#but also I got impatient as hell and read it at midnight when it released

[vaaaaaiolet]

When you call Leon late one night, he knows something's up with his best friend and mission partner of two years. You're breaking down and your shitty on-and-off boyfriend's nowhere to be found, but that's not Leon's business. He's just supposed to be a shoulder for you to cry on.

But Leon's not very good at staying out of business concerning you. Feelings get involved, and he finds out he has quite a sticky finger when it comes to phone calls.

f / m, friends / partners to lovers, angst + fluff w/ hurt + comfort, mutual pining, mild?? safe sex, phone sex w/ a twist, tw: shitty bf that's not leon but no cheating i don't condone cheating, porn w/ feelings + some semblance of a plot. oh, and happy ending :) mdni.

word count: 2.7k // read on ao3

a/n: YAY GRACIE ABRAMS RELEASED CLOSE TO YOU!! idk what happened with this fic LMAO it just got way out of hand. i’m also working on "and they were roommates!"; it's my summer goal to finish that series (you can really tell how employed i am). also if you catch the touch tank lyric, i <3 u

The phone on Leon’s nightstand buzzed impatiently the way demanding, intrusive phone calls do at 1 AM on weeknights. Jesus Christ. No one called him this late at night, nobody except his favorite mission partner who only had burning questions for him the minute the clock struck midnight.

In other words, you.

He ran a hand through his bedhead, picking up your call with half a mind to tell you off for real this time before his ears met wracking sobs. The snark sublimated off Leon’s tongue. 

“Hey, hey, is everything alright? What’s going on?” his voice rose steadily in pitch the more you cried. Worry thumped in his bare chest as he sat up on his knees, “Where are you?”

“Home, I’m at home, I- Leon, he’s with her, I don’t know what to do!” You sounded like you were drowning the way your words spilled out, punctuated with gasps for air. “He turned his phone off, and his-his friends said he wasn’t with them at the bar…” you hiccuped, “and I have the worst gut feeling, it feels like-” 

His stomach twisted as you heaved for breath. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.” 

Leon’s mind whirled. He knew, to his incredible unenthusiasm, that you’d been in an on-and-off relationship for the past two years. You couldn’t let go of your boyfriend from your training days. You’d sip apologetically from your drink and wave away Leon’s scolding each time you got left in the dust, only to bounce back the moment your boyfriend promised to do better. 

You’d been his saving grace in the field more times than he could count, and it was only because of his own woman in red that Leon could empathize where others rolled their eyes at you. You and him were the same. The only difference is that he’d given up on this part of life entirely while you clung tight. Leon had gone his separate way while you pined at the crossroads. 

But he was a selfish bastard, and he was a bit like you, too. Same coin. He gave you his shoulder to cry on and couldn’t help absorbing a bit of the blame for your needy heart.

“Stay right there.” Leon murmured, forcing his anger at your definitely cheating boyfriend into something softer for you to land on, "I'm coming right now, I'll pick you up and we'll talk about it."

“Don’t, Leon, it’s late. I just called to…God, I don’t even know. You have work tomorrow.” 

“First time you’ve been concerned about my work, calling this late at night.” he chuckled, interrupting your budding apology, silver keys jangling in his pockets. “Don’t worry about it. Pretend I’m already there. I got you.” 

You laughed through your sniffles, “Stubborn ass.”

His heart lurched. “Have to be one. I can’t have you thinking you can call me crying and I’d do nothing about it.”

The snow whipped at his windshield when he pulled into your driveway. Who the hell went clubbing on a work night at 1 AM, Leon didn’t know, but as he killed his car’s headlights, he figured your boyfriend was just the kind of good-for-nothing to pull it off. He stuck his hands in his pockets and trudged to your front door.

You cracked the door open after two knocks, just enough for him to slip into your dark entryway. Leon frowned in the darkness as he let you pull him by the arm into your living room where a few tea candles flickered on your coffee table. They littered its glass surface along with a few tissues. 

“I'm sorry about the dark,” you wiped your eyes with a sleeve, “Sorry about everything, really.”

If he’d lifted your mood before he’d cut the call, he didn’t have a clue now. You looked so small, drowning in a long-sleeve shirt and pajama shorts, socked feet fiddling with a crack in the floor as Leon sat you on your couch. 

He couldn’t think. He just enveloped you in a hug as fresh tears threatened to spill over your lashes. "No. We're not doing 'I'm sorry,' alright? You have nothing to be sorry for." He gave you one more squeeze before popping the million dollar questions: "What happened? What did he do? Tell me everything." 

You crumpled into his chest. “You were right, you’re always right, Leon. God, why don’t I ever learn? What’s wrong with me?”

I’ve never wanted to be more wrong in my life. Tell me no like you always do.

“He’s been angry.” You mumbled, “Secretive, defensive…he bought jewelry that I only know about from the receipts.”

“…how long?” 

Leon wanted to fix this. Make your should-be ex pay. Hunnigan could always deal with the fallout later. She’d wipe your boyfriend’s existence off the face of the planet if he asked. Nicely. Hopefully. 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.” You lifted your head to meet his gaze and all he could do was watch tears glimmering in those eyes he knew so well. “I didn’t want to tell you he’s been like this for a month…to be honest, I didn’t care.”

Leon’s brain wasn’t catching up as you continued, “I just didn’t want to disappoint you.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

"Disappoint me?" Leon repeated. "Sweetheart, you would never disappoint me. You're my best friend, alright?" Damn, he’d pulled out the double-edged sword, but this way, he could get you to listen. The tingly feeling was back. "Look at me."

He cupped your chin in his hand. Studied your face. 

"Why would you ever think that?" 

“…because you said he wasn’t good for me,” you choked out, words tumbling from your lips the more you gained momentum. “Because I know how it feels to be loved because you treat me like that and he doesn’t, he never did, he-”

You stopped yourself with a shaky breath, blinking up at him like a deer in headlights because there it was. 

Here you both were.

The one line you were both afraid to cross. The line between friends and everything more.

Your hands flew up to his chest, flitting from the soaked fabric of his open shirt to cover your face as you backtracked hard. “I’d make everything complicated. You don’t need that, neither of us do with this job – you don’t need me to mess up the stability you have in your life. I’m supposed to make things easier for you, like an actual friend, and instead I just cause trouble. I drag you into my mess.”

Leon could roll his eyes right about now. Said the girl who watched his back at every turn. Saved him limbs and further replacements for said limbs. The girl who started breaking him out of his shell with laughter and light the minute she stepped into his life like a hurricane, after losing Luis and the shock of Krauser’s betrayal shut Leon further into the abyss. You were the chief reason he’d stopped chasing Ada like a lovesick puppy and started seeing her as an advantage in the field instead. And you as something more.

You filled his life with so much to look forward to that he simply didn’t have the time to let the negativity in. So it was only right that he cut you off, sealing his mouth to yours to even the exchange. An eye for an eye – heart for a heart.

"There." Leon breathed out after what felt like an eternity, heat rushing to his face. "Am I messing up your life yet?"

The broken pieces of your heart kicked up like the snowstorm outside the moment Leon’s lips touched yours. The breath knocked out of you as he lifted your chin ever so gently with just a finger, your head reeling to keep pace: Leon. Here. Kissing. Kissing you.  

Is he messing up your life yet? Oh, baby boy.

“You could never.” 

A stupid, giddy smile threatened to split your face in half as your heart beat double time.

“...but I’d let you if you wanted.”

“Then let me, sweetheart,” Leon practically begged, his ocean eyes searching yours.

“I’ll stop if you say the word.”

His calloused fingers tucked your hair behind your ear as he leaned in again, drawing a beautiful gasp out of you as his tongue brushed the seam of your lips. You let him in, tilting your head, nose almost bumping his the way you chased him after he let go, everything that was suddenly too much now not enough. Leon’s heart kicked gleefully.

He hooked his hands under your thighs as he pulled you onto his lap. The strength he’d built up from his missions finally came to good use.

