#﹒ ⁽ ⚘ ⁾ masterlists ˚

[eatingoutmen]

─── ༺ཐི WHORE TALKS. ཋྀ༻ ───

💭 WHORISH THOUGHTS ABOUT…

⊹ ࣪ MEN IN GLASSES ⊹ ࣪

⊹ ࣪ TAMING YOUR BRAT! BOYFRIEND ⊹ ࣪

⊹ ࣪ DOMMING A BIG, BEEFY MAN ⊹ ࣪

⊹ ࣪ DATING A BIG, BEEFY MAN ⊹ ࣪

⊹ ࣪ YOUR BOSS FINDING OUT YOUR SECRET ⊹ ࣪

⊹ ࣪ CALM AND SMART BOYFRIEND ⊹ ࣪

⊹ ࣪ OLDER MEN ⊹ ࣪

⊹ ࣪ BEING A SERVICE SUB!TOP ⊹ ࣪

[equallyshaw]

Gun to My Head, Heart in His Hands | Jay Halstead

warnings: kidnapping. w.c: 6.0K masterlist. |

8 days. Millie had been trapped here for eight days. No escape. No strength left to fight back. No proof anyone was coming.

She wasn’t a cop built for battle. Not muscle. Not a weapon. She was the “book”—the “shrink.” The one who barely scraped through the academy, who talked her way into Intelligence with words instead of bullets.

Why would they come looking for her?

Why would he?

Jay Halstead. The man who could read a room in seconds but never once looked at her long enough to see her. The man who got under her skin faster than trauma ever had. Who held her at arm’s length like she was a liability—only to pull her close, just to walk away again.

He hadn’t stood up for her. Not when it counted. Not when the team had laughed. Not when she needed him to speak, to see.

She’d swallowed the humiliation. Tasted metal when she bit her tongue. Pride bleeding out between her teeth.

I hope I die before I lose myself.

Because if she broke in here, no one would care enough to find the pieces.

She wasn’t the hero. Just a file clerk in a bulletproof vest. A body behind a desk.

No guts. No glory.

Some of us are the ones that should’ve gotten away.

And maybe she was one of them. Not the one who mattered. Not to him. Not to anyone.

—

Her head throbbed as she woke on a cold, concrete floor in some desolate warehouse on the far South Side—right at the edge of the city limits. Her mouth tasted like metal—her own blood—slowly clotting after his elbow had collided with her jaw. No break, thankfully. But a dull, persistent ache lingered.

Her eyes cracked open, adjusting to the dim surroundings and the absence of… well, anything.

As the conditions came into focus, her eyes widened. She looked down at her body, searching for trauma. Just dried blood on her shirt—presumably from her mouth. And then she remembered—the way her head had snapped back, then righted itself. Whiplash.

Millie shuddered as her hand drifted to her temple, brushing against more dried blood. Tears burned her eyes at the swelling beneath—a definite bruise.

She bit down. Hard. She knew better. Better than to cry. Better than to scream. Better than to beg.

They couldn’t know they’d gotten to her. They had to think she was broken. Maybe then… maybe then she could escape.

She coughed into her arm—force of habit—just before the screech of the metal door sliced through the silence.

He stepped in.

That face. It had haunted her nightmares for years. He grinned. A devil’s grin wrapped in sugar.

“Hi, Millie. Been a while, huh?” he said, settling into a wooden chair in the corner.

It took everything in her not to respond. Not to give him the satisfaction. But if she was honest—she’d wanted to kill him the second he stepped through that door.

The man who stole everything from her. Maybe now was her time. Maybe now she’d rise to the occasion—guts and glory.

He tsked. “Aw, sweetie, don’t remember me? You’re breaking my heart.” He placed a mocking hand over his chest.

She rolled her eyes.

He chuckled. “You pretending not to feel anything? That shrink-mind bullshit isn’t gonna work on me, baby.”

His voice dripped with venomous sweetness, and it turned her stomach.

“What would your father say, hmm? What would Marcus—”

“Don’t you dare bring him up,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare say his name, Martin.”

His grin didn’t falter. “Or what, baby? Hmm? What?”

She shook her head, lips curling into a snarl.

“You don’t get to say his name. Not after what you did. Not after you murdered your own partner. My father.”

Her voice shook. Wobbled. He just smiled.

“You knew it was me that night,” she whispered. “You knew he was taking me to that father-daughter dance. You knew exactly who I was—what I meant to him—and you still put a bullet in his head and made it look like suicide.”

He blinked once. Slow. Calculated. Smug silence filled the room.

“He trusted you,” she spat. “Like a damn brother. And you covered it up. You made him look unstable. Left him with the weight of your crimes—and a bullet in his brain.”

Martin leaned back, comfortable in his lie. “The department bought it. You know why? Because he was spiraling. I just gave them the ending they were already expecting.”

“You staged it,” she growled. “You made it real. And you kept going. Still on the force. Still undercover. Still playing the good guy—while you rot inside.”

He stood slowly, pacing. “Don’t pretend you’re clean in all this.”

His voice was sharp now.

“You were ready to burn the whole thing down just to prove a point.”

Silence. Then a sigh—low and bitter.

“But that’s what they don’t get about you.”

