relief, gently pulling her closer, and she let him, even though his touch felt like fire against her skin, burning with the memory of his words. For the first time in their relationship, being near him didn’t feel safe.

In the days that followed, she withdrew into herself, letting Franco slip away piece by piece. She stifled her laughter, kept her voice low, spoke only when necessary. She still brought him snacks, still sat beside him as he debriefed with his team, but now she was a shadow, a shell of the girl she once was. She didn’t touch him as freely, didn’t drape herself over his shoulders or pepper his face with kisses. She gave him what the world wanted, the perfect, silent partner, standing just behind him, looking at him only when he looked away.

Fans noticed the change, taking to social media to praise her for finally learning her place. They called her refined, mature, supportive. They praised her “new maturity,” applauded her for “knowing her place.” They liked her better this way, in the background, quiet, subdued. For the first time, she fit the image of the F1 girlfriend they wanted her to be. She was a supporting character, there for Franco when he needed her but silent, never in the spotlight, never drawing attention.

But Franco hated it. He missed her laugh, the way her hands would find his at every turn, the way she’d rest her head on his shoulder while he spoke. He missed the way she’d light up a room with her excitement, her laughter like music that chased away the shadows of his stress. He tried everything to bring her back, brushing his fingers along her cheek, whispering little jokes, pulling her close. But she stayed quiet, her smile polite but hollow, her laughter a pale echo of what it used to be.

She wasn’t his girl anymore. She was someone else, a stranger wearing her face.

---

One night, after a particularly grueling day, Franco found her alone in their hotel room. She was sitting by the window, staring into the dark night, her reflection in the glass a ghost of the girl he had fallen in love with. He crossed the room, kneeling beside her, his hand finding hers.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice breaking with the weight of his worry. “Tell me what’s wrong. Where did you go?”

She looked at him, her eyes full of a pain he couldn’t understand, couldn’t reach. “I’m here, Franco,” she whispered, her voice soft and fragile.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his voice thick. “You’re… you’re gone. The girl I love is gone.”

Her lips trembled, and she pulled her hand from his, wrapping her arms around herself as though trying to hold herself together. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke, her words barely audible. “I heard you… that day in Brazil. I heard you tell your engineer that I was too much. That I was a lot.”

Franco’s heart dropped, a cold shock of realization rushing through him. He remembered the conversation, the way he’d laughed along, never thinking his words would reach her. “I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I never meant it like that.”

“But you said it,” she replied, her voice breaking. “You agreed with them. You agreed with everyone. You were the only person who made me feel like I wasn’t too much, like I was enough. But if even you… if you think I’m too much…”

Her voice trailed off, her shoulders shaking as she hugged herself tighter. Franco reached for her, his heart shattering as he saw the pain he’d caused, the light he’d extinguished. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I love everything about you. You’re not too much. I need you, all of you.”

He reached for her, but she drew back, her body a closed door, her eyes filled with a sadness that cut deeper than anything. “I love you with everything I have,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I would have given anything to be enough for you.”

He could feel his own tears burning, the agony of realizing that his careless words had stripped away the light from the woman he adored. “You are enough,” he said desperately, his voice thick. “You’re everything to me. I love you just as you are.”

But she only shook her head, her hand lifting to his cheek, her fingers brushing his skin one last time. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　SAILOR SONG

matt sturniolo x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N and Matt have a comfy indoor date; baking together.

WARNING: Making out.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by an anon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

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'I saw her in the rightest way'

The kitchen was an absolute mess, a delightful, chaotic swirl of ingredients strewn across the counters, flour dusting the air, and the aroma of vanilla mixing with the sound of their favorite playlist softly drifting in from the living room. The afternoon light streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow over the scene as Y/N stood at the counter, carefully measuring flour into a white-ish ceramic bowl. Beside her, Matt was leaning against the counter, his eyes fixed solely on her, watching her with an intensity that could have melted chocolate.

"Okay, so you just, like, throw the flour in, right?" Matt asked, breaking the comfortable silence, reaching for the open bag with the kind of reckless enthusiasm that spelled disaster.

Y/N’s eyes widened, her hands instinctively darting forward to stop him.

"Wait, wait- Matt, no!" But it was too late. A poof of flour erupted like a mini explosion, covering both of them in a soft, powdery cloud.

Matt froze, blinking through the haze, and then burst into laughter, his shoulders shaking.

"Oops." He said with that boyish grin of his, the one that made Y/N’s heart do a little flip every time.

She tried to glare at him but failed miserably, laughter bubbling up as she brushed flour off her cheek.

"You’re such a mess." She teased, shaking her head, her eyes sparkling.

"And yet, here you are teaching me." He shot back, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Guess that says something about you, huh?"

"Yeah." She said with a mock exasperated sigh. "That I’m a hopeless romantic who thinks you can actually learn how to bake."

Matt just grinned, leaning in to steal a quick kiss on her flour-dusted nose, making her scrunch it up adorably in response.

"Alright, lover boy." Y/N said, shaking her head with a smile. "Let’s try not to blow up the kitchen, okay? I need you to grab the sugar next."

"Yes, ma’am." Matt replied, snapping a playful salute before turning to rummage through the cupboard. He managed to grab the sugar jar without spilling anything this time - progress, she thought with a fond smile.

They continued to work side by side, the kitchen filled with the sweet scent of vanilla and sugar. Y/N would occasionally reach out to correct Matt’s technique, her touch light but effective. Every time their hands brushed, Matt would flash her that lopsided grin that always made her cheeks warm. She tried to stay focused, but with him being so close, so effortlessly charming, it was a losing battle.

At some point, they both reached for the vanilla extract at the same time. Their fingers tangled, and Matt shot her a playful look.

"Hey, who’s the baker here?" Y/N teased, nudging him aside with her hip, her laughter light and teasing.

"I don’t know, I don't see them anywhere." He joked, pretending to search around the room, making her roll her eyes though the grin on her lips was impossible to hide.

They kept mixing and measuring, Matt’s enthusiasm both endearing and chaotic. Just when everything seemed to be going smoothly, he made his biggest blunder yet. He grabbed the baking soda and dumped a generous amount into the bowl, not bothering with a measuring spoon.

"Matt, no!" Y/N gasped, her eyes wide with horror. "That’s way too much! You’re going to ruin the batter!"

Matt looked from the bowl to her, then back at the bowl, his eyes comically wide. But instead of panicking, he simply shrugged and started laughing, his laughter so infectious that Y/N’s frustration began to dissolve.

"Matt, I’m serious." She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This was supposed to be perfect, and now they’re going to taste like-"

"Hey, hey." Matt said softly, reaching out to gently pull her hands away from her face. "Come here, sweetheart. I'm sorry, yeah?"

Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his warm embrace. Y/N sighed, trying to hold onto her annoyance, but the way he was looking at her - with that soft, adoring gaze - made it nearly impossible.

As if the universe was observing them closely, te next song on the queue started playing, and when Matt realized that it was one of their favorite - Sailor Song by Gigi Perez, obviously - his body started swaying gently, bringing her with him.

"What are you doing?" She asked, trying not to smile, her voice softening as her hands found home against his biceps.

"Distracting you." He said, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Is it working?"

Y/N tried to stay annoyed, but the tenderness in his eyes melted her defenses.

"You are so ridiculous." She said, but her words were softened by the smile that tugged at her lips.

"Ridiculously in love with you." He murmured, resting his forehead against hers. "Can you forgive me?"

Y/N’s heart fluttered, and she let out a soft, defeated sigh, leaning into him fully.

"Fine." She whispered, her voice barely audible over the music. "But you’re still fixing the batter."

"Deal." He said with a grin. And before she could pull away, he spun her around in a quick twirl, eliciting a surprised, joyful laugh from her, her apron flowing around her body.

As she came back into his arms, breathless and giddy, her eyes met blue soft ones, shaking her head.

"You really are something else, Mr. Sturniolo."

"And you love me for it." He replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. He lingered there, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair, the warmth of her against him.

"Yeah." She said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I really do."

With the playful moment fading into a comfortable silence, they returned to the counter, side by side once more. Y/N sighed dramatically, surveying the batter that was now slightly too foamy from Matt’s over-enthusiastic addition of baking soda.

"Okay, let’s see if we can salvage this." She said, her voice taking on that determined tone Matt found so adorable.

"How bad did I mess it up?" He asked, a wince escaping his lips.

"Not too bad." Y/N admitted with a small, fond smile. "We can balance it out with a little extra flour and sugar."

"Got it." Matt said, nodding eagerly as he grabbed the bag of flour, waiting for her instructions.

They worked together to fix the batter, Matt actually listening this time, his focus unwavering as Y/N explained what to do. After a few minutes of adjustments, Y/N dipped her finger into the batter for a taste test. Her eyes lit up in pleasant surprise.

"Hey, it’s actually good!" She exclaimed.

Matt’s face broke into a proud grin.

"See? I knew I could fix it." He said smugly.

"Mm-hmm." Y/N hummed, rolling her eyes playfully. "Pretty sure I did most of the fixing."

"But it was my idea to fix it." He countered, leaning in to press his lips against her warm cheek.

"Alright, let’s get these in the oven before you mess up anything else." Y/N said, lifting the tray carefully.

Her fingers were nimble as she adjusted the rack, carefully placing the cupcake tray into the preheated oven.

Matt couldn’t help but stop for a bit and just stare, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving her. There was something about watching her work, so effortlessly absorbed in what she loved, that made him feel as though the entire world had slowed to a gentle stop just for them.

It wasn't his fault. He reasoned to himself. It wasn't his fault he found everything she did so endlessly endearing, so worth watching with that starstruck gaze that his brothers teased him about. The way her brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers dusted with flour, her lips pursed slightly as she adjusted the oven dial; it all made his heart swell.

Y/N stood up, wiping her hands on her yellow apron and closing the oven door with a soft clink. She turned to grab the timer, only to notice the way Matt was staring at her, eyes sparkling with that familiar, dazed expression. He looked as if he were lost in a dream, his gaze so soft it made her heart skip a beat.

Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks, she tilted her head slightly and smiled shyly.

"What?" She asked with a soft laugh, setting the timer up. "Do I still have flour on my face?"

Matt didn’t answer right away, his eyes never wavering from hers. It was like he was in some kind of trance, completely mesmerized. After a few seconds, he finally blinked, his lips curling into a soft smile.

"Yeah." He said simply, his voice so low and gentle it made her stomach flip.

Before she could ask where, Matt stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a few strides. His hands found her waist, pulling her close. Y/N’s breath hitched, her eyes widening slightly as he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin.

"Right here." He dipped his head and began to trail soft, lingering kisses along her jaw. His lips brushed tenderly against her skin, and with each kiss, he pulled a soft, breathless giggle from her lips. The sweet sound made him smile against her cheek, his eyes closing as he continued his path to her chin, and then to her cheeks, where he left playful kisses that were so light, they were almost ticklish.

"Matt." She breathed out, half-laughing, half-sighing, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. Her fingers traced slow circles over his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the fabric.

He paused, hovering just above her lips, so close that she could feel the ghost of his breath on her mouth but not quite touching her. His eyes were locked on hers, and there was a playfulness mixed with adoration in them that made her knees feel weak. He knew exactly what he was doing, teasing her like this.

"Matt." She repeated, her voice a whisper now, filled with a hint of impatience.

"Yeah?" He murmured back, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile.

"Kiss me properly." She demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.

'Oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?'

He chuckled softly, his eyes never leaving hers as he leaned in just a fraction more, brushing his lips against hers, still not quite giving in. But Y/N, never one to be outdone, closed the remaining distance, pressing her lips to his in a soft, sweet kiss that sent warmth blooming through her chest.

Matt’s arms tightened around her waist, pulling her even closer as their kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. Y/N’s hands wandered from his chest to his biceps, squeezing slightly at the firmness there, before sliding up to his shoulders and finally into his hair. She tugged gently, earning a soft sigh from him that she could feel warming up her face.

Their lips curved into smiles as they kissed, each touch and movement so full of affection it made Y/N’s heart feel light. Matt blindly started to sway their bodies again, following the slow rhythm of the indie song, his hands exploring the small of her back, fingers spreading wide as if he wanted to memorize every curve.

Y/N sighed into his mouth, her fingers threading through his hair, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, no kitchen, no baking, just the soft, sweet connection between their lips and the feel of each other’s warmth.

But the intimate moment was abruptly interrupted by a sudden, loud DING! from the oven.

The sound made Y/N jump slightly, pulling away from Matt with a startled gasp. Matt couldn’t help but laugh, the joyous sound filling the kitchen as he pressed one last, playful kiss to the tip of her nose.

"Guess that’s our cue." He said, still chuckling as he gave her a quick eskimo kiss, their noses brushing together.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she gently pushed him away.

"Goofball." She muttered affectionately, her cheeks still flushed.

Reluctantly pulling away, Matt released her from his embrace, giving her one last, lingering look before letting her turn her attention back to the oven. Y/N leaned down to peer through the glass, her hands resting on her knees as she checked the cupcakes.

Matt watched her from behind, unable to resist the fond smile that tugged at his lips. The sight of her brows knitting together as she inspected their work made his heart swell.

"They look perfect." Y/N announced, turning back to him with a triumphant smile.

"All thanks to you." Matt came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "I love baking with you." He whispered, his voice soft and sincere.

"Even if you’re terrible at it?" She teased.

"Especially because I’m terrible at it." He replied, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Gives you more reasons to stick around."

'And we can run away to the walls inside your house'

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[fangswbenefits]

A Series of Firsts

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: You and Miguel are ready to become parents and you must now go through a series of firsts together.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

No warnings. Just pure fluff. Mentions of pregnancy. Dad girl Miguel. Protective dad Miguel.

First Kick

“What colour should we have on the walls?” Miguel asked one day.

“Beige?”

“Boring.”

“Red?”

“Too much.”

“Red and blue?”

“That’s too… spidey.”

You giggled at his remark. “We’ll just pick a neutral one and let her decide as she grows up.”

“That’s settled, then,” he murmured, resting the side of his head on your baby bump as both of you lay comfortably on the bed.

“Fingers crossed for a zebra pattern in purple and green,” you teased.

“She can have whatever she wants,” he said simply and you knew he meant it.

Warmth spread in your heart, realising Miguel would give her anything she’d ask for. Even the moon.

As you rolled a single strand of his hair around your finger, you gasped abruptly and halted.

Miguel shot up straight in full alert mode. “What is it? Are you okay?”

You nodded, running both hands along your belly, waiting to feel it once more.

He immediately picked up on the meaning of your sudden silence and placed a splattered hand next to yours.

It didn’t take long for a second kick to be felt and you watched his face awe. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you whispered adoringly at his concern.

He paused briefly. “That was a strong kick.”

You placed your hand atop his. “She’ll take after you, then.”

First Time Meeting

Jessica placed the little bundle of joy into his arms as soon as the spider-nurses were done checking the vitals and dressing her.

“What is this?” Miguel asked with a light scowl, shifting to have the sleeping baby face you.

Even through your post-labour exhaustion you managed to giggle.

She was dressed in a red and blue suit-like onesie that had Peter’s face printed onto the fabric as rainbow coloured words read ‘my 1st spider suit’.

“Remind again me why we let him choose.”

“You know how Peter is,” you said softly. “It’s a very cute gift.”

“Right.”

Miguel didn’t seem all that convinced, but brought her back against his chest protectively.

You watched as Miguel’s hardened face immediately softened in adoration and, for a couple of minutes, he just stood there, rocking her lightly in his arms.

“She’s… tiny,” he concluded, fingers probing around her hand. “She’s perfect.”

He raised her slowly up to his face and he planted a soft kiss to her forehead, earning a sudden yawn.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to her, completely transfixed. “I’ll always protect you.”

Something inside you stirred. This big grumpy man with volatile moods had just been disarmed by a tiny baby.

That was definitely a sight to behold.

First Sleepless Night

“We’re not having another baby.”

“Agreed.”

“Ever.”

Miguel let out a measured sigh in agreement. “Ever.”

The two of you lay sprawled across the large bed, facing the ceiling as the first rays of sunshine began to lit up the room.

Your daughter had finally fallen asleep after hours of fighting against it, nearly driving both of you crazy in the process.

As you readied yourself to slide off the mattress, you felt Miguel’s hold on your wrist stilling you.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “Please.”

You groaned inwardly. “I need to go pee, Miguel.”

Sleepy and bloodshot eyes met yours. “It took us hours to drain her energy… hold it in for a while,” now that was a desperate tone if you’d ever heard one from him.

You heaved a long and heavy sigh, feeling his thumb gently rubbing at your pulse point in sheer gratitude.

“Yup. No more babies, O’Hara.”

“Maybe one more?”

You shot him a death glare and he swallowed hard.

“… or not.”

First Scare

You paced around the apartment, having already lost count of the amount of baby monitors that Miguel had spread all over the place.

“This is a bit too much, no?”

Miguel was checking on the sleeping baby through the orange-tinted screen of his dimensional travel watch when he turned to glare at you like you had just said the most abominable thing ever.

“You can never be too careful,” he said in disbelief.

It was to be expected, really. Miguel was always obsessed with security no matter the context, so you couldn’t really say this surprised you.

“Even the watch?” you asked in awe.

“Of course. It’s a looped system that transmits directly to both our watches,” he said with a nod. “Any alteration in her bedroom trigers an alarm.”

Ever the scientist.

His eyes dropped to the hologram on his wrist and he let out a gasp.

“What?”

“She’s gone!”

Your heart nearly collapsed as a feral Miguel immediately set himself on all fours towards her bedroom, clawing at floor.

“Miguel!” you called after him in a hurry.

Once you reached the open door, you were presented with Peter holding your daughter as Mayday chuckled happily, seated on his shoulder.

“Peter!” Miguel growled, yanking your daughter from his hold and bringing her close to his chest defensively.

“Miguel! We were just paying a visit,” he chuckled. “Cute baby, by the way,” he turned to you with a smile and a flick of his fingers.

But Miguel was having none of that. “Out!”

Mayday stuck out her tongue at him right away, a habit she had yet to let gonof whenever Miguel was around.

“Lyla, why wasn’t the alarm triggered?”

The AI appeared by his shoulder at once, filing her nails. “You forgot to activate the security system, boss.”

First Word

“Pa~pá! Say it. Paaa~pá!”

“Cheater!” you exploded as you entered the kitchen in large steps.

Miguel turned to face you as your daughter giggled.

“We promised to let it be something spontaneous,” you lifted an accusing finger at him. “Cheater!”

He lifted both hands defensively. “I’m just giving her some help.”

In truth, you weren’t upset with him in the slightest. He had been such a constanr presence in his daughter’s life even through an exhausting amount of work around Nueva York.

You feigned indignation crossing your arms across your chest.

Miguel picked her out of the baby chair and walked towards you with a tentative smile.

“I’m sorry.”

Your front broke right away as he leaned to nudge his forehead against yours. “You’re still a cheater,” you accused, not able prevent your lips from curling into a smirk.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Your daughter started clapping enthusiastically. “Petaah~” and then burst into laughter.

Miguel looked down at her in shock. “What?”

It was almost comedic irony that the first word your daughter said was Peter, which had Miguel sulk for a couple of days.

First Steps

You missed kissing Miguel with no interruptions. Having some alone time in between taking care of your daughter was not easy to come by.

So whenever there was an opening, you’d both make it count.

He had your back pressed against the cold surface of the bedroom wall in no time, framing your face with both hands to deepen the searing kiss.

You melted into his touch right away, yearning for more.

Miguel broke the kiss momentarily to check his watch, panting lightly. “She’s still in the living room.”

You sighed in relief as he took your lips in his once more, hungrier this time. Both of your hands were resting on his firm chest, enjoying the way his muscles rippled under your touch.

Miguel hummed into you, swallowing your gasps and moans.

Your eyes were about to flutter shut when you detected movement out of the corner of your eye.

Panic took over and you immediately pushed Miguel away with a yelp.

Standing by the door was your daughter, gripping the frame with tiny hands, barely able to keep her balance.

Miguel offered her a kind smile. “Hey, you�� come here.”

Your heart was hammering hard in your chest as you struggled to even your breathing.

She broke into an amused chuckle, wobbling in Miguel’s direction as he dropped to one knee. “Come here,” he encouraged.

But she would only take a couple of steps before her legs gave out under her to have her sit on the floor.

This was evidently very amusing as she kept trying to mimic her first attempt in between laughter

Miguel exchanged a proud smile with you and, for the first time in a long, you didn’t mind being interrupted.

Masterlist

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Skin

Minors Do Not Interact.

Warnings: aftermath of childbirth, pregnancy, childbirth complications (not fatal), and hints of Feyd's abusive childhood.

Feyd holds his newborn baby as his wife rests. The birth had gone as smoothly as a first could be expected to go, but she had reacted poorly to the medications they gave her afterwards. She was quite out of it, mumbling and far too drugged up to hold the baby. She couldn't even touch her nose without smacking her own eye.

Feyd had refused to let the nurses hold his son. The idea of simply handing his child off to a stranger, whether servant or slave, felt wrong to him. The nurse had smiled, despite the glare Feyd wore on his face. "You'll want to remove your shirt."

Feyd frowned deeper. "Why?"

"Newborn babies need skin to skin contact. It helps with temperature regulation, digestion, heart rate, all manner of things. I can step out if you'd prefer."

Feyd waves his hand, gesturing for her to leave. It had been nearly six months since he had killed Vladimir Harkonnen, and yet he still felt uncomfortable being exposed in front of anyone. Anyone except his wife and his harpies, that is.

Feyd had shed his shirt, and then carefully picked up his baby from the bassinet the nurse had set him in. He cradled his son the way his wife had shown him. She had forced him to practice swaddling and cradling and all manner of actions with a stuffed toy. She had insisted he learn, in her words, in case she died. Something that he had hated hearing.