You blinked up at him, hungrily, pleadingly. “I do want something more. More than what we’ve got.”

“The sentiment’s mutual.” 

Leon took advantage of the fact you hadn’t done a single thing to stop him so far, purring sweet nothings into your ear as he began nipping at your neck to coax out more delicious sounds. He could play you like an instrument in the hands of Juilliard graduate; make you sing with a touch.

“Leon…I was scared. Terrified. Didn’t want to- didn’t want to lose you if I came clean.” 

You let his hands slip under your shirt to palm at your breasts, followed by profuse thanks in the form of tender touches everywhere else he could reach. Sweet girl, melting like snow on his tongue. He flipped you onto your back as you reached for him, trailing kisses down your neck as he eased your shorts down the minute you nodded yes. Feverishly. 

Maybe the warmth of your walls sucking in his fingers was what he needed to piece together why you kept going back to your shitty boyfriend when what you wanted was Leon.

You were distracting yourself. 

It was all so stupid.

“You’re never going to lose me,” he groaned; pressed a kiss onto your inner thigh, his hand locking onto your knee to keep it from twitching as you arched with every pass of his thumb over your tiny bundle of nerves. “I can’t even believe I let you keep this up for so long. Shit!”

It was devastatingly easy to bring you to climax. He followed the angle of your back arching at his touch like a step-by-step guide as he gave you one last kiss, right over your soaked entrance, and rose from his knees to sit your trembling body back up. Leon murmured for you to reach for the wallet in his back pocket, and you laughed breathlessly as you fished out a condom, kissing the corner of the lopsided grin he shot you. Angel. 

That’s one more name he’d been itching to call you.

“Let me keep you, angel. I’ll treat you right. You know that already, don’t you?” Leon kissed the top of your head, rolling on the rubber as you straddled his lap with shaky legs. His hands easily spanned the curve of your hips as you bit your lip. He didn’t want to hurt you any more than you already had been. 

“I’ll be gentle,” he murmured.

“You want to be gentle with me?” you repeated, smiling.

Fair enough question. Leon blew apart bioweapons for a living. But he could be gentle when he wanted to be.

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah. Wanna take my time with you, sweet girl.”

Leon kissed you one last time before painstakingly, slowly, lowering you on his length. Really, it was because he wanted to hear you whimper his name all the more. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. Your cries filtered into his ears sweeter than birdsong. Oh, he was going to make sure you forgot your boyfriend ever existed. You were all inviting warmth, plush walls and silk, but Leon barely had time to suck in a breath at the spectacular fit of you on his cock because of the infuriating trill of your phone’s ringtone breaking the blessed silence.

“Shut it up, Leon, I don’t wanna hear- oh shit! Oh my god,” your frustrated expression morphs into one of shock as he flips the screen to reveal your soon-to-be ex’s caller ID, “Hang up, baby.”

Leon wanted to listen so badly. You even called him baby.

“Leon!”

“Sweetheart, you said you wanted me to mess up your life? We’re starting now.”

Your eyes flew wide open as he pecked your forehead and tapped the “answer” button, bucking his hips up just enough for you to moan out loud. Your saucer eyes fixed on the phone on the coffee table; your ex just got greeted with the most salacious sound you’d ever made in your life.

“Babe, what the hell?” went the tinny male voice, “Are you…okay?”

You were okay, alright. Leon was making sure of that. One more kiss to your jaw and you were whining right into his mouth. It was just too bad the phone couldn’t pick up the way your fingers tangled themselves into his hair, but Leon was confident your mewls made it through.

“I’ll apologize later, I promise, just let me do this for you.” he whispered, angling you so he’d hit that spongy patch of nerves deep inside. You promptly dissolved into tears. Good ones this time, begging him for just a little more, doing anything to trigger that switch.

Your soon-to-be ex, however, meanwhile resorted to shouting any insult he could think of from what sounded like the inside of his car. Frankly, it was killing the mood. 

“Hey, buddy?” Leon called out as you teetered on the brink of euphoria. “It’s fine. I’ve got her.”

The noise of your ex’s muffled surprise almost made you get up in alarm, but Leon wasn't about to have this moment taken away so soon. Now, it was a matter of satisfaction for him as your ex blustered, "I'm sorry, am I hearing this right? You've got her? Who the hell are you?"

“I’m Leon. You don’t know me?” 

“I don’t know any- wait. You work with her, don’t you?” 

Leon hummed agreeably, focusing his attention on making the phone an afterthought for you as you chased your high. “Maybe. I’m just doing what you couldn’t for the past two years, you know.”

“You bitch. You’re cheating on me with a coworker? Are you fucking serious? Unbelievable…you…I’m on my way. You two fuckers better be there, I swear to God, I’m going to ab-”

Leon tutted impatiently, pressing into your clit to hurtle you over the edge and drown out the tirade with your much more listen-worthy wails of pleasure. The phone call ended, without Leon’s help, only a few seconds after the last of your cries finished echoing in the living room. 

“Oops. Think we touched a nerve, sweetheart?” he chuckled, easing you off him as he swiped a tissue to clean you up. 

You glowered up at him – shit – only to break into an incredulous grin. His heart was mere inches from falling off a precipice. Good God, woman.

“You’re crazy.” you giggled.

“Yeah? And you want me anyway.”

“Love you, anyway.” 

He grinned. 

Leon didn’t stop you from slamming the front door in your now-ex’s face (oh, how he savored saying that). He also didn’t stop you from jumping into his arms the second your ex’s car pulled out of your driveway, your bulletproof breakup face traded for the smile he’d once tried to convince himself he wasn’t in love with.

Your voice was ecstatic. "I can't believe I just did that. Oh my god, I just did that!" 

"Wasn't that fun?" he laughed.

"Really fun." 

You got up on your tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "You know, ever since I gave you permission to ruin my life, Leon, you've been doing the exact opposite," you mused, your fingers playfully catching on the hem of his shirt. 

“I plan on keeping that promise, baby. I didn’t even have to ruin your life for you to fall in love with me.”

You arched a know-it-all eyebrow.

“Okay, okay! Maybe a little bit.” he conceded, warmth erupting in his chest. 

Yeah. If this counted as ruining your life, Leon was just fine with no rest for the wicked.

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[watery-lane]

Silent treatment.

Pairing: Michael Gray x Reader

Summary: You simply couldn’t understand why he’d jeopardise something he claimed to care about that much.

Warnings: Angst.

Words: 3735

A/N: Cliché as fuck but well, who doesn’t like having a fair amount of ficts with the same topic? Also, super unedited but it’s like 5AM so you know, fuck it.

“You are my girl.” Michael whispered in your ear as he hugged your waist, swaying with you rhythmically as the blues ringed in your ears.

You nodded lightly, hands on his back as you hung your head on his shoulder, shutting your eyes as you waited for a heartbeat to skip, for the wave of affection to wash you over like it used to.

It never came.

Truth is, at this stage of your relationship you couldn’t even tell if the sweet nothings he was whispering in your ear were a pure reflex of what he used to tell you back when you officially became a couple, if they were the echo of his irrational jealousy reverberating in your eardrums.

Because no matter how many times he reminded you how much he cared about you, you always ended up in his second place.

Family comes first, you know?

He always had to remind you that you were part of the family, that you were now a Shelby, a Gray.

Then why did you feel the need of constantly competing against his job, against the word of Tommy?

Oh well, because when he said family, he meant business.

And although you have always coped well with the life he chose, although you were completely fine with his decisions as long as he came back to you in one piece, you were never and would never be part of that business he was into.

“Yours.” You whispered back, desperate of feeling the affection you felt when it came to Michael Gray. You immediately noticed how his grip tightened and his chest heaved slower. And so did yours.

The thing is, you still considered yourself to be his. You still felt the utter need of protecting him in the way he can’t protect himself, you would still give you life and change for that man in front of you, for the better. Always for the better.