He glanced at her.

“The others... they think you’re soft. Safe. Just some desk jockey who’s in over her head.” A pause. Longer this time. “They don’t see the fire in your blood. The fire behind your eyes.” He stepped closer, voice quieter.

“The same fire your father had. The kind that doesn’t die—it kills.”

He smirked. “I bet it’s the same fire Hank Voight has, hmm?”

She snarled.

“But they don’t know that. They don’t know how twisted you really are, do they, baby? Should we take a peek at your Med file?”

He reached into her bag, pulling out a stack of stolen case files.

“Oh yeah—these are golden. The entire Intelligence team, huh? Why, baby? Why do you have your own personal file cabinet on them… and yourself?”

He stepped closer, faces inches apart.

“Planning to play their game—or rewrite the rules?”

Then he pulled back, flipping open her file.

“Defiance. Fighting. Swearing. Threats. Dumpster fire...” he read. “And oh, yes—the gun incident.”

He paused. Looked at her.

“And my favorite one of all: your childhood cat.” He raised a brow. “You told me about her once. Third grade. White, with one black paw. You cried when she died. I remember.”

Shame. Guilt. Rage. It all flooded her at once. If he didn’t shut up, she was going to vomit.

“They don’t know, right? That your father covered for you?” He flipped another page.

“Family cat found dead in the backyard. Cause: blunt force trauma. Millie claimed the cat was ‘sick’ and ‘wouldn’t stop screaming.’ Said she ‘just wanted it to stop.’ Psych eval noted emotional detachment and a desire for control. When asked why she didn’t tell anyone, she said: ‘They wouldn’t have done anything.’ File sealed by Det. [REDACTED] following mother’s death.”

He shut the folder gently and laid it on the stack, smiling like the devil.

Tears burned behind her eyes.

He made it sound like a horror show. But he wasn’t there. He didn’t hear the screams every night—the animal, not her mother, though both haunted her room. The cat was dying. Millie had begged her father to take it to the vet, but they couldn’t afford another bill.

She didn’t know how to help. She was twelve. She panicked. And afterward, she never stopped feeling like a monster.

Her psych eval showed a paradox: a natural counselor who scored high on sensation-seeking and had a defiant streak that refused to back down, no matter the cost. She wasn’t reckless. But she wasn’t afraid of risk either.

"Your thinking doesn’t always align with what’s expected," the evaluator had said. "It’s not the norm—some might even say it’s dangerous. But there’s intent behind it. Compassion. A refusal to let others suffer when you believe there’s another way."

And Hank... he’d seen it early, hadn’t he? Back when she was just a kid, when he’d stop by for late dinners and midnight drinks, listening to the proud, worried stories her father told.

Tales of what she’d gotten into. The messes. The moments. The way she already saw the world bending at the seams—and tried to hold it together with both hands.

And now—he saw that spirit tenfold. Quieter. Sharper. Calculated. He saw it in the way her mind still worked like clockwork, always five steps ahead. Always watching. Always trying to save someone from the fire.

“You think no one noticed your late-night hangouts? What? He fucked you and ghosted you?”

“STOP!” she screamed, hands flying to her ears.

They hadn’t hooked up. They were just close friends. But she didn’t know why Jay had started pulling away. Their pizza nights. Their coffees. Their long walks after tense cases. All of it had slowed—then stopped.

The shoulder she used to lean on was gone.

Did he know?

Martin chuckled and walked toward the metal door.

“Think it over, baby. I’ll be back.”

The door clanged shut.

She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Tears fell. Her body trembled.

Was she the reason Jay disappeared?

Or worse—was he next?

__

day two.

Gods, her body ached. It felt like death—fire in her veins, every limb breaking at the seams.

Martin had already been in that day. Said he had to go on patrol, promised he’d be back before midnight.

He always knew what buttons to press. How to twist grief into guilt, guilt into shame. That was Martin’s superpower: redefining reality until you questioned whether you were ever good in the first place.

That’s what her father had loved about him. When he still had a grip on reality. Before the cancer made him cruel. Before bitterness swallowed the man who used to braid her hair and make up songs to stop her tears.

She’d spent years in grief counseling after her mother died. Spent even longer learning to name her feelings instead of running from them. But trauma doesn’t evaporate. It lingers. Lurks. And in moments like this—abandoned, bloodied, betrayed—it surged as if it had never left.

And yet, she was still here. Tied up in metal chains. Cold concrete beneath her—hard, unforgiving.

Exactly what she was.

Martin had brought up Jay again. His file. The one she had been working on, for her own files. He mentioned what Jay clearly meant to her—the late-night hugs, the hand-holds outside their respective places when he’d been following her.

That didn’t surprise her. Of course, Martin had been planning something. He was always the planner. Her dad had always been the muscle.

Her mind drifted to the first time she saw Jay.

She’d just graduated from the academy a week prior—barely scraped by—and was partnered with Sean Roman at the Twenty-First Precinct.

Trudy had made some sarcastic comment that bit deeper than intended. Something about how fun it’d be to watch Millie on patrol for a day before she quit the force.

But Millie didn’t give her the satisfaction.

Sure, she was a bit reckless. She knew that.

