#also the hands! the rings! the hands! the hair! SHE!

[uzumaki-rebellion]

The One That Got Away

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black Female OC

Warning(s): Angst, Explicit Sex, Sad Girl Romance, Break-Ups & Reconciliations

Summary: After globetrotting as a digital nomad for three years, Michaela Maxwell returns to her hometown and meets the man of her dreams in a soldier named Terry Richmond. The only problem is, dreams happen when one is asleep to the truth. In Michaela's case, she wakes up to the sad reality that Terry won't really be the happily-ever-after she desires if he cant let go of a past love.

Word Count: 9.5K

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm gonna tell you 'bout

One of the many men, name is irrelevant, height is irrelevant

He was a one out of a ten, I wish that I knew it then

I'm still recovering

Truly, I'm vulnerable, I love a sentiment

Quickly I opened up, I learned my lesson then

Thought I was safe again, thought he was innocent

I was so wrong"

Raye – "Oscar Winning Tears"

He came back to his place later than she expected.

The Super Bowl had ended hours ago, and instead of hitching a ride back with his cousin, Terry had taken a Lyft. She waited for him in his apartment dressed in a sexy strawberry colored push-up bra and thong set.

Lounging on his bed, she listened to him use his key to get in and his cell rang. He answered, but it was difficult to make out exactly who called him. His voice sounded tired, and he ended the conversation with, "We can talk tomorrow."

He dragged into the bedroom, and his eyebrows rose.

"Surprise," Michaela said.

Her boyfriend of nearly a year stared at her and smiled. But the smile didn't reach all of his face. Especially his eyes. He recovered quickly though, and took off his Eagles football jersey, jeans, and the rest of his clothes. Climbing into the bed next to her, he admired her underwear and rubbed on her booty absentmindedly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"The Eagle's lost."

"Aw, sorry babes."

"Maybe next year we'll get that ring."

His voice sounded sad, but not because of the football game. She stroked the perfect waves in his hair and kissed his luscious lips. He held her, and his affections turned to nibbling on her ear.

She didn't know it was the beginning of the end.

Michaela Maxwell spent three fruitful years traveling the globe as a digital nomad, creating content for three travel websites while also house-sitting in exotic locations such as Costa Rica, Mallorca, and Belize. By the time she returned to her hometown in Louisiana, she was ready to settle down in a familiar place for at least a year before she was ready to fly the coop again.

Her parents loved this of course, and her mother, a choir director, even got her back to church singing. She found a tiny studio apartment that would allow her to coast financially until she was ready for more travel.

Standing in line at a Starbucks, she fingered the silver compass necklace her father gave her when she first left the country after graduating from college. On the back of the necklace, he had a Henry Miller quote inscribed for her, "One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."

She ordered a slice of lemon pound cake and a matcha green-tea latte, and when she tapped her phone against the scanner to pay, the app didn't work. Trying again and failing, her jaw tightened. She had no cash or cards because she hadn't taken a purse with her when she went out to jog that morning. Now she was holding up the line.

A large hand reached forward, holding a debit card toward the cashier.

"I got it," a deep tone said.

Michaela glanced at the face attached to the hand and let out a breath.

The sexiest-looking man she had ever seen in the states for a long time stared back at her with a grin. He wore military fatigues and had the lightest eyes whose color she couldn't discern in the light. They could've been green, or gray…maybe even blue if she squinted.

"I left my house without my purse," she said.

It was obvious from her skin-tight mint-blue jogging outfit and smartphone in hand that she had nothing else to pay with.

"If you hang here for a minute, I can get you the money."

"Don't worry about it. Pay for someone else next time," he said.

"Thanks a lot."

Michaela moved down to the waiting area for her items and watched the stranger order strong coffee and a danish.

That's how she met Terry Richmond.

On a clear spring morning, with her long hair freshly cornrowed in six braids down her back and decorated with six huge silver hoops, she left Starbucks with a smile on her face, thrilled there were some good-looking men in town.

It was only six degrees of separation, meeting him again at a barbecue. Her close friend Sandra dated a guy named Mike, who was Terry's cousin.

"Matcha green-tea latte," he said, showing her pearly whites near a food table where guests piled on fried fish and pork ribs.

They only spoke to each other the entire time and exchanged numbers when the sun went down. For the first month, it felt like a whirlwind of dates getting to know each other.

As a marine stationed nearby, he trained soldiers in specialized martial arts and other combat techniques. It afforded him the ability to stay close to his family. Their dates consisted of nice dinners, movies that she wanted to see, and long romantic drives in the country. He was smart, attentive, and a skilled conversationalist. Fascinated with her travels, he spent hours listening to her talk about rainforests in Central America, parasailing in the Caribbean, and nightlife in Spain.

In their second month of dating, he found a new luxury apartment to move into, and Michaela helped him pick out furniture and decorated it with an international flourish. Their friend groups began to overlap, and that's when Michaela suspected him of getting more serious about their relationship. His male buddies adored her, often insisting that she join them on their male outings to bars to watch sports, and to go fishing on a boat one of them owned.

There came a time when she spent more hours in the day at Terry's place than her own studio apartment. He dropped hints of being open to moving in together. Even gave her shelf space in his bathroom cabinet. The apartment had two bedrooms, and he offered the unused one as her temporary office to work on her new venture as a house sitting expert. It was his way of keeping her close to him without rushing her.

His place had a pool, state-of-the-art gym, and a nature walk trail perfect for early morning jogs. Michaela only wanted to date and have fun with Terry. Nothing too serious. She had more traveling to do and different parts of the world to see still. The pressure of a serious relationship was too heavy to pick up at that point in her life.

By then, they started sleeping together regularly, at least three times a week.

The first time they made love, a company had just delivered Terry's brand-new bed, and she had bought him designer sheets as a housewarming gift. They were oyster-blue with an outrageous thread-count that made them buttery soft. She helped him make the king-size bed up with a new blanket and goose-down pillows. They both jumped on the bed and marveled at how comfortable it was. That's when he turned to look at her. Her hair cascaded across her arm and he stroked it like it was expensive silk.

"You are so beautiful, Michaela. What would I do without you in my life?"

Her heart did a happy dance in her chest, and he leaned over and kissed her lips. He undressed her with his eyes first, and her body went limp from the searing gaze of lust that drenched her skin with desire. Terry dragged his index finger up her arm and she would've sworn on a bible that her flesh burst into flames the way he sparked her nerve endings. To have him look at her that way again for the first time!

They'd fooled around before.

Long, slow kisses for hours. Heavy petting. Jerking him off in his two-year-old Honda Civic. Going all the way was inevitable after their first month of sexual touching. They came close once at her place while watching a basketball game. She sat next to him on her couch in a pair of stretchy shorts and he fingered her slowly during commercial breaks, edging her until she nearly peed on herself. Her swollen labia melted under his fingertips and by the time he inserted his digits, moving them slowly in and out, she had tears in her eyes. She turned into a soggy noodle pressed into him. His fingers rubbed on her clit in gentle circles, bringing her orgasm to a raging explosion that had her entire frame throbbing in release. She scooted out of her shorts and panties, only to be disappointed that he didn't have condoms on him. Mentally kicking herself for not re-upping her personal stock after her Gulliver's Travels gallivanting the world, Michaela had to settle for him eating her pussy on the couch, her legs casually thrown over his shoulders and those seductive green eyes daring her to cum in his mouth and all over his lips. She rolled over and tooted her ass out, and Terry licked everything from behind, glossing his full lips until she came again, screaming into the couch cushion.

Their first time was magical in his bed.

"Why are you so wet?" he whispered in her ear.

He lowered his face to her breasts and sucked each nipple until they became perfect pebbles for his tongue to titillate further. His pretty caramel skin looked like a creamy topping against her cherry-brown color.

Returning home had taken an adjustment she hadn't expected, and having Terry in her life smoothed the tensions of small-time life. She'd outgrown her place of birth. He allowed her to tolerate it. Living outside of America showed her its obvious deficits, and Terry reminded her of the good things it still had available…like family.

Michaela grew closer to her parents, especially her father, and re-connecting with childhood friends grounded her to familial life. Singing solo gospel songs in church also brought her back to a spiritual side she'd neglected since leaving home. She started thinking about her future away from traveling, and Terry gave her other fleeting thoughts, too. Like what having companionship with one partner would be like over a length of time in one place. Michaela wasn't itching to settle down, but life handed her the man of her dreams, and it was hard to view Terry as anything less than the best boyfriend she'd ever had.

He still had four years to go before he could leave his military contract, and Michaela imagined taking him to all the places she shared with him through stories and pictures. The hard part of waiting was watching the growth of her business. She wanted to put together two conferences, one in Costa Rica and the other in Spain. That meant time away from Terry to plan and execute. She started getting calls from a travel collective in the U.K. that asked her to be a keynote speaker at a digital nomad event at the end of the year. More time away from Terry.

His kisses strayed down her neck, and she sighed.

"So wet…" he murmured, licking the hollow of her belly button and trailing down between her thighs.

He catered to her clit like it was a queen on her little throne. For what seemed like a teasingly long time, Terry ate her out until her legs shook and she whimpered, "I want more."

She rubbed on his hair, and he left her side to dig his hand inside his nightstand. The gold foil condom ripped easily. He rolled the prophylactic down his girth, pinching the top. She widened her thighs, and he nestled against them, his tip resting at her slick entrance. He kissed her while pushing inside, and they locked eyes. The intensity of their gazes brought forth laughter from both of them, and as he moved in and out, they laughed again at the joy of finally connecting through intercourse.

His dick stretched her out until her eyes wanted to cross. She arched her back to feel the muscles in his chest pressed against her breasts. Her nipples brushed against him, and he moaned at their softness. He lifted her right leg and sank in deeper. The slapping of their bodies created delightful sounds in the bedroom. Her pants and his deep groans in her ear took it to a new level of pleasure. There was no need to switch positions or try any tricks to impress each other. Their joining was enough, and her vaginal walls squeezed him unexpectedly, thrilling even her at the loss of control she experienced under him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, wanting him closer, yearning to keep him next to her like that for hours and hours.

"Shit," he groaned.

His hips pistoned, and the bed thumped under her. The headboard hadn't started smacking the wall yet, but it was close.

"Michaela…fuck…baby…"

He pushed her thighs back, his eyes glued to the sight of his dick taking her down thrust by thrust.

Their foreheads touched. He jammed his fists on the bed, giving her the fucking she deserved. She'd had lovers in every place she stayed overseas, but coming home to a southern man that shared the same culture was exquisite. Caressing his biceps, Michaela submitted to the synergy they created.

"You're beautiful. Look at you Michaela…making me feel so good."

If he talked her all the way through her orgasm, she wasn't aware of it. All she could concentrate on was his Siren eyes boring into her and the fullness of his dick taking her to greater heights physically. Her lips puckered and then she let out a cry as her walls clenched in rapid throbs around him.

"Ohhhhhh!" she shouted.

That's all it took for him to join her. She felt him pulsing inside of her. His body seized up and a loud groan roared out of him. He slammed a hand on the headboard and cursed above her face before grunting and crashing down on her.

She giggled, and he laughed out loud, his deep voice resonating around her like a cape of tenderness in their intimate moment.

Michaela had hoped to experience that type of lovemaking again after the Super Bowl game.

The day of the game she had an online panel to attend for her business coaching Black women to house sit around the world. She missed the Super Bowl game at his friend's house, but promised Terry she'd be at his place afterward to have a little party of their own. He didn't have to go to work the next day, and they planned to brunch and shop for a camping tent.

She pulled out her fancy underwear, plucked and shaved hair from her legs and private area, and prepared to put some sugar on his dick. It was supposed to be an unforgettable night in her mind.

Once he climbed into bed with her, she sensed a change in him.

Terry went through the motions of lovemaking.

It felt good, and she came hard on his dick with his fingers gently touching her clit. However, the passion wasn't at its zenith, as if his mind were elsewhere and not with her.

He fucked her from behind with long strokes, and after he came, he tied off the condom and kissed her forehead. Leaving the bed soaked in sweat, he took a long shower and she tucked the sheets under her chin and tried to fathom what had brought him to a place of disconnect.

They went to brunch at their favorite restaurant, and he picked at his food. Once they bought the tent he wanted, chats of planning a camping trip went by the wayside as he complained of a headache and went to bed to sleep off his unease.

She left his apartment and visited a girlfriend to not waste the rest of the day. Her schedule and his job kept them busy for two days. Until Terry called her to come back to his place before the weekend.

"I need to talk to you about something," he said.

She sat down on his couch, and he paced in front of her. Folding her arms across her chest, she waited for him to speak. He finally sat down next to her.

"My ex was at the Super Bowl party last Sunday," he said.

"Your ex…Eve?"

Michaela tilted her head with her lips already in a defensive pout. He dated Eve two years previously and broke up with her for reasons he never explained. It wasn't her business, so Michaela didn't care. They were getting to know each other, and she'd spoken about her past lovers, too. No big deal.

His eyes were shinier than normal, and her stomach bunched up in a single knot, already knowing the ending before he even foretold it.

"Yeah…it's been a long time since I've seen her…and we talked and …"

He couldn't keep eye contact and flexed the fingers of his right hand nervously. It scared her.

"And? Did you sleep with her or something? Is that why you came home in a Lyft instead of being dropped off by Allen?"

"No. I wouldn't do anything like that. We talked…the entire night."

"All night where?"

"At Dex's."

"Until one in the morning?"

"We weren't alone. Mike was there…a bunch of people stayed to hang out after the game. She and I talked outside in the yard."

"Okay…talked about what?"

Her voice sounded sharp, like broken glass. His eyes kept darting away from looking at her face.

"How we were both doing now. I didn't have to say anything about this, Michaela. I'm telling you because I trust you…I can confide in you about anything on my mind. I've done the same for you. I want to talk about this because it's bothered me all week…seeing her again. All kinds of emotions came back up that I wasn't prepared to deal with. It was the same for her, too. It's been two years and seeing her hurt me…"

He started leaking tears from the corners of his eyes, and Michaela couldn't move or say anything. The man she'd been dating for eight and a half months shed tears for another woman that he left behind.

He wiped his face and sat back on the couch. His eyes still captured her with their intense color. She exhaled and the pain in her stomach grew. Her voice came out shaky and unsure.

"Seeing her hurt you? Why? People run into their exes occasionally. You dumped her, so you weren't happy."

He nodded. His lips parted, and he wiped his face again.

"I wasn't happy. But I cared for her. Leaving wasn't easy for me…I didn't try harder to fix things between us. We weren't getting along and I ended it. That's it. I didn't know I would react this way after seeing her again. I needed to tell you so you'd understand why I've been so distant the past few days."

"Okay. I can understand that."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. Before she could entwine their fingers together, he pulled away and closed his eyes. Eve really had him shaken up.

Michaela stroked his hair, and he stared at the ceiling, relaxing into her touches. More tears ran down his face like silent assassins to her heart.

"She told me she still loves me…misses me."

"What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything…I was surprised that she said that."

He finally looked at her. The tears on his face spoke for him.

Michaela bit her bottom lip and fought back the welling of water behind her eyes.

"You still love her?"

"I don't know what I feel…I'm conflicted."

"Conflicted about what? Do you want her back?"

"I don't know what I want."

"Terry, we've been dating for damn near nine months. I'm your girlfriend!"

"And I'm your boyfriend telling you what's on my heart and mind. I talked to my ex, and it affected me. I didn't sleep with her and we had no physical contact, if that's what you're really worried about."

"Yeah? Well, she got to you emotionally, and that feels like the same thing to me right now."

"I came home and made love to you, Michaela. If I wanted to fuck Eve, I could've done that and not said anything if I had that type of dog energy in me."

"Thank you for small favors, asshole!"

Michaela jumped up and grabbed her purse.

Terry tugged on her jacket sleeve and pulled her back toward him.

"Where are you going? I'm sitting here being honest with you about my feelings."

"Basically telling me I was a placeholder this whole time."

"We're having fun and enjoying each other. That's what you wanted, and that's what I want. I thought I could tell you everything going on with me, but clearly that was a mistake."

"Am I lacking something, Terry? Is that why you're so discombobulated with a woman that didn't make you happy?"

"You're perfect."

"Am I?"

"Michaela…please."

"So what now? Do we keep seeing each other or…?"

He stood once he noticed her eyes spilling tears of frustration.

"Michaela, I didn't tell you this to hurt you. I'm confused by all of this inner turmoil. I shouldn't be feeling like this, but I am. Can't help it."

"I don't want to be confused with you."

Terry hugged her and it felt icky. Like he was giving her a consolation hug as the loser. Instead of coming back to her on time, he stayed behind to talk with a woman who didn't see a future with him two years ago.

"Were you thinking about her while you were fucking me last Sunday?"

"Michaela, stop."

She pushed away from him. They faced each other with teary eyes and trembling limbs.

"Where does this go with us? Am I supposed to be with you while you sort out your feelings? Have you spoken to her since then?"

"We talked last night. Briefly. Less than five minutes. She told me it was good seeing me and hoped we could be friends again."

"Are you going to see her again?"

The sight of him blurred in her wet eyes. Her tears fell faster, and her mind couldn't process how to move forward.

"I made a mistake telling you."

"Terry…I'm glad you told me. It's a reality check. But I'm not a third wheel."

She expected him to protest and hug her again. If he had done that, she could've coped and pivoted to another way of handling her emotions.

But he didn't do that.

He stood there silently, his glossy eyes staring into a future without her by his side. The truth was so fucking obvious. Seeing Eve brought on regret for him. He never wanted to leave her.

In that moment, Michaela knew the pain flowing through her was because she loved him. She never said it out loud to him. She'd never been one of those women who fell in love easily. It was a slow trek for her to establish trust and intimacy, and she'd reached that stage with him when it was too late. The sting of losing his full, undivided attention to unfinished relationship baggage hurt. She'd lost him the moment he shared his truth.

"Maybe it's best that we postpone the camping trip this weekend. I have a lot on my mind, and you're busy getting your business up and running," he said.

"So you see your ex, talk to her again, and now our trip is cancelled?"

"Postponed. Not cancelled."

"Why?"

"I told you…I have a lot on my mind, and work is stressing me."

"A trip away is the best thing for stress. Tell me the truth, Terry. You want to think about her without me all up in your face—"

"I'm simply asking for space to think by myself without having to go anywhere or do anything."

"Think about what?! Either you want to be with me or her. Simple!"

He winced at her tone. Those beautiful eyes narrowed with irritation at the sound.

Michaela crumbled on the inside, but she kept her poise on the outside.

"Fuck you," she said.

She pulled his house key off her key ring and tossed it on the couch.

She didn't speak to Terry, nor seem him, for a month.

All of her social media blocked any contact dealing with him. She dropped him like a hot potato and kept it moving. No sense waiting around for him to give her a sad break-up chat of 'It's me, not you'.

His friends reached out, wanting to check on her and wondering why she wasn't around anymore. Terry's best friend Dex even drove over to see her, and she joined him for a coffee chat at the neighborhood Starbuck's, where she first met Terry.

She pumped Dex for information about Eve.

"They were engaged two years ago, and he broke it off."

"Engaged? He never told me that."

"He was embarrassed about it. His family spent a lot of money on their engagement party. Booked them an entire Paris honeymoon in advance. When he ended the relationship, they lost a shitload of money that he paid back."

Dex sipped on a berry refresher drink, his handsome looks attracting attention from bystanders in the coffee shop.

"Why did he leave her?"

"He told me she was immature. Narcissistic. He saw some other things he didn't like after her bridal shower that gave him doubts about them lasting as man and wife. I told him to break it off waaayyyy before he asked her to marry him, but he said he was in love and hoped she'd change."

"I guess she finally changed if he needed to talk to her all night after your party."

"I don't think she's changed at all. In fact, I suspect she only came around because of you."

"Me?"

Dex glanced about and leaned forward in his seat.

"Do you look at his social media? It's just photos of you two and him cheesing like he's won an Oscar for having the coolest girlfriend. Shit, I thought he was going to ask you to be his wife the way he bragged about you to us."

Michaela fiddled with the straw in her iced raspberry tea.

"I don't believe that."

"Eve sure did, because she swooped in on my party as a plus one. She loved him back then, of course, but why show up out the blue now? She saw those happy pictures and all thirty-two of his teeth grinning and didn't like it."

"She can have him because I don't care anymore."

Dex smirked.

"Do you love him?"

She closed her eyes. The first prick of tears spilled out.

"Aw, Michaela…talk to him. Let him know how you feel. He probably thinks you aren't serious about him because you didn't stay and fight for your shit."

"I shouldn't have to fight for him if I was already his."

She wiped the corners of her eyes with a napkin.

"That's not what I meant," Dex said. "Terry likes direct feedback. If you never told him you loved him, he's thinking you just want to keep the relationship casual. Exclusive for sure…but y'know…chill with no pressure."

"He never told me he loved me."

"Perhaps he was going off your vibes. The last woman he said 'I love you' to broke his heart. I'm not trying to make excuses for him, but he's been gun-shy with women. You're the first one he's brought out in two years. That makes you special. I know he showed you how he felt without saying it. If you tell him out loud, he'll snap to attention."

"He should've done it first. I don't want to look like I'm crawling back begging…"

Dex's cell rang on the table. He answered.

"Hey, speak of the devil. What's up, man? I'm chillin'…actually I'm sitting here with Michaela chatting at Starbuck's."

"Bastard!" she hissed.

"Alright, man," Dex said.

He tapped his phone.

"He's down the street and coming over to see you. Now's your chance to tell him how you feel."

Michaela jumped from her seat and cursed him under her breath.

"Being with him should've been enough for him to know. It goes both ways," she said.

"Okay, so you both fucked up by being quiet about the love part."

"Bye Dex."

Michaela shuffled out of the door, fumbling with her purse and jacket. Outside, she rushed down the street, only to see Terry strolling her way. She did a one-eighty in her stride and stomped away in the opposite direction.

"Michaela!"

He called out to her and dashed down the sidewalk to catch up to her. Her building was another block over.

"Wait up…I just want to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk, Terry. You should've come home to me, but you still wanted her. Dex told me you were going to marry her—"

"I was—"

"I don't like mess. I don't like exes showing up to throw a wrench in my relationship with you. I don't like that you never told me you loved me—"

"Can we talk inside?"

Seeing him rattled her. His gorgeous face had lines on his forehead from the stress of their uncoupling. Those green eyes threatened to weaken her if she didn't stay strong. The hurting in her chest never went away.

"Are you still talking to Eve?"

"Not really."

"Not really? Either you're talking or you're not."

"We've spoken a few times since you left me."

"Then there's nothing for us to discuss. You made a choice."

"I haven't done anything other than try to figure out why you can't…why you can't…."

"What? Spit it out, for God's sake!"

"I never thought you were this selfish, Michaela. You pretend to be this sophisticated world traveler and you can't even give me space to sort out my shit. I was this close to marrying someone I deeply loved, and it messed me up for a long time to let that relationship go. I beat myself up, wondering why I didn't communicate my unhappiness or frustrations to her sooner, and I promised myself that the next woman I got involved with would never have that problem. But you closed yourself off from me. My honesty hurt you. I can't change that. Running from me isn't going to fix us."

"What was there to fix, Terry?! We were doing fine until she showed up. There's no us if you keep talking to that woman."

"Why are you so threatened by her?"

"If you can't see why, I can't help you."

She pushed past him and headed for her secure building. His footsteps trailed after her. She ran inside her lobby after punching in the code. The heavy glass door slammed in Terry's face.

"Michaela, I did love you…I'm sorry I never said it…I love you…please. Talk to me."

"Go talk to Eve!"

His voice faded as she climbed the stairs to her studio.

Michaela co-chaired a conference in Costa Rica and rekindled her love of travel. A year after leaving Terry, she stayed busy expanding her venture as a self-employed entrepreneur. She found a luxury villa to house-sit for three months back in Mallorca and would use that time as a vacation and a chance to plot her next move.

First, she had to go home to see her parents for a week.

Winters in Louisiana were harsh, and she couldn't wait to get back to the Mediterranean climate she loved.

Sitting in her parent's cluttered dining room, she ate jambalaya, fried chicken steak, and cabbage croquets. She caught up with cousins and siblings and soaked up as much of Louisiana as she could.

She also had an obligation to go to church.

"I need you to cover for Marcus on Friday," her mother said.

"Friday? What's going on Friday?"

"A memorial service for one of our deacons in the church. Deacon Tolliver."

"What song?"

Her mother, Iris, marked a line under a note in her music book on the stand in front of their church's pulpit. The entire Baptist choir of eighty singers took a break to catch their breath.

"'Praise Him in Advance'. Marcus has a sore throat, and I know you got it down front to back. Can you help me with it, baby?"

"Sure."

Michaela took her place at the soloist mic and went through the song twice. It was a regular part of her mother's repertoire, so it wasn't a big deal practicing. Her tone of voice was just as good as Marcus' singing it.

After she finished, she stepped back into the choir pews and played her part with all the altos.

Her mind wandered as her mother's arms waved and dipped, guiding the rich voices.

Word on the street, according to her bestie Sandra — who still dated Mike—Terry went back to Eve about four months after Michaela left town. After hearing that, she made Sandra promise not to tell her anything about that man. He clearly chose who he really wanted, and she'd been correct in feeling like a rebound. Those tears he shed gave the performance of his life, and she was smart not to fall for it.

It tore her up inside knowing Eve was getting good dick, passion, and excitement all wrapped up in a Terry package. No more light-skinned niggas for her. Every single one she ever dated was a problem, and if they were pretty? Forget about it. She should've smacked the shit out of him when she had the chance. The saddest part for her was cutting off all contact with Terry's buddies. She genuinely liked them all. The man had an amazing circle of friends.

Sandra texted her about going out to a movie, and she accepted, only to find out it was a set-up with a co-worker of hers. It pissed her off to be ambushed that way, but Michaela sat through the "Wicked" musical because the man was cute. It became a no-go when he knew all the songs and sang them at the top of his lungs. A fucking theater kid…with great pipes, though.

The day of the memorial, she packed her suitcases with freshly washed clothes to be prepped for an early morning flight to Atlanta. She had a few more friends to see before she left the country again.

Dressed in a stylish indigo dress and her best heels, Michaela fluffed out her hair. She opted to tie it up high to give herself a little oomph. She switched out her hoop earrings for diamond studs and smoothed a fresh tube of bronze lipstick across her lips.

Riding over in her parent's car to church, she received an urgent text message from Sandra.

Michaela threw her phone back inside her purse. She pulled it back out, curious to know how Terry looked after all. Sandra wouldn't have to know she was peeking.

No.

Fuck him still.

But…

She scrolled the old people's social media. Facebook. Hopping onto Mike's page, she checked out his recent photos and found a group one posted six months after she left. Her heart fluttered seeing Terry in a fishing trip photo. He wasn't smiling with teeth, but held a crooked grin. Next to him, with her name tagged, was Eve.

Michaela enlarged the photo.

"She's not even all that cute," she grumbled.

"You say something, baby?" Iris said from the front seat.

"Talking to myself, Momma."

Eve was bottom heavy in her shorts and wore too much make-up for a fishing trip in the raging sun. Her twist out hair looked nice. She was nearly the same skin-tone as Michaela with a wide, flat face that reminded her of bread dough ran over twice with a rolling pin.

She wondered what went wrong this time. That thought paused her. What difference did it make?

It must have meant something because she thought about Terry while walking into the church, which someone had decorated with bright blue and white flowers. This wasn't a funeral, but a celebration of life. The sanctuary pews were slowly filling up, and Michaela followed her mother and the rest of the choir through a side hallway. They weren't wearing choir robes because the family requested they all don Deacon Tolliver's favorite color. All shades of blue surrounded Michaela. They looked like a pretty winter bouquet.

Her purse vibrated. She ignored Sandra's new message and silenced her phone with a quick swipe of her finger and hung up her coat. Pastor Greene looked out upon the flock and began speaking words of comfort as the choir waited to begin their processional from the side wing.

Would it hurt to see him? It had been a little over a year since she had flounced away from him. He could see how fabulous she looked and hopefully he'd regret losing her this time.

Michaela strode in from her position on the line and sang an upbeat song with the choir to stir up the congregation with feelings of joy and not sadness. Deacon Tolliver's family walked in as a large group down the aisle to take their seats in the front.

Michaela nearly fell over.

Terry walked solemnly behind the elderly Tolliver relatives dressed in a dark blue suit and tie. Ushers led them to their reserved rows, and he sat down next to some older women. He looked at the memorial program in his hand and glanced up to take in the flower arrangements and the size of the choir.

Michaela ducked her head down, hoping he wouldn't notice her. He didn't. The sopranos partially hid her on the side. The sea of blue helped camouflage her, along with holding the program directly in front of her face.

The pastor read a short scripture and then asked for the congregation to bow their heads in prayer. Michaela thought she could coast through the first half of the memorial, but the closer it got toward the choir singing again after heartfelt speeches from Deacon Tolliver's close friends, her stomach twisted in discomfort. She read the memorial program for the ninety-six-year-old deacon and learned that Terry was a great-grand nephew.

Her mother rose from her seat and stationed herself in front. Terry stared at Iris, and his expression changed from sadness to awareness. Those captivating eyes searched over each face in the choir until they rested on Michaela's as she stepped forward to sing for his great-grand uncle.

She prayed her throat wouldn't close up. The organ player tapped out the keys and the drummer gave a rousing introduction to her vocals. Michaela focused on Deacon Tolliver's widow and the memories of her husband's good work in the church. She had a job to uplift the family, even if one of them was her ex boyfriend.

"I've had my share of ups and downs…times when there was no one around…God came and spoke these words to me…praise will confuse the enemy…"

Deacon Tolliver's widow shouted "Amen!" and the choir brought up the rear, repeating what she sang in a powerful, harmonious sound that brought people to their feet.

Michaela relaxed into her vocal performance, letting the lyrics build up on their own, not doing too much as she led the call and response with the choir, her runs clean and touching hearts in the audience. She used her fingers to point on certain words at the family that held meaning to Deacon Tolliver when he was alive.

"That's when I praise him with my hands…"

Michaela hummed at the end of the line and raised her hands up, her eyes cast toward the stain-glassed depiction of a Black Jesus with his flock of sheep. As a child, Deacon Tolliver told her that Jesus was a rock she could depend on whenever she felt lost. He told her the same thing four years ago before she left Louisiana. She could almost feel his hand on her shoulder like back then, reassuring her about the path she was on. Funny how she ended up falling in love with his great-grand nephew.

Her eyes flicked over to Terry. He stood clapping his hands double time with the choir as she went up a notch to celebrate a good man who supported her call to adventure, even when her parents were worried about it. Hands were up in the audience and she heard shouts as the spirit came down on several people.

She brought the sound down softly and sang to the congregation like she was preaching the word and not just singing. Stepping down from the stage, she approached Mrs. Tolliver's frail form and held her hand, keeping her voice soft.

"Praise him, when things are good…praise him…trouble on every side…and when I'm broke…I will praise him…"

Mrs. Tolliver squeezed her hand and said, "Yes, God…praise him."

Michaela went down the family line to give the message of comfort, and the palpable feeling of love enveloped her. Faced with Terry up close, and knowing this would be the last time she would ever see him, she smiled and gave him some joyful notes that volleyed back and forth with the choir. His lips trembled, and he held steadfast, listening to her sing life into him and his family. She made her way back to the stage and put the cordless mic back on its stand, taking final direction from her mother as the band went off, creating a musical frenzy getting everybody charged up with emotion.

Back at her seat, she breathed in deeply, thankful that she got through the song and seeing Terry at the same time without bursting into tears.

"Nah, nah, Sister Michaela, come back, come back," the pastor said. "One mo' 'gin! I don't think they heard you!"

The band struck up the music again. The choir led her this time for another stirring reprise. Her voice soared over the church and even her momma jumped up and down, shouting. The entire church double clapped as she did a run of "ohs" that ended with a crescendo from the choir. Michaela felt touched by a higher power then, and shook her fists, feeling the spirit move through her. The choir connected her to the only thing that mattered in that moment: to love and be loved in return among her community. She shook her head, rooted to the floor, and another choir member helped her find her seat.

Iris led them through some classic gospel songs and threw in a few newer ones. Michaela sang and snuck glances at Terry who did the same. He pulled back his lips and gave her a smile that reached his eyes, and she did the same back at him.

The memorial ended, and the congregation headed over to the church-owned building next door where the repast was to be held. The food was buffet-style, and Michaela made herself a plate and sat with some church friends. Terry sat with his family on the other side of the room and she relaxed to eat and drink punch.

Eventually she mingled, sharing stories of getting in trouble at vacation bible school and Deacon Tolliver setting her straight.

"Michaela."

It was unavoidable.

Michaela inhaled and turned to look at Terry. His suit was perfectly tailored to his physique. His soulful gaze took her breath away again, and it was like being at Starbuck's that first time, hearing the robust sound of his voice. Her cheeks rose, lifted by the smile she tried to pull off, but she couldn't do it. Regret washed over her like a heat flash and her face grew warm. She didn't fight for him like she should've. She didn't support him with his jumbled feelings. Running off to Costa Rica had been her answer because she didn't want to hear him say he didn't want her anymore. Fear of abandonment caused her to react in a way that didn't help them overcome an obstacle.

"Sorry for your loss," she sputtered.

"Thank you. I'm sorry for a lot of things, too," he said.

Her eyes watered, but the tears held in place. He sensed the battle within to hold it together and looked around to see who could hear them. She blinked several times to clear her eyes. He'd led her to the punchbowl. Handing her a cup of punch, he sighed and moved closer to her so their conversation wouldn't be overheard.

Her heart thumped rapidly, being next to him, and her hands sweated. She wiped them against the cup of punch.

"Can we go outside? It's kinda loud in here," he said.

"Sure."

She pulled on her coat and grabbed her small purse to follow him out a side door. He held out a key fob. Tapping it, a maroon SUV chirped, and he opened a back door for her to get out of the cold.

They sat in the far back seats of the seven passenger vehicle. He tapped the fob again, and the engine came on, blasting much needed heat in the interior. Tinted windows prevented anyone from seeing directly inside. She took off her coat after the temperature grew comfortable.

"You look great," he said.

"You too."

"You sang like an angel. Uncle Bo would've loved it."

"Oh, he's heard me sing before. I didn't even know you were related to the Tollivers."

"On my father's side."

His eyes never wavered. There was a softness behind them that matched the tone of his voice. God had really broken the mold when he made Terry.

He glanced down at his hand near hers.

"I wasn't careful with your heart, Michaela. I'll never forgive myself for that. I loved you…still love you. When you left town, I thought you did what you needed to do. I dealt with that pain, even when you refused to accept my calls or attempts to contact you."

"Why did you go back to her?"

"You left, and she…gave me what I thought was a second chance. I couldn't get you back. You were worried about being a rebound, and that's what Eve became to me. She didn't feel right at all…nothing about her was different. We went out a few times to test the waters. Tried to be friends instead. Dex told me I was stupid for doubting myself about her motives for coming back into my life. The moment she learned you left the country, she turned right back into her vindictive, jealous self. I let her fool me into thinking I'd made a mistake about getting away from her. She played me. I paid a heavy price for it by losing you. I'm sorry for not listening or taking your apprehensions about it seriously. You loved me and I didn't…I lost the plot of us, Michaela. That's all my fault for thinking I knew better."

"I was scared. I met someone truly special, and I held you away from me because I didn't know if you felt as deeply as I did. I've been burned in the past enough times to be cautious," she said.

"Where does this leave us now?"

"I'm going back to Spain in two days. I won't return to the states for a while."

He nodded and glanced away from her face.

"I guess there's nothing more to say. We missed our chance."

The defeat in his voice broke her inside.

"Terry, I loved everything about you—"

He smothered her lips with his.

His hands cradled her face. The reunion of his mouth against hers made her swoon. She parted his lips with her tongue and he took advantage of the opening and swept his tongue around hers. Their passion for each other never left. It pleased her that Eve turned out to be exactly as Dex predicted. That woman didn't want anyone to claim Terry after her, and only popped out to sow confusion in him, knowing how vulnerable he'd been to end their engagement. He figured out her charade and dumped her again, making her a two-time loser. She also relished that Terry got what he deserved on a purely petty level. That flat-faced ex showed him for all time that he never should've considered her as anything less than a dodged bullet. But at what cost?

Their kissing aroused her.

Her panties dampened, and Terry started moaning into her mouth. She ran a hand down his chest and brushed her fingers across the bulge in his pants. So stiff.

He cupped a breast and squeezed, then groped a nipple, pinching it through her dress and bralette. She came undone by looking deeply into his eyes. Love stared back at her. Regret, too.

She gave him love with her mouth, sliding her tongue against his with slow, succulent kissing. Rubbing on his dick through his pants had him panting her name. He lifted her dress, and she helped him pull down her pantyhose. She kicked off her heels, knowing she had to have him. He unfastened his belt and lowered his pants and boxer briefs.

She climbed on top of him as he held his erection up for her to slide down. Her pussy swallowed his dick easily, and they both sighed loudly when she reached the bottom with her ass resting on his balls. They kissed again and Michaela bounced on his dick, her slickness pleasing him.

She clung to his neck, pressing her cheek to his and pounded on that thickness, making a wet mess in his lap. He grunted and held onto her ass cheeks. Unprotected sex was something they never indulged in, but there was always an exception to that rule for a desire that overpowered them both. A final fuck was very necessary.

"Fuck me…fuck me…fuck me…raise up, raise up…now drop it back down hard on that dick…yes! Just like that, Michaela…fuck me, baby. Fuck that dick…fuck it…fuck me…shit…that's your dick…."

The throaty moans into her neck heightened her pleasure to the extreme. His voice sounded deeper than it ever did, and it serenaded her grinding into him fast and furious. Her clit rubbed against his shaft and electrified her walls, sending tiny spasms of pre-orgasmic release. She reached behind and squeezed his balls.

"You're trying to make me nut all in this pussy. Aren't you?" he choked out.

"Yes!"

He moaned, helpless to stop himself.

"I'm 'bout to give you the biggest nut…fuck, Michaela…why you do this to me now?"

He whimpered as she went stupid on his dick. All he could do was hold on to her plump ass cheeks and go along for the ride. They both had nothing to lose. Their foreheads touched, and desperate breathy pants sent warm air across their lips.

"Take this thick creamy nut, girl. I'm gonna fill you up… right now…oh shit! I'm cumming…I'm cumming…..!"

Terry's body bucked, and he held her so tight against him. She couldn't breathe. She felt the swelling of his dick and the quick pulses as he eagerly spurt a hot nut inside of her. His erratic panting and the pressure of him squeezing her tight compelled her to let go. Her eyes rolled back as her pussy clenched like it would never let his dick go.

"Terry…oh, God!" she cried out.

"Damn…Michaela…you fucked the shit out of me!"

They laughed.

Their voices bubbled up, a shared release like the old days together. Except this time, his warm cum flooded her pussy.

"We're going to look a mess going back inside," she grumbled.

"I don't care," he huffed into her hair.

She leaned back and his eyes held more desire for her. The feline quality in them brought shivers, and she had to look away from the intensity. He kissed her, and she gave in again, allowing their tongues to make a pact she knew they couldn't keep. Not anymore.

When her legs started cramping, she lifted off of his dick and lap, falling back into the seat. Cum pooled out of her, wetting her inner thighs.

She pulled up her underwear and pantyhose. Slipped on her heels. He fastened up his pants, and they looked at one another with longing. Outside of the SUV, he helped her put on her coat. She closed it up tight and cinched it with the belt.

They returned to the repast. She hoped God and the church couldn't smell the sex on her. Now and then, she glanced over at Terry and they burst out laughing, unable to hide the awkwardness of being together like that in a church parking lot. She became bashful whenever their eyes met, his thick lashes so seductive with his eyebrow arched, watching her move around the space.

When her parents said their goodbyes to the Tolliver family as the repast wound down, she and Terry bid farewell with silent eye contact. She rushed out behind her mother, feeling a hitch in her chest and a lump growing in her throat.

The summer sun in Mallorca did wonders for Michaela's rich skin color.

She wore long slinky dresses and drank chilled gazpacho by the pool in the small villa she tended for a British family who went to Australia for a long winter holiday.

Peace and tranquility spoiled her. Part of her house sitting duties were caring for two rowdy Ibizan hounds that snoozed at the foot of her pool lounge chair, the heat wearing them out into quiet submission.

Her cell vibrated next to her hip.

She swiped, and her eyes lit up behind her big shades.

Terry sent her a picture of himself wearing the gold compass necklace she bought for him in a pricey Mallorca jewelry shop. She had it engraved and mailed it to him in time for his birthday two weeks ago. He'd been on her mind a lot after leaving home. Wistful days passed by as she pondered her horizon. But he was always on the fringes.

He had the nerve to wear a sweater with no shirt while sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and sunlight making him look like a movie star.

Michaela let her index finger hover above the smartphone keyboard. She grappled with what to say. Touching her own compass necklace, she read the words her father put on it again.

"One's destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things."

Under a Spanish sun, Michaela Maxwell decided to trust with an open heart. Her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Taglist:

@nahimjustfeeling-writes

@planetblaque

@kindofaintrovert

@thedondada05

@blackburnbook

@avoidthings

@slutsareteacherstoo

@nayaesworld

@notapradagurl7

@4pfsukuna

@yamst3rdamctrl

@sweettea-and-honeybutter

@comfortzonequeen

@theereina

@brattyfics

@prettyisasprettydoes1306

@megane96

@honeytoffee

@taurusqueen83

@mightbeher

@melaninpov

@carlakeks

@woahthatshitfat

@hrlzy

@theglamclosetsl

@liquorlaughslove

@teeresaresa

@cocoagadgetsworld

@mogul93

@helloncrocs

@dremmmm

@simplyzeeka

@pearlkitten33

@jas241

@leahnicole1219

@kaykay772

@juniperlovesstuff

@kingclementyne

@thickmadame

@onherereading

@daneiawrites

@hotgrlcece

@darqchilddaydreamz

@ariiijestertheklown

@blackerthings

@soufcakmistress

@jaythegreat

@venusincleo

@ovohanna24

@kirayuki22

@beas-mind

@supremechae

@solunaseira

@kalaahisthebestest-

@justlo7

@kanafunee

@contentfiend

@nun0ir

@livingfiction

@megamindsecretlair

@ranikyani

@thegreatlibraryofalex

@wabi-sabi1090

@soft-persephone

@insertcatchynamerighthere

@invisiblegiurl

@mitruscity

@gopaperless

@thabiddie23

@beenathembo

@aldrigmer444

@gg-trini

@youalreadyknowitsmesis

@teddybeerz

@dimepiece09

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch 1

“For good service and cute waitresses”

pairing: pre military!jk x fuckbuddy!oc

contents: mild language, no smut (yet), fluff, humour, celeb au, very mild angst.

wc: 1.96k

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: if anyone wants to join pls comment!!

A/N: inspired by the iconic 97liner pics. Hi guys, this is my first id say, proper? fanfiction, im planning on making this a pretty long series ! also im posting smth i actually like, shocker! ive had secret fuck buddy oc x military!jk on my mind for so long and im so happy ive finished the part i’ve had in my notes for a hot minute! lmk what u think :> i also couldnt wait for the poll to finish before posting this haha, anyways enjoy and tysm 4 reading

masterlist | <previous | next>

The diner is quiet tonight. Though speaking too soon may grant you with a consequence, considering its only 6pm on a Thursday. You glance at the clock realising you have a long night ahead, and complaining will utterly make everything 10x worse. What’s worse is Nari is late to her shift like usual, and your boss’ constant singing in the prep room is sure to drive you insane sooner or later. He’s still humming as your scrubbing down the bar counter- its not like it needs it, you just aren’t in the mood to be scolded by a chunky, 40 year old man.

You don’t even realise you’re scrubbing the table even more vigorously when a combination of your phone ringing in your trouser pocket and a squeal of costumers sitting by the hibachi grill completely catches you off guard. It’s Hibachi night, and your day seriously couldn’t get any worser. You’re rolling your eyes at the family of three who barely pay attention to the chef cooking in front of them, with all of their phones plastered to their faces, and when they’re finally placed down to take the plate out of the chef’s hands and your sure you dont see a gesture of thanks, your grabbing your phone, walking to the bathroom and calling Nari.

“Nari! Where the fuck are you? Its Hibachi night, you can’t leave me here alone on Hibachi night!” You’re drawing imaginary patterns on the stall wall with your fingers, shuffling your knees under your chin whilst sitting on the closed toilet seat. Nari’s quick to apologise and tell you shes on the way, and you tell her goodbye before fixing your hair in the mirror and going back outside.

You know you’re in for a long night when a group of people enter the restaurant, your boss greeting them with his signature, annoying high voice, and you’re just glad you’ll have someone to share the misery with when Nari gets here.

“Y/n! Go and serve table 3, and put a smile on your face, they’re quite the group!” You’re pushing yourself off of the bar stool, quickly taking menus and sending your boss a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The oblivious man dosent seem to notice.

Dragging yourself to Table 3, the group of men are already seated, seemingly finding something hilarious though when you step into their view, it seems to die down. You’re flashing them a smile, quickly bowing before noticing that all of them are seriously attractive.

You notice the one sitting alone first, in the best way possible, his face is sweet. He has a smile which makes his eyes turn into thin crescents on his face and you cant help but smile back at him. He’s wearing a beanie, and his face is so perfect it’s hard to keep composure. The two sitting in front catch your eyes next, one with the most beautiful tanned skin, effortlessly masculine face which makes you wonder if he’d been specially sculpted and put on the earth to kill with his looks shoots you a smile. Finally, the last one, he’s wearing a bucket hat hiding some of his face, and he’s fiddling with his lip ring. He looks the youngest out of the lot, big doe eyes peeking through his hat and, he seems to be…looking at you far more intensely than the other two seem to be. His sleeve is slightly rolled up and you cant help but stare a second too long at the most beautiful sleeve of art adorning his muscular ar-

Seriously Y/n! Get it together, be professional!

You clear your throat when he smirks at you noticing your shameless gawking placing the menus in front of them “Hello, i’ll be serving you tonight, i’m y/n, can i get you started on any drinks?”

The guy in the beanie is first to talk, voice light when he asks for a beer. His grin widens when you look at him, and it’s easy to see why people would gravitate to him like yourself. He just has that charm.

Your heart beats a little faster when the one next to him interrupts the silence of you taking his order down, asking for two beers rather than one, his gaze is equally intimidating as it is intriguing, and you’re trying so hard to keep it professional right now, “Alright, and you?”

“Water’s fine for me, thank you.” You take the orders down quickly, sure that if you stood there any longer your heart would pound out of your chest. Where the fuck is Nari?

You turn to head toward the bar to grab their drinks, and you hear the faintest chuckle from the table. “Hey, don’t you need to see my ID first?” The voice belongs to the guy in the bucket hat—the one with the doe eyes and that unreadable expression. You freeze for a second, unsure of whether he’s joking or not. You glance back at him, and he’s staring at you, lips curling into a playful smirk.

You blink, trying to keep it professional. “Uh, do i?”

He leans forward, still fiddling with his lip ring, his eyes twinkling. “I look too young for that beer, right? You know, like one of those guys who gets ID’d for everything.”

His tone is light, teasing, and for a second, you almost think he’s serious. But then his friends start laughing quietly, and you realize—he’s just messing with you. You can’t help but roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips anyway. “Uh-huh. Right, sure. Let me grab your ID then, Mr. Underage.”

The others crack up even harder at that, and he just shrugs, chuckling under his breath. “I swear, I get carded everywhere. It’s kinda embarrassing, but hey, at least I look young.” You smile and roll your eyes, walking away to get their drinks, but now, you’re trying not to laugh too hard at the mental image of him getting carded at the grocery store or a random café. But it’s no surprise to you, in fact his young face has you seriously considering if he was actually underage. Oh well.

When you come back, with drinks, you take down their orders for food, their effortless small talk and flirting has you feeling like they aren’t in no rush for you to leave them alone, but you remember that you’re at work, and go back to scrubbing the bar counters, but you cant help but glance down at their table every now and then.

By the time you bring out their food, the conversation around the table has picked up again, the atmosphere light and easy. You can’t help but notice the way they’re all leaning into each other, laughing over something you missed. When you set the plates down, you quickly glance around to make sure nothing’s out of place, and that’s when you spot Nari walking in. She’s just clocked in, looking hurried, but you can’t help the relieved sigh that escapes your lips.

You barely have time to throw the boys a quick wave before you head back to the bar, feeling the weight of their gazes follow you for just a second longer than you’d like. Rushing over to Nari, she’s changing into her work clothes before giving you a smile and opening her arms for a hug. “Long day already?” You groan, moving back after hugging her and fixing her hair which has moved in front of her face.

“It’s Hibachi night. Also theres a group of some serious fine men, look ove-“ Your eyebrows furrow when she follows your finger and gasps so loud you wince. “Shh! I know! But be quiet, they might catch us..”

The look on her face tells you she’s indeed not surprised about the way they look and rather “That’s the Jeon Jungkook, oh and is that- Kim Mingyu? CHA EUNWOO?!”

You blink. Then blink again. “Who?”

Nari turns to you so fast you think she might give herself whiplash. “Who?! Are you serious? Are you actually joking right now?”

You shrug, confused. “They just look like really hot guys to me… wait? You know them? Shit did you guys like-“ You make a hand motion which you hope she takes as ‘do a thing’.

She looks like she might actually pass out. “WHAT—?! Oh my god, I can’t do this right now.” Nari presses a hand to her chest like she’s physically offended by your assumption. “Do a thing?! Are you insane?”

You raise a brow. “Okay, so you didn’t. Then what’s the big deal?” She’s pulling out her phone, typing something into google.

She looks like she might actually strangle you. “Y/n, they’re famous.”

You stare at her blankly. “And? We get a shitload of famous people here, whats the big deal?”

Nari makes a strangled noise. “And?! And?! You’re telling me you don’t recognize Jeon Jungkook—of BTS?! Or Mingyu from Seventeen?! Or Cha Eunwoo, literal actor, singer, face genius?!”

You cross your arms, unimpressed. “I mean yeah, I guess i recognise it a bit but- Nari, you do realize I don’t live on the internet like you, right?”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “This is actually so embarrassing. You served them like they were just—regular people.”

You blink at her. “I mean, they are regular people?”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “No. No, they are not.”

You snort, glancing back to the table in question, The boys are still eating, but Jungkook’s eyes are quick to meet yours and you swear you see the corner of his lips quirk up like he knows exactly what your talking about. You will yourself to look away, and you see Nari sneaking pictures under the bar counter. “Well I guess it’s too late, I already treated them like normal guys, and they didn’t seem to mind.”

Nari doesn’t let up. “Okay, okay—since you’re so professional, why don’t you go check on their table? You are their server, after all.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re up to something.”

“Me? Never.” She puts a hand to her chest like she’s offended. “I just think it’s good service to make sure everything’s okay.”

You groan. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’re still walking over.”

You mutter a few curses under your breath but do as she says, smoothing your hands over your apron as you approach the table again. They’re mid-conversation, laughing about something, but the second you arrive, Jungkook’s gaze flicks to you immediately. Great. Composure, y/n!

You take a deep breath before walking up, trying not to feel Nari’s eyes drilling into the back of your head. You’re just checking in. That’s it.

When you reach them, their conversation slows, and Jungkook glances up first, his dark eyes flickering to yours almost immediately.

“Hey, uh,” you clear your throat, gripping your notepad even though you don’t need it. “Just checking in. Everything good over here?”

Mingyu nods, smiling as he pushes his plate forward slightly. “Yeah, everything’s great. Thanks.”

Eunwoo hums in agreement, giving you a polite smile.

Jungkook, though—he doesn’t answer right away. He’s still looking at you, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. You shift on your feet, suddenly aware of how intense his gaze is.

“It’s good,” he finally says, voice smooth but casual. “Didn’t expect to have someone checking on me so much, though.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Huh?”

His lips quirk up just a little. “You’ve been around a lot. Just saying.”

You blink. “That’s-… literally my job.”

Mingyu huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, barely a smile, but it’s there. “Fair enough.” He looks down at his plate, nudging a piece of food with his chopsticks before glancing up at you again. “But I don’t mind.”

Your breath catches for just a second before you snap out of it, nodding stiffly. “Right. Well. Let me know if you guys need anything.”

You spin on your heel before he can say anything else, making your way back to the bar—only to find Nari grinning at you.

“So?” she sing-songs.

You roll your eyes, pretending you don’t feel the warmth still lingering in your face. “Shut up.”

—

As the night winds down, the table of ridiculously attractive men finally finishes their meals, and you’re just about to go over when Nari beats you to it, balancing the empty plates with practiced ease. She throws you a look—one that’s way too smug for your liking—as she walks past.

You roll your eyes, pretending not to care, but you can’t help glancing over. They’re still chatting, laughing among themselves, but one of them—Jungkook—stands up, stretching a little before making his way toward the bar.

Toward you.

You pretend to be busy, wiping down an already-clean spot on the counter, but you can feel him approaching before he even says anything.

“Hey,” his voice is smooth, casual, but there’s a slight rasp to it. “Just wanted to leave a tip.”

He slides a bill toward you, and when you glance down, you realize it’s…a lot. Way more than necessary. Your eyes flicker back to him, skeptical. “This is kind of excessive, don’t you think?”

Jungkook shrugs, resting his arms against the counter, tattoos peeking out beneath his sleeve. “Service was good.”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head. “You barely let me serve you. Nari took your plates.”

“Still counts, doesn’t it?” He tilts his head slightly, studying you in that way that makes your stomach feel weirdly unsettled. Not in a bad way—just aware.

You narrow your eyes at him, playful. “You do this everywhere you go?”

“What? Tip?”

“No.” You lean a little closer. “Flirt.”

Jungkook grins, running his tongue over his lip ring before speaking. “Only when the waitress is cute.”

Oh.

You open your mouth to respond—to throw back something equally teasing—but before you can, Mingyu calls his name from the entrance, signaling that they’re leaving. Jungkook glances over his shoulder, then back at you, his grin softening just a little.

“See you around?” he says, and you’re not even sure if it’s a question or a statement.

You don’t answer immediately, just biting back a smile as you watch him walk away. And when you finally glance down at the tip he left, there’s a note scribbled onto the bill:

“For good service. And cute waitresses.”

Maybe work wasn’t so bad tonight.

[mercutio-the-velaryon]

Okay, okay, but I'm kinda of obsessed with this messy au in my head. So post canon pregnant Mel becoming head of House Medarda and marrying for political gain not with the intent to cover up that the baby is born out of wedlock and to a disgraced scientist (Jayce Talis) but to ensure the child's future by having two lineages to protect them. Then Jayce (and Viktor probably) are spit out of the Arcane eight years later, in very rough shape, and they crawl their way to the Medarda colosseum (Viktor is attune to Mel's magic). They seek an audience with her, noxians laugh in their face. In order to get an audience with her, they have to fight or make themselves useful, Jayce chooses to enter as a champion, Viktor volunteers as a medic (those five years in purgatory the arcane was balancing the magic in his body so now he's a natural mage and a healer) (also medics were an addition made to the colosseum events by Mel along with the complete banning of fights to the death). But, of course there's a twist, see winning a match usually wouldn't get you an audience with Mel Medarda you'd have to win a whole season of fights no you only get a direct audience if you beat Mel Medarda herself. So, Mel comes out gallavants around the ring, and her foe is revealed. Jayce stumbles out, heaving a hammer over his shoulder. Their eyes meet, Jayce drops his hammer, and the crowd roars. Mel can't look weak, so she lands a blow, throwing him on his back.

She hypes up the crowd to give him time to recover. He catches on, and they fight hand to hand. Mel's pissed and growing more so by the second meanwhile Jayce is living in a daydream seeing his girl again but he soon starts to notice that she's looking at him like he's the devil incarnate flashes of grief but mostly anger she's also not mitigating any of her attacks and her magic is getting fiercer, her hair and her eyes glowing. He ends up on the ground defeated, but her magic is still volatile, tendrils of it, whipping around her until she short circuits and collapses to her knee , Jayce tries to gather himself and go to her. But somebody beats him to her. A child with eyes like his comes to Mel's side. It reminds Jayce of when Ximena fell into the snow all those years ago. Jayce stumbles over to them slowly, his heart in his throat. Mel tucks her child into her arms, her lips curled in contempt as she eyes Jayce like a threat. "Who are you?" Jayce asks the doe eyed child gawking at him from the safety of their mother's arms. But of course Jayce knew. Mel releases the child telling them to stand back, Jayce caught up in his own emotions tries to talk to Mel but she's not having it, she's sits him on the floor again, and raises her fist, declaring victory. The crowds erupt, bell ring. Jayce is left dumbfounded on the ground, Mel grabs her child and leaves the stadium waving around looking triumphant as she exits.

As a reward for lasting so long in the ring, Jayce is still granted a short audience with Mel. He's guided to a room, that seems to be something like a entertainment area for patrons, two long tables that lead to a throne, there are signs of life splashes of dried wine, tipped over goblets and half eaten carcasses sitting atop silver platters. It was obviously recently cleared out. Mel sits at the throne. He stands before her and notices those eyes again, peeking at him from behind the throne.

"You wanted an audience, here it is"

"I have to admit I didn't plan this far ahead," Jayce chuckles.

"So, you're wasting my time"

"I need your help"

"Yes, well some things never change"

"Aren't you at all curious about where I've been all these years?"

Mel hums at the irony.

"Not particularly no, you have one question left, Talis"

"Who's that behind you"

"Come forth," Mel holds out her hand the child reveals themself and grabs it.

"Tell my old friend your name,"

"Jaena Medarda, heir to House Medarda, daughter of Mel and Tizor" the young child manages. Mel smiles proud.

"Can you find cousin Salerri, my heart?"

The child nods and flees, giddy and light.

"Tizor?" Jayce asks as the door closes.

"My husband"

"Is it just you, or is Viktor here as well, sleuthing somewhere in the shadows"

"He's volunteered with the medics" he says gruffly.

"You should get him to check you out then, you're in very bad shape"

"Jaena... is she? She has to be..."

"She's my daughter that's all that matters"

"Mel"

"I can temporarily set both you and Viktor up with quarters in my estate, I'd offer you space elsewhere but the whole of Runeterra's in town for the Tournament of Houses"

"I- thank you for your hospitality, Mel"

"Of course, my guards will escort you,"

He is guided out. In her aloneness, her emotions flood and Mel breaks down. Tears flowing.

Afterwards, when Jayce and Viktor are settled, Mel and Viktor begin to bond over their magic, drawing them together. Jayce and Viktor get closer as well, but they're both hesitant to pursue things now that Jayce is technically a father. Jayce and Mel argue over Jaena and their relationship. Mel's husband is out of the picture for now because he's away at sea, with the Noxian fleets. Jayce and Mel eventually make up, and Mel reveals that Jaena knows that Tizor isn't her father because she didn't want to keep her daughter in the dark the way Ambessa did with her. She hasn't revealed that Jayce is her father but will allow him to do so if he so wishes. Jayce asks if they can tell her together. Mel agrees. They do and then do a bunch of family bonding activities so Jayce and Jaena can connect. Mel starts to pull back when she realises she's still in love with Jayce. Comedies and family dramas ensue. Ximena makes her way over from Piltover. Tearful reunions blah blah blah. Mel gets drunk with Viktor one night, and they kiss. Mel becomes avoidant with him, too. Leading to Jayvik cornering her in the middle of the night to talk about their relationship. And that's how meljayvik endgame. Thank you very much.

[greatw0r]

DATING VAN PALMER HEADCANONS...

van palmer x younger reader ( like early 30s )

She's the sweetest, most kind, funny, incredible partner! would do anything for you, and only wants to live a quiet, peaceful life with you

It would be so cute if you two had met at her store. you showing up confused, gojfn to buy a movie for your old movie freak friends and not being sure what to give her.

Van sees the cute, confused look on your face and immediately comes to help you.

Van found you adorable and requested a bunch of movies, each one a different genre for your friends linking. Eventually, you choose one, and Van keeps talking to you.

" So - you're not really a fan? " she asked with a grin on her lips, grabbing the tape and putting it on the cutest bag she had.

" I mean... obviously, I know most of these movies, but she's the expert, really, " you said with a chuckle watching the red head.

" If you come by again... I could request you another one... what do you like ? romance? action? I'll study it, " she said, and it was impossible not to smile at her.

" I like romance, yeah... " you said, and she handed you the tape. " Well, I hope to see you again so that I can tell you all about 80's romance, of course," she said, and you couldn't help but watch her for a little too long. the way her hair shined with the morning sun on the window, her akward but adorable smile, her ring filled hands...

" I'll come... surely don't want to miss on that- thankyou so much again " you said and you sure as hell went back again. and again and again.

it was natural at this point for her to see you, as the store is almost closing, sharing conversations on those last minutes.

but those minutes started to grow, she invited you for coffe, and then to see a movie on a open air cinema.

" Was this a date? " you asked her, watching her laugh with the popcorn on her hands.

" Do you want it to be? " she asked back, making you look at the grass you two were sitting in and back at her.

" Well... you already know what type of movies I like... " you said, making her small, watching the Notting Hill credits roll.

" Oh yeah... real relationship goals " she said, and you hit her arm playfully. " But seriously now... I want it to be... if you're into it ... I could decide our next one, " you said, and for the first, you actually made her speechless.

" oh game on... you're have to beat me tho... open air cinema ? that's a hard one "

after some more dates, you kissed, and it wasn't even in a special place, it was at her house, beers in the living room table, watching some shitty tv show you made her watch. Van would say it was the way the tv light hit your face and made her cradle your face in he hands, kissing you passionately.

Van is a real gentleman. She would do anything you ask her too, and she even does it without realizing it.

Grabbing things for you, walking on the side of the road, opening doors for you, ordering for you if you're too shy, a complete sweetheart.

braiding her hair before bed ahhhhh, they love it when you massage her hair and braid it gently, kissing her head in the end.

cuddling together on her couch, watching some movie she wanted you to see because she loves to pick new tapes from the store.

her not knowing how to shut up sometimes, always commenting about it, but it's okay!!!! because it's really cute.

But she will also show interest in your favorite things ! your favorite books, albums and shitty television (she eventually loves it too)

A lot of matching mugs, socks, keychains, rings, bracelets

Smells like pine/apple/wood yes yes hmhm

Is always warm, and you always use that in your favor, putting your freezing hands under their shirt

Loves to kiss your forehead, it brings her so much comfort, wrapping her arms around you and kissing you gently.

Always tries to cheer you up! Can tell when you are in a bad mood or sad, so makes a lot of jokes and won't stop until you'll give her a smile.

[halsteadlover]

𝐀𝐧 𝐔𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐞

*Pics not mine credits to the owner*

• Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader.

• Requested by @hart-kinsella: Basically, the fan fic could be set at one of Jay's Intelligence colleagues' wedding and mc is one of the bride's closest friends; the bride wants to set her up with one hot cop (could also be one who works on patrol). It could either be that the 'chosen' guy is not Jay, but then mc and Jay naturally connect at the reception (maybe through her wanting to avoid the guy she's set up with) or Jay being the 'set up' guy from minute 1 and them just meeting there (with the usual embaressement that comes from friends insisting you should get together) and hitting it off immediately.

• Warnings: curse words/strong language, mention of alcohol consumption, lots of tension and physical contact, heavy making out, suggestive at the end.

• Word count: 8.8k

• A/N: PLEASE READ ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+ DUE TO SUGGESTIVE THEMES. The way I was so excited about this fic but I reread it and now I hate it why am I like this 😭 Let me know in the comments what do you think about this one, I love you all ❤️

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you said to Kim as you watched her sip the champagne from her glass, her huge ring shining against the lights of the room.

She was radiant, a smile plastered on her lips as wide as you had ever seen her in all the time you were friends. She was happy and your heart exploded with joy seeing her finally have her happy ending with Adam, especially after everything they’ve been through.

She looked beautiful in her white wedding dress and you couldn’t hide the tears of happiness you shed when you saw her walk down the aisle, a radiant smile on her lips. Adam looked at her with eyes so bright and full of love it made you wonder if there’d ever be someone who’d look at you like that, as if you were the only person who mattered, as if without you he couldn’t even breathe.

“Of course it’s a good idea! There’s nothing better than a blind date with a hot cop,” she finished sipping her champagne and set it down on the tray as a waiter walked by, thanking him immediately after. “You don’t trust me? Have I ever let you down on the men front?”

You didn’t respond, just looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay there might’ve been some unfortunate meetings but this won’t be the case. Please, please, please. I swear he’s a really cute and good guy!” She begged, putting on her cute puppy face that not even the devil could resist.

Little bitch.

You sighed and rolled your eyes and that was enough to make her clap her hands with joy. “Only because it’s your day.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise.”

The fact was you were already regretting it.

You had never been very good at blind dates, you hated not knowing who you were going to talk to and spend the evening with, you wanted to be able to decide first if you liked that person. What if you didn’t like him, or if he didn’t like you? It would’ve been very awkward.

Actually, it was. It was definitely awkward.

Kim had pointed out from afar a man who was talking to Adam—ignoring how the latter was watching Kim without ever taking his eyes off her even while talking to other people—and you took your time to observe him.

He was a tall man, from behind you noticed his ash blonde hair and a statuesque body that was embraced by a tuxedo. Without even saying anything, Kim grabbed your hand and dragged you towards them, ignoring your signs of protest.

You were so nervous and you hated it.

And it certainly didn’t help that Kim had made it her mission to pair you up with someone, since you were the only single girl in your group of friends.

But you were happy, you weren’t lonely, you were fine being alone and that was important, you didn’t need a man by your side to determine your happiness. You defined your own happiness.

“Hi babe,” Kim greeted her husband, who smiled before sliding his arm around her hips and kissing her. The two of them were so in love it was almost disgusting. “Sorry I was rude. Caleb, I wanted you to meet my friend.”

Your cheeks flushed red as you felt the man’s gaze on you. “Oh so you’re the famous Y/n right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

God please have mercy.

“I hope only good things,” you replied with a smile and offered him your hand, which he immediately shook. The way his eyes moved up and down your body made your skin crawl, and the smirk he had plastered across his lips as he looked at you didn’t suggest anything good.

You pulled your hand away, forcing a smile as he started to speak, and cursed both Kim and Adam when you saw them sneak away, both giggling as they left you alone with that guy.

As they say, a woman’s sixth sense is like a gift, it never fails.

And it didn’t even take half an hour of talking to Caleb to realize he was self-centered and you’d never see him again. He talked your ear off as if you’d known each other your whole life, focusing mostly on him, his work, the gym, his exploits. You nodded every now and then, just to give him the impression you were listening when in reality your mind had dissociated after the first ten minutes of conversation.

And by conversation you obviously meant monologue.

He didn’t ask you anything, and by nothing you really meant nothing, not how old you were, your job, your hobbies, in short the simple questions one asks when one is getting to know another.

You looked around bored, cursing Kim and yourself with every fiber of your being for letting yourself being dragged—for the million time— in a situation you didn’t want to be in.

You decided you’d never take a single piece of her advice about men ever again.

“Once, when I was still on patrol, there was a robbery a few blocks away. I was alone and when I got there the thief was already running. I’ll make this short but even the commander congratulated me…”

You were trying really hard to listen to him but every time you tried to pay attention, he was still talking about himself. It was hard to follow his conversation/monologue without being fascinated by some random spot in the room like the chandelier.

Caleb was a beautiful man, that was objective. He was tall, broad-shouldered, he had a sculpted physique, defined jaw, eyes as blue as the sky. But beauty wasn’t everything, not when his character was similar to a mollusk.

“Hey baby, here you are, I’ve been looking for you for a while,” a male voice reached your ears from behind and you almost had a heart attack when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. You snapped your head towards the man, finding yourself in front of one of the most beautiful man you’d ever see.

Forget Caleb, who the hell was this man?

You froze, having no idea what to say or do. Who the hell was he? What did he want?

“Sorry it took so long but the line for the bathroom was endless,” the stranger continued and you tried with every fiber of your being to remain impassive. Your body was tense as a violin string as you tried to subtly move away from his grasp.

Breathtaking or not, you didn’t know him.

“Baby? You have a boyfriend? Kim told me you were single,” Caleb exclaimed almost indignantly, alternating his gaze between you and the stranger. You thanked God he was a second-rate cop and had the detective skills of a hamster or he would’ve seen from a mile away this was the first time you’d seen that man around you.

“Oh, well this is pretty new not many people know about us, but we’ve been seeing each other for a while. Thanks for keeping my girlfriend company—”

“Caleb.”

“Carl. Thanks,” the stranger held out a hand and Caleb looked at it before looking back at you and walking away without a word, a furious expression on his face.

You didn’t even bother following him because damn, you were so relieved you got him out of the way.

The stranger’s gaze was on you even though he had removed his arm from around you.

“Well, I guess you need to work on your acting skills but it went well right?”

You widened your eyes, still confused about what the hell was going on. “Who are you?”

“Oh you’re welcome, I didn’t just save you from the most boring date of your life,” he smirked.

You continued to look at him, confused, embarrassed and unable to form a coherent sentence. Who the hell was this man? And why was he so breathtakingly handsome? And why did he just pretend to be your boyfriend?

He held out a hand towards you, a smirk plastered across his lips, acting like he hadn’t just pretended to be in a relationship with a stranger. “I’m Jay Halstead. You must be Y/n right? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Jay? Why does this sound familiar?

You widened your eyes, not even trying to hide your expression of fear and shock. “How do you know my name?” You asked, taking a step back, ready to run away.

His gaze softened, understanding he must’ve really looked like a stalker. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, I work with Kim in Intelligence. She mentioned you a couple of times and I assumed it was you since you’re the only one of her friends I’ve never met.”

Then you realized why his name was familiar to you. Kim—when talking about her job—had sometimes mentioned a ‘Jay’ and it was nice to finally be able to associate the face with that name, especially if the face was that one.

God he’s so hot.

“Listen,” he continued, raising his hands in surrender, a drink in the left one, “I’m not a stalker I swear—I came off in the wrong way. I just saw you from afar while you were talking to Carl, and you seemed to be in trouble so I thought I’d help. Let’s start over, shall we?”

You tried not to chuckle at the way he got Caleb’s name wrong and stared at him for a moment. He maintained eye contact, his irises locked on yours with no sign of changing direction. You had only just noticed how green his eyes were and you didn’t know why, but something inside you made you no longer want to run away.

You nodded and he smiled triumphantly and, God, he had one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen. He held out a hand to you again. “I’m Jay, nice to meet you.”

You tried to suppress a smile of your own and you clasped his hand. “It’s Y/n, the pleasure is mine.”

That handshake sent a spark up your entire arm, not in the cliché kind of way, but in the way that made you feel your body suddenly enveloped in a wave of heat.

He didn’t let go of your hand right away, but you didn’t care. You liked it, you liked the way his grip was strong, firm, confident, but his touch soft at the same time. You liked how his palm felt rough against yours but his skin was warm, a stark contrast to yours.

His thumb skimmed against the back of your hand before he pulled it away, bringing the glass to his lips with his other hand and taking a sip of his drink. All without him ever breaking eye contact with you.

This single innocent gesture left you breathless.

Did I mention he’s so damn hot and sexy?

He looked at you with curiosity, as if he had already decided that from now on his attention would be solely on you.

“This is the part where I have to thank you for saving me from an embarrassing date, isn’t it?”

His eyes flickered for a second on your lips as you spoke and he subtly took a deep breath, taking another sip of his drink. You pretended it didn’t affect you in the slightest even though your stomach had just flipped.

“You not filing a complaint against me is a great thank you,” Jay replied making you laugh, “and besides, I should be the one thanking Kim.”

You tilted your head slightly to the side, looking at him with a questioning expression. “Kim? Why?”

“For setting you up with the wrong guy, might’ve missed my shot otherwise.”

You burst out laughing again and rolled your eyes. “C’mon Jay, is that the best you can do?”

“Ouch,” he put his hand to his chest as if he was in pain. “That really hurt, I may be rusty but I’m not that bad c’mon.”

You smirked. “You’ll survive officer.”

“Nuh, uh. It’s detective, please.”

“My bad, I apologize Detective,” it was your turn to raise your hands in surrender. “But seriously, thank you for saving me from whatever that was.”

He smiled softly at you. “It was a pleasure. You were a couple seconds away from pulling the fire alarm to escape, I couldn’t just stay there and do nothing.”

“Oh, so you make a habit of being a knight and saving damsels in distress?”

“Nah, only the ones that are worth saving,” he replied, and you laughed, feeling that anxious and nervous feeling fade away as you continued to converse—for real this time—with Jay.

“I could’ve gotten away with it, you know,” you crossed your arms and Jay’s eyes flickered, for a millisecond, to your chest, specifically the neckline of your dress.

“Please,” he raised an eyebrow, “if he had kept talking any longer you would’ve ripped your hair out.”

“Stop you’re so dramatic, that’s not true at all,” you rolled your eyes—even though it was the truest thing you had ever heard—making him chuckle. “What’s your poison?” You nodded to his drink as he brought it to his lips and took a sip.

A teasing smile caressed his lips and then it was your turn flicking your gaze to his mouth. You had tried to resist but damn it was so hard. “Bourbon, neat. Effective right?”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his playful energy. “Is efficient a new fancy way of saying banal and predictable?”

He let out a soft laugh, the sound so low and warm it made your insides squirm. “Probably,” he countered, “but it’s still a classic.” He slightly tilted his head to the side as his green eyes roamed along your body, lingering for a moment on your dress before meeting your gaze again. You felt every inch of your skin catch fire under his eyes and you couldn’t help but compare Jay’s gaze to Caleb’s, which only made your skin crawl instead. “But it’s not for you. I think you’re more of a champagne kind of woman.”

At that same moment, by pure coincidence, a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses passed not far from you. Jay stopped him and took it, before offering it to you. You blushed, before taking it, your fingers brushing against him. “Thank you.”

You lifted your glass towards him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. “To Kim and Adam,” you said.

“To Kim and Adam,” he repeated voice low and smooth. He raised his glass to meet you, the soft clink echoing between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke—his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. It was just a toast, simple and harmless, but the way he was looking at you? Nothing about it felt simple.

“So, you’re a champagne type of woman,” he smirked.

“Guilty,” you shrugged your shoulders. “But what can I say? I like little sparkle in my life.”

You took another sip of champagne and that time it was your gaze that roamed along his body, perfectly wrapped in the tux he was wearing—over the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his dress shirt stretched just right across his chest.

Man, he looked so good it had to be illegal.

When your eyes returned to his you noticed the way he clenched his jaw and the slightest twitch of his lips as he looked at you, as if he knew exactly what you were doing but didn’t mind a bit.

His fingers flexed around his glass and a sexy smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes shining like the moon in the night. He slightly tilted his head to the side, his index finger brushing along the rim of his glass in a slow, absent-minded motion—like he was thinking about something he probably shouldn’t say out loud. “A little spark huh? And here I thought I was bringing the spark.”

You giggled. Yep, actually giggled. “Oh yeah? So that’s what you’re doing?”

“If you’re asking me then I’m not doing a good job,” he retorted, with a fake sad expression acting like he just wiped a tear, “you’re hurting me so much tonight.”

“Oh, you poor thing, I’d hate to bruise that big ego of yours.” You placed a hand on his bicep and caressed it in mock comfort and, fuck, you had to use every fiber of your body to not squeeze and feel up his muscles.

He tensed under your touch, his breath hitching in his throat feeling of your hand on him.

His lips curved into a slow, lazy smile—the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drew, his voice dropping just a notch lower. “I can take a hit. Besides…” His gaze swept over you again, slower this time—unapologetic. “Something tells me it’s worth it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the smile threatening to break free, but to no avail. He was too good at this—too smooth, too charming, but damn if it wasn’t working.

“Careful Detective Halstead someone might think you’re flirting with me,” you smirked, taking another sip of your champagne.

He shortened the distance between you, subtly and not too noticeably, but you felt his presence, his scent enveloping you fully, more than it had done so far. “Luckily I don’t care about anyone but the person I’m talking to right now,” he replied, “and they’d be right because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

The air between you grew heavier—not uncomfortable but charged with something unspoken. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the noise of the wedding reception fading into a distant hum. You should’ve looked away, said something to break the tension, but you didn’t want to.

You’ve never felt anything like this, being so damn attracted to a man you were dying to kiss him, to touch him.

“So confident,” you murmured. You tried to keep your eyes on his, but you couldn’t, not when his mouth was not too far from yours. “And here I thought you were just being nice.”

He chuckled, his voice low and deep. “Trust me sweetheart, there’s nothing nice about what I’m thinking right now.”

You took another sip, hoping to steady the warmth curling low in your stomach. Why were your legs suddenly turning to jelly?

“So…” you started, arching a brow in an attempt to shift the focus back on him, “do you flirt like this with every girl you save, or am I just special?”

Jay’s smile widened and he took a slow sip of his bourbon before answering. “You tell me,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Do you feel special?”

Damn him.

You laughed softly, shaking your head and taking a deep breath at the same time. “You’re trouble, Halstead.”

He didn’t deny it. “And yet, you’re still talking to me,” he pointed out, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What does that say about you?”

“That I make questionable decisions?”

Jay let out another quiet laugh, but this one felt different—lower, warmer. “Or maybe,” he murmured, leaning in a bit towards you, “you’re exactly where you want to be.”

And the truth? You weren’t sure you could argue with that because he was right, you were where you wanted to be.

You finished the rest of your glass in a single sip because there were two possibilities, this or jump on him and you couldn’t already do that considering you had just met him.

He was throwing you off so much it left you speechless and it wasn’t like you. You didn’t know if you loved it or hated it.

He chuckled as he continued to look at you, as if he had just read your mind.

Your guardian angel, Kim—who you’d thank for the rest of your life from that moment on—appeared at that exact moment, interrupting the game of glances between you and Jay that was becoming too intense for your own good.

“Jay! Y/n? Where’s Caleb?” She asked, visibly excited and smiling.

“I have no idea, courtesy of my fake boyfriend here,” you nodded at Jay who chuckled sexily.

How could laughter be so sexy?

“We need to talk about your questionable taste in men Kim, what kind of rat did you want her to be paired with?” He joked one hand shoved into his pants pocket while the other held his almost empty glass.

“Hey, don’t talk to my wife like that, I’d say she made a good choice in men,” Adam suddenly intervened, wrapping his arm around Kim’s hips and pressing a kiss to her temple. The sight warmed your heart, making you smile like an idiot.

“So, you’ve already introduced yourselves,” Kim continued, alternating her gaze between you and Jay but with a sinister smirk on her lips.

You and Jay exchanged a quick knowing look. “Yeah, he saved me from the mess that was Caleb. And by the way, I’m never listening to you ever again Kim, don’t do that to me again.”

“You two look so good together,” Kim blurted out and giggled, visibly tipsy. “Don’t you think they look hot together honey?”

“Okay that’s enough, let’s get back to dancing,” Adam chimed in again, struggling to contain his laughter, before dragging his wife away.

Before she left though Kim came back to you and whispered, “I was watching you two from afar there’s so much sexual tension between you two that even I got turned on.”

Your cheeks turned on fire but before you could respond Adam finally dragged her away, leaving you alone with Jay again.

He let out a light laugh, and you turned your head towards him. “Do I want to ask you what she said?”

You shook your head, taking another sip of champagne as you still heard her words echoing in your head. “Nope.”

He looked at you for a moment, his eyebrow raised. “Kim really does have questionable matching skills, I take it this isn’t the first time with Carl,” he said, changing the subject.

“You have no idea,” you rolled your eyes, “my brain can’t comprehend how she managed to match me with these men and not one of them was normal.”

“Well, have you thought that maybe they weren’t the problem?”

You gasped in fake shock and elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be in excruciating pain, making you laugh at the show he was putting on. “I could arrest you for assault on a police officer you know that right? You’d look really pretty in a prison uniform.”

“You think I’ll look cute in handcuffs too?”

What the fuck?! Where the hell did that come from?

Jay, who was taking his last sip of bourbon, chocked on it and started coughing after the liquor went down the wrong way and, although you were embarrassed by the stupidity of that statement, the scene was pretty hilarious.

“You good? Should I call a doctor? What happened?” You teased him, trying to hold back your laughter but failing miserably.

“You know damn well what happened,” he retorted with mock annoyance even as the smile on his lips belatedly came. “And pretty wouldn’t even come close to how good you’d look in handcuffs if you really wanted an answer, but that’s something we’ll talk about later.”

You blushed, once again, from head to toe and hated yourself for this reaction and how easily he could see it. “Later? Who says there’s gonna be a ‘later’?”

He smirked down at you, and it was so sexy it made your head spin. “Trust me there will be.”

“You’re so cocky detective.”

Jay leaned in just a fraction, enough that the faint scent of his cologne wrapped around you—something warm and woodsy, with a hint of spice. “Only when I’m sure about something,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less intense.

His words hung in the air, thick and heavy, and you felt heat creep up the back of your neck. You could've played it cool, thrown back a quip, but the way he was looking at you made your pulse skip in a way that was impossible to ignore.

His gaze dropped to your lips again—just for a second—but it was enough to send a fresh wave of heat curling through your body.

“C’mon,” he said suddenly, holding out a hand towards you. “You owe me a dance.”

You lifted a brow. “Do I?”

Jay shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I did save you from Carl. Seems only fair.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile that broke free as you slipped your hand into his. “Alright, Detective,” you quipped, “but only because you asked so nicely.”

His fingers curled around yours—firm, warm, just the right amount of possessive. And as he led you toward the dance floor, you realized something else: you didn’t want to let go.

The music shifted as you reached the edge of the dance floor—something slower, smoother, the kind of song that practically begged for two people to be just a little too close.

Exactly what you wanted.

Jay didn’t hesitate. His hand slid easily to your waist, fingers splayed warm and wide on the small of your back as he pulled you against him, close enough to send all your senses into a tizzy.

It had been hard until now, but this? Being so close to him that you could even count his eyelashes? It was devastating.

You couldn’t even recognize yourself, you’d never found yourself craving a man’s touch so badly, like you needed it to breathe, and in that moment you realized you’d only met the wrong people because, fuck, you were missing out.

“You good with this?” he murmured in your ear, his voice just for you. Low. Intimate. And there was something in the way he asked—like he cared, but also like he already knew your answer.

You nodded, hoping he didn’t feel the way your heart was beating against his chest. Your bodies began to sway in time to the slow music, like you’d done it a million times, like he wasn’t a stranger to you and you a stranger to him.

You didn’t know anything about the man, and he didn’t know anything about you, but you were so drawn to each other it almost drove you crazy.

As you engaged in small talk, you tried not to focus on how close he was—on how his thumb brushed against your back every time he shifted—but it was impossible. Especially when every slight movement seemed to make the space between you shrink.

He asked about you, what do you do for a job or in your free time, how old were you, how long have you known Kim, you asked about him and his life, and it was crazy how, even though you had known each other for literally a short time, you both felt comfortable talking to each other, joking and laughing when you both made terrible jokes.

“You’re really giving me a hard time,” he said, his fingers flexing on your hip.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, realizing how he was already looking at you. There wasn’t any trace of humor left, his eyes were staring at you, but they weren’t focused on yours exactly, they traveled along your face as if he was analyzing you, memorizing every feature and detail.

“Why?” You asked and his eyes flickered on your lips. He continued to caress your hip unconsciously, your bodies pressed against each other and with every slight movement you could feel the heat between you intensifying.

“Because I’m trying so hard to behave and be a gentleman but it’s getting really hard,” he answered softly, his voice raspy, his breath an inch from your lips. “And I hate not being in control.”

You stopped breathing for a second and a shiver ran down your spine. It would’ve been so easy to break that distance, it would’ve only taken a couple of inches and his mouth would’ve been on yours to finally satisfy that visceral attraction that was pulling you towards each other.

And you most likely would’ve let him do it if it hadn’t been for Kim who, with her usual perfect timing, had grabbed your arm, totally drunk and with a beaming smile.

“C’mon Y/n, we have to dance together!” she exclaimed loudly, jumping up and down with an enthusiasm you had never seen in her as she continued to pull on your arm without even leaving you room to protest.

Jay’s arm was still around your hip, though his grip wasn’t as firm as it had been before, and you hated to admit it, but you already missed that touch.

It seemed mutual because you felt him tense for a moment, his fingers reluctant to release their grip on you, as if he also hated the idea of letting you go. But eventually he did, slowly, the heat of his hand still burning through your dress and against your skin even after you’d pulled away.

“Don’t go too far,” he whispered in your ear, quiet enough to make it seem like a secret between the two of you.

And as Kim dragged you through the crowd to the beat of a more upbeat song, you turned to him and gave him one last look. Jay was still there, standing at the edge of the dance floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets, that intense gaze still fixed on you. He winked at you before you disappeared into the crowd and you almost tripped on your own feet.

Oh my fucking god.

Jay leaned against a wall, his hands still in his pockets, one foot placed in front of the other. In other moments he wouldn’t have waited to take another drink, but that night he wanted to be as sober as possible.

His gaze was fixed on the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, but not on everyone, his eyes scanned the people only for one person in particular. He cursed those disco strobe lights because, in those dim lights, it was not easy to find you.

But when he finally did, his attention was focused only and solely on you, not on the music, not on the world around him.

You were laughing now, spinning with Kim on the dance floor, some strands of your hair coming out of your hairstyle as you moved to the music. He should’ve backed away. Hell, he’d spent years perfecting that skill, knowing when to pull back, where to avoid getting too close, perceive when there was danger. But with you? It wasn’t that easy.

It hadn’t been from the second he laid eyes on you, when he saw you enter the wedding venue with some of your friends.

He didn’t know what kind of witchcraft you had performed on him but he seemed to not be able to stop looking at you. His gaze tracked the curve of your smile and the movement of your lips as you sang along the song, the flush on your skin from the warmth of the room, and the way your dress hugged your figure just enough to make his thoughts stray somewhere they shouldn’t.

He told himself to get it together—to stop looking at you like a creepy stalker—but it was a losing battle, he seemed hypnotized.

And when you tipped your head back, laughing at something Kim said, Jay swore under his breath.

He was in trouble.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just the way you looked—although you were one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—it was the way you felt. Warm and soft against him when you danced, your hand fitting so easily in his. The way you leaned into his touch, like part of you wanted him closer, even when you were pretending otherwise.

It almost scared him how he found himself talking, laughing and joking so easily with a stranger he had just met.

But he wanted more of that. More of you.

And that realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

Jay exhaled slowly, willing the tension in his chest to ease. It didn’t work. Not when you turned your head as you kept dancing, scanning the room as if you were searching for something, or someone.

And when your eyes locked, his heart gave a sharp kick, one he didn’t truly expect. And the way you held his gaze? It did something to him.

Your lips curled into the faintest smile—small, almost shy—and damn if it didn’t make something twist low in his stomach. He should’ve been the one in control here, but with just one look, you had him pinned. And the worst part was that he didn’t mind.

Not even a little.

Your attention was caught again by one of your friends who pulled you towards her as you belted out the song in the background, breaking eye contact.

He tried to look away from you sometimes, focusing his attention on something else but it was as if his eyes were attracted to a magnet, you.

And maybe that was the problem.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this, wasn’t supposed to want someone he’d just met with this kind of heat and desire curling through his veins. But here he was, eyes on you, mind already running a dangerous path of wondering how you’d taste if he let himself get too close.

He was about to move—to do something, anything—but then Kim grabbed your hand again, spinning you around in a dizzy circle. Your laughter rang out, bright and carefree, while Jay just stood there against that wall.

He didn’t belong in this moment. Not really. A guy like him—weighted down by too much baggage, too many mistakes, a very dangerous job—had no business wanting you like this.

But God help him, he did.

When the song shifted to something louder and faster, you finally pulled back from Kim, breathless and glowing in a way that had no right to make his pulse pick up. Kim was already dragging Adam away, leaving you alone again, and for half a second, Jay thought this was his shot.

But then, just as quickly, you disappeared into the crowd.

And that shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. More than it had any right to.

Jay exhaled, dragging a hand through his face. He told himself to play it cool, to just let it go, but the thing was, he didn’t want to let it go. Let you go.

And if he had anything to say about it, this night wasn’t ending until he found you again.

Jay pushed himself off the wall, his pulse thudding a little harder than he wanted to admit.

He wasn’t the type to chase after someone, not like this. But that night, he couldn’t seem to help himself. His eyes scanned the room, but the crowd was thicker now, people swaying to the music, bodies pressed too close.

You weren’t on the dance floor anymore. He knew that much. And the longer it took to find you, the harder it became to shake the restless feeling gnawing at the edges of his control.

Get a grip, Halstead.

He could’ve leave you alone. Should’ve, probably. But as he moved through the party he knew nothing would sit right until he saw you again.

And then, just when he started to think he’d lost you for good, he caught a sight of you through the open door leading to the balcony.

Jay hesitated, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, all he knew was that the moment he saw you again, his mind quieted. And maybe that was reason enough.

Without giving himself time to second-guess, he stepped outside.

You were leaning against the railing, your back to him, the cool night air brushing against your bare shoulders. He let himself take in the sight of you for just a second longer—how the city lights reflected off your skin, how you tilted your head back like you were finally catching your breath.

You were breathtaking. So fucking beautiful it hurt.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d get another chance to steal you away.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, and there it was again, that little smile. “Something tells me you love a good challenge Detective.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. “I feel like the reward will be worthy.”

He moved closer to you as he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders, leaving his hands there for a while as he let your scent engulf him. You then turned fully to face him and Jay didn’t miss the way your eyes roamed along his body, focusing for a moment on his chest, his arms, before looking back into his eyes.

“Oh so you really like me,” you joked, eyes still on him, slightly tilting your head but he couldn’t ignore the blush on your cheeks.

“Thought I made that pretty clear by now.”

And just like that, the tension stretched tight again, thicker this time but with the difference that nothing and no one would interrupt this time.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The distant thump of music spilled through the open door, but out here? It felt like the rest of the world had faded away.

He closed the distance between you, never taking his eyes off yours. He tried to pull away, but it was as if he physically couldn’t, as if he needed it.

“And here I thought you’d even left the party.”

“You’re hurting me so much tonight, I’m not that bad at hitting on you c’mon.”

You giggled and bit your bottom lip. He found himself suppressing a groan because, damn, he had never wanted anything so badly as he wanted to bite your lip.

“Well,” you batted your lashes, “you’re definitely making it hard for me to leave now,” your eyes flicked to his lips before returning to his and he told himself to calm down but, God help him, if you did that again he’d lose every ounce of control he had left.

“I guess you found a good reason to stay then,” his tongue flicked across his bottom lip and he couldn’t miss the way your gaze landed on his lips, again. The light was dim, not very bright, but he could see so clearly how dilated your pupils were and it drove him crazy, knowing you felt the same.

“Is that so?” You murmured. He leaned closer to you and placed his hands on the railing at either side of you, trapping you in his arms but not touching you. Your breathing quickened at the closeness, your lips parted slightly as if you needed air, and that was enough to make his pulse quicken and the heat in his blood spike.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he taunted

You let out a quiet laugh, warm and soft, and something about the sound made his fingers itch to touch you again, so much so that he tightened his fingers around the cold metal of the railing.

You took his tie—which had been dangling between you—into your hands, and Jay seriously thought he was going to collapse at your feet at any moment. You hadn’t done anything too dramatic, but he felt like he was going to have an aneurysm. Just seeing your fingers caress the fabric of your tie, how you played with it while you continued to look at him, drove him crazy.

“I’m exactly where I want to be,” you repeated under your breath the words he had said a few hours earlier. His hands were gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles were completely white from trying to vent the frustration he felt.

His fingers inched closer and closer to you, until the sides of his thumbs were brushing against your dress. God, how much he wanted to grab you, hold you and touch you, every inch of your body until the ground disappeared beneath you.

You didn’t pull away, if anything, you shifted closer, your warmth seeping into his skin.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked when he remained silent, staring at you while you continued to play with his tie.

“I think,” he murmured, his thumb sweeping slow circles against your pelvis’ side, “you’re gonna be a problem for me.”

The tension cracked, sharp and electric, and neither of you moved, like you were both waiting to see who’d break first.

“Maybe I want to be,” you admitted quietly.

That was all he needed.

Jay didn’t overthink it, he just moved, closing the last bit of space between you. His hand slid to your waist and made you stand upright, as he tilted his head down, giving you plenty of time to pull back.

But you didn’t.

You stayed right there, your breath warm against his skin as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

“You’re making this impossible,” he said, his voice rougher now, low enough that only you could hear. His fingers flexed against your waist, dragging you closer without meaning to. Or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure anymore. “I’m trying so hard to be good, but—fuck.”

“But what?” you interrupted, your tone softer, breathier than before. His eyes snapped to yours, and the challenge in your gaze nearly broke him. “What happens if you stop trying?”

His breath hitched. Jesus Christ.

Jay let out a low, bitter laugh, because you weren’t making this any easier. And the worst part? You knew it. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” he asked, as his fingers trailed up, just slightly, brushing the curve of your ribs. It wasn’t a question. Not really.

Your lips parted, and for a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d call his bluff. But instead, you tilted your head, eyes fixed on his mouth like you were imagining the same damn thing he was.

“I really, really do,” you murmured. And that was it. That was the crack in the dam.

His other hand came up before he could stop himself, fingers grazing along your jaw, tilting your face toward his as his nose brushed against yours. “You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he admitted, no more games, no more teasing. Just raw, unfiltered truth. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t even know you but you’re driving me crazy. You have to stop me.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Instead, your lips curled into the faintest smile, bold, knowing, and it only fueled the fire already burning through his veins.

“The thing is, I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, leaning in just enough for your breath to brush against his lips, “I don’t want you to be good or patient.”

The words punched through his last shred of restraint like they were designed to. And for a beat, all he could do was look at you—at the flush on your skin, the way your chest rose and fell a little too fast.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he warned, though it came out rougher than he intended, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, slower than necessary.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you shot back, quiet but sure—so sure—and, fuck, he was done for.

He wanted to win that little silent race, to see you snap but the truth was that he had lost from the start, he had no chance of winning.

So, when he finally kissed you, it wasn’t an attempt.

It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted, in case it was the last time. The faintest hint of champagne lingered on your lips, but beneath it was something that made his heart slam harder against his ribs.

You kissed him back like you wanted this just as much as he did, your hands sliding up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deeper, making his jacket fall on the floor.

And Jay? He let himself fall into it. Into you.

Jay’s lips moved against yours, slow and thorough, but nothing about the way he touched you felt careful. His hands slid along your waist, fingers pressing into the curve of your hip, squeezing you like he was memorizing the shape of you. Every brush of his skin against yours sent sparks racing through your body, and the heat pooling low in your stomach only grew stronger with each passing second.

His palms flattened against your lower back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between your bodies, until you could feel how much he really wanted you. He was warm, solid—everywhere—and the way he held you made your breath hitch.

You tugged lightly on the back of his neck. The muscles beneath your fingers were tense, and a shudder ran through him as your nails scraped gently against his skin. His breath hitched in response, and something about knowing you could unravel him like this made the heat in your blood burn hotter.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice rough and frayed at the edges. His lips brushed over yours again, lingering like he was savoring the taste of you. But his hands, God, his hands, were anything but patient.

His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up your spine, skimming beneath the hem of your dress as he went. The warmth of his touch against your bare skin felt a sharp, delicious shiver curling through you, and when his hand settled at the small of your back again, his grip tightened, so possessive like he wanted to keep you exactly where you were.

And you wanted to stay there.

You wanted more.

Your body arched instinctively into his, and Jay swore softly under his breath, his hold on you turning rougher, like he was losing the battle to keep himself in check. His fingers flexed at your hip, sliding lower, almost touching your ass before skimming back up, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you most.

And when your hand drifted from his neck to the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric, you felt the sharp rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm. His heart was racing and the realization felt another jolt of heat spiraling through you.

“Jay,” you breathed against his mouth, in such an intense and desperate tone, as if you needed him and his distance hurt you, and his response was immediate. His lips crashed back onto yours with a hunger that stole your breath, and the slow, careful rhythm shattered beneath the weight of all that tension.

He kissed you harder now, deeper. His tongue swept along your lower lip, and when you opened up for him, he groaned softly, a low, desperate sound that made your knees go weak.

His hand slid higher, dragging up your side, fingers brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ribs. He didn’t stop there. He traced the outline of your body desperately, knuckles grazing the side of your breast before his palm flattened against your ribcage, holding you firmly against him.

“Is this okay?” He whispered against your lips.

“Yes, god, yes please Jay,” you whispered back and damn, if your breathy voice hadn’t completely destroyed him. He loved seeing you as desperate for him as he was for you.

He kissed you again. “You’re driving me insane,” he murmured against your lips, and there was no teasing left in his voice. Just raw need. “I can’t—If you want me to stop say it because I fucking can’t.”

The response to those words of his was the way you grabbed his face and crashed your lips onto his again. “I don't want you to stop.”

Whatever fragile restraint he’d been clinging to snapped completely.

Jay’s hands tightened on your waist as he backed you against the wall, pressing you there like he needed to feel every inch of you against him.

His lips left yours just long enough to trail down your jaw, his breath warm as it ghosted over your skin. He didn’t stop when he reached your neck. Instead, he tilted your head gently to the side, giving himself more access as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat and making you sigh in pleasure.

And when his teeth graced that sensitive spot just below your ear, you couldn’t hold back the soft sound that escaped your lips.

Jay froze at the sound—just for a second to control himself before he’d come in his pants. He groaned low in his throat, his mouth returning to yours in a kiss that was rougher now, messier, hungrier. Like hearing you fall apart pushed him over the edge.

One arm was around your waist as he held you so tightly it was almost impossible to move, while the other hand slid down, fingers spreading wide across your thigh. His thumb brushed slow circles against the sensitive skin there, inching higher with every pass. “Tell me to stop, and I will, okay?” he repeated.

But the way he touched you, the way his mouth lingered on yours, made it painfully clear he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

“If you stop now, I might actually lose my mind.”

He chuckled before kissing you again as you pulled him closer, tilting your head to deepen the kiss even further. Your hands cupped his face, his beard tickling your palms as he took your breath away completely.

He slid his hand up your thigh again, taking advantage of the slit of your dress to touch your skin, to squeeze it, to feel it, to press his fingers so deeply into it until they left their mark. He grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist, making his pelvis grind with yours and making you both moan into the kiss.

His lips trailed back down to your neck, licking and sucking every inch of skin he had access to. “I want you so fucking bad.” His breath was hot against your skin, and when he spoke again, his voice was nothing but a rough, desperate whisper.

“Oh my fucking god Jay,” you gasped, trying to keep your voice low as his hand slid on your ass, squeezing it until you almost moaned again. “I want you so much too… Please…”

His lips found yours again, a desperate, greedy kiss that only deepened the ache between you two. There was no hesitation, no slowing down. Every touch, every movement, felt like a need that couldn’t be contained. You could feel the heat rising between you, consuming both of you in a way that made everything else fade.

His hard dick pressed into you, and the pressure made your breath hitch, another moan escaping as you started to grind into him again. His mouth left yours only long enough to whisper your name, low, rough, like a command.

“God, I need to feel you,” he muttered against your skin, like he was about to break. His teeth grazed your ear before his lips closed around the sensitive spot just below it, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped again. It only turned him on even more, his hands moving and exploring every inch of you, as though he couldn’t get enough.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his back, his chest, pulling him even closer, matching the urgency of his movements. You wanted to rip that shirt off of him, you wanted to feel his skin under your fingers, touch him everywhere.

His lips trailed down to the curve of your shoulder, sucking gently as the strap of your dress slid down. The sensation made you pulse race beyond imagination, and you found yourself tugging at his shirt, eager to feel more of him.

“Jay,” you breathed again, voice trembling, and you pulled his face back to yours, crashing your lips together with the kind of hunger that mirrored his own. The kiss was messy, full of heat and need, and you lost yourself in it. You bit his lower lip, sucking it and making him groan. And, fucking hell, the sound was so sexy you felt it directly in your lower regions.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck Y/n,” he muttered desperately. His fingers brushing over the lace of your underwear before slipping inside, feeling how wet you were. The contact was electric, and the sharp Moab you let out made his almost like in his pants. “Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips.

“Yes, shit… Oh… Oh god Jay you feel so good please don’t stop,” you moaned, your body moving on instinct, a desperate need for more, and the words only seemed to unravel him further.

There was no turning back now, and for once in your life, it felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

General tag list: @hngbrooks, @alexxavicry, @halstead-severide-fan, @mrspeacem1nusone, @allivs, @omniaimy, @cursedashes, @kmc1989, @firetruckstuckley, @23victoria, @buckybarnessweetheart, @fanaticlove16, @ajordan2020, @multi-fandom-lover7667, @emryb, @luftmenzch, @anamiad00msday, @caroldanverwife

Jay Halstead tag list: @nosy09, @Cbaby, @luvreading67, @danielmarie, @Saiyuo12, @annahargrove, @nachodaze, @waywardhunter95, @fighterkimburgess, @ephemeral3, @mads-weasley, @itskellysev, @Lovemedlife, @atarmychick007, @amazedbyitall, @glodessa, @xeleni-dutchnurse, @ossypooh, @itriedtoexplain, @randomwriter1021, @averyhotchner, @ellevandeberg, @junevoidzombie, @nocturnalherb16, @croissantthief, @jayhalsteadsbadge, @youngblood199456, @burgstead, @bebataylor84, @ares-kelani-wayne, @lxna-mikaelsxn, @sande5098, @smoothdogsgirl, @withakindheartx, @Jess2013, @maddu-oliveira, @lovemesomepietro, @onechicagodrawings, @Jinxfan18, @xeleni-nurse, @Firerusher, @ready-hit-it, @Rainroo2, @smutlOver, @kuroe-san, @dreamss-wavess, @halsteadloversworld, @laaaauuraaaaa, @itserickalove, @slytherlight, @notanordinaryprincess95, @goingwiththewind, @mel0809, @cadyfanninger, @acewritesfics, @wickedlovely121, @iloveest, @instantpizzacat, @novabckly, @thatcrimeshowchick, @wnbweasley, @anaferreira-4

Click here to be added to the tag list ❤️

Main masterlist

Jay Halstead masterlist

Support me on Ko-Fi ☕️

Side blog -> @halsteadloverslibrary

Ask link 💭

[lavandulawrites]

Daffodil

Yandere!Botanist/ flower shop owner x reader

This OC is inspired by a certain Lord of the Rings character. Ten points to those who can guess who;) I have been wanting to make a softer yandere OC for a while, I hope you like Oliver<3

Synopsis: Your friend shares her concern that your other friend, the sweetest man you know, is stalking you.

Masterlist

Oliver’s (Yandere Botanist) Character Profile

Warnings: yandere, original character, soft yandere, mention of stalking, manipulation, further murder?

Word count: 1478

Oliver was a sweet man. A gentle giant some would say. He was caring, kind, gentle and loving. Oliver loved to both cook and bake, and both he excelled at. His cooking rivalled that of the greatest restaurant, and his baking was so good that it had made you weep.

This is way the words coming from your trusted friend greatly shocked you and offended you.

“He isn’t right in the head [Name]. Maybe you don’t see it because you’re blinded by his sweetness and his caring nature, but please listen to me!” your friend pleaded. Her forehead was wrinkled in frustration and her eyes frantic. “I swear I am telling the truth! He is-”

“A stalker? Really? You seriously think I would fall for that nonsense??” you interrupted her in her ranting. You found it impossible to believe that the sweet man who’s love for kittens was as adorable as a kitten itself. The man who owned a little cozy flower shop, the shop that you always found time to stop by whenever you were on your way home from work or uni. Oliver always had time to listen to your struggles and he always managed to comfort you with either tea or the best hot chocolate you could ever ask for. His sturdy, but slightly soft body perfectly fitted his personality. Though be no fool, he was as strong as a horse, that had been clear for you when he had to help and push your little stupid car that had gotten stuck in the muddy ground. He was a handsome man, with kind brown eyes with golden flecks. He had wavy dark blond hair with light brown streaks. Freckles dusted his cheeks giving him a cute appearance. He was perfect. Your parents loved him, your siblings loved him and your neighbours loved him. You thought your friends loved him too, but that didn’t seemed to be the case for her.

Her eyes narrowed as you were lost deep in thoughts. She waved her hand in front of your face, which caused you to stagger backwards. “Hello??”

You snapped out of it and your eyes found hers. The truth was, that you had started to fall for your botanist friend. You had fallen hard.

“Sorry I got distracted…” you mumbled. “But no, I don’t believe you when you say he is a stalker. Do you even have any proof?” you ask her with a raised brow. You loved her as friend, but you were wounded by her hurtful claims.

“I have seen him sneaking around your flat. We almost always stumble upon him when we are out. It doesn’t even matter what we are doing” she shook her head.

“Really? That’s it? He lives close by, so it’s not that weird that we meet him from time to time” you sigh at your friend. This wasn’t enough to ring any alarm bells. At least not for you.

“Okay, okay. Listen, I know this is not enough to repost him or anything-”

“Report him?! Are you out of your mind?!” you exclaim in disbelief. Who in their right mind would report a man as sweet as Oliver?

“Please let me finish” your friend presses her hand gently on your shoulder to stop your outburst. You nod in response with a lower head and let her continue. “All I am saying is that it’s weird. So many coincidences… I also found it weird that he was in the same women’s store. And in the makeup section too?” your friend’s voice was laced with frustration.

“At least think about it, okay? And be careful. Promise me that” she gave you a pleading look.

Your friend’s words had plagued your mind for the last couple of days. At first you, you didn’t even want to give it a thought, but the more you thought about it, the more the uncertainty crept in. You stopped in front of the cozy flower shop. Even though it was late winter, the shop had quite the few customers. Beautiful flowers in all different kinds of colours were sat in the window, tempting the by-passer to come inside. The interior was old fashioned, with dark old wooden floors and light green floral wallpaper. Paintings with different flower motifs filled the walls were plants weren’t hung up in display. The counter was of the same colour as the floor with a emerald stone countertop. An antique golden register was placed on top the counter which further made you feel like you were in a different time period. A sofa was placed between two shelves on the short far-end wall. It was an old light blue sofa who Oliver had bought from an old lady. It was at least over hundred years old.

Oliver smiled from behind the counter where a costumer just had finished paying for a bouquet of red roses. The bell rang as the women left the store with the bouquet gently placed sun her bag. Now the store was empty save from the two of you.

“Hi! Enjoying the weekend so far?” the blonde man greeted you. His friendly smile revealing the dimples which you loved. He leaned slightly on the counter like a happy puppy.

Your heart fluttered by his cute gesture. “Hi! I am. I thought I should stop by and say hello as it was in the way” you returned the smile. “How are you? Have it been a busy day so far?”

“I’m quite good. Even better now that you are here. It hasn’t been too busy, but that’s okay as I needed to finish some flower bouquets for a weeding” his freckled cheeks slightly reddened. “How are you doing?”

You blushed slightly at his words, but quickly concealed it by looking away. “I’m also doing good”. You paused for a bit. Your fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of your woollen coat. You wanted to ask him about what your friend had said, but you didn’t want to sound rude or accusing. You sharply inhaled. “There is something I wanted to ask you about. I am sure it’s just a coincidence and I don’t mean to sound rude or anything” your words fell out in a fast flurry of words.

Oliver narrowed his eyes quickly before they returned to normal. “Go on” he said in his usual tone.

You hesitated for a moment before you closed his eyes and spurted out “A friend of mine has made me aware that I often bump into you on the most random places… At first I thought nothing about it, but after giving it a good thought, I must say that I agree with her. I mean it is probably just a coincidence, but still. I don’t mean to offend you or anything, but it is kinda strange?”. You give him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, but it is something that has been bugging me” After you had opened your mouth, you had instantly regretted it and you wanted to slam your head as hard as you could against the green stone of the counter.

Oliver’s expression darkened slightly before he smiled his usual warm smile. “I see…” he paused for a moment, clearly in deep thought. “Well, I do love quite close to you and my shop is even closer. Plus it’s not weird to see someone you know out in public” his smile softened. “You shouldn’t think to much about. But I promise you that it’s all coincidences. I hope I haven’t frightened you. Because that’s not my intention at all” he stepped away from the counter and rounded it. Oliver’s large hands gently clasped on your shoulders. He strokes his thumbs up and down in a calming motion. His sweet beautiful brown eyes look at you with utmost adoration. “Would you like some tea, my flower?”

You nodded. “Yes please. I’m so sorry for accusing you of such. That was uncalled for” you rub your finger down your nose bridge in embarrassment and frustration.

“Don’t worry. It’s alright. I am just happy I haven’t accidentally made you uncomfortable”.

As the botanist prepared you some floral tea, your thoughts drift. How could you be so rude to your beloved friend? He was pure hearted and would never hurt a fly.

Oliver hummed as he poured you both some tea. As he hummed on Here Comes The Sun by his favourite band The Beatles, he couldn’t help the anger that flowed through his veins like ice. Your so called friend had tried to tear you apart from him. That was not something he could allow. His nails dug into the wooden table and he could feel splinters stabbing the skin underneath his short nails. Your friend would come to regret her words and that soon. But first, he would lighten your mood with your favourite tea, for such was his duty.

[tortillamastersblog]

Rock Bottom | Vada Cavell

Pairing: Vada Cavell x reader

Warnings: school shooting, mentions of gunshot wounds, PTSD, nightmares, ANGST

Summary: After getting hurt in the shooting, you try to recover while also taking care of Vada, but she pushes you away until you can’t take it anymore.

Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

I kill the engine of my motorcycle as soon as I pull into a parking spot right in front of the school and take off my helmet, running my fingers through my hair.

I’m a little later than usual, but I’m still on time, so it’s fine. I get off my bike and move to follow the stream of students trickling into the school, but I stop a second later when I hear a familiar laugh.

A smile immediately blooms on my face as I turn around to see Nick and Vada goofing around with Starbucks cups in their hands, making their way toward the school.

“And then when you—” she hops and makes a fart noise with her mouth, “—it could be, like, you’re texting your boss.”

Confused, I frown slightly, wondering what in the world they could possibly be talking about, but I don’t stop smiling. They’re always like this, talking about the most random shit.

“Yeah! Texting your boss,” Nick agrees, flicking some of his shiny hair out of his face. “I love it. We love it.”

“Gotta keep it fancy.” Vada giggles, and then her eyes land on me. She skips over with a bright smile. “Hey!”

“Hi! Good morning. You seem to be in a good mood,” I observe, closing my eyes for a second as she pulls me down by the collar of my shirt to peck my lips.

“Mhmm. We went to Starbucks!” she beams, lifting her half-empty iced coffee for emphasis.

I laugh softly and smile at Nick when he joins us. “I can see that.”

“You want some?” she asks. I nod, taking her cup and sipping from it. It’s a little sweeter than I usually prefer my coffee, but it’s still good, so I take another sip before handing it back.

“We also got some cake pops, but we already ate them in the car,” she adds with an apologetic smile. I just shrug it off and take her free hand, lacing our fingers together.

“It’s fine. Were they at least any good?” I ask as the three of us walk into the school just as the first bell rings.

Nick nods and rolls his eyes dramatically. “So good.”

I laugh softly and shake my head fondly as we quickly make our way to our lockers, grabbing our things before heading to class.

Nick has math first, while Vada and I have geography, so we split at the stairs—Nick whining playfully at the prospect of leaving us, while Vada waves him off before grabbing onto my arm and leaning against me as we walk to class.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asks, looking up at me with sparkling eyes after taking another sip of coffee. It’s honestly adorable how short she is, especially in the baggy clothes she always wears.

I shrug. “My parents have date night, so not much. Why?”

“Well…” She squeezes my arm and stops right in front of our classroom, forcing a couple of students to grumble as they move around us to get inside. “My dad’s making lasagna, and he was wondering if you wanted to come over again.”

“Your dad wants me to come over?” I smile teasingly and brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, yeah. And me too, of course. And Millie… and my mom. They all kind of love you ever since you stayed with us for Christmas,” she says, amusement and a hint of embarrassment dancing in her eyes, which makes me chuckle.

It’s true. Ever since Christmas, which I spent with them while my parents were away in Shanghai for a meeting at their law firm, they’ve loved having me around. Millie keeps texting me about the camera stand I got her so she can film her YouTube videos, and both Mr. and Mrs. Cavell keep thanking me for the basketball season tickets I got them through my parents' firm.

“In that case, how could I possibly refuse?” I press a chaste kiss to her hairline. “But I have practice after school, so I won’t be able to come over right away.”

“That’s fine.” She beams and touches my chin fondly before the tardy bell forces us to move and step into the classroom.

We find two empty seats at the front of the room and pull out our things while Ms. Foster tells the other students to settle down.

The lesson begins, and even though I listen and take notes, I keep stealing glances at Vada. I love the way her eyes shine with curiosity as she listens, and I love it even more when she asks questions I never would have thought of. She’s so smart and funny, and it’s honestly a mystery how she ended up with me.

The first time we talked was two years ago when she ran into me in the cafeteria, making me spill my juice all over myself. After that, we made small talk in the hallway until we were paired for a chemistry project. By the end of it, I somehow found the courage to ask her out, even though I almost had a nervous breakdown because of it, and she said yes. Now, we have been together for over a year and a half.

She always comes to my track meets, and I always go to Barnes & Noble with her, carrying her books while she browses the shelves. Of course, we do other things too, like cooking together or going bowling with our friends, but what matters most is that we show up for each other.

Vada’s phone buzzing on her table snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance at her when it buzzes again, and she looks at the screen with a frown.

“Everything okay?” I ask quietly.

She looks up and shakes her head before turning her phone toward me.

Millie (8:49 AM)

911

Call me.

I frown too and tilt my head toward the door, silently telling her to go and call her. She nods and raises her hand, waiting for Ms. Foster to notice before asking to go to the bathroom. As she leaves, she throws one last look in my direction.

I shoot her an encouraging smile and watch her go, hoping Millie is okay before trying to focus back on the lesson.

It’s adorable how well the two of them get along, and it’s clear how much Millie looks up to Vada. Sometimes, I wish I had siblings, but then again, I’m over at the Cavells’ so often that Millie is basically my sister too. She constantly ropes me into helping her film YouTube videos or makes me take her to Starbucks. She’s a cute kid, and Vada loves her, so I love her too.

A couple of minutes pass, and I start to wonder why Vada has been gone so long. But before I can dwell on it any further, the door flies open.

And then all hell breaks loose.

I flinch as the sting of antiseptic sears through my ear, sending pain shooting down my neck and across the entire left side of my face.

What’s going on?

I blink rapidly, only now realizing that I’m no longer at school.

Where am I?

There’s beeping. Voices shouting. The sterile scent of antiseptic mixing with the sharp, metallic tang of blood.

I’m in a hospital.

I’m in the hospital.

How—Why—I don’t—

“Darling, oh my God!”

My mother’s voice pulls me from the haze, and I barely register the nurse who was just standing beside me as she steps back, pulling off her gloves.

Then my parents rush to my side—deathly pale, horror-stricken, still in their office clothes, so starkly different from the scrubs around them.

“Are you—Are you okay?” My dad’s voice shakes as he cups my face, his fingers trembling against my cheek as he inspects the bandage wrapped around my head.

My mom grabs my limp hands, squeezing them between hers. Her grip is so tight, it almost hurts.

“I don’t…” I trail off, suddenly dizzy, lightheaded.

Only now do I realize that my left ear is ringing. A sharp, relentless whine.

I swallow dryly, my throat thick. My mind is blank, disoriented. I don’t understand how I got here.

“What happened?” I whisper.

My parents share a look, silent but heavy with concern, before my mom finally speaks, her voice wavering. “There was a shooting, darling. You… You were… your ear.”

My ear?

I pull my hand free from hers and raise it to my left ear.

The moment I touch the bandage, pain jolts through me like a live wire. And then suddenly—

The door flies open.

There’s a loud bang.

It feels like someone punched me in the side of my head

I fall to the floor.

My ears are ringing.

Something hot and sticky drips down the side of my neck.

“Sweetheart?”

I flinch and my eyes snap open. My parents are staring at me, their faces wet with tears.

“You’ve been shot,” my dad says, his voice breaking. “That bastard… He— you—”

He chokes on a sob, and my mom’s grip on my hands tightens as tear slips down her cheek.

Shot.

I’ve been shot.

There was a shooting.

My mind is racing, but at the same time, it feels like I can’t think at all. It’s like my brain is fogged up, refusing to process what happened.

No matter how hard I try to remember, I can’t.

“What?” My voice sounds distant to my own ears, but my dad repeats himself, telling me there’s been a shooting and that I almost died.

I almost died.

A lot of others did die.

No, that can’t be. That can’t—

“Vada,” I breathe, suddenly remembering how she looked back at me right before leaving the classroom. “Where’s Vada? Is she okay? Is she okay?!”

I go to stand up, but my mom immediately presses a hand to my shoulder, keeping me down.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears as she says something, but nothing really registers until I finally catch:

“…talked to her mom… she’s fine. She’s at home and she’s fine.”

Fine.

She’s fine.

I need to see her.

I need to see her now.

“I— I need to see her,” I say, my breath coming too fast, my ear throbbing in sync with my pulse. “I need to— I need to—”

“Alright.” My dad’s hand lands on my knee, grounding me just enough to meet his gaze. “We’ll go see her, but first, we need to get you discharged.”

I nod frantically, my chest tightening.

There was a shooting. I’ve been shot. I almost died.

But Vada is fine.

She’s fine.

After what feels like forever, the same nurse who stitched me up returns. She hands my parents discharge papers and gives them a bottle of painkillers to take home.

She instructs them on how to look for signs of infection and warns that I might have temporary tinnitus in my left ear, but that it should go away once the shock wears off.

Then she sends us on our way.

Outside, my parents help me toward the car, and my mom makes me pull on a clean shirt from my gym bag before we drive off to Vada’s.

The car feels too small, too quiet, and too loud all at once.

My parents keep talking, their voices muffled, like I’m hearing them through a wall.

“Does your ear hurt? The nurse said you should take something when we get home.”

“We still need to call your uncle—he’s been trying to reach us since he saw the news.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

I stare out the window, watching buildings blur past. I don’t want to answer. I don’t want to think about the last thing I remember.

I vaguely hum in response, not sure which question I’m even answering.

“Honey?” My mom reaches behind her from the passenger seat and squeezes my knee gently.

“I’m fine,” I mutter.

They don’t press, but I feel their worried glances through the rearview mirror.

Then, finally, we pull onto the Cavells’ street.

Before the car even fully stops, I take off my seatbelt and push the door open.

“Slow down!” My dad shouts as I stumble out of the car, my legs unsteady beneath me.

“Sweetheart, wait!” My mom’s voice follows, but I barely hear them.

All I can focus on is Vada.

I half-stumble, half-run toward the front door, my breath coming hard and fast.

She’s fine, they said.

But I need to see for myself.

I reach the porch and bang on the door, my hands shaking.

"Y/N," Vada's mom breathes when she opens the door. “Oh, God.”

She pulls me into a hug and I let her despite my burning need to see Vada.

“Are you— Do you— How are you feeling?” she stammers.

“I’m okay,” I croak. “I just— Vada…”

She pulls back and cups my cheeks for a moment, looking me over with tears in her eyes. “Of course,” she sniffles. “Go.”

"Thank you," I whisper, slipping past her just as my parents reach the front door.

Being close with Vada’s parents, they immediately pull each other into silent, grief-stricken hugs, murmuring about what happened.

I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

I single-mindedly make my way to Vada’s room, so focused on reaching her that I don’t notice the bathroom door swinging open next to me until I stumble straight into Millie.

“S-Sorry,” I stammer, my chest tightening when I see the way her eyes widen at the sight of me.

"Y/N…” she breathes, her gaze darting to the bandage wrapped around my head.

Before I can react, she throws her arms around my waist, holding on tight.

"I'm okay," I say automatically even though I'm really not. Not even close. But I don’t know how to feel right now. I just need to see Vada.

Millie nods against my chest, still clinging to me, before slowly pulling back. She watches me, searching for some kind of reaction or reassurance, so I force a small smile and pull her in for another hug, holding her just a little longer this time.

"I promise I'm okay," I murmur, even though it feels like a lie. How's...How's Vada?"

Millie exhales shakily, shifting on her feet. "I don’t know," she admits. "She’s… quiet. She just took a bath. I’ve never seen her like this, Y/N."

The burn in my chest deepens.

I need to see her.

I nod, and luckily, Millie seems to understand.

She sighs, then steps aside and whispers, "Just go. See for yourself."

I murmur a quiet, "Thank you," and move past her, hearing our parents still murmuring in the living room as I finally reach Vada's door.

I raise my hand, knocking softly before carefully pushing it open.

The room is dimly lit by the fairy lights strung behind the headboard of the bed, their soft glow casting warm shadows along the walls, and a candle flickers on her desk, the scent faint but lingering.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Vada always listens to music whenever she can, but now… there’s nothing.

Just silence.

Awful, suffocating silence.

My heart tightens when I finally spot her. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her back turned to me, wrapped only in a towel.

Her hair is twisted up into a messy bun, probably to keep it dry during her bath, but a few damp strands cling to the back of her neck. As I step closer, I notice the goosebumps along her bare skin.

“Vada?” My voice is quiet because I don't want to startle her, but she flinches anyway, her shoulders jerking slightly. She doesn’t turn around though.

I move closer, walking around the bed until I’m kneeling in front of her.

She's staring at the wall with a vacant look in her eyes. It scares me, so I slowly reach out, brushing my fingers against her knee. The warmth of my touch seems to pull her back, and her gaze shifts until she finally sees me.

Recognition floods her expression, but she still doesn’t say anything.

Her eyes flicker to the bandage around my head and to my left ear, and she stares at it for a long moment before her lips part in a silent gasp.

Her eyes fill with tears and she whimpers, and before I can react, a sob tears out of her.

It racks her entire body, her shoulders trembling violently as she breaks and I rise immediately, pulling her into my chest, my arms wrapping tightly around her as she cries quietly.

I press a kiss to the top of her head and blink rapidly when my own eyes start to sting.

I can’t believe what happened.

I can’t believe we’re here right now. We should be at school!

I hold Vada against me, feeling her clutch at my shirt and pulling me closer.

But then, she shivers, and I pull back, looking down to see that her lips are turning slightly blue.

She’s freezing.

“Let’s get you dressed, my love,” I whisper, cupping her face and pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

She doesn’t argue as I carefully untangle her arms from around me. I turn toward her closet, rummaging through it with one hand while pressing the other against my temple as my ear throbs.

A wave of dizziness hits me, but I push through it, focusing on her instead.

I settle on a pair of faded gray sweatpants and one of my shirts she stole ages ago before turning back around and pulling her to her feet, her movements slow and unsteady.

“Okay?” I ask gently, giving her towel a soft tug.

She nods, barely, the vacant look in her eyes returning. It makes my stomach turn, but I exhale softly and undo the towel, helping her into the warm clothes as quickly as possible.

Once she’s dressed, I wrap my arms around her again, burying my face in her hair as I let out a shaky breath.

She’s okay.

For a moment, we stand there in the middle of her room, wrapped in silence. Then, I gently guide her into bed and move the covers over us.

She doesn’t resist. Instead, she turns onto her side, pressing her back against my chest as I sling my arm around her waist, holding her close.

Then she laces our fingers together, pulling my hand up until it’s tucked under her chin before scooting back even more until there’s literally no space left between us.

She sniffs once, a final exhale escaping her lips and then her breathing evens out.

She’s asleep. She's okay and she's asleep.

I feel my own eyelids drooping as I try to stay awake after everything that’s happened, wanting to make sure she’s really okay. But exhaustion and the aftereffects of shock get the better of me, and before I know it, I fall asleep as well.

I jolt awake when Vada sits up with a strangled cry, her breath coming fast and uneven as she looks around frantically.

“Hey, hey, hey.” I sit up too, though much slower than she did, and wrap my arms around her from behind, pulling her close. I press a soft kiss to her shoulder. “You’re okay.”

She nods slowly, her breathing still ragged, but she closes her eyes and grips my forearms tightly where they rest around her stomach.

All night, she had nightmares. It broke my heart, but it also meant I barely got any sleep myself. I tried to stay awake as much as I could, watching over her so I’d be there when she woke up, but in between, I fell into a light, restless sleep.

I didn’t dream, which is probably why I didn’t have any nightmares.

Now, though, I’m exhausted, and my ear hurts worse than ever.

Vada prefers sleeping on her left side, which meant I had to sleep on mine too while holding her. Lying on my injured ear for hours must have irritated it, because now the pain is so intense, I can barely feel the left side of my face.

Even blinking makes my eye ache.

But I don’t move to grab the painkillers my parents left for me last night.

They had peeked into the room about an hour after Vada first fell asleep, quietly waking me to ask if I wanted to go home. I just shook my head and held Vada tighter.

They were hesitant to leave me at first, but then Vada’s mom stepped into the room.

She looked almost relieved when she saw Vada curled up against me. She reassured my parents that it would be okay if I stayed the night, and they finally left after she told me to come get her if I needed anything.

Vada slept through the entire conversation, which made me relax a little.

But two hours later, just as I finally drifted into another light sleep, she had her first nightmare.

“It’s okay,” I whisper again, pressing a kiss to her temple and rubbing my thumbs over her stomach. “It was just a dream.”

Vada shudders and slowly turns around in my arms. The dim morning light seeps into the room through her giant windows, casting long, golden streaks across the floor.

It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.

How ironic.

“I know, it’s just…” she trails off, her gaze darting to my ear.

She frowns, then raises a hand to my jaw and gently tilts my head to the right, studying whatever she just saw.

“Your ear,” she rasps.

I lift a hand to touch it, but the second my fingers graze the bandage, a sharp electric pain shoots through my face, making me flinch hard.

I hiss and pull my hand back, screwing my eyes shut as I try to push the pain away.

“It’s bleeding,” she says.

Before I can react, she pulls me out of bed and leads me into the bathroom, telling me to sit on the edge of the tub.

I want to protest, to tell her the nurse said some bleeding is normal, but she’s out the door before I can say anything.

As soon as she’s gone, exhaustion washes over me again, and the dizziness returns full force.

I want to check the mirror, to see what she saw, but I’m too tired, so I stay seated and wait.

I wait only a minute before Vada returns with her mom, still dressed in pajamas. Her short blonde hair is tied back into a tiny ponytail, and she wears her glasses, blinking sleepily as she steps into the bathroom.

“Oh, that doesn’t look good at all,” she murmurs when she sees me. She brushes some hair out of my face fondly before asking if she can take off the bandage to check my ear.

I nod, too tired to speak, and let her unwrap the bandage while Vada stands back, arms wrapped around herself in a tight hug, her gaze distant and unfocused.

Even though her mom is careful, I grit my teeth when she pulls the gauze away.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” she says softly.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, though my stomach sinks when I see the blood-soaked bandage as she tosses it into the trash can beside the bathtub.

She turns my head slightly, inspecting the wound before clicking her tongue and pulling out a first-aid kit from under the sink.

“Looks like some of your stitches ripped,” she says with an apologetic look. “I’ll put on a new bandage, but you should go to the hospital to get it checked out. Do you want me to call your parents?”

The thought of going to the hospital again and waking my parents this early in the morning makes my chest tighten, but I nod, letting her carefully rebandage my ear.

I know she or Vada’s dad would drive me themselves without hesitation, but I also know my parents would be upset if I didn’t tell them, so I let her call once she’s done.

At some point while she was redressing my wound, Vada left.

I frown at the empty space where she was standing, but before I can dwell on it, she returns with a glass of water and my painkillers.

She hands them over wordlessly and I thank her with a weak smile and a mumbled, "Thanks."

She doesn’t reply. She just nods before taking the empty glass and leaving again.

I don't want to be alone, I don't want her to leave, so I get up and follow her into the kitchen, where her mom is just hanging up the phone.

“Your parents are on their way, honey,” she tells me, squeezing my shoulder gently before ushering me into the living room. “Go sit on the couch and rest until they get here.”

Vada follows and sits beside me, watching me with an unreadable expression.

I hesitate before reaching for her hand, interlacing our fingers in her lap.

“Staring is rude, my love,” I try to joke, but it falls flat.

Vada barely reacts. She just hums softly and forces a small, tired smile, before resting her head on my shoulder.

I know we’re both under a lot of stress, but I expected more of a reaction from her. She always laughs at my jokes. Always.

But I understand why she’s not laughing now.

We sit in silence, the house still dark except for the dim glow of the kitchen light. Millie and Vada’s dad are still asleep.

Then, I hear a car pull into the driveway.

Vada’s mom stands immediately to greet my parents before they can ring the doorbell while I push myself up as well, my legs shaking with exhaustion.

Vada notices. “You good?”

I nod, though I don’t feel good at all. I still keep my hand in hers as we walk to the front door together.

My parents rush to me the moment they see me, concern written all over their faces, but before they can pull me outside, I turn back to Vada, cupping her face gently.

I bend down and press a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you. I’ll talk to you later?”

She barely reacts but gives a quiet “Mhmm. Love you too,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as I kiss her forehead again.

Then my parents coax me outside.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” my mom asks in the car, pulling onto the road while my dad calls the hospital to tell them we’re coming.

“Tired,” I say honestly, though I feel so much more than that. I’m in pain, my brain is still foggy, and I can’t stop worrying about Vada.

She’s been so quiet since this morning.

And I can tell she’s pulling away.

My mom glances at me in the rearview mirror. “That’s… yeah, that’s understandable.”

I can hear the worry in her voice, she and my dad are both worried about me, but I don’t know what to tell them. And I don’t know what they could possibly say to make me feel better.

There’s nothing they can do.

Still, it’s nice that they’re trying.

Despite not being home for Christmas this year, they’ve always been the best and most supportive parents.

They never miss a track meet. They take off work for my birthday and they’ve always made me feel like I can talk to them about anything without fear of getting in trouble.

“Are you in any pain?” my dad asks once he hangs up the phone, turning in his seat to look at me.

“A little, yeah,” I admit. “But I took some painkillers before you picked me up, so it should get better soon.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

He keeps watching me for a moment before nodding, but I turn back to the window.

It’s awkward how quiet it is, but right now, I’m too tired to care. I have nothing to say.

I drift in and out of consciousness, barely aware of my surroundings. I know I’m home, in my bedroom, and for the first time since the shooting, I’m not in pain.

I don’t really remember how I got here. The last thing I recall is being at the hospital, but as the hours drag by and I slip between sleep and wakefulness, fragments of memory return.

A nurse stitched me up again.

While we waited for my discharge papers, I asked my parents what exactly happened.

They shared a look before my dad handed me his phone, showing me news footage.

One shooter. Twelve kids dead. One of them was on my track team.

After that, I don’t remember much. Just the tightness in my chest and the overwhelming certainty that I was about to die.

I remember gasping for air.

I remember a prick in my arm.

And then, nothing.

I continue drifting until I finally wake up at the sound of a knock on my door.

Groggily, I turn over and switch on my bedside lamp just as the door opens. My dad steps inside, carrying a tray.

He’s still wearing his suit from work, though his tie is loosened and the top buttons of his shirt are undone.

“Hey,” he says when he sees I’m awake. “How are you feeling? I— I made you some mac and cheese in case you’re hungry.”

A genuine, if tired, smile tugs at my lips. “Better now. Thanks. I… yeah, I could eat.”

He straightens up like he wasn’t expecting that, then hurries to my side and places the tray on my lap before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Okay, here. Um, I also made you some tea. Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s perfect, thanks.” I send him another small smile and take a bite, only now realizing how hungry I am. “Where’s Mom?”

“There was an emergency at the office, but she’ll be back soon,” he explains, patting my leg over the comforter.

“Oh, no, I hope it’s nothing bad.” I try to keep the conversation light, but my dad just waves it off.

“No, don’t worry. It’s nothing.” He hesitates, then clears his throat. “Listen… at the hospital—”

My chest tightens.

“—you kind of had a panic attack. The doctor had to sedate you.”

I blink. “Sedate me?”

“Yeah… You’ve been asleep for almost twenty hours.”

Oh.

“You could barely breathe,” he continues, voice soft. “We were afraid you would—”

I lift a hand, cutting him off before he spirals. “It’s okay, Dad.” I offer a small, tentative smile and take a sip of tea. “Best sleep I ever got.”

He exhales sharply and shakes his head. “Don’t joke about that.”

I chuckle, even though my ear throbs a little. “Sorry, I can’t help it.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, until I remember something. “Sorry for ruining your and Mom’s date night, by the way.”

“What?!” He scoffs and lightly smacks my leg over the comforter. “Why would you say that? It’s just date night. You could have died.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Yeah, but still. You both were looking forward to it. You even had a reservation at that fancy restaurant downtown.”

My dad shrugs, smiling just a little sheepishly. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you.”

A little embarrassed, I look down at my food, smiling too.

The conversation drifts into quiet as I finish eating and then, once I’m done, I take a quick shower while my dad goes downstairs to do the dishes.

My mom comes home shortly after, checking on me before I climb back into bed. I’m exhausted again because the sedative still lingers in my system, and I barely slept at Vada’s.

Speaking of Vada…

Once I’m settled under the blankets, I pull out my phone and text her, ignoring the flood of unread messages from classmates asking if I’m okay.

You (9:12 PM) Hey, I’m sorry I’m only reaching out now. I’ve been asleep most of the day. How are you? What did you do today?

It takes a couple of minutes for her to reply, longer than usual, and it makes me worry because she's usually glued to her phone, but then she answers, and that worry fades.

Vada <3 (9:14 PM) it’s okay

how r u feeling now?

i went and saw nick earlier he asked about you

Her replies are a little shorter than usual, but I brush it off. I shift under the sheets, making sure I’m not lying on my ear before replying.

You (9:15 PM) Better now, but I’m still tired.

That’s good! How’s he? I hope you had a good time.

Again, there’s a delay in her answer, but once again, I think nothing of it.

Vada <3 (9:18 PM) that’s good

get some more rest

nick’s okay we talked about what happened and he’s thinking of starting a petition or something to make sure it doesn’t happen again

You (9:18 PM) I will.

Oh really? That’s great.

My thumbs hover over the screen because I know I want to say something else, but I don’t know what.

A moment later, Vada beats me to it and when I read what she says, my stomach sinks a little.

Vada <3 (9:18 PM) i know, he really might be onto something

you should get some more rest, baby

i’ll talk to you tomorrow

I swallow dryly, not really knowing how to feel before replying.

You (9:19 PM) Yeah, you’re right.

Talk to you tomorrow.

I love you.

The three dots appear at the bottom of the screen, disappearing and reappearing several times before her reply finally comes through.

Vada <3 (9:20 PM) love you too

It’s simple, and I know she means it, but if I’m honest, I was expecting more.

I stare at my screen for a little while, waiting for her to maybe send something else, but she doesn't. I turn off my phone with a sinking feeling, and switch off my bedside lamp before rolling over to get some more sleep.

It has been four days since the shooting, and I am slowly but surely feeling better. The dizziness is gone, and the tinnitus has faded, but I am still exhausted because now, I am starting to have nightmares.

Every night, I wake up in a cold sweat, making my parents rush into my room to calm me down. I usually dream about the shooting, but not about what happened to me. Instead, I dream about Vada—how she is hiding in the bathroom or how she gets hurt right in front of me.

It leaves me breathless and shaking, so I take a cold shower each time to wake myself up and wash away the memory of the dream.

My parents told me I could stay home from school as long as I needed, which I am grateful for. The moment I brought up the idea of seeing a therapist, they immediately agreed, pulling some strings through their connections at work until they got me an appointment with one of the best therapists in LA.

That was yesterday. We did not talk much about the shooting yet, but we went over my panic attack at the hospital. Even though it was draining, it still made me feel better afterward. Talking about everything is exhausting, but I know it is going to help me in the long run.

I also finally answered all the texts I had ignored, letting people know I was fine and that I would be at Brody’s funeral. He was the guy on my track team who was killed. I knew him pretty well, though we were not exactly friends. Still, my teammates and I organized the flower arrangements for his service, which will be held tomorrow.

Over the past few days, I have been texting and calling Vada, but we have not seen each other since that first night. I have been too tired most of the time, and she was told to go back to school.

It aches, knowing she is there while I can stay home, but what hurts even more is how distant she has been.

She answers my texts and calls, but her responses are short. When I asked if I should come over last night, she told me not to because I might overwork myself.

She also keeps saying she is helping Nick organize a protest, but when I texted Nick two days ago, he said he had not seen Vada since the day after the shooting.

It makes me worry, but not because I think she might be cheating. I know she would never do that. What worries me is that she is lying, trying to keep me from realizing how much she is pulling away.

She has become a shell of the person she used to be. Millie noticed it too. She called me this morning, crying about how Vada keeps pushing her away.

I reassured her that Vada was just processing everything, and somehow, she managed to convince me to come over and make slime with her for her YouTube channel.

That is what I am doing now.

I sit in the dining room, holding the camera while Millie chats excitedly about what she is doing. Their mom watches from the kitchen, checking on us every so often with a small smile.

I thought Vada might be here too. I even hoped I could surprise her by showing up. But she is not.

Her mom said she was at Nick’s, but I know she does not believe it either as she keeps glancing at her phone and checking the time on the oven while Sunday morning inches toward eleven o’clock, and Nick is at his protest.

"Blue or red?" Millie asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I adjust my grip on the camera and straighten up. "What?"

She grins and holds up two small tubes of dye. "The slime. Blue or red?"

"Uh, red." I watch as she mixes the color into the slime, my mind still elsewhere, when Vada’s mom suddenly rushes past us toward the front door.

"Where have you been?!" Her voice is filled with relief and anger, and I immediately know who she is talking to. "You’ve been gone all night! We were worried sick about you! If you’re going to spend the night at a friend’s house, just tell us!"

"Mom." Vada groans, storming past her and through the dining room without realizing I’m here.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Her mom follows after her. "Come back here, young lady. We’re not done talking yet. Where were you? And why do you smell like a minibar? Have you been drinking?"

Vada whines, and I hear her stop in the kitchen.

Millie and I share a look. I turn off the camera, sensing the tension thickening in the house. "Maybe we should give them some privacy. How about you show me the morning routine you filmed today?"

She hesitates before nodding and getting up, ready to lead me to her room.

Their voices continue rising behind us as we walk away, but I try to ignore it. It’s none of my business, no matter how much I worry about Vada.

Then, I stop dead in my tracks.

"No, Mom! I didn’t sleep with her, it was just a kiss! We got drunk and—"

My blood turns ice cold.

"You got drunk?" Her mom's voice cuts in, completely skipping over the kiss part. "Please tell me you didn’t get drunk under some bridge or something. Do you know what could have happened if—"

"We didn’t get drunk under a bridge!" Vada snaps. "We were at her place. She has this huge house, and her parents are never home, and—"

I don’t hear the rest.

I can’t hear the rest.

She kissed someone.

She kissed someone else.

From what I’ve just heard, I can only assume it was Mia.

Mia Reed.

Nick told me Vada had been texting her since the shooting because they hid in the bathroom together, but I had no idea they were hanging out.

So this is where she has been every time she lied about being with Nick.

Millie turns to me, her face pale, panic in her eyes. She looks at me, waiting for some kind of reaction, but I can’t move.

I can’t think.

I can’t breathe.

Footsteps approach. My head snaps up, and then Vada steps into the hallway.

She is still arguing with her mom until she sees me.

She stops immediately.

Her face falls, the color draining from her skin as she realizes I heard everything.

"Vada, no, you can’t—" Her mom stops behind her, also noticing me and Millie.

She blinks, clearly having forgotten we were even here.

I don’t care. I can’t care.

I just stare at Vada, and she stares back at me.

It feels like my entire world just shifted, like the ground has cracked beneath my feet, but I am still standing. My hands start shaking. My heart pounds in my chest.

No.

She didn’t.

How could she?

Why would she?

"Y/N..." Vada breathes, her voice low and scratchy. She takes a step toward me, reaching out, even though she’s still several feet away.

Her voice snaps me out of my trance, and suddenly, my eyes burn with tears.

I look away, staring at the floor, trying to keep it together. When I meet her eyes again, all I see is guilt. Regret.

She takes another step forward, about to say something, but I speak before she can.

"I… should go."

"Y/N…" she tries again, but I shake my head.

I turn to Millie, who looks like she’s about to cry. She has always looked up to her sister, and now she has to witness all of this.

I swallow hard and force my voice to stay steady. "I’ll see you soon, yeah?"

Millie hesitates, glancing between me, her mom, and Vada before nodding with a small frown.

"Okay then…" I try to smile, but it barely comes through.

I turn around, not daring to meet Vada’s eyes when I brush past her.

Her mom gives me a pitiful look, but I don’t acknowledge it. My mind is already slipping into numbness as I make my way to the front door.

I slip on my shoes, the silence in the house suffocating, then open the door and step outside.

I make it to my car, hands still shaking as I unlock it, but freeze when I hear her voice again.

"Y/N, wait!"

I don’t.

She rushes down the porch steps, but I get in the car, pull the door shut, and reverse out of the driveway before she can reach me.

I can barely see the road.

My hands won’t stop trembling, my chest feels tight, and I know I can’t drive home like this.

After rounding the block, I pull over to the curb and kill the engine.

For a moment, I just sit there, staring blankly ahead.

Then, without warning, the weight of everything crashes down, and I completely break down.

So this is what rock bottom feels like. Just when I thought things were looking up a little.

_______________________________________________

💔

[vhaenaera]

Queen Vhaena Targaryen

Vhaena Targaryen, the only daughter of Queen Visenya and King Aegon the Conqueror, was born just a year after Queen Rhaenys’ death. Inheriting her mother’s stern features—the sharp cheekbones, silver-gold hair, and piercing violet eyes—she bore little resemblance to her aunt, Queen Rhaenys, yet it was her temperament that most recalled the late sister-queen. Where Visenya was cold and unyielding, Vhaena was warm and wistful, her mind often adrift in fancies. Unlike her mother, who wielded Dark Sister and commanded armies, Vhaena was a creature of gentler pursuits, preferring poetry, needlework, and song. Yet there was another gift—one far rarer, and more troubling—that set her apart: the sight.

Vhaena was among the first Targaryens in settled Westeros known to possess the power of prophetic Dragon-Dreaming, a gift both feared and misunderstood. It was said she spoke in riddles and saw things no one else could, glimpses of futures yet to come and pasts long forgotten. Though some in court dismissed her mutterings as the prattle of an idle woman, others whispered of madness. None were louder in their condemnation than Tyanna of the Tower, who openly derided the queen’s visions and worked to ostracise her from court. Maegor’s other wives paid her little mind, preoccupied with their own suffering in the Black Bridegroom’s grip.

Her frailty only worsened her standing. An ailment unknown among the Targaryens before her birth plagued her from youth; her skin was pale, her body thin, and oft she grew weak and lightheaded, forced to retreat to her chambers. Some maesters sought to cure her with leechings and tinctures, but none could explain the bloodless pallor of her face or why, at times, she struggled even to mount her dragon. Whatever the cause, it left her at the uncommon mercy of Maegor, who tolerated her presence but offered no great affection in public; behind closed doors however, he assured her comfort.

At court, she was often a silent, spectral figure, her body present but her mind far away. When Maegor grew impatient with her distant stares, he would recall her to the moment with a hard squeeze upon her wrist. She flinched, but never spoke against him. Yet one thing she would not abide was the presence of Tyanna. Whenever the Pentoshi witch was seated at the council table or among Maegor’s wives, Vhaena would press herself as far away as she could, her hands turning the rings upon her fingers, her gaze averted. The sight of Tyanna made her shudder, and it was said that in her presence, the Queen’s blood pounded in her ears like a war drum.

Few sought her company. When Maegor’s other brides or the ladies of the court attempted to speak with her, they found themselves unnerved by her ways. She answered questions with riddles or fell into silence altogether, too absorbed in her embroidery to respond. In her solitude, she stitched dragons, flames, and winged figures upon cloth—symbols whose meaning only she seemed to understand.

Some cuter facts about her, is that she has a love for butterflies. Oft does she leave her windows open so they can flutter in and enjoy the floral arrangements within the princess’s chambers. One time, Maegor had visited her under good will. He found his sister at her balcony with the delicate insect perched upon her pale finger. He fed his curiosity about her fascination, asking her why she bothers with such weak, fragile bugs. In response, Vhaena responded with a smile and proclaimed that they spoke to her. The butterflies batted their wings ever so softly to communicate, the words translated by the wind into a soft breeze in which she can understand. Maegor just scoffed and decided to quell any protest that lingered on his tongue.

Vhaena also struggled to share a bed with anyone, as nightmares plagued her youth so she took to hiding within another’s bed for comfort. The peaceful moments never lasted long, as she often sought out warmth in her sleep and in turn woke anyone who she touched with her icy hands or feet. So rules were set for her to don stockings and gloves before sharing a bed.

She would hate sherpa.

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Eighteen: incoming call

tw: none

Your phone is ringing. 

You almost don’t hear it. With the speakers on the TV cranked up loud enough so you can hear the documentary, (Simon tried to put the captions on for you so you could also enjoy the show, but the latency between your eyes and ears made your head throb) it drowns in the mess of noise in the living room. It takes the flashing screen to get your attention. Unsticking yourself to Simon’s side—a place you always seem to be these days—you lean forward on the couch as your arm extends toward the coffee table. 

Buzz buzz! Buzz buzz! 

It vibrates so fiercely that it dances on the table before you, and when you take it into your hands, it rattles your bones. It trembles in your palm like a creature being held by its creator—its destroyer. 

Incoming Call from Captain Jack Sparrow

“It’s Row,” you say, mostly to yourself. Part of you is surprised it’s not Bee again, who has been calling you incessantly ever since you took your unofficial break from Sapori. 

Simon hums in response as he reaches for the remote and mutes the TV. Your thumb hovers over the answer button, but an unexplainable trepidation wreaks havoc on your heart. Still, you answer. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey! Chip, I… Did I wake you?” Aelin’s voice croaks on the other end of the line, stiff and still shaking off the morning fog. 

Brows narrowing, you shake your head. “No, I’ve been awake. Just… watching TV. What’s up?” 

“Nothing.” Her reply is quick. Too quick, and sharp enough that you know you shouldn’t push unless you’re ready to bleed. “I just wanted to call. Check in, all that stuff. John and I got back home the other week and I miss you.” 

Leaning back, you situate yourself against Simon’s side once more. Over the last few days, you’ve been so caught up in your own life. The mess of your apartment that Simon squared away, Marco, your kiss with Simon and the subsequent ones after that… you nearly forgot all about Aelin and John’s trip. The Maldives, right? That sounds correct. Someplace more temperate than England this time of year. 

“Right, your trip. How was it?” 

“It was great. Wonderful, really. John got a bit more sun than he should have, though. You should’ve seen him, he looked ridiculous. Bright red like a lobster,” Aelin humors. 

Somewhere in the background of the call, you can make out John’s voice. Static overtakes his words, but whatever he says gets Aelin laughing. The sound of her titter is contagious enough that it gets you giggling, but you stop when you feel the tension in her voice. 

There’s something empty about her words, as if you’re only hearing the echo of her voice instead of it emanating from the source. Sniffles break through the line every now and then, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say she was crying. Every now and then she quietly chokes on the tail end of a word when it forces her to use the back of her throat. 

“Are you feeling alright?” The question leaves your lips before the realization completely forms in your mind. When she doesn’t respond right away, instead of letting the silence sit, you fill it with a half formed explanation. “Sorry, I just—well—you sounded a little congested, I guess.” 

More silence follows, and for a fleeting moment you’ve convinced yourself you’ve said something wrong. Something out of turn. Then, there’s a long draw of breath. 

“Oh, you know. Just… one of those days,” Aelin says. 

Her words ignite a memory that begins to flicker as a lone flame in some forgotten corner of your mind. Shoved back into your sixteen year old body, you find Aelin on the kitchen floor in her mother’s house. Hair undone, back against the cabinets, her fist chokes the neck of a beer bottle as her feet tap against the tile. She’s an adult, but this is her childhood home. You’re the stranger here, and she apologizes to you for the mess. 

When you ask her what’s wrong, she only shrugs. 

Just one of those days. 

It’s a stupid question to ask. Her dad has been dead for only a week. 

She doesn’t invite you to sit next to her, but you do anyway. Just far away enough that you don’t touch, yet still close enough to feel the feverish warmth of her intoxication. You don’t say anything, but she talks about everything. Voice tense, body loose; every time she starts to cry she drinks until the tears are burned away. 

Tell me about him, you say. 

And she does. She does. 

“Do you want to come over? To mine and John’s?” Aelin asks, pulling you out of your anamneses. “I could come pick you up so you don’t have to take the bus. We could watch a movie or something.” 

The smile on your lips bleeds into the tone of your words. “A movie sounds great. And don’t worry about it, I can have Simon take me.” 

Simon’s ears visibly perk like a dog that heard the word treat. His body shifts, arm falling around your shoulders and pulling you closer, but he doesn’t speak. 

“Oh?” Aelin’s voice quirks the way it always does when she teases you. A broiling heat tingles in the tips of your ears as the realization settles in; you talk so easily about Simon now. As if he’s always been in your life—like you’ve never felt any other comfort besides him. There’s been a missing chunk of your skin, and he’s filled it so perfectly with the shape of his body. “You’ll have to tell me all about that, too.” 

With plans created, you bid each other goodbye, and when the call ends, you’re stuck staring at your phone screen. 

7th of January

Well past the day you were supposed to pay your late fee to Marco. 

It’s today. It’s—

“I take it we’re headed to the Price’s?” Simon asks. 

Shutting your phone off, you nod. “Row wants to have a girls day in.” Setting your phone to the side, you look at Simon who’s staring at you with tightly pressed lips. “What?” 

“Don’t like the thought of you goin’ anywhere without me,” he admits. He thinks on his words for a moment and feels the odd weight on his tongue and the sour implication, then explains further. “Not while all this shit with Marco is happening.” 

“I won’t be going without you. You’ll be the one driving me,” you retort. “You really think Marco would do anything at Aelin’s house? At John’s house?” 

Mulling it over, you see the way Simon’s teeth chew on the inside of his lip. “Alright.” 

During the drive to Aelin’s, Simon holds your hand like it’s the last time he’ll ever see you. Fingers interlaced with yours, your knuckles begin to ache at how wide you have to spread them to accommodate the width of each digit. Eventually, they begin to hurt so bad you have to settle with him holding you princess style, and even then his thumb traces the dips and peaks of your knuckles as he memorises each curve. 

Things have changed between you and Simon, and it’s more than just in the superficial circumstances in which your lives have become intertwined. He’s sparked something inside of you. This entire time he’s known you, he’s been watering a grave and something has finally begun to sprout out of the stone. Something’s growing—something you swore was long dead. 

His touch is the first touch that does not make your skin crawl—that does not smell like blood. His lips are the first to press against yours that do not maim, and now that you have a taste for it, you’re not sure you can ever live without it. 

Aelin’s house comes into view and you’re suddenly plagued with an odd apprehension. It’s a strange and vicious penitence that begins to slither around your heart before constricting tight enough to evoke a wicked jolt of pain. By the time Simon parks next to the curb, you feel every molecule of air leave your lungs. 

“I won’t be far,” Simon tells you as he squeezes your hand. 

“Plan on staking out at the park?” you tease. 

“I might,” he deadpans. 

Simon’s hesitancy is palpable. His fingers feel so tight against your own that you think you’ll have to pry yourself out of his grasp just to leave. Dark eyes scan your face as you look at him with a small but reassuring smile, but not even that offers him comfort. 

“I’ll just be a text away,” he continues. 

“Si,” you laugh. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna be fine. Besides your house, this is the next safest place to be.” 

When he still doesn’t seem convinced—staring at you with firm eyes and a clenching jaw—you find yourself leaning over the center console. Falling into the gravity of him, your lips find his just as easily as if you were taking the path back home. Eyes fluttering shut, somehow this union is able to quell the squeezing in your chest. He is warm like fire, and you can taste the pepper he used to season his eggs for breakfast. 

His free hand cups your face just as you pull away. “I… Call me when you’re ready.” 

Aelin answers the door not even three seconds after you knock. Fresh popcorn wafts around the entryway as she greets you with a tired smile and glossy lips. Red traces the delicate line of her eyes, making the aqua hue of her iris pop. Stray tears seem to linger along her waterline, but you make no mention of it as she ushers you inside before the bitter cold steals too much of your warmth. 

Blankets and pillows obscure the couch in the living room, and you nearly gawk at the obscene amount of food laid out on the coffee table. Two large bowls of popcorn, various bags of small candies—Jelly Babies, Maltesers, Imperial Mints, among others—and of course, refreshments. When she had mentioned wanting to watch a movie together, you hadn’t imagined anything like this. 

“John may have gone a little overboard with the treats. He’s left the house to just the two of us,” Aelin chuckles as she begins to fight through the nest that’s been made of her couch. Clearing a few of the blankets to the side, she sits and then pats the spot next to her. “Come on, grab a seat then.” 

With a plush blanket tossed over your lap, and a comically large bowl of buttered popcorn nestled against your hip, you and Aelin settle down for the movie. It’s some chick flick you’ve never heard of, but you end up not paying attention to most of the plot. Not even five minutes into the film, Aelin twists her body so she’s facing you with a grin. 

“So… tell me about Christmas with Riley.” 

Really, you should have expected this. She’s been trying to get the two of you together since October, of course she would be curious. 

October. That’s how long you’ve known him? Only that long? That doesn’t seem right. Your body aches and sings as if you’ve known him your entire life. 

Still, you tell her everything, and you make sure not to skimp out on any details, lest she attempt to fill in any of the blanks for herself. You tell her about the quiet drive to Manchester, and how loving his family is. You gush about little Joseph and sweet Mrs. Riley. You talk about the food you ate and the bed you slept in—how polite Simon was through it all—how he enveloped you in his arms when the world started to feel too small. 

You don’t stop there. You lament about how he comforted you when you came home to find your apartment a mess—weaving in a little white lie about how it was wracked with water damage from a burst pipe while you were gone—and how he’s been letting you stay with him. How he insists on you sleeping in his bed. And—

“Seriously?”

—the kiss. 

“I dunno, it just sort of… happened,” you admit sheepishly. 

“In his bed?” Aelin confirms. 

You nod. “We had just woken up.” 

“And then?” she asks, tone leading you on. 

“What?”

“What happened after that?” She asks her question like there should be something more—some vivid details you’re meant to share. 

You blink. “Well, then he asked me if I wanted breakfast.” 

Aelin’s lips turn into a small pout. Not anything patronizing, but rather in the way you look at a child when they say something sweet—something innocent. 

“Oh, Chip. I’m so happy for you,” she says, head leaning back against the couch. The more you talk, the more the red in her eyes seems to soften to a dull pink, and the less she sniffles. “I’m just… so glad you found someone.” 

For your girls day in, you and Aelin end up watching two movies back to back; both being less than subpar romance comedies. Each time the male lead does something stupid, she always throws in her two cents about what to do if Simon does that to you, which leaves you rolling your eyes. Then, of course, there are the obligatory and awkward sex education courses she gives you during anything remotely lewd. 

“That’s not how that works!” Aelin huffs as her teeth crunch into more popcorn. 

“What do you mean?” you ask, poking at the kernels in your bowl. 

“She was magically wet enough for him to just slide in? Like that? No foreplay, just kissing? Yeah fucking right.” She playfully tosses a small bit of popcorn at you from across the couch. “If Simon ever tries that shit, you blue ball him, okay?” 

After a few hours, when the sun begins to scrape along the horizon, both you and Aelin begin to yawn. John returns from whatever escapade he set off to do, arms and hands occupied with bags from various stores around the city. He smiles and greets you the same way he always does before waving at his wife to keep seated—mutters something about how he can put the groceries away himself. 

Of course Aelin doesn’t listen. One thing leads to another and the three of you are in the kitchen weaving around one another and storing items. It’s a strange feeling, assisting them with such a task. There was a time where you once lived in this house; where you once did these very same tasks with them. They took you in shortly after you had graduated since you hadn’t secured an apartment of your own. John and Aelin were freshly married—after a brutal broken engagement due to Aelin’s previous fiance cheating on her—and still they treated you like you were no bother to them. 

When they convince you to stay for dinner, it’s as if nothing’s changed at all. Everyone cooks together. Cleans together. Eats together. Your spot at their table is still the same as it always is. 

Ever since your parents died, your family was shattered, but you manage to find their fragments in others. Here, with John and Aelin. Sometimes with her mother. Now, in Simon’s family. 

As you look down at your phone to check the time, the date shines brightly at you. 

7th of January

You wonder if Aelin feels the same. With her family shattered; with losing a part of herself in her father. Your first ever meeting was at his funeral. You were both dressed in black, both sporting the same irritated eyes. Sean had told you so much about her, and instead of greeting her yourself, you hid from her. Tucked yourself away in some corner of the funeral home, unable to bear the weight of facing the daughter of the man whose death you caused. 

She found you anyway, of course. 

She always does. 

When eight o’clock rolls around, and you feel like you’ve thoroughly stayed your welcome, you give Simon a call. Aelin pretends to be occupied with something else as she clears the table, but you can see her slow, deliberate movements and the way her eyes keep flickering over to you. 

“Is everythin’ alright?” It’s the first thing that spews over the speaker. Worried about you as always, your Simon Riley. 

“You’re silly,” you giggle. “We’re just about wrapped up here if you wanna come pick me up.”

“On my way.” 

He knocks five minutes later. It’s such a short amount of time considering how long ago you called him, and it even catches John’s attention. It’s quickly brushed aside as Aelin swaddles you in a hug. Arms locked tight against you, you fear she plans to keep you forever, locked away where the world can’t see you. She whispers a quiet thanks into your ear before releasing you, allowing you to return back to Simon. 

The ride back to Simon’s house is surprisingly quiet, but he seems less anxious than he did when he dropped you off. Hand carefully absorbing your own into his, he lets the radio drone on for a little while until traffic begins to pick up in the city. Incandescent lights brighten the shadows of the street, smothering the stars that would otherwise be in the sky. Everything is bitterly grey and cold. 

“How was your visit?” he asks as his thumb taps against the back of your hand. 

You lean back against the headrest as the vibrations of the road cloak your body. “It was good. I think… I think Aelin really needed it.” 

“Yeah?” he prompts. 

“Yeah. I dunno, she seemed like she’d been crying. I don’t know what about but… Sorry, I don’t know. Just a weird feeling, I guess.” 

For a moment, Simon doesn’t say anything. Despite the crowd of cars around you, everything is oddly arcadian. No sound makes it to your ears—only the beating of your own heart. 

“She called John the other night while we were all at Terminus working. Couldn’t really hear much, but she was cryin’ about something,” he informs. “Might be goin’ through some sort of rough patch.” 

“Yeah just having… one of those days,” you echo. 

You’re in the kitchen again. On the floor. Aelin is talking about her dad. She smells like beer and roses. She’s recalling the story about how Sean obtained a scar on the side of his elbow—an accident while teaching her to ride a bike as a kid—and all you can think about is the wound in his stomach. Fighting the queasiness that grips your gut, you stare at the floor. 

Linoleum. 

For a moment—a single, fleeting moment—you think about telling her about the way you were picked apart in front of your mother’s body. Maybe if you show your wounds, it would make her feel better. Ultimately, you decide against it. Your wounds don’t make her father any less dead. 

Your wounds don’t make it any less your fault. 

“What’s on your mind, baby?” 

Nothing good. 

“The anniversary of her dad’s death is today.” Saying it out loud feels like an admission. Some avowal of your guilt in the fact that he no longer draws breath—and now each one you draw stings. “I keep thinking about telling her. I wanna tell her about everything. I do all the time. There’s not a single moment when I’m around her that I don’t think of just… you know? But I can’t.” 

Simon hums, thinking for a short moment. “Why not?”

“Because she’d hate me.” 

“She wouldn’t hate you.” His answer comes just as quick as yours, sharp and unfaltering. When you don’t respond, he continues. “She wouldn’t. That wasn’t your fault.” 

“But it is my fault,” you mutter. 

“It’s not,” he interjects firmly.

“If I had just lied like they told me to, he would still be alive,” you retort. 

“And if Marco hadn’t threatened you, you never would have had to worry about it. Just like you wouldn’t have had to worry about it if Marco hadn’t killed your mum, which never would have happened if your dad hadn’t aligned himself with Makarov. And I’m sure something else forced his hand to make him involve himself in that mess.” Simon pauses, eyes straying away from the road for a split second to look at you. All you can do is stare at your lap. “Actions and reactions, sweetheart. That’s all life is.” 

A rigid obloquy slithers around your stomach until it has your intestines weaved into knots. You are stuck at the intersection where shame and guilt meet grief. It exists all at once inside of you; coalesces in a heaping mass in the cavern of your chest. There is a desperate want—a pitiful plea—for your contriteness to cleanse you. 

All it does is remind you that you will be forever sullied. 

“You did what you needed to do to keep yourself alive. That was a reaction, not an action,” Simon continues. “Everyone thinks that they could’ve changed their pasts if they just tried hard enough, but that’s not how that works. Sometimes, things just are the way they are.” 

There are several flaws in the lesson he tries to teach you, none of which you bother to point out. Things would have gone much better had you thought about someone other than yourself during the moment Marco made his offer to you. You could have taken that deal. Halved your debt and ran off with him to do whatever he wanted to do. Your parents would still be dead—broken fingers, slashed stomach and all—but Aelin would have had a perfect life. 

Not that you would have been around to see it, but you think you could have shouldered all that if you had known at the time. 

“I know you don’t believe me,” he says softly. “That’s alright. We’ll work on it.” 

You nod just as silent tears begin to fall, and you use your free hand to wipe them away. It’s frustrating, being as weepy as you are. You think back to the laundromat when Marco kissed you, and how he cooed at your sorrow as if it were some sweet delight just for him. He told you not to cry, but you could still see the enjoyment lurking in the mossy shade of his eyes. 

This anguish would smother you if it weren’t for Simon. He does not whisper at you to keep quiet, or demand that you make your sadness bite sized and easy to swallow. Wordless, he raises your hand up to his lips where he kisses your knuckles as if there’s some sort of physical wound for him to mend. You don’t know if it’s because of his care, or because of something else, but it helps. Your heart quells, as do your tears, and he lowers your hand yet still refuses to let go. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Course.” 

He replies like it’s obvious. Like his help shouldn’t even be thanked—it’s a fact. Something he yearns to give. 

Things fall quiet again as the car weaves through traffic, but Simon’s presence is loud. The way he squeezes your fingers. The heat of his palm against yours. Despite the tears that danced on your cheeks just moments earlier, you smile as you allow yourself to melt into him. 

He’s right. You don’t believe him. But you think that you’d like to someday.

follow @mother-ilia to be notified of updates get early access to chapters here

[tepid-tea]

So this is a snap shot of my Actor!au- modern for my JayVik brain rot idea lol.

It’s not beta’d or anything so please excuse the errors…. I am also posting this on my break at work on my phone…..

———-

“Jayce!! Oh my Jayce you’ll never believe!!!” Caitlyn’s voice startled him out of his doze. He’d been napping on the plane for the last hour, getting rest before the chaotic weekend. There were planned photo ops for later this evening since his flight was delayed, his schedule now a mess.

“Mmm, what?” He opened one of his eyes to peep at his friend. She seemed to be vibrating in her seat, eyes glued to her screen.

“Viktor Novak just crashed a panel” Caitlyn turned her tablet towards him, a live feed of said panel on the screen.

“What!” Jayce lurched forward and tugged the tablet away from her, eyes wide on the screen.

“Yeah fans are apparently having a complete meltdown over it” she added, “it’s his first appearance since his accident and it’s a ‘Round Table’ panel at that.”

The Round Table had been the film to cause the accident three years ago causing the brilliant actor to disappear from the limelight. Rumor was the accident was so bad there had been a chance he’d never walk again. Thankfully word had it he walked with some mobility aids but again everything was speculation until now.

Jayce ignored everything else Cait was saying as he turned up the volume to hear the panel. Viktor Novak was an actor he had admired even before he’d made his own break into acting. Despite only being a year age difference between the two of them Viktor had more films under his belt then Jayce and award nominations to boot. Also the sheer amount of volunteer work and charities he was the face for; the man seemed to be always on the go.

“I’d have to say I was mostly shocked at the outpouring support I received.” Viktor replied, scratching at the beauty mark under his eye. “From friends, colleagues and of course the fans.”

He seemed to pause as the crowd screamed and cheered in support. It was easy to see the wall of sound wasn’t something he was used to. However the man still gave a kind smile to the crowd as they quieted down for him to continue speaking.

“But I wasn’t expecting it really, so thank you for all of it from the bottom of my heart” he said, ringed hand touching his chest.

The sincerity in his eyes was so staggering that Jayce’s breath caught. The close up they camera was getting showed how different the man looked. His hair long with soft ashen blonde mixed in with his dark brown. He looked soft and heartbreakingly beautiful to Jayce; delicate but still strong despite how thin he looked.

“Gods, you’re practically drooling over there Jayce” Caitlyn teased, causing him to look up.

“I’m not!” Jayce exclaimed, feeling his face heat up brightly. So he had a slight crush on a fellow actor he had never met. They would have met if not for the accident; they’d finally been slotted to be in the same film then was quickly recasted. Salo had been painful to work with, the disappointment hard to stomach when doing scenes. He’d already pictured them all in his head beforehand, the only reason why he had auditioned for the role was because Viktor had already been named for one of the support roles.

“Are you finally going to talk to him? This is your big chance, he’s at this convention all weekend.” Caitlyn leaned back in her seat, presumably going through emails.

“I want to try” he sighed;thinking back to all the award shows he’d gone to and had choked on his nerves.

The other man was always surrounded by other brilliant actors; especially Silco Marino who seemed to be his shadow. There had always been rumours of them dating as Viktor was openly gay and Silco seemed fairly fluid in who his affections went too. However nothing had ever been confirmed other than the two being close friends and frequently in the same films.

“I’ll do my best to try and make it happen,” Caitlyn smiled, tapping away at her phone. “Plus watching you fumble will be a treat; a nice humbling moment for you.”

“Thanks sprout.” He grumbled, going back to the tablet screen. Seemed like they were at fan questions now and Mel was answering something that was making the two men laugh.

“— head to toe with mud, I could not believe it!” Mel laughed, eyes bright as she looked at the two others.

“I thought it was a lovely day,” Viktor seemed to preen, screwing the top off a water bottle. “We have two very different memories of that scene.” He stopped to take a long drink.

“You were all snug and warm you little shit” Silco grumbled, “while I was standing in the muck in full armour I could barely walk in!”

The crowd seemed to laugh at that and the person who had asked the question thanked them and disappeared back into the sea of fans. They were quickly replaced by a young girl dressed up like a tiny Merlin in pigtails. She walked up the microphone and seemed to nervously scan the crowd as if looking for someone. She started to move her hands in what seemed in meaningful movements.

“Uh, sorry sweet heart—“ the moderator started, looking nervous.

“Ah, I’ve got this” Viktor hauled himself up out of his chair and made his way to the edge of the stage. He seemed to wave a hand back at Silco, who arched an eyebrow and moved to help the young man sit on the edge of the stage.

He quickly signed back to the little girl, whose face seemed to light up brightly in awe. Viktor looked at her with soft eyes then looked up at Silco who was standing by him still, looking fond. The whole crowd awed loudly and tittered at the display.

“Reduced to your techy now Viky? Alright alright” the older man joked and held out a mic to Viktor.

“So everyone knows, she’s asked me what scared us the most on sets” Viktor translated as the girls hands moved quickly. “She says the dragons seemed scary.”

“Well I wasn’t a fan of all the bugs” Mel spoke up, her smile wide and fond as well as Viktor quickly signed for her. “But the dragons were quite scary after hours in the dark on set.”

“I’m not a fan of the swimming scenes,” Silco admitted, crouching down next to Viktor. “I had to get my stunt double Alec to do a lot of those scenes for me.”

“She says water can be scary and you were brave for trying” Viktor watched her hands move as she looked at Silco with a sweet smile.

“Why thank you sweetheart.” Silco smiled gently.

“As for me, well I now have a fear of heights and falling” Viktor chuckled sadly, referencing back to his accident. “But before that it was the horses, one tried to bite my fingers once and never again!” He seemed to joke to lighten back up the mood.

Viktor and the little girl seemed to sign a little more before her time for her question was up. The crowd clapped loudly as it was instructed that was going to be the last question for the panel. Silco quickly moved to help Viktor back up into his feet, the leg brace not making it easy. There was a subtle flash and you could almost miss it but judging by the set of Viktors jaw he was in pain. Seeming to hover, Silco helped the younger man back to his seat before being waved off.

[blu3-ja3]

Chapter 7

Bruce's POV

I think I'm alive, it's hard for me to tell. I can't see, I can see my body but even that is hard to see. Dark greys and black merging into the darkness around me. The only way I can tell if my eyes are open is if I look down but after sometime I have to blink or else everything just fades. I know my body is there but it'll slowly drift to the background almost, it won't be at the forefront of my vision.

I'm breathing or I think I am, there's not really air it's just stagnant. No breeze, no outside sound the only thing I hear is my heart beating. I can't even tell if I'm floating or falling, no up or down. I'm surrounded by nothing. I remember reading about people who stayed in sensory deprivation for too long or the people who stayed in the world's quietest room. I wonder how long before I start being affected by my own mind?

It comes sooner than I thought because I swear there's a face of a woman in the shadows. It's uncanny how clearly I can see her but not what she looks like. I feel nauseous for a moment as I hear a faint whisper of something. I realize a little later that the face is moving, like she's talking but I can't hear anything.

Then the hallucinations become more vivid, I see a small speck of light growing bright and more defined. It's a humanoid and they're moving closer. They're feminine in their features, curly hair and a familiar face, Jillian Rodriguez. She comes closer and closer, for the first time since appearing here there's a change. It gets warmer as Jillian approaches.

The first change leads to a cascade of changes, I can see color where once there wasn't. I can hear distant echoes and voices in a language I don't understand, and I can feel that there's no air in my lungs. I can feel myself suffocating.

The girl drifts to my side and reaches with both hands and places one on the center of my chest and upper back. There's a flash of searing hot energy that pulses through me as my lungs suddenly pull in air. Another pulse and the voices begin to focus and become clear words. Another pulse and I realize what happened to cause the hand shaped burns on the younger girls.

"Enough child, he is alive now," I hear a woman's voice call out there's layers to it like millions of people whispering every word she speaks.

"It felt different, why?" Jillian's voice rings out but it's centralized around her not like the other voice.

"Because his body is here, that is why I forced you to move so quickly. He was running out of time but you stopped the clock," a face begins to form from nowhere then slowly becomes something faceless with no real features. In an odd way it reminds me of my mother...

"I'm flattered child, your mother was a kind woman." I watch as for the briefest moment the featureless face morphs into that of my mother's, then my father's and then back to nothing.

"I've done that before right? Stopped the other girls from whatever was about to happen to him," She doesn't know, of course she doesn't know what's happened to them.

"In a sense, yes," that's ominous, does this thing know what happened...

"What does that mean? Wait don't go!" The face slowly starts to disappear, fading away into the darkness around it. The whispering also follows slowly fading into nothing.

Shit this is unpleasant, all of it. I'm not even sure how to help myself out of this let alone Jillian's soul. I'm guessing this is her soul it looks similar to the one I followed hours ago but there's something different. I can't figure out what it is though, it may just be the environment we're in.

Jillian isn't looking at me, her eyes stay fixed on a certain point like she sees something I don't. Maybe she does I'm not entirely sure how different a soul is compared to a body. Jillian's eyes snap to something above me, and I follow her eye line.

Above me are multiple golden strands that drift and swirl around, some drift off into different directions than the other. Some disappear into nothing while others stretch on for miles, I can't see the end. Looking back down there's a small silver thread that's drifting behind Jillian, it's choppy and fragmented and almost too faint to see.

There's another smaller thread drifting in front of Jillian, it's more prominent going from silver to gold. Following the thread I realize it drifts up and connects with my chest. Jillian doesn't seem to notice it's even there too focused on the threads above me. The young girl suddenly drifts up and reaches out only to hesitate for a moment.

"What's wrong?" I ask seeing clear conflict on Jillian's face. Whatever was causing conflict she seems to resolve because she reaches out and touches a thread.

There's a faint glow from where she touches it that travels through the thread, when it reaches me there's a surge of warmth in my chest and memories of Dick begin to appear in my head. Odd, but not unpleasant. Jillian seems satisfied with something and turns to me.

"Okay Batman, you wanna get out of here?" It takes me a moment to realize that I'm still in my Batman suit and that I am indeed still wearing my cowl. I give a simple nod and the teen smiles at me.

We follow a particular strand for a while,l in the process of traveling I learn that all these different threads are connected to a different individual that I know in my life. There's one for every JL member, one for each of my children and their friends. There's ones for different rouges and villains that I've encountered and civilians that I've saved.

Jillian says the more prominent the string the closer they are. It's like a live wire system of every person I've ever met and as we move I watch it spread and grow. We're following a large cluster of strings, Jillian is keeping a finger on one strand in particular; Dick's. Eventually the end began to appear, it just stopped like it's been cut, there are other strings around it.

As I look I can see my children and their friends, I can see Alfred, Selina and Constantine. As I look closer at one it's strange, like Jillian's it's choppy and fragmented but not silver in color. Roy, Tim, and Lian's threads are all nearby. As I move closer to inspect I know who it belongs to; Jason.

"Okay I think I can get us out of here but I need you to stay in one spot," I looked over to where Jillian is floating.

She's at the very end of Dick's thread, reaching up with one hand she touches something and for a moment I can see Dick, wearing his Nightwing suit. Her other hand reaches out and touches the center of his back and the image becomes more clear. He's talking, gesturing like he does when he's stressed. His brow is furrowed and face pulled into a grimace.

There's a flash of gold as a thread moves and joins the group of threads surrounding Dick. I look closer and see that it's Zatanna's thread. It drifts closer to Constantine's thread.

My attention is drawn back to Jillian as something flashes, looking at the girl her eyes glow a bright purple. She moves both her hands together and clasp them together before moving them to her chest. There's a rush of whispers that echo the words Jillian speaks, it's again in the strange language from before.

Jillian's focus snaps to me bathing me in a purple glow. Moving suddenly the girl is right in front of me, her hands still clasped together. Slowly she opens them and a rift begins to form, it's not jagged and ripped like the others. It's like a perfect door opening, through it I can see the back of my oldest son still wearing his vigilante suit. The door grows and becomes fully formed.

Suddenly Jillian's hand reaches through it and pulls me forwards causing me to tip over and fall through. I land harshly onto the metal floor of the batcave, causing a bit of air pushed out of my lungs. Rolling over I watch as the visage of Jillian steps out of the doorway and glides calmly away towards the infirmary. Her eyes are still glowing the same purple.

"Well, that saves us a trip doesn't it love?"

Time Skip!

Jillian's POV

I'm so tired of waking up in pain it's been like this for almost two weeks, as my eyes open I'm in a hospital...Odd, I can hear the beeping of machines and I can feel the slightest pinching pulling pain as I move my arm. I look to see I'm hooked up to an IV bag as well as a monitor of sorts.

I let my head drop back down against the pillow of the hospital bed, I cringe a little at the feeling of my own hair. I can feel the dirt and grime caked into it, my body feels a little better but not by a lot. I'm also starving and thirsty, quickly I checked and I can feel my feet, legs and toes wiggle.

The door to my hospital room opens and a woman in blue scrubs walks in pushing a small cart with a large basin and several rags and sponges. She freezes when she sees that I'm awake, before I can say anything she's out the door again.

I learned I was comatose for a week and a half, the doctor said it was a miracle I even woke up let alone spoke and moved relatively fine. I'm being released with everything paid for along with a wheelchair to help me get around while I rebuild my strength.

I also learned that the Wayne's had covered all medical expenses and apparently Timothy Drake-Wayne was a frequent visitor to my room. How nice? I don't really care for the gossip, I'm thankful for the money and I'll tell Tim that when I see him again.

It was an awkward ordeal to learn that the clothes that were brought in with me didn't belong to me. Not that I said as much I refused to go home in only a thin piece of paper they call a medical smok. Getting out of the hospital was its own little disaster because they had to call GCPD to sign off as a legal guardian.

Thankfully the man who came Commissioner Gordon was nice enough to offer me a ride back home, while driving he informed me about the open investigation against my sister and her boyfriend... It was awkward sitting in the back seat and driving into Park Row but I'll deal with whatever flak I get for that later. For now I just want to get home and take a shower. The Commissioner saw it fit to escort me to my apartment door as well.

The elevator was thankfully working today, I clicked the button for the third floor and waited patiently. The elevator dinged open and I pushed myself out and turned immediately to my right to go down the hall. I stopped pushing for a moment at the sight down the hall from me.

Standing in front of my door was my neighbor's daughter, she was talking to a man who I couldn't recognize from here. Pushing my wheelchair closer I caught Maria's eyes, instantly her face fell and my stomach opened into a pit.

"Oh Jill, I'm so sorry sweetie," Maria pushed past the man and came closer to me. Please just let Ms. Gonzalez be in the hospital again or maybe Maria finally convinced her to go into assisted living and she moved.

"Why-" My throat tightened as I fought back tears, she was fine. Abuela was fine, "Abuela's fine right?"

I swallowed a cry as Maria shook her head, I closed my eyes and let my head tip back again my wheelchair. I'm going to regret asking this question but I have to know.

"How?" Maria said she'd tell me but only once I was inside, showered and ate. I let Maria push my wheelchair the rest of the way to my apartment.

The man who Maria was talking to was on the phone with someone before quickly ending the call to talk to Commissioner Gordon. I vaguely recognize him as Bruce Wayne and only just noticed Tim with him. I didn't even bother asking questions just let myself be guilded into the empty apartment before moving myself to my room.

I grabbed a change of clothes that would be easy to change into and quickly shower or as quickly as I could give I can't really stand for to long without my legs giving out. I feel a little better with clean hair and clothes, opening the bathroom door the smell of bread and cheese waffed through the air. Maria made me chicken soup and a grilled cheese, well more like she brought over leftovers when she realized I had no food in the kitchen.

"Where's Queenie?" I asked as I haven't heard her call out the entire time I've been back, and usually Queenie is a very vocal ball of black fluff.

"She's with us," I look up to see both the Wayne's sitting on the couch in the tiny living room alongside a woman in a very fancy business suit and the commissioner still here.

"Oh, um thank you," I say half cutting myself off as I stuff my face full of grilled cheese and soup.

It's exactly what I need and Maria is kind enough to make me another grilled cheese that I also polish off. I don't particularly care that there's multiple people watching me eat. Once finished and satisfied I started to move towards the couch, Maria helps me and sits down next to me.

"First I want to know what happened to Abuela Gonzalez," I look straight to Maria.

Maria sighs and tells me how Ms. Gonzalez had passed while I was in the hospital. She was in the kitchen making her weekly batch of bread and tortillas when she had a sudden heart attack. She passed within moments and was found by Maria a few hours later. Maria informs me that I missed the funeral but that I was left with a few things in the will and they were waiting for me.

Maria excused herself to go get said items to get and bring them over. Calming myself and turning my attention to the other group of people in my apartment. I really didn't know why they were here but they are. The woman spoke first.

"Ms. Rodriguez, I'm sorry for your loss," The woman starts off, she moves herself a little closer to the edge of the couch as she talks.

"Thank you, why are you here. Who are you?" I asked, I'm trying to keep my tone polite but I know my smile is definitely tired.

"Well I'm your new social worker, it's come to light that your previously assigned worker wasn't doing his job very well," I couldn't help but roll my eyes, I really was too tired for this.

"I'll cut to the chase, your sister is no longer in a position to keep custody of you," I nod know a little from what Gordon told me, "because of this you are going into foster care-"

"However I'm to take temporary custody of you and allow you a space near home," Bruce cuts in, he smiles as he continues, "I know it's a bit odd but..." Bruce trails off after that.

"It would be short-term, only until the court case is resolved. Unless of course something happens," the social worker continues.

"Court case?" I look at the three adults in the room, making sure my confusion is clear.

"We'll discuss that in a moment, what do you say Jillian? Regarding Mr. Wayne getting temporary custody." I look around me at the nothing that has been my life and shrugged.

"It can't be any worse than this place," Tim looks to his dad immediately and Bruce looks at me.

"If it's alright, my kids are here to help pack your room. I know it's sudden but sadly this apartment is no longer yours or your sister's. I've done what I can but they want you out as quickly as possible..." I kinda nod dumbfounding but I'm not surprised. Mr. Jenkins has always been a tool so of course he wants me out as soon as possible.

Tim hops up off the couch, pulling out his phone and tapping something onto the screen. I kinda sit there confused about what just happened when my attention is drawn to the Commissioner who moves to sit where Tim was.

"There was an investigation done against your sister and her boyfriend. There was a lot of evidence and because of that we were able to take it to court quickly," Gordon starts, he's staring at his hands which are clasped together.

"We weren't expecting you to wake up anytime soon but you have, because of this I'd like to know if you'd be willing to testify against Grace and Daniel?" The Commissioner meets my eyes and oh boy is this all overwhelming.

"I can try, I'm not promising anything right now," I see Bruce nodding his head with an impressed look on his face.

"I appreciate how forthright you are Ms. Rodriguez, truly. I've already discussed with Bruce about having you come down to the station to give a statement and answer some questions," Gordon nods over to Bruce who simply smiles politely at me.

"I don't expect you to go right away, I'd hope to let you settle down first and let you get your bearings. I will say I've taken the liberty to hire a trusted friend of mine to be your lawyer, she'll represent you fiercely I can promise that," Bruce yet again flashes a kind smile to me and I find myself taken aback at the sudden kindness.

"Why'd you do it?" The question slips from my mouth before I have the chance to stop it, to filter it out.

"I'm not sure what you're asking me exactly," Bruce tilted his head to the side, confusion painting his face.

"Why help me? The hospital bill, the fostering, now a lawyer, why help me? I'm sure you'll get some brownie points with the press but this is a little much," I can't stop the words now that the gates have been open.

"Ms. Rodriguez! That is incredibly rude! Apologize-" my social worker was chastising me but stopped when Bruce held up a hand. Still smiling kindly.

"It's alright honestly. Truth be told I'm doing this mostly for Tim's sake, he was quite shaken when he learned of your disappearance," Bruce's voice becomes soft and kind as he talks about his son, I feel myself flush with embarrassment.

"Ah! I'm sorry Mr. Wayne, I-" Bruce holds up a hand and again smiles softly.

"Bruce is fine and it's alright, you've had a rough time recently so I don't blame you for having your guard up," He says before I can respond there's a knock at the front door before it opens.

Six figures walk in, two girls and four boys. The youngest is carrying a small animal carrier crate. Almost instantly I hear the familiar trill of my baby.

"Queenie!"

Cursed Gotham Masterpost

[bambambwi]

Hihi! Absolutely adore your fics <3 so i wanted to request smth for the first time :)

Can i request a g dragon x reader who is fun chaotic and just kind of matches his vibe she is also an idol (maybe she is from 2NE1 👀) and the two are pretty close friends and have fun , teasing eachother at award shows , shared concerts , shared interviews etc.. speculations begin on their relationship if its more than just friends based of how they acted when ever they are together. and one day the two kind of confess cause they do indeed like eachother ^^

(2014 , 2013 g dragon hits dif ngl)

I like you too ; a new start ?

You were a well-known member of 2NE1, celebrated for your exceptional dance skills, striking visuals, and most notably, your bright, cheerful personality, which made you a beloved presence among both fans and your labelmates in BIGBANG.

During the collaborative stages between 2NE1 and BIGBANG, you and g-dragon were a dynamic duo, captivating audiences with your electrifying performances. Fans adored the undeniable chemistry you both shared on stage.

At award shows, you both were often seated next to each other, whispering, laughing, and sharing inside jokes. One particular moment, a clip of ji yong casually brushing a strand of hair from your face went viral, fueling endless fan speculation about whether there was something more than just friends or labelmates between you two.

During a joint interview with 2NE1 and BIGBANG, the mc playfully asked ji yong if there was anyone he liked at the moment. Instead of giving a direct answer, he simply shrugged with a teasing smirk before winking at the mc, leaving everyone in the room gasping and fans buzzing with endless theories.

──────────────────────

“ji yong, so are you saying the rumors are true?" the mc asked, eyes widening in surprise.

"I don’t know what you mean by that!” ji yong laughed, clearly flustered, his hand coming up to cover his face in embarrassment.

"Is it true, y/n?” The unexpected question caught you off guard, and you could only shake your head, letting out a nervous laugh.

Almost instantly, whispers and teasing spread among both groups, turning the entire interview into a chaotic yet hilarious moment that fans would replay over and over again.

──────────────────────

During one concert, ji yong suddenly grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the spotlight during a breakdance segment.

“Go y/n! go, go y/n!” he chanted, hyping you up as the crowd erupted in cheers.

With no choice but to go along with it, you jumped into the beat, effortlessly freestyling. ji yong quickly joined in, matching your moves in perfect sync, the two of you feeding off each other’s energy. The stage lit up with excitement, and the moment became one of the most talked-about highlights of the night.

──────────────────────

The media would often catch you and ji yong in matching outfits, from stylish clothes to accessories that seemed to complement each other perfectly. Whether it was a coordinated jacket or matching rings, fans and reporters alike couldn’t help but notice the subtle, yet undeniable connection between the two of you. The matching styles only added fuel to the rumors, sparking even more curiosity about the true nature of your relationship.

Despite how the media portrayed you both, the truth was simpler and more complicated. You liked him, and he liked you but deep down, you both were too afraid to talk about it, worried that confessing would risk the friendship you’d built over the years. The unspoken feelings lingered between you both, making every shared glance, every subtle touch, feel like both a promise and a fear of what could happen if things ever changed.

He was always incredibly gentle with you, always looking out for you in small, thoughtful ways. He’d let you wear his jacket when it got cold, offering to buy you meals when you were too busy to grab something for yourself, and he’d even help you during rehearsals, guiding you through tricky parts of choreography for upcoming concerts.

For him, you were magnetic. There was something about you that he couldn’t quite put into words. Your personality, your appearance, everything about you drew him in, leaving him constantly captivated. Every time you laughed or shared a story, he felt a spark in his chest. Even the slightest touch, like your hand brushing against his, made his stomach flip, sending waves of nervous excitement through him.

When you both had to share a stage again, you couldn't help but feel nervous, crazy even. Why? Because this time, it wasn’t just any regular shared stage, it was something completely different. The song choice wasn’t funky or pop, it was a romantic, sultry track that required a level of chemistry neither of you had anticipated.

During rehearsals, ji yong became unusually cautious, avoiding being too touchy with you. It wasn’t because he didn’t like you, it was because he couldn’t handle the emotions that surged through him every time you both came too close. The same went for you. Each time your hands brushed or your bodies came within inches of each other, it sent a wave of nervous energy through you both. You knew that if you gave in to the chemistry, it might become too hard to ignore, so you both tried to keep it professional, even though it was becoming increasingly difficult.

On the day of the performance, ji yong found himself unable to take his eyes off you. The stage outfit you wore had a way of making you even more stunning, something about the way it fit you, the way you moved in it, made you look even more breathtaking than usual. It was as if the stage lights only highlighted your beauty, and every glance he stole from you sent a rush of emotions through him that he couldn’t quite control. His usual confidence faltered for a moment, and he found himself caught in a moment of admiration, his heart racing as the performance loomed closer.

As the performance progressed, you both nailed every move, feeding off each other’s energy and delivering the perfect show. Everything was going as planned, and you were both in sync, until the outro. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the stage, highlighting your silhouettes. In that fleeting moment, as the music slowed, ji yong stepped closer to you and without a word, he cupped your face gently, his thumb grazing your cheek and he leaned in and kissed you. The soft touch of his lips leaving both of you breathless, as the last note echoed through the venue.  

As the kiss lingered for those precious few seconds, the audience erupted into chaos. The cheers, gasps, and shouts filled the arena, as fans lost their minds over what they had just witnessed. The stage lights flickered as the final notes of the song faded, but the energy in the room only grew stronger. Backstage, the members of both groups stood frozen in shock, unable to believe what they had just seen. Their eyes widened, and whispers quickly spread among them, the tension palpable as they processed the unexpected moment. The kiss wasn’t planned at all, ji yong just took the risk at that very moment.

Once you both made it backstage, the silence was deafening, the weight of the moment still hanging in the air but that silence didn’t last long. As soon as your members caught sight of you, the teasing began. You could feel your cheeks heating up as the teasing continued, and you struggled to find the right words, your mind still racing from the unexpected kiss. ji yong, who had been unusually quiet beside you, just shrugged and gave a sheepish grin, clearly just as flustered.

After the teasing subsided, your members, sensing the need for a moment of peace, quietly stepped away, leaving you both alone backstage. The silence between you both was thick with unspoken words, neither of you knowing exactly how to process what had just happened. The adrenaline from the performance had faded, and now all that was left was the weight of the kiss that had changed everything.

ji yong glanced over at you, his usual confidence replaced with vulnerability. “y/n…” he started, his voice softer than usual, but the words seemed stuck. You met his gaze, your heart still racing, unsure whether to speak first or let the moment linger.

He finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with sincerity. 

"I really, really like you. It's been a long time now, and it's been quite hard to dodge my feelings towards you" he confessed, his eyes searching yours for any sign of understanding.

ji yong’s gaze softened as he continued, his voice almost hesitant. "And I understand if you don’t like me back. I just... I just wanted to get it off my chest."

He looked down for a moment, clearly nervous about your reaction, but his words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. The weight of the confession lingered, and you could feel your heart racing, unsure of what to say but knowing that this moment would change everything.

You looked up at him, your gaze soft and steady, the same gaze that ji yong had been avoiding to keep his emotions from overflowing. He turned to walk away, but stopped when you spoke up, with your voice a little shaky.

“ji..” you began, he turned back around to face you. 

You were looking down, nervously fidgeting with your fingers.

“ji yong" you whispered, your voice barely audible, but enough for him to hear. "I like you too... I just don’t know how to—"

The words hung in the air, your heart racing as you struggled to finish. The weight of the confession was overwhelming, and you felt vulnerable, unsure of how to make sense of everything between you both.

He slowly walked up to you, his steps soft but purposeful, and before you could say another word, he pulled you into a hug. His arms wrapped around you gently.

"Im glad to know that" he murmured, his voice filled with relief and something softer, almost tender.

You rested your head against his chest, the feeling of his heartbeat beneath your ear making everything feel more real. In that moment, all the hesitations، and the confusion faded into the background, leaving only the quiet understanding that this was just the beginning of something new.

Just a few weeks later, the media caught on. Photographers snapped pictures of you and ji yong out together, the two of you clinging to each other more closely than usual. The way his arm was casually draped around your shoulders, the way you both laughed and seemed to melt into each other,it was clear to anyone watching that something had shifted between you. The rumors that had once swirled in the background now had undeniable evidence, and the media quickly exploded with headlines, leaving fans eagerly speculating about the status of your relationship.

But would you both confirm your relationship status? No, you decided that the world’s opinion was a secondary concern. The two of you had built something personal, something that was yours to navigate without the pressure of public expectations. The media could speculate all they wanted, but you both knew what was real. 

even though you and ji yong haven’t officially confirmed your relationship to the public, both 2NE1 and BIGBANG members are fully aware that you both were dating each other. It’s no longer a secret to them. The playful teasing was endless. Yet, you and ji yong remained quiet on the matter, choosing to keep the details of your relationship between the two of you, no need to rush into anything public when the understanding among your closest friends was enough.

[aaplecore]

Babysitting

(Agatha Harkness x fem!reader)

Summary: Agatha—your long time neighbor and crush—agreed to take on the tiring job of watching Wanda’s twins for the weekend. Of course she needs some way to de-stress.

Warnings/tags: no smut, just a couple of minor nsfw moments

Notes: Hiii !! This is my first ever post so I have almost no idea how this works or if this is any good… but wtv :)

If you have any tips or suggestions pls share them but also if you have any reqs or ideas (aus, plots, characters, etc) PLEASE tell me !!

Anyway, I hope you like this short, silly little thing <33

It was eight thirty at night. On a Friday. And, for some reason, Agatha Harkness was incessantly dialing you.

For a few years now, you and Agatha had been nextdoor neighbors—to her left—in Westview. It was the perfect town. Almost like living in a sitcom. But, the best part about it was her. You were always over at her house or inviting her over for a glass of wine, talking for hours about anything and everything. She was witty, sarcastic and quite confident—although it definitely worked for her. Each time you two hung out, you felt a familiar flutter in your chest and when she smiled that damn smile a heat between your legs. Plus, you could’ve sworn she was flirting with you. Each time you were together, you’d hear some variation of:

“What a pretty little thing you are… how has someone not scooped you up yet?”

“Well, don’t you look beautiful today? Is this all for me, love?”

“I swear, no one in this neighborhood has any sense of style other than the two of us, doll.”

In that same low, almost gravely, beautiful voice. You figured that was just how she acted around everyone. You just… weren’t quite used to it.

Anyway, you weren’t entirely sure why your neighbor would need your help… especially this late at night. Due to your little crush—and god, that felt so high-school to say, but there really was no better explanation—that you’d been harboring for some time now, your mind was wandering to non-safe-for-work places. But of course it wasn’t that. At least you figured it couldn’t be that.

…And of course it wasn’t (to your dismay). Agatha sounded either like she was about to crush something or start screaming when you finally picked up after the third ring.

“Hi, hon, I need you to come over to Wanda’s house. To the right of mine. I’m… well, i’m having some trouble with the twins. If I don’t have another sane adult to talk to, I will lose my shit. Don’t ask, okay?”

She said quickly, leaving no room for you to argue (not that you would have anyway). Your only question was: why Wanda’s house? And what was Agatha doing with the twins?

Even despite the questions swirling in your mind, you packed up your purse and headed over to Wanda’s house, only a few doors down from yours. As per usual, the lawn was perfectly manicured, nicely trimmed shrubs leading up the pathway to the entrance. You always wondered how she managed to keep it so perfect.

Anyway, after ogling at her house, you knocked on the door and patiently waited for it to open. The only cue that someone was coming was the quick, loud footsteps racing to the door… faster than anyone’s normally should be. Before you could even begin to question what that was about, the door swung open and you saw Tommy standing there, looking up at you. He just… stood and blinked for a second.

“Aunt Agnes! There’s a girl here, what do I do?”

He called out, turning back to look at Agatha… who was walking down the stairs, her normally perfectly kept—and absolutely stunning—dark brown hair was tied up into a messy bun. She was wearing black jeans and a purple sweater over a purple button up with her classic locket pin. And god damn, it shouldn’t be legal for anyone to look this good in that outfit.

She rushed up to the door when she saw you, finally taking a deep breath. Before you could open your mouth to say anything, she is whisking you inside, her arm around your shoulder and the other rubbing your arm. Her hands were warm, and her grip on you was firm. The feeling of her gangly caressing your arm made the butterflies in your stomach flutter for just a second.

“Thank gods you’re here. These kids are going to be the death of me.”

She hissed at you, guiding you into the kitchen so she could at least hide behind a wall and make sure the twins couldn’t hear her—and, really, even disheveled she still looked hot. Distractingly so.

“Wanda and Vision are away for the weekend. They asked me to babysit—god knows why—and did not tell me how goddamn energetic their kids are. I swear to god they’re running on endless batteries.”

She huffs, leaning against the counter opposite to where you’re standing. For a second, you look down to the way her arms look with the sleeves of her purple sweater pulled up. But you quickly pull your eyes back to hers. You’re here to help, not to ogle.

“And… you called me why, exactly?”

You ask, crossing your arms like hers, mirroring the position on the opposite counter.

Agatha just smiles back at you, the grin on her face nothing short of devilish.

“Well, doll, you must know I think you’re quite a… beautiful girl, right?”

She asks, standing off of the counter, looking down at you just a little due to the height difference. You only nod in response.

“Right, so… I figured you could help me… de-stress. I’ve got the boys playing hide and seek and their bedtime is at 9. It’s…”

She glances down at her watch.

“It’s 8:45. Fifteen more minutes, then they’ll be fast asleep… and we have the house to ourselves. It’s high-time we got a little girls time.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at you in a way that tells you she isn’t just asking you to play truth or dare and try an ouija board. For a second, you look as confused as Tommy had when he first opened the door, just blinking at her, your face already hot thinking about what that could possibly mean. What you want it to mean.

“What?”

You ask simply, shaking your head in disbelief. She takes a step closer.

“Listen, hon, do you think i’ve missed the way you stare at me whenever I come over for a glass of wine? I’m not an idiot, darling.”

She laughs, still smirking at you.

“And we both know you understand what i’m asking.”

She is… blunt. That’s for sure. You never expected a call for babysitting help would result in… this. You never even thought this was a possibility. You open your mouth to say something but, before you can, she cuts you off again, coming closer and snaking her hand around your waist, causing a shiver down your spine and a flush to your cheeks.

“By all means, tell me to stop. We can forget about all of this if you want to. I just get the sense that you don’t want to, hm?”

She gingerly tilts your chin up slightly, and by the way she looks at you, you’d guess she’s examining each and every detail of your face. Like she’s trying to memorize the view.

“Right.”

You quickly nod. Agatha smile turns wider, and she grips your waist slightly tighter, pulling you in closer to her while simultaneously holding you against the counter. Her other hand moves from your chin to your neck, and she begins gently running her hand through the hair there, smiling as she does. For a moment, you just stand there like that, her body pressed against yours, tracing light patterns onto your waist, looking down at you like… well, like prey.

“I- I just didn’t think… you would ever think of me that way.”

You stutter, shaking your head as you look at her. She cocks her head to the side as if you’d just asked her for the answer to an obvious question.

“Oh, love, i’ve been flirting with you for months now… was I not obvious enough?”

She asks, laughing quietly, leaning down to speak closer to your ear.

“Anyway, that’s exactly what I was hopping to hear, darling… Although i’m hoping to hear a lot more coming from you later tonight.”

She mutters, leaning in closer to you with a smirk, so that your lips are almost touching. You can feel her breath against your face, smell her perfume—something floral, but woody—and feel the ghost of her lips against yours. Your heart is beating out of your chest and all you want is for her to pull you in just a little more… but she doesn’t. Instead, she drops her hand down to your hip and whispers in your ear again,

“Ten more minutes until the boys bedtime. Then i’ll have my way with you, hon.”

She practically purrs, gripping your hip just a bit tighter, running her lips from your ear down your neck, brushing over your pulse point just enough to make you shiver…before suddenly letting go and walking away as if nothing had happened, a smug smile on her face.

“Meet me in the guest room in ten, doll.”

Still, your heart was beating, your face surely flushed scarlet red by now. You missed her touch. The way she gipped your hip had you clenching around nothing already… and this time none of it was fantasy.

By the time you’d finally got a grip on the situation, you were already walking around to find the guest room. Just to help Agatha de-stress, of course.

[ashton-ryder]

He doesn't respond back to her mockery of defiance, he didn't get a chance to when a kick straight into his chest stung and amplified the heartache. He wheezed as his rib and lungs (and heart) felt it. He could've grabbed her leg, pull her down, subdue her and break that knee properly this time and actually claim responsibility for it. But where does that leave him? Dead probably. Whether at her hands or Jeremiah's.

Jeremiah, he didn't want to think about him now, not when Sada kept trying to force in images of the two of them happily living their tyrannical lives. But how can he not think about him when ultimately it still brought him mixed, confusing, jumbled emotions of comfort? It hurt more hearing this with a clear mind but it also gave him enough confidence to trust in the truths he knew, in the truths shared between them and them only. He was the one with him when he was weary and needed the calm and rest, he was the one there in moments of family, of joy, of vulnerability, of peace. But he didn't need to prove anything between them to Sada. Because all he's hearing of her gloating sounded more problematic than anything else.

All this time it's always been about choosing her, worshipping her, pleasuring her, loving her. An anger simmered at the way she talked about treating him, and what about him? What about choosing him, worshipping him, pleasuring him, loving him? Ashton wasn't sure if he could give Jer everything he needed, but at least he was confident enough to give him that much, more than she could, being so self absorbed. Despite the strong font he tried to shakily hold up, he turned his face down to the floor, "stop.." not wanting to hear more, hiding the wet blues that threatened to spill over at the pangs of pain beating through his chest that didn't stem for the swift kick.

He stayed there like a rag doll until Sada yanked him by his hair, roots tearing at his scalp, making his deep watery gaze face hers. Ashton had paused a long while before a soft, heartbroken smile flickered to mock her, "..no he's not," he was nothing like her, "and I love him." What’s the point in hiding it if she’s already figured it out? At the very least that truth will ring in her ears, spoken into existence that hasn't wavered.

Tossed aside, his arms broke the fall, not expecting her to end her session so quickly this time. That's all? He wanted to taunt her, but just as he pushed himself back up, he was grappled again, this time with enough fight in him to resist their holds. "The fuck is that?" Ashton was a smart man, smart enough seeing the vaccine now in a syringe and a dubious vial delicately toying by her fingers. There were only so many scenarios he was going to need a vaccine and it wasn't going to be her kind hearted soul to do the right thing.

Ashton's realization settled on one possibility and he immediately fought back against the two men, he still had mobility to swiftly get out of their holds, managing a few blows at them until the chains were immediately yanked back to hold him down, he gagged at the sudden choking pressure from the cuff pressed against his throat and trachea, arms outstretched with no more wiggle room to even move an inch. "N- no--" please don't do this, he didn't let it show but the fear was creeping in, he did not want to become one of those things.

She stumbled as the support of the cane was torn away, eyes following as it flew across the space, hitting a wall and clattering to the floor. "Do you feel better now? Did you let it all out?" Speaking through a mocking sort of pout down at him,

Sada instead gave a nice little swift kick to the side, hissing through the sting in her knee, but the joint held firm. "I don't need it to beat you with, in fact, I like this even better." That satisfying thwack of limb to torso contact nearly as good as good deep stroke, and she shuddered through it.

"You don't want to know? You don't want to know how I make him beg for me? How he loves me." The emphasis was obvious and meant to be painful. "You know that he's king here, right? Leads at my side, because he chooses to. I don't force him to stay with me, Ashton. He chooses me, and he'll always choose me. You know why?"

Reaching down for a handful of his hair so she could yank his gaze up to her as she looked at him with a gaze as cold as ice. "Because he's just like me." She knew the implications that would carry to the paranoia she'd long instilled in this man over the years of playing with him. Leaning forward, she whispered her words almost affectionately into his ear.

"You're so fucking stupid. So fucking gullible." The words slipped from her tongue with silken satisfaction as she sprinkled doubt so liberally over what this man had with her lover.

Roughly pulling his hair to the side as she more or less tossed him, Sada stood back up and gave a little stretch. "I think maybe it's time." Striding to the door, she gave three hard knocks and waited for James and Hector to appear in the doorway, nodding at them to go and hold Ashton down. While she made her way to the little table to set up the syringe of vaccine, turning back to him with the small vial of merlot coloured fluid.

"I hope you're thirsty, Ashton."

[notsosecretlyalesbian]

"Your bank statement will say "Lilia's Leggings", but that's just my side hustle."

Patti LuPone as Lilia Calderu in Agatha All Along | 01×02: Circle Sewn with Fate / Unlock Thy Hidden Gate

[gonzodangerfeels]

We got that wild vibe rolling tonight