But everything became so grey lately, so monotonous. Where there used to be lighthearted jokes and knowing smiles, now there were emotional outbursts and silent treatments. Where there used to be feathery touches and soft moans, now there were angry grunts and loud cries.

It was the stage of growth, you guessed. The stage where you two had to prove to your destiny that it did good on pairing you up with him. And you were sure as hell you were going to prove it.

“It’s getting late. We should go to bed.” You murmured when the slow blues reached its end, a soft smile spreading on your face as you brushed his suit with care, feeling the warmth of your chest still lingering on the quality fabric. 

You waited for a response, a simple nod or his body swiftly moving back to the bedroom you shared. All you got was a gulp and a sigh.

“You’re going back to the office aren’t you.” It wasn’t even a question.

“There we go.” He sighed, walking away from you while he rolled his eyes.

“Michael, we barely spend time together, the bed is starting to lose your scent.” You complained weakly, knowing what response you were going to receive.

Silence. The response was silence.

He quietly grabbed the charcoal black coat he left hanging in the chair, the rain droplets still fresh from when he came back mere moments ago.

 A few months back, Michael would have gone crazy defending his posture: he’d tell you that it was not his fault, that the business needed the family. Although sometimes you thought that it was him who needed to immerse himself in the business and not the way round. He’d then proceed to remind you the dances you two just had in the dining room, or how he had dinner with you and how much he loved spending time with you, and how little you appreciated that time. He’d end up leaving, fuming as he closed the door with a bang, leaving you either shouting behind him or containing your tears and guilt for making him choose between what he loved and well, who he “loved”.

“You know that someday you’ll come back to an empty house, don’t you?” You threatened with a reedy voice, your last chance to provoke him and make him talk to you for once.

You’d rather have him sprouting how he felt than keeping it to himself. Because of all things he felt the need of keeping away from you, how you made him feel shouldn’t be one. Communication has always been the key for an stable relationship, and losing that would be like losing the constant war you two had been having. He was losing his chance of releasing his frustrations and taking away yours at the same time.

His eyes finally met yours as he stood with one hand holding the door open. His nostrils flared, eyes wide open as he stared at you with what you identified as a mix of rage and a desire for a challenge. He parted his lips slightly before pressing them together again, finally exiting and letting the door shut behind him with a blow.

You didn’t cry, at least not physically. But in your mind, the idea of leaving him ravaged your soul. You knew you would need a compelling reason to leave him behind like that.

“Michael this, Michael that, I swear to god it’s like going back to my fucking hometown.” He grunted, banging his cap against the bar counter. It was past midnight, and he had finally left the offices with the family to go and have a drink at The Garrison. Isaiah chuckled behind him, shaking his head side to side.

“Is she jealous we’re stealing you from her?” Isaiah joked, punching his shoulder slightly.

“Michael, no whiskey for tonight.” Polly warned as she walked past him, tapping his back lazily. She was slightly worried for him. Something told her that tonight she had to keep an eye on his son: the way he stormed into his office a few hours ago and how he spent half of the time in there staring blankly at the wall were bad omen.

“I don’t know man, I feel like she’s trying to pick fights on purpose at this point.” Michael ignored his mother, and ordered a glass of the best scotch. “I’m just refraining myself from responding back, she shuts up earlier like that.” He joked around, the image of your face red with fury flashing on his mind.

The image of you holding back the tears and the desperation for a word of him never showed up, as he always stormed off before seeing you in that state.

“If she leaves you I’ll be the first in like waiting for her ey!” Isaiah mocked, taking a sip of his drink as he leaned on the counter. Michael let out a puff before downing his whole glass. “Not going to let those curves go to waste. I wanna take a ride too.” His friend teased him.

“Funny thing is that she told me that I’ll someday ‘come back to an empty house’ just a few hours ago.” Michael laughed off the unsettling feelings attacking his chest. With the simple movement of his finger, he ordered Harry to fill up his glass, only to down it in a few seconds again and repeat the process twice in a span of mere minutes.

“You wouldn’t have those problems with girls like me.” A sweet but bold voice sounded behind him, making the boys turn around. Isaiah’s eyes travelled up and down her body, eyebrows raised with approval. The sight of his friend enjoying the view of the woman who just flirted with him swelled his chest with pride, turning the exchange of words into a show.

“And why is that?” He went along with the game.

“We’re all about the fun. No headaches, no compromise.” She leaned forward, hand on his thigh as her eyes dug deep into him. 

Isaiah watched the exchange with fun. Those girls were normally from high spheres, with predictable futures and a strong desire of making their dad angry. With a discreet movement he moved away and went with Finn, who was sitting with his family having a laugh. 

“All about fun, you say?” Michael repeated, eyes never leaving hers as he lit up a cigarette. He felt warmth flowing all over his body, his cheeks flustered and his heart racing in his chest. Wasn’t that a good sign? A sign that his body actually wanted what she was announcing.

Polly strolled around the kitchen, mind wandering around as the wall clock ticked impatiently, the grey smoke leaving her lips tasting bitter than usual. With matters of the heart, Polly was never wrong. 

“He’s going to break her fucking heart.” She mumbled.

Tommy, who was calmly reading the newspaper peered above his glasses.

“He already has.” He commented, the three words reminding Polly that her son broke any sense of commitment with you the moment he stumbled out of The Garrison with that girl glued to his side.

“And none of you fuckers did nothing to avoid it.”

“He’s your son.”

“Who looks up to you!” Polly shouted, banging both of her hands against the wooden table. “He’d kill a man for you if you tell him to, I’m sure he’d drop that whore’s ass immediately if you even just looked at him with disapproval.”

“Don’t blame me.” He turned a page. “He’s still a kid. He has to learn, hard way or not.”

Just as Polly was about to answer a knock on the door interrupted her trail of thoughts, the sound of the door being opened making her turn around to her nephew once more.

“Still haven’t fucking learned to lock doors after all we’ve been through?” Tommy shrugged. “(Y/n)!” She welcomed you with the warmest of the hugs. “What are you bringing with you?”

“Michael didn’t come back last night and hasn’t showed up for breakfast so I thought he may have stayed with you.” You commented as you put the basket on the table and removed the cloth that hid what it had inside. “I made bread and strawberry jam, his favourites.” You remembered with a smile. Polly flinched at your words and Tommy looked at you briefly before silently sighing and carry on with his reading. “They’re still warm, I hope he wakes up before they get cold.”

“He cares about you a lot, (y/n).” Polly mumbled out of the blue, her eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t identify.

“I know.” You reassured with a tiny smile.

“He loves you, too.” She kept going.

“I know.” You repeated as you started to slice the bread, sharing some with Tommy, who nodded with gratitude and winked at you. “I know we’ve been going through a rough patch lately, but every challenge only makes a couple stronger. I don’t expect the whole relationship to be a constant honeymoon.” You opened the jam jar effortlessly. “I love him too, Polly. With all my soul.” You reassured your future mother-in-law, oblivious of what had happened right above your head last night. 

Until the sound of sloppy steps coming down the stairs made the three of you turn your heads to the direction of the sound.

“Morning!” A short brunette squealed, walking past the frame and into the kitchen, oblivious of your confused look and the tense one from Polly. She stopped briefly at the sight of the steamy bread and jam, licking her lips as she grabbed the jar and shoved her index finger in the container, humming with delight.

“Ouch!” She screamed, letting the crystal container fall on the floor and breaking into pieces, the whole content scattered on the floor. “That was burning hot!”

“I know, I just made it recently. It should have cooled down by now.” You restrained yourself from telling the stranger off, although your blood was already boiling because of her. You knelt down after carefully lifting your dress, picking cautiously the pieces of glass stained with red. “Oh and I’m (Y/n).” You introduced yourself with a tight smile that formed after you saw her kneel down to help you with the mess she made. She hummed in response, not interested in engaging herself to any conversation. “So, who’s your Shelby?” You asked, trying to break the ice. Above you, Polly looked at her nephew in horror.

“Michael, although we just met last night so I don’t know if--” She kept rambling.

You froze at the spot the moment you heard his name, your rosy cheeks losing all their colour, the thin string that joined the pieces of your heart finally breaking.

“Alright, Thomas will walk you home.” You heard Polly’s voice interrupt her, but you couldn’t focus on the woman standing, nor the protests of the girl.

You saw how she stood up. You heard the chair moving. You watched her expensive shoes leaving red stains with every step she took. You slowly stood up, locking eyes with Polly, who was struggling to hold her head high. Suddenly you found all the hidden intentions behind Polly’s words. You figured out that she tried to tie you down to her son, no matter what he did to you. You finally identified the emotion behind her eyes: pity. Pity for you, for your sorry being.

“You knew...” You whispered, betrayal feeling like daggers in your chest.

“(Y/n)...” She took a step forward, glass crushing on her sole, arms slightly rose  with the intention of giving you a comforting hug. You took a step back.

“You knew...” You repeated, this time shaking your head in denial. “I thought we were family.” A sob escaped from your lips. “I thought you would protect me.”

“You must understand that Michael is my son.” Her voice was hesitant yet firm, remarking her last word. “I wasn’t going to let him lose the only good thing he has got from this life he picked.”

“I trusted you, mum.” Polly flinched at your words. She remembered the first time Michael brought you home to her, cautious and protective with you. She remembered the great first impression you gave her, and how happy her son looked when he was next to you. She liked you so much that she immediately took you under her wing and welcomed you to the family, telling you to call her mum because that’s what you were going to be from then: her son’s future wife.

“(Y/n)?” Your uncontrollable sobbing stopped abruptly at the familiar voice.

His face was chalk white. His Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed, the wrecked image of your state giving him the hint he needed. He was scared, the clench of his jaw and the sight of his eyes staring at you wide open giving it away for you.

You didn’t give him time to open his mouth.

You took a few more steps back before storming away, leaving the basket behind.

And he followed suit, not before grabbing his mother by her arms, shouting with desperation, “What did you tell her? What the fuck did you tell her?”

“She saw what you did by herself.” Polly simply responded, glancing at her son as he ran away and trying to reach you after releasing a frustrated grown.

He found you sitting curled on the bed you shared, arms wrapped around your bent legs, blank expression on your face as you let your tears dry on your face.

“Hey darling.” He whispered, approaching you cautiously and sitting on his side of the bed. “You were really fast. Almost lost you when you turned ‘round the corner”

He wanted to hug you, kiss you, make sure you knew that what he did last night was a complete mistake. But the way you tensed at his side and tried to move away from his presence told him to not to do so.

“She meant nothing.” Michael said, breaking the long silence it had formed after awhile.

Nothing.

“Hey.” He repeated, this time leaning forward and holding your chin with his index finger and thumb. “Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You blinked a few times, then pulled away.

“C’mon, talk to me.”

You snorted internally. After all the times he gave you the silent treatment, now he wanted to speak.

“(Y/n).”

Michael started to feel some sort of desperation building up. It was like everything he had to say was pushed back into his mouth, stuffing him and making it impossible to breath. It was like he needed your questions in order to give you a proper explanation, your attention for him to get rid of his guilt. Soon that feeling turned into annoyance, your silence starting to ring in his ears like a high pitched scream.

“Fine, you want to act like a little brat, I’ll let you act like a little brat.” He left your side, taking long strides to the door before looking at you once more. Your eyes still had that blank stare, and your chest kept heaving irregularly after crying for so long while no tear actually fell down your face. He felt a pang on his chest, guilt washing over him again. Before he could let those feelings grow into something uglier, he shut the door behind him.

That night, he slept in the cramped spare room next to your master room.

He could hear your cries. He could hear how you choked on your own tears after a long period of sorrow. He stopped by your door multiple times, fist inches away from the door, debating whether he should go in and try to hug away your pain. But how could he, when he was the one who inflicted it?

He couldn’t sleep, not until he stopped hearing your sobs. And when they did stop, he turned around and faced the other wall, hugging the spare pillow as if it were your body.

Days passed, and your silence was his motive of insanity. You didn’t cry anymore, but you kept your words away from his ears. You were letting him get a taste of what you felt every time he stormed out, cutting away your words. You were making him walk a mile in your shoes.

At first when he stopped seeing the tear stains on your face he tried to lighten up the situation and joke around a little bit, telling you that you could become a mime or work with Charles Chaplin at that point. He tried to get back where you started, using jokes that would remind you to a time you two were just kids enjoying the presence of each other. He would laugh at his own jokes, his giggles turning sour after detecting your passiveness.

Then he started to get furious again, telling you that it wasn’t funny anymore, that you should behave like the adult you were, like the smart woman he loved. That he could explain everything, that all he wanted to do is fix what he have done but she didn’t let him.

As the days turned into a week, he started to get scared. When you laid your eyes on him it felt like you were looking past him, as if he were a ghost and you an oblivious woman living in a haunted house. He grabbed your hands multiple times, kissing them, waiting for you to reciprocate, telling you that he loved you, and that he was sorry. 

He started to bring you flowers everyday. He spent more days at home, learning to cook, preparing meals that you left untouched because you didn’t feel hungry at all. He didn’t care, he’d sit next to you and savour his own preparations, commenting out loud if they needed more salt or less sugar. He started to tell you about his day although you never talked back. He just missed you and your warmth. Something told him that he lost the latter forever, but at least he had you.

It took him to get to the brink of losing you to realise how your story went wrong.

He was at the office when he received a call. It wasn’t Polly, it wasn’t Ada. It was you.

“I was willing to fight for us, you know?” Your voice was hoarse, but he could recognise it anywhere.

“(Y/n)?” Hearing you made him feel like he could breathe again. But as soon as he processed your words he leaned forward, knot in his stomach.

“Mum reminded me how much you loved me and how much you cared about me the day I found out about... Her.” He knew you were talking about Polly. “She made me remember that I loved you, too. That I would have done everything for you.”

“Loved?” He stuttered, standing up. “(Y/n), what do you mean?” He was starting to shake, eyes erratically looking everywhere. “Wait, why are you calling me? Why aren’t you telling me this in person?” It finally clocked him. “(Y/n), where are you?” He started to walk around the phone nervously. He could hear a lot of people in the background, loud whistles, horns.

“All these last days, I tried to think, I tried to see it.” Your voice finally cleared up, dullness never leaving your tone. “ But I just can’t understand how can you jeopardise something you claim to care about that much.”

“(Y/n)...” He cried out your name with desperation, his hands messing with his hair, helpless.

“But then you changed. You became the man I fell in love with, but better.” You sighed, a restrained sob giving away that you were crying too. “Look at you, now you can cook and everything.” You finally giggled, the jovial sound mixing with the sobs creating a bittersweet melody for Michael.

“You never tried none of my dishes though.” He said between soft whimpers, a soft smile crossing his face.

“I did. And I think you can make great mashed potatoes.” You grinned, tasting the salty drops that managed to get into your mouth. “I hope your next girl appreciates them. You came a long way when it comes to cooking.” You lowered your voice gradually, whipping softly.

“Next girl? What do you mean next girl? (Y/n) what do you--?” His heart started to beat faster and faster, his instinct telling him to run back to the house you shared to check that you were still there, silent, but present.

“I just...” You swallowed. You had a great speech prepared explaining the reasons of your departure, but at that moment, it felt like a few words would be more than enough “I think that all the destiny wanted me to be a simple lesson for you, not the person who stays.”

“Don’t--” Michael choked on his own words. “Don’t you--”

“Please, just answer this last question. I’m running out of minutes and I’ve got a train to catch.” You cut him off, feeling that if you let him go on, you’d never be able to move on. “Was she worth it?”

“Nothing will--” He heard how your line got cut, the few coins you put in the phone booth already spent. “Nothing will be worth the same as you.”

That day, he refused to go back home, staying at his mother’s instead.

Because he knew that night he was going to go back to an empty home.

Wanna be tagged? Ask here 

[queen-archeron]

Start of Something New

The title is for all you HSM fans out there haha ;) Here’s a fic that me and @highladyfxyre did together!! Thank you to the anon for giving us the idea! We hope you all enjoy it as much as we did!!😊❤️

“Come on Feyre, lighten up a little. It’s a party. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Feyre didn’t deign to reply, and instead cradled her drink, casting a less than impressed look at her friend, who was clearly eyeing up the brunette on the dance floor.

“You can’t sit in the booth all night, Fey. Besides, there’s a guy over there who’s definitely interested.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at Mor. “I’m sure that’s not true. And even if it was, I’m not interested in hooking up with anyone tonight.”

Mor sighed. “Fine. But at least come for one dance with me. It’s New Year’s Eve, after all!”

As if that changed anything. As if the fact that it was nearly a whole new year meant that she should forget about Tamlin, or the fact that she didn’t know how her father was going to pay the bills or -

Feyre downed the rest of her drink.

Maybe Mor was right. Maybe she did need to relax, even just for one night.

“Let’s go dance.”

As Rhysand entered Rita’s with Cassian and Azriel at his sides, the smell of alcohol hit him like a truck. Then the blaring music that was flowing from the speakers, which were scattered throughout the large room. He had never been a “party person”, and the only reason he had agreed to come to this one was because of Mor.

The three of them had received a text from her twenty minutes ago, telling them to go. If he recalled correctly, the exact words were, “Get your asses over here before I drag you out of the damn house!”

Of course, no one argued, partially because they all knew she would actually drag them out of the house, but also because it was New Year’s, and tonight was a night to celebrate.

The dim lights made it slightly hard to move through the packed area, and Rhys turned around to say something to Azriel, only to find him being swallowed up by the crowd. Great.

“Cass!” He called, but he was out of sight.

Sighing, Rhys ran a hand through his hair and slowly made his way through the crowd, trying to find space to think.

He caught sight of the bar on the other side of the chaos, and made it his mission to get there.

He weaved through swarm of people, keeping his eye out for one of his brothers or Mor, since she was the reason he even came. He made it through the dance floor alive, and turned towards the bar to get a drink…

Right as a girl ran into him, spilling her drink all over the both of them. Her eyes widened, and he was taken aback by how beautiful she was. He almost forgot about the wet shirt he now wore.

Standing before her was the most beautiful male she had ever seen.And he was currently sporting her drink down the front of his otherwise pristine shirt.

Why did this always have to happen to her?

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you and -” Feyre was grateful for the darkness of the club, for if the lights were on he would certainly see the blush that had taken over her entire face.

The man lifted a hand. “It’s fine! I should have seen you. Completely my fault.”

“At least let me get you a drink? Or a new shirt?” God, she was embarrassing. And also close to tears, due to the fact she always seemed to get… weepy when she drank.

Why had she even agreed to come out tonight.

“There's no need too…” The stranger began. “Look, I should be the one buying you a drink.”

Feyre smiled. “Well, thank you. Though I owe you a drink as well…”

“Rhysand. Though you can just call me Rhys.”

Feyre ignored the sudden… rush of feeling that ran through her at his name. Rhysand. It seemed fitting, somehow. “I’m Feyre.” She replied, still straining slightly to try and hear his voice over the music.  

“Well, Feyre.” The sound of her name on his lips sent a spark of electricity through her. “Care to join me for a drink?”

And maybe it was the alcohol currently coursing through her body, or the fact that there was seemingly something magical about New Year’s Eve, or… well, the fact he was handsome as hell, but Feyre found herself agreeing to his offer.

And who knows? Maybe this night could turn very special indeed.

Feyre. He said her name over and over in his head as the two of them made their way to the bar. For some reason, everything about her grabbed his attention, and he didn’t miss the blush on her cheeks when she spilled the drink, even through the darkness.

Rhys helped her onto the high barstool as she swayed a little bit, and she smiled at him in thanks.

“So, Feyre, what brings you here on New Year’s Eve?” He asked as they waited for the bartender to notice them.

Feyre looked out at the crowd, as if looking for someone, and sighed as she returned his gaze. “One of my friends thought it would be fun, but I think she found better things to do than babysit me all night.”

Sounds relatable, he thought, giving her a nod.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I got ditched within thirty seconds of walking in. I have yet to see anyone I came here with,” he replied.

Her eyes lit up and small chuckle escaped her. He could barely hear it over the music, but he wanted to memorize that sound, the gentleness of it and the way her lips turned up in a smile.

“I guess we’re both on our own then,” she sighed, just as the bartender finally approached them.

Rhys ordered them drinks, and they each paid for each other when the beverage arrived.

“To us, the wallflowers,” he beamed, raising his glass toward her.

“To the wallflowers,” she grinned back, and they tapped their glasses together before taking a few sips.

It suddenly felt very hot inside, and the music was beginning to give Rhys a headache. Looking around, he spotted some doors that led outside, hidden behind a couple booths.

Feyre tracked his eyes and spotted the doors as well.

“Want to head outside? It’s way too cramped in here for me,” he joked, and she nodded right away, making him chuckle. Guess she felt the same.

He took her hand to help her get down, but didn’t release it as they made their way through the crowd once again, avoiding getting stepped on or shoved. He tightened his grip as he finally reached the door, swinging it open to a cool breeze, and some much needed silence.

Feyre was grateful for the cool air as soon as it hit her face.

She had never been a fan of nightclubs, and tonight was no different. Feyre had never really gotten the point of them, if she was being honest.

I mean, what was the appeal in sweaty bodies and shitty techno music?

Thankfully, it seemed that Rhys felt the same way, if his now relaxed shoulders were any indication.

Something we have in common. Feyre shoved that thought away.

She could still hear the music pulsing behind her, and saw several couples making out almost aggressively on the outer walls of the club. But even so…

It felt a little like she and Rhys were the only two people in the world.

God, what was the matter with her?

She hadn’t even met this man an hour ago, and already she was fawning over him like some lovesick teenager.

“You okay?”

Feyre almost started at the sound of Rhys’s voice, suddenly very loud against the near quiet; a stark contrast to the dizzying loudness of Rita’s.

She mustered a smile on her face, trying not to show how entirely sappy her thoughts were becoming. “Yeah! I’m fine. It’s just the, uh, silence out here!” What was she even talking about?

“I prefer it. Don’t get me wrong though, club music is the best.” Feyre let out a snort at the heavy sarcasm lacing his words.

“I can’t argue with that. I mean, music that sounds like what a headache feels like? I swear it’s like a modern age Mozart piece.”

Rhys chuckled at that, moving forward until he was resting against the balcony, tilting his head up slightly to look at the sky. Feyre joined him, and resisted the urge to reach across and lay a hand on his arm, or run her fingers through her hair or -

Well, she was definitely getting ahead of herself.

They stood in silence for a few moments, until Rhys said, “Five minutes to midnight.”

Feyre raised a brow. “Already?”

He nodded. “Crazy, right? It feels like it’s only been a second since January.”

“I don’t know… It feels like it’s gone slow for me somehow.”

Rhys nodded again, and Feyre inwardly cursed herself for being the dullest person ever.

They didn’t speak for a few painfully awkward minutes.

And then, “Have any resolution’s this year?”

Feyre sighed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “The usual, I suppose. Go to the gym more, be nicer. You?”

Rhys ducked his head, suddenly seeming… shy? “Well, uh, I had one. That I would… That I would meet my true love by the end of this year.”

Her heart gave an involuntary leap. “And did you?”

Rhys looked at her, something she couldn’t read in his eyes. “Not yet. But I still have…” A quick glance at his watch. “Three minutes.”

This was dangerous ground, but Feyre walked on it anyway. “A lot can happen in three minutes.”

“Yes, it can.”

They both shifted nearer to the other, almost like a moth to a flame. Like they couldn’t help themselves.

Feyre certainly couldn’t, anyway.

The music from Rita’s seemed so far away now, like she was in another world.

And Rhys seemed just as focused on her as she was on him.

They moved closer.

Time seemed to still every time he looked at her, and the end of the year was getting closer and closer. Only two minutes now.

The streets below them were crowded with people, everyone ready to celebrate when the time came. Feyre was watching too, and every time she inched closer to him, his heart sped up, and he was nervous she could hear at times.

“One minute and thirty seconds,” he murmured into the cool air, checking his watch impatiently.

Feyre looked up at him, and he suddenly realized how close they were. He swallowed, but held her gaze.

“You know,” she started, searching his eyes. “Tonight wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

Rhys’s heart sped up more, and he inched even closer, their bodies almost touching. “I agree.”

He was lost for words, and in the distance someone announced that there was one minute left.

Feyre’s eyes slipped to his lips and back up to his eyes so fast he almost missed it. The air between them was too much.

They must have been staring at each other for longer than he thought because another person from the streets below announced fifteen seconds.

“The year’s almost over,” she sighed, in what seemed to be relief, but he looked at her with an unrelenting gaze.

“A lot can happen in ten seconds.”

A countdown started in the distance, and Feyre smiled as she whispered, “Ten.”

He grinned. “Nine.”

“Eight.”

“Seven.”

Her face was so close to his, and he was struggling to control his breathing.

“Six.” She moved her eyes to his lips, and this time they didn’t move away.

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two,” she slid her hand onto his arm, and he was done for.

“One.”

Fireworks went off in the distance at the same moment he captured her lips with his. The feeling was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and he immediately slid his arms around her waist pulling her closer. She kissed him back with the same intensity, and in that moment, he felt complete.

Feyre was certain she was dreaming.

But the feeling of Rhys’s lips on hers was very, very real.

She lost herself in the kiss, in the way his lips moved against hers that felt like they had been doing this forever.

Feyre had never had a New Year’s kiss before, but this was certainly making up for it now.

Rhys’s hands were on her waist, tugging her impossibly closer, and Feyre didn’t care that they were in public, or that she had only known for not even an hour, or that she was going to have a killer headache tomorrow.

No, she only cared about them, and the fact she had never felt more alive.

But eventually Feyre pulled away, the fireworks above them seeming a million miles away. And when Rhys smiled at her, Feyre knew she was a goner.

“Happy New Year, Feyre darling.”

And it was a happy new year indeed.

[magicalworldweb]

First of all, I love Jacky’s picture!  Welcome to another Interview with the Vam…Author!  Actually, it’s an interview with a Vampire Author.  How cool is that?

 I met Jacky through twitter, and she was splendid enough to contact me and interview me on her blog.  I’ve been on this quest to be a good cheerleader for other writers/authors/creatives, so of course I just had to have her over on my blog, too!  Since I like to have read a book or two by another author before an interview, I read the prequel, Releasing a Vampire, to her Suckers series.

It’s a short book that gives some background, and I found it a delight to read, and an appetizer that made me want to read more!  Do you love a bitingly good read?  Then check out her series!

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  Now that you’ve had a moment to get your Goodreads on, let’s get to know Jacky!

Introduce yourself.  Name.  Nickname.

My parents never gave me a middle name, so my full first name is Jacqueline. It was shortened by my mother to Jacky, not Jackie as she didn’t know Jacky was the male version, so I got stuck with it. I have dual nationality, Dutch and Australian, and hence two passports,and in each I have a different surname. Huisman is my maiden/Dutch name, Dahlhaus is my husband’s/Australian name. My husband has a nickname for me, but I’m not going to share that 

. I have been called Little Red Head Girl, after the  girl in the Snoopy cartoon, by a good friend of mine.

If your Wi-Fi name was a reflection of you, what would it be?

My Wi-Fi name would probably be Little_Red_Head_Girl. It’s rather appropriate even though the red comes out of a packet

What personality trait has gotten you into the most trouble?

I got into most trouble for my fantastic ability to do things before thinking them over. I’ll not go into detail of that as it’s too embarrassing! Some of it makes me write from experience which comes in handy now and again.

What genre (of collection) do you write in and why?

I write paranormal romances because I like romance, dragons, vampires, etc., and happy endings. I love being in love, I love being happy. There’s too much misery in the world already, so I don’t want to read about that in fiction. I’d just watch the news if I wanted doom and gloom. That said, I like to put my characters through heart-wrenching experiences. Only because the happy endings are the happier for it, of course. This is scientifically proven. I don’t stick to a single category, like the US publishers prefer, as I think that’s too boring. I like to mix and match 

Who is important to you?

My family are important to me. My kids, my husband, my mother and sisters and their family. We used to live in Australia, but we came back (well, Scotland was the closest to Holland we could get), so we can visit them more often.

Where do you call home?

Home is where my heart is. This could be anywhere in the world! I’ve moved sixteen times and lived in Australia, France, England, The Netherlands, and now Scotland. But I’m happiest with my close family; my husband and kids. They are my world.

What books are/have you written?

I’ve finished the Suckers trilogy which comprises four books: Releasing A Vampire (the prequel, a novelette), Living Like A Vampire (Book 1), Raising A Vampire (book 2), and Killing A Vampire (book 3). It also has two short stories (Interlude and The Wedding) that only my newsletter readers have received. I’ve also written two short story bundles, Short Shockers Volume 1 & 2 (Volume 2 isn’t out yet, but my newsletter readers received it as a Christmas present). I’ve also won entry in a horror anthology, called Twisted50 Volume 2, with one of my short stories (Rumour has it…) that I wrote while with the local writers’ club. I’m currently working on my fourth novel, called The Stranger. It’s a YA novel which is going to be the first of a trilogy again, and very likely of a bigger set of four trilogies. It has witches, werewolves, sirens, zombies, and shapeshifters in it, i.e. a lot of fun!

If you are having a rotten day, what do you do to conquer that?

When life truly sucks (which thankfully is rare lately), I prefer to stay in bed and sleep to get the day over as soon as possible. If I can’t stay in bed, I eat my frustration away. I know I shouldn’t, and I know it’s not helping making me feel better in the long run, but that instant gratification is all that matters in that moment… When I still lived at home, I would play the piano. I’d start with loud, angry music and work my way to Morning Mood by Edvard Grieg (the simple version, I’m not that good). Music has always been an outlet for me, either playing or listening.

If you were invisible for a day, what would you do?

Hmm, good question. No idea. Probably the same as I normally do; stay at home and write 

Your life is made into a musical.  What is the title of at least one of the songs?

I’m not sure about songs (I hate musicals), but if it was a movie, it would be called ‘The Boring Life of Jacky H.’ That was actually the title I gave one of my diaries, a most interesting read 

What are your sleeping habits?

As much as possible! LOL! No, that’s history. I used suffer for years from Pheiffer’s Disease/glandular fever. They say you can only have it for six months, but that’s BS. I’m still not a morning person, but I have a wonderful husband who has learned that life is better for everybody if I get a cup of coffee before I get out of bed 

 . His alarm goes at 8:30 am, but I only get out of bed at about 9-9:30 am. Usually, I stay up until midnight. If I had a bad night (I sometimes wake up with night sweats or anxiety attacks), I may fall asleep late afternoon and do a power nap.

What would you name your boat?

I don’t want a boat; too much work, commitment, and repetition. It also means I would have to get out. So if I had one, it would probably be called ‘Hell No.’

What’s your biggest kitchen disaster?

I once burnt something in the over to a nice, black crisp. I can’t remember what it was. Not sure if that’s because it wasn’t recognizable anymore 

Tell me about one of your characters.  Would you get along in real life?

Aargh! Only one??? Okay, Kate is my MC in the Suckers trilogy. She’s a short, red-haired, impatient woman. Yes, she’s very much like me. And no, we wouldn’t get along in real life as she would have no patience for my bouts of procrastination and general laziness 

If you were arrested with no explanation, what would your friends and family assume you had done?

Speeding. I’ve never been arrested in my life, but I’ve been caught speeding twice. Never in Scotland, and certainly not as often as my husband. But driving for me is to get from A to B in the fastest, most efficient way (I even maximise my efficiency of getting a coffee from the kitchen, with combined tasks so I don’t have to walk somewhere twice). This means driving at maximum speed and preferably a few miles/km’s over (but just under the radar). The first time I got caught driving too fast was on a Sunday morning on the freeway to pick up my sister from the airport. There were about six cars behind me, egging me on, and I was the only one pulled over. Still fuming about that. The second time I got photographed from the back as I didn’t know they could catch cars driving away.

What are your favorite clothes to wear?

Nothing! Unfortunately, Scotland is too cold for that. At the moment my two favorite shirts are black, long-sleeved gothic shirt with bloodied roses on my bosom. One of them has wide sleeves, but they’re very unhandy packing the dishwasher. I’m thinking of wearing long skirts as my ass is getting to fat for my jeans, but I’m still in two minds about that.

If someone asked to be your apprentice and learn all that you know, what would they end up learning?

A hell of a lot! I have been a veterinarian, a highschool science teacher, and an office manager. I know how to trim dogs, make cheese twists (in a factory setting), make chainmail, string pearls, do photography, knit, crochet, sew, draw, paint (woodwork, not pictures), put double glazing in sash windows, repair old plaster with horsehair, creating a website. They’d learn Dutch, English, a bit of German and French, understanding Spanish, and the basics of CSS. They would learn perseverance, tenacity, and keeping your eye on your goal. They’d learn what it is to fall in love and how to keep being in love. They won’t learn any cooking or having patience from me. I suck at those. Oh, and they’d learn how to write novels, of course. Nearly forgot about that! 

What are your future writing plans?

Well, my WIP was supposed to be the first of a single trilogy again, but I’ve just decided that the MC in it is a witch queen of one of the classical elements. So I’ve got three more trilogies to write about the queens of the other elements. That will keep me busy for the years to come 

What’s one thing you absolutely adore in life?

Writing! Like I mentioned before, I used to sleep a lot, but writing is the one reason I come out of bed every day. It gives me a freedom I don’t have in normal life. I can go where I like, when I like, how I like, with whom I like. What is not to love about that? And I meet a lot of wonderful people through my writing whom I’ve never would have met otherwise (like you, Amy!). Other authors, readers, artists, interviewers; all wonderful people. I have two personalities; one that is a terrible introvert, and one that loves people. Sometimes, I let my people-loving person out to keep her happy 

What is one of your pet peeves?

I have two big ones: people who don’t drive the maximum speed, and writers who don’t care about their writing (grammar & punctuation).

You’re in the middle of a wizarding duel.  What animal do you transfigure into?

My first thought was a black panther. I have always appreciated how graciously deadly they are.  But since it’s a wizarding duel, I’ll probably change into a black dragon. I love dragons. Did you watch the movie ‘I am Dragon’? It’s beautiful! And romantic, terribly romantic. But the graphics are great too. I believe >90% is CG. I can appreciate that as I make my own covers and know how much work goes into CG.

Would you survive if you were a character in your own books?

Probably not. I can’t run if my life depended on it! Once caught, the suckers may let me live because I love life, though, just as they let Kate live, and we’re sort of the same (fingers crossed they’ll go for that).

You are putting on a dinner party.  What do you serve and who do you invite?

At the moment I would rather die than to have a dinner party in my own home. As we’re renovating, the house resembles a building site, and I don’t want to do this to my guests. Once the renovations are done, I would probably serve whatever my husband cooked/bought (I’m not a kitchen pricess). Who would I invite? If I could invite fictional persons, it would be Tom, from Killing A Vampire, and Lord Vetenari, from Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels. Tom is just handsome and cheeky, and Lord Vetenari basically is as well, but on a more intelligent level (not sure about the being handsome part

).

Would you rather relive the same day for 365 days or lose a year of your life?

Definitely lose a year! I’m not one for doing something over and over again. Some people may think that writing is just that, but, boy, are they wrong!

You are transported to one of your favorite books.  Where are you?

Pern! I’d love to be a dragonrider. Did I mention I love dragons? 

Let’s go dragon riding some day!  Thanks so much, Jacky!  It was fun to get to know you better, and I got a good laugh more than once from your answers!  Be sure to check out her website below.  Also, I want a picture tour of her home.  Can I request that?  :o)

Jacky Dahlhaus has worked many jobs and tried many hobbies before she realized writing gave her such pleasure. She loves to write paranormal fantasy stories while delving into the human psyche with all its faults and mysteries.

Next to writing novels, Jacky helps indie authors by promoting them on her blog, writes an online newsletter, runs writing clubs (for adults and for children) at the local library, and is a director for Aberdeenshire Film Productions. She runs Folla Fiction Publishing (follafiction.com) to help authors make their books the best they can be.

When not busy with the above (which is rare nowadays), Jacky works on renovating her Scottish Victorian home, watches movies with her family, and tries to stop her two Jack Russells from barking for no good reason.

Live Bravely Love Strongly AEM

  Interview with the Author: Jacky Dahlhaus First of all, I love Jacky's picture!  Welcome to another Interview with the Vam...Author!  Actually, it's an interview with a Vampire Author.  

[lolcat76]

There's this Hallmark movie called I Married Who? where Kellie Martin wakes up the morning after her Las Vegas bachelorette party accidentally married to a famous movie star and I'm not saying you should write it as a Bill and Laura AU I'm just saying I WOULD NOT STAND IN YOUR WAY

@okaynextcrisis, I can’t see Bill or Laura being amovie star, but sweet Billy deserves to have some fun, right?

Of all the messes she’d cleaned upfor Billy, this had to be the worst, and that was saying something.

He was a sweet kid. A sweet, stupidkid. A sweet, stupid kid who couldn’t hold his damn liquor and couldn’t say noto a pretty girl, and that’s why she was waiting impatiently for him in thelobby of the Wynn at 8am.

He called her in a panic four hoursago, waking her in the middle of a wonderful dream about a cabin on acrystal-clear lake and a world without cellphones, and she was half-tempted toquit before she answered his call.

More than half when she found outthe reason for the call. He was a sweet, stupid kid who’d gotten married inVegas. Dammit, Billy. He’d promisedher that he was going up to his suite right after he finished his drink, andthat was the only reason she’d left him unattended at the pre-awards VIP party.It was late, she was tired, and she had a book that promised a much betterevening than babysitting her client. Even if he was her favorite client. Sweet, stupid kid.

She didn’t get paid enough forthis. She didn’t even want to ask for the details, but she had to so that she could fix it.

“Her name is Dee, and she’s beautiful,but Laura…I didn’t mean to get married.”

Of course he didn’t. He didn’t meanto get a very visible tattoo of a starlet he took out on one date, or get in abar fight with a surly costar at the opening of a club in Hollywood, or getarrested for public drunkenness after the Golden Globes, but he didnonetheless, and she was always the first person he called.

Every time she answered a phonecall from Billy Keikeya, she was reminded of how happy she was to not havechildren. And reminded that she could probably retire off of what he paid herafter each spectacular screw-up and never look back.

Still, he was a sweet kid. Shedidn’t want to leave him high and dry, married to some stranger and probably onthe hook for more alimony than even he could afford once the girl’s parents gotwind of just who exactly theirdarling daughter married in the middle of the night in some seedy Vegas chapel.

She could just picture them, fadedflannel, beat-up pickup truck and shotguns at the ready, chasing Billy down theStrip and demanding that he do right by their daughter. Oh, she needed a raise.It was going to be a long morning.

She hoped the worst she’d face wasangry parents. It was Vegas, though, and Billy was a stupid kid, and she’d lefthim alone in the hotel at midnight with a fistful of bills and absolutely nocommon sense. He might have met some wayward bachelorette party bride withsomething to prove, or he might have taken home an escort.

She did not get paid enough for this. Laura was supposed to get him to thehotel and make sure he made it to the MGM Arena in time for the People’s ChoiceAwards. She was not supposed to bail him out of a quickie marriage.

And yet, here she was. Laura wasmore than a little shocked when she met the happy couple in the lobby for breakfast,Billy clutching the girl’s hand. She was pretty and had a ready smile, but sohad the last 20 or so women who had staked a claim on her client.

Of course, the last 20 or so womenwho’d spent some time with Billy didn’t bring backup, but this girl did. He wasglowering over Billy’s shoulder, as well as he could given that he was a goodsix inches shorter than Billy, but he sure as hell was making his point withthose piercing blue eyes of his. He was sizing her up, and she could tell thathe found her lacking. She smoothed down her skirt and pasted her PR smile onher face before she caught herself.

It was 8am, and her client was apain in the ass, and why was she mentally apologizing to this man? He should beapologizing to her.

“Bill Adama,” the man said, holdingout his in a polite greeting.

He didn’t look like an angry father,or a greasy Vegas pimp. He looked like a battle-weary soldier, his pants andshirt pressed in precise angles.

He didn’t look like a pimp,exactly, but it was Vegas. In thistown, khaki pants with well-pressed seams were hardly a measure ofrespectability.

“Laura Roslin,” she said as shetook his hand, shaking it firmly. “Billy is my client.”

“Dee is mine,” he said.

So he was a pimp.

“She has an interview and a photoshoot today, and she’s…not looking her best. Also, I had a very carefullyprepared list of topics to discuss, and a new husband wasn’t one of them.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t a pimp. Did strippers have interviews? Was she being anasshole for questioning whether or not strippers had interviews? Probably, yes,but she had to look out for her client, since his starry-eyed stare at Deeindicated that he was most definitely not looking out for himself.

Wait…Dee? Her job didn’t leave hermuch time to watch television, but on second look, she was sure that sherecognized Dee… Anastasia Dualla, the girl who was starring on some low-rated cableshow. Zombies, or vampires, or something. It wasn’t Stranger Things or Game ofThrones, but it was enough to earn her an invite to the whatever choiceawards Billy was attending this weekend.

She recognized Dee, and then sherecognized the man with Dee. Oh, God. She was on some Disney Channel show. Fora second, Laura fought back a laugh. Her job may suck, but at least she didn’thave to explain to an army of tweens why their squeaky clean star got marriedin Vegas.

Oh, God. Bill Adama. She knew those blue eyes, that was for damn sure. They’dmet before, years ago, when she was still an assistant and he had just landedhis first major client at CAA, and he’d hated her on sight. He’d gotten herfired two weeks after she’d landed her first job on a desk.

That’s what she got for correctinghis grammar in a press release. Still, he owed her a thanks for not making anass of himself in trying to get coverage for Kara Thrace’s first starring role.He may not have known how to use a comma, but she sure as hell did.

It was probably a good 15 years toolate to ask for a thanks at this point.

***

She shouldn’t be impressed becauseBill Adama knew divorce and annulment laws so well, but she couldn’t deny that she wasmore than a little bit relieved. Billy had an appointment with a rep from TomFord for his fitting in an hour, and how sad was it that she was scheduling the termination of his marriagearound a fitting for his tuxedo? Her parents would be rolling over in theirgraves if they could see how the college education they scrimped and saved forwas being put to use.

She could see Bill asking himselfthe same thing as they sat on the conference call with their clients’attorneys, working through the finer points of Nevada law. If she rememberedcorrectly (and she did, which was why she was so successful), Bill’s father hadbeen a top trial lawyer in LA back in the days of OJ and Ramparts.

Bill had a full notepad of notes onBilly and Dee’s marriage. She shouldn’t be impressed, but she was.

He managed to negotiate ashort-term annulment with a few arguments and a little bit of fanfare. They’dhave to show up in Clark County courts in a few weeks, but after a few words infront of a judge, it would all be over with.

If Billy could just let it go. Helooked downright panicked at the thought of an annulment, never mind the factthat he hadn’t let go of Dee’s hand since Laura had first met them in the hotellobby.

Sweet, stupid boy.

She’d demand an extra bonus andmaybe reservations at Half Moon Bay to make up for this shitshow. In themeantime, she shoved Billy out of the judge’s chambers, reminding him that hehad places to be and nominees to read.

It was a little more uncomfortablewhen it was just the two of them waiting in the hallway for the judge’sassistant to make an appointment for the follow-up. She shifted from foot to foot, tryingdesperately to remain calm, cool and collected. He didn’t remember her, and shedesperately wanted to keep it  that way.

“Do you want to read over the paperworkand make sure the commas are in order?”

Damnhim.

“Maybe I do.”

Bill dug through his pockets untilhe found a red pen. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Oh, he was good. She took the penfrom his hand and used it to mark through the annulment agreement. Alimony, no.NDA, yes…oh God yes, please don’t let anyone find out about this.

Just friends, yes, in the pressrelease. Laura had been just friendswith enough of his one-night stands over the last few years; he could agree tothat for her sake.

He could, and he would, because hewas getting fitted for a tuxedo, and she was signing his name in a Clark Countyjudge’s chambers. She needed a raise.

The judge tried to choke back alaugh as he waved his assistant over to collect the papers. She should havegone to law school; if she could still quote chapter and verse of statemunicipal codes, the judge wouldn’t be laughing.

If she could still quote chapterand verse of state municipal codes, she wouldn’t be here. She’d be in a nice,cushy office with walnut paneling, not staring down Bill Adama in the judge’schambers.

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll buy you adrink.”

Isn’t that how they got in thismess in the first place?

She wanted to shrug his hand offher shoulder, but it had been a long day, and God knew she could use a drink.He was buying, so she wasn’t going to say no.

Besides, he still owed her anapology. If a misused comma derailed this annulment, he’d owe her a lot morethan an apology, but a couple of fruity drinks in the Wynn’s well-stocked barwent a long way to making it up to her.

***

She woke with her pulse pounding inher ears and an undefined, but still somehow clear memory of screwing up spectacularly.

The Advil on the nightstand wouldcure her headache, and she reached out to find the small plastic bottle and theglass of water that she was sure she’d left on the bedside table before she’d passed out the nightbefore, but it would do nothing to erase the arm that was wrapped around her waist.

Advil could cure her headache, butit wasn’t going to help the fact that she wasn’t alone in her bed.

Or that she was definitely surethat she wasn’t wearing underwear.

Or that her left hand had a certaincheap gold accessory that wasn’t there when she’d left the judge’s chambers theday before.

Dammit, she wanted a simple thanksfrom Bill Adama, not a legal commitment! She tried to ease herself out of hisembrace, intent on finding her phone and calling her own attorney, but strongfingers on her hips pulled her back under the covers.

“Not done sleeping yet,” Bill muttered.

She wanted to throw his arm offher; she wanted to scream at him for having the gall to sleep in her bed whenshe more or less remembered telling him to beat it after a couple of fairlyspectacular orgasms a few hours before. She wanted to forget she’d ever come toVegas this weekend.

Mostly, she wanted to be cool, calmand rational Laura Roslin, but she was comfortable swaddled in strong arms andoverpriced hotel sheets, and she was warm with Bill Adama breathing softly intoher neck.

Cool, calm and rational LauraRoslin had a list of things to do for the day.

Naked, happy and tousled LauraRoslin had a man at her back who was slowly stroking her stomach and humming inher ear.

What the hell, it had been yearssince she’d had to clean up her own messes, and Billy and his Disney bride coulddo without her for the day. She laced her fingers in one of Bill’s roaming handsand wiggled herself a little more closely against him.

Not done sleeping at all, if shehad anything to say about it.