She and Roman were called to a stakeout that spiraled into an ambush—guns drawn, nerves fried—when Hailey was pulled into a chokehold, a knife pressed to her throat.

God, Millie had been such a fool. Reckless. Dangerous. Timid. Naive. Dumb, they’d called her.

She lowered her gun to the floor. Stepped slowly past the officers pressed against hallway walls and doorframes, toward the man holding Hailey—who was panting in panic.

“Hey, man. I promise they won’t do anything,” she began, stepping between Jay and Hank, who stood at the front.

She raised her arms. “You don’t think I understand how you feel? You think you’re the only one backed into a corner, no way out, no one coming to help? Think again.”

The suspect’s eyes darted, pupils blown wide with desperation. His grip on the blade tightened.

Millie didn’t flinch.

“You don’t think I know what it’s like to lose a parent?” she continued, voice calm. “To lose someone you love? Especially at the hands of a cop?”

The room shifted. The unit exchanged glances. Rookie or not—what the hell was she saying?

But Hank… Hank knew. He knew who she was. And in that moment, he began to suspect what had happened.

“If you want to hurt someone to make them feel what you’re feeling—take me.” Her voice cracked, just barely. “I can handle it. I promise. You want someone who might actually feel it with you? You’re looking at her.”

Silence.

She took a step closer. “But ask yourself this: Do you want to die… or are you just tired of surviving?”

Her eyes locked with the assailant’s. They both started to cry.

He pulled Hailey to the ground gently, and Millie knelt beside them.

“Let us help you,” she said softly. “You don’t want to do this, Julio. I promise.”

“Give me the knife, Julio. I promise—you’ll get the help you need.”

Then, with a hint of sarcasm: “If you hurt me, I will be very hurt.”

She reached for the knife. Julio’s hands trembled as he passed it to her.

Julio gave it up.

Hailey sagged, backing away. Jay moved quickly to catch her. His eyes never left Millie. Antonio and Adam swept in, cuffing him and taking him out the back door.

Millie had been reckless. Yes. Dangerous. But she’d proven herself.

She wasn’t the muscle. She was the brains—with enough nerve to stare down a criminal without blinking.

She walked out beside Roman, who nudged her shoulder. “Not bad, Shrink,” he muttered.

Jay caught that. So did Kim.

Millie rolled her eyes. She hated that nickname. “Hm,” she grunted.

“Good job back there, officer—” Jay started, then paused when she smiled. “Evans. Officer Evans.”

She looked to Roman. “We call her Shrink because she’s a doctor of psychology,” he teased.

A doctor.

She grimaced, sighing. “Have a good day, officers,” she said, eyes flicking between Jay and Kim, then lingering on Jay.

And then she turned, walking back to the patrol car. Jay watched as she seemed to shrink into herself—Roman’s words gnawing at her.

Curiosity gnawed at him, too.

Until the day she joined Intelligence as their book and brains. That was the day Hank Voight finally recognized her—not as the new asset, but as the daughter of an old friend.

She was no longer the child he once knew. She no longer went by Murphy.

She went by Evans now.

A shield. A separation. A choice born from survival.

__

Martin had been at psychological warfare for six hours now — beating her, kicking her ribs, yanking the chains on her wrists until they were bloody and raw.

But the worst damage wasn't physical.

He poisoned her mind.

Told her her father never loved her. That she was a problem — too much. Whispered what the Intelligence Unit really thought of her, what they were doing right now — drinking at Molly’s without a care in the world. Twisted Jay’s silence into betrayal.

And then he rewrote the night her father died.

Swore it wasn’t suicide. Swore Hank killed him.

And the worst part?

She believed him.

Millie was rotting from the inside out. Five days of fighting — every manipulation, every trick — and now?

She was too weak. Too dehydrated. Too starved. And her mind? Clawing at the edge, desperate for one truth to hold onto.

“What is it? Can’t handle the truth? Maybee you were boring? Predictable? Calculated? Unlovable?”

He laughed.

And maybe... Maybe she was.

She sagged in the chair, pain radiating through every inch of her. The chains clinked as her arms dangled, metal embedded into her skin like a second skeleton.

Then one last blow. He struck the back of her head.

Everything went black.

A fucking game. All of it. Twisted. Rehearsed.

Millie’s body shut down. Her subconscious retreated into the only safe space left: Memory.

A Month Earlier.

Jay had been over at her place in the Loop. They’d ordered two pizzas — her deep dish, his tavern-style — and were sharing red wine.

They hadn’t spent time together in weeks.

Jay had been quiet. Off. Not the steady Jay she knew.

Even at work, he'd been distant. Dodging calls. Leaving her out of conversations. Not obvious — just enough to make her question everything.

Now they were on her couch, laughing over Adam and Kevin’s antics. They’d just closed a fifteen-year-old kidnapping case. The motive?

Revenge.

Millie’s smile faded. The case felt too familiar. Like her childhood. Like her father’s death.

Jay noticed and tapped her knee.

“You okay?”

She nodded faintly.

“Yeah… just a long week.”

She set her plate down.

“Thanks for staying this week. The case... it brought everything back. I felt fifteen again. The night my dad died.”

Jay blinked. She’d never told him this.