But now, as Feyd sat in a chair beside his wife's bed and held his baby boy, the heir of his kingdom, the pride of his heart, and quite recently, the thing he loved most in the world, he was beyond grateful his wife had insisted he learned. His son was silent, and Feyd knew that it would be some time before he could expect to communicate meaningfully with his son. Despite that, he whisper out a few words of explanation to his first born.

"Sorry, little one. Your mother would be much softer to rest against, but she's not feeling well. Bringing you into this world took a lot out of her. It's not your fault, of course not, don't think that. These things happen. The doctors checked her over three times, she'll be alright in a few hours. She's always been sensitive to medicine, she just needs to rest and let the IV help her clean out her system. Between you and me, she's quite the lightweight. I swear she got drunk off of half a glass of wine before. Harkonnen wine, but still. Don't repeat this to your mother, alright? It's alright for us to tease her on occasion, but she's been through hell these last few hours. It's not the time to tease."

Feyd stayed like that with his son for hours, whispering to him about everything and nothing. He explained to his son what time of day it was, how time was measured, how the sun worked on Giedi Prime, and how the evening was his wife's favorite time of day. The hours flew by, and by the time the sun rose, Feyd was certain his son was the most intelligent baby in history.

His wife stirred when the sun peeked over the horizon, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of Feyd, still shirtless, cradling the child she had labored for hours to bring into the world. "Feyd…"

Feyd leaned forward, scooting his chair closer to the bed. "Do you hurt, my darling? Do you thirst? Hunger?"

"Yes to all." His wife grumbled. "But before any of that," she held out her arms, smiling, "I'd like to hold my son."

Feyd set their boy in her arms, kissed her on the forehead, pulled his shirt back on, and left to call for the nurse. So many things left to do. His wife needed her health checked. She'd need to drink a lot of fluids. His son would need some things done as well. Foot prints, documents signed, shots perhaps. Feyd wasn't sure how long a baby needed to wait before getting vaccinated, but if it was to be done today, then it was another task. It seemed an endless list to him at the moment. A boring yet tiring list when all he truly wanted was to go back into his wife's bedroom and hold her in his arms while she held their baby. Oh well. Responsibilities first, desires second.

[railingsofsorrow]

do you need me?

[spencer reid x reader]

summary: the one where emily's death takes a toll on you. based on the prompt “don't come over, I can handle it.” from this prompt list.

pairing: s.reid x gn!reader

w.c: 3.5K

warnings/content: mentions of skipping meals; grief; mourning the loss of a friend; jemily (implied); blood; non-graphic descriptions of violence; character death (mentioned/not the MCs); addiction; intoxication; survivor's guilt; crying; unhealthy coping mechanisms; this is... heavy, be aware.

A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! I wish that we all have an amazing 2024. here's the blurb you voted for. hurt/comfort at its best <3

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

would you like to enter my taglist?

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❝ it did not kill me and it did not make me stronger. it simply was and always will be scorched upon my heart. ❞

— d.j

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You don't know who took Emily's death the hardest. Pain is not something that can be measured or compared, people deal with it in different ways. Some are quieter in their grieving, others are loud. And although each one of your teammates knows how to compartmentalize their feelings, there was a fog in their eyes, a heaviness in their shoulders more than usual. Things you could relate well after all that has happened. You wish you didn't. You wished all of that was just a strange and far-off memory.

JJ was different — you noticed it during one of your night outs.

Penelope had forced everyone to hang out after a case, to relax. It had been a few months after what happened to Emily and the team was still... sore. Rightfully so.

Hotch and Rossi left earlier, leaving you, Derek, Spencer, Penelope and JJ at the bar. The only ones who weren't intoxicated were you and Spencer. You were pretty sure the conversation Penelope and Derek were having in their own little world was not PG-13, anyway.

“Do you think she's alright?”

Spencer asked, casting a look towards JJ. It's been half an hour she was nursing a glass of water — you had purposely brought her this one since she'd lost count of her shots —, staring at it with her stare unfocused.

“She will be.” You had said and when he told you he was leaving, you asked if he wanted a ride home. You hadn't drank anything but orange juice. He refused it, hugged you and, before he left, he demanded that you'd let him know once you got home.

You ended up being JJ's designated driver that night.

It was when you first saw a crack through the mask she had put on. Emily and JJ shared a deep bond. You knew their friendship wasn't just friendship, even before Emily had revealed to you that she had feelings for the blonde a while back. When Emily was gone, you saw how JJ took it hard. Not that everyone else didn't as well, but the love from each person in the team carried for Emily was different from the love JJ had for her.

Between the gibberish she was mumbling in the passenger seat of your car, she let escape a faint “I miss her”. Her voice cracked and your heart ached.

“D’ you think...” She muttered as you were helping her into her bed. “D'you think she miss— a hiccup — misses us?”

You refrained from saying that dead people cannot miss anything. Instead, you waited for her to fall asleep, placed a cup of water and aspirin on her bedside table before leaving her apartment.

She pretended nothing happened in the next day and you did the same.

You thought JJ had it worst, until Spencer showed up at your door at 3 a.m craving for something he hadn't touched in three years.

Again, pain is not comparable. One does not hurts more than another; people deal with their hardships in life differently, even if they have gone through the same life-changing event.

Some let it show, others just know how to hide it better. You no longer knew if you were the former or the latter through the eyes of your friends.

The current case you were working on had rendered you mentally exhausted. A victim had been taken hostage and for two days you tried to negotiate with the unsub, but to no avail. You almost had it. Almost. When you thought you had succeeded in releasing the woman, she was shot right in front of you.

She died in your arms and there was nothing that you could have done to prevent.

Or was there?

There was nothing that you could have done. You have heard that before. Countless of times. People tried to inject that into your head as a way to make you feel better. And they have their best intentions, you do not doubt it. But it was no use if you couldn't bring yourself to believe these words.

This was just one of those days, when you didn't know how to cope with that overbearing sadness that crippled your mind.

There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have done. There was nothing that you could have—

“Hey.”

You flinched, startled at the voice. As you came back to reality, Spencer turned up in front of you.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.” His face twitched into a grimace.

You cleared your throat, placing your stuff in your bag. You were so distracted that you didn't realise you had been holding the bloodied shirt you were wearing in the morning; you shoved it inside carelessly. I'm gonna burn it.

“You didn't,” you said. “What's up? I thought you had left already.”

Spencer leaned on the door, fingers playing with the strap of his satchel as he waited for you to leave the room. He followed you to the corridor, an unspoken silence that said a million things. His fidgety hands weren't just mindlessly stimming, he was nervous.

Everyone else seemed to have left, meaning the bullpen was fairly empty. You wondered how long you stayed frozen reminiscing as the minutes went by.

“I was waiting for you.” He responded as soon as the elevator doors closed.

You turned to him with widened eyes. “Why? I'm sorry I kept you waiting—”

Spencer quickly waved you off, “It's alright.” He gave you a soft smile. The one you felt warm inside. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

Oh.

“Of course I am.” You replied and you really hoped the tight smile you gave him was convincing enough for him to not question further. You weren't sure if you'd be able to not crumble down completely if he asked again.

“Are you sure?”

Damn, Spencer.

Yes, everything is good. I just need to get home, take a shower and have a good night sleep without interruptions.

Everything is good.

You don't know how many times you repeated that until he walked alongside you to the parking lot.

Arriving home was all that you needed to let your armour aside. God you were so tired. You didn't even reach your bedroom before the tears came like a waterfall. Falling into your couch, with no strength to stand, you finally stopped fighting against the sadness and let it lead you for the time being.

It's hard trying to be strong all the time, isn't it? Not admitting you need someone to be there for you because you only know how to be there for people. You tell them it's going to be okay. You let them be vulnerable. You say it's okay to not be okay.

Why can't you treat yourself the same way you treat the people around you?

You count every raindrop falling down your window, it helps you focus on reality. It was grounding and a few minutes later you have stopped sobbing your heart out.

It was raining hard outside. When you open the window, the cold slips right in and you stay there, enjoying the wind pushing your hair back.

You dial a familiar number tonight. And you don't hang up after two rings. You think about doing it in the fourth, but the person picks up, apologizing before they say hello.

It actually makes your lips twitch slightly. You don't smile, but you feel like doing it after crying so hard.

“Spencer.” You say through the phone interrupting his incessant apologies for taking too long to answer, your brows creasing after you hear how strange your voice is. “You don't have to apologize. I was the one who called you at one a.m. Why are you even awake?”

“I was reading. Lost track of time. I— have you been crying?” Well, shit. Too much for thinking he wouldn't notice through the phone.

“Why do you ask?” You ask rather pathetically. Why did you call him? Why did you bother Spencer at one a.m when he could be sleeping? You should feel sorry for yourself. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called—”

“I was thinking about you.”

Your breath hitches. You close the window and sit back on the floor and you feel like crying again, you don't know why. Maybe it's his voice. Maybe it's the fact that he makes you feel everything that you're allowed to feel.

He takes your silence as his cue to continue. “I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” he trails off as if he's uncertain about what he will say. “I remembered you.”

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Spencer could take pride in saying he knew you better than anyone else.

He recognised the sound of your voice was different when your were excited about a particular topic and when you were discussing a case at work. He knew you brushed your hair behind your ear when you felt shy, but the same action could happen when you were uncomfortable. It heavily depended on the situation.

He was aware of your odd behaviour by the way you kept on touching your index finger throughout the day. The week, actually. Spencer could tell you were bothered by something, he could tell you were deeply upset. You skipped breakfast and you never had lunch with them. Not that past week.

And judging by the dark circles around your eyes, you weren't sleeping well either.

He saw himself in you a month back.

See, Spencer was the kind of person who didn't like being vulnerable around anyone. If anything, he mastered the act of not communicating his feelings, he just expected them to disappear, which didn't happen but he was getting better at understanding that.

After Emily's passing, the only one he opened up to was you. And it was the hardest and best choice he ever made. You made him feel seen. It was so easy to talk to you about anything that he didn't notice until a few days ago that you were a very good listener. Not that he didn't notice that before, no, it was not that. But you just listened. You comforted. You held.

Spencer was really concerned about your coping mechanisms, because he knew he didn't have the most healthy ways of dealing with things. He hoped you were better than him. He hoped you didn't let it build up until you were suffocating.

So when you called him, he wasn't lying when he said he was thinking of you. His lie laid on the reading part, he was trying to fall asleep but his concern was keeping him up.

I'm here for you too. He wanted to say. Please, let me be here for you.

“I know how much you love thunderstorms so I...” He sat down on the bed, shifting until he found a comfortable position. “I remembered you.” This is what he started with.

Your ragged breathing through the line cut off his rational thinking. So you have been crying.

He called your name softly.

“Hi. I'm here.” You say, forcing out an exhale.

“Talk to me.” He pleads.

He hears a faint sniffle, “I'm here, Spencer.”

No, you're not. You're far away.

“I'm here too. You know that right?”

“It's been a hard week.” You admit through your shaky voice. “I just needed to hear your voice.” You cut him off quickly. “I know that I saw you a few hours ago, but I—”

“Do you need me?” He was the one who cut you off this time. He couldn't bear you explaining the reason you called. You could call him as many times as you wanted. Every five minutes, every second. He wanted to tell you he missed you when your shift was over for the day even if he spent the entire day by your side, and that you never ever could bother him because he cherished your company. He wanted you close. And he just wanted you to be okay now.

“... It's one a.m, Spence.” There is some shifting through the line, sounds like you were moving around. “I— I can handle it. It's fine.”

“Do you need me?” He repeats, shuffling out of his room to the living room. He couldn't care less that it was one a.m. He found his coat hanged and didn't wait for your answer to put it on. Really, Spencer should have done it sooner.

He's half way on tying his left shoe when you breath out in resignation. Your voice much closer to his ear as if you were telling him a secret you should be ashamed of. “Yes. Yes, I need you.”

He let out a hum, standing up to grab his car keys and sprinted out of his home to go to yours.

“I'll be there in ten.”

You lived twenty minutes away from him, but he'd make in ten. He wanted to see you. More than anything, he wanted to tell you everything that you hadn't heard when you were too busy comforting people instead of yourself.

He stops short before knocking on your door, deciding on sending you a text to let you know he was there so you wouldn't be startled at the noise. He didn't get to click send as the door was yanked open. Your bloodshot eyes and swollen lips are the first thing he sees.

“Hi.” He says, slipping his phone into his pocket. As soon as he did that, your arms envelope his shoulders which caused him to let out a sound of surprise, but he quickly recover and wraps his own arms around you, squeezing your shaky body against his. “Hi.” He utters into the croak of your neck, his hand trailing up and down on your back gently. “I'm wet because of the rain,” he apologises halfheartedly. “Sorry.”

The laugh he hears through your sobs might just have made his day.

He was cold immediately after you slips out of his arms. You pull him inside your place and shut the door, claiming you would be back with a towel despite his protests that he didn't need it.

Spencer lost count of how many times he visited your place. He knew every corner of your apartment, every place you left books that you keep losing when you didn't found them on the shelves, every painting and drawing you had on the walls. The ones he happily convinced you to put on because you made them and they were beautiful, you just didn't believe it.

The two of you spent long hours on your couch, either reading a book and saying your favourite quotes out loud or just watching bad movies and TV shows to pass the time.

He'd ramble on and on about the inconsistencies of any plot and you'd engage in his refutations until you'd disagree and some bantering ensued.

“Here.” Spencer turns around to see you offering a towel for him to dry off. The middle of your forehead furrows slightly, he feels the need to smooth it out himself but he refrains from doing so. “It's dangerous to drive when the weather it's like this. I'm sorry that I made you come all the way here for nothing.”

“Nothing?” He shakes his head as if it's the most absurd thing you've ever said. “You're not nothing.” He accepts the towel and what he recognizes is a jumper of his he must have forgotten a while ago.

When he's completely dry, he walks to the kitchen where you had ventured off to make some tea.

Two mugs are placed on the kitchen counter, the smell of camomile slowly filling the room. You are lost in your thoughts again, mixing the honey in your tea with a spoon for forty-three minutes, your gaze unfocused. Lost.

His fingerstips trails down your wrist to your hand, proceeding to take one of your hands in his, thumb running across your palm. “Can you please look at me?” He requests softly, head tilting until you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It” are a lot of things. But he doesn't know if you feel comfortable enough to talk about all of them tonight. He'll just follow your lead and respect your time.

“I don't want you to see me like this.”

He feels your fingers tighten around his hand and he squeezes back as a form of reassurance.

“Like what?” He can't help but ask. Vulnerable? Human?

“Weak.”

“You could never be weak in my eyes.”

This time, he does smooth down the frown between your brows with his thumb, surprised that you don't reject his touch but welcome it by leaning into his hand.

Neither of you drink the tea. Instead, you move back to the living room, settling down on your couch. You end up cuddling, which wasn't strange because you have done it many times before. Now it just feels more intimate. His hold never strayed from yours. This time, he listened. He comforted. And he held you.

“I'm used to blood, we see it all the time.” you carry on, speaking directly to his chest as he looks down at you. “But I... My hands. There was just so much of it and I couldn't, I couldn't save her.” Your fingers play with the straps of his jumper to distract yourself.

There was nothing that you could have done.

“She knows you did everything you could.” Spencer reassures. He was well aware that you weren't just talking about the victim that you had lost today. “Wherever she is right now...” He lifts a hand to cup your face stroking your cheek with the utmost care in the world. “She knows.”

Your bloodshot eyes study him carefully, searching for any indication that could make you not trust anything he just said. He knew how hard it was to believe that you had no fault in the loss of a friend. Maybe if we had gotten there sooner... Maybe if we had figured everything out sooner...

A little bird told him once that you can't dwell on the past for long or else you'll be stuck in it. And those words — your words — helped on his healing process. He hoped he did the same to you now.

You were laying on his chest, one of your hands positioned right where his heart laid as your other arm involved his middle. His arm wrapped around you as his fingers were trailing up and down your back in the way he knew calmed you down. Spencer felt the most rested he hasn't felt in months and he wasn't even sleeping.

“Tell me if I'm making you uncomfortable.”

He shook his head in response, finding that statement completely absurd because it was not possible for you to make him feel uncomfortable. He's not a fan of PDA, but he found that he didn't mind it with you. So he lowered down on the couch, moving your body with his to be more comfortable, lips grazing your temple in a soft kiss.

“You're not.” He says brushing your hair away from your neck. Your eyes were shut and he could feel your breathing evening out. “Try to sleep a little.” He let out in a whisper to not disturb your peacefulness. He knew you needed it.

“Don't go.” You croak out, tucking your nose in the croak of his neck, breathing into him.

The corner of his lips quirk up. “I'll be here when you wake up.” He promises as thunder rolled outside. Fluttering his eyes shut when you have finally dozed off, he ignores the warnings in his head about sleeping on the couch and how bad it is for one's neck.

No, he could deal with that tomorrow. For now, he would just hold you.

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❝ all I know of strength, I have learnt from breaking. ❞

— sahiba

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taglist: @lilyviolets

[jjungkookislife]

Jeans

pairing: hfth!jungkook x f. reader

genre: established relationship, crack, college au, 18+

summary: Jimin buys you a pair of "coochie" jeans.

wc: 640

warnings: the word coochie is used a lot lol and implied smut?

a/n: this is not to make fun of anyone who likes these jeans, I just thought it would make an interesting drabble

date: June 20, 2024

“Jimin, I don’t need a new outfit,” you insisted as you followed him to the clothing racks of a department store. 

Jimin ignored you as he went through the jeans on one rack, eyes wide when he spotted the most unhinged pair of jeans ever. 

He doesn’t say a word as he grabs them and a few others to hide them under before shoving you into the dressing room.

Reluctantly, you try on the jeans, screaming in the dressing room before showing Jimin. 

“Jimin!”

Cackling, Jimin pops his head into the dressing room, “Oh-ho, those are worse on than I imagined.”

“We are not getting these!”

“I’ll buy them! Hoseok will have a conundrum!”

You glare at Jimin before stomping into the dressing room to change. If he wanted to waste his money on that denim abomination, that was his prerogative.

“Are you sure you can’t stay this summer?” Hoseok asks as he finishes taking your measurements for the outfit he wants to make you. Jungkook and Jimin sat on the floor, gaming controllers in their hands as they cursed when they got shot at on screen.

“I wish, but my parents got my flight tickets last semester so I can’t stay,” you inform him. Jungkook pouts beside Jimin, but remains silent. 

“Why don’t you go try on the dress we got the other day and the jeans?” Jimin chirps as he looks at you over his shoulder. The mischievous grin on his face makes you scowl as Hoseok hands you the yellow shopping bag beside him. 

“I hate you,” you utter in Jimin’s direction, but he simply blows you a kiss when you flip him off and stomp into Jungkook’s bedroom to change. 

“I’m hungry,” Jungkook states as he shuts the game off and heads for the kitchen. He’s got his head in the fridge when the door to his bedroom opens announcing your return. 

Jimin has his hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter when you appear. 

Hoseok’s eyes are wide, his jaw nearly unhinged as he takes in your pants. 

“COOCHIE JEANS?!” Hoseok screeches, grabbing Jungkook’s attention. 

“What about my girl’s coochie?” Jungkook asks as he looks up from the fridge. His jaw drops as he takes in your new pants. 

“What the fuck are those?” Hoseok feels like he’s having a heart attack. Who in their right mind would design those? Who would buy them? 

“Coochie jeans,” Jimin says, ignoring Hoseok’s middle finger aimed at him.

“Those are a fashion designer’s worst nightmare come to life! You paid for those?!”

“Jimin did,” you answer, glaring at your giggling friend. 

“Those are going back immediately!” Hoseok exclaims as he starts patting his pockets for his car keys. 

“Can we keep them for an hour?” Jungkook asks as he looks you up and down with a lustful gaze. 

Hoseok scoffs, shaking his head as he demands you change out of those monstrous jeans before you need to call an ambulance for him. 

Jungkook pouts as you walk away to change and Hoseok nearly throttles Jimin as he demands the receipt. 

“You’re not allowed to take her shopping anymore! In fact, I’ll be making all her outfits from now on!” Hoseok shakes his head as you reappear in regular jeans. 

“Aren’t you busy with your courses?” You ask as you hand over the bag with the Coochie jeans. 

“I’ll make it work if it keeps you out of these!” Hoseok shakes his head as he grabs Jimin by the ear and drags him out of the apartment, lecturing him on fashion. 

Jungkook approaches you, his arm wraps around your waist. 

“That’s too bad,” he says as he kisses your cheek. “We could have had fun with those.”

“Well, Jimin and Hoseok will be gone for a bit, why don’t we go to your room and have some fun?”

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

jeans

[catscraftsandcommentary]

I am having more thoughts about the Accidental Warlord AU, and instead of apologizing, I'm just going to drag you all with me.

Sorry not sorry, and all that. Today's thoughts are called

"People learn to lie to witchers."

Now, witchers have their fancy extra powerful senses, so they can - theoretically - tell when someone is lying to them. But as Renfri's stepmother learned, they CAN be misled. Especially in cases of "~I~ knew what I meant, it's not my fault that you interpreted my words differently. (Even though I specifically phrased it so that you WOULD easily interpret it the way I wanted, and not the way that's accurate.)"

So, here are the ways I think people could lie to witchers without getting caught (immediately):

EUPHEMISMS (especially with multiple meanings)- like when Renfri's stepmother said "I sent the soldiers on" meaning "...to their deaths" but Coën assumed "...to their homelands."

TAKING THINGS OUT OF CONTEXT - My alma mater's main library has a centaur skeleton on permant display. It's mounted in situ - ie, the bones are still in the dirt, and it is very obviously a human shaped skull and torso on a horse's body. *But* the point of the display is to show that counterfeit "evidence" can be VERY convincing, so you have to question things.

NOT GIVING ALL THE FACTS - "Trump got shot!" In the ear. He's still alive, was barely injured, and unfortunately is still running for president.

STATISTICS - you've all seen polls that are like "95% of people support horrible thing!" But then you learn that the poll runners SPECIFICALLY chose to poll supporters of that Horrible Thing, so *obviously* you got that result. Or "the average human has less than 2 arms!" Well, the vast majority of people have 2 arms, but due to injuries, birth defects, etc some people have 0 or 1 arm(s), so in a group of 1,000 people, there might be 1,995 arms, or an average of 1.995 arms per person...

DEADPAN SARCASM - I'm not sure if this would set off witchers' lie detector ability or not - possibly it would depend on whether the person *intended* to mislead the witcher and they simply didn't catch onto it, or whether a person's heart rate/scent/etc still changes anytime someone says anything remotely untrue.

EXTRAORDINARY BODY CONTROL - I once read a novel where there was a machine which measured brainwaves and somehow interpreted them to measure when someone was suppressing information (ie lying). And in a trial, an experienced criminal had trained himself to beat the detector with psychology but his less experienced partner had not.

DELUSIONS/MENTAL ILLNESS - if someone seems totally sane, but they truly believe that something impossible happened, well, they could testify that it happened. And be believed. But the answer might be "it was a hallucination" or "they were on drugs" or something similar.

-

Now, these will all fall apart under more thorough questioning/investigation - which is good! It means the truth is still there! But in order to do that questioning or investigation, the witcher has to realize that it is NECESSARY. And sometimes the first answer they get is believable, so they might not look closer.

To teach young witchers to recognize situations like this and to practice figuring out the truth, Jaskier comes up with a game that he includes with the trainees' diplomacy lessons. He calls it "For Clarity" and it involves one person making a statement which is technically accurate - but misleading - and a second person (or group) asking questions or making guesses until they figure out what the deception/full truth is.

Lambert hears about it and immediately dubs it "Find The Bullshit." Of course that name catches on.

Jaskier is TERRIFYINGLY good at this game - both sides of it - and all the witchers are reminded once again that they are INCREDIBLY lucky that he's on their side.

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

Choose

Tav attempts to steal the orphic hammer, and things go very, very wrong. Raphael x Tav. Fucked up deals and impossible choices ahead. A little bit of horror, as a treat.

'I'm starving, darling, let me put my lips to something, let me wrap my teeth around the world.' - Eat Your Young, Hozier

‘Don’t do it,’ whispered a wretched shade, their eyes panicked and wide as deer.

‘The master will come home,’ said another, voice barely floating on the stifling heat. The opulence of the house swam and sparkled, sweat slid its uncomfortable fingers down Tav’s spine.

‘We need to leave, and soon,’ said Gale urgently. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, his hair plastered to his face.

‘I have to agree,’ said Astarion, who appeared to be panting.

‘Alright,’ said Tav. ‘We grab the hammer and leave. Karlach, you’re first line of defense. Get to the portal now, I’ll meet you there.’

‘No soldier, I’m not leaving you.’

‘He’s all bark. We all know that. I get the hammer, I run for the portal, we leave. That’s an order.’

Astarion narrowed his red eyes. ‘Darling, I hate taking orders. But you are our esteemed leader, so…’

‘This is not wise,’ added Gale, pointing a finger at her for emphasis. ‘Especially not in his own house. And with that incubus of his wandering around. I’m sure Haarlep holds no love but we should be careful all the same.’

‘Nobody accused me of wisdom,’ she said flatly. ‘Now go.’

They retreated reluctantly at first, then picked up the pace as the shades lifted their feeble voices in a flurry of fear. Turning her gaze to the grand doors to the archives, she took a breath of hot, sulphurous air that burned her throat, squared her shoulders, and walked in.

The archivist glanced at her, barely interested now he believed her to be one of the denizens of Avernus. As quickly as possible, she whispered the password, grasped the Orphic hammer in both hands, and pulled. It was heavier than she was expecting, and she staggered slightly before righting herself just in time to see everything catch fire.

‘Shit,’ she breathed. The house erupted in screams, the shades fleeing to nowhere as imps and other hellsbeasts descended, pouring through the corridors and chittering. Fire licked at her as she ran, swinging the hammer half blindly and exhaling as it connected with an imp. Sweat poured from her like she was melting, her heart pounding as her feet hit the ground hard. The fire was catching on her clothes, smoke pouring into her mouth and nose and stinging her eyes. She coughed, doubling over.

‘Tav?’ came Karlach’s voice from what felt like a very long way away. ‘TAV?!’

‘M’coming,’ she said, closing her eyes briefly. Her head was light, swimming. The tadpole seemed to sense danger and was squirming horribly behind her eye.

‘He’s here!’ said Gale in a voice so high pitched and panicked it terrified her.

‘We have to GO!’ shrieked Astarion.

Then in an instant, the smoke cleared, the fire vanished, and Tav collapsed to her knees, fighting the urge to vomit. ‘Guys?’ she called out. ‘Gale? Karlach? Are you there?’ Climbing to her feet, she glanced around. The archivist appeared to be gone, and small charred bodies littered the floor. The imps, she realised.

There was no response from her friends. Briefly she wondered if they’d simply gone silent so as to remain hidden, but some part of her felt their absence. The whole house was quiet now. The shades were cowering, and hers was the only living thing she could hear.

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, at least.

‘I tried to be fair to you.’ A spike of fear shot through her at the sound of Raphael’s voice; it was calm, measured, and deadly quiet. ‘A fair deal on the table. Something I pride myself on, in fact.’ He sounded closer with every word, but then he paused, apparently listening for something. ‘You’re the only mortal thing in this house, little mouse,’ he hissed. ‘I can hear your heart, I can smell your fear. Thief. Run from me, if you think you can. Or,’ he paused, his voice falsely sweet, ‘come crawling, beg my forgiveness and we can forget this ever happened… after a few decades of reeducation.’

Tav chose to run.

Straining her ears, she deduced he was somewhere to the left, so she crept right and fixed her eyes on the waters of the boudoir, trying to be as quiet as possible. ‘You must hate it,’ she heard herself say, her eyes widening in horror at her impulsiveness, ‘knowing that I stole from right under your nose. What are you going to do about it, huh Raphael? It’s not like you shouldn’t have seen this coming. After all, you’re so clever.’

He growled. She smiled to herself despite the danger she was in, glad to have humiliated him at least a little. She kept creeping forward, then realised the floor was beginning to shake. The soft steps she’d strained her ears for had changed, thumping into the tile with heavy finality. What the fuck?

She made it to the gate and slipped through, turning her eyes to Haarlep in a silent plea. He almost looked sad as he snapped his fingers, vanishing. She blinked in confusion, glancing around frantically for somewhere to hide.

‘Foolish girl,’ crooned Raphael quietly, voice dripping with menace. ‘You could have made this easy, maintained my goodwill, but now, my sweet little morsel, you’ll pay dearly for what you’ve done. I assure you of that.’

Kill him. The thought popped unbidden into her mind. Tav watched the water throw patterns on the walls, its depths tinged with blood. She weighed her decision for a moment before stepping in, sighing as the waters soothed her hurts and the heaviness in her limbs cleared. She felt strong suddenly, vital.

And she’d taken too long.

There in the doorway, wings unfurled to entirely block the exit, was the devil. Somehow, here, she realised just how small she was in comparison. He stalked forward, crooking a finger. ‘The hammer. Now.’ Her feet remained rooted. He sighed, exasperated, and walked to her instead. She barely came up to his chest, his wings reaching to fold her within. ‘I should kill you,’ he said. ‘But you’re such a pretty little thing.’

‘Let me go,’ she blurted out. ‘We didn’t- I didn’t mean- we only-’ she stammered. ‘We have to free him, we had no choice!’

‘No choices left, little mouse,’ he said. ‘You could have just signed the contract. You’d have the hammer by now, you’d have power, you’d be free, walking the streets of your precious Baldur’s Gate with your adorable little friends and your fragile dreams. But not now.’ One massive clawed hand closed around her wrist, prying the hammer from her grasp. ‘Now I’m afraid I must resort to more… unsavoury measures.’

‘Don’t kill me,’ she said. ‘Please don’t. Please.’

‘As sweet as your begging is, I’m not going to kill you. The punishment must fit the crime, after all, and death, while momentarily satisfying, hardly makes up for the mess you’ve made of things.’

Tav had read the scrolls concerning Hope. His grip was unyielding as he slid his other hand around her waist, drawing her forward in a mockery of dance, his wings at her back, yellow eyes glowing, burning into hers in the dim light. ‘You can’t,’ she said before thinking. He just laughed, the deep rumble of it shuddering through her whole body.

‘This is your deal,’ he whispered, lips pulling back to show his fangs. ‘I allow you to leave my house at some indeterminate point in the future, after I feel you’ve been suitably punished. You get to live the rest of your years under sun and sky, but your soul is mine. That or die. Those are your options.’

‘But-’

‘Choose,’ he hissed. The colour drained from her face. I want to live.

‘Deal,’ she said, the beginnings of a sob choked off by his mouth claiming her, body and soul.

Tags: @forget-me-maybe

@boufsy @owlseeyoulaterpal @lanafofana @amorgansgal

@auroraesmeraldarose @aryancunin @miradelletarot @marlowethebard

@netherese0rb @crimson-and-lavender @reeseykins @medra-gonbites

@roguishcat @weaverofnetheril @galedekarioswifey @hyperfixationstation128 @lastlight-inn

@astarryvamp @feedthepheasants @dabigstinky @dreamingofthewild @ladyofcrowsandcoffee

[poppadom0912]

Together (IX)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, injuries, abuse, kidnappings, shootings, swearing and scary men.

Summary: They're finally together and nothing's getting in the way... maybe.

A/N: So this is the second final chapter before the epilogue. This has been so much fun to write you don't understand. This is like my baby that I've had since January and I'm so proud. You guys have shown so much love for it that it makes me upset it's all coming to an end. So I hope you enjoy and cherish the last two chapters of this series!!

I'm not a professional so ignore any medical inaccuracies. Also, for my sake, let's pretend that all these characters are still here because I can't be asked to remember who left and what season is which. Everyone's just going to exist happily together ;))

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist / Next Chapter

The gunshots reverberated through the warehouse, despite being cut off from the outside world it sounded like a battlefield where thousands of bullets were being shot when in reality it was probably under thirty people shooting back and forth at each other.

You’d been awake for a while now, your body curling around Will’s as both of you shivered. He tried talking, telling you stories that you somehow never heard before but talking became too hard at one point and his pain doubled resulting in staying in silence.

The silence made it easy to get lost in thought, getting carried away in the thought that maybe this was it. It daunted on you that no matter how hard you fought, how hard your brothers fought, none of it was enough at the end of the day because look at where the three of you ended up.

Half an hour later, Will was dragging you and himself towards the door as soon as the gunshots went off. He murmured how when the door was eventually opened, you’d be hidden behind the door and it’d taken just a few seconds longer to be found, giving Will hopefully some time to come up with a very last-minute plan.

Holding in your breath, you waited anxiously on the floor with Will crouched besides you, pain evident on his face from the new uncomfortable position. Just as you were going to tell him to sit down, footsteps could be heard stomping downstairs and across the corridors.

You and Will shared a glance, worry written boldly on both your faces. This was probably it and that thought of this being the end made the pit in your stomach grow. All this pain and suffering only ending in death, it was kinda pathetic. You prayed Jay mourned healthily, prayed Kelly wouldn’t lose himself and moved on, prayed that everything stuck together, and no one let this tear them apart.  

Will gripped your hand as tightly as he could, his body shielding yours as best he could because if this was it, then he was going to go down protecting you and putting up some sort of a fight. You squeezed his hand back as tight as you could, expressing words that you were too scared to say in the silence that was interrupted by stomping feet and shattering bullets.  

With a watery smile, you squeezed Will’s hand one more time for good measure, maintaining eye contact for just a little longer, having a silent conversation where you both said everything necessary with simply your eyes; eyes that you shared with Jay and eyes that he shared with your dad. Merely the thought of it made a tear slip from where you were pushing it back.  

Will softly smiled back at you, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles comfortingly. This minute of silence shared between you two wasn’t enough, you wanted, scratch that you needed more time.  

The sound of struggle was the next thing you heard; someone was trying to get into the locked room. The sudden banging overtook your thundering heart that was already having a tough time. 

The door burst open; it happened so fast that it hit Will’s back whose face scrunched up in pain. You squeezed his hand tighter to hopefully offer him some comfort, but he only adjusted his position so that his crouched body was fully covering yours from outside eyes.  

“Please, please don’t touch her.” Will begged, urgency dripping as it heavily coated his words. He would rather they did all the damage on him than you, you’d been hurt enough, and he could handle a little more violence. You argued he couldn’t since he was barely stable while on the ground. If he wasn’t being so hypervigilant and took the time, he’d realise he was worse off than he thought.  

“Thank fuck.”  

That didn’t sound like Jackson or Ezra, neither did it sound like any of their bulky lackeys.  

You slowly peeled your eyes open, watching as Will froze from shock. All the oxygen left his body as he lay eyes, finally, on Jay.  

“Shit, what the hell did they do?!” The fear and anger mixed as Jay took in the sight of his siblings. To see them again took off all the weight on his shoulders, relief replacing it but soon it was gone because you and Will looked worse than he could’ve ever anticipated.

“Help me up Jay.” Will ignored Jay’s question and instead held out his hand. Jay complied easily, pulling Will up onto his feet but as soon as he stood, he crumbled back onto the floor.  

“Shit okay, never mind.” Will groaned, eyes screwed shut as he caught his breath, arm protecting his abdomen. “Leave me for now, you gotta carry Y/N, there’s no way she can walk.”  

“Dude, neither can you or are you also blind now?” Jay scoffed; his eyes wide in bewilderment at his older brother's insistence. “Kevin’s down the hall, he can help.”  

You and Will hummed in reply, neither of you having the energy to properly reply. You felt bad because you barely did anything while Will did all he could and more despite being incapacitated.  

“Seeing your ugly mugs makes me want to cry.” Jay said, a smile appearing on his scabbed lips as he looked down at the two of you. There were no lies in his words, relief flooded his body at the simply seeing his siblings even if they were injured beyond human capabilities but being separated for so long, it did things to men.  

“Come on Halstead’s, let’s get you outta here.” Kevin said, suddenly appearing from out of nowhere, making you and Will jump in fright. It would’ve been funny had your responses not been a result of the trauma you just experienced.  

Jay scooped you into his arms, expletives spilling from your lips from your body being jostled around. His whispered apologies and tried comforting you, trying his best to quell your pain with just his words but it could only do so much. Behind you was Kevin holding Will around his waist, the pair being much slower as Will struggled mightily on his feet, but Kevin was a godsend, being the most patient and kind person as he supported Will.  

The bright afternoon sun blinded you as your finally entered the outside world, being met with fresh air, natural lighting and the company of people who had pure intentions of helping. You briefly saw members of intelligence surrounding you, acting as a shield as they guided Jay towards the ambulance waiting.  

The familiar faces of your favourite paramedics soon came into view causing a smile to break out on yours. As soon as you approached the ambo, Jay gently lay you on the awaiting stretcher and stood back, letting the professionals do their job while keeping watch.  

“Oh Y/N.” Sylvie said sombrely, gingerly pushing your hair back before connecting to a bunch of wires that you couldn’t remember what their purposes were. “We’ve got you, you’re going to be just fine, okay?” 

The question was rhetorical, but you still nodded drowsily in reply. You were aware of the two pairs of hands working on you, Violet and Sylvie were very likely panicking on the inside from the state you were in, but their concern took over. They could panic later once you were properly treated.  

From the corner of your eyes, you could see a new group gathering around the ambo and you could hear voices rising, getting louder the closer they got to 61. If you had it in you, you would’ve looked for the source, but Sylvie reassured you that everything was being handled.  

Violets hands suddenly disappeared as she suddenly exited the ambo, rushing with things in her hands. It took a while for you to understand why, your brain all muddled up, but it only now registered that Will was behind you with Kevin.  

“Will.” You mumbled, your voice scratching as your panic increased. “Will-” 

“Violet's with him.” Sylvie said, her undertone giving it away that she wasn’t confident deep down. “Another ambos on the way for him, don’t worry.” Yet, despite her own words, Sylvie didn’t believe in them. She saw Will for a brief millisecond when he appeared, the ruckus catching her attention, but he somehow looked worse than you under the blaring sun.  

Before you could insist on being told what was happening to him, the ambulance doors were suddenly being slammed shut as Violet drove with all lights and sirens.  

*****

Maggie couldn’t believe her eyes.  

It had been two days since the Halstead’s disappeared. Everyone was informed on day one about their disappearance and it was news that everyone found difficulty in swallowing.  

Everyone had been on edge for the 48 hours. While on shift, multiple people from intelligence and 51 made an appearance into the ED and their solemn faces were all identical. The tension was high, and it only got worse when Jay was randomly dumped outside of Med.  

Around an hour ago, Kim called in saying that Will and Y/N had finally been found and that they should be prepared for the worst. And so, Maggie did what she does best.  

61 Was the first to arrive with police escort, Hailey and Adam drove in front with Kim behind with Jay. They almost formed a protective circle as Sylvie exited along with Violet who helped pulling out the stretcher.

Laying eyes on you for the first time made the charge nurse sick. No matter how long she’d been working in the emergency department, nothing could ever make her get used to this.  

Sylvie relayed shakily what she knew about your condition, Crocket and Natalie listening intently with April’s assistance as they got to work as soon as they entered a trauma bay. Maggie stood with Ethan and Connor by her side, watching as chaos descended in the bay. The three of them were waiting for Will.  

“Jay, how about we finally get a good look at you, huh?” Ethan said, remembering what happened yesterday as he caught sight of the green-eyed detective at the back of the group who refused to look away from his baby sister.  

But the man in question looked like he’d seen a ghost.  

“Will’s not going to make it.” Jay stated, his voice strong and firm as he spoke. He looked away from where you were being treated and looked at everyone almost robotically. “Will’s not making it.”  

Before anyone could say anything, the bay doors were opened and everyone flooded out, pushing the gurney towards the elevator. Crocket stayed back from the rest, slowly walking backwards as he explained, “We’re taking her into surgery, but all things considered, she’s looking okay.” 

And with that, the surgeon was speeding off to basically save your life.  

“How about we look at you Jay? You promised me, remember?” Ethan asked rhetorically, guiding the stoic man towards a different, cleaner trauma bay so that he could properly treat him, giving him everything he desperately needed yesterday.  

“I don’t have Will.” Jay retorted but followed the doctor anyways.  

Maggie and Connor watched the two men enter another bay before all they could hear was the sounds of the bustling yet peaceful ED. They didn’t know what to make of Jay’s words, but the man seemed hopeless and on the verge of breaking down. He looked awfully similar to the time when his dad died.  

They turned to the paramedics and the three members of intelligence but the look on their faces told them everything they needed to know.  

*****

Jay finally broke down when he was left alone, your sleeping body being the only thing present in the room with him.  

Crocket fully led Jay through every procedure that they did, explaining what they did during the surgery and what exactly your injuries were. Usually, that was Will’s job, but Jay tried not to think about that when the surgeon gently spoke to him.  

You had several broken ribs, some even fractured, and it’d been very very close to puncturing your lungs - it was apparently surprising you didn’t have a pneumothorax. You had quite the concussion, multiple lacerations that were both superficial and that needed surgical fixing. There also had been some damage to your spleen that was repaired, a fractured left hand and an out of place bone in your foot. 

Overall, everyone had been expecting much worse, but they did explain to Jay that recovering would be the worst part of all of this. They weren’t sure about neurological damage nor how bad your vocal damage was. Once you woke up, there was plenty of testing to be done.  

Seeing you alive and breathing, even while connected to a bunch of tubes and wires, Jay felt relief but oh so overwhelmed at the same time. So much happened in the last two days and now that he finally was left alone with his thoughts and feelings, the sounds of beeping machines and you sleeping painlessly, everything came crashing down on him.  

It properly dawned on him that the three of you had been kidnapped, you’d been hurt and hurt time after time. He was left to fight and get you back home and he’d been so close. For a while, Jay thought everything was done and he did it but then, but then Will happened.  

Jay harshly wiped away the tears on his cheek, his eyes catching sight of his bandaged knuckles and the IV in his left hand that he was itching to remove but then a voice sounding like Will warned him against doing so.  

Ethan did an x-ray on him, stitching his bullet wound and thoroughly wrapping it. He plucked several butterfly stripes and many cotton swabs to get rid of any and all blood stains. All in all, Jay would be off work for a few weeks, maybe some physio depending on how his leg felt but he was in pretty decent shape given the circumstances.

Jay bitterly laughed, shaking his head at the thought that he was expecting to have a full recovering with barely any long-lasting damage. He hated to admit it aloud, but this was going to stay with him forever, there was no way he was ever going to get rid of your gut-wrenching screams, they were forever engraved into his mind.  

And well, if Jay didn’t see Will at least arrive at Med, then nothing was ever going to be the same again.  

And so, what if Jay cried himself to sleep in the chair at his sister's bedside, at perhaps his only sibling's side.  

Jay drowned out his thoughts as he sobbed, hand curling around his mouth to muffle his cries as not to alert anyone of his emotional state. But, when Maggie walks in later to find the two younger Halstead’s gone to the world, she pretends not to see the tear tracks staining Jay’s cheeks.  

Series Masterlist:

@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale @iamasimpingh0e @lanea-1 @swidkid

[thefallennightmare]

Fika-Joakim 'Jolly' Karlsson: 1/2

*made by @madomens. check her out!*

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Joakim 'Jolly' Karlsson x OFC.

Warnings: some angst, swearing, lots of fluff, smut, mentions of death.

Summary: To appease her dying father’s wishes, Astrid takes over the family coffee shop: Fïka. Plans to restore it to its former glory: setting her dreams and ambitions aside- that is until she meets an unexpected stranger. This very stranger changes the trajectory of her life.

Authors Note: Ok what originally was a 26k word one shot is now a two parter! I have the link to part two at the bottom of this one! Enjoy my lovelies. I hope you all enjoy my first time writing Jolly. Oh, make sure you all pay attention closely to this 😏 It took me a month to write this btw.

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @sammyjoeee @somewhere-diamond @concreteemo @ladispo0p @to-be-written @lilmonster218 @whenthesummerdies @lizzieseveride @blackveilomens @malice-ov-mercy @lma1986 @klutzy-kay24 @baddestomens @cncohshit @jilliemiw86 @cookiesupplier

ASTRID

“Son of a bitch,” I grumbled while struggling to carry the large and heavy box from the stockroom up to the front area of the cafe. 

Another curse fell from my lips as I nearly tripped over the discarded and broken coffee machine that I seemed to have forgotten was lying on the floor. Then when I walked past the break room where two of my employees were enjoying their break, one of them waved me over. 

“Yes?” I grunted while pausing for a moment, still carrying the large box. 

“The turbo oven is doing that thing again where it either burns the food or doesn't cook it at all,” Jessica said with a frown. “Any idea when the new one is supposed to come in?” 

I nodded towards the box. “Two steps ahead of you.” 

As I went to push myself through the door that encased the back of the cafe from the front, my other employee, Sean, yelled after me. 

“The front door is getting stuck again! Can you WD20 it again?!” 

“IT’S WD40!” I yelled back. 

Pushing my way through the door, I felt the box beginning to slip between my sweaty fingers and I quickly walked over to the front counter, letting it fall onto it with a loud thud. 

Curious eyes from the few customers landed on me and I smiled sheepishly while shrugging. “Sorry.” 

“Uh, Astrid?” 

Whirling around, I brushed away strands of my white hair to see another one of my employees standing in front of me with an apologetic face. 

“Oh no,” I shook my head. “What’s broken now?” 

“The sink in the restroom is slow to drain and we’re running low on cold foam,” Tori said with her hands behind her back. 

“Low? How?! We’ve only been open a week and that stock was supposed to last us at least three!” I exclaimed with a high squeaky voice; one that only showed when I was stressed. 

“Sean doesn't understand the measurements,” Tori sighed. “I’ve gone over the sheet with him like four times but he still doesn’t get it.” 

Running my hands over my face, I let out a deep and calming breath, which seemed to help until the front door rattled before being thrown open, almost smacking against the black brick. 

“Jeez, you should really get this door checked out.”

Whirling around on my heels with a low scowl, I was ready to lay into this person because frankly, it was one thing after the other and I’ve fucking had it. But when I took in the appearance of these two guys, I quickly shook my head, heart dropping into my stomach. 

“You guys aren’t supposed to be here until after closing!” 

There’s that high-pitched voice again. 

“Yeah well,” the guy carrying a bucket and paintbrush shrugged. “We finished our other job early so we thought we could get started here.” 

I hired this local paint company to paint the tallest wall inside the cafe only because I didn’t have a tall enough ladder to reach the highest point. I painted everything else but didn’t want to bother with this one; it was right in the middle of the cafe lobby. 

“No, that’s not going to work,” I walked around the counter so I could stand face-to-face with this guy. “I have customers and I can’t have you paint while they’re in here.” 

“Listen, lady, all due respect-.” 

I craned my neck to the side and let out a low hiss. “I fucking hate when people say that.” 

The two painters shared a look before the one who seemed to be in charge raised a brow. “What?” 

“Typically when people say all due respect, it’s rarely followed by a respectful remark,” I said with my arms crossed. 

“Did you want us to paint this wall or not?” The guy who had been silent spoke. 

I snapped my eyes over to him. “Do you want my money or not?” 

That seemed to have shut both of them up but my hands were still shaking as my heart was hammering hard in my chest. Ever since we opened this morning, it seemed like it was problem after problem. 

Why the fuck did I agree to take over this place? 

Because it was your father's cafe and his father’s before him. You promised you’d take care of it when he passed.  

Running a tattooed hand through my long hair, I let out a deep breath. “I closed at nine. Can you come back then?” 

The one painter shook his head. “Nope. We don’t work that late.” 

Glancing at my watch, I noticed that it was barely one in the afternoon, and with less than eight hours left, I had to make a decision quickly. 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I eventually nodded. “Fine, you can start now. But please, be respectful of my customers.” 

There were only three customers in here currently, a total of six since we opened at nine a.m., but I didn’t dare let them know. 

Leaving them to do their work, I let the heels of my combat boots thud against the aging wood floors as I walked back behind the counter to go over the mental checklist of my list. 

Unclog the bathroom sink.

Order more cold foam. 

Personally show Sean the correct measurements. 

WD40 the front door. 

Set up the new turbo oven. 

Quickly tying my hair into a braid, I set to work on the list. Had I known the amount of work and updating this cafe needed before I took it over from my father, I would have said no. I was twenty-five years old and had the rest of my life ahead of me, I didn’t want to be stuck trying to keep this place above water. 

Fika first opened sixty years ago when my grandparents came to the United States for an opportunity for a better life. From day one it was a music-themed cafe where they had live music nights every Friday. It succeeded well after they left it to my father when they retired. He hated the live music nights so as soon as he took over, he axed that idea. 

However, when my father got sick about five years ago, that’s when everything went to shit. 

I grew up inside of these walls and saw the stress it brought on my parents until they divorced when I was twelve. My mother wanted nothing to do with this place, claiming it was cursed, so she left. 

My father did his best to raise me solo while trying to run this cafe full-time. I would help out when I could; be here in the morning before school then here right away after school until closing. I would sit in the corner booth in front of the window to do my homework in between bussing tables. It was like that every day until I turned eighteen and went off to college. 

But any weekend I could, I’d be right back here to help my father out. Then when he got sick five years ago, I dropped out of college so I could stay home full-time to take care of him. He was in this place every single day until the day he died a few months ago. It didn’t make a lot of money the last few years so not only did he leave me the cafe, he also left me all of the debt. I wasn’t drowning in it, I still have a decent amount in savings to at least update it but not enough to create a living. 

So that was why I had put the word out that it was for sale if anyone wanted to purchase it. I needed the money to pay off my father's debts and at least survive the next few years until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. 

With a groan, I stood slowly from my crouched position as I finished fixing the front door and smiled in victory when it didn’t stick. It was after three in the afternoon and peering over my shoulder, I noticed that the painters were finishing up the now black wall and I had to admit, I felt giddy when I saw my vision slowly coming to life. 

I had a red neon sign that read Fika and I planned on hanging it up on that wall and then hanging a bunch of different guitars around it; my grandfather’s favorite on full display. 

Yes, I did have plans to eventually sell the cafe but that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy getting it to where I envisioned it.  

Wiping my hands on the back of my black jeans, I set to work on reading the manual for the new turbo oven, wanting to make sure that I understood every aspect of it to show my employees. 

“Hi! Welcome to Fika!”

Jessica’s cheery voice greeted a new customer who stepped inside, the little bell that hung above the door ringing. It was a special bell, my grandparents brought it with them when they moved here. It hung up in that same spot for the last sixty years and I planned on taking it with me if this place ever sold. 

I paid no mind as I focused on now setting up the turbo oven in its new spot on the back counter. 

“Uh, Astrid?” 

My shoulders slumped at hearing Jessica’s wavering voice from behind me. I didn’t bother turning around; not yet. Maybe it was a simple fix that she could handle on her own. 

“Yes?” I answered while wiping down the new oven. 

“The credit card machine isn’t working,” Jessica now stood in the side of my vision so I had no choice but to turn towards her. 

“I swear if my hair wasn’t already white, the stress of today would have given me gray hairs,” I joked with a faint smile as I turned toward the register. 

My eyes were cast downward to the small white credit card machine, not bothering to gaze up at the customer. 

“It’s working fine,” I showed Jessica. “You just have to remember to type in the total before hitting payment.” 

“OH! Makes sense,” she squeezed my arm. “Sorry.” 

I waved her off. “It’s fine. It’s a new machine so it will take some getting used to. I’ll ring him up if you want to start on his order?” 

With a nod, Jessica scurried off to make the drink as I finally gave the person on the other side of the counter my attention. 

“Hi, it’ll be $3.25.” 

However, my breath caught in my throat at the sight of the man in front of me. Dark amber eyes shined back at me, long strands of even darker hair cast around his face, and his pink, plump lips curled up into a faint smile. The facial hair that encased around those lips made my stomach twinge in the best way and when I caught sight of the small nose ring, I nearly fell to my knees. 

It wasn’t until I saw the black card in front of my face that I snapped out of my ogling and took it with a blush covering my cheeks. 

Ringing him up, I handed back his card with a slight waver in my hand but ended up dropping it on the counter before he had the chance to grab it. 

“Shit,” I cursed as I went to reach for it but ended up knocking over the small tip jar, coins spilling over the counter. 

“Fucking perfect!” I groaned while throwing my head back. 

Could this day get any worse?

An older couple that was sitting on the stools at the bar a few spaces down from me gave me an ice-cold glare. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to curse,” I apologized with a fake smile. 

Even though I never watched my mouth around anyone, I couldn’t risk scaring off customers because of my vulgar words. 

I made fast work of picking up the spilled change and placed it back in the jar before looking up at the man through my lashes. 

“That will be up soon,” I cleared my throat. 

The man smiled, his dark eyes drinking in every inch of my face. “Thank you.” 

Oh fuck. 

Those two words alone made my cheeks deepen even more in a shade of crimson because there was a hint of an accent to them. I couldn’t place it but it sounded heavenly to my ears. 

Turning swiftly on my heels, I scurried to the back, not wanting to embarrass myself in front of him anymore. 

About an hour later after catching up on all the office work I had, I ventured back up to the front of the cafe when I was told the painters had finished and were waiting for a check. 

“We’re all finished, ma’am,” the older painter said with a thin-lined smile. 

My own matched his when I handed him the check. “Thank you. It looks great.” 

He went to leave but slowly turned around. “Fika? What does that mean?” 

I broke out into a genuine smile when the memory of my grandma telling me why she named this place came creeping into my mind. 

“It's Swedish. It essentially means coffee break,” I answered while pulling my black cardigan closer to me. 

As the painters left, I turned to my right to look up at the freshly painted wall and kept smiling. 

“Looks good.” 

Looking over my shoulder, I nodded to Tori. “I’m just glad they managed to stay out of customers' way.” 

“Speaking of customers,” Tori smirked while pulling me closer; she was fresh out of high school and any chance she had to gossip about something, she took it. 

“That guy in the far booth hasn’t stopped staring at you since you walked out here,” Tori whispered low in my ear. 

I raised a brow. “Who?” 

She rolled her eyes, the color matching the blue apron she wore, and turned my chin to face behind me where I saw the man from earlier, perched in the corner booth; exactly like she said. 

He had a laptop on the table in front of him and a notebook next to it; the pen scratching quickly against the paper. As if he felt me staring, his eyes bounced up from the notebook to land on my face. Our eyes locked in such an intense battle of who would look away first but neither of us gave up yet. With the way he was watching me, it brought a heat to my insides and I swallowed thickly, my mouth suddenly running dry. 

“You should go talk to him,” Tori pushed me a little his way. 

I dug my heels into the ground. “You should get back to work.” 

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” she giggled while throwing a hand over her shoulder as she turned to head back to the counter. 

With one final glance over to the man in the corner booth, I bit my lip when I realized he was still watching me with curiosity in his eyes. I felt this unknown pull in my heart, dragging me over to him, and as my foot took one step in his direction, Sean’s voice called from the back. 

“UH, ASTRID! WE HAVE A PROBLEM!” 

Son of a bitch. 

ASTRID

“Wait-what do you mean delay? I was told the sign would be here last Friday,” I groaned into my phone. 

“I’m sorry, miss, but with all the shipping delays it might be another week until you receive what you ordered.” The sales rep said. 

I pinched my eyes shut and sighed. “I need that sign. It was for the outside of my cafe, right now I have a dingy one that has been here since my grandparents opened and the ‘A’ is barely hanging on so now all it says is FIK so imagine my horror when people keep saying “Oh my, fik is a terrible name, dear.” 

I was rambling on to this complete stranger on the phone because of my stress and nerves. When I first took over the cafe a few months ago, the outdoor sign was old and broken so I ordered a new one but I had hopes that it’d be here before I reopened. 

Wrong. 

“I don’t know what else to tell you. We’re hoping to have it for you by the end of the month.” 

“THE MONTH?!” I nearly screeched as I came to a halt in the middle of the cafe lobby; curious eyes landing on me. 

Sean furrowed his brows while making a drink. Waving him off, I turned my attention back to my phone. “Is there any way you could put a rush order on it? Please.” 

“No,” the sales rep deadpanned. 

“Gee thanks,” I grumbled before hanging up the phone, stuffing it angrily into the pocket of my olive green jumpsuit. 

Running both hands through the long strands of my hair while I muttered a few curses. It seemed as if the last week had continued problem after problem. 

The sink in the bathroom ended up having to be replaced. 

Torri accidentally dropped a stack of brand-new coffee mugs, breaking all of them, so I still need to go out and buy some more. 

The new employee I hired last week didn’t show up for their third shift this morning, meaning we were down a person. When I texted them, they never responded. 

There was a family of raccoons living next to the dumpster outside. Sean wanted me to call animal control but I immediately declined. They weren’t hurting or bothering anyone so they could live there. 

“What are we, a wildlife rehab?” Sean asked with disbelief. 

I raised a brow while crossing my arms. “Sean, are you afraid of a couple of raccoons?” 

He scoffed. “Please. Those things just eat trash and cause havoc.” 

“Well, they’re staying. If anyone doesn't like it, they can come to me with their complaints,” I pointed my finger playfully at my employees.

With a sigh, I busied myself for the next little while cleaning up tables, talking with guests, and helping out my employees with anything they needed. I was a hands-on owner and boss, always helping when I could. Anything to make their lives and jobs easier. 

Every so often, when I mingled with the guests, I let my gaze drift to the empty corner booth; where the mystery man sat every day for the last four days. He never came at the same time but when he did show up, I managed to always be busy with front-of-house things or stuck in my office. But when I wasn't in my office, our eyes would catch every so often. However, it was my nerves that stopped me from going to ask him if he needed anything else or to strike up a conversation with him. 

Flirting in general was easy for me but with this man, his dark yet bright eyes locked me into place with a swollen tongue every time his gaze struck me. 

“Astrid, my dear!” 

Pausing from refilling the straws, I glanced at the open door and smiled at one of Fika’s regulars from when my father owned it; an older man named Phillip. 

“Hi, Phillip. How are you?” I helped guide him to a table against the black-painted wall; still empty. 

I haven't had time to hang up the variety of guitars that were slowly overtaking my office. 

“Fine, fine,” he patted my hand as I slowly helped him into the seat. “Just here for my usual honey tea with-.” 

“One piece of lemon so you can squeeze it yourself and two cannolis,” I finished for him with a nod. “Coming right up Phillip.” 

Turning on my heels, I peered over to the counter ready to tell Tori about the order but raised a brow when I noticed no one standing behind it. Glazing at the clock on the opposite wall, I cursed when I remembered that Tori’s break was now and Sean was busy watching a safety training video in the break room. 

As the door above the bell rang, indicating a new customer, I glanced down at Phillip while tapping the table. “Give me a bit and I’ll hand deliver it myself.” 

He paused reading the newspaper to give me a warm smile. “Of course, dear.” 

“I’ll be right with you,” I then called to the tall man standing at the counter but froze when our eyes met. 

His usual long hair was pulled back into a low bun, showcasing the hardness of his jaw, and I absentmindedly licked my lips. He wore a simple gray hoodie and black jeans but something about this casual outfit made my stomach flip. Since his hair was pulled back I was able to see the small piercing in his left ear. 

“Take all the time you need. I’m in no rush,” the mystery man smiled while holding onto the strap of his bag; the same bag that he brought in every day. 

I’ve come to notice that it held his notebook and laptop, with the occasional book he brought out to read every so often. 

“Th-thanks,” I stuttered while rushing behind the counter to get started on Phillip’s order. 

As I was pouring the tea into the cup, the phone from the cafe rang and I quickly answered. 

“Thank you for calling Fika. This is Astrid.” 

“Astrid!” The cheery and younger voice ran in my ear. “It’s Laura. I’m bringing in my study group, we’re a party of seven so I wanted to give you a heads up in case you didn't have the space.” 

Glancing up to the farthest corner of the cafe, secluded away from the rest, the two long sage-green couches were currently empty. 

“The loft is already booked for a private event for tonight but your usual spot is open. I’ll reserve it for you guys. Thanks for the heads up, Laura! I appreciate it.” 

“Oh please, Astrid. You’ve done so much fueling our late-night college study sessions. We’ll see you in a bit!” 

Hanging up the phone, I placed it on the counter while grabbing the tea mug in one hand and the two cannolis and slice of lemon in the other. As I passed by the tall mystery man, I gave him my best smile. 

“I’m sorry for the wait.”

He peered up from his phone. “No need to apologize. I’m very patient.” 

Ignoring the way my skin pricked and burned at the accent in his voice, I gently set down Phillip’s order with shaky hands. 

“Oh, why so nervous, dear?” Phillip commented. 

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “No reason. Enjoy.” 

Before I could leave, he gently grasped my elbow. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I’m sorry to hear about your father.” 

My body went rigid at the mention of my father. It was rare that a customer would bring him up because they were all new so there was no need to talk about my father which I’d been thankful for since it was still raw. The occasional regulars, like Phillip, were the ones that did. 

I swallowed thickly. “Uh, thank you. We knew for a while how sick he was but still, it was a shock.” 

“And you were the one that found him?” 

Out of the corner of my eye, the mystery man turned his head briefly my way but I kept my attention on Phillip doing my best not to let the tears win. 

“Enjoy your tea, Phillip. Let me know if you need anything else.” 

I tapped his shoulder while making my way over to the two couches in the far back of the cafe and flipped over the RESERVED sign then made my way back to the register. 

“Thanks for waiting,” I smiled up to the mystery man. “What can I get you?” 

“Black coffee with two scoops of sugar, please.” He smiled while handing me his black credit card. 

“Any sweets?” I teased, already knowing his order. 

According to Jessica and Tori, every time he came in he ordered the same thing. 

Black coffee with two scoops of sugar. 

They tried to upsell him into something different or add a sweet for his side, but every time he politely declined. 

The man’s eyes sparked as he looked at me and just as I was about to prepare myself for giving him the total, he surprised me. 

He hummed low. “What do you recommend?” 

Tapping my fingers against the edge of the counter I peered at the display case of all the homemade desserts I baked this morning. 

“Depends. What do you like?” I asked, giving him a small smile. 

I didn’t miss the way his eyes ghosted over my entire form, lingering on my tattoos. First, flowers and a crescent moon chest piece that was visible thanks to my thin straps and the low cut of my jumpsuit. Then he looked at the tattoo on my left forearm. It was of four crows flying away with their feathers falling. Then to the sleeve on my right arm, I called my Witch arm; it had different witch theme designs. 

When I scratched my cheek, I noticed the way he tracked every movement of it, seeing the Medusa head I had tattooed on the back of my hand. I had more tattoos that were hidden underneath my clothes but the thought of him stripping me to trace over them with his tongue made my face burn and I shifted on my feet. 

Finally, he shrugged. “Surprise me.” 

Pursing my lips, I grabbed a plate and the tongs, deciding on two small pieces of my grandma’s famous Kanelbullar. She passed down the recipe to me in hopes I would continue to sell them at the cafe. 

“These are a huge hit with everyone. My grandma’s recipe,” I said while handing him the plate. 

“Oh?” The man raised a brow as he looked down at the plate on the counter. 

Suddenly my palms began to sweat as he assessed the dessert. “They’re called kanelbullar; a famous Swedish desert. Otherwise known as cinnamon buns. Some people are turned off by it at first because of how it looks but I promise, they’re delicious. I made them myself this morning. All of these desserts are made fresh every morning. ” 

Now the man was smirking. “Swedish, huh?” 

I nodded. “My grandparents were born in Sweden and moved here to start their dream of opening Fika. When they retired, they moved back.” 

“Are you Swedish?” 

I cringed. “Fifty percent but don’t ask me to speak it because I’ll butcher it.” 

“How much?” He asked with a laugh while pointing to the plate. 

I waved him off while ringing his total up on the credit card machine. “I’ll charge you just for the coffee, in case you don’t like the kanelbullar. But, it’s a one-time thing.” 

I playfully pointed a finger at him, one he chuckled at before taking his card back. 

“That’s very sweet of you, thank you,” he gave me a smile that made me weak in the knees. 

Clearing my throat, I brushed a strand of hair from my eyes and reached for a cardboard cup. “Can I have a name for the order?” 

“Joakim.” 

I paused mid-writing. “Uh, do you mind spelling it? I don’t want to be the kind of a barista that messes up people's names.” 

“You can call me Jolly,” he chuckled.

“See,” I pointed the marker at him. “That I can spell. Joakim is an interesting name though.” 

I began pouring the coffee into his cup but nearly spilled it when his next words shocked me. 

“It’s Swedish.” 

“Wait,” I set down the pot and cup before turning back to him. “Are you telling me you let me ramble on about a Swedish dessert when you fully knew what it was?” 

The man, Jolly, was full-on grinning now as he popped one of the kanelbullars in his mouth, licking off the sticky cinnamon syrup. I had to force myself to bite back a moan at the sight. 

“Du var söt så jag sa inget,” Jolly said, then took a drink of his coffee when I handed it to him. 

With my furrowed brows of confusion, he chuckled. “You have no idea what I’m saying do you?” 

“Not a fucking thing,” I giggled while scrunching my nose. “I was born here in California and my grandma only taught me the basics but those are long forgotten.”

“How long have you owned the place?” He wondered. 

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “A few months now but I only recently reopened. When I took it over after my father, it needed a lot of upgrades and fixes. Which it still does. But I plan on selling it once it is ready.” 

Jolly raised a brow. “You’re going to sell?” 

“Uh, yeah,” I rubbed my elbow nervously. “Owning this place was never my endgame. It’s been in the family for years, yes, but the potential of the money if I sell would help out a lot.” 

Tears gathered in the corner of my hazel eyes when I knew deep down the real reason why I wanted to sell; it reminded me too much of my father. 

“You’ve created a nice place here,” he admitted while looking around at the place. “The plants add a nice touch.” 

I had a variety of different plants littered all over the place as a way to bring life and color into the dull lighting.  

I hummed. “Here I thought it was the coffee that brought you in every day.” 

“Oh, it is, however, I’m more into the barista who made it today,” Jolly winked. 

My cheeks burned all the way to the tops of my ears. “Oh, well. That’s very sweet of you.” 

With the cup in one hand and plate in the other, Jolly winked. “Thank you, Astrid. I’ll be coming back for a refill.” 

“I’ll be here to help with that,” I rushed out a bit fast and mentally cursed myself for sounding desperate. 

But then I realized he said my name and the way it sounded on his lips made my core itch with desire. 

“You know my name?” I asked while twirling my fingers. 

“I’ve heard it quite a lot the last week from your employees needing something,” he joked. 

I playfully rolled my eyes while making a new batch of black coffee so he could have the fresh stuff when he needed it. “I love them. It’s not their fault this place is old and falling apart.

Jolly sat in his typical booth that was near the ride side of the counter, in front of the window. “Do you know the meaning behind your name?” 

“I know it’s Swedish,” I answered with a shrug.

He nodded. “It means divinely beautiful.” 

Now my entire body was inflamed with how Jolly was staring at me, his dark eyes devouring me, but before I could respond, Sean and Tori emerged from the back. 

“Alright, boss. Where do you want us?” Tori clapped her hands. 

Her break was over and Sean must have finished his training video. 

“Tori, you’re working the private party. They should be here by 3 so can you make sure everything in the loft is set up?” I asked. 

She nodded with a wide smile. “Of course. Who’s it this time?” 

When I took over Fika, I noticed there was this huge, unused space upstairs that I could use for either extra seating if we got too busy or for private events. Tonight, there was a local book club that rented out the space. 

“LA’s Book Ladies.” 

“Again? Weren’t they here last week?” Sean asked. 

Nodding, I handed Tori the box of supplies she would need to set up the loft before ushering her away. “They're interested in renting out the space every Thursday for their book club.” 

The bell above the door indicated a new group of customers; Laura’s study group. 

I motioned Sean over to them. “Jessica will be here in five minutes. She can help you prepare their order once you take it.” 

Once Sean scurried over towards the group, I darted my gaze over to where Jolly was sitting, noticing that he had headphones on as he worked on his laptop, the plate empty. 

Before I could bring him another round of coffee and kanelbullars, my phone rang and I immediately recognized the number. 

“Hi, mormor,” I smiled into the phone. 

“Min älskling,” my grandmother’s old, frail voice made me smile even wider. “How are things?” 

With the sudden commotion from the study group settling in, I decided to take the rest of my phone call in my office.

JOLLY

“Son of a fucking bitch!” 

Snapping my eyes up from my phone, I watched Astrid with a small smile as she stepped onto the small ladder to hang up a guitar, only to be a few inches short. She’d been working on hanging up guitars on the black wall for the last ten minutes, something I watched with intent and curious eyes. 

It had been a few days since our first conversation and since then, we shared stolen glances anytime I was here and she was working up front. We talked when she wasn’t busy but it always pertained to the same topic. 

“How's your coffee?” 

“Would you like a refill?”

Astrid did try to deter me from my usual order but I always stayed the same. 

Black coffee with two scoops of sugar. I did, however, let her decide on my sweets. Today it was something simple; baklava. 

Another thing she baked herself. 

When Astrid slid over the coffee to me this morning, I curled a brow at the mug she had given me. She merely shrugged with a coy smile before busying herself with going about and watering all the plants in the cafe. 

I snicked while grabbing the white mug that had ‘Jolly’ written across it and sat in my usual booth in front of the large window. The green velvet of the bench seat and the oak wood of the table I sat at became a sense of familiarity. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I marveled at how her ice-white hair was pulled back into a tight bun, showcasing her defined cheekbones and bright hazel eyes. Astrid’s leg was exposed due to the long slit in her long black skirt and I caught a glimpse of the tattoo on her shin; a moth, a rose, and a half-crescent moon. She was covered in tattoos and I couldn’t ignore the voice in my head that begged me to find out if she had any other ones hidden. 

When I was walking downtown a few weeks ago and saw the opening soon sign on the battered door of Fika, I was curious about who was taking over. I used to stop in every once in a while when Astrid’s father ran the place but ever since my life and work schedule with Bad Omens took off, I came in less and less. 

But that day when I saw Astrid’s faint figure covered in a type of green paint as she painted the walls, I was transfixed. The vision of her took my breath away and I stopped to watch her for a few seconds. The few times I stopped in when her father owned the cafe, I never noticed her. So when I heard that she was the one taking over, I decided to make more of an effort to stop in when I could, however, I never expected I’d be here every other day. 

Noah called me out last week about how often I came here and told me not to “fall in love”. I had no intention to, not wanting to get into a relationship with how often I was gone on the road, but the second my eyes met with hers, I knew Astrid would consume every part of me. 

“I chose the wrong day to wear my fucking vans.” 

Shaking from my thoughts, I peered over to Astrid as she now stood on the tips of her toes to try and hang up a guitar on one of the highest hooks. 

“Need some help?” I asked while rising to my feet. 

She was only a few feet away from where I’d been sitting. 

“Oh, no, Jolly. I don’t want to bother you,” Astrid said, waving me off. 

I shrugged while brushing the hair away from my face; opting to leave it down today. 

“I mean this is the nicest way possible Astrid, but you’re shorter than me. I could reach that hook with ease,” I informed. 

She playfully gawked with a hand over her heart, the other clutching the guitar. “My, I thought you were one of the sweeter ones.” 

I chuckled and motioned her to step off the ladder. “Get off of there before you hurt yourself.” 

“I’ll have you know,” she came down the three-rung ladder, “I did every single update in this place. Without hurting myself.” 

I took the guitar from her with a raised brow. “Are you sure about that?” 

Astrid rolled her eyes. “Okay, maybe I tripped over a bucket of paint and cut my finger while setting up the new coffee machine but that’s it.” 

“For now,” I joked while taking a tentative step toward her. 

“Oh, someone thinks they’re funny today,” she crossed her arms but the smile on her blood-red lips told me she was loving our banter. 

With mere inches between us, Astrid peered up at me through her long lashes and swallowed thickly. 

“Well, I must say. You are taller than me,” her voice was quiet but yet loud enough just for me to hear. 

My fingers itched with the want to brush away the loose strand of hair that hung in her eyes. When her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip, I internally groaned at how seductive that simple action was and I almost had to force myself to take a step away from her. One of my hands was still holding onto the guitar, and the other was hanging to my side, so close to Astrid’s that I could feel the heat radiating off of her. Our eyes were locked with each other, my dark ones paled in comparison to her bright hazel ones. They burned deep into my soul, in the best way, and I found myself swimming in their depths. I was hypnotized by her gaze that I didn’t realize our fingers brushed against one another, sparks shooting through my entire essence with the simple touch of her skin on mine. 

“How many do you have left to hang up?” I cleared my throat, breaking the sudden sexual tension, and held up the guitar. 

“Uh,” Astrid blinked. “Just two more. I have to run to the back to grab the last one.” 

With a nod, I let her run off to grab the last guitar as I took the two steps up the step ladder, hanging up the guitar I had on its designated hook. Once back on my feet, I took a few steps back to admire how the guitar wall looked. The bright red, neon FIKA sign was in the middle with one unused hook underneath it. 

“Here we go!” Astrid smiled as she came back to the front of the cafe. “Please be careful with this one. It’s an old one and means a lot.” 

For once, she didn’t have my full attention. It was on the guitar in her hand. 

A blue Teisco Del Rey ET-312. Otherwise known as a sharkfin guitar. Something I made known. 

“You know guitars, huh?” she asked as I gently took it from her. 

“Yeah, I know a thing or two,” I kept my answer simple, not wanting to give too much about me away. It was clear she had no idea who I was outside of the cafe and I wanted to keep it like that for a little while longer. 

As I gazed down at it, Astrid told me the story behind it. 

“It was my grandfather's. He absolutely loved playing it when he wasn’t spending all of his time here. I remember he let me play it one Christmas when I was 7. I was terrible and my parents vowed to never put me into any lessons to save their ears,” she ended her story with a light chuckle. 

“He didn’t take it back with him when they moved back to Sweden?” I asked, remembering she told me her grandparents moved back a few years ago. 

“Nope. He gave it to me. I’m not sure why, though. I never learned to play. Hopefully, he won’t be so mad that I decided to hang it up.” 

Ever so carefully, I went back up the step ladder and placed it on its hook. It wasn’t until I was standing next to Astrid again that I gave her a wicked smile. 

“This looks pretty badass, Astrid. I love how it turned out,” I admired. 

She smiled, eyes sparkling as she looked at it. “Me too. Thank you for your help, Jolly.” 

Astrid bumped her shoulders with mine and not only did the sparks return but so did the fluttering in my stomach. 

The bell above the door jingled, making her jump slightly before turning around, her voice raising an octave to greet the customer. 

“Hi, welcome to Fika!” 

I didn’t miss the ‘woah’ under her breath and with furrowed brows, I turned on my heels but rolled my eyes at who walked in the door. 

Noah took one look between Astrid and me, how close we were standing next to each other, and the corner of his lips curled up. 

“Hi,” he smiled. 

“What can I get you?” Astrid asked as she walked over to the register behind the counter. 

“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you, though,” Noah declined politely while holding a hand over his chest. 

“You sure you don’t want some mochis? I hear they’re pretty special,” I teased. 

Noah shot me a glare, one I ignored by packing up my things. He must have finished his therapy session early and we're going to head to rehearsals for the next two days to prepare for the upcoming week-long festivals Bad Omens were set to headline. 

“You two know each other?” Astrid pointed between us. 

“He’s my roommate,” I answered before Noah could. 

He picked up on how rushed my answer was but knew with my pleading eyes not to say anything else about how we know each other. 

“I’m Noah,” he extended his hand towards her. 

She smiled while shaking it. “Astrid. Owner of Fika.” 

“I’ve heard great things about you. And this place. It’s one of Jolly’s favorites,” Noah said. 

Astrid’s eyes glinted as we looked at each other and I swore all of the oxygen left my lungs with how intense her gaze was. 

She hummed low. “I’m starting to realize that.” 

Hiding my burning cheeks beneath the length of my hair, I cleared my throat and patted Noah on the back.

“We should go.” 

He nodded at me before turning back to Astrid. “It was nice meeting you. Maybe next time, I’ll join Jolly.” 

“Sure,” she nodded, still wearing that beautiful smile. “Oh, here. At least take some coconut water for the road!” 

Astrid bent down to reach into the fridge and I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on her. Noah snickered next to me which in turn, made me smack his chest. 

“Fuck, man,” he grunted while rubbing it. 

“Here you guys go!” She handed us the two bottles of coconut water and my fingers grazed hers yet again when I grabbed mine. 

This time it was Astrid who seemed affected by it with the way her breath hitched and quickly stuffed her hands in the pockets of her long skirt. 

“What do I owe you?” Noah asked while reaching for his wallet. 

“On the house,” she said.

“Now I can see why Jolly likes you,” Noah ran a hand through his hair. 

The new shorter length was something not only he but I was getting used to. As long as I’d known him, Noah had some sort of long hair. 

Before I could retort, one of her employees came rushing up behind Astrid, needing her attention for something. 

“Sean, they’re just raccoons. As long as you leave them alone, they won’t bother you,” she laughed. 

The noise made my heart ache in my chest, wanting to be the only one to be the reason why she laughed like that. 

“I’m telling you, Astrid. There are at least six of them now. How am I supposed to throw away the trash if they’re living in the dumpster?”

With a deep sigh, she excused herself from us with a small wave and that was my cue to pull Noah along as we stepped out into the late Los Angeles afternoon air. 

He took a long drink of his coconut water as we walked towards his car which was parked down the block. 

“So that’s Astrid,” he noted with a hum. 

“Don’t start,” I grumbled while putting on my sunglasses. 

Noah held up his hands. “She’s cute, Jolly. I can see why you spend a lot of time here. Though it doesn’t seem like she knows who either of us is.”

I shook my head with a thankful breath. “No, she doesn’t. Although you seemed to take her breath away when she saw you.”

He snorted. “You don’t have to worry. I only have eyes for-.” 

“I know, I know,” I waved him off before he finished his sentence. 

It was clear who Noah only had eyes for. It took a long time for him to finally realize that.

We reached Noah’s car and as he stood in front of the driver's door and me on the passenger side, we both rested our arms on the hood of the car. Noah’s almond eyes were hidden behind his black sunglasses but I knew they were assessing my face. 

“Do you plan on telling her who you are and what you do?” He wondered. 

“If I’m being honest, it’s been nice not having her know or treating me differently.” 

Noah nodded. “I understand that. But take it from me, not communicating the truth can delay things. And it’s not healthy.” 

Understatement of the year.

“I’ll tell her; soon,” I said. 

“What is she going to think when you’re gone for 9 days and don’t show up for your daily coffee?” 

“We should go, you know how Matt gets when we’re late,” I said, changing the subject, and opened the door to slide into the passenger seat. 

Noah tapped the roof of his car before he followed my actions. 

ASTRID

“I don’t know what to do, mormor. One guy put in an offer, it wasn’t great but enough to keep me afloat for a while if I do decide to sell,” I spoke into my phone as it was perched between my shoulder and ear, hands busy stocking the cafe. 

“Astrid, I sense there’s something else stopping you,” my grandmother observed. 

I shrugged with my free shoulder. “If I’m being honest, I like running Fika. It keeps me motivated to get out of bed every morning. My employees are great, same with the customers. I have a lot of regulars that tell me I should keep the place; keep it in the family name.” 

One especially lingered on my mind always. His long brown hair, ever darker brown eyes, and that nose ring that seemed to accentuate his face perfectly. 

“Min älskling, it’s whatever you decide. We left Fika to your father who in turn left it to you because we trust you. Don’t feel as if you need to keep it for us. We don’t want to see you do something with regret.” 

I finished stocking the straws and went to work stocking the sugar packets. “I know. I do wish you and farfar could come visit and see what I’ve done with it.” 

My heart sank when I thought of my grandfather and knowing the real reason why they couldn’t leave Sweden right now. My grandmother was still young and healthy enough to travel but she couldn’t leave my grandfather in case something happened to him. 

Alzheimer's had slowly been deteriorating his brain, making life difficult for both of them. It was the same disease that took my father months ago. 

My grandmother sighed. “Someday I’ll come visit. But your farfar-.” 

“I know,” I said suddenly. “It’s alright.” 

We talked for a few more minutes before I said goodbye and pocketed my phone into my jeans. Rolling up the sleeves of my orange cardigan I busied myself with more work. It was Saturday afternoon and Fika was busier than normal; the sunshine and cool LA weather brought everyone out. 

Well, not everyone. 

For the last week, anytime the bell above the door jingled, my head would snap up expecting to see Jolly, but every time my heart would drop when it wasn’t him. I had become so accustomed to seeing him almost every day that when he stopped coming in, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was something I had done. 

Maybe he finally grew sick of your coffee. And you.

Shaking the thought from my mind, I went about mingling with some of my regulars. The cool air slipped inside as someone walked in through the door, tickling the exposed skin of my stomach because of the black lace bralette I wore. 

Deciding to head to my office, I was in my head thinking about what I possibly could have done to make Jolly leave for a week, that I didn’t see the body I collided with until it was too late. 

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, large hands gripping the small of my back, as my hands sprawled out on the thick chest. Peering up through my lashes, I drank in the sight of those dark eyes. 

“H-hi,” I stuttered while swallowing thickly. 

“Hello,” Jolly smiled as his hands absentmindedly rubbed at my back. 

The feeling sent a shockwave through my veins and I reveled in his touch, desperately needing it all over me. 

His hair was hidden beneath the hat he wore, the hood of his black sweater pulled over that. There was a new look of exhaustion in his eyes, something I hadn’t seen before. It was as if the usual light behind them had dulled since our last encounter. 

However the longer we stared at each other, I could see the light returning. I so badly wanted to ask him where he’d gone the last nine days but didn’t want to make it seem like I noticed. Even though I did. 

I also found myself missing his presence after the third day he didn’t show up. 

“The usual?” I asked after a beat of silence. 

Jolly gave me a warm smile, hands still wrapped around me. “Have I worked myself up to a usual kind of guy?”

I playfully patted his chest. “It's easy when I can make your drink in my sleep.” 

“I like what I like,” he said, keeping his eyes on mine as he did. 

Silence fell between us as we continued to stay in each other's embrace, neither of us ready to break apart. Until Tori’s voice broke through the small bubble Jolly and I created. 

“Astrid, there’s a Jackson on the phone for you.” 

Shit. 

Slowly removing myself from Jolly, I cleared my throat. “I have to take that, but give me a few minutes and I’ll bring you your coffee.” 

“Of course,” he nodded. 

Turning my back to him, I took the cafe phone from Astrid while ignoring her smug smirk as she watched Jolly walk to his table.

“This is Astrid,” I answered the call. 

“Astrid, this is Jackson Hewitt, I’m calling about that little coffee shop you own on the corner of W. 9th Street. Freka.” 

“Fika,” I corrected with a stern voice. 

This was our third conversation and he still couldn't pronounce the name correctly; either he couldn’t or didn’t bother enough to care. 

“Right,” he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I’m calling to check in to see if you’ve thought about my offer.” 

Staying on the phone with him, I poured the black coffee with two scoops of sugar into the white Jolly cup and plated two chocolate chip cookies. 

“You only sent the offer the other day, Jackson. I need longer than that to think if I accept or not,” I said as I made my way over towards where Jolly sat. 

His usual booth in the corner by the large window.  

“Or not?” Jackson repeated my words. “Come on, Astrid. This is probably the best deal you will get for that place. It’s better if you take it now because I can’t promise it will be the same amount next time I make it.” 

I set the plate and coffee down on the table in front of Jolly with a bit of force, not meaning to, so he glanced up at me. 

“Listen, Jackson. With absolutely no respect, I’m not interested in selling my place to someone who’s going to turn it into a chain restaurant. If I lose money, so what? At least I kept my dignity and didn’t sell out.” 

I placed my hand on my hip, still standing in front of Jolly who watched me with a slight smirk. 

“Woah, Astrid. In no way are you selling out. I just have great plans for that space. I know how hard it has been keeping it afloat after your father died.” 

My body went rigid as a low scowl pulled on my lips. This asshole knew absolutely nothing about my father or how well Fika had been doing. The first few weeks were rough but I found a good rhythm and soon, we began to flourish. The income had been steady for everything and everyone involved. 

Plus, I hadn’t smiled or felt this good about my future in a long time. 

“My father and his passing have nothing to do with my decision. You’ve never stepped foot inside of Fika, so don’t pretend you know how my business is doing,” I did my best to keep myself composed in front of the customers, especially Jolly. 

“You know what, I’ll give you another day to think-.” 

“No, I’ve made my decision. Fika is no longer for sale, thanks for your interest but please do not contact me again.” 

Before Jackson could respond, I hung up the phone and pinched my eyes shut; the ongoing onslaught of a migraine creeping its way into my head. 

“You’ve decided not to sell?” 

Jolly’s soft voice made me jump slightly and when our gazes met, it pulled me in to sit across from him.

“Yeah,” I nodded while tapping my fingers against the table. “I’ve talked with my grandma a little bit about it. She supports me no matter what I decide but I couldn’t imagine letting this place go. It has too many memories behind it.”

“It’s a great place, Astrid. You should be proud of what you’ve done here,” he said. 

I smiled. “I am. I’ve slowly put myself into this place so I can’t let it go.” 

“Well,” Jolly took a small sip of his coffee. “I’m glad you’ve decided to keep it.” 

I rested my chin on my palm. “Me too. It helps that the clientele have been so wonderful.” 

A low rumble emanated from his chest as he pointed to his coffee. “Does anyone else get a special cup with their name on it?” 

“No, those are saved for the real special ones,” I winked. 

Something dark flashed in Jolly’s eyes as he leaned farther back into his chair, extending his long legs on the right side of me, locking them at his ankles. My eyes dragged up the length of them until my gaze landed on his eyes, a playful gleam behind them as he caught me staring at him. 

My cheeks burned as I shifted in my seat. 

“Nervous?” Jolly questioned with a sudden darkness in his voice as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. 

We were so close now, that I could feel his warm breath across my face. 

“N-nope.” I did my best to remain calm and poised but was failing. Something he immediately picked up on. 

“Are you sure about that?”

Licking my lips, I parted them to speak, something Jolly tracked with intense eyes. My pussy was aching with such a force of desire I was afraid he would be able to smell my desire with how close he was to me. There was this sudden pull between us that made me lean up towards him, Jolly’s lips meters from mine. I almost missed the intake of his breath, the sound muted with the hustle and bustle of the cafe.

“Astrid, the delivery truck is outside!” 

Jumping away slightly from Jolly, I cleared my throat while looking towards the counter, Sean waving me over. 

“I should-.” I threw a thumb over my shoulder when I looked back at Jolly. 

He nodded, adjusting the hat on his head. “Of course.” 

With one final glance, I stepped out of the booth and spent the next long while putting away the respective boxes from our weekly delivery. It was a bit larger than normal so by the time I finished, it was nearing 4 in the evening and when I emerged up the front of the cafe, the large groups that were there earlier dwindled to only a few. 

“How have things been?” I asked Jessica. 

She was wiping down the front counter and shrugged. “Not too bad. A steady influx of customers. But one managed to stay the entire time you were busy.” 

“Almost as if he was waiting for you,” Tori popped up from in front of the counter as she was cleaning the glass of the dessert display case. 

I crossed my arms. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Sean snorted from his spot in the little kitchen to my left. “Astrid, this guy has been in here almost every single day and stays for a few hours all while looking at you. Take it from me, this guy is interested.” 

While they were a few years younger than me, I didn’t brush off their observations yet. 

“Jolly is a regular,” I started to defend. 

Tori’s eyes widened. “That’s why you’ve been giving him his coffee in that cup!” 

I hushed her with a wave of a hand when other customers peered over at us. Thankfully, it seemed as if Jolly had his headphones in as he clicked away at his laptop. 

“You should give him your number,” Jessica suggested. 

“No,” I shot down with a shake of my head. 

Although the prospect of giving Jolly my number did make my heart flutter. 

“Oh come on, what's the worst that can happen? He ignores you?” Tori wondered. 

I placed my hands on my hips. “Don’t you guys have better things to do than worry about my dating life?” 

“He’s here almost every day and I hate to break it to you, but it’s not because of the coffee. He can have simple black coffee at home but he chooses to come here,” Sean said once he finished cleaning one of the ovens. 

“I’m going to see if he needs anything else,” Jessia piped up, quickly scurrying around the counter. 

Her name fell in a hushed tone as I watched her walk over to where Jolly sat. Their conversation couldn’t be heard from my spot in the cafe but when he smiled politely at her with a nod, my stomach fluttered with those damn butterflies. Every part about Jolly made my skin buzz with electricity and heat. Jessica returned to the front counter with a sly smirk. 

“Jolly said he will take a coffee for the road and a dozen of you famous Kanelbullar’s. Oh, and a pack of those chocolate mochis. Something about a friend of his loving those. But Tori and I can’t make his order because we have to clean the loft.” 

“We do?” Tori asked with confusion which made Jessica smack her arm. “Oh, yes! Right. We do. Sean, can you take care of Jolly’s order?” 

“No can do. It’s time for my break,” Sean said as he walked into the back.

I playfully narrowed my eyes at all three of them. “You guys think you’re so slick but I know what you’re doing.” 

As the three of them dispersed, I went to work on getting Jolly’s to go order together. With my fingers wrapped around the togo cup, I mewled at my decision for a long moment before internally saying fuck it. The worst that can happen is that he ignores my texts. 

And break your heart in the process. 

Choosing to ignore that thought, I scribbled down my number with the letter A on the cup, then filled it with black coffee and two scoops of sugar. As I was bagging his desserts, Jolly came up to the counter with his card in hand. 

“Tell your friend these mochis are a favorite here,” I smiled. 

“I’ll make sure to let him know. He kind of has a weird obsession with them,” he chuckled. 

Ringing him up for everything, I handed back his card then hesitantly his cup and bag of goodies. Jolly gave nothing away that he saw my number written in black ink on his cup. 

“So, see you tomorrow?” I asked, not being able to hide the hope in my voice. 

He ran a hand over his jaw. “I actually have this party that will have my attention all day. But I’ll be back on Sunday. Can't go too long without these Kanelbullars.” 

The front counter stood between us and with the way he smiled, I wanted to jump across it into his arms. 

Instead, I decided to remain professional and nodded. “Well, I’ll make sure to have a fresh batch for you on Sunday.” 

With a wink, Jolly raised the cup to his lips to take a small sip of his coffee. “I can’t wait, Astird.” 

The way my name fell from his lips nearly made me moan in pleasure and I wanted to hear him say it again; the accent doing wonders for it. 

With a gentle wave, I watched him walk out of the cafe before busing myself to help close up the cafe. Every so often I would peek at my phone to see if there was a new message from an unknown number and every time, my heart would sink when I realized there wasn’t. 

Just as I was about to give up hope, my phone buzzed when I was locking up the front door and walking to my car parked across the street. 

Unknown: Hi, it’s Jolly. Apologies it took me a while to text you. I noticed your number on the cup the second you handed it to me. But with work, it pulled me away from my phone. So now that I have a minute, hi.

I grinned as I read the message over a few more times before plopping into the driver's seat of my car. I debated on how to respond for a few minutes. 

Me: Hi :) how did your friend like the mochis?

As I finished saving his contact, Jolly responded. 

Joakim: Loved them. Ate half of the Kanelbullar as well. 

I giggled at the next message that came in; a simple frown emoji. 

Me: Well, I’ll make sure to throw in a few extra just for you next time.

Joakim: I’m looking forward to it. 

With the smile still plastered to my face, I plugged in my phone to my car and for the first time in a long while, enjoyed the drive home after a long day's work. 

ASTRID

I opened Fika about two hours ago, a slow steady stream of customers coming in as soon as the door opened, and I’d been carefully watching to see if Jolly would show up. We texted for a little while yesterday since I was home sick in bed and when he sent me a picture of the outfit he wore to his party, I had to pause my movie to stare at it. Black jeans, black long sleeves, and a black jacket on top. 

With the large mirror I had leaning against one of the cafe walls, something I set up for people to take selfies in front of with their coffees, I brushed away any lint on my black sweater dress and adjusted my tights. I made sure not a strand of hair fell out of my French braid and smiled to myself. 

“You know what they said about Narcissus,” Sean chuckled as he caught me giving myself another once over. 

“Ha, ha,” I narrowed my eyes while resting my hands on my hips. “Shouldn’t you be bussing tables?” 

“Waiting for a certain someone?” He teased with a raised brow before he went to work cleaning up the tables. 

Before I could retort, the bell above the door rang which made me turn swiftly on my feet. My heart rate picked up at the sight of Jolly as he walked in with two other guys on each side of him. His hair was falling to his shoulders in chocolate waves and when he took off his sunglasses, his dark amber eyes immediately found me to scan every inch of me. I felt frozen but hot under his gaze and pulled at the ends of my sweater dress, suddenly feeling as if it wasn’t perfect enough for him. 

“Hi,” Jolly smiled. 

The two men he came in with watched us with curious smiles, the one of Jolly’s left I recognized as his roommate that came in here a few weeks ago. 

"Hey you, the usual?" I asked. 

He smiled with a slight nod. "You know me so well."

I peered over to the two others, pointing to the one I recognized. “Noah, right?” 

The heavily tattooed man nodded while adjusting the hood of his sweater and that's when I noticed the writing along the front of it. 

“Oh, shit. Hereditary! I love that movie,” I exclaimed. 

Noah's eyes brightened. “Yeah?” 

“A24 has made some phenomenal films. Although, the ending kind of fucked me up,” I admitted with a laugh.

As I looked over to the other man who wore glasses, I missed the look that Jolly and Noah shared. 

“Hi, I’m Astrid.” 

“Jesse,” he held a hand against his chest. “Jolly’s other roommate. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about this place.” 

“Oh,” I gazed back over to Jolly, never taking my eyes off of him. “All good things, I hope?” 

Jolly licked his lips. “Definitely.” 

It seemed as if time slowed to almost a stop as we stared at each other and there was a pull deep within my soul that made me want to step into his embrace, letting him wrap those arms around me. 

Clearing my throat finally, I motioned to the coffee machines. “What can I get you guys?” 

Already knowing Jolly’s order, Noah and Jesse gave me theirs and I went to work getting it ready while they sat in Jolly’s regular booth. When Tori came in for her shift, I asked if she could carry Noah’s and Jesse’s drinks while I carried Jolly’s and the large plate of a variety of sweets for them. 

“The one in the black hoodie is cute,” Tori nodded towards Noah. 

I tilted my head towards her. “Oh, what happened to Tyler?

“Ugh, don’t say his name. I want to forget the last two weeks of my life with that man,” Tori stated. 

“Fair enough,” I nodded firmly and chuckled. 

“Besides,” she shook out her long red locks, “I seemed to have found someone else to occupy my mind with.” 

“Tori,” I warned as we walked over to the guys’ table. 

“Here you guys go,” she all but ignored Jesse while smiling down at Noah as she gave him his drink. 

Noah kept his attention on his phone, only briefly giving Tori a smile of thanks before he went back to typing away on his phone. Her confidence deflated but she still kept that brightening smile on her face. 

As I set down Jolly’s cup and plate of fresh kanelbullar as promised, he gazed up at me with a smile. 

“Thank you, Astrid.” 

I shivered at the way he said my name. 

“Of course. Do you guys need anything else?” I asked all three of them. 

“Actually,” Noah spoke up while giving me his full attention. “My girlfriend is meeting us here and asked if I can put her coffee order in.” 

Tori faux sighed before retreating to behind the coffee counter. Jesse watched her with raised brows. 

“Tori will be fine,” I chuckled. “What does your girlfriend want to drink?” 

“Medium chai tea iced with oat milk, please,” Noah smiled warmly as he rattled off the drink; almost as if he was remembering a memory. 

“Oh, a girl after my own heart,” I joked. “What’s her name?” 

After Noah told me her name, I tapped the table twice before stalking back to the coffee bar, feeling a set of hot eyes on my back the entire time. I was quick to make the drink, all while humming a soft tune to myself, and as I turned back to bring the drink to Noah, the bell above the door rang. I watched as a brunette walked in, eyes gazing almost over every inch of my space with a faint smile before she noticed the guys. Quietly, she tiptoed over to Noah and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, leaving a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

Just watching how the two of them interacted and all the love in their eyes, as they stared at each other before Noah cupped her cheek to lay a kiss on her lips, made my heart yearn for love like that. 

"Sorry I'm late,” the brunette apologized as Noah pulled out the seat next to him. “Chase and Malcolm wanted to catch up after the album release party.” 

"Order for Y/N!" I called out with a smile.

The brunette, Y/N, went to stand, but Noah was quick to force her gently back into her seat. “No, angel. Let me get it.” 

My eyes locked with Jolly’s and he quickly waved off his friends. “I can do it. Sit.”

While he walked towards the counter, I noticed Noah mutter something in Y/N’s ear, her giggling widely. 

“Could I also get a few mochis?” Jolly asked as he reached me. 

I nodded. “Of course. Any specific flavor?” 

“Whichever is fine. Y/N and Noah have a weird connection with them.”  

My brows furrowed as I went about to plate a few of them. “Really?” 

“That’s his nickname,” Jolly smiled as I handed him the plate of mochis and Y/N’s coffee. 

“A nickname, huh?” I wiped my hands on the sides of my dress before leaning my elbows on the counter to rest my chin in my palm.  

“Don’t tell him I told you, he gets uptight.” He chuckled while leaning down towards me. 

I peered up at him while fake-locking my lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Have you,” Jolly’s fingers grazed over one of the tattoos on my arm and I shivered under his touch. “Have you ever had a nickname?”

His tattooed fingers brushed back the long strands of hair as I gazed upon the sharp features of his face, the defined cheekbones, and the facial hair that surrounded his perfect, plump lips. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been given a nickname," I answered truthfully. 

“Oh well that’s just a shame,” Jolly shrugged. 

His confidence gave me some of my own and I gazed up at him through my lashes as he continued to stand on the other side of the counter. 

“It is," I tucked a strand of my white hair that somehow fell from my French braid behind my ears. "Any suggestions?”

“Käraste," Jolly said almost too quickly, as if he thought about this before. 

My cheeks burned as I locked eyes with him. Hearing the unknown word fall from his lips made my stomach flip and pussy clench. I squeezed my legs together to curb the itch. 

“What? Too much?” He asked, suddenly self-conscious. 

I quickly shook my head to reassure him while standing straight up on my feet. “No. No, I- I like it. What does it mean?”

With a smirk, Jolly tapped the counter before grabbing the cup and plate of mochis. "I think I'll keep that to myself." 

I chuckled while shaking my head and watched as he walked back over to the corner couch, where his friends waited for him.

For a while, I was busy running the front counter while Sean and Tori worked the kitchen area. There’d been a slow steady stream of customers that kept us all busy but I knew that at some point I needed to slip back into my office for management work. However, before I did that, I brought the pot of black coffee and a small jar of sugar over to Jolly to refill his cup and then set down the sugar. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N!” 

Giving her a bright smile, I shook her extended hand. “Hi, I’m Astrid.” 

Y/N motioned to Jolly. “I’m glad I listened to him about coming here. I’ve been wanting to for a while now, my therapist is right next door, and every time I walk past, the smell of the sweets gets me.” 

“Oh, Dr. Poulos! She comes in every day before her two p.m. appointment and gets a small cup of Greek coffee and baklava to go,” I informed. 

Noah spoke next. “You know, I noticed the to-go bag in her office one time but never put two and two together.” 

Y/N linked her fingers with his to rest them in her lap. “Well, it’s a lovely place you have here. The mochi are delicious.” 

“Thank you,” I smiled. “Well, I won’t bother you guys any longer. If you guys need anything else, let Tori or Sean know and they’d be happy to help you.” 

Before I could walk away, Jolly’s fingers grazed over mine and I peered down at him. 

“Thank you, käraste.”

My cheeks burned as I squeezed his hand and slipped away from them, into the confines of my office to enjoy the way the nickname set every fiber of my being ablaze. 

Since it was Sunday, I always closed Fika at 5 p.m. so I could enjoy the rest of my evening at home. So for the next few hours, I spent time in my office to finish my bookwork. By quarter to five, I dismissed Tori and Sean, sending them home, and walked up front to start closing up. Nearly tripping over my feet, I was shocked to see Jolly was still sitting in his booth. 

“You’re still here?” I asked, coming to a stop in front of his table. 

He shrugged while closing his laptop. “I know the shop is closing soon and wanted to make sure you’re fine closing up by yourself.” 

I quickly shook my head. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, Jolly. It’ll be a while before I’m ready to leave and I can’t ask you to stay around and wait for me,” 

“You didn’t ask. I offered,” he smiled while rising from the table, and going about to help me clean up. 

We worked in silence as I shut down the machines and when I was shutting off the lights, hiking my bag up on my shoulder, I let Jolly lead me out the front door so I could lock it, not before setting the alarm. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” Jolly asked. 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I bit my lip and nodded. 

The setting sun cast him in an orange hue, with pinks, and purples emanating from behind him and I sucked in a breath and how gorgeous he looked. We began walking step by step to the back alley where I parked my car, Jolly’s fingers grazing over mine and it was just enough contact to make my heart hammer loud and hard in my chest. 

“Your friends seem really nice,” I said, finally breaking the silence, as we came to a stop in front of my car. 

Jolly smiled. “They are. I love them, they’re my family.” 

My lips pulled in a tight line. “It must be a nice thing to have. I’m the only family I have here.”

He picked up on the way my voice faltered with my words but didn’t want to press the issue. Instead, he lifted a hand to brush away a strand of hair, tucking it behind my ear. His fingers were on the side of my neck and I let my eyes flutter shut at the feeling. 

“You’re welcome anytime with us, Astrid,” Jolly’s voice was hushed. 

Now his fingers were wrapped behind my neck to tilt my head up towards him. Opening my eyes, I sucked in a breath at how close his lips were to mine, his warm breath fanning over my bottom lip. 

“I’d like that,” I admitted with my bottom lip caught between my teeth. 

His eyes scanned my face. “We’re having a small party tomorrow night. A little housewarming thing. I’d love it if you’d come.” 

We were so close now, that I could almost taste his lips.

“You would?” I questioned. 

Jolly eyes told me his answer before his words did. “Definitely.” 

When I first opened Fika, I told myself not to fall into bed with the first handsome customer I met because it could spell disaster if things went sour. I needed to focus on my business, not let a pair of dark almond eyes distract me. And yet, here I was sinking further deeper into the abyss of those eyes. 

“Sure, I’ll be there,” I said while my hand gently played with the strings of his sweater. 

One of his hands was still grasped behind my neck while his other rested on my hip. “Käraste, kan jag kyssa dig?”

I blinked up at him, confusion etched on my features, and I shook my head in his grasp. “What did you say?” 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Jolly’s voice dropped to a dangerously low level and it made my insides burn. My stomach flipped a few times over as he repeated the question in Sweden again and throwing out all the negative thoughts on how this could be a bad idea, I stood on the tips of my toes to close the small distance between us finally. 

His lips were warm with the bitterness of his coffee but the sweetness of the kanelbullars. At first, we stood frozen, unsure who would make the next move, but soon Jolly’s tongue brushed against my bottom lip in a way to ask permission; one I immediately granted. His tongue glided over mine and it swallowed my moans when Jolly walked me back against my car, locking me in place with his hips. 

What started as a slow, passionate kiss, suddenly became one with force. Teeth scraped against each other before biting into the flesh of lips, hands grasping at anything they could touch. Jolly's mouth never left mine as he focused solely on making every one of my senses ignite with a blaze that shot straight to my core. He held me in place with his large hands on my lower back while I ran my hands through the long strands of hair, reveling in the softness of them. 

His scent engulfed my senses, making me dizzy, and when I fell into him Jolly made sure to hold me tighter. I felt the hardness of his cock pressed against my clit and dropped my head back against the car to let out a moan, one he quickly hushed by finding my lips again; almost as if he didn't want to let them go. 

To let me go. 

“Astrid,” he muttered against them, pressing his hips into me once again. 

I was nearing release by his kiss and the gentle brush of his cock against me. My body was sensitive to his touch as rough fingers dragged down the sides of my face to pull me closer to him. Our tongues danced together in perfect harmony and I nipped then sucked on his bottom lip just before he pulled away, resting his forehead against mine. 

“Woah,” I whispered while bringing my fingers to my lips. 

Jolly brushed his mouth over them in a feathery peck. “If I’m being honest, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.” 

I giggled while wrapping my arms around his back. “I’m glad we feel the same.” 

We began to lead towards each other for another kiss but were interrupted by my phone going off. Reluctantly, I pulled away from Jolly to grab my phone from my purse, only to stare down at it with puzzled eyes. 

“Everything alright?” Jolly asked while brushing a finger over my cheek. 

I smiled into his touch and nodded. “Yeah. It seems like the cafe’s alarm is going off.” 

With quick fingers, I disarmed the alarm from the app on my phone and then gazed up at him. His cheeks were flushed still from our kiss and his eyes were pure black now, pupils blown wide from his own desires. 

Fuck, I wanted nothing more than to jump into the backseat of my car with him. Ride out the now fading high against his thigh. 

Shaking my head at the thought, I motioned towards the cafe. “I should go check it out. Just in case.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” 

I quickly shook my head. “No, it’s alright. I probably didn’t pull the door shut all the way so the sensor tripped. But I will see you tomorrow night?” 

Jolly’s eyes lit up. “Of course. I’ll be busy helping the guys set up for the party so I might not make it in for my coffee.” 

I made a show of rolling my eyes. “How will I ever survive without you?” 

The corner of his mouth lifted with a smirk. “I’ll send you the address. Can you let me know everything is fine with the alarm then once you're home?” 

My heart jumped into my throat at his request. “Of course. Do you need me to bring anything tomorrow?” 

Jolly brought my hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle. “Just you, käraste.”

CONTINUE TO PART TWO HERE

[zvdvdlvr]

Can I have Actor Aaron Warner x Actress/Singer Yn?!?

— Fry?

🎥 - synopsis. After filming a scene, Aaron suddenly gets a frog in his throat. After getting released from set, you and Aaron head to Burger King late at night. Talk of feelings ensue.

🎥 - warnings. Kissing. Sloppily put together plot. Aaron is a germaphobe. Pining. Friends to lovers. No lip kissing. SORRY FOR NOT POSTING SOONER!!! You walked into the room, clutching Aaron’s arm tightly. With owlish eyes, you took in the casino with a starstruck look. Aaron kept walking forward, keeping you close enough to him that you were enveloped with his scent- cologne, fresh mint toothpaste, the expensive gel in his hair, and like clean clothes.

“Eyes on the prize, darling girl,” Aaron murmured quietly, tucking a stray hair behind your ear before pulling pressing his lips to your forhead. You kept your cool, smiling smally at the handsome man in from of you. You nodded. The prize? Racks of gold and information in the basement.

Aaron sat down in the seat next to a fat Italian man and a muscular German. Without wasting a second, he pulled you into his lap and wrapped his non-dominant hand around your waist as he was dealt into the game.

“Nice to finally see you, sir,” a man greeted politely from across the table. “We’ve been discussing business…” he trailed off, eyes flickering to your face. “And have been awaiting your input… Should we expect your word before the next meeting?”

Aaron leaned back, tucking his cards into your soft hands, pulling your back flush against his chest. “No need to withhold details from my wife, Senator. I promise she wont say a word. In fact,” Aaron’s eyes glinted as he stared down the men at the table, “she can’t speak.”

You watched as eyebrows shot up at the use of the word ‘wife’.

“However, should you decide to take advantage of the fact that my darling girl can’t speak… I can happily promise you that I will tear you all apart: piece by piece, tendon by tendon, dollar by dollar. You will be nothing more than another worthless piece of flesh by the time I am done with you. Understood?”

The crowd nodded hastily, faces red and sweaty.

The game of poker was simply a diversion. When it ended, the amateur robbers you hired under a fake name and different face were to be ratted out. After that, the Japanese man you were playing with would be sent up to the police station to go over security measures for the vault in the basement. From there, everyone would be spoken to by numerous officers. The men, including Aaron, would give their stories, saying that they were just a group of buddies catching up over some poker.

You were to act ill and lightheaded, signing to Aaron how horrible you felt with the rush of excitement. Aaron would explain to the officer how you had a heart condition and produce fake papers from his suit pocket. The officer would nod slowly and excuse you to the bathroom where you would ‘collect yourself’.

The interviews would be fast- there were other civilians to interview as well. Aaron would excuse himself to go check on you.

Instead of going to the bathroom you went to the basement. Earlier in the month, you’d stored a security uniform in the third stall of the woman’s first floor bathroom. Aaron’s was in the vent near the ceiling in the men’s room.

Down you went, playing your role perfectly. Aaron was about three minutes and fourty-six seconds behind you. While he was in the elevator, you had disabled the camera covering the basement and looping a clip of two hours previous so it disn’t record you or Aaron.

Aaron exited the elevator, eyes searching for you in a matching black uniform. He saw you examining the red lazer maze and coughed.

You turned.

Aaron kept coughing and started pounding on his chest. You rushed over to him and pounded on his back.

“Breathe, Warner. You ruined the scene man, we’re totally dead now,” you teased.

The blond man finally stopped coughing and stood up. “Yeah. I’d be a horrible spy,” he mused.

You laughed.

The producers and directors behind the cameras all bustled around behind you, chattering and reviewing the scene.

“Well. Y/n, Aaron. Wonderful as always. Until the end, of course,” one of your produces said, shooting Aaron a smile. “You already know we’re ahead of schedule, so you guys both have the night. Get that frog out of your throat and be ready tomorrow!”

Your assistants ushered you both to the makeup room and got busy removing your makeup.

“Are you hungry, y/n?” Aaron asked, eyeing you.

You groaned. “I’m starving. Do you wanna go get something to eat?”

Aaron chuckled, replying with “I’ll pay.”

You squealed excitedly. “Even better!”

— 🎞️

A little over an hour later Aaron watched you run toward a Burger Kind with open arms in the rain. A small smile painted his lips as he entered and saw you ordering already.

The young cashier looked at you with a tilted head, his eyes narrowed like he recognized you. Aaron came up beside you and waited for you to finish before getting his food. He shoced his credit card into the other man’s hands and felt a small rush of adrenaline shoot through his veins when you wrapped your arms around his stomach and squeezed quickly before taking your drink cup and going to fill it up.

Aaron took his card back and barely made it back to your table before brandishing a bag of antibacterial wipes and bathing his credit card in it. You snickered at his actions.

“Why did you come here if you were gonna get all germaphobic?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink.

“You wanted to come here,” Aaron asked, a finality in his tone.

“But we didn’t have to if you-“

“Y/n have you seriously not noticed that I buy everything you touch when we go shopping? How I follow you and only you around on set and on vacation when you’re around? Have you not noticed how I only smile at you?” Aaron asked, genuinely confused how you didn’t notice.

Your face turned pale and you shrugged. “I didn’t want to convince myself you liked me and then break my own heart whem you find someone you truly do like.”

Aaron scoffed. “There is someone I truly like- love, even.”

You nodded, eyes avoiding Aaron’s.

“And I’m looking at her,” Aaron finished, voice soft.

Aaron’s last name was shouted out before you could open your mouth.

When the blond came back, he set the plastic tray of food down. “Eat. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, but you are the only one for me, y/n.”

You nod, picking up a fry and biting a big chunk off. “I’ll need time. You’re- I feel the same, Aaron. I just…” you trail off, happy to see that Aaron Warner is Smiling at you. You really were a fool not to see it before.

“Share a fry with me?” You ask, holding out the steaming salt-covered hunk of potato. Aaron picks it out of your fingers with his teeth and stays quiet, happy to be with you.

[quartz-crow]

The Ranger (Reader x Halsin) - Part 2

If you guys would like more frequent updates, please check out my AO3 account - thank you 🤍

Part 2 - Fem!Reader

Buzzing filled your senses as you slowly opened your eyes. Above you, you noticed the fabric walls of what looked like tarpaulin. As your eyes adjusted, you looked away from the flapping fabric and noticed the soft glow of a camp light as it illuminated the space. You blinked, disoriented, the events from earlier flooding back with a rush of fear and confusion. Your heart raced as you tried to sit up, only to feel a wave of dizziness wash over you.

The tent flap rustled, and the man from before entered. He was big… no, huge… he must have been 6”7, or something ridiculous like that. He glanced at you quickly, before looking away. You guessed that he was in his early forties - but his age was hard to place. He looked rugged, but beneath his weathered, scared face, you guessed he could have been handsome at one point. He carried himself with a quiet strength, and as he set down a small bag, his movements were careful, deliberate even. You opened your mouth to speak - but all you could manage was a strangled squeak.

"You fainted," the man said quietly, his voice deep and measured. He didn't meet your eyes, his gaze instead fixed on the camp light. “I apologise, but I brought you here to warm up. If I left you... well, you would have died of hypothermia."

Fear shot through you again, and you shrank back against the tent’s wall as your mind raced with worst-case scenarios. Was he going to hurt you? Why had he brought you here? Your breath came in short, panicked bursts as you tried to assess your situation. He seemed to sense your fear, his eyes flicking towards you briefly before looking away again. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said after a few moments, his tone steady but with a hint of impatience. "You're safe here."

Safe. The word felt foreign in this context, but there was something in his demeanour—his quiet, unthreatening presence—that made you want to believe him. Despite his imposing size and the intimidating claw scar, there was a gentleness in his actions, a kindness that was hard to reconcile with your initial fear.

"Who are you?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling.

"Halsin," he replied simply. He didn't offer any more information, and you got the sense he wasn't one for small talk. He glanced at you again, his eyes unreadable. "You should rest. It's still cold outside." You nodded slowly, still wary but too exhausted to argue. As you settled back onto the makeshift bed, you kept yourself on guard - your eyes firmly locked on Halsin as he busied himself with something in the corner of the tent, his back to you. The flickering camp light cast a warm glow over his rugged features, highlighting the deep lines and the scar that ran across his forehead. Despite your fear, you found yourself strangely drawn to him. There was a quiet strength about Halsin, a steadiness that made you feel a little safer, even in this strange and frightening situation. As you closed your eyes, the tension in your body began to ease… maybe it was your exhaustion, but your fear was slowly replaced by a tentative sense of trust.

That night, you woke many times in a panic. Halsin came in and out of the tent at times, but never spoke to you - just simply seeming to check if you were still asleep or not. You never spoke to him at any point, instead, you both stared at each other for a brief moment, before head left the tent again and you fell back asleep.

After what felt like one of the longest nights of your life, you woke to the sound of birdsong. For a brief moment, you forgot where you were as you rubbed your eyes. The tent was completely barren—or at least, that’s how it appeared at first. As you shrugged off a blanket, that must have been draped across you at some point in the night, you noticed a small bowl of chopped-up fruits and nuts. Tentatively picking it up, you inspected the fruit for any signs of tampering—but it seemed safe enough. You slowly made your way to the entrance of the tent and tentatively stepped outside.

The bright light burnt your eyes for a second - but the sight that greeted you quickly took your breath away. You were no longer in the dense, dark part of the forest you were familiar with. Instead, you found yourself by a serene lake, the water's surface reflecting the soft hues of the early morning sky. Tall evergreen trees surrounded the area, their leaves rustling gently in the gentle breeze. To the east, you could just about make out the silhouette of the mountains in the distance… Civilisation seemed non-existent here. It was a hidden paradise - far removed from the forest you thought you knew.

A few meters away, Halsin sat by the lake, his back to you. You took in his broad shoulders, which you noticed, were barely contained beneath the grey t-shirt he wore. You hesitated for a moment, unsure on whether to approach him. He could still be a lunatic for all you knew… But the beauty of the surroundings and the calm atmosphere emboldened you. Holding your bowl of fruit, you walked over to him and quietly sat down in the grass beside him.

Halsin glanced at you briefly, acknowledging your presence with a slight nod before returning to his task. His heavy brow furrowed as you watched him carefully cut up fruit with a whittling knife. His movements were methodical and unhurried, his blade skilfully making easy work of the ripe fruit in his grasp. Once he was satisfied with the piece he had cut, you watched as he ate. Something about his calm demeanour reassured you, and - after a moment of hesitation - you decided that the fruit in your bowl must be safe to eat as well. You took a bite and couldn’t help but sigh in relief. The sweet, juicy taste of the peach enveloped your senses. Juice dribbled down your chin and you tilted your head up to face the gentle warmth of the morning sun - which was a much-welcome contrast to the fear and uncertainty of the previous night.

Little did you know, Halsin was watching you. He took in your profile as you sighed and noted the gentle smile which was forming on your pink lips. You were a beautiful stranger… that was for certain. He clenched his jaw and looked away.

"Thank you," you said softly, breaking the silence. Halsin turned his gaze towards you, his expression softening slightly as he did so. "You're welcome," he replied, still somewhat reserved, but seemingly less distant than the night before. You nodded and smiled hesitantly. A bird of prey flew above you both and dove down towards the lake. The creature, in a flash of brown and white, artfully snatched a fish from the waters, before ascending to the sky once again. "I've never been here before," you admitted, looking around in awe. "It's beautiful."

"It is," Halsin agreed softly as he gazed proudly at his surroundings. You turned to him, curiosity piqued. "Do you come here often?". Halsin stared at you for a moment - as if he was quietly assessing you. “Well, yes… I’m a forest ranger, so I'm aware of a few spots like this.”

"A forest ranger," you repeated, impressed. “Wow, I’m jealous. I’d love to do something like that!". Halsin responded with a soft grunt and a nod. He carefully sheathed his knife and slid it into a large military-style backpack that lay beside him. Slowly, he stood and slung the backpack over his shoulder. As he loomed above you, you noticed how huge the man really was - he almost seemed to block out the sun entirely.

Not meeting your eye-line, Halsin lifted a finger and pointed at the trees behind you, “If you head between those birch trees over there, walk straight for about five minutes and you’ll find your car on the road. Your battery had run flat, so I jump-started your car up last night whilst you slept… It should be enough to get you back into the city, but if not, there’s a station two-miles away. Ask for Cal, he’ll help you”.

“…Thank you”.

Halsin nodded and turned to make his way back up the creek. Scrambling to your feet, you brushed the dirt off your legs and called out, “Halsin?”. The man paused and looked over his shoulder back at you. His green eyes stared at you with such an intensity, it made you feel like a small sparrow in comparison. “I… uh. Thank you for helping me last night… I... I was really scared." you managed to mumble. Halsin's gaze softened, and for the first time, you saw a hint of a smile.

“You’re welcome. It's my job to help."

You felt a warmth spread through you. A mixture of gratitude and a newfound respect for the stranger stirred in your stomach. Despite his rugged appearance and reserved nature, Halsin had shown you kindness and care when you needed it most. And you could appreciate that.

Without another word, you watched Halsin as he packed up the makeshift tent from last night and placed it into his truck. The engine roared into life as he lifted his hand to give you a brief wave, before you watched the red jeep disappear into the trees.

[mariabtsos]

Unsinkable ||j.jk|| Chapter 9

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Description: The 1910s are the peak of passenger ships, it was also the peak of classism, Jungkook is a third class immigrant from Korea, and you are a first class “prisoner” not wanting to go back to a life of strict standards. Once you meet Jungkook, life seems worth living, but when tragedy strikes, will you guys make it out to live the life you planned?

Genre: One-shot, Titanic AU, poor/artist!JK x rich!f reader, angst, fluff, very slight smut, forbidden love.

Warnings: ANGST, major character death, descriptions of drowning or being stuck underwater, mentions of coma and it's effect (Brain Death wasn't discovered until 1968), ending of life supporting measures, grief, amputation of a limb.

AN: This is the second to last chapter, next one will be the final one, it will include a source list with excellent channels and educational sources for you to inform yourself about the Titanic and how everything played out according to history if you are not aware of the actual story, even if the 1997 film is somewhat accurate, there's things it got wrong that even I didn't know until my research for this story.

Word Count: 1.7K+

Thank goodness both Yoongi and Jungkook were being sent to the same hospital, Taehyung and Jimin arrived an hour or so after you, you made sure to give their names to the nurses so they could come see you, since you had to be admitted due to your knee, and the horrible frostbite on your nose and fingers.

You’d been put in the same ambulance as Jungkook, and although you were so happy to see him, his state made your heart shrivel up. His eyes were shut, and he looked so pale, you could still see some little spots of frost on his hair. He was still breathing from what you could tell, and you wondered if he could still hear you.

You tried reaching for his hand but the EMT stopped you, explaining that they had to take his temperature and then wrap him up in wool blankets, given how cold he was to the touch. All you could do was talk to him.

“We made it, Jungkook! We're almost at the hospital, you just have to hold on for a little longer,” you felt yourself tear up, why had this happened this way? You were supposed to be running off together right now, with Jimin, Taehyung, and Chris in tow. How had it all gone so wrong?

You were separated once you made it to the hospital, they had to take him for some tests and you to get your knee and ribs taken care of. The pain was unbearable, you hadn't realized how bad your knee was hurt until they set it back in place, then again, the doctors said that you had just reached normal temperature. Maybe you were too cold and too worried about Jungkook to care.

You were given crutches and pain meds and sent on your way, the hospital needed the beds.

“Ynie?” You saw Taehyung standing in the waiting room, tears in his eyes. You were so grateful they had made it to the hospital, and you didn't hesitate to give him a hug.

“Tae, thank goodness you're here!” He hugged you tightly, and soon after Jimin hugged you as well, the baby in his arms was now swaddled and had a little beanie, “did they tell you when Jungkook might be waking up?” the latter asked as you pulled away, you simply shook your head.

“I hope it's soon, did you guys see Yoongi? Is he okay?”

“We know he's awake, and we know he was screaming, but so were a lot of other folks,” Jimin answered. It was like he called on something, all of the sudden more screaming was heard. It wasn't just victims in pain anymore.

You saw a woman with one of her children down on her knees screaming. A bigger family hugging a pair of small children, a man quietly sobbing in the corner, and so many others. You were so lucky to still be alive, to have the one you love still be alive. You felt horrible for all of them.

“That big family over there, aren't those Martha's kids?” Jimin nudged Taehyung, who immediately made his way to them, followed quickly by Jimin.

You watched as they talked to them all, the kids immediately hugging Tae’s legs, his face contorted a bit as he kneeled down to be at the children's level, they hugged him tightly. You realized quickly that their mom probably begged for someone to take them up to the lifeboats, or maybe she'd managed to get there before they launched and she put them in there first?

Did you see her floating body when you were in the water with Jungkook? Had she been one of the first screams to dull down, or one of the last ones along with you? You assumed it was the latter, you hoped that's what it was and not that their other family had to come get them because they had no one else left.

Taehyung and Jimin sat quietly next to you in the waiting room, the dread you felt was unbearable, almost like the same dread you felt just a five days ago, when you boarded the ship that was now thousands of feet underwater, you wondered if there were alive toward the end, and you shivered at how horrifying, dark and lonely that must’ve been, going down with a ship and seeing nothing but darkness during your final moments.

You shuddered.

After what felt like hours to you, a doctor finally came out “Relatives of Jungkook Jeon?” The man called, he butchered your lover's name so horribly, but you didn't care at the moment, you stood up faster than your brain could realize and Taehyung ended up having to hold you up since you forgot your crutches.

“I'm his wife, is he okay? Can we go see him? Will he be discharged soon?” your mouth was moving faster than ever as you asked the questions.

“Mrs Jeon…” the doctor took a deep breath, you'd seen the look he was giving you before, you and your mother got that look when your father passed away. You started breaking down. “We did all we could but he seems to be in a deep comatose state and he can't breathe on his own,” he explained. You felt your knees buckle under you.

“Do you want us to stop life saving measures?”

How can this be? You both made it, you both got taken out of the water, he made it to a hospital. Why was that not enough? Why did his life have to end? You couldn't go on without him, you could go on, you were supposed to run off together.

“Mrs. Jeon?”

How could they ask you such a thing? You weren't going to kill the one you loved, who would do that? Surely there was something they could do, Jungkook would pull through, he was going to come back to you and they would have to, they were doctors afterall, if they couldn't save Jungkook then who could they save?

You suddenly felt faint, and all you heard Taehyung and Jimin yelling your name.

Where am I?

That was your first thought as you floated through the bright void you found yourself in. It wasn't like that for long, morphing into what seemed to be Jungkook’s hospital room.

“Hey darling,” hearing his voice made your knees buckle again. You turned and ran toward him, he was awake and smiling, you jumped into his arms and he hugged you tightly.

“What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here,” you were confused.

“What do you mean? We're supposed to leave together?”

Your lover sighed, the pain in his eyes was something you hated seeing. “This is my stop darling, I won't be able to join you,” he explained, and you felt yourself break all over again, “Remember what I said in the water? You need to live, make each day count, and one day we’ll meet again okay?” he held your face in his hands, “it’s okay to let me go, just don’t let them bury me okay, my body being in one place forever is not like me at all,” he wiped the tears streaming down your face.

“I’ll never let go, I will live for both of us Kook,” you bid farewell tearfully as his hospital room door opened. At the last second you felt him pull you, giving you one last kiss before what felt like a gust of wind pushed you out of the room.

And then you woke up.

You were still on the ground, Taehyung was holding you and the doctor was checking your pupils with a small light, “Are you okay? You scared us half to death, Yn!” Jimin sounded frustrated but relieved, you attempted to get up, but the doctor and Taehyung held you down, encouraging you to do so slowly.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as they helped you up, Jimin handed you your crutches, and the doctor placed his hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay Mrs. Jeon, I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you better news, I’ll let you think about it and you can let one of the nurses know what you’d like, and they’ll let me know.”

Once he was gone you let Jimin and Taehyung know about what had happened, about your…dream? That’s what it had to have been. You told them what Jungkook told you and they were nothing but supportive, letting you know that whatever decision you made they’d be by your side. So you decided to let him go. It wasn’t the easiest decision, and the last few minutes of Jungkook’s life were the most painful you had ever felt in your short 18 years of life. You sobbed as they listened for a heartbeat or for any breathing. “Nurse, let it be on record, time of death is 20:25,” he put his supplies back into his coat pockets, “I’m very sorry for your loss Mrs. Jeon.”

Taehyung held you and Jimin rubbed your back, as he had his baby in his arms, you sobbed until your head hurt. The only good thing about this was that Yoongi did pull through, his right leg had to be amputated due to how broken it was and the damage the frostbite had done to it. It was a few more weeks before he was fully discharged, and thankfully a lot of first class passengers had come together to get accommodations for less fortunate survivors, Ms. Molly ended up finding Tae and Jimin, and you hid behind a pillar with Yoongi, who begged to not be seen by anyone you knew, whilst they spoke.

“Have any of you seen Yn? Or Jungkook?” she asked with a concerned look on her face. “We think they died in the water,” Taehyung sounded somber. You peeked to see the woman who had been so motherly to you, for a split second you thought she caught a glimpse of you.

“Oh…” the older woman’s voice shook, “well, I’ll give you this, I had set it aside for Jungkook, he was a wonderful young man and he deserved a better start here, you should be getting checks as well shortly with some compensation and Mr. Ismay has arranged for transportation for you and…anyone else who traveled with you,” she said a little louder. She whispered a last take care of her, before she walked away. They did end up getting $950 each, totalling a good $1900. You all set to travel up to northern New York, you wanted life away from the busy city for now, but you will ensure to live life to the fullest. For yourself and for Jungkook.

[koffeesfancy]

19. "this is getting ridiculous" | Koffee x Reader

Summary: How can you be mad when you don't even know what you are to each other?

Rating: PG-13

Genre: Romance, fluff, angst

Word Count: 1224

A/N: Yes, ma'am your eyes have not deceived you. I am publishing the rest of my Fictober fics in November. I had to take a break due to work and other stress. As an aside, y'all would jump me if you knew how long this was fully edited and sitting in my drafts simply because I'm too lazy to format lol.

Taglist: @lyfeofbilly@prettymrswright@onyxstones-world

The weights clanged loudly as you threw the last set back onto the rack, rolling your eyes before you could stop yourself. The gym was empty and silent, save for the hum of the overhead lights and the sound of your own heavy breathing. You knew you were letting this get to you too much, but every time you tried to focus, your gaze drifted back to Mikayla—and each glance felt like another blow to your pride.

She was leaning against the wall, looking way too good for this time of night. Her short shorts showed off her toned legs and the sleek, lean muscles she worked hard for, her hazelnut skin almost glowing under the lights. Her sleeveless shirt clung to her, accentuating her strong shoulders and the smooth curves of her arms, the lines of her body nearly as sharp as your irritation. Her locs were thrown up in a casual bun, a few strands framing her face, and her low, brown eyes held that same half-lidded look she got after a tough workout—focused but somehow inviting, like she knew exactly the kind of effect she was having on you.

“Yuh naffi nothing to say?” Her voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to reality just as you’d started to reminisce on how those arms felt around you. Her tone was sharp but soft, like she was trying to act unbothered but wanted you to pick up on the frustration buried underneath.

You felt your mouth tighten as you glanced away, trying to ignore the pull of her stare. “Why would I have something to say?” you shot back, forcing your tone to stay light. But your words dropped heavily between you, weighted down by everything you’d been keeping quiet all week. “I don’t have anything to say, especially since you’ve been too busy to hear it anyway.”

Mikayla rolled her eyes before she pushed off the wall, crossing her arms. The sight made it harder to keep the irritation on your face instead of something else.

“Awah get yuh vex now?” she asked, tilting her head, her low-lidded gaze meeting yours as she waited. “Yuh cut yuh eye at me all week, but now yuh ah act shy when mi finally give yuh attention?”

You narrowed your eyes and gave a small, annoyed huff, doing the only thing that came to mind—you grabbed your clipboard off the equipment rack and tossed it a little too hard onto a nearby counter. The sound echoed, and you knew it was childish, but something in you just wanted her to see exactly how annoyed you were.

Mikayla’s footsteps approached, slow and measured, and you felt your heart stutter, thumping wildly as she came closer. She stopped just a few inches away, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. The way her eyes scanned your face, then dropped down to your clenched hands, was somehow both infuriating and magnetic. She was close enough now that you could smell a hint of coconut oil, and you tried not to let it get to you, not to let your nerves show.

A smirk played on her lips as she leaned in, her voice low and smooth. “This is gettin’ ridiculous,” she murmured, eyes never leaving yours. Her smirk widened as you swallowed, clearly enjoying every second of your discomfort. “Yuh jealous?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms tighter over your chest, your cheeks suddenly feeling warm. “Why would I be jealous? I don’t care who you hang out with,” you replied, but the words tumbled out faster than you’d meant, and you hated how defensive they sounded. You tried to steady yourself, but with her this close, every little movement she made sent sparks through your whole body.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, her tone lilting with teasing disbelief. “So why yuh so pressed?” She was laughing now, her gaze flicking between your eyes and the slight pout tugging at your mouth.

Your heart raced as you stammered, looking anywhere but at her. “I’m not pressed, you’re just…you’re the one who—” You broke off, your words dissolving under her steady stare.

Before you could stammer out another excuse, Mikayla’s hands found your shoulders, pressing you back until you felt the cool surface of the wall mirror against your back. Her fingers lingered on your shoulders, her touch grounding you even as it sent a wave of heat through your whole body.

"Yuh know…" she started, her voice low, calm, her eyes never leaving yours. "The new girl—she just here fi work. She not even interested in anyone here, especially me." She chuckled softly, amused by your reaction. "I gave her a ride home, because we live in the same apartment building… Along with her fiancé and two little boys.”

Hearing her say it out loud made you feel silly—though the jealousy that had been festering all week didn’t fade completely, it softened, replaced by something warmer and more unsettling as Mikayla’s gaze swept over your face.

Her smirk widened as she watched your expression shift. "A so? Now yuh quiet," she teased, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Just admit it, you’re… jealous." Her words held a playful challenge, daring you to be honest.

You tried to pull it together, but your voice came out quieter than you intended. "I’m… I just don’t like seeing you leave with someone else," you admitted, finally meeting her gaze again. The way she looked at you now, like you were the only thing in the room worth her attention, made your heart race all over again.

Mikayla's gaze softened as she watched you, the teasing glint in her eyes melting into something warmer. Her hands slid down from your shoulders, trailing lightly along your arms until her fingers entwined with yours. She leaned in closer, her voice low and steady, making your pulse quicken.

“So what is this, then?” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin, her eyes searching yours. The teasing was gone, replaced with a quiet intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the last bit of resistance in you unravel. "I… I want this to be more than whatever we’ve been pretending it is," you admitted, squeezing her hands gently. “I don’t want it to feel like something casual.”

A small smile played at her lips, as if she’d been waiting for you to say it all along. "Good…" she whispered, leaning even closer. “Because I wouldn’t like you with someone else either.”

With that, she closed the distance between you, her lips brushing softly against yours, and suddenly everything felt right. The kiss was slow, unhurried, her hands sliding up to cup your face, pulling you deeper as she kissed you like she had all the time in the world. The frustration, the jealousy, the awkward silences—all of it melted away, leaving only the warmth of her lips on yours, her steady heartbeat pressed against you.

When you finally pulled back, both of you a little breathless, she rested her forehead against yours, eyes closed, a soft smile playing on her face. "So… we good now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

You let out a quiet laugh, nodding as you looked up at her, feeling lighter than you had all week. "Yeah, we’re good."

[dianakc]

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder

Fandom: North and South

This is a post marriage fic and follows on from my story called Second Chances, although it also reads as a one shot.

Just before posting this, I realised that I've used a similar beginning in another epilogue, although the content is different. (Note to self: Be more original next time). Or, perhaps this could turn into a series of fics where Margaret disturbs John in bed! Who knows?

April 1856

“John? May I ask you something?” Margaret whispered.

     “Hmmm,” he replied, the sound coming out as a mixture of a deep rumbling hum and a grunt of satisfaction. She had caught him just on the cusp of sleep. Nevertheless, his hand tightened briefly upon hers, as it always did when she said his name. It was still such a delight.

     “You’re not too tired?”

     “Hmmm.”

     “Do you think my bottom is too big?”

     There was a pause as John regained his senses from the fog of slumber, his brow furrowing and eyelashes fluttering open. He was perplexed both at her question and how to answer her. For a moment, he wondered if he’d heard her correctly or if he’d been dreaming.

     “Too big for what?” he asked, somewhat nonplussed, his voice husky with sleep.

     Margaret hesitated. She’d had the courage to broach the subject when she knew John was almost asleep, hoping for simply a perfunctory assurance that he wasn’t unhappy with her appearance. Of course, she should have known better; John did nothing by halves. “Not too big for anything exactly … more, too big to be considered attractive.”

     John was fully awake now. “You don’t think your bottom is … appealing?”

     “Do you?” she parried, with a sharpness to her voice caused by her self-inflicted embarrassment.

     John shifted onto his side to face her; the crisp new bed sheets rustled as he moved, and the cast iron bed frame squeaked. Despite the semi-darkness of the room he could see her features quite clearly, illuminated by the mellow light of the moon beyond their drawn curtains. Her eyes were open but she was staring at the ceiling. 

     “I can’t say I’ve given it much thought,” he said.

     “Really? You haven’t looked at it? Surely you must have.”

     “Have a heart, Margaret. It’s only been four days. Four nights. Suffice to say that I have thus far been concentrating on the front of you,” he said with a smirk, trying to make her laugh.

     “Four days … nights … when we have spent a good degree of our time together unclothed,” she replied wryly, and she turned her apprehensive gaze towards him.

     John reflected on her choice of word. ‘Unclothed’. Not naked or bare, but ‘unclothed’. He judged it to be a gentlewoman’s word. Getting to know Margaret – to really know her – was like peeling off the layers of gentility that had been fashioned over time during her formative years in London, first as a girl and then as a young woman. Of course, they were still very newly wed, and even though John loved her to his very core, he was happiest when he and Margaret were equals, and not when he still felt undeserving of her, or society expected her to be subservient to him. They were getting there – reaching their mutual level – and times like this, simply lying together holding hands, they were the closest, most natural, that they had become.

     “Come on then, I’ll light the lamp. Roll over and let me have a look,” he said, teasing her with his saucy suggestion and drawing an indignant squeal from Margaret. “I promise to take great care in giving the question my full and most diligent observation.” He made as if to help to turn her over, though his hold upon her was in no way firm enough to carry out his proposal. He could easily overpower her if he wished, but it was not in his heart or mind to make her do something – anything – that she did not agree to. In fact, that aspect of John’s character was one of things she loved most about him; that he gave her a measure of control that she had previously never been afforded. But now their skylarking caused Margaret to shriek and giggle and squirm in opposition, playfully batting him off her and tangling them in their newly initialled bedding. For a moment, while John laughed along with her, he wondered at the thickness of the walls in their little Crampton home. Josephine, their soon to be live-in maid, was still at the local boarding house so that the new Mr and Mrs John Thornton enjoyed their first week of married life alone; not to be disturbed by the maid, nor for her to be disturbed by them. But he did wonder if the neighbours might speculate upon what they were up to with the various noises that must emanate from their bedroom. Then again, perhaps not.

     Soft thumping from the corner of the room interrupted his train of thought, as Bertie’s wagging tail rhythmically pounded upon the floor signalling his wish to join in with the game. Bertie had always shared a room with either John or Margaret throughout his life, from as early as the night of his birth. Having both his master and mistress in the bedroom at the same time had been something of a novelty to the young dog. Indeed, he hadn’t quite understood why he wasn’t allowed to frolic with them and share in the fun they were having. 

     “Lie down, Bertie. Good boy,” John said, still amused and slightly breathless from his light-hearted mischief with Margaret. Bertie lay back down upon his blanket, muzzle resting upon his paws.

     On John and Margaret’s first night together as man and wife, neither one of them had regarded Bertie to be a problem as the three of them retired for the evening. But the difference in routine caused Bertie to be alert and curious about what was happening upon the bed. 

     “He’ll have to go in the kitchen if he keeps watching, Margaret,” John had said with consternation, that first night. “It’s off putting to say the least,” he’d said, running an exasperated hand through his hair. Margaret had sniggered, trying with all her might to keep her laughter in check. She was quite sure that John wouldn’t see the funny side. She could read her husband quite well having spent some considerable time with him over the previous few months, and earlier, when she had finally realised her true feelings for him. She knew that when he was anxious or shy he would put up the barrier of his stern gruff exterior. 

     “He’s a dog, John. He won’t be scrutinising your every move. In times past we might have had our families and town dignitaries standing at the foot of the bed to ensure that all was done properly. Imagine having your mother here,” she’d said, sucking in her lips to stifle her giggle, while John let out a horrified groan and flopped dejectedly onto his back. 

     Not one to admit defeat too soon, John had got up and crouched next to Bertie and tried explaining that it was playtime for only him and Margaret, which had prompted both raised eyebrows and a stifled snort from Margaret as she repeated, “Playtime?” In the end John had persuaded Bertie to lie down and, as he had no use for it himself, he had covered the dog and his prying eyes with his nightshirt. Intelligent as he was, Bertie soon learnt that he must stay on his bed, and the following nights he had settled quickly, understanding the new routine.

     Ignoring Bertie’s interruption, John brought his mind back to the present time. “What’s brought this on?” he asked, more seriously now, brushing Margaret’s cheek affectionately with his fingertips. He was worried that he’d not complimented her enough, and he regretted they had not had the opportunity to go on a wedding trip, when he could have lavished his attention upon her. Instead, he had felt the need to go to Marlborough Mills each day, having only had the day of their marriage off work. It was an important time for his business as Margaret’s investment meant the mill was once again a viable concern, but it was too soon since its resurgence to leave it unattended. He had been sure that Margaret was happy to postpone their honeymoon – she had been firm in her agreement – but now he wondered if it had been a mistake. Perhaps he could have taken the time off if he’d really tried.

     Edwin Bailey was overseeing the demolition of Marlborough House to make way for the new printing shed, and the young man was more than capable of managing without John’s support. Even when the fortunes of the mill were on a financial knife edge he had left Williams, his mother and Higgins in charge for several days. He had travelled to and from London on several days, rebuilding his relationship with Margaret after Lennox’s deception had kept them apart. Of course, now that his mother lived at Hayleigh, she was no longer on hand to help, and it was unlikely she would be in the future either. John was glad that she hadn’t been there for the past few days. He knew she would have found it hard to see the home that she had been so proud of raised to the ground. John was in no doubt that she would have been mortified as the demolition gradually exposed the interior of the house to those gawping in the mill yard, giving them a view of the inside of each room, wallpaper and all, as the walls slowly but surely came down. He had to admit that he found it mildly embarrassing himself, and it might have been a blessing to be absent while the destruction took place. He supposed he could have left the mill for a few days to spend them with Margaret. Still, it was too late now. The decision had been made, and the first week of their marriage was more than half over, and if Margaret’s topic of conversation was anything to go by, he had already been remiss in his attentiveness towards her.

     “It’s nothing really. I just wondered, that’s all,” Margaret said, as she fiddled with the sheet that was bunched up between them, idly stroking their embroidered entwined initials upon the cotton. “Fanny visited today, and she had quite a dreadful tale to tell. Perhaps you’ve heard the story? About a writer and art historian called Mr Ruskin and his wife Euphemia, a lady previously known as Effie Gray?”

     John said he hadn’t, and at first he was taken by surprise at Margaret’s sudden change of subject. He quashed the irritation that flared within him as realisation dawned that Fanny had caused Margaret a measure of distress. The two women had become firm friends since Margaret had moved back to Milton, especially as she had lived with the Watsons up until the wedding. He was sure that Fanny wouldn’t have upset Margaret knowingly, but her taste for gossip had clearly caused some disquiet with his wife. 

     He settled down to listen to Margaret. They faced one another now, lying on their sides curled up with their knees touching, and their fingers loosely interlaced. When their bed had simply been his, as a bachelor, it had felt abnormally empty. He'd never noticed the springs creaking so much either, and he’d made a mental note to fetch some oil to improve matters. But now he shared it with Margaret, the bed appeared to have become a lot smaller, and a lot warmer. He had thought that falling asleep with Margaret enfolded in his arms would have been heaven, but in reality they both became too hot after a little while in close proximity, and had settled for holding hands when they went to sleep. He was forever in contact with a part of her, whether it be her hands, arms, feet, or even her hair. He hadn’t been surprised that she wore her hair in a plait, which was thick and glossy like a heavy silken rope that slithered through his hands. He knew that Fanny and his mother braided their hair at bedtime, though his mother also wore a cap to bed. John was pleased that Margaret didn’t do that, at least not yet.

     Margaret recounted to him the strange tale that had been at the forefront of her mind. It had come to light that Mr Ruskin’s wife of five years had had their marriage annulled on the grounds that they had never had marital relations and consummated their wedding vows. “They had agreed to abstain for that period of time because he was busy with his studies,” she explained.

     “Bloody hell,” John muttered under his breath. “Apologies for my language, Margaret, but that’s absurd. The population of Milton would die out if folk didn’t … have relations … just because they were busy.”

     Although that part of the story was shocking enough, what was worse was that it was reported that an additional reason was not, as John had immediately thought, that Mrs Ruskin was an unwilling participant after a five year period of abstinence, but that Mr Ruskin had found aspects of his now former wife to be abhorrent.

     “What kind of things?” asked John, both perturbed but also truly interested in the sorry tale.

     Margaret's eyes met her husband’s clear blue stare, which still dazzled even in the dim light of the bedroom. She swallowed. It was, of course, her own fault for bringing it up, so she forged on. “It is said that he found her body hair repulsive,” she began, her eyes flickering away from his as she gave the most personal details, “and also her … menses.” Margaret knew she must be bright red; her cheeks felt to be on fire.

     “How peculiar,” said John, with genuine surprise.

     “You are familiar with … the condition?” Margaret asked tentatively. It wasn’t long before her own monthly was due to start and she took the opportunity to find out if John shared Mr Ruskin’s feelings.

     “Of course. I have lived my life with two women, Margaret. And not forgetting, I have over a hundred women in my employ. I’d have to be senseless not to be aware of it. I don’t know the details exactly, and I would welcome your guidance on the subject, but it’s a natural thing is it not? Normal?”

     Margaret nodded.

     “My rudimentary understanding is that it is necessary for conceiving. Is that so?” he asked.

     Margaret nodded again, now able to look at him.

     “Well then. It's a good thing, surely?” he said.

     Margaret smiled softly at her husband and squeezed his hand. Why had she ever entertained the shred of a thought that he would think otherwise. He was such a conundrum. His natural shyness, which often manifested as a severe and prickly demeanour, had been tested quite often after Bertie’s birth, and John had overcome the hurdles of embarrassment for Bertie … for her. And yet at other times, when she expected him to be bashful, he took it in his stride.

     John was still pondering the sordid tale of the Ruskins. “I think, perhaps, a strong case with great detail is required for the law and church to dissolve a marriage. Especially after such a long period of time. The most troubling concern for me is that the criticism is directed at Miss Gray, where it appears that the deficiency is with Mr Ruskin. Surely the faults attributed to her are not faults at all. Perhaps there is more that we don’t know? Maybe it was a marriage arrangement that didn’t turn into love? Nevertheless, it seems to me that the gentlemanly thing would be for Ruskin to take the blame and not expose his wife to such humiliation. I am sorry for the lady. I hope she finds happiness and a more deserving husband.” 

     Margaret’s heart swelled a little more for this man, her husband, who reasoned carefully and with compassion. “I believe she has. Or at least she has married again; an artist by the name of Millais. I suppose we shall never know whether he is a good husband to her or not.”   

     They lay in silence for a moment or two, as John pieced together Margaret’s question about her figure and the rift between the Ruskins, then Margaret spoke again. “Did you never wonder what I looked like … unclothed?” she asked him.

     “Not really,” he mused, giving her question due thought. “Don’t misunderstand me. I always knew you to be the most beautiful woman I had ever seen,” he quickly added, “but I think I was more preoccupied with you reciprocating my feelings, or rather the fact that you didn’t. Though I will admit to daydreaming about your arms encircled around my neck, as they were that day of the riot. But these are superficial things. Your looks are secondary,” he said leaning forwards and laying a soft kiss upon her lips. “I couldn’t care less whether your bottom is half the size or twice the size,” he said, bringing her fingertips to his lips. Margaret looked at him sceptically. 

     Realising he hadn’t allayed her fears he went on. “If I am not mistaken, your hearing of Miss Gray’s story made you wonder if I found you unattractive in some way?” He grasped her hand tighter, dismayed that she might think his love could be influenced by such inconsequential considerations. “You must know that my feelings for you, and those of Mr Ruskin for his wife couldn’t be less similar. Have I not shown you the depth of my love? Have I not worshipped you? Annulment won’t be an option, should you grow tired of me.” He leaned forward and kissed her smiling lips. “Besides, I’m certainly not the model physical specimen. My worst feature is on view for all to see, and yet you still love me.”

     “Whatever do you mean?” Margaret asked.

     “You know as well as I do that my nose is too big,” he said, a little sheepishly. 

     “Nonsense. Your nose is just right. I love your nose,” she said, stroking her finger along his profile.

     “My nose is very fond of you too,” he said with a playful smirk. His ego encouraged him to attempt to draw further flattery from her. “I wonder if the reason you believed that I studied your figure was because you were thinking of mine?”

    Margaret knew what he was up to, fishing for compliments, but she was happy to play along. She adored this gentle banter that had so soon become a part of their private time together. “I did … do … like your arms.”

     “My arms!” he exclaimed with marked dismay, which wasn’t completely for effect.

     Margaret giggled at his disappointment. “I saw them at the mill a time or two when Bertie and I visited. I thought they looked … manly,” she explained.

     “Manly,” he repeated quietly. “Well if I’d known my arms were attractive to you, I might have hefted more bales of cotton and left my shirt sleeves rolled up a sight more often too. I might even have gone so far as to strip my shirt off altogether and parade around the mill yard half naked if I’d thought it might have helped to win you,” he joked, drawing further giggles from her. 

     A muffled snuffling from the corner of the room distracted them and John looked over to Bertie who was asleep now in his bed, his paws twitching as he chased ducks along an imaginary towpath in his sleep. John’s tone became more sombre for a moment as his memory took him back to that dark January evening the year before. “You held onto my arm the night that Bertie was born … the night that marked the change of the course of our lives. Do you remember?" 

     Margaret nodded as she thought back to that terrible episode. It had been John who had been there to help her, and he had continued to be her support ever since.

     John grinned wolfishly, lightening the mood again. "Here was I, being as close to a gentleman as I could manage, and you were spying on my ‘manly’ arms,” he teased. “Anything else you wish to admit?”

     Margaret deemed her husband to be a strikingly handsome man, indeed she suspected it was only John who didn’t think of himself so. She could feel her innate yearning for him building as they lay there together sharing their thoughts, touches and kisses, and she wondered at her ability to spark a similar feeling in him. She dared herself to encourage him. “Very well, I did think about your body. I wondered if you had the lines that I’d seen on sculptures.”

      “Lines?”

     Margaret gently pushed John onto his back and slowly, deliberately, pulled the sheet down his torso. “Here,” she said as she trailed a path lightly down his stomach, made lean by both his natural build and toned by his physical work. She ran her fingertips over his lower abdomen, defining Apollo’s belt.

     John watched her looking at him, at his body, and he felt himself stir as her skin brushed his. Suddenly all thoughts of teasing had faded to mere shadows. 

     Margaret looked into his eyes, seeing the craving there. It was a hunger that matched her own and she felt heady with the realisation that her mere touch could inflame him so readily.

    John tugged her arm lightly, testing to see if she would be pulled on top of him, and she yielded, moving to straddle his waist. She leaned down and kissed him and her plait hung forwards over her shoulder, coiling on his chest. She sat up again, and John ran his hands up the soft skin of her arms to her shoulders then down her back, making her arch and push against him, and then to her rear. He thought for a moment how he’d like to see her just so, but with her hair loose about her shoulders. He thought it might reach as far as her waist. Perhaps next time. There was no rush, after all, they had the rest of their married lives ahead of them.

     John held her bottom to steady her as she shifted upon him, and he realised that it fit exquisitely in his palms. But rational thought was slipping away, and he was being overwhelmed by feelings, by sensations so all consuming that they were too irresistible to deny. He must remember to tell her, after, when she would know it wasn’t simply desire talking. He would tell her that she was perfect. Because to John, she unquestionably was.

The rest of my stories are on tumblr or at the link above.

[diam-etrical]

being an artist is humiliating

I don't think this is talked about enough.

When you put something out in the world, you have to accept the possibility you won't get anything back.

Maybe you laid your heart bare on a one-shot that got zero comments. Maybe it was a painting you spent hours working on that didn't get the engagement you wanted.

I think it might have been the reason I stopped creating, for a little while at least.

I got obsessed with the stupid little numbers and metrics. Got happy when people liked my content, got sad when it resonated with no one. My relationship with what I created was determined by my perception of how many people engaged with it.

I waited day and night for the dopamine rush of notifications. I refresh my inbox, thinking that one of these days, somebody will leave some kind of affirmation, and somehow that recognition will imbue what I created with more significance. More value, writ-large.

If it got crickets, then I've failed somehow. It just wasn't good enough, I say to myself.

For the longest time, I felt like everything I created had to prove it belonged. It all felt like a race, except I didn’t know who I was competing against, only that I always felt left behind and couldn't keep up.

That's my fault. I can't help but measure myself.

But isn’t that the universal tendency? To view our past achievements as a benchmark we have to constantly overcome? Isn’t that why we’re so satisfied to look at old works we made and see how far we’ve come?

I remember what my old teacher used to say. “You’re only as good as your last piece.” As if art exists only to constantly prove itself. As if art is forever doomed to fight for its place in this world.

Well, I'm sick of it.

And so I'm realizing, in real-time, that I don’t want to fight for my place anymore. I don’t want to pander to some stupid algorithm.

I want to create. 

I want to believe that a work of art is good simply because it exists out of necessity. Out of someone’s urgent desire to share a piece of their heart in the world because it would have been devastating to keep to themselves. That’s always been very beautiful to me. It's why there is so much heart in fanworks because of the sheer heart poured into it—a love that is as raw as an exposed nerve.

There are so many stories in your head, numerous in number and nebulous in form, that eventually come to fruition as these delicate, precious things you’ve been brave enough to summon into existence. To materialize in a timeline or dashboard. To somehow take up space in people’s minds if only briefly. 

Maybe that in itself is the miracle. That what you conjured in your head somehow made its way into something real. Whether in tiny strokes or tiny letters on a tiny screen.

Somehow, the numbers next to them don’t seem to matter as much.