#always in the same place and always beside a cup of water that I brought in from the other room

[sheliesshattered]

#this is literally a thing we have always had in my family#'did I do the thing or just think about doing the thing?'#'oops I meant to do the thing but I just thought about doing the things and so didn't actually do it'#both of my parents did this (Mom still does); I do it; afaik all of my siblings do it#it's a very real problem but saying it out loud around others who have experienced the same thing definitely helps (via)

To quote someone on Facebook:

"So for anyone who didn't know, there's a thing ADHD brains do sometimes, which is thinking about doing a thing is roughly equivalent in our brain to doing the thing, so our brain checks off having done the thing EVEN THOUGH WE DIDN'T DO THE THING"

_

*raises hand* Me. I didn't do the thing I thought I did.

[bluehoodiewoozi]

Cherry-flavoured

girl dad & husband (in that specific order)!Choi Seungcheol x wife!Reader

Genre: fluff, sickfic

Word Count: 1,400

Warnings: the flu; Seungcheol is down bad for his two girls; reader despises cherry-flavoured medicine

[Domestic AU] When both of his girls fall sick at the same time, Seungcheol is more than happy to take care of them both - no matter how difficult they are.

The kettle had barely finished when Seungcheol heard your voice calling out, “Can I get my tea yet?”

“You don’t even like tea that much,” he scoffed under his breath, careful not to be heard, before responding louder, “Just a moment, honey!”

He waited for a response and it soon came. A sniffling sound. A sneeze. But even then your pout was practically audible in your reply: “I don’t like honey.”

He sighed. The hot steam of the water was making his nose runny even now, a whole three days after his recovery from the flu. Still he carried on, adding spoonfuls of honey into two cups of tea. With the utmost care, he picked out the best looking cookies from the box (one Mingyu had so kindly brought over after hearing of your family’s predicament) and added them to the tray, right beside a small box of flu medicine.

To the sound of sniffles, coughing and whines of suffering, he steadily picked up the tray and began his journey upstairs. The ticklish feel of the cat scurrying past his ankles almost threw him off his balance. Just as he regained it, another fluffy creature practically flew past him – Kkuma stopped on the top step to look back at him, judging him for his slowness – but soon he reached the top of the stairs with a sigh of relief. 

The relief was temporary though because the moment he reached the 2nd floor, he was bombarded with complaints.

“What’s taking you so long, dad?” sounded from the bedroom to the right. It was followed by shuffling, a soft greeting for the cat, and more whining. “You promised to fix my TV!”

He took a moment to wonder when his little girl had started calling him ‘dad’. It sounded so formal and affectionless compared to the nicknames she’d given him in the past. 

But it was clear where his journey would take him next. Cautiously, he made his way to Minah’s bedroom. The door got stuck before he could fit himself through. He resisted the urge to forcefully rest his head against the doorframe. 

“Minah, princess, I told you I’d fix your TV after you clean your room,” he pointed out as he tried to shove the door further open without much success. It was harder to do this with no free hands and even he wasn’t bold enough to try to balance the tray with only one hand. “Where do you even walk?”

“I climb the walls like spiderman.”

His brows furrowed: that sounded an awful lot like talking back! Seungcheol wasn’t entirely sure whether she was just loopy from the fever or if it was time to stop letting the members babysit his daughter.

“Well, what’s daddy supposed to do?” he asked once he finally managed to break into the room. The tray remained mostly dry and he considered that a win. “I can’t climb the walls.”

There was a glint of mischief in his daughter’s eyes. “I’ll clean the room if you fix my TV.”

That was it, Seungcheol decided. He was done having children. If a few days ago he had wondered how to bring up the idea of having a second child with you, the desire now swiftly left as he realised his fate: endless circular arguments that would somehow always end with him folding around his little girl’s finger. 

He placed a cup of steaming tea and half the cookies on her bedside table. When she inevitably reached to take one (for she was only a girl; one with a sweet tooth), he let out a warning noise and handed her a spoonful of cough syrup. “Medicine first, candy second.”

His eight-year-old daughter offered him a look that called him dumb in five languages. The white cat in her lap seemed to match her sentiment. “Cookies aren’t candy, dad.”

“They’re chocolate-chip,” he retorted, already feeling his eyes widening with annoyance, “and chocolate is candy.”

“No, chocolate is chocolate,” she corrected him with a giggle that was soon interrupted by a coughing fit. 

Seungcheol felt himself soften at the sight. His free hand reaching out to brush her hair out of her face as she blew her nose, he patiently waited with the spoon still in his hand. Once she looked at him again, eyes red-rimmed and filled with exhaustion, he offered her a gentle smile. “Your medicine, princess?”

Her hand reached upwards towards the spoon. She hesitated. “Do I have to?”

“Do you want to get better?” he countered, raising a brow.

She groaned and looked up to her ceiling covered in plastic glow-in-the-dark stars. Clearly he hadn’t realised how difficult of a question that was to answer. “But then I’ll have to go back to school.”

“Don’t you want to see your friends?”

Once again he was on the receiving end of that look she had perfected – the one that called him old and dumb and boring. “I chat with them all the time.”

It was time to bring out the big guns – the one thing (a person, really) he hated to speak of but always seemed to get her to do what was needed. He squeezed his eyes shut as he braced himself to say the words: “If you get better, you can see Yongho again.”

The spoon was out of his grasp and in Minah’s mouth before he could open his eyes again. Defeated, he sighed and handed her a cookie in return for the newly empty spoon.

“Will you fix my TV now?” she then had the audacity to ask. 

And Seungcheol couldn’t even say no. 

He nodded and left the room with the tray in his hands, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll get mom her medicine first and then I’ll fix your TV.”

She cheered and he couldn’t help but smile. 

“Seungcheol?” he then heard your voice call. “How long does it take to make tea?”

He entered the room with a chuckle. “There’s only one of me, you know? And someone has to take care of the little one as well.”

“The little one,” you snorted at the nickname. “Honey, she’s eight. She has a boyfriend. You need to come up with a new nickname soon.”

“God, don’t even remind me about the boyfriend,” he groaned as he placed the tray down. “It should be illegal to date before the age of 30.”

Amused, you raised an eyebrow. 

“For her anyway,” he added with a pout. “And she’ll always be my little one.”

“Even when Yongho asks her to prom?” you teased, sitting up just as he made himself comfortable sitting on the bed. “Even on her wedding day?”

He stared at you. Then his eyes narrowed. “You’re just saying things to annoy me, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one that took your sweet time making my tea.” You reached for the cup. “My throat is so scratchy. I hate being sick.”

Golden opportunity. “If you don’t want to be sick, you should take some medicine.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the venomous glare you sent his way. 

“I think I would rather just succumb to the flu,” you told him and he was sure you meant it. 

But he had vowed to stay with you through sickness and health, and then he had sworn to your mother that he wouldn’t let you be sick when he could help it – really, he had a duty to fulfill here. “You’re setting a bad example for Minah, you know?”

“She’s not even in the same room–”

“MINAH, YOUR MOM’S NOT TAKING HER MEDICINE!” he bellowed right then and there, confident that he would receive a response that would force you to accept your fate. 

Seconds later, a loud – slightly wheezing – yell sounded from the other bedroom, “MOM, YOU CAN’T DO THAT!”

You grimaced under his self-satisfied stare. “Fine, but it better not be the cherry-flavoured one.”

He put extra effort into hiding the label from you as he poured a spoonful of the syrup and handed it to you. “Drink up.”

You did as told. Then glared at him with viciousness he rarely had the pleasure of seeing. “You just had to get the cherry-flavoured syrup, didn’t you? Traitor.”

“I love you too!” He offered an apologetic smile in return, placed a soft kiss to your cheek, and made a swift exit. 

Suddenly fixing Minah’s TV didn’t sound so tedious after all.

Note: I wrote this when my bestie @haoboutyou was sick and then she proceeded to begged me "150 times" to share this with y'all, so here we are, I guess. I hope this brought a bit of joy into someone's day! <3

[guksfairy]

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹LATE NIGHT KOO 23:29 `✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

in which Jungkook tells you about a thing he used to do as a kid

notes: I learned abt this bc my bias talked abt it once and I’ve not stopped thinking abt it lol

Enjoy !

wc: 598

The tv displays funny acts of the yellow sponge and his pink star friend as you and Jungkook laughed every now and then at their shenanigans. It was a Friday night and neither one of you felt like going out with your friends so you packed an overnight bag and headed to your boyfriend’s house for a nice evening.

Jungkook, earlier in the day, had bought a ton of different ramen packs that he thought you’d both enjoy. You had scolded him saying that it was a waste of money and in return he replied I’m not wasting if I’m spending it on you.

“Love can you get the water,” Jungkook yells from the living room, lowering the volume for dinner.

You turn around to the boiling water and…you’re not sure why you did it. Or how it happened.

You’re not dense. You know that the handle of a pot can be hot when there’s boiling water inside of it.

Yet you completely skip over the oven mitt Jungkook left beside it and went directly to grab the handle, burning yourself in the process.

“Ow!” in an instant, Jungkook is back inside the kitchen watching you flick your hand back and forth as a reaction to the heat.

“Touch your ears!”

“What?” you stare at your boyfriend when he simply repeats it again.

“Touch your ears,” this time he’s calm and walking towards you as you do as he says. Your hand doesn’t burn as much as it did a moment ago but you still grab both of your ears gently, rubbing the skin.

Jungkook walks past you and takes the oven mitt to remove the pot from the stove. He places it on the trivet and turns back to you, who is still doing the same action.

He internally coos at you and moves your hands back down.

“Are you okay?” you nod and his worry is put at ease, “You don’t need any ice?” You shake your head.

“Why’d you tell me to touch my ears?” You giggle at his funny request.

“What?”

“Just now, when you told me to touch my ears,” you recall.

“Oh it’s what my mom used to tell me when I was a kid. If I burned myself I should touch my ears,” your eyebrows furrow and he continues.

“Yeah apparently your ears are usually the coolest part of your body, so when you burn yourself you’re supposed to touch your ears to dissipate the heat,” he explains pouring the boiling water into the cup of noodles.

“Is that true?” you ask in awe. You’ve never personally heard of this in your lifetime.

“Probably not? But as a kid, I believed and trusted my mom and, maybe it was a placebo effect, but it always comforted me,” he says and you verbally coo.

“You’re so cute,” you pinch his cheek and he smiles with a playful eye roll as he removes your hand.

“Yeah yeah,”

“Are you gonna teach that to our kid when they’re growing up?” you ask without thinking. The flush in Jungkook’s cheeks visible and only then did you realize the topic you brought up.

“Our kid?” He shyly repeats.

“Yeah…our kid,” you state and he sniffles a small laugh, leaning forward to engulf your body in a warm hug.

“Sure, I’ll teach them the same,” he says and you giggle thinking about Jungkook telling your son or daughter to touch their ears like he did just now.

[goaskangel]

dad's bestfriend!nanami x reader

a/n...had really good ideas 4 this and it kinda WORKED OUT??? i fu want more lmk!! im a sucker for older dudes (and ONLy them) nanami will save us all EEK. also i see hiromi as y/n's father, that's what i had in mind writing this!!! THIS HAS SLIGHT CORRUPTION STUFF, LIL GUILT STUFF, LOTS OF KISSIINGGG

you usually paid no mind to the people your father brought over. mostly colleagues or just a few friends to drink and converse with in your shared apartment. one friend he’d seem to bring over a lot had caught your eye. as if his ever-changing ties and snug khakis weren’t enough to make you grin, his mannerism was much too attractive. greeting you respectfully, listening and chuckling to your rare comments and jokes to their discussion over drinks in the kitchen. getting comfortable to just speak to you while your dad’s out or busy with something, always listening with intent. 

it’s so sexy, you think, your hands up to your face as you lay to your side in bed. dreaming conscious thoughts of what his big hands would feel like on you, or the same breath he smokes out against your neck. your guilt no longer dragging you down after all this time. 

once, you sit close to him, smiling and trying to make your staring of his ringless finger unnoticeable. he wonders, aloud, how don’t you have a boyfriend? you shrug, “jus’ not very interested.” you smile when he chuckles, most likely at your thought process. part of you hopes he doesn’t ask what you're looking for because you’d go straight to overworked suited-men. skip over the blonde and big traits just to seem more vague. of course you were interested, you were interested the moment he mentioned he had no family. no wife, no kids. just focused on his work and drinks, a few cigars and baked goods. the absence of your father to run a quick errand wasn’t helping, your eyes zigzagged down his undone tie and exposed blue button-up, his blazer down beside him. you’d thought about taking the garment or increasing the loft’s heater just to see him get all worked up and hot but being this close to him gave you the same thrill. the topic of marriage came up.

“you shouldn’t wait too long, i waited too long.” he says with sincerity. 

“hehe. with all truth, mister, i think you’re doing it on purpose. you are handsome.”

he sits up at the title, a confused smile at his face, “yeah? i could say the same thing about you, pretty.”

god, if you were any worse, the first time he’d use that petname you would’ve pounced on him sooner. “dad says guys my age are after one thing and i agree. you wouldn’t disagree with my dad, would you?” your head tilts and waits for a response to your bratty remark. “well, i suppose your father knows a thing or two.” he nods, crossing his arms. your eyes trail again, watching the toned muscle flex casually against his rolled sleeve. you swallow the pool of spit in your mouth. 

“he’s strict, though. haven’t you noticed?” you get up from your seat and walk to pour yourself another glass of water, “doesn’t ever let me have anybody over.” 

“uh-huh.” his brown eyes stare at you intently to understand your point. 

“it gets lonely, mister.” instead of sitting back down, you stand right in front of him. placing your glass on the glass table. his arms now rest out on the table as he traces delicate circles on the rim of his half empty cup of whiskey. “i obviously can’t tell my dad that so i’m telling you and i just know you’d understand.” your hand rests atop his and slowly curls under his big palm.

he clears his throat of the sudden nervousness, “well, yes. i know that feeling all too well.” you hum a response when he turns his body to face you better. you mumble gently, “my dad won’t be home.” your hand squeezes him tighter. you notice how his brows furrow just the slightest bit as he lowers his head down, letting out a small sigh. but he doesn’t oppose it. doesn’t move when you lead his hand down to your hip, the tips of his fingers riding up your shirt. so pliable, his other resting hand now being guided up, up, up your shirt. his warm palm against your much softer skin. “won’t tell anyone, nanami.” 

his breathing is shaky and his eyes seem to have gotten heavier, but he scoots almost off the seat, to get closer. his vision glued onto the bump of where his hand is underneath your shirt, beneath the wire of your bra. 

“i’ll let you do anything you want to me.” fucking hell, you made this so fucking hard. 

“you’re damn irresistible.” he slurs through his teeth, swearing to himself that his mouth dried when you gripped his hand to squeeze the fat beneath your breasts. you feel dizzy, so good that he’s not resisting, that he can’t resist. he kneads and gropes the side of your hips and thighs, getting closer to your ass. impatiently, he stands and manhandles you closer to his bigger frame. you hear how his breathing’s stabilized but heavier, his expensive cologne finally hitting you when you lean up against his neck. he damn near groans when he gets his hands on you properly. dragging his hands on your back, pushing your body right against his much warmer one. your knees grow weak, if his grasp was any looser, you could’ve collapsed right on him. you take your arms and wrap them firmly against his broad shoulders and thick neck, moaning quietly against the veins under his ear. he feels his khakis getting tighter with every breath you take. a smile grows against your cheeks when you feel the slight stubble at his jaw, you kiss at it. 

still moaning between kitten licks against his mature skin, he turns to press his lips to yours. quick little pecks between breaths, he savors each one and quickly returns for more. the sour taste of his bitter whiskey intoxicating you from his much sweeter mouth.

“been..wanting..this..nana–mi..!” you can’t contain your grown obsession to which he shushes you. nodding slowly against your mouth while he keeps your head in place. when you pull away, you take his hands and lead him into your open bedroom. the idea of your father coming home slowly fading the closer you got what you wanted. you got so eager when he sat you on the edge of your bed, standing between your hanging legs. your hands wanting to hold onto his belt, to slowly unbuckle it but he caught them beforehand, kissing and sucking on your soft wrists and forearms. his lips find their way to your neck and ear where he whispers. 

“it's wrong, i know. so, so wrong, but my god…” he holds onto your neck and carefully grinds himself into your clothed cunt, making you arch your back and buck your hips into him, whining. you could cry from all the teasing he’s doing. “shouldn’t be doing this, sweetheart…dad can’t know, okay?” he keeps his now firm bulge against you. you moan another cry and kiss him again a bunch, nodding, rubbing tongues and messing up the gel in his blonde hair. the very open door reveals the sound of clinking keys and chains, doors opening and closing. too dizzy and much too dazed to even frown, you just stare into his soft brown eyes. they get farther away as he gently lets you go, kissing your temple for good measure before heading to the bathroom, leaving you with shaking legs. hopefully his plans of staying over stays the case.

masterlist

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Now I can ENTHUSIASTICLLY demand a part 2 to the Slasher yandere.

Ya can't just leave me hanging there!

Slasher x Reader

Part one

Weeks passed in a haze of silence, rot, and routine.

Time became strange in that place. It bled together like rain on ink, each day a distorted copy of the last. Morning came as a dim, gray light that filtered through grime-choked windows. Night brought deeper darkness, colder silence, and the sound of him just beyond the thin, cracked walls.

You stopped keeping track of the days after the first ten. It only made it worse.

At some point—maybe the third or fourth week—you gave up trying to resist the food. He brought it charred now, sometimes overcooked roots, sometimes strips of meat that were tough but not raw. The water, stale and cloudy, came in the same dented metal cup. He was never far from you when you drank or ate, always crouched nearby like a dog waiting for scraps.

He began watching you longer. Sitting across the room when he wasn’t feeding you, his legs folded awkwardly beneath him. He didn’t speak. He never spoke. You began to think he didn’t know how.

You talked sometimes, just to fill the void. Whispered questions into the dark: "Why are you doing this?" "What do you want from me?" "What happened to you?" But silence always answered.

Sometimes he brought things from the outside world—small, random things. A cracked mirror. A hairbrush with only half its bristles. A stuffed rabbit missing an eye and half its stuffing, which he placed beside you like a child presenting a gift to their mother. You didn’t know if it was meant to comfort you or unsettle you further.

Both, maybe.

And then, one night, everything shifted.

You were curled up against the wall, the rusted chain looped around your ankle keeping you in place, though the skin beneath had grown sore and raw. You’d wrapped the flannel shirt he brought around your shoulders, not for comfort, but because the cold was unbearable, and you’d run out of pride.

You were drifting, exhaustion making your body heavy, eyes half-lidded. You heard the door open and didn’t react. You no longer flinched. You barely cared.

He stepped inside, his boots scraping against the warped floorboards, then the soft creak as he crouched beside you. You expected food. Or water. Or one of his bizarre tokens.

But instead, he sat.

And then, slowly, wordlessly laid his head down in your lap.

Your body went stiff with disbelief, muscles locking tight as a board. His mask tilted slightly against you, the sharp edge pressing into your leg through the fabric. You didn’t dare move. You hardly breathed.

His body was immense—too large, too solid—and you could feel the heat of him even through the layers of grime on his skin. His breath was loud and hot, fogging against your thigh in slow, steady bursts. His arms hung loose at his sides, but he was close enough now that if he decided to grab you again, it would take no effort.

At first, you didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your hands hovered uncertainly in your lap, just above the tangled mess of hair that peeked from beneath the battered mask now resting against your thigh. Your every nerve screamed to recoil, to shove him off, to scream.

But you didn’t.

Because the stillness was fragile.

You stared at him—at the slumped curve of his back, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed. He made no move to hurt you. No attempt to touch. Just rested there, heavy and monstrous and strangely quiet.

Then, as the minutes bled by, a low, rough sound rumbled from his chest.

At first, you thought it was a growl. You tensed, hands curling tight in your lap.

But then it came again. Grrmm. Not anger. Not warning. More searching. Restless.

Another minute. Then another.

Grmm.

It came again, a little louder this time. His shoulders shifted slightly. His head nudged against your leg. Not violently. Not with the force of someone who wanted to hurt.

It was a plea.

You stared down, breath caught in your throat, and watched him huff softly against your thigh. The sound came again—guttural, needy. Almost pathetic.

You hesitated.

Slowly, cautiously. You lifted your hand and touched his hair.

It was coarse. Dirty. Matted in places with sweat and blood. But it was human beneath your fingers. Real.

He stilled instantly.

Like a feral thing lulled by a lullaby.

You swallowed and, with trembling fingers, began to move your hand just a little. A stroke down the back of his head. Then again. And again.

The noise he made this time was softer, lower. Like a sigh. His shoulders sank, the tension leaking out of his enormous frame as he pressed in closer, nestling the side of his face into your lap with a strange, childlike gentleness.

He made another sound. Almost a murmur of contentment, if someone like him could ever feel such a thing.

You kept going, your hand moving in a slow rhythm through the grime-clumped strands of his hair. You didn’t know why. Maybe because it was the only control you had. Maybe because you were terrified of what would happen if you stopped.

Or maybe. Maybe. It was something worse. Something deeper.

Maybe you just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

You didn’t speak. The silence between you remained thick and still. But something changed in that moment. The air shifted. The cage of your captivity warped into something harder to define.

Not safety. Not comfort.

Familiarity.

Each night after that, it became the ritual.

He would come in, silent as ever. He’d crouch at your side. And then lower himself, wordless and slow, until his head rested against you again. Always with the same heavy care, like he thought he might break something.

And always, after a few minutes, the low grunts would start.

You learned to recognize them. One meant impatience. Two meant he was trying to get your attention. Three…well, three meant you weren’t moving fast enough.

So you’d reach for him again. Stroke his tangled hair. Run your fingers just beneath the edge of the mask. He always relaxed under your touch. Not just physically, but in a way you could feel beneath your skin—as though the pressure in the room deflated, as though something in him was soothed by you.

Like a beast that only knew violence but had found the one thing it didn’t want to hurt.

One night, after what felt like months, he didn’t lay down right away.

He stood in the doorway longer than usual, watching you with that unreadable gaze. You didn’t flinch anymore. You didn’t even look away.

He approached slowly. Then crouched. But instead of settling in immediately, he reached into his jacket and pulled something out.

A comb.

Old. Plastic. The teeth cracked on one end.

He offered it to you, holding it out with two blood-streaked fingers, his head slightly bowed. Like an offering.

You took it.

And without a word, you began to comb through the snarled tangles in his hair.

He made those sounds again—low, grumbling, somewhere between a purr and a groan. You didn’t know if you were comforting him or training him. But either way, it worked.

He melted into you.

Eventually, he started staying longer. His breathing would slow to a gentle rhythm. Once or twice, you thought he’d fallen asleep. You dared not move to check.

----

It began with a brush of his fingers.

One night, long after the usual ritual—after you had combed his hair in long, gentle strokes until the worst of the knots gave way, after he had sighed into your lap like some great hound finally at rest—he shifted.

His hand came up slowly, not toward your face, not to grab or hold, but to your hand. Where it rested in his hair.

His fingers were thick, scarred, clumsy. They hovered for a moment, uncertain, and then touched the back of your hand. You froze, heart knocking against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

He didn’t grip you. He didn’t force your hand away. Instead, he just explored.

He ran his fingertips down your knuckles, tracing the curve of each one like he was studying them. Mapping them.

You held your breath.

And then he took your hand in both of his.

Carefully.

He turned your hand palm-up. A quiet grunt escaped him. Low and wondering. He brushed one finger down the lifeline etched into your skin, then circled your palm.

His hand was monstrous. Long fingers, wide palm. Scarred and calloused to hell, with thick patches of skin that looked burned, torn, stitched. There were traces of old blood under his fingernails—some his, some not. But it was warm. Alive. His thumb pressed into your palm. Not hard. Just enough to feel the tiny beat of your pulse. He seemed to linger there, eyes hidden behind the crude mask, head tilted in that now-familiar way that meant he was listening.

He ran his fingers over each of yours—slowly. Obsessively. He pinched the tip of each one between his thumb and forefinger, like counting them. Measuring them. Committing them to memory.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Because the way he looked at your hand—touched it—wasn’t just fixation. It was almost worship. As if your hand held answers, or power, or some sacred thing he wasn’t worthy of but needed to touch anyway.

He traced a vein along your wrist. Followed it down with the pad of his finger, then up again. He hummed. A low, gravelly sound that didn’t quite form into a word.

You swallowed thickly, your voice a whisper before you realized it had slipped out: “…Why are you doing this?”

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.

But he paused. Just for a breath.

Then, without speaking, he turned your hand and pressed it to his chest.

Right over his heart.

His skin was hot through the layers of fabric. His ribs rose and fell in deep, uneven waves. And beneath it all—steady, hammering, alive—you felt it.

His heartbeat.

Thundering.

Erratic.

Fast.

He held your hand there for a long moment, as if he wanted you to feel it. As if that pulse, so wild and trembling, could explain what his mouth could not.

Then he leaned down, mask grazing your wrist, and let his forehead rest against the hand he’d just studied like scripture.

And for a long while, he stayed that way.

Not moving. Not making a sound.

Just breathing against you.

Clinging to your touch like it was the only thing tethering him to something human.

From that night on, he began inspecting your hands regularly. After meals. Before sleep. Sometimes in the half-light of dawn when he thought you weren’t fully awake.

He’d take them gently, one by one. Turn them. Touch them. Hold them in his lap as he knelt beside you. Sometimes he’d murmur something under his breath—guttural and broken. Nothing you could understand. Not language, exactly.

But it always came with a kind of awe.

Masterlist

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [2]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.8k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: May have been on a roll with writing, so enjoy part two sooner than anticipated! I greatly appreciated all the comments on the last part, too! Y'all are the reason I've already started on part three. I've also found that I'm enjoying the Jax POV's so there's more in this one and the next! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness

The rush of customers in the coffee shop had finally dwindled down after opening, leaving you with the usual mid-morning lull with which you’d grown accustomed. The elderly couple that came in almost every single morning around the same time to have a coffee was sitting at the exact same table in the far corner where they always sat, sipping their coffees and chatting quietly with each other. A college-aged young woman currently sat posted up at the front counter with her laptop and a notebook, her attention focused on an assignment. The sight of them brought a smile to your face as you filled up your small watering can at the underbar sink behind the counter.

You’d opened this coffee shop with the intention of it becoming a place for people around Charming to feel welcome. Whether that meant Honest Coffee was a spot to come and enjoy a cup of coffee for a first date or with a spouse of thirty years, or a place for students to focus on homework or others to come in and work. Whatever it was that brought repeat customers in here and allowed you the opportunity to meet the members of your town, it gave you joy seeing your shop growing into exactly what you’d hoped it could become. 

Mia, one of the baristas you’d hired when the shop had first opened months ago, stood beside you as she cleaned down the machines and wiped down the counters. You’d noticed she wasn’t quite as chatty, working in an unusually thoughtful silence this morning, but just as you’d been about to ask if something was on her mind, the approaching rumble of motorcycles had caused her to stiffen and stop working. The noise grabbed your own attention as it drowned out the sound of the music playing over the speakers. You gave Mia a curious sidelong glance before the line of bikes pulling into the lot across the street drew your attention over to the front windows of your coffee shop. 

Standing there holding the full watering can in your hands, you watched with Mia as the handful of men rolled into the lot across the street in the bright morning sunshine. The group of men backed up in the parking lot, lining their bikes beside each other in front of the clubhouse. The difference was almost immediate once they all began to cut their engines, the shop becoming noticeably quieter than it had been a second ago. It was something else you’d also just grown accustomed to with having a coffee shop located across the street from the Sons of Anarchy. 

It didn’t skip your notice how the few people in the shop were all reacting to the motorcycle club, either. Besides the way Mia had gone completely still beside you, the young woman working on her laptop was agitatedly clicking her nails on the countertop. Across the shop, the elderly couple was staring out of the window beside them with matching guarded expressions on their faces before you caught them exchanging a look with each other. The elderly woman rolled her eyes at her husband and you frowned at the sight.

It wasn't that you were oblivious about what was said around town about the Sons, because you definitely weren't. You'd heard the rumors–everything from them selling guns to making crack to being killers for hire. You knew most of the things people said about them were embellished, false assumptions, but you also were aware that some things probably held some truth. 

But that didn't matter to you. You were a firm believer in everyone deserving a fair chance. Equal treatment. You'd met Gemma, the supposed matriarch of the Sons, a few times now. She had come in often after you had first opened the shop. And while she'd absolutely come across completely different than the usual citizens of Charming, you'd found her to be a very sweet woman–in her own special way. And you'd had a strong inkling that her visits to your shop for coffee as she chatted with you about your plants or how business was coming along had just been a way for her to ease the pain of missing her son while he was doing time in Stockton.

A few nights ago when you had finally met that son of hers, you'd gotten a feel for the Sons’ President. You weren't entirely sure what had brought him in after you had closed that night–because you were certain it wasn't the coffee–but you had caught the hint of pain hidden deep in the depths of his blue eyes despite all of his charming smiles and pet names. In all honesty, he had seemed lonely and lost beneath all that playboy persona you'd heard about. You hadn't minded letting him stay to chat because he seemed like he needed a friend or some kind words, even if he didn't realize it himself. And you had been content to be that for a short time.

“It's unfortunate your coffee shop is across the street from that,” Mia muttered.

Snapping out of your thoughts at the sound of her voice, you looked over at where she'd resumed cleaning down the counter. You could feel the frustration building in your gut, but you did your best to tamp it down and keep it at bay. Not everyone in Charming was as determined to be as open-minded as you were. It was a small town, after all. And it wasn't like the Sons hadn't caused their own fair share of trouble over the years.

“Why do you say that?” you asked.

Setting the filled watering can down on the counter, you turned and focused on your employee. Mia pulled a face at the question before she dropped the towel she was cleaning with onto the countertop and fixed her full attention on you.

“Really?” she asked before gesturing a hand at the front shop window. “Your coffee shop is across the street from a whole criminal operation. A very loud, very crude one. It's not exactly the most ideal location.”

Shrugging a shoulder, your eyes darted across the street. A bunch of men in kuttes, as Jax had taught you they were called the other night, were congregating in front of their bikes. You could easily make out Jax amongst the group from his blonde hair even from this distance. He looked angry about something as he spoke, one of his arms gesturing in wide, sharp movements. Briefly you wondered what had made him quite so furious before your attention returned to Mia and the topic of conversation.

“The rent was vastly more affordable for this building,” you told her, knowing exactly why it was. “And while it can occasionally get a little noisy with the motorcycles, and some people aren't the biggest fan of our neighbors, I don't really feel bothered by their presence.”

Mia sent you a flat look, one of her brows arching upwards in disbelief. “They don't bother you? Are you completely insane?”

“They're really not that bad,” you disagreed.

Both of Mia's brows shot up onto her forehead at that, her jaw partially dropping. You playfully rolled your eyes at her in return, an amused smile curving the corners of your lips. She was always so dramatic.

“Are you serious?” Mia asked. “Have you forgotten Gemma already since her last visit?”

You shook your head at the question. Of course you hadn't forgotten the woman. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to forget her.

“Gemma is just blunt. She speaks her mind,” you replied. “Maybe it's a bit much for most people, but she's really not all that bad.”

“Well the guys over there–” Mia continued, gesturing back out the front window with a hand again while remaining focused on you, “–definitely aren't good.”

You shook your head, picking the full watering can up from its place on the counter. “That is entirely a matter of opinion. You can’t paint people in black and white, Mia. What one person considers “good” is arguably “bad” to someone else, and vice versa. It's objective. A social construct. It isn't like they haven't participated in charity work around Charming. Done things to arguably help the town on occasion, either.”

“Well, you can't argue that they don't break laws. And I think killing people is pretty black and white, boss,” Mia called after you as you began watering the plants in the shop. “That’s about as sharp of a contrast as you can get between the two.”

“Maybe in some cases,” you agreed, watering one of your pothos plants that had been growing like crazy in a hanging basket nearby. “But to some extent, I think there's more factors to be considered before passing judgement. Like the why behind it all. Something no one in this town probably really knows when it comes to each one of them.”

Mia exhaled sharply at your words, the sound almost like she was deflating at your response. A moment later she began laughing a little, the noise catching your attention as you moved to water the next plant.

“Okay, I didn't sign up for one of your lectures on morality this morning,” Mia teased you.

You grinned as you focused back on watering the plant before you. “All I'm saying is that humans are complex, you can't just–”

“Lectures on morality?” Gemma's distinct voice cut through the conversation, causing both you and Mia to glance over at the shop’s entrance. “I thought you just sold coffee here, now you're lecturing on morality, sweetheart?”

Mia grew tense behind the counter instantly, her mouth closing as she forced a professional smile onto her face that clearly looked forced when she greeted Gemma. But you genuinely smiled over at the dark-haired woman, and that smile only grew wider when you saw who she had brought with her–Abel. His blonde head came to just about knee-height beside her as he held onto her hand, but the moment the almost one-and-a-half year old little boy saw you, the biggest smile spread across his own face. 

During Jax’s time away in Stockton, Gemma had spent a lot of time watching Abel when he wasn't with his nanny. Which meant sometimes she had brought him with her when she came in for coffee, so you had gotten to know him along with Gemma over the past few months. And Abel had gotten used to the free cookie you'd given him every time–anything from chocolate chips to snickerdoodles to monster cookies. He'd taken to calling you ‘cookie’ because of it, something you personally adored hearing in his little voice every time.

“I didn't know my favorite customer was coming in today!” you exclaimed.

Turning in a hurry, you set the watering can down on the counter behind you before rushing across your shop, not having seen the little boy for over a week. The moment he began hopping in place next to Gemma, his small hand still wrapped around hers, you felt your heart melt. He was the sweetest little boy.

“You're more chipper than usual today,” Gemma observed.

You caught the teasing smile on her face before you knelt down in front of Abel, your smile widening when he waved at you and called you 'cookie’ once again. You'd been about to open your mouth to ask him if he was ready to pick out a cookie today, but a now familiar voice behind Gemma caught your attention.

“What about cookies, little man?” 

Looking up from your place on the floor of the shop, you saw Jax stepping inside just behind his mother, the door falling shut behind him. The moment his attention left Abel and focused on you, you went still. Judging by the look of confusion on his face, you guessed he hadn't known about Abel's visits with Gemma to your shop. But behind that outward confusion written on his face, you could still see the remnants of something like anger left over from when you'd seen him yelling about something across the street a short time ago. You were half tempted to ask how he was doing today, but you had a feeling the question would be met with either a lie or hostility. So you left it alone this time. 

“Been bringing Abel here with me since you boys were in Stockton,” Gemma explained, turning on the spot and studying her own son closely as he stepped further inside. “He calls the owner ‘cookie’ cause she always gives him one when he visits.”

Jax's expression shifted to something harder when his mother mentioned Stockton Prison, a muscle jumping in his cheek. You quietly watched as some sort of silent exchange occurred between them while you remained kneeling in front of Abel.

“The hell are you doing here, anyway, Jackson?” Gemma asked after a moment of silence, still eyeing him suspiciously. “Don't you have a...thing to go deal with?”

Jax’s eyes narrowed at his mother before he answered. “A few of the guys are handling it right now,” he replied, voice tense. “Thought I'd see what you and Abel were up to. Figured I could use a coffee myself.”

Gemma’s head tilted to the side, one dark brow arching up at his comment as if she didn’t quite believe him. Not wanting to get in the middle of whatever was going on between them, you stood back up, eyes shifting between the pair.

“So…is it alright if I let Abel pick out a cookie this morning?” you asked cautiously.

Both Gemma and Jax turned their attention to you at the sound of your voice. Almost simultaneously they both responded to the question, the sight causing you to bite back a grin.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Sure thing, sunshine.”

Gemma's head immediately snapped in Jax’s direction as she pulled a face at him. “Sunshine?” she questioned sharply.

Fighting down a laugh at the briefly sheepish expression you caught on Jax’s face before he recovered, you grabbed Abel's hand and led him over towards the front counter. You noticed the firm look Jax sent his mother before you walked away–the one clearly telling her to not say anything further.

As you helped Abel pick out one of the freshly baked cookies you had made–peanut butter brownie swirl–you could hear Mia awkwardly taking Gemma and Jax’s drink order behind the register. She began fumbling behind the counter shortly afterwards as she started on Gemma's latte, clearly more thrown off by the presence of Jax with her this time. The only time he'd come into the coffee shop was the other night after closing when it had just been you here. Besides that night and Gemma's visits, no other Son or affiliate of the Sons had ever actually come into your shop. 

You could tell Jax’s presence wasn't just affecting Mia as Abel happily ran back to his father's side with his cookie in hand. The young woman at the counter doing her schoolwork kept shooting Jax nervous sideways glances. She had almost imperceptibly inched away from them where she sat at the counter, as if wanting to put some distance between herself and the pair. Across the room, the elderly couple was scowling at Gemma and Jax, whispering amongst themselves at the table. 

Oddly enough, neither Jax nor Gemma seemed to notice or react to the negative attention. They were too busy leaning against the counter waiting for their drinks as Abel contentedly munched on his cookie, both mother and son talking in hushed tones. Your smile faltered a little at the wary look you once more caught on the young woman's face before you saw Mia growing flustered behind the counter. Deciding to rescue her, you joined her behind the counter and started on Jax’s coffee–the same order as what you'd made him the other night.

Mia shot you a grateful look as she filled the frothing pitcher with milk. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Smiling as you started on Jax’s coffee, you shook your head at her. “You're making this into something more than it needs to be,” you whispered back. “They're just here for coffee like anyone else.”

Mia leaned over towards you, pausing as she set the frothing wand of the espresso machine into the pitcher. “Usually my customers aren't armed though,” she countered quietly. “That makes a difference.”

“He's not going to shoot you for messing up a coffee order,” you told her as you grabbed a to-go cup for Jax’s coffee.

“You have no proof of that. Just look at his face today, he looks like he'd shoot someone for less,” she murmured.

The loud sound of the milk frothing abruptly ended the conversation as Mia focused back on Gemma's order. As Jax’s coffee began extracting into the pitcher, you couldn’t resist looking over your shoulder to where he and his mother were still leaning against the counter. 

He did look upset, Mia wasn't wrong about that. Both of his brows were pulled marginally together, a slight crease visible between them. His mouth was drawn into a straight line as he listened to whatever Gemma was saying, the corners of his lips occasionally shifting downwards. There was even a noticeable stiffness in the way he was just leaning against the countertop that hadn't been there when you'd met him the other night. But behind all that rigidness that made him look tightly wound, there was an exhaustion in his eyes that seemed like it went further than just a bad night of sleep.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you focused back on the coffee you were making, but a second later an idea struck you. Reaching over beside the stack of to-go cups, you grabbed the black marker used for writing names on orders and began writing something small on the outside of his cup, a faint smile on your lips as you did. Afterwards, you placed the cap on the marker and set it back before you began filling Jax’s cup with the coffee that had finished brewing. As you finished up, you heard Mia turn around and nervously give Gemma her drink. 

Grabbing a lid, you fastened it onto Jax’s cup before also turning around. He was already focused on you, his blue eyes watching as you stepped over to where the pair stood on the other side of the counter. You set Jax's drink down in front of him, a warm and friendly smile on your face. He looked like he could use one–and probably a hug, too, but you figured that would certainly be a weird offer. 

“Thanks, sunshine,” Jax said.

There was the ghost of a smile on his lips for the briefest of moments before it disappeared as his hand reached out, grabbing the cup without looking at it. He looked as if he'd been about to say something more, but the amused huff from Gemma had his expression quickly growing further irritated than it had been a moment ago. 

“Won't bother you today,” Jax told you, pushing off the counter with his ringed hand. “Gotta deal with some shit. But thanks for the coffee.”

A small pang of disappointment hit you when you realized he wasn't going to even chat for a minute, but you figured you should just count it as a win that he had come back into the shop at all. Maybe that meant there’d be a third visit. With a smile still on your lips, you nodded back at him.

“Of course,” you replied. “I'm always happy to fuel a caffeine addiction.”

Gemma laughed a little, shaking her head at what you’d said. It was a line you'd used a few times now and she knew that. 

“You should lay off on snorting those coffee beans, sweetie. You're already plenty perky,” she teased as she grabbed Abel's hand.

“Or maybe that's my secret,” you jokingly countered, enjoying the way Jax seemed to be fighting back a grin as he sauntered over to the counter by the exit to add sweetener into his coffee. “A few lines of freshly ground beans first thing in the morning. Wakes you right up.”

Gemma laughed, the sound loud and genuine. A flood of pride hit you, especially when Jax began securing the lid back on his coffee, his attention on you as an almost cocky, amused grin tugged at his lips. Maybe it was only for a moment, but you’d briefly brightened both of their mornings. 

“You take care, sunshine,” Gemma teased.

She turned and led Abel out of the door, Jax following behind her now with a surly look on his face at the way she’d used his nickname for you. Mia stepped over beside you as they left, watching the three of them cross the street back towards the clubhouse and Teller-Morrow. 

“It’s insanely weird how well you can get along with absolutely anyone,” Mia said after a moment, turning to look over at you standing beside her. “You realize that, right?”

Your smile only grew wider at her words as your eyes remained fixed on the retreating form of Jax. You’d gotten a bit more of a genuine smile out of him today even if you hadn’t gotten much conversation. That was something, at least. Eyes shifting over to Mia, you shrugged a shoulder.

“I like people,” you answered simply.

“The hell you think you’re doing with that girl over there?” Gemma asked sharply.

Her eyes fell on Jax as they passed the line of bikes in front of the clubhouse, Abel’s hand still wrapped around hers as he finished eating his cookie. Jax immediately rolled his eyes at his mother’s tone, not interested in being scolded like he was a teenager all over again.

“I’m not doing anything,” he responded firmly. 

Gemma shot him a pointed look, clearly not buying what he was saying. He huffed in annoyance, stuffing his free hand into his jeans pocket as he brought his coffee cup up to his lips for another drink. Christ, it was still as good as the other night when you’d made him one.

“Bullshit,” Gemma continued. “Sunshine? Really? I’ve never once in my life heard you call a woman that, Jax. And I’ve heard you call them plenty of shit.”

He swallowed down the coffee, his irritation rising with where he felt she was trying to take this conversation. “So what? It’s a goddamn nickname, Gem. You got a problem with a nickname now?” he snapped at her.

Her lips drew into a thin line across her face as she came to an abrupt halt which in turn had Jax stopping just behind her and Abel. The way her eyes narrowed at him meant trouble and he knew it.

“That sweet, nice coffee shop owner back there is not club pussy, Jackson,” she began sternly. “Just because her shop happens to be as close as it is to the clubhouse does not mean–”

“Jesus Christ, relax!” he shouted, cutting her clean off. “You don’t think I know that? I’m not interested in her like that, alright? I just stopped over there the other night because…” 

His voice trailed off for a minute, unable to even try to think of a reason as to why he had, especially with the way Gemma was staring at him right now. Truthfully, he still hadn’t known why he’d gone into your shop the other night in the first place, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you on and off since then. And he certainly had still been watching you through your shop’s windows.

Jax ran a hand across his mouth in agitation before he continued, trying to keep his tone more level. “Look, I stopped in there the other night ‘cause I saw her closing up. She always just looks so goddamn happy and…I dunno. Just made me curious what the hell was up with someone like that, okay? I’m not trying to get her in my bed or anything, Gem. I promise.”

“Better not be,” Gemma warned, her eyes still narrowed at him. “Because that girl is not meant for our world and you know it. She’s far too kind and sweet, she’d probably have a heart attack spending one night around the guys at the clubhouse. And I don’t need you charming your way into her bed and breaking her tender little heart and having her spitting into my coffee whenever I stop in because I birthed a little shit.”

Jax scoffed, pulling a face at her over-dramatic words. “I’m not going to sleep with her. You can calm the hell down already. And I highly doubt she’d ever spit into a coffee, she seems far too nice for that.”

“Not the point,” Gemma countered. 

Jax watched as his mother led his son by the hand back towards TM’s office, a scowl on his face as the noise from the garage rang out around him. Anger flared within Jax from the conversation he’d just had with her. He didn’t know why her warning to stay away from you had him bristling and itching to hit something because she’d been completely right on all fronts. You were a good person and absolutely nothing like the club whores he was used to. Not that he’d had any intention of it, but sleeping with you would certainly end with your heart getting broken because Jax was not a relationship kind of guy–even less so after the bullshit with Tara that made him hate the idea of one even more. And the thought of you knowing any little bit about the things he’d done for the club had his hand tightening around the paper cup of coffee you’d given him. 

Gemma was entirely right. You weren’t someone who belonged in his world. Without a doubt, Jax knew the only thing he’d ever be capable of doing to you would be snuffing out that bright, warm light he found himself strangely drawn to, and that wasn’t something he’d ever want to do to you–even if he barely knew you. 

Teeth gritting together, Jax knew that you’d be better off if he stopped visiting your damn coffee shop. He glanced over at the nearby trash can just outside of the garage. He exhaled a sharp breath and made his way over towards it, reaching his hand out with the mostly full cup of coffee. As it hovered over the open bin, Jax about to drop it into the garbage, black ink hidden behind his hand caught his eye.

Frowning, he pulled the cup back and shifted his hold on it to get a better look. In small, delicate handwriting he saw the words ‘maybe this is the cup.’ Jax’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he reread the line over again, wondering what the hell you’d meant by writing that on his cup. And then he remembered the other night when he’d stopped into your shop and you’d told him you believed a good cup of coffee could make a bad day better or some bullshit along those lines. When he’d disagreed, he remembered your words exactly, hearing your own voice in his head for a moment. 

“You never know, maybe you just haven't had the right cup of coffee yet.”

An amused breath fell out of Jax as he shook his head at the fucking cup of coffee in his hand, reading what you’d written again–“maybe this is the cup.” You were so goddamn persistent and optimistic, weren’t you? You really thought one of these days that a stupid cup of coffee was going to somehow change his day, didn’t you?

“You’re something else, sunshine,” Jax muttered to the cup in his hand.

He stared at it for a moment longer, his eyes tracing along the lines of black ink before a voice behind him cut through his thoughts. Jax’s head darted over his shoulder, spotting Chibs making his way towards him.

“There ya are, Jackie,” he began. “Was lookin’ for ya. We got an update on that problem, might wanna head to the chapel so we can fill ya in.”

Jax sighed softly, nodding his head at Chibs. “Right,” he agreed. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, following Chibs back across the lot to the clubhouse. As he walked, he drew the cup of coffee up to his lips for another drink. When he swallowed the warm liquid down, his gaze inevitably returned to your neat, delicate script beside his fingers. The corner of his lips twitched.

[dorabellingham]

Fever and moody

warning: none

characters: jude x fem!reader

summary: when he wakes up sick and starts making a big fuss about you taking care of him

request: yess!

may contain spelling and translation errors!

It was a cold morning in Madrid, and the sun had barely risen when you woke up to a mumble coming from beside you in bed. You glanced at the clock on the bedside table and sighed when you saw that it was still six in the morning.

—Jude?

You mumbled, your voice hoarse with sleep.

Your husband was huddled under the covers, his curls messy and his face visibly pale. He mumbled something unintelligible, squinting and turning his face into the pillow.

—Is everything okay?

You asked, sitting up and placing your hand on his forehead. He was hot, too hot.

—I’m not okay… —Jude mumbled, his voice hoarse and sly. —I think I’m dying.

You rolled your eyes, although a smile appeared on your face. He clearly had a fever, but the dramatization was typical of Jude.

—You just have a fever, that’s all.

You said softly, sliding out of bed and grabbing the thermometer from the bathroom drawer.

He watched you with half-lidded eyes, looking even more miserable than he should have.

—Babe…

He called softly.

—Yes?

You replied, walking back into the room and placing the thermometer under his armpit.

—I’m dying.

You let out a small laugh.

—You’re not dying, Jude. It’s just the flu.

He let out a long groan as the thermometer beeped. You pulled the device out and looked at the numbers: 38.5°C. Nothing alarming, but enough to explain how haggard he looked.

—A low-grade fever, nothing that rest and hot tea can’t fix.

—But I never get sick…

He pouted, looking like a spoiled child.

You sighed, stroking his hair.

—Okay, darling. I’ll take care of you.

—Promise?

He looked at you with his big, pleading brown eyes, and you couldn't help but laugh.

—I promise. Now just lie down here while I make you some tea and get something to help you get your fever down, okay?

Jude nodded slowly, sinking deeper into the covers as you went to the kitchen. A few minutes later, you came back with a makeshift tray: a cup of steaming tea, a bowl of chocolate chip cookies he was addicted to, and some medicine.

—Take this first, it'll help with the fever, love.

You handed him a pill and a glass of water.

Jude sat up with effort, grumbling as if he had just climbed a mountain. He took the medicine and grimaced, but accepted the tea right away.

—Is this better?

You asked, pulling the covers over him again and sitting on the edge of the bed.

—No. —He looked at you with puppy ​​eyes. —Aren't you going to stay with me?

—Jude...

You began, but his gaze was irresistible.

—Sweetie... please.

Sighing, you lay down next to him, pulling the covers up to cover the both of you. Jude immediately snuggled into you, hiding his face in your neck.

—You’re the best wife in the world!

He murmured, his voice muffled.

—Of course I am. Now try to rest, okay?

—Only if you stay here with me.

You smiled and began to run your fingers through his curls, something that always soothed him. It didn’t take long for him to start to relax, his large, muscular body looking small and vulnerable as he drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later, Jude woke up feeling a little better, though still moody. You were next to him, your cell phone in your hand and the glasses you used to read resting on your nose.

—You didn’t leave here?

He asked, his voice still hoarse.

—I promised, remember? —You smiled. —Now, do you want to try to eat something?

He nodded, and you brought him some soup. He kept making a face and smirking with each spoonful, but deep down, Jude knew that there was no better care than yours.

—Thank you for taking care of me, babe.

He said softly, when he finished eating.

—It's the least I can do, considering that you do the same for me.

You replied, kissing his still warm forehead.

—I don't deserve you, Y/n.

—Not at all.

You joked, laughing.

Despite the flu, Jude managed to smile, feeling better not only because of the medicine, but because of the love and care that came from you.

[yourmomsfavouritegirl]

Regret and forget

Paige Bueckers x reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

Author's notes: Paige is devastated after the loss against usc (i am beyond broken with what i saw) and the reader as her girlfriend is trying to help her feel better. The one shot among many others will be written from the readers pov. It is my first one shot so it is kinda small. I will make sure the others are not as short as this one but until then i hope you like it. Enjoy!!

Y/n's pov

The door slammed shut as the blonde athlete made her way to the bathroom. I sighed as i knew she would be too harsh on herself because of their loss tonight. The shower ran and i ran my hand through my hair as i could only hear the water fall and nothing else. I brought her some whine to the bedroom and waited for her to come out. As the water stopped i looked up and seconds later Paige entered the bedroom. Red puffy eyes from crying and posture shrugged as if she was carrying all the shame in the world. "Baby" i whispered as i made her sit down beside me. She shook her head not wanting to look at me. "Paige look at me honey" i pleaded as i grabbed her chin and slowly made her look at me. Tears threatened once again to leave her eyes making me feel bad for her. "It was my fault y/n. Only mine. I lost too many shots tonight and my defence was trash. I basically gave them the win" she murmured as she placed her head on my shoulder. "That's not true baby. I watched the game and saw that you did as best as you could the second half. You are a part of a team Paige. You are not the whole team. Stop being so harsh on yourself baby. You need to relax a bit. Take some time to yourself away from all the drama and pressure. It's not good for you" i said and she shifted in my arms before getting up. "I know. I mean i know but i don't always know you know? I just I don't want people to think I'm a disappointment. And don't tell me that's true because you and i both know that's exactly what they're thinking right now" she said before changing into her PJ's. "Paige you have to let them think whatever they want. Why are you playing basketball for you? Or for them?" I asked her softly cupping her cheek. "For me" she whispered back at me. I smiled at her response and nodded at her "then focus on what you wnat to do and let the others believe whatever they want" i said and she smiled a bit at my words. I felt proud that i made her smile after such a difficult day. "Come on let's drink some whine and then go to sleep. You look like you need some alcohol" i joked making her crack a laugh. I smiled as she poured us both a glass and we got under the covers as we chatted about literally anything else just so she could let her mind relax from the constant pressure basketball was giving her. "I love you Paige. That is not going to change when you have some bad days. I just need you to stay the same good hearted person and everything will be okay. Trust me baby" i cooed in her ear as she snuggled against my neck. "I love you too baby. I know i just forget sometimes what basketball means to me. I was so focused on the fear of loosing that i forgot about everything else. Thank you for being there for me" she whispered the last part making me place a soft kiss on her forehead. "Let's go to sleep superstar. You need to sleep a bit" i said and she chuckled at the nickname before turning off the lights and coming back to lie on top of me. I smiled at how clingy she was knowing that she was like that when she was vulnerable. I just loved that she found comfort in our little bubble here in the dorm. Even stars like her need a break sometimes

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Extra Sweet, Just Like You | yjw

Café for7you followers event

Order for @wonieheartue ⋆˚✿˖°

One,Trope Latte “strangers to lovers” with a Swirl of Romance Cream ‘Holding hands under the table.’ Coming right up!

Brewed in golden hour light with a double shot of familiarity and a cinnamon swirl of connection. This cup is rich with soft routines, warm gazes across the counter, and hands that find each other beneath quiet conversation. Finished with slow-burn foam and a sprinkle of shy smiles, it’s a strangers-to-lovers blend best served gently one sip, one day, one feeling at a time.

The first time he walked through the door, you noticed him because he looked a little out of place too put-together for your sleepy, slightly weathered café tucked on the corner of an old street. His shoes were soaked, dark strands of hair plastered to his forehead from the rain. He didn’t even try to shake the water off his coat. Just stood in the doorway, blinking away drizzle like he was surprised to be there at all.

“Rough day?” you asked, offering him a towel and a tentative smile.

He looked up, startled, then softened. “Something like that.”

You handed him a warm cup vanilla latte with cinnamon, your comfort drink and told him it was on the house. “You look like you need something sweet.”

He smiled faintly. “I didn’t think anyone did stuff like this anymore.”

“Welcome to the café where kindness is brewed fresh daily,” you said, tapping the counter lightly.

He stayed for fifteen minutes. Didn’t say much. Just sat near the window, watching the rain with his hands curled around the cup like it was the only warm thing in the world.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

But he returned three days later.

This time, dry. Less lost. He ordered the same drink and said, “You remembered.”

You hadn’t realized you had.

After that, he became a regular.

He never told you his name at first. Never asked yours. He just came always around 3:30, when the post-lunch crowd thinned and golden light spilled through the front windows. You learned to expect the soft jingle of the bell above the door. The way he always glanced at the specials board, even though he never ordered anything different.

Sometimes he read. Sometimes he brought his laptop. Most times, he just sat and talked to you as you worked behind the counter.

You started saving him a spot by the window. Started pulling an extra espresso shot without asking. Started making his latte a little sweeter, a little warmer.

One day, when you brought over his drink without being asked, he looked up at you with a small, boyish smile.

“It’s Jungwon, by the way.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My name,” he said, eyes crinkling slightly. “In case you ever want to write it on the cup.”

After that, it got harder not to notice the way he watched you. The way his gaze lingered a little too long. The way he leaned across the counter when no one was around. The way his eyes flicked to your lips when you smiled.

Still, nothing happened.

It was slow.

Painfully, deliciously slow.

And maybe that was what made it so addictive. Like steeping tea letting it swirl, infuse, become something deeper.

You started to learn more. That he worked two blocks down. That he liked cheesy romance dramas and couldn’t drink black coffee to save his life. That he loved rainy days but hated how they always made him feel nostalgic.

“About what?” you asked one afternoon, watching him trace circles on his cup.

He just smiled softly. “I don’t know yet.”

One Thursday evening, near closing, the café was quieter than usual. The other tables were empty. You had your apron off. He had his tie loosened, a paperback on the table, half-read.

You sat beside him instead of across.

Not a big move. Not even a bold one. But his shoulder brushed yours, and the air shifted.

“I like this,” he murmured.

You looked at him. “Like what?”

“This. Us. Here.”

Your heart thudded softly in your chest.

You didn’t respond. Just reached for your cup, and accidentally intentionally let your pinky brush against his on the table.

And he didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

For a moment, it stayed like that. Hands near, not quite touching. Like a breath being held between two hearts.

Then slowly like testing the surface of something sacred he slid his hand into yours under the table. Fingers lacing together. Warm. Sure.

Your stomach flipped, and your grip tightened slightly in return. He didn’t look at you, didn’t say anything, just smiled at his half-finished book like nothing had changed. But everything had.

And under the table, hidden from the world, your hands stayed clasped like a quiet promise.

Want to place an order? See here what Café for7you has to offer for you! ₊˚⊹♡

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barista’s note:

hi lovie! thank you for ordering and I hope you like it! ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა Come back for more~

[phasecornnuts]

Hiiiiiiii! If you’re still open for requests maybe you might wanna write something where the reader casually mentioned that they/she had a partner on earth before they died and Alastor takes it a bit too drastically and has just been very salty and asking too many questions 😭 if you like that

Please & thanks ❤️

Hey guys I've returned! Sorry for taking a little while, I was busy with finals/I wanted to relax on my spring break so I didn't have a lot of time. I lowkey kind of cooked with this one too so enjoy :3

Also, I sorta made the reader be from around the same time period as Alastor (sorta late 1910s early 1930s) for extra spice

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had become a daily routine for you and Alastor to have afternoon tea together in cannibal town. Always, between the hours and four and six o’ clock after Alastor had finished his broadcast and you, your hotel duties, the both of you would walk down to Rosie’s Emporium to nibble on finger sandwiches, candied eyeballs, and other treats. 

The sun was still high in the sky, sending fingers of light through the windows of the cafe; the building was alive with the chatter of demons and hell-born alike. You and Alastor had just sat down, a short cannibal girl with a heart-shaped face and glowing brown ringlets placing your usuals on the table. Oh how beautiful they were! Too pretty to eat, garnished with tiny sprigs of mint (or, at least, it may have been mint) and resting on plates of delicate porcelain. With polished silver beside them, and matching teacups and saucers too, it all looked like a party for a girl’s favorite doll.

That is, if it weren’t human meat. 

Looking up from your plate, you saw Alastor turn his head to follow the cannibal girl making you frown. His gaze returned to you before he caught you staring, a chipper grin on his face as always.

“She could be a dead ringer for Mary Pickford, don’t you think?”

Your eyebrows perked. You hadn’t looked long at the girl admittedly, though you stared long enough to know that she was no Pickford. You pursed your lips,

“I don’t see it, Lillian Gish maybe.”

He looked at you like a mad-woman, “You don’t!?”

“No! Her eyes are much too large!”

Alastor chuffed, proceeding to rest his chin on his dark hand, “In the eye of the beholder I suppose.” 

You rolled your eyes, “You only say that because of her curls,” you stated while picking up the teapot and pouring yourself and Alastor your cups, “Now, drink before it gets cold.”

For much of your lunch neither of you spoke, merely enjoying each other’s presence while pecking on some food here and there. Throughout the meal the waitress brought more plates, pancreas tarts, minced tongues coated with cinnamon sugar, and sweet pies filled with rotted venison and cooked kidneys, all Rosie’s treat. Alastor had been taken by the small pies in their mulled deliciousness, the meat so tender you saw his eyes water. He pleaded you to try one, though you couldn’t, your stomach filled to the brim from the other treats and delicacies. 

Alastor picked up the small pair of silver tongs from beside him and placed two sugar cubes in his tea, “I do say, it’s nice to have a meal companion again.” He took a sip from his teacup and grinned. 

You nodded in agreement, lifting the milk jug from the table and pouring a generous amount into your cup. “Likewise. Good dinner conversation is a horrid thing to lose.”

“Truly.” He took another drink. “Before you, I hadn’t had a proper luncheon since my mother.”

“From what you tell she sounded like a fine woman.” His grin lost its eeriness, becoming fond instead. 

“She truly was, and such a fine cook too.” Alastor gazed at the fine pattern painted on the rim of his saucer, “her jambalaya was the best, our side of the Mississippi” he chuckled. He began to remember then, “And her gumbo and her crawfish etouffee and her pecan pralines”

It was odd to hear his voice so full of affection, but nice too. So strange, to think a man who broadcasted his murders of other overlords and feasted on their flesh was once a little boy who clung to his mothers skirt and happily ate her cooking. 

“Maybe one day you’ll cook for me then?” you teased

“Oh why wouldn’t I for my favoritest of sinners?” He took your hand.

You leaned in towards him, a silent flirtation. “Or perhaps I could prepare something for you?”

He looked at you from his dark, hooded eyes, a certain intrigue radiating from them. “Would you now?” he said, leaning in closer. 

“Oh I would, anything you’d like.” the tip of your oxford lingering at his ankle. “My food was good enough for my darling back on earth, why would an overlord of hell have any complaints? Other than not enough seasoning I suppose.” 

That was when the laughter in his eyes died. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek before finding the words to speak, “Your darling?”

 “Pardon?”

“You had someone,” He straightened up, pulling himself away from you, “back on earth?”

“I hardly see how it matters now.” 

Alastor’s tone grew curt, had such a simple word bruised his ego? 

He crossed his arms, “What were they like?” each word as sharp as his teeth.

You pulled your hands close to you, confused at his curtness, “They were….they were nice. Cordial, spirited, vivacious, however you would put it. If you’re-” Alastor cut you off. 

“How did you meet them?”

“On the trolley.” That only served to make him scoff.

“Tch, how common. The trolley.”

You chewed your bottom lip, trying to deny the anger towards him that began to knot in your belly. “It was a different lifetime.” You asserted, a hard finality to it. Pushing yourself from the small table you smoothed your skirt and adjusted the ribbon that was tied so nicely in your hair. 

Without looking at him you said, “Tell Rosie I’m grateful for her hospitality and I will try to find a way to repay her. Also that I’m sorry that I had to retire without saying hello but I feel rather…faint.” Before leaving completely you said, “See you back at the hotel.”

The rest of the day you hid in your room, sulking and pacing. Charlie had tried to coax you out, seeing how angry you’d been when you came back, but you denied every effort she had. 

“It’s not good to stay cooped up in there,” the Princess pleaded.

“I like my alone time.”

 “But- but I had games planned! Husk was going to show us how to play Blackjack and Dominoes!”

“I prefer bridge, and he’ll just cheat us anyways.”

She gave a disappointed sigh, and outside the door you could hear Vaggie talking to her, telling Charlie to give you your space. 

For three nights straight you avoided Alastor, finishing up your hotel duties quickly before hiding in your room. You grew bored after the first day admittedly, a person could only sleep and bathe and read so much. The fourth night is when he knocked on your door while you lied draped on your couch, your nose in a book you’d already finished before. Thinking it was Charlie, you ignored it, sure she’d get the message. It insisted however, rapping harder the second time. You sighed, annoyed. “Who is it?”

“Alastor, may I come in?”

A sour taste came in your mouth, “No.”

“You cannot lock yourself away from me forever.” 

You lifted yourself off the couch, full of bitterness, “I can and I will!”

An electric hum filled your ears, the sound of Alastor weighing his words, “Could you at least entertain my attempt?”

Walking to the door and opening it slightly you saw his face, those deep, hooded eyes dark as blood, cracked lips, and hollow cheekbones. All of those beautiful, haunting features draped in remorse. You sighed, cursing the affection you had for him. 

“Fine, but I’m still cross with you.” That made him smile, if only a tad. 

Opening the door fully, you saw he’d brought one of the dining carts from the unused kitchen clad in a clean white sheet. Alastor pushed it to the center of the room before spiritedly ripping the cover from the cart, presenting polished silver dishes of raw meat and organs. From the bottom shelf of it, he had pulled a fine bottle of wine and two shining glasses.

“I helped myself to a bottle of Husk’s finest, the patrons here don’t have as refined tastes as you and I.” He gave a small grin. So this is what he brought with him, a peace offering. Your stomach was empty from only eating a small meal earlier in the day, so perhaps it was not in vain, though you weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him. 

“I’ll help you set the table,” you offered, feeling guilty he put so much effort into pleasing you. 

Alastor held his hands up, “No need darling.” He put his hand on his throat, “What I said the other day was very…” he coughed into his hand, “ungentlemanly of me, and I wanted to make it up to you.” 

You folded your hands and held them to your chest, looking at the embarrassment he tried to hide. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, and raised your gaze to his. “Thank you, Alastor.” His grin widened as he sat down beside you. 

He uncorked the bottle of wine, beginning to pour it into the glasses, “Of course.” He handed you the glass which you took gladly. The vintage was so dark it looked black, reflecting the lights that glowed from the ceiling. Swishing it, you could see the hidden shades of red that the wine hid.

“Demon’s blood, Husk calls it.” Alastor told you before he took a long sip. 

“Fitting. Do you know how long he’s aged it?” Alastor shrugged, taking another swallow. 

“I didn’t care to ask, but it tastes so good going down. Come, drink, I didn’t bring this up so I could get drunk by myself.” That made you giggle, how much he valued the both of you eating and drinking together. 

Taking his lead, you titled your head back, savoring the warm burn of the wine going down. Its hot fingers lingered in your chest before fading, like drinking cold medicine. In three large gulps you finished your glass, noticing the way Alastor’s eyes watched your throat as you drank. After finishing your second glass you began to dig into the food he’d brought, pancreas tarts, cooked kidneys and…oh good god! On the largest plate was a raw heart, fresh and bloody. 

“Where did you get this? You shouldn’t have!” Your eyes went wide and your mouth began to salivate. A raw heart! Oh and it was human too! Such a fine delicacy must have taken so much begging from Alastor!

“Rosie owed me a favor. And I owe it to you, for making such a jackass of myself.” 

You took another sip of your wine, feeling your face begin to flush. You helped yourself to a tart while Alastor poured himself another glass. As you ate you felt his eyes on you again, focusing on the way your teeth bit into the pastry, your swan’s neck showing your swallow, and how your tongue dragged across your lips. Feeling bold, you placed your feet in his lap and wiped the corner of your mouth with your finger, licking the tip of it with your tongue. He swallowed, hard, his eyes growing wide. 

“Are you looking at something?” Your voice a heavy seduction.

“Possibly.” He drank again. Leaning back on the arm of the couch, he placed his glass on the floor. The tips of his fingers grazed your legs, “Though I do have another question for you, if I may.”

A sultry smirk grew on your face, “That depends on what it is, Al.” God, you could see the glint in his eyes then.

Alastor looked up at you from his hooded eyes, “I’ve been wondering…about your “darling.” You arched an eyebrow; your interest piqued. “Did they ever have…you?” His breath shuddered. 

“Have me, how?” You teased.

“Oh humor me my dear,” He purred

You smirked and shifted your legs in his lap. “Hmm, maybe once or twice…” You sit up from your recline and crawl onto his lap.

“What sorts of things did they do to you?” 

Running your fingers down his chest you savored the way he squirmed and shifted, “All sorts of unholy things” 

Alastor choked on his breath, his eyes transfixed on your face. Slowly, he caught it, regaining a certain boldness afterwards. His hand found the top of your stocking, fingering the nylon taut to your thighs. “Getting rather comfortable aren’t we my dear?”

The smirk you had deepened and you pulled in closer, feeling the heat of his breath tickle your cheeks. You looked into his eyes, “I could get much more comfortable if you like, Al.” For what seemed like ages you lingered, until you felt you had tortured the man enough. Slowly, you leaned in, seemingly ready to kiss his shiny red lips. Grinning, you pulled a piece of dry skin from his bottom lip between your teeth, peeling it to show the bleeding flesh beneath. 

You sat back on his lap and spat out the skin. Looking at him, you saw that hunger in his eyes again. That fine line of decorum the two of you had with one another, ignoring the lingering gazes and longing touches, all thrown away with one bite. Underneath, you could feel his arousal beginning to grow hard. You rolled your hips slightly into him, earning a throaty groan from Alastor. From the silver dining cart you pulled the piece de resistance, that raw bleeding heart, and sunk your teeth into it, tasting the sweet flavor of iron. Trails of blood dripped from your mouth onto your decolletage, slowly turning brown and flaky.

Alastor’s breath heaved, growing even harder from that sultry cannibalistic display. He pulled you towards him and pressed your mouth to his, saccharine saliva mixing with sanguine. His tongue slid and twisted about yours, savoring every inch of its taste. You pulled away from him to catch your breath, making him whine. Leaning in again, he dragged his tongue along your neck, cleaning up the drying strings of blood. 

Both of you straightened up then, him holding you proper now. One hand ran its fingers through his shiny red hair and the other cupped his aching sex, so taut against his trousers. 

“Is that what you were so upset about Al? If they fucked me or not?” You purred into his ear.

The tips of your fingers fluttered over his hip, tracing its edge before returning to his cock. “I bet you wondered if I did this to them, didn’t you?” A small nip was placed on his neck, leaving a red half-moon. Your breath grew hot against his cheek as you whispered into his ear again, 

“Maybe I did, and maybe I did so many more dirty things to them.” 

Alastor enraptured your mouth in another needy kiss. His words heavy with radio static, “What sort of things my dear? Or are you all talk?” Your grin widened seeing the shock in his eyes when you began to unbutton his overcoat.

“Let me show you.”

Four little words was all it took to send him over the edge. Picking you up, his hands traced over all the parts of your succulent body. When he flopped you on the bed, hair as tousled as a pin-up, you reached out a stockinged leg to him, that devious look on your face growing. Oh how badly he wanted to have you, hastily unzipping your dress as you stripped him down to his undershirt and trousers. Deft fingers hooked around the tops of your stockings, pulling them down as fast as they could. You dropped his trousers and took off his shirt, admiring all of that soft, gray skin.

You pressed your mouth to the flesh of his stomach, blessing it with small love-bites that made him shudder. All along his torso you left red patches and traced your cool fingertips along the hard edges where his ribs poked out. You tilted your head up and moved his hands to the straps of your brasserie, exposing all of your hot, yearning flesh. He cupped a breast and lied on top of you. Grinding his sex to yours he moaned into your mouth. It had been so…so long since you’d been wanted, since someone pressed their body to yours and you felt all of their heat as they slid into you, over and over again. 

“Al,” You breathed

“What is it?”

“Get on your back.” 

And so he did. 

Alastor’s back against the mattress and your palms against his chest, you let him enter you. He let out a string of curses when you did, and even more when you started moving in those easy rolling motions. Those large hands of his held the curve of your waist as you rode him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched your breasts bounce. 

“The first time I saw you…” You began, going a little faster, “I wanted you,” You heard a small thud as he dropped his head against the pillows.

“I thought about you kissing me and touching me all over” That’s when the pulses of pleasure started to build up, prickling you in sweet needles that went all the way up your spine.

“And about you sticking your fingers in me and..and your tongue too” You felt your face heat up and your sex grow slicker, admitting those indecent thoughts you only entertained during late nights when your fingers wandered. Alastor gripped your waist tighter, making your rhythm harsher. You looked down on him, his eyes glazed over with euphoria, and felt your mouth pool with saliva.

Digging your nails into the skin of his chest you kept on. “For a whole week I couldn’t keep from slipping my hands between my legs.” Your voice, thick and hoarse. “I wanted to know what you tasted like, if-if your mouth tasted like blood,” that was when he quickened the pace even more. Your sex was so hot and wet, all the way at the base of your spine you could feel your orgasm coming to you, a full-body shiver that made your eyes well with tears. 

The last part was what sent him over the edge though. 

“Sometimes, I’d bite myself so I could taste the blood when I’d touch-” was all it took to make him come. 

Fuck it felt good too. A weak falsetto escaped your mouth when he released, so warm and filling. That’s what made you reach your end too. You clawed your nails in his skin so deep there were two broken half-moons on his chest. Your thighs clenched against his torso, quivering, as you could feel your body become as light and floaty as chiffon. 

Alastor let the both of you ride it out, that sweet joyous bliss. When your mind returned from the heaven it was sent to, you leaned over, resting on top of him. He moved you gently, pressing you closely to his chest. For a while, neither of you spoke, the air lingering with the smell of sweat and blood and sex. You ran your fingers through his hair again; He kissed the back of your hand before speaking. 

“If I’d known all that would come out of making you angry at me, I would’ve earned your ire a long while ago.” You rolled your eyes, flicking his chest playfully. 

“Perhaps we could do this again, without the arguing?” You propose, “You’re quite good at it.” 

A smile stretched across his face as he played with a lock of hair that rested near your face, “Expect nothing less from an overlord of hell cher.” One of his hands slid to your lower back, tracing small circles on that creamy flesh. 

“How about we try one more time without the arguing, for good measure?”

You smirked and kissed him again. All for good measure.

[whitecompri]

Hhhhiiiiiiiiiii. I just read your going on a picnic with your hedgie, and I loved it. So I would like to request sort of the same thing only with other characters especially Tails and Knuckles Please 🥺

Picnic Date

Check Out: Picnic Date with Hedgies

Pairing: Tails x Human!Reader; Knuckles x Human!Reader; Jet x Human!Reader; Infinite x Human!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Light Humor

Rating: T (Teen)

Warnings: Flirting/Light Seduction

A/N: Thanks for the request! I've really enjoyed making these scenarios with characters that are a little different from what I'm used to. Especially with Infinite and Jet, they deserve a little more attention. I hope you like it!

Tails

It was a pleasant and sunny afternoon, your steps sank into the soft grass while a gentle breeze caressed your face. Just ahead of you, you started watching the lively steps with which Tails walked. He had shown great excitement about the idea of going on a picnic with you, ever since you mentioned wanting to go on one.

Since then, Tails had carefully planned everything to make it the best afternoon for the two of you.

His hand held firmly onto the handle of the little cart he was pulling, carrying the blanket to lay on the ground, some extra items, and the picnic basket. A sweet smile lit up the fox’s muzzle as he looked for the perfect spot to stop and begin.

“That place looks perfect!” He pointed to a small hill with an amazing view, looking excitedly at you.

“Sure, it looks great for a picnic.” You gave him a gentle smile, appreciating how happy he was to be spending time with you.

Tails hurried ahead, stopping right under a tree. Placing a hand on his hip, he analyzed the spot. Nodding subtly, he bent down at the cart, grabbed some lights, and fluttered his tails to slowly lift himself into the air, flying up to the nearest branch, carefully threading the lights through behind the branches and hanging them.

When he was satisfied, he returned to the ground, switching on the lights with a small portable generator he had brought just in case. The lights turned on, pleasantly illuminating the area, creating the perfect setting, especially with the sun already beginning to set.

You watched him eagerly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, admiring his ingenuity and creativity in setting up such a perfect atmosphere.

“It looks really good, Tails.” His blue eyes focused on you, a smile lighting up his face.

“Thanks, when it’s with you, things have to be extra special.” He grabbed the blanket, getting ready to spread it on the ground.

“Let me help you...” You approached, taking the other end of the blanket, helping him carefully lay the fabric on the ground.

Tails took the picnic basket, placing it in the center, then began taking out the food while you sat down across from him.

First, he pulled out a small plate covered in plastic wrap, containing some natural sandwiches that looked delicious. Then, he took out a small container with several strawberry muffins shaped like gears, placing it beside the sandwich plate.

“Did you make these?” You smiled, admiring the design of the muffins.

Tails nodded.

“Yeah, I wanted to make something different for you. I even made the molds myself and came up with the recipe. It melts in your mouth and it is not too sugary.”

“Looks really good.” You couldn’t help but feel your mouth water just from the food’s appearance — the flavor must be amazing, after all, Tails always paid close attention when following recipes.

Lastly, he took out a thermos, and the sweet scent of chamomile filled the air.

“I brought this lovely tea too, and it’s still warm.” Tails said proudly, placing the thermos in the center and grabbing some plastic cups. “Well, no need to wait anymore, right? Let’s eat.” He smiled, picking one of the sandwiches and handing it to you.

“Thank you, Tails, you’re a sweetheart.” You accepted the snack, holding it carefully and bringing the soft bread to your mouth, taking a bite and feeling how tender it was.

As you chewed, you tasted the harmony of all the ingredients, making for an explosion of flavor — everything perfectly seasoned and balanced.

“This is amazing...” you murmured softly.

“Right? I’m glad you liked it. I made it thinking of you.” His tails wagged happily as he took one of the muffins, biting into it and chewing.

You could hardly wait to try the muffin too, it looked wonderful — but for now, you were content to enjoy the perfectly crafted sandwich.

--*--

Chewing the last delicious muffin, you watched as Tails enjoyed the final sips of tea from his cup, a wide smile on the adorable fox’s muzzle. He turned his face toward you.

“Hey, is it okay if I take a nap on your lap?” he asked sweetly.

“Of course, go ahead.” You answered softly, already shifting on the picnic blanket so your boyfriend could lie down comfortably.

Nodding briefly, he set the cup near the basket, then started to move closer to you, until finally resting, sighing contently as he relaxed in your lap.

Your hand almost immediately rested on his head, slowly stroking his soft fur. Tails crossed his arms over his chest, still wearing a long smile on his muzzle, as he slowly began to fall asleep.

Watching him so peacefully, a mischievous smile appeared on your face, and your index finger began tracing circles around his sensitive ears, scratching and gently petting behind the fluffy edges.

His ears twitched quickly, then started folding back each time your hand touched them. A quiet giggle escaped from the fox.

“...That tickles...” he murmured, shifting a little until his cheek touched your thigh.

“...I know.” Your hand kept petting him, moving down his back, his twin tails wagging contentedly. Then you slid your hand back up, finding his chin and starting to stroke and scratch the sensitive area of his neck, making Tails chuckle again and squirm.

This time, however, he uncrossed his arms and wrapped them around your waist, hiding his muzzle in your shirt. He slowly opened his eyes, gazing at you attentively.

“Having fun?” His voice came out a bit muffled through the fabric of your shirt.

“A lot... You’re just too cute not to pet.” You giggled softly, gently smoothing down the yellow fur on his head.

Suddenly, you felt his fingers quickly twitch at your waist, causing a little tickle that made you freeze and let out a nasal laugh.

“Hey, hey...” You grabbed his wrists before he could completely overwhelm you with tickles.

“Now you don’t want me to return the favor?” Tails laughed, sitting up again and placing a hand on your cheek. “Want to nap together?” he asked quietly.

“Sounds like a great idea.” Smiling sweetly at him, you placed a hand over his gloved one. Then, the two of you laid down together on the blanket, embracing each other and enjoying one another’s company as you slowly began to fall asleep at the end of the day.

Knuckles

After a long walk through Angel Island, you stopped near Knuckles. He kept his arms crossed and a stoic expression, watching the area around him.

When you mentioned that you’d like to go on a picnic with him one day, the echidna hadn’t wasted even a minute — immediately running after everything necessary, finding a good basket, which now sat on the grass beside him, and gathering various foods that were still a surprise for you.

And now, here you both were in silence, standing on top of a hill, only the calm chirping of nearby birds and the gentle sound of crickets breaking the silence.

The echidna was still observing the area, evaluating if it was really a suitable spot.

Then, huffing, he nodded his head.

“This place is perfect, let’s set up the picnic here.” He bent down, grabbing the blanket that was next to the basket.

“Let me help you, Knux...” You reached out, offering to help spread the blanket and arrange the food on top.

“I got this, you can rest. I brought you here to have fun, not to work. Let a guardian take care of his lady.” A light blush took over your face, but soon you gave a small smile, nodding at his words.

“You’re right, my brave echidna warrior. I’ll wait right here.” He gave you a small sideways smile, appreciating that you’d listened to his request.

In just a few seconds, he spread the blanket on the ground and placed the basket in the center.

“Sit now, relax...” He pointed to the blanket, waiting for you to come over and sit down. Once you were finally settled, Knuckles sat beside you.

His hands, though a bit clumsy at opening the picnic basket, managed to take out the containers he had packed inside.

The first container held a huge and colorful variety of fruits, picked right there on Angel Island. He opened it and placed it in the middle — the sweet scent of fruit filled your nose. Then, he pulled out a container with a delicious homemade bread, also giving off an extremely pleasant aroma that made your mouth water at the sight alone.

Next, he brought out a small dish covered with a fantastic-looking butter. Finally, he took out a bottle of cashew juice and placed it next to the bread.

“Took me a while to get the hang of it... But the bread and butter were made by me.” He smiled proudly at you.

“Oh yeah? Looks like everything’s delicious…” you said softly, your eyes unable to look away from the beautiful dishes.

“Well, you can find out for yourself now. Let’s see if those hands are good for something other than punching and breaking things…” He reached out, grabbed a knife, cut a piece of bread, and spread a bit of butter on top. Then, he brought the piece up in front of your face.

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, letting him feed you. The balanced flavor of the food invaded your senses—the bread was soft, melting in your mouth along with the homemade taste of butter. The dough was delicious too, giving you that feeling of wanting more with each bite.

“...Knux... this is amazing.” You closed your eyes, letting out a soft appreciative hum at the flavor of something made with such care.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He smiled, flashing his fangs in joy. Then, he grabbed a small cup, filled it with juice, and handed it to you. “Enjoy it while it’s still cold… it has a different flavor, it’s a fruit that’s hard to find around here.”

“Well, I’ll drink it, but first, you have to eat too…” you said, flashing him a small smile, and he mirrored your expression.

“You’re the boss…” He reached for a bunch of grapes and brought it to his mouth, starting to eat them one by one.

“Much better this way…” You watched him, unable to hold back a giggle at the way he ate.

--*--

Savoring a cup of cashew juice, your eyes scanned the surroundings, appreciating the pleasant scenery of Angel Island. Knuckles cleared his throat beside you, drawing your attention.

Your eyes turned, locking onto his purple ones. The echidna gave you a small smile.

“Looks like you’re enjoying the view, huh? I gotta say, Angel Island has the best scenery you can imagine…” He set his cup aside and leaned closer to you.

He stretched his arms, yawning. Then, he started to lower himself, resting his head on your leg. He settled there, placing one hand on his chest and the other calmly on the towel beneath him.

“You don’t mind if I take a little nap here, right?” His eyes focused on yours.

“Not at all, go ahead.” You said softly, placing your cup aside too, and running your hand gently over his quills.

Knuckles sighed contentedly and nodded quickly, closing his eyes and relaxing with your touch, slowly drifting off to sleep.

But you weren’t about to miss the chance to tease him a little. With a mischievous smile forming on your face, you lightly tugged on one of his quills, careful not to cause any pain. The red echidna gave a small jolt but remained still.

Waiting a few more seconds, you continued sliding your fingers calmly through his quills, mischief already taking over your expression. Then, once again, your finger grabbed a red quill and gave it a gentle pull.

This time, however, his hand quickly reached yours, holding it firmly. One of his eyes slowly opened, watching you intently.

“I see you want to play, huh?” A smirk appeared on the corner of his mouth, showing his sharp fangs.

Quickly, Knuckles sat up, still holding your hand in his. The echidna leaned his face close to yours, brushing his muzzle against your cheek.

“You’re especially playful today, aren’t you?” He pressed a lingering kiss on your cheek.

Meanwhile, his hand let go of yours and went straight to your thigh, lifting you slightly. His other hand grabbed your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies touched.

“Knux…” you whispered.

“Hm? What is it?” He lowered his face, burying his muzzle in the curve of your neck, giving a light nibble that made you shiver. “You like to tease… but not so much the retaliation, huh?” He chuckled, pulling his face away from your neck and scanning your face, noticing the deep blush there.

Then, he let go of you, gently lowering your leg back onto the towel. Afterward, he stretched again and returned to lying down peacefully on your lap, leaving you completely flustered and confused.

With no choice, you calmed your racing heartbeat and resumed stroking his quills gently, this time without any teasing. In the end, you gave a small smile, enjoying the echidna’s company.

Jet

Trying to keep up with the hawk’s quick steps, you walked behind him, carrying the picnic blanket under your arm. Right in front of you, Jet walked briskly, humming excitedly, scanning everything around him in search of the perfect spot. Under one of his arms, he carried his Extreme Gear, and with his free hand, he carried the picnic basket.

The hawk stopped on a hill with a perfect view of the nearby lake and a pleasant coniferous forest close by.

“Hey, babe, what do you think? Looks like a good place, nice breeze, space to use the Extreme Gear.” He looked at you intently, a smug smile at the corner of his beak.

“Well, if you like it, then it’s fine by me. It looks like a great spot to relax and have a picnic.” You smiled at him, beginning to lay the blanket on the ground.

“You’ll see, this’ll be the best picnic of your life.” He said confidently, placing the basket in the middle of the blanket and sticking the Extreme Gear into the ground beside it. Then, he sat across from you with his legs crossed.

“Well, if you say so, I hope it really is—otherwise I’ll have to ask for a refund for my time here.” You chuckled softly.

“No refunds or returns, babe. Time spent with me is never wasted.” You laughed again, loving how he always had a quick comeback.

You watched closely as he began pulling things from the basket. First, he took out some assorted snack packs, roasted peanuts, potato chips. He arranged everything neatly near you. Then he pulled out a container of cheddar dip and another of homemade guacamole.

“It was a lot of work to make this… but I’m sure you’ll love it—even if it’s terrible, after all, it was your boyfriend who made it…” He chuckled softly, making you smile as you grabbed the guacamole container to inspect it, noticing the texture looked very good, and it had a fresh appearance.

Finally, he pulled out two cans of energy drink, handing one to you while opening the other and taking a sip immediately.

“No need to wait—dig in, it’s all for you.” He pointed to the snacks.

Without hesitating, you reached for a bag of tortilla chips, opened it carefully and took one, then dipped it in the guacamole. Bringing it to your lips, you chewed slowly, savoring the taste and trying the homemade dip.

“Jet… This is amazing, I think it’s the best guacamole I’ve ever had.” Your eyes drifted from the snacks to the hawk. For a second, you thought you noticed a hint of insecurity in his gaze, but his usual smug smile quickly returned to his features.

“I figured, I spent a long time working on that…” He closed his eyes, crossing his arms, still holding the energy drink. “…Well, what are you waiting for? Help yourself, there’s enough dip to last three days.”

Smiling, you grabbed another tortilla chip, dipped it in the guacamole, and held it out in front of his beak.

Jet opened his eyes, focusing on the snack in front of him. He hesitated for a moment, but gave in, opening his beak and taking a bite, chewing slowly. One of his eyebrows lifted, and he let out an appreciative hum.

“Damn, this is actually good…” he said aloud without thinking. He quickly opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “Yeah… as expected, it’s really great…” He forced a smug smile.

“Right? So let’s not waste it.” You reached for another snack, dipping it in the cheddar. Jet nodded slowly, reaching out to grab a snack too.

--*--

Jet was stretching after eating, twisting and turning in every direction while gazing at the lake nearby.

Subtly, the hawk turned his face, watching your expression as you enjoyed your can of energy drink.

He sighed softly. Then, turning around, he returned to the blanket and sat down next to you.

“Wait, weren’t you going to take a ride on the Extreme Gear?” you asked.

“Later… I ate too much, it’ll mess with my balance…” He turned and laid down on your lap, placing his arms behind his head. “I’ve got better plans now.”

Letting out a low grunt, he adjusted himself as comfortably as possible against you, beginning to rest.

You admired his features, calm as he dozed.

Then, an idea came to your mind.

Your hand quickly ran through the green feathers on his head, making them sway. You did it once, then twice more, before he opened one eye, murmuring.

“What are you doing?” His voice came out hoarse.

“Just playing a little... You look so cute like this, all quiet...” You giggled softly.

Before you could react, you felt him rising from your lap and turning around, grabbing your waist firmly. He kneeled in front of you, between your legs, his face aligned with yours, and that familiar smirk appeared on his beak.

“Do you want me to show you what real attitude is, Princess?” His face approached your neck, and he began brushing the tip of his beak delicately along your sensitive skin, the way he knew would leave you dizzy and flushed.

He stayed there, pressed close to you, sighing heavily against your throat. When he was satisfied, he pulled back slightly.

“Careful with teasing... The Legendary Master of the Wind doesn’t just watch, he likes to act too.” Chuckling hoarsely, he let go of your waist and lay back down comfortably on your lap, leaving you breathless as you looked at the green hawk, now dozing off again.

Infinite

You walked through the forest branches, dodging bushes. A firm hand grabbed your arm, helping you step over some rocks. Then, he let go and continued walking, carrying the basket on his arm.

The jackal was silent, just scanning the surroundings, looking for a cleaner spot to set up the picnic. He seemed quite dedicated to making everything perfect. However, you didn’t expect Infinite to take you deep into the dark forest just to find a place for a picnic.

You thought he would choose a darker spot, but not this dark.

Still, there was nothing to worry about, after all, the canid was strong enough to protect you if needed.

And after a few more minutes, he finally stopped, his ears twitching back and forth, catching sounds and movements.

“...Here seems like a good place.” He stated, pulling out the cloth. You stepped closer, helping him spread it on the ground.

“Yeah, it does look like a nice clearing... Even if this forest is dark as hell.” You chuckled, and the jackal watched you with his heterochromatic eyes.

“I wanted a place where we could be not only alone but with the right atmosphere too...” You looked confused at his words, but everything made sense when he pulled a small candle holder with candles from the basket, lighting each one and placing it on a nearby tree stump.

“Wow, Infinite, looking at it that way... it really is a romantic vibe, isn’t it? Though that coming from you is rare.” You sat down near him on the blanket.

“For you, I don’t mind...” he whispered, focusing on taking the food out of the basket, though his words brought a faint blush to your cheeks and a cheerful smile to your lips.

The first thing he pulled out was a small plate with a juicy, fresh portion of strawberries, placing it near you. Next, he took out a beautiful rye bread, exuding an amazing smell. Then, he brought out a brunost cheese with a brown color—something you had never tasted before, but which made your mouth water just by looking.

“I like the cuisine. Very diverse...” you commented.

“I changed the recipes a bit... You’d get sick of eating food from my homeland over and over...” he replied softly, still keeping an impassive expression as he finally took out a bottle of non-alcoholic wine.

You raised an eyebrow at noticing the alcohol-free drink, looking at him in doubt.

“To avoid intoxication,” he answered your silent question. “I can’t stand the sensation, and I don’t want you going through it either.” After placing the wine and glasses in the center of the blanket, he turned to you. “Help yourself.”

Smiling and without waiting, you reached first for the brunost cheese, picking up one of the small squares with your fingers, bringing it to your mouth and taking a bite. You let out a quiet moan of appreciation at the creamy and sweet taste of the cheese.

“Different, right? I’ll give you the recipe later...” The jackal poured himself a bit of wine, carefully sipping a small amount. “Try the strawberries... I grew them myself...”

“So you cook and you farm too? I’m proud of you, Infinite.” Giggling softly, you picked up a strawberry, biting into it and savoring the sweet, light, and refreshing taste. “...Perfect. I expected no less from you.” You said quietly, making the jackal blush slightly beneath his fur.

“Feel free to eat whatever you want...” He grabbed a piece of the cheese, chewing slowly, but still keeping his eyes focused intently on you.

--*--

Taking the last sip of your wine, you sighed softly, feeling satisfied after eating so many delicious and varied foods. Your eyes landed on Infinite, who finished chewing the delicious rye bread. When he was done, he took a paper napkin from the basket, carefully wiping his muzzle, then his eyes focused on you.

“I suppose a bit of rest won’t hurt now...” he murmured, scooting closer to you and starting to lie down in your lap, until the back of his head rested on your stomach. The jackal grunted softly, placing his hands on his belly.

Within seconds, his breathing grew calmer, his features softer, as he began dozing off comfortably on your lap.

Your eyes scanned his face, noticing how handsome he looked just relaxing beside you. Chuckling softly, your hand picked a little white flower nearby, placing it on his forehead. Then, another small flower, now placed on his muzzle, careful not to wake the sleeping canid.

Growing bolder, your finger gently touched his damp nose. Still no reaction. Your fingers then traced the scar over his eye, moving down to stroke the fur on his face, stopping at his chin. You gently caressed there.

In a swift motion, his hand grabbed your wrist—firmly, but carefully. The jackal sat up, turning to look at you. He moved closer, dangerously close, until you fell backward onto the soft blanket, surprised as he hovered over you.

His hand pinned your wrist to the blanket, keeping that arm immobile. Your breathing quickened slightly from his presence.

“You want to tease me?” he chuckled softly. “Are you sure you want to provoke a monster? A monster you have no idea what he’s capable of?” His muzzle moved to your wrist, planting slow, gentle kisses along your arm, making you shiver. He moved up, stopping at your collarbone.

He pressed his teeth to that sensitive area—not biting, but showing what he could do, asserting dominance.

Moving further, he lightly ran his tongue along your throat, giving the spot a hot kiss right after, making your breath hitch.

Satisfied, he rested his forehead against yours, his blue eye and golden eye gazing deeply into yours.

“If you keep going... you better be ready for what comes next...” he laughed hoarsely. Then, releasing your wrist, he lay beside you again, settling in comfortably. He slid a dominant hand over your waist, pulling your body closer to his smaller frame as he rested his head on your ribcage.

Soon, he was relaxed again, dozing off, and you were left with your heart racing and your face burning, blushing intensely.

You’d definitely think twice before teasing Infinite again... or maybe not.

[sylus-shivanika]

His colour, Her bloom...

Sylus x desi!fem reader

The sunset bathed your small balcony in warm gold, casting a soft glow over Sylus as he leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, at peace. You sat beside him, your shoulder barely brushing his. No words were needed. Silence itself had become your shared language.

You stood up quietly.

“I’ll be right back,” you whispered, placing your hand lightly on his shoulder.

He hummed in acknowledgment, not even asking where you were going, trusting you’d return, like always.

In the kitchen, you poured his favorite chai (tea) into two deep red rose-colored cups, the ones you’d picked out simply because red was his favorite. You always found joy in choosing little things that matched him. Mugs, bangles, dupattas… tiny details dyed in the same hue as his warmth.

That was your love language, matching your world to his without ever saying a word.

You returned, tray in hand, and sat beside him again. Instead of handing him the cup, you lifted it to his lips gently.

“Careful, it’s hot,” you said with a smile.

Sylus looked at you, really looked like you’d just handed him the whole universe in a cup. He took a small sip from your hands, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, taking the cup from you, he brought it to your lips and tilted it slightly.

“Now your turn,” he murmured.

You drank from the same spot his lips had touched, and your heart fluttered.

You both held the cup together for a moment, fingers overlapping. The contact sent a jolt through you. You looked away, cheeks warm, hiding your face behind a shy smile.

Sylus chuckled lowly.

“Still so shy around me,” he teased, voice soft like velvet.

He took your hand in both of his, gently caressing your fingers, thumb brushing over your knuckles like a silent lullaby. Then, without warning, he lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to it.

“I notice everything,” he said quietly.

“The way you match things with my favorite color. You think I don’t see it, but I do. And it means everything to me.”

Your throat tightened.

“When you love someone,” you whispered,

“you start loving everything they love. So I started loving red… because I love you.”

He fell silent, completely still, as if memorizing every word you just said. Then his eyes moved to the small pot nearby, the white rose he had planted just for you. You always adored white roses, so he cared for that plant like it was sacred. Every morning, before the world stirred, he watered it quietly, hoping to see it bloom, just to see you smile.

He stood up slowly, walked over, and picked the freshest bloom. Returning, he knelt beside you, gently tucking the rose behind your ear with a reverence that made your breath catch.

“Meri gulaab (my rose),” he whispered,

You blushed at his compliment, and cupped his face tenderly.

“I know, Sylus,” you said softly,

“I’ve seen you water it every morning. You never told me… but I always knew. You love silently, but I hear it so clearly.”

He smiled, that rare, vulnerable smile he saved only for you. He removed the rose from your hair, kissed the petals, then nestled it back in place.

“Now it carries my mark,” he said.

“Like I do, in your heart.”

Your hand reached out, brushing his cheek, and you placed a soft kiss on his nose.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a husband like you,” you whispered.

Without speaking, he pulled out his phone and played your favorite old Hindi song, Lag Jaa Gale. The melody floated into the air like a dream wrapped in memory.

He reached for your hand again.

You stood with him, arms wrapping around each other naturally, like muscle memory. There, under the fading sun, with a white rose tucked in your hair and red rose-colored cups still warm with chai on the table, you swayed together, heart to heart, soul to soul.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Only love.

Only you and him.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Night 162: Children

words: 1131 rating: G pairing: Gale x Tav summary: Gale & Tav return from the Reunion for an afternoon of tea and interrogations from his mother.

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

Summers in Waterdeep were some of the most beautiful and peaceful in Faerûn. Or so Tav had come to realize.

Baldur’s Gate was nice, with its coves & sunlit ports, but it was nothing compared to the cool breeze off the ocean. The smell of salt in the air. And, of course, the spontaneous evening trips to the shoreline to dip ones feet in cold water and warm sand her husband.

Not that Tav didn’t miss her old home of the Gate. She enjoyed visiting and catching up with old friends. Extending the trip for the party to stop in on the way back to catch up with those who had not been able to attend. The couple had actually just gotten back from their vacation a few days ago, and Gale was regaling his mother on his latest find at Sorcerous Sundries.

“Can you believe it mother?? A real, genuine first edition Arcana Archivist Annals. Practically mint condition!”

“I suppose it helps to know the proprietor, and have his life indebted to you.” Morena remarked as she finished pouring the tea and handed Tav the first cup.

“The 10% educators discount doesn’t hurt either.” The two of women chuckle as Gale huffed and flopped back into his mother’s patio chair with a ‘no one understands me’ sulk.

“And how was the rest of your trip, dear? Surely it wasn’t all books.”

“If Gale had his way….” The man in question glared playfully at her. “But no. It was good to see how the city has grown after the rebuild. It’s odd. It’s all brand new in most cases, but strangely the same. Wyll and his father have done a splendid job of reworking the internal structure of the city as well. He’s done well as Grand Duke.”

“Good to have friends in high places. Not just book shops.” The trio laughed at Gale’s quip this time. Not just at him.

“And there’s…..nothing else to report?” Morena asked inquisitively. Which peaked Gale’s interest.

“No. Unless you want to know more about the weather.” He remarked before collecting his tea. “Is there something specific you wanted to know about our trip, mother? It’s not like you to be coy.”

“Very well. I was hoping while you were away for some time, you might return to tell me your pregnant.” Gale choked hard on his tea and floundered with the fine china for a moment. “I guess not….”

“Pregnant!” Gale replied aghast. “Why would you think we’re pregnant!?”

“Not really thought so much as hoped.” Morena clarified. “I’d very much like a grandchild.”

Gale turned to Tav in a manner for some sort of help, but she was too stunned as well by the conversations to offer any. “We…We haven’t been married that long…”

“Your father and I were married about as long as the two of you when you came into the picture.” The older woman noted. “Besides, it’s not just that. The Dekarios family needs an heir. Surely, you’ve thought about the future of our line.”

Gale shifted from flabbergasted to embarrassed. “Well, I uh….”

“Gale!”

“Well, I’ve been a little busy mother. Saving the world from an Elder Brain and trying not to turn into a mind flayer. Now trying not to get my head blown off by pre-teen wizards. Teaching children does not really rally one to the experience.” Tav had to agree there.

Gale sighed and sat back in his chair again. “What brought all this on mother? This is a lot to…spring on a person.”

“Well, I was thinking about it while you were away and thought I’d ask about your future plans. Neither one of us is getting any younger, dear.” There was a lot of secret conversation going on between the Dekarios kin in that moment as Morena sipped her own teacup. “The two of you should really start thinking about it. Children are a blessing.”

“I agree with Mr. Dekarios.” The people at the table turned as Tara floated onto the patio. Landing delicately on a pillow that was clearly always there for her. “Children are loud, destructive, and impatient little creatures. Like imps, but with better table manners. Or at least one hopes.” The Tressym licked her paw as if to make a point. “You shouldn’t have them.”

“So the Dekarios line just ends with Gale?” Morena asked as a counterpoint.

“Certainly. Better to go out with a bang. Oh, apologies. Was that insensitive?”

Gale groaned and stood up from his chair. “If this conversation is going to continue, I’m going to need something stronger than tea to get through it.” He walked back into his childhood home and straight for the bar.

Tav followed after him while Morena & Tara talk. Her presence in the discussions of their futures seeming not to be a requirement at all. “Are you ok?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes. I’m fine. A little taken aback though.” Gale commented as he inspected one of the bottles and sat it back down. “Don’t worry. I’m not rattled enough to be driven to drink. Just needed to get away.”

“I can certainly sympathy.”

“But my mother….Gods! Springing that on us like that. To force our hands to make a such a decision over biscuits. I never realized she was so cunning.”

Tav chuckle at his remark, but then got serious for a second. “You know….we’ve never talked about it….”

Gale turned to her with an inquisitive, then surprised, look. “Oh…I mean do you want…do you want to….”

She shrugged. “I’m not against children.” What seemed like eons ago, the former adventurer thought about a life long in the future where she would be settled with a family, including children. With everything that happened that dream was lost until she could catch her breath. Now that she had, Tav wondered if it might be time to take that dream off the shelf again. “I don’t think right now. But….yes.”

Gale seemed taken aback for a moment, but only a little. He then seemed to think on it, nod, then gave her a smile. “I feel that way too. Not now, of course. But not never.” The two of them reach out to take each other’s hands. “I quite like that it’s just the two of us right now.”

“I do too.” Tav agreed.

“That is not what I meant at all Tara! You are twisting my words!”

“Your words are already twisted with that harpy’s tongue of yours Morena!”

Gale sighed as he looked towards the open door. “Well…almost just the two of us….”

Tav snickered and squeeze his hand a little tighter. “Come on. Let’s break them up before they say something they don’t mean.”

“Tara just implied my mother was a harpy. I think that ship has sailed.”

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part III) | frater imperator x reader

(part I) (part II)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | your first trip together ends on a sour note as some of your suppressed concerns about your relationship begin to show, but a delayed wedding reception might turn it all around.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 6.7k (fucking hell)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | jealousy/insecurity, MORE heathers references for some reason???, alcohol consumption/slight intoxication, nothing too bad but I swear the slowburn is almost... burnt, or whatever just bear with me

The next day of your visit to Brussels was mostly boring meetings; you almost wanted to ask him why you both had to travel all this way to do the same things you always did, but ultimately you did understand the value of this trip even if it wasn’t especially exciting.  And though you weren’t really capable of assisting with any of the business side of things, you figured out after a while that you were mainly here just to be here— because it would be weird if you weren’t.  Because it would be, for lack of a better word, suspicious if a newly-married couple were traveling separately.

So, you were here, sitting beside him as he and the clergy of the local church discussed various important topics— mission work, ministry, how best to spread the message of Satan and bring in the age of the antichrist… you know, the usual.

His hand rested on your leg again— maybe a little higher than before?  You weren't certain, but it made you smile to yourself as you tuned out the boring conversation going on around you.

You glanced down at the leather-covered hand by your knee, his fingers moving slightly; the silver grucifix embossed on the back shined in this light.  Absent-mindedly, you traced it with one finger, not even noticing that it made him look over at you— not even really appreciating that his hand was still under there, and could probably feel you drawing shapes over his skin.

“Frater,” a clergyman interjected sternly, “do you have a response?”

You'd both totally zoned out, and were quickly brought back to reality; Copia jolted in his chair and cleared his throat as he sat up straighter.  Worst of all, he took his hand off your leg to clasp them both together in his lap.  “I-I’m sorry?” he coughed.  “I fear I lost my train of thought, could you repeat the question?”

“Don’t ask Frater Imperator so many complex things so early in the morning,” Comis scolded his fellow cardinal, “he didn’t get much sleep last night— non?”

He wore a lopsided grin as he playfully elbowed Copia in the side, who nervously reached up to run his fingers through his hair.  “Oh, well— eh— I just lost focus for a moment, is all…”

“Sure,” Comis agreed sarcastically.  “Maybe we should take a break, anyhow.  Give us all a chance to stretch our legs.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed quickly, mainly just jumping on any chance to get out of this stuffy room and personal conversation.

The meeting room had a sort of lobby outside— or maybe it would be called a parlour?  A sitting room?  You weren’t really sure, but it was fancy; there was tea and little cakes and things, the whole place was so detail-oriented like that.

Copia was busy making small talk with some clergymen and women, while you were nursing a cup of lemon-water just to have something to do with your hands.

You heard someone coming up the stairs but didn’t think much of it at first.  “Sister Imperator,” a Sister greeted you— though you didn’t really process it until she reached out and touched your shoulder, making you turn around.

“Consortia,” you added once you realized she was addressing you.  “Sister Imperator Consortia.  Sister Imperator was my mother-in-law.”

“Oh, yes— I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offered gently.

You realized they were under the assumption that you knew her much better— maybe you would’ve if you’d been dating Copia before marrying him like, you know, most people do.  Instead of trying to explain, you just accepted her sympathies with a nod; it was a loss, after all, just not as personal as she might’ve imagined.

“I thought you might want to visit our convent,” she suggested.

“O-oh, um,” you stalled, nervously glancing over your shoulder at Copia as he sipped on a glass of water, “I—”

“He’ll be just fine,” she promised, leaning into you and lowering her voice.  “He knows meetings like the back of his hand.”

And he’ll probably fare better without me touching the back of his hand…

Nodding in agreement, you slipped out of the sitting room and followed her.

The woman introduced herself as Sister Nomina and guided you through the winding halls— Cardinal Comis had shown you the wing that housed the convent the night before on his tour, so you knew where it was, but you hadn’t been inside yet.  

“We keep a garden,” Sister Nomina explained, “and we have some outreach programs— an orphanage, a literacy program.  But nothing compared to what your church is doing!”

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I suppose our reputation precedes us…”

“It must be very exhilarating, being in the Church of Ghost,” she presumed with a wide smile. 

“Well, I wish I could take more credit for all the work that's been done,” you 

The two of you arrived at the convent; visually it was similar to the one you'd been living in up until recently, but the inhabitants were quite different.  For one, they dressed a bit differently, and seemed to be more lenient with uniform (Sister Imperator would've never let that fly back home…).  And for another thing, they were much more excited to see you than anybody in your convent would've been on any given day. 

Actually, a group of nuns flocking to you excited reminded you of that day of the fateful clergy meeting— it felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Ladies, Sister Imperator Consortia from Linkoping,” Nomina introduced you to the group of women surrounding you, before reversing to introducing all of them to you.  “Sisters Mila, Lascivia, Camille, Perita, and Triette.”

“Lovely to meet you all,” you nodded, smiling warmly. 

“Give her some room, ladies, please!“ Nomina scolded gently, shooing them back with her hands until they took a few steps away from you. Admittedly, you appreciated the extra breathing room.

“Everybody's been looking forward to your visit immensely,” Nomina justified. “I hope you don't mind answering a few of their questions.”

“Of course not!”

Sister Camille piped up quickly: “As Sister Imperator Consortia, what responsibilities do you have?”

“W-well, I'm not qualified to serve on the clergy,” you explained, “because I wasn't nominated by the clergy— I was nominated, well, by my husband. So, mainly my job is to support him…”

“Did you grow up in the church?” Sister Perita asked politely.

“Well, yes and no,” you replied.  “I wasn’t raised a Satanist, so not in the traditional sense— but I ran away to join the church when I was still just a teenager… ever since then, up until rather recently, I was living in convents much like this one.”

That seemed to surprise Sister Triette.  “You really were another Sister of Sin, just like us?” she observed.

It wasn’t until then that you realized they didn't just find you interesting, but that they looked up to you— a role model of sorts, a Sister like them who was perceived as achieving some kind of greatness; it was sweet, even if you felt their admiration was misplaced.  “Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“Did you work closely with the Papa?” Sister Mila asked.

“No, my role mostly involved stewardship, administration, occasional gardening—”

That seemed to confuse them.  “So, then, how'd you fall in love?” Sister Perita wondered.

Your eyes widened; maybe you should've seen some of these questions coming and had answers prepared, but you were completely caught off-guard in that moment.  “O-oh, um, it's not a very interesting story…”

“No no, please!  We've all been dying to know since we heard you two were coming!” Camille insisted.

The Sisters leaned in excitedly in anticipation; you hadn't realized the news of your marriage had so much impact.  Then again, Copia was technically a celebrity— you just weren't used to his popularity outside of your own church.  “You're not all just trying to get pointers to seducing clergy so you can get a promotion, right?” you wondered with a frown.

“No!  We just want to hear how you two met,” Perita explained, “and how you realized you loved each other— and how he proposed!”

They all clapped and giggled excitedly, but all you could manage was a nervous grin.  The real story was definitely not going to satisfy them; you felt guilty imagining disappointing them with some clinical explanation of it all.  “W-well, how we met is sort of… obvious, I guess.  We met in Mass, when he was the Papa— he served me communion.  I didn't know him as a cardinal, I hadn't moved to his church yet, but he… well, I was pretty intimidated by him.  You can't blame me— it's the Papa, after all…”

Up until then, you had told the truth— but you started, for lack of a better term, winging it at that point.

“The first time we spoke— it was an unexpected thing, you see.  We bumped into each other, literally; I wasn't paying attention and he was rushing to get to a clergy meeting— I helped him pick up some books he’d dropped.” 

Clichéd?  Absolutely, but you felt like that was ultimately what they wanted to here: a too-good-to-be-true story about how an ordinary Sister was swept off her feet by such an important man.  Why the Papa would be running around carrying a stack of books is an absurd question for another day…

“We got to talking… we had more in common than we expected.  We bonded over—” you fought back a smirk as you figured out an easy lie— “slushies, actually. He said that traveling with the band meant hardly ever being in the same place, but that there was almost always a convenience store with slushies wherever he was. They became a comfort, I suppose.”

You decided not to go on and say that the two of you had played strip croquet together… probably too obvious of a reference.

“We were just friends for some time, but eventually we started to grow real feelings for each other,” you concluded simply.

They broke out into a collective aww; “What's he like?  You know, when he's not in front of so many people.”

“Um… he's not that different, I guess,” you mumbled, “maybe not as dramatic.  But he's so sensitive, too, and gentle…”

“I’ve always thought he would be that way,” Sister Lascivia agreed, “but intense, too, you know— like, dominating.”

You choked on your own throat for a second.  Why were you thinking about him at all?  “U-um, what makes you say that?” you wondered.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, biting back a grin, “he just seems that way.”

“Y-you mean, on stage?” you pressed, but the line of questioning shifted suddenly when Sister Perita interrupted.

“And the proposal?  It must have been some fantastic gesture!” she assumed.  “Only fitting for a rockstar, right?”

“You’d think, but he doesn't really act like that… he's so humble.  Actually, it was very intimate,” you decided.  “He knows I can get a little overwhelmed with those big crowds, so instead we went out in a— um, little rowboat onto the lake nearby our church, right around sunset, and watched the stars come out… he played a little guitar for me, just to be nice because he knows I love how he plays— and then under the full moon, he told me that, uh…”

Why was your heart racing?  Why could you picture it so clearly in your mind, as if you weren’t just making it all up as you went along?

“That meeting me had made his heart whole,” you concluded.  “That he couldn't go on unless he knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together… and he showed me the ring and— and, you know, all that.  Of course, I said yes right away.”

“Oh wow,” Sister Mila cooed— she looked as close to having heart-shaped irises as you’d ever seen anyone in real life.

But of course, another had to chime in as well: “And you don't get jealous, knowing how popular he is?  Plenty of people would kill for your spot, you know.”

You willed your eye not to twitch.  “He's, um… he's never given me any reason to be jealous,”   He's loyal, he always has been, even when we were just dating.  B-but we didn't date very long before we married…”

You realized you couldn’t retroactively ascribe some kind of fidelity to him— after all, he’d been a rockstar (as Perita had put it) on tour… 

And he’d been to this church before.  Your heart almost stopped as the sick thought entered your mind that he could’ve, potentially, hooked up with any of the people in this room; certainly Sister Lascivia would’ve probably jumped him if she got the chance, but she was far from the only candidate.  Come on, he was Papa fucking Emeritus the fucking IV, he had his pick of the litter if he so desired.

You knew it shouldn’t make any difference to you, you knew it was none of your business and you had no right to worry about it— but just the idea of him with one of them— with anyone—

“I guess he married you so quickly because he loves you so much,” Sister Nomina smiled.

You smiled back, even if you felt like you were still trying to keep bile down.  “Yes, I guess so.”

“And now you’re married to the head of the clergy; it’s like a fairytale or something!” Sister Mila beamed, clutching her hands together.

What kind of fairytales is this girl reading? “It all really has nothing to do with his status— Frater, Papa, Cardinal, he could be a janitor for all I care,” you assured her.  “I married him because he's the most patient, talented, generous man—”

You noticed the way many of them seemed to straighten up suddenly, the way Sister Perita’s eyes widened, and you spun over your shoulder to see Copia sauntering up behind you.  He had a good poker face, but there was an obvious smugness to it.  “What’s that they say?  Speak of the devil?” he mused as he leaned against the doorway.

“Oh, hello… dear,” you blurted out— seems you’d used up all your creativity on that fake meet-cute and proposal, didn’t have any left for a good term of endearment.  

“You’re not telling stories again, are you?” he asked, approaching you slowly, the slightest swagger in his step.

“Everyone’s very curious about you,” you explained.

“No, I don’t think so,” he denied, “they already know about me— they’re curious about us.”

Us sounded so nice when he said it like that.  He touched your shoulder for a moment, sliding his hand down to clasp at your upper arm.  Paradoxically, he acted more confident with an audience; you couldn’t tell if this was for your benefit, or theirs.

“Don’t go running off without me, hm?” he scolded sweetly.

“Yes, Frater,” you answered politely, wondering afterwards if it was too formal.

It didn’t seem to deter him: he brought his hand to your chin and held it delicately, keeping your head tilted up towards him.  “I worry when I lose sight of you,” he explained.  “We have to get ready for Mass soon, will you meet me at the chancel before the service begins?”

“Of course,” you agreed, smiling a little as he looked down at you so… lovingly?  Could that be the word?

You wondered if he would kiss you right then— you hadn’t kissed in public since your first kiss, and you thought you wanted to keep it that way… but wouldn’t it be a little fun, to show him off just a bit in front of these ladies?  Wouldn’t it be the best way to rub it in that he chose you?

Instead he only stroked your jaw with his thumb for a second, before letting go of you and stepping back.  He gave only one moment of attention to the women around you— with a quick bow of greeting and a polite “Sisters” — before spinning on his heel and departing.

You pressed your lips together and kept your eyes on the door even after he was gone; there was a heavy silence until the echoes of his steps down the hall faded.  Then they all broke into the squealy, girlish reactions you were expecting.

“Great Belial below!” “He’s so sensual!” “You can tell he’s completely enamoured with you!”

“O-oh, enamoured?” you repeated sheepishly.  “I don’t know, he’s just— like that…”

But your face warmed and you had to reach up to partially cover it with your hand— you didn’t want them to see your growing smile, in case someone asked why you were so giddy over a small interaction with your own husband.  

You departed from the convent not too long after that, knowing you didn’t have much time before Mass began and wanting to give yourself time to navigate to the chapel.  A walk through the church alone would’ve been a nice opportunity to clear your head, if your head was actually capable of clearing— but no, instead it was swirling with memories.  Memories all the way back as that first time he served you the body and blood, when he’d apparently taken an interest in you which eventually lead to this; memories as recent as the way he’d touched you just before.

Did it still make you feel a little nauseous knowing Sister Lascivia— and likely tens of thousands of other people— were somewhere out there thinking about how dominating he must be?  Yes, but you also felt a little proud of yourself… because that’s all they had, their thoughts.  You actually had a shot at finding out for yourself.

If you ever found the nerve, that is; regardless, you tried to push that thought process aside and actually listen to the priest as he officiated Mass that evening.  Of course, you really weren’t able to do that until being mentioned by name got your attention.

“And we have some visitors this Mass!” the priest announced.  “Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia—they’ve come all the way from the church of Ghost in Sweden!  Give them a warm welcome, will you?”

As the congregation applauded, Copia stood up; you followed suit quickly, getting a good look at the sea of people in pews all looking at you both.  You hadn’t seen a crowd like this since your wedding.  

Your smile was genuine but flustered when Copia placed his decorated hand on your shoulder; it already made your heart tremble when he did it in front of a few Sisters of Sin, this was on a whole new level.  He guided you a little closer to him, tucking you into his side, and you looked out over the massive crowd before glancing at the glove on your shoulder— namely, the wedding ring on it.

Then you looked at his face, at how polite and distinguished he looked standing before all these people.  “What do I do?” you asked your husband in a whisper.

“Hm?” he pressed, only briefly glancing at you.

“With all this attention,” you clarified, “what am I meant to do?”

“Just smile,” he encouraged.  “All they want is to see you.  Just give them a smile, maybe a little wave if you’re feeling generous.”

He was a showman, he knew what he was doing— you tried to copy him, with moderate success.  It was comforting, somehow, to see him in his element.  Unfortunately, how comfortable he was here only served as kindling for the flame of insecurity in the back of your mind.  Because he’s him, and you’re just… you.

And there in that sea of congregation members were plenty of those people you’d had mentioned to you before: the ones who would kill to have your spot.

~

“You should be proud of yourself,” he grinned as he took his seat across from you on the jet once again— it felt like so much had happened since the last time you were here.  “You shouldn’t be so adverse to social engagements, you’re a natural.”

“No, definitely not,” you laughed a bit, “but I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would.  You made it easier for me.”

“They love you already, darling,” he promised, and the casual affectionate name made you smile even more, though you tried to hide it from him.  “So does everyone back at our church— anyone who knows you would, really.”

Your heart swelled, but you just hummed and looked away in lieu of responding.  

Of course, as soon as your heart was happy, your brain had to pop in and ruin it: that smile on Sister Lascivia’s face, the way she was so clearly picturing your husband in some kind of compromising way.  And the horrible, sick idea that maybe she didn’t have to just imagine it.

Copia was already prepared for a quiet flight— he had his legs crossed and a book open in his lap, his chin resting on one of his hands as he read.  You looked at him for a moment, appreciating how calm he seemed to always be; sometimes it was hard to believe he was the same man with that rockstar reputation, but you knew it was too naive to assume just because he could be quiet that he must not have lived to the fullest in his time as the Papa.

You managed to distract yourself by watching out the window as the jet took off, but once you were high enough to break through the clouds, the view was basically just white light and was not nearly interesting enough to keep your mind occupied.

It shouldn’t have even mattered!  So what if he was a bit more intimately acquainted with someone you’d met on that trip?  It didn’t make any difference now.  Yet, it was all you could think of, and even knowing it would only bring you pain, you compared yourself to her— she was quite pretty, after all, even with that habit covering up most of her.  Maybe she was more his type… maybe she was exactly his type.

By that point you’d basically convinced yourself it was true, without any evidence at all.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but for some reason you couldn’t seem to hold back the words forming there.  “Do you know any of the Sisters there?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop yourself.  “I-I mean, did you know any of them before today...”

“Eh… no, I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“But you’ve been to the church before,” you recalled, “you know Comis.”

“Well, yes, he’s their main ambassador— Sisters come and go, you know.”

You nodded, and he looked back down at his book.  You let the moment rest for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.  “It’s just that—”

He sighed a little and shut his book.

“They seemed to be so fascinated by you,” you explained.  “I think you had quite a few fans there.”

“Fans?  You mean, the band?” he raised an eyebrow, and you nodded.  “Then that’s not me, is it?  I just sang for a while— I’m interchangeable, by design.”

“But still— you were, are, so popular.”

“Eh… if you say so…”

“Come on,” you tilted your head, a bit of frustration leaking into your tone, “don’t be like that— you know what you’re doing.”

He looked a little confused, if not almost hurt by the implied accusation of deceitfulness.  “What are you asking me about?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you fuck any of them?”

Your eyes widened when you heard yourself say it— you really couldn’t believe you’d just word-vomited it out like that.  He seemed a little shocked, too, but much more amused than anything.  You didn’t like it at all, the way he smiled; it made you feel even more stupid for asking it, for thinking it even.

“I’m sorry,” you said instantly, “I shouldn’t have—” I shouldn’t have started this conversation while we’re trapped together for four hours, for one thing— “it’s not my place.  Forget I asked, it doesn’t matter.”

“Now now,” he cooed, “if it concerns you, then it matters.”

He was teasing you— dangling it in front of you.  “It doesn’t concern me,” you assured, “in every sense of the word— it’s none of my concern.”

“You look concerned.”

“Yes, but… that's my problem, not yours.”

He sighed, looking at you as if he were a little disappointed for some reason.  “Do you remember our vows, tesoro?”

You swallowed thickly.  Not really, I'm pretty sure I was in the middle of an anxiety-induced blackout.  “Uh…” you stalled.

“We agreed to care for each other, to share our hearts forever,” he reminded you.  “That means that if something upsets you, then it upsets me.  Even if you think it's silly— and from what I can tell, it's not.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes.  “It's silly to ask a famous musician if he slept with any fans— of course you did.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but surely not with the frequency you're imagining.  And not with anyone in Brussels, if that's any comfort.”

You crossed your arms over yourself self-consciously, looking out the window even though the cloudy scenery hadn't changed much.

“Of course I've had lovers before— you have too, I know.  I hope we won't hold that against each other.”

“Yes, of course,” you sighed.  “Obviously I never expected, or even wanted, either of us to be virginal or something, Satan forbid.  And there's nothing wrong with you meeting women on the road, either… it's just… is it wrong that thinking about it makes me kind of want to strangle someone?”

He laughed; “No,” he assured, “I don't think so.”

Unfortunately, he was right— that talking about it made you feel a little better.  

“Is it wrong that I think you're especially sexy when you're jealous?”

Your throat caught and you looked away from him quickly, holding your face in your hand as an excuse to cover it, but he obviously noticed the way you crossed your legs tightly.  His eyes raked over you, you could feel it somehow even when you were refusing to actually look back at him.

“I don’t think you have much right to be so shy, after asking me such personal questions,” he purred.  

“I-I’m not being shy,” you denied in a mumble, “I just didn’t expect you to say that.”

“I hope it doesn’t offend you—”

“No!  No,” you assured quickly, letting go of your heated face to look down into your lap.  “You’re being sweet, thank you.”

“It’s only the truth,” he insisted.  “Let’s always tell each other that, alright?  Just the truth.”

You nodded in agreement, finding the strength to meet his gaze again; the look in his eyes was just like the one he’d had when he found you in the convent.  It must not have been just for show, then… 

“Promise you’ll get some rest while we fly,” he sighed, “we won’t be landing until the late evening and we have quite a day ahead tomorrow.”

You only remembered it right then: your wedding reception.  As if you hadn’t had enough excitement for a lifetime in this week already.

~

It was a unique reception in a number of ways, probably too many to count.  First of all, most receptions happen right after the wedding, of course— but late night Masses left little time for that.  Secondly, receptions usually have speeches and sentimental things for the families of the betrothed; while Copia’s family of phantasms were in attendance, they didn’t have much to say, and what could they say?  They didn’t even know you.  So, instead, your reception was much more of the good stuff: dancing, eating, drinking, and good old-fashioned partying.

And then there was, you know, the demonic statues and sacrifices.  But that, to you, wasn’t so out of the ordinary.

You were seated at the head table with him, watching the crowd in all their merriment, feeling an odd sense of pride— of responsibility for all this joy.  It wasn’t like you’d planned this, it was a gift from the clergy who had done the work of putting it together, but technically you were half of what was being celebrated.

Maybe it was just appreciation for home, after your trip to Brussels.  It was always nice to see familiar faces filled with joy.

He leaned in closer to you so you could hear him over the music as he spoke, and you felt his breath on your shoulder.  “I'm sorry we didn't have time for this sooner,” he said.

“Oh!  I wouldn't have known what to do if we'd done it any sooner,” you admitted with a laugh.  Not that you especially knew what to do now— but you at least, by now, knew how to fake knowing what to do.

“And I’m sorry we couldn’t do something a little more traditional,” he added.

“Traditional?” you repeated with a laugh.

“What’s that American thing, where they feed each other the wedding cake?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Maybe we should have done that… I’ve always thought it looked sweet.”

You had no idea he had any opinions about things like that; it was endearing to imagine he ended up watching wedding videos at some point and wanted something like that for himself.  “Well, we can still do that another time,” you offered, “when there aren’t so many people watching.”

Again, you didn’t quite put together how that sounded until he cleared his throat and his cheeks pinkened at bit; of course it sounded suggestive when you phrased it like that, how could you have not seen that coming?!

Before you could correct yourself, though— or decide if you actually did need to correct anything— the ghouls on the chancel began playing a familiar song.

It didn’t sound the same, of course, with another singer filling in, but you could so easily hear Copia’s voice in those words:  You'll soon be hearing the chime, close to midnight…

He stood up suddenly, and you looked up at him.  “May I have this dance, cara mia?” he asked with an extended hand.

You took it with a smile; “I think one of the privileges of marriage is that you don't have to ask me that.”

Guiding you to the dancefloor, it felt like one of those movie scenes with the way the crowd parted for you on their own.  Was there a spotlight on you or was that just your imagination?

One of the few things you'd known about him before marrying him was that he was quite a dancer— what you hadn't known until now was how much you enjoyed dancing.  He made it easy, guiding you through the moves so well that people would probably think you had more experience than you did.

You had every right to be nervous, and you were, but for the first time it felt sort of… good?  Surely the alcohol in your system was aiding you, but it wasn’t just that.  Your heart was racing but you didn’t feel the urge to run and hide; he was smiling at you, he was pulling you closer, and for just a few moments you were suddenly fearless.

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you in the moonlight

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you all night

He spun and dipped you, making you laugh with exhilaration.  When he pulled you back up, the look in his eyes almost took your breath away… so determined, yet romantic and vulnerable.  A look you felt like only he could pull off.

If the song’s lyrics were some sort of manifestation, then it was working: you were totally bewitched by him.  It was just the two of you and the music playing, it was just his hands holding and guiding you, it was just this perfect moment that you could hardly believe was happening to you.  Weren’t you just an ordinary Sister this time two weeks ago?

You knew when the song was nearly over, and when he spun you one more time and pulled you into him, your hand came up to the side of his face, your leg lifted to slightly straddle his side… your eyes drifted down to his lips.

Just one more split-second and you would’ve kissed him.  Not just any kiss, you would’ve kissed him like you never had before— like nobody ever had before.  

But the crowd of people around you instead began to proudly clap and cheer, and it tore you out of the moment; honestly, you’d sort of forgotten you were surrounded by all the guests.  You looked away from Copia and smiled at the people who had watched you dance, hardly even noticing that he never stopped looking at you.

It went by too quickly— not just the song but the whole night.  All too soon, you were back in your room; ears still ringing, heart still thumping, and (less enjoyably) feet still a little bit sore from dancing in new shoes despite having changed into your night clothes and comfy socks already.

As Copia walked to his side of the bed in his own signature embroidered pyjamas, you fell back on the bed limply, laying your arms out wide and staring up at the ceiling with a sigh— a happy sigh of course, a does this night really have to end? sigh.  “That was wonderful,” you announced with a beaming smile.  “I didn't think I'd enjoy it so much, but it was perfect.”

“I hoped you would,” Copia agreed.  “You've seemed so tense— I'm not sure I ever saw you looking so relaxed, and joyful… you look so beautiful that way.”

“Y-you don't have to flatter me,” you mumbled, pulling your arms back in towards yourself as tilted your head back to look at him— upside down, but still at him.

“Of course, I never would,” he assured, laying down carefully on the bed beside you.  “It's just the truth.  I bet everyone was as taken with you as I was… but only I got to dance with you.”

You smiled a little more softly, admiring how sweet he could be— a side of him you felt privileged to see so close.  You wanted to say something, but you really had no idea how to respond to a statement like that, or even how to just take the compliment.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked quietly.

“O-of course,” you answered, “you can tell me anything.”

“I-I'm a little embarrassed,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but I… I've seen Heathers.”

You tilted your head, laughing in confusion.

“I don't know why I lied to you before,” he shook his head, “I know it quite well— I saw it in theaters when it was released!  I just— I thought— I'm not sure.  I guess I liked you explaining it to me.”

Your heart jumped, and you looked down at the bed under you sheepishly, as if your finger tracing the pattern on the quilt was fascinating all of a sudden.

“I wanted to give you an excuse to talk to me,” he added.

“You… you could've just… talked,” you told him quietly.  “It wasn't like I would've ignored you.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighed, “but the moment never felt right.”

“How does the moment feel now?” you asked shyly.

“Oh, tesoro, everything about tonight feels perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat; everything?

You wondered, of course, if he would try something again; it was hard not to imagine that, since this was such a similar set of circumstances to that very first night.  But it felt so different, too— it felt less terrifying, for one thing, and less confusing.

But instead of letting yourself wonder about that for too long— afraid he’d somehow see it on your face, and know what you were picturing— you sat up a little bit and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“I asked why you chose me already,” you began, “but I never asked the bigger question, did I?  That is, why you got married at all.”

He sighed shortly before he answered.  “My mother, she asked me to get married.  At first, I thought it was just the will of the clergy.  I understand now it was much more than that.”

“She wanted you to be happy,” you assumed.

“Yes, yes…” he trailed off, looking to the side.  “She knew I didn't want to be alone anymore.”

Your heart twisted a little; “I figure the Papa himself never has to be alone,” you mumbled through a sheepish smile.  “You could take anyone to bed you wanted, a new companion every night.”

He chuckled a little.  “I think you know that's not what I mean— I learned better than anyone that being by oneself and being alone are different things,” he explained.  “Even if I did find the time and energy for a thousand lovers, I would've still been lonely without a real partner… something to call my own.  But I never had the time— or, I told myself that, to justify why I didn't have anyone.”

You understood that better than he could know— better than you wanted to realize.

“My parents loved each other, but spent most of their lives apart,” he explained.  “I don't want to be like that.  I don't want to have something beautiful and let it go to waste.”

He looked at you right then, and it seemed like it meant something but you wouldn't let yourself imagine what.

“Could I kiss you again?” he asked softly.  It sort of completely caught you off-guard, not what he said but the way he said it: the unsureness in his voice, the slight flush on his face.

You didn't answer with words, you simply reached up and brushed your fingers through the hair at his temple, where it was turning silver— another reminder of how long he'd been alone. 

You moved your hand in to cradle his face, leaning closer.

There was something shockingly comfortable about it, like you'd known each other for years.  You had grown to care for him, you couldn't deny that, but you surprised even yourself by how you pulled him closer as he kissed you.

It brought back memories of your wedding night, of course, and you couldn't decide if it felt like just yesterday or months ago.  All that fear and anxiety you'd been nearly crushed by then— it was only a distant memory, to the point that it was almost hard to believe you were the same person who had felt all that.

In some ways, you weren't.

His hand gently rested on your side, before carefully moving around to your lower back to keep you pressed against him.  Why did that feel so perfect?  His head tilted a little more, his kiss deepened a little more, you sighed a little heavier. 

As he pulled away, he looked into your eyes; you saw something new and totally indescribable in them.

If he kisses me again, I won't be able to say no to him, you realized.

He only smiled at you gently, his fingers brushing over your cheek.  “Goodnight, darling,” he offered quietly.

You were still in shock just a bit as he kissed your temple softly, before pulling back and turning to face away from you as he climbed under the covers.  Blinking quickly, you wondered if you would've asked him not to stop if he'd given you a chance.

Slowly laying down yourself, you faced towards him and sighed a little as you looked at the back of him.

You stared at him for so long that night, watching him sleep, willing yourself to just reach over and wake him; to run your fingers through his hair until he stirred and turned to face you.  And then you wouldn’t have to say anything, you could just kiss him and he’d understand.  All you had to do was lift your hand and touch him… then his arms would be around you, his lips would be on you, his weight would press you into the bed…

You fell asleep before you ever found the nerve.  But that’s not to say you fell asleep quickly; no, not at all.

[evieskiesss]

21ST- TOM KAULITZ

a/n: you guys should read my wattpad which includes SOO many more of these imagines. i just upload some of them on here :)

𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙎𝙏, 𝙂𝙊𝙊𝘿 𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙄𝙉𝙂

𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: 𝙨𝙪𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩 + 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛

-

You couldn't believe it. You couldn't believe that it was now the fourth time this week that Tom hadn't been home at his usual time. It was now nearing 11 pm, it being far from his usual arrival at 9.

     Your calls were ignored, messages unread as you tried to contact him for the fifth time tonight. The light from the kitchen lightly dimmed the living room, the soft blanket on you failing to bring you the comfort you had hoped for.

   This was week the same as the last. Tom arriving home late, missed calls and ignored messages, his cold responses leaving you in the gutter as you tried to ask him where he had been. "out with the guys," always being his response.

    A key rattled into the doorknob, you sat up as the door pushed itself open. Tom had his head down as he locked the door behind him, kicking his shoes off beside it. You watched him in the dark now turn around, nearly jump back at your presence.

   "shit," he chuckled, "you scared me." You didn't smile. He swiped his bottom lip with his thumb, taking a small step toward the couch you sat on. "it's late, shouldn't you be asleep?" he asked, no real concern detected in his tone.

    "shouldn't you be?"

    He gave you an odd look, "what do you mean?"

    You blinked, "you haven't answered my messages, nor my calls." He took his bottom lip between his teeth, "didn't receive them," he shrugged. He looked away, now walking toward the kitchen.

    You swore you physically felt your heart crack a little. He grabbed a cup, filling it with water as he chugged it down. You got up, standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching him place the cup into the sink.

     He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, fingers gripping the sink as his muscles continued to tense. "where were you?" you questioned, voice small as you were afraid of the answer.

    Perhaps you didn't want to know, perhaps you did. You weren't exactly sure of what you wanted him to say, you didn't know if you wanted the truth just yet.

    He removed his hand from the back of his neck, "out with the guys." You could've almost tasted the sentence itself, after having heard it so many times, it had just lost its significance. You opened your mouth to speak, before being abruptly cut off.

    He turned around swiftly, "i'm tired. we should sleep," he muttered, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before squeezing his way past you, toward your shared bedroom. Before you even knew it, there it was.

   The soft scent of a floral & sweet perfume. It had hit you the second he brushed right past you, the scent lingering even after he left. You smelled the air once more. jasmine, blackberry, rose & honey.

     Your skin went cold, it was a scent far too feminine to be a cologne. Far too floral, too sweet, too fruity, too.. womanly. God knows how long you stood in that kitchen, searching your surroundings for what else could've possibly emitted such a lovely fragrance.

    Your heart thudded harder as you couldn't find an explanation, it was sure that it was what you had thought. With a force of your feet, you pulled yourself to the bedroom, you were glad to see the bathroom door still shut, light emitting from underneath.

    You brought yourself to the hamper, hesitantly lifting the top before searching for the clothing. You looked through everything, growing more frustrated as you couldn't find the outfit.

    The bathroom door opened abruptly, startling you from your investigation. He walked to the mirror, patting away the small water droplets left on his nape with the towel.

    He tossed it to the side, now grabbing some lotion to put on his arms. His eyes locked with yours through the mirror, then glancing to the hamper, if you weren't so focused on where the clothing was, you might've noticed the slight change in his eyes to see you standing next to the hamper.

     "something wrong?" he asked, voice slightly weary, almost undetectable. "where are your clothes." you replied, your tone almost demanding. He broke away the eye contact, looking down as he rearranged some stuff, "put it to wash."

     fuck. He avoided your gaze, simply moving stuff around before sitting down on the bed. You continued to stand there, not believing how cold he had gotten over the span of just two weeks.

     He sighed silently, rubbing the side of his face as if to brush something off his mind. He looked tired, eyes slightly sunken in with dark circles, he looked done, but he for sure looked hot in some odd way.

     You swallowed, "where were yo-"

    He let out a silent sigh, "c'mon, let's just go to sleep," he muttered, tiredly looking at you, his hand patting the empty side next to him on the bed.

      You held back the tears that wanted to come out, suppressing the ache that now begun in your chest. You blinked, not wanting to get in just yet. He stared back at you, eyes hollow as he knew you weren't going to give in just yet.

       His finger rubbed his eye, "we went to the mall," he mumbled nonchalantly, his face flat as he just wanted you to get in bed. You didn't reply. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke again.

    "babe.. just get in bed," he shook his head tiredly, wanting the awkward moment to just end. For some reason, you allowed the tired look on his look to win you over.

    You didn't know why. You didn't know why it only took him to ask you twice to get in bed for you to listen to him, and why it took you two weeks of asking where he was to finally get a half-assed answer.

     You broke your own respect when you walked him, crawling into the bed as you pulled the soft sheets over you. He rubbed his face one more time then turned the small lamp off on his bedside table.

    Your back faced him as you bit your lip, contemplating what you might've done wrong for him to seek another woman. Was she prettier? Funnier? Better at sex? In what ways was she satisfying him better than you ever could?

     He laid down next to you, his body stiff for a moment before he shifted closer to you. His arm gently looped itself around your waist, pulling your body to be right against his, his nose gently pressed against your shoulder.

    He placed a soft kiss, "i love you," he whispered. it took you a while, but eventually, gave in to your hearts power.

    "i love you too.."

-

    You bit the end of the pen, eyes straining on the notebook in front of you. Your leg bounced up & down with anxiety as you thought of what else to write down.

SUSPICIONS:

arriving home late

came home smelling like woman

missed calls

unanswered texts

cold shoulder

doesn't tell me where he was

     You felt slightly guilty, having to write a list for the suspicions you held against your boyfriend, but what else were you supposed to do? A couple of days had passed again, yet things were still the same.

Your suspicions grew stronger, but last night was the last straw. You'd lost one of your favorite earrings, of course after a breakdown, you searched the entire home. You flipped the entire house around, searching for the expensive earring.

     A small memory popped into your head of when you had last worn it, it was on a date with Tom to a restaurant, it must've fallen in the car. So there you were, searching Tom's car for the earring, but to your terrible luck, you made a different discovery.

    A single brown hair in the passenger side, directly on the leather seat. Your heart dropped, you had never felt such pain before, or so you had thought, until you found a second hair.. in the backseat.

      Your stomach churned, all the little bit of hope you had remaining simply left you. You quickly shut the car door, tears streaming down your face as you ran to the bathroom, hurling out everything you'd eaten that day.

    You hadn't felt such disgust. How could he? While you're at home waiting for him, he's out fucking another girl. And to make matters worse, the day right before your birthday.

    So here you were, the day after, (your birthday), writing a list to use against your cheating boyfriend. Picking up the pen, you nipped at your lower lip as you added to the list.

    Brown hair in car.

      You sat there, staring down at the paper that held your entire relationships crumble. You felt nearly helpless, not knowing what to do. You'd spent the day purely trying to cheer yourself up.

    You ordered your favorite food for lunch, watching some movies along with some snacks & a bottle of wine, but nothing seemed to distract you from the nagging question in the back of your mind, who is she?

     A certain line coming from the T.V. caught your attention, it was a famous talk show in which people would send in their questions or ask for advice.

     You leaned forward to grab the remote, turning the volume up to clearly listen. "-who cares about him? You need to prioritize yourself and your feelings. If that man is not showing you the attention that you deserve, then leave him!" the woman snapped.

     The crowed cheered, agreeing with the woman. She smiled brightly, "You are far more important than some lame ass man who won't do shit for you. So what should you do? Go out! Have a drink, go out with some friends! Go to a club and meet a new man! Trust, there's plenty," she winked.

     That striked something in you. She was right. If Tom didn't want to do anything for you, then you'd do it for yourself. You ran up to the T.V. placing a kiss to the screen, directly on the cheek of the woman.  "love you Cathy Paine!"

    You ran to your room, shutting the door before opening up your closet. You popped your hip out, nails tapping against the wall as you scanned all of your dresses, which one was club worthy?

You settled on a black/pink halter dress, it sat right above your thighs, an upside down V cut at the bottom. You curled your hair, then brushed it out to let the soft curls bounce.

      You focused on your makeup for a solid 20 minutes, trying to get it perfect. After not too long, you were done. Dress on, makeup done & hair styled. You looked at yourself in the mirror, you looked incredible.

     Before you walked away, you instinctively reached for your phone once more, checking to see if your boyfriend had texted you at all. Nothing. You stared at the blank screen, the rage of the past 2 weeks now bubbling inside you. Fuck it.

 

-

      You didn't know if you were going insane or not, but you swore you saw Tom's car. You were nearly 3 blocks away from the club when his car drove across from the other street.

    You ran the red light, following behind a couple of cars to not make your presence noticeable. "that fucking asshole," you grumbled under your breath, eyes strained on the familiar cadillac.

    Tom's car turned a left, your surroundings suddenly becoming unfamiliar. "where the fuck is he going," you whispered to yourself, your car going relatively slower to reduce attraction to yourself.

     You followed him into the street, before suddenly braking. His car was in the middle of the street, not moving. His head poked out of the window, looking straight back at you. Your breath hitched the second your eyes made contact.

     With a swift movement, he pressed the gas, his car going at a concerning speed. "fuck!" you yelled to yourself, knowing he caught you. But did it really matter? not really.

    You tried to catch up, tried to follow him, but his driving skills were better than yours, and within the span of 2 quick minutes, you lost him. You parked your car, immediately hitting the steering wheel. "fuck!"

      You had him. The chance to catch him, but you lost it. Your anger only grew stronger, how dare he leave. You were broken out of your thoughts when your phone began to ring.

     You hesitantly answered the unknown number. "hello?"

   "meet me at 293 Monroe Road. i know something about tom."

    The phone ended abruptly, the beeping sound frustrating you further as you couldn't question the person. The voice was strange, surely distorted. You were uneasy, but obliged.

    

          It took you about half an hour to reach the location. The area seemed nice, not very secluded, in fact, the building you approached seemed quite nice.

    The outside seemed to have been painted recently, the outside brightly illuminated. Your phone buzzed.

go in through the back.

     You sighed, now getting nervous. Your heels clicked against the concrete as you walked towards the back of the building. A single door was there, a paper stuck to it.

     Your fingers grazed the paper.

follow the path.

      "aw, fuck no.." you whispered to yourself, now looking back. You couldn't see your car from there, it wouldn't be a bad idea to just run. But you were already there.

    You took a deep breath, pushing the door and entering. The hallway was long, dimly lit as you could barely see where you were even walking. As you grew closer to the end of the hall, you heard scurrying.

    You stepped back, listening closely. Nothing. After another deep breath, you turned the only corner there. It was dark, incredibly dark. Your hand felt around the wall, your right one couldn't feel the other wall. The room must've been big.

     Finally, your fingers found a switch. You switched it on.

    "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" an entire crowed yelled. You nearly fell back, eyes wide as you were incredibly startled. You moved your hair out of your face, now becoming aware of your surroundings.

The ceilings were full of mirrors, large disco balls along with silver balloons perfectly placed on the ceilings & walls. It was dark yet pretty red & purple lights lit it up perfectly to fit the vibe. Long tables of sweets, bottles of expensive champagne & foreign chocolates. The one that really surprised you, was the literal mountain of gifts, all stacked up into a tall pyramid.

     You gasped at the sight of all of your friends, family, and your boyfriend. He stood with a large smile, two glasses in his hand. Bill jumped at you, engulfing you in a tight hug. "happy birthday!" he squealed, squeezing you.

      Some other friends approached you quickly, bombarding you with happy wishes, gifts and hugs. You accepted it all gladly, but we're still somewhat confused.

     "happy birthday, princess," he congratulated you, handing you a glass. You were more than confused, accepting the drink in your hand. "w-wait, i'm- im mad at you!"

       He nodded, pursing his lips. "i know you are, honey. but-"

     "-but nothing!" you cut him off. You stared at him blankly, "you- you're cheating!". Tom's face dropped, along with Bills, Georg's & Gustav's. "what?"

     Your mouth was open, but a sound struggled to come out. "you- you never answer me! you smelt like woman and- i found a brown hair! two in your car!"

    Tom's head quickly turned to Georg, both of them staring at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter. They hit each others arms as they laughed, tears threatening to spill out of their eyes before they straightened themselves up.

    "what- what's so funny?!"

 

    Tom wiped a tear, "baby, that's Georg's hair!". Georg continued laughing, hunched over as he held his stomach. His hair moved with his movements, swaying. You took a close look, the length, color and tone matched it perfectly.

   "i shed sometimes!"

   "how would it have gotten in the backseat?" you questioned him.

     "maybe when putting all of the gifts into the backseat! We spent like 20 whole minutes purely putting in gifts!"

    Tom's hand came to your lower back, holding you softly. You turned to him again, your finger to his chest. "then how do you explain smelling like woman!"

     He chuckled, "had to smell every one of them to get it right." Bill turned to you with an annoyed expression, "he had us at there at the mall for two hours just looking for the perfect perfume!" he whined, dragging his last words.

Your expression softened, turning to look at Tom. He held a slightly guilty look on his face, but a little smile still on his lips. “i’m sorry, meine liebe. i’ve been planing this for weeks & i just.. i wanted it to be a complete surprise. i couldn’t let you find out about it. you really don’t know how long it took me to get all of this together,” he chuckled, arms wrapping around you lovingly.

You smiled, looking around you. The place was absolutely gorgeous, the decorations were beautiful, it genuinely must’ve costed him thousands.

“babe, how much did this all cost?” you worried slightly. He shook his head, bringing your body closer to his, “that doesn’t matter, schatz. i did this all for you,” he smiled, bringing himself close for a sweet kiss.

Of course, he wasn’t going to tell you the amount he spent… which was definitely in the thousands place. He didn’t care that he spent literal hours searching for the perfect perfumes, the dress he bought you, the shoes, the jewelry, and all of the decorations.

The decorations being one of the hardest to find. Some things had to be exported from France, some from Belgium & so on. Although he did hire a party planner, he needed it to be perfect.

You smiled into the kiss, holding his face tenderly. “just thank me later tonight,” he whispered, his hand now giving your ass a soft squeeze. He looked at you up & down, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

“how come you look so pretty tonight? where you going?” he raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing slightly as he smirked. You rolled your eye’s exaggeratedly, “nowhereeee.”

He laughed a little, knowing you most definitely had different plans for the night. He pulled you in again, kissing you with love.

“happy 21st, my birthday girl.”

[pitracklane]

snippets of our memories

lando norris x emilia OFC

storyline - childhood friends weave dreams of speed and ambition, unaware of the paths that will diverge them. one of the two seeks refuge from their troubled past, igniting the lost connection that hints at long-buried secrets and unspoken feelings. their worlds collide again, in monaco.

warnings! mentions of abuse, dark emotions, panic attacks, and anxiety. vivid scenes ahead!!

chapter iii.

emilia woke up early each morning to the soft light of the mediterranean sun streaming through the large windows of her hotel room. 

she had made a ritual of watching the sun rise over the horizon, her gaze lingering on the glistening expanse of water as the world outside came to life. there was something both grounding and exhilarating about this view—this place. 

she felt like she was stepping into a different world, one that invited her to grow, to challenge herself.

first few days had been a blur of practice and exploration. the studio where the recital rehearsals were held was a few blocks away, so each morning emilia rented a simple bicycle.

soft hum of the tires on the pavement beneath her feet was a comfort, the familiar rhythm that reminded her of the bike rides back home—her escape, her grounding force. 

the streets of monaco were a mix of luxurious cars and small cafés where the scent of fresh croissants and espresso lingered in the air. she would park her bike, walk through the quiet hotel lobby, and step into the warm, bustling breakfast room. the tables, dotted with colorful fruits and pastries, had a cozy feel that contrasted with the opulence of the hotel.

every morning, she'd order the same thing—a cappuccino, a soft-boiled egg, and a bowl of yogurt with honey and fruit. she liked the routine, the quiet comfort of it all.

the sunlight would hit her face as she ate, the warm rays slowly waking her body, and she'd watch the early tourists and staff move around, starting their days just like her.

it was a nice kind of peacefulness, but something always lingered in the back of her mind, like the quiet hum of anxiety she couldn't quite shake off.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈· ✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦

on her third morning, while she was finishing her breakfast by the large window overlooking the bay, she caught a glimpse of someone by the hotel’s buffet.

her heart paused—just for a moment. tall. broad-shouldered. messy dark hair. a silhouette like muscle memory. too still.

it couldn’t be.

she blinked. her breath snagged in her throat. the man’s back was to her now, but something in the way he stood—too grounded, too familiar—brought that old knot twisting through her stomach.

it had been years since she’d last seen him. she’d left without a word, built an entirely new life. he wasn’t part of it anymore. she made sure of that.

but the mind remembers differently than the body. her fingers trembled around the porcelain of her coffee cup.

she forced herself to look again. it wasn’t him. or maybe it was. she couldn’t tell—not from this distance, not through the wash of sunlight and doubt.

she shook her head, trying to push the thought away. it had been years since she’d seen him. she had escaped that life, the emotional chaos, the constant tension he’d brought into her world. 

besides, what would he even be doing in monaco?

she shook her head, brushing the thought aside as paranoia. she’d barely told anyone about this trip. only jasmine, daphne and mabel. her ballet mentor. and—

her stomach dropped.

—james.

he was the only shared thread left between her old life and her new one. a mutual friend who had stayed neutral when things fell apart, emilia hadn’t talked to him, but she had him on her private socials where she posted the program in monaco a few weeks ago. she forgot and it had been couple of years since they broke up she didn't think he would still ask about her, a foolish mistake. 

the unease was there. it lingered. emilia took her phone out and texted their group chat

emi: i think i saw him... maybe? i’m not sure, but it felt like him. at the hotel buffet this morning.

jas: wait, who? 

daph: what happened?

emi: i don’t know.

emi: i didn’t get close enough to see his face,  he was just standing there,  and it threw me off. the resemblance to jacob..

jas: that’s weird. emi, it could’ve just been someone who looked like him. 

jas: don’t jump to conclusions, remember?

daph: yeah, but be careful still.

emi: maybe, but it really shook me up. i don’t understand why he’d be here. it could be james telling him when he saw my IG story 

jas: you still have james??? emi, we told you to remove him. any thread to jacob should be cut!! i dont care who the person is.

jas: just focus on rehearsal. you’ve got two days then we’re gonna be with you, okay?

daph: yeah, we’ll be there soon enough emi. just hang in there.

emi: thanks, guys. i’ll keep going today. i just... i don’t know. the prior days i was doing okay, no attacks or extreme thoughts. anyway, i’ll text you after rehearsal xx

jas: remember, if you need anything, lando’s around too, right? he’s in Monaco. you can always talk to him.

daph: exactly. we’ll all be there soon. don’t let this mess with your head too much. you’re stronger than this.

emi: yeah, i’ll try. love you both.

daph: love you too. two days. we’re coming.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈· ✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦

the ballet studio was beautiful—large, open, with natural light pouring through the tall windows. the floor was polished wood, and the mirrors on the walls reflected the movements of the dancers, giving them a sense of space, of fluidity.

today, she was practicing adagio, the slow, controlled movements that made her feel as if she could truly feel the music. 

her body ached from the previous day’s practice, but she loved the burn. each plié felt like a release, each rond de jambe sweeping through the air was a breath of freedom.

she could lose herself in this, in the rhythm of her feet, in the elegance of her body moving as one with the music. 

the grace she strove for—every muscle working in unison, every stretch pushing her further.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈· ✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦

the next few days passed with ease. she told herself she had imagined jacob, her ex. her anxiety was always good at that—creating ghosts where there were none.

and she was tired. the pressure of rehearsals, the weight of being in a new city, the quiet loneliness between moments—it all fed into the static in her head.

but on the fifth day, after rehearsal, it happened. her worst nightmare.

she stepped into the elevator, still in her leotard, hair damp from sweat and pinned up messily, her shoes tucked into her bag. she was too tired to think, her limbs heavy from hours of port de bras and corrections.

the doors were just beginning to close when a hand stopped them.

then, a voice. his voice. the voice she had nightmares from, the voice that made her sob so loud daph and jasmine woke up every sunrise to calm her down, the voice she worked hard to erase

“well, fancy seeing you here.”

her whole body stilled.

he stepped inside, his presence filled the elevator, too much air taken, too much space occupied.

same careless smirk. same eyes that had once looked through her instead of at her.

“what do you want?” she said, her voice thin, barely holding.

he leaned against the mirrored wall, folding his arms. “small world, huh?” he said, as if amused by the absurdity of it.

“i got flown out for work. new expansion deal. one of my clients owns half the buildings in fontvieille. crazy, right? and then james mentioned you’d be out here—figured i’d see if it was true.”

so it wasn’t coincidence. it was worse. it was calculated curiosity dressed up as happenstance.

“didn’t expect you to be staying here, though,” he added. “bit posh for you, don’t you think?”

he stepped closer. something in the tilt of his head made her feel nineteen again, trapped in his orbit, shrinking to fit his narrative.

his fingers reached out, touched her arm. she pulled back.

his voice dropped. “you think you’re better than me now?”

and then came the grip. the familiar clamp of his hand on her skin—reminding her of everything she tried to forget. not a shove. not violence. just pressure. but it was enough to unhinge something inside her.

panic bloomed. wild and fast.

“stop,” she whispered, her throat constricting.

but he didn’t. not right away. his mouth was close to her ear now, his breath sour with old anger.

“you never learned to fight.”

her body responded before her brain could catch up. the elevator dinged, and with all the strength left in her, she shoved him back—her fist colliding with his throat—and ran.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈· ✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦•┈๑⋅⋯⋯⋅๑┈·✦

her feet pounded the hallway carpet. she couldn’t think. everything inside her screamed for escape.

every nerve in her body went into overdrive. she could feel her chest tightening, her breathing becoming shallow. no. no, no, no.

outside her room, she fumbled with the keycard. her hands wouldn’t work. everything trembled. just breathe. please, breathe.

click

the door opened and she sank to the floor inside her room, curling into herself, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. 

her phone was already in her hand. she didn’t remember grabbing it.

she pressed the first name that came to mind, her thumb moving without thought. she didn’t even know if this number was active or not.

it rang once. twice. she almost hung up. then — his voice.

"hello?"

everything stopped. just his voice. warm. steady. confused.

she choked on a breath. “lando?”

she can hear him breathing a little more heavier than normal,

a pause— “...emilia?”

she couldn’t say more. her throat was too tight. the panic had narrowed her vision into dark tunnel shapes.

but he knew. he could tell something was wrong.

"emilia," he said again, sharper now, urgent. "hey, are you okay?"

she shook her head even though he couldn’t see. a small sound escaped her, part gasp, part sob.

"i... i need help."

silence for half a second. and then —

"where are you?" his voice dropped into something more focused, but still filled with confusion.

her chest heaved as she tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

"m-monaco." her voice trembled.

there was a beat of silence. his brain was working to process it all. monaco? what was she doing there?

he knew that their parents were still in contact and they would throw few updates to their kids here and there but he didn’t know she was where he was.

"okay," he said quickly, trying to force the confusion aside. "where in monaco?"

"em?" he said again, more urgently now, his heart pounding as he felt the weight of her distress.

her voice cracked. "i’m-i’m not safe," she whispered.

she’s not processing what he’s saying, it’s all static.

he heard it. the tightness in her voice. the way she couldn’t even say it properly. And that was enough for him.

he didn’t ask for details. he just needed to get to her address. his mind shifted into action. “i need you to share your location with me, yeah?”

she couldn’t answer. the words wouldn’t form, and the panic tightened its grip.

“mila, need you to open your phone and share your location.” he said softly, his tone almost pleading. he used her old nickname, the nickname reserved for him.

she manages to share her location while shaking profoundly

"stay on the line," he said, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest. "it’s alright. i’m coming.”