“You don’t think it was suicide?”

She shook her head.

“No. I was upstairs. Just a few rooms away. And something’s never added up.”

He listened, silent.

“He was undercover. He told Hank and Al — if something happened, it wouldn’t be an accident. Martin, his partner, said grief drove him to do it. Said I was too much. A problem child.”

She laughed bitterly.

“I wasn’t. My dad loved me. But they closed the case. No one believed him. They thought Hank was covering his ass.”

Jay’s chest tightened.

He remembered her outside interrogation the other day — broken, shaken. He’d pulled her in, wordless, held her as she sobbed.

She remembered too — and regretted it.

“You must think I’m weak,” she said, grabbing her wine and standing.

Jay caught her wrist.

Their eyes met.

“Never,” he said. Steady. Certain.

She gave him a faint smile, then walked into the kitchen.

Jay stayed seated. That’s when he saw it — the edge of a manila folder in her tote.

He hesitated, then reached for it.

Marcus Murphy. Her father.

Inside: the case file. Her notes. Theories. Questions. Accusations. Voight. Al. Martin. All annotated.

At the bottom: a photo. Millie at fifteen. Fierce eyes. Forced smile.

Present Day.

Jay bolted upright.

“Voight! We need to check Millie’s. There’s a file. Evidence. I saw it.”

Her apartment.

The living room was a crime board. A detective’s mind mapped out in red string and Post-Its.

Photos. Notes. Maps. Profiles.

Martin — DANGER.

A “Suspects” section: only one name in red.

HANK VOIGHT —What they all said.

Jay’s breath caught.

On the mantle: the folder. Waiting.

Pinned above it:

He has me. Jay — You saw it. You read between the lines. You saw the fear in my eyes. You know why I left the room. Why I left it here. I left a trail because you always saw me clearly. Don’t look for him. But take him down when he shows. — Millie

It wasn’t just a trail. It was a lifeline.

__ day eight.

3:43 PM. Millie called.

Jay tore off his headset. “Trace it. South Side. Industrial block. Near the old slaughterhouse.”

Voight didn’t move. His eyes were locked on the ringing line.

“Line two,” the desk sergeant said. “They say they're Millie.”

Voight grabbed it. “Voight.”

Static. Then her voice, broken:

“Hank?” “Please—don’t come after me. Don’t come after him.”

“Millie? Are you hurt?”

“Chained to a wall. Listening to him whisper how horrible you are as a human being.”

“We’re coming.”

“No. That’s what he wants. I have to be the shield, Hank. To protect you.”

A beat.

“No,” she whispered. “I protected the only one who still gave a damn about him.”

Jay froze. “Her dad…”

Voight already knew.

“Martin murdered him. I was fifteen. Getting ready for a stupid father-daughter dance.”

“He was building a case on you,” she added. “Thought you were dirty.”

“I know.”

“What?”

“I was cleared. Martin wasn’t. I always knew. Your father he-he warned me. Told Al and me about it while undercover.”

“He’s going to kill me, Hank. And I didn’t stop it in time. Didn't stall him long enough.”

“You left a trail. We found it.”

Millie’s voice trembled, almost breaking: “I prayed you’d see me... even if I wasn’t the same — if I changed my name, disappeared... that you wouldn’t forget.”

Jay’s eyes locked on hers, steady and sure. “Never, Millie. I could never forget you.”

A tremble.

“Please don’t let him hurt you. You’re all that's left of him.”

The only one who can keep his memory alive & bring down Martin.

“Millie—”

But the line exploded with noise — footsteps, metal scraping.

“Oh God—he’s coming— I have to go—”

“Millie—!”

A scream. Then silence.

She was out cold.

Martin dragged her limp body across the floor, unhooking her wrists, pulling her into the next room — the one with a ditch filled with glass shards and jagged, rusted blades.

Her unconscious mind spiraled. Memory on loop.

Jay.

She had already fallen for him. In their silences. In the way he made her feel seen — her instincts, her fire, even her doubts.

He told her she kept the team sane. Said they wouldn’t have solved half their cases without her.

But one memory haunted her most.

That day in the joint Narcotics-Intelligence briefing.

Narcotics had sneered at her, mocked her, spit the old nickname like poison: the shrink. They whispered that her father — once the proud head of Narcotics — would be ashamed of her if he were still alive. Barely scraping through the academy. Laughable.

What gutted her wasn’t their cruelty. It was the silence of her own unit.

Not one of them stood up for her.

They let it happen. Watched her burn under the weight of their jeers. Intelligence offered no defense — just tight smiles, awkward chuckles, complicit nods. Even Jay had laughed once, when a nickname landed sharper than intended, as she stumbled through her case briefing, swallowing tears and fury and pride.

She left that meeting ready to walk away. From the badge. From all of it.

Because how could she trust a team to protect her out there, when they wouldn’t even defend her in the room?

Especially Jay.

It tainted her view of him — maybe even cracked the pedestal she’d put him on.

What she didn’t know was this:

Two days later, Voight walked into Narcotics unannounced. No warnings. No pleasantries. He tore them to shreds — every last one. Made it clear Millie was more than capable, more than enough. That she had earned her place, and anyone who said otherwise would answer to him.

Hank had seen her. All of her. Flaws, fears, fire.

And when the time came, he believed — no, knew — she’d rise.

__

She awoke in the other room, panic instantly rising as her eyes landed on the gun beside her, knives scattered nearby, and a ditch filled with glass shards and jagged, rusted blades.

Her mind raced to the team—knowing they wouldn’t find her in time. Knowing Martin would win, once again.

She thought of the last time she saw them, the last time she heard their voices.

day zero.

Jay had FaceTimed her at Molly’s, Jay had FaceTimed her at her townhouse, urging her to get out for the night. He said she needed a break — She’d said no—buried in timelines and piecing together her dad’s murder.

She had finally cracked the case. Every bit of it.

But Jay’s face had brightened when she picked up. The way his eyes twinkled when she spoke. The way he and the team all said they wanted her there.

Then Jay softened his voice. “We can stop at that French café that just opened down the street... they’re open 24 hours... get crepes on the way home.”

He grinned, teasing, knowing she’d cave at the mention of crepes. She rolled her eyes but glanced down at the manila folder at her feet, and Jay caught her pause.

“Fine. One drink. Then crepes, Halstead,” she giggled.

He saluted playfully. “Scout’s honor, Dr. Evans.”

She smiled. “See you in like an hour—gonna grab the L.”

Jay nodded. “Be safe.”

“Always. Scout’s honor,” she hummed, then hung up—letting the call linger a moment longer, memorizing the curves and nooks of his face. His godforsaken face.

And she thought of her adoration for him, despite the sting of that narcotics meeting—how her heart fluttered at the thought of never seeing him again. Never being near him again. Never finishing that damn kiss he shied away from—the night they had pizza and left the manila folder out for him.

Her gut screamed that something was coming.

She’d made her bed with instinct and knowing.

And Martin was going to force her to lie in it.

She set the case file down on the fireplace and sighed.

Grabbing her black tote, stuffed with photocopies of intelligence files, herself, and related documents, she left the originals safely inside her townhouse.

Then she stepped outside. The gate clicked shut behind her.

And just like that—she vanished.

__

Millie had barely been conscious for five minutes when his gun pressed to her temple, his arm hooked around her throat—her airway slowly collapsing.

She waited. Pins and needles. For the team to burst in, guns drawn, yelling. A chaotic rescue.

But they weren’t coming.

So she calmed herself. Slipped into the rhythm of years of trauma and shadow work. The practices. The breathing. The stillness.

She pictured the lakefront. Sunrise. Coffee in hand. Chicago humming awake. Her city.

Her breathing steadied. Her mind slowed. Peace—before death.

Maleficent "Millie" Evans stood in the middle of a grimy, dim warehouse, a beam of sunlight slicing through a cracked window and catching on her trembling hands. The metal of the gun at her temple stayed cold. Steady. But it wasn’t the steel that hurt—it was the silence. The silence from the people she called family.

The precinct. Radios humming. Boots on linoleum. The places she never truly belonged. The conversations that died when she entered. The dismissive laughter.

“Soft. The book. The brain.”

At her last narcotics briefing, a few officers had laughed. “Smart enough to stay off the line. Not a real cop.” Even some in Intelligence had smirked.

Jay, too. He never meant it cruelly, she told herself. His teasing about her living far from the team. His jokes about coffee over camaraderie. But maybe—maybe he believed it, too.

She swallowed hard. Bitter tears burning.

They’re not coming.

They don’t love me like I love them.

“You see that?” the kidnapper hissed. “They think you’re nothing. Replaceable. Weak. Nimble. The soft one. The book. That’s what they all called you, right?”

Her breath caught. Her fists clenched until her nails dug into her palms.

I’m useless. I’m not enough. I’m not like them.

She remembered the nights she stayed late. The victims she held until dawn. The files she read until her eyes burned. The training. The effort. The trying.

Still... just a footnote.

Then—movement. A shadow in the corner of her eye.

Hank. Jay.

Voight, jaw like stone. Jay, eyes locked on hers.

A flicker. A flame.

She wouldn’t break.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” she cried to the team, voice tight but sharp.

The negotiator. Always the calm. The steady. Like it was instinct.

The kidnapper’s whisper cut deep, loud enough for them all to hear:

“You’re a fucking coward. Just like your father. You meant nothing. You are nothing. You’ll never be anything.”

She flinched. Grimaced. But no tears.

Just memories. Nightmares. Of laughter behind backs. Of men who questioned her presence.

The book. The one who slipped through.

She no longer looked like the woman Jay had started to love. The one he was going to tell—over crepes, that night.

The night that never came.

Everyone thought she was broken.

The psychologist, shattered.

Let them.

She’d play the part. An actress. The best damn performance of her life. Because she knew: Martin would shrink. Sag. Slip. He always did, when he thought he’d won.

She had rehearsed the line for months:

“I can’t... I can’t keep doing this,” she sobbed, voice cracking with exhaustion. “He’s right. I’m not strong. I’m not like you. I’m not a cop. I just—” her voice hitched, a tear sliding down her cheek, “I just wanted to help people. Understand them. That’s all I ever fucking wanted.”

The gun dug deeper. Her skin clammy. Her breath calm. Her eyes locked forward.

On them.

Shouting echoed.

“Let her go!” “Drop it now!” “Do it and we’ll all walk away!”

And then—

Jay.

“Don’t do anything. Don’t—”

His voice cracked. It cut through her like lightning.

Her body screamed. Wrists bloodied. Knees aching. Eight days. Eight days gone.

And she had believed it.

That they weren’t coming.

That she didn’t matter.

Now?

She stood before them. Half-dead. Bloodied. A noose around her neck.

“If you wanna shoot someone,” she rasped, “shoot me.”

Silence.

She took a raw breath.

“Shoot me. Don’t let him win.”

Her voice cracked. But her eyes scanned them all.

Kevin, furrowed. Kim, trembling. Hailey, pacing.

Voight.

Then—Jay.

She always looked at him the longest.

“Shoot me. Let me die first.”

And then, the kidnapper sneered again.

“You hear that? Nothing. You’re nothing. The soft one. The book. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

She shook her head. Silent tears now.

“Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot—don’t shoot…”

Jay moved.

Voight stopped him with a single arm.

But Millie kept going. Trembling. Collapsing inward.

Then—she felt it.

The shift.

His grip slackened.

Not fear.

Arrogance.

He thinks I’m broken.

Good.

She sagged. Shifted.

He moved to follow.

She struck.

Elbow to gut. Heel to shin. Twist. Downward weight. Wrist locked.

Just like week two in the academy.

The gun fell into her hands.

The team rushed.

Jay sprinted.

Kevin tackled the suspect. Over. Fast.

Jay didn’t stop.

He ripped the gun from her hands. Pulled her in.

“Hey—hey, I got you—” his voice, a whisper.

She collapsed into him. Sobbing. Shaking.

He held her tight. One arm around her waist. One hand behind her head.

“I got you,” he whispered. “You’re okay. I got you.”

Her fingers curled in his vest like she’d drown without it.

Behind them, chaos. Orders. Cuffs. Rage.

But all she heard was Jay.

“You’re not replaceable.”

She lifted her head. Eyes swollen.

He looked at her like she was everything.

“You hear me?” he said. “You’re not the book. You’re the whole fucking library.”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

For the first time in eight days—

She believed him.

__

It had been three weeks since her rescue. Twenty-one long days.

She’d spent the first three—seventy-two hours—in a voluntary psychiatric hold. The moment she arrived at the hospital, Dr. Charles Daniels was waiting. They greeted each other like old friends—two professionals who’d been through this before.

She didn’t see Jay during those days. He waited anxiously, counting every hour, every minute, until she was cleared.

And when she was—good luck to anyone who tried to pull her away from him.

They were making up for lost time in every sense. But more than that, he was there to hold her when she cried. To catch her when she slipped back into that dark room in her mind.

Above all, he was there to keep her safe.

He didn’t trust the loop. Didn’t trust the townhouse she rented. Didn’t trust the thought of her being alone.

So without questions or hesitation, he took her home—to his home.

He took time off work just to be with her. To help her breathe, readjust, remember who she was beyond the trauma. To remind her she wasn’t alone.

A week into staying with him, she cracked.

She told him everything—her childhood, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The parts she’d hidden even from herself.

She told him about the offer from Quantico. The Behavioral Analysis Unit—BAU.

He asked if she was seriously considering it.

She told him the truth: she was.

She knew she was meant for more than Intelligence. More than the CPD. Not out of arrogance, but quiet confidence.

And he believed her.

He was proud. Happy for her.

Because if anyone was meant for more—it was her.

__

It had been four nights now.

Four nights waking tangled in his sheets, his breath warm against the back of her neck, her hand curled instinctively against his chest—like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

She didn’t fight it anymore.

Neither did he.

They hadn’t said the words aloud, but they didn’t need to. It was in the way his fingers always found hers during movies, how he’d brush her hair behind her ear mid-sentence, how he made sure her favorite coffee was stocked before she even asked.

She’d let herself fall—and this time, she wasn’t catching herself. She didn’t need to. He was there.

This morning was quiet. Soft. The gray light of pre-dawn filtered through the curtains in his bedroom, casting faint lines over the blanket pulled halfway off their tangled bodies.

Millie blinked slowly, adjusting to the stillness. Jay was still asleep, his arm slung lazily around her waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm that lulled her even now. She nestled closer for a moment, absorbing the warmth, the safety.

Then—her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She stilled, blinking again. It was early. Too early for anything casual. Carefully, she twisted from Jay’s hold, trying not to wake him as she leaned over and grabbed it.

Unknown number.

But the area code—it was familiar.

She swiped to answer and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, Dr. Evans. It’s Agent Hotchner, from the Bureau,” he said, voice steady but gentle.

Her eyes widened.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner,” she replied, shifting upright in bed. “How can I help you?”

“I just wanted to check in—see how you’re doing and whether you’ve come to a decision yet. We heard about what happened, and I want you to know, first and foremost, your well-being matters most.”

Her breath caught for a moment. “I’m doing much better now, thank you. I appreciate you reaching out.” She paused, then added, “And about your offer… I’ve thought about it. Right now, there are things I need to take care of here in Chicago. So, for today at least, I’ll have to decline the position in Quantico.”

There was a quiet beat before he responded. “Not a problem at all, Dr. Evans. We’ll keep a desk warm for you in the meantime. And if you’re interested, I know the Chicago office would be lucky to have you.”

A small, genuine smile curled her lips. “I’d love nothing more than that, Agent Hotchner.”

“Excellent. I’ll forward the papers your way. See you soon, Dr. Evans.”

The line clicked off.

Beside her, Jay stirred, his arm still draped over her waist. As he shifted, the brush of his fingers against her skin raised goosebumps.

“Who was that?” he asked, voice rough with sleep as he rubbed his eyes.

“Oh, just an agent from the Bureau,” she said casually, but he gave her a look—half grin, half knowing smirk.

“They offered you a job in Quantico, didn’t they?” he said, sitting up slightly.

She sighed and set her phone on the bedside table. “Yeah. I turned it down. Told them I had unfinished business here. Though... they offered me a spot in the Chicago office.”

Jay’s grin widened. That spark in his eyes lit her stomach on fire.

“The Bureau?” he said, sliding closer. “I always knew you were destined for bigger things, Missy.”

Then he kissed her. One of those deep, molten, heart-shaking kisses that made her toes curl and her insides melt.

When she pulled away just a few inches, she whispered, “Really?” Her voice soft, a flicker of doubt hidden in her words.

He chuckled, eyes lifting like he was thanking the universe. “Oh, most definitely. Clocked it the first day we worked together on the Lion’s case.”

She laughed, the memory flickering across her face.

“But you’re staying here… because of us. Because of me,” he said quietly, reading between every word she hadn’t said.

She arched an eyebrow. “Hmm. Seems my little psychology lessons have finally paid off. Reading between the lies now, are we?”

“Very much,” he murmured, pulling her close again as the white comforter fell over both of them.

Giggles slipped from her lips.

eeeeek -- hope u enjoyed! please like, reblog & comment - id love to hear feedback🫶🏻

[moonacrefarm]

anticipating love

summary: your parents marriage didn’t survive the test of time and neither did you first love. 

contains: childhood friends to lovers to strangers, second-chance romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slight miscommunication, fluff, 18+ series, mentions of stalking, mentions of cancer, no mention of y/n

authors note: so...uh, here it is :D

series masterlist

next part | 02. never hesitating

01. watching, i keep waiting

It felt like clockwork. An annual phone call from your estranged father, asking for a few life updates before awkwardly ending the call. This time, the silence hung in the air longer than the usual three minutes, a quiet hesitation you stuck around for.

Beau "Cyclone" Simpson was known for being a stickler for the rules; strict and to the point. He wasn't a natural-made family man; your mom accused him of hiding in his work and neglecting his duties as a husband and father. It was the last argument they had before she stuffed you in the backseat of her car.

They hadn't seen each other since.

However, this time, the anxiety could be felt through the phone, "Dad? Is there something else you need?" You inquired.

He sighed, "How… How's your mother?" The edge that settled in his voice finally clicked. He knew. A few deep breaths later and you gathered the strength to speak.

"She's…getting better. The doctor said there's hope." Silence followed again. It felt as if time slowed before he spoke again, “There’s a doctor here in San Diego who can treat her. We never divorced so… if she wants to I can…” He went quiet for a moment. “I know the move would be taxing but you guys would be closer to family and—”

“I'm not sure if she would want that, dad.” You spoke softly, gently cutting him short. “I've tried to convince her to take the recommendation, but…you have to speak to her.” Further silence followed. You could almost hear his heart hammering over the phone.

Your parent's relationship was a mystery to you. They’d never divorced but you were uprooted and planted halfway across the country when they separated. Your father didn’t fight and your mom didn’t have it in her to keep up with him. He’d prioritized his career over his family, and you knew he regretted it following your and your mother's departure.

Sure, you’d seen him sparsely throughout the years, receiving birthday gifts and visiting for holidays, but the damage had been done.

"Alright. You're right. I'll try to talk to her as well." He conceded. You didn't respond, whispering a soft goodbye before pivoting towards the window.

Observing as your mother tended to her garden, humming along with the radio. You had made a home in Virginia, but was it home? Both of your mother’s and father’s families were on the West Coast and the state held bitter memories after a failed engagement.

She'd always been stubborn, and while you weren't your father's advocate, you couldn't lose her. You understood this was her best option, yet she refused to take it.

It felt like days they spent speaking over the phone. Your father fighting tooth and nail to match your mother.

“You can’t honestly expect me to move halfway across the country for a maybe.” She spat. You couldn’t hear your father’s response but whatever he said softened her, wilting as her eyes filled with tears. She glanced at you. “Fine. We’ll see you then.” Her shoulders slumped as she made her way towards you, plopping on the couch and leaning her head on your shoulder.

“Pack your swimsuit. We’re going home.”

Phone calls had been made, flights booked, boxes shipped and suddenly you were standing in your childhood room. Not much had changed, except for the piled-up boxes that had been pushed into the corner. Memories hung around like outdated decor, a bitter taste filling your mouth.

A light knock jerked you out of your stupor.

“I didn’t know what to do…so I left it as it was.”Your father stood at the door. His frame taking up most of the space.

You inhaled a shaky breath, “Do you think it will work?” The fragility in your voice was noticeable as he inspected your face with a crease in his brows, lips pursed. “I hope so.”

Not much else was said as you continued to unpack. Mentally running through your to-do list for the next month and a half. Your mom had a doctor's appointment set for next week, and all you could hope for was promising news in the meantime.

Your mother's illness put a hiatus on your life. Her diagnosis turned your axis on its head; stability gone in a wink. Now you were unsure. Unsure of your future, of time, of her future. You decided to take time off of work and dip into your savings, this move wouldn’t strain you. If you were lucky, you’d be able to find a job near base, hopefully in some clinic. You couldn’t focus on patients when you’d see your mother in everyone. Time lost in your career wouldn’t compare to the time you valued with your mother.

While strolling through the house, you noticed your old family photos hadn’t been moved. Not a speck of dust to be seen in the home as you glanced at your parents in the living room. The tension was easy to notice. It permeated the air and left a heavy feeling in your lungs.

Words were waiting to be said you didn't want to be around for the aftermath. Not only to spare yourself from the debris of their approaching fight but also to give yourself the freedom to reset. Your emotional turmoil was eating you alive you needed some time to breathe.

“I’m gonna go visit Penny, she said to head down the bar once we were settled.” A swift kiss on your mother's cheek while she murmured, “Send her my regards.”

San Diego was a time capsule, the neighborhoods aging while the city was ever-changing. Familiar streets diverging off to ones you didn’t recognize. It’d only been a few years since you’d last come down and somehow that was enough time to reinvent the city.

Hard Deck itself had seemed the same, the amiable environment and ocean breeze skimming your cheeks. You’d arrived before the pub opened, approaching with excitement and allowing the bell to signal your arrival.

“Here I thought you were gonna stand me up?” Penny glanced over you with shining eyes, “Looks like at least oneSimpson can keep a promise.” A grin filled her face as she embraced you, her hug providing the warmth and consolation you needed after a massive move. “Where’s your mother?”

“Having it out with my dad” She winced.

“No wonder you got here before the bar opened.” You two shared a knowing look. You knew Penny had questions. Your mother was private about her sickness and never disclosed details. She even attempted to keep things from you. “Mom is down to see a doctor who might be able to help. I don’t know how the hell dad convinced us to share a roof but here we are.” You shrugged, wrapping behind the bar for a waist-apron.

Penny understood, bouncing her head as she gave you a gentle smile, “She's a determined woman. I believe she'll beat its ass before it even thinks twice about getting her.”

A faint huff came out of your mouth, “You know, you’re not wrong…” Before you could continue, Penny chimed in.

“There's a reason they referred to her as Hurricane, not only to piss off your dad but being an admirals daughter made her tough. Hell, your grandfather could barely keep her in check. He said he could control your mother or do his job.”

Laughter filled the bar, resounding through the empty building. The two of you calmed down, and you nodded your head in mortification, arranging some of the spirits as she continued.

“Hey, there's a reason we call you a little spitfire. Your dad and your mom? Of course, they'd create a vixen.”

A delicate smile graced your face, "I missed you, Penny." You admitted, "And I you. It’s not every day I get to see my favorite niece.” She tapped your nose as she turned to clean the bar top.

“Penny, I’m your only niece.”

“Details, details..” She hitched a tub of glass cups on her hips, waving you off, “If you aren’t gonna get to work, I’m gonna have to throw you overboard. We got a boat docked today.” You giggled at your aunt’s antics, appreciating her ability to keep the conversation light.

Penny glimpsed at you curiously, “Have you talked to….anyone else since you got back?” You understood what she asking without having her clarify. “Just some family members.” She gave you the eye, “But no. Haven’t spoken to Bradley in eight years and counting.”

“I thought you guys reconciled after you both graduated?”

“Not really. We talked sure, but we hadn’t spoken between then and when we finally did, things went to shit.”

Penny bobbed her head in understanding. "Stick jockeys… the only thing that keeps them grounded is insubordination." A huff fell off your lips as you got busy moving between tables. The crowd came in all at once, hordes of uniforms tottering in, some with arm candy, others eyeing for arm candy. This kept you in constant motion; gathering up drinks, bringing refills, making cocktails, and dancing around the jukebox.

The throng kept you light-headed, and you were thankful for it.

Groups of locals, navy sailors, and aviators cheered, drank, and sang. You were grabbing a refill for someone at the bar as Penny flirted with someone who looked vaguely familiar; he flashed her a warm smile as you tried to place him.

The distraction was short-lived when you took a pool stick to the hip. Your tray tilting into the hands of an arrogant aviator, his grin cocksure as he glanced you up and down, “Sorry dove,” He started, restacking the glasses, “I didn’t—”

“Careful.” You warned. “Disrespect a lady and get the bell.” Your finger pointed as a mischievous smile graced your face, “I think a pool stick to the hip is reason enough, no?” Your hands had been itching all night to ring the bell, it’d be a while.

“What if I help you carry this tray of glasses to the bar and work on an apology for you?” His green eyes filled with mirth, both of you enjoying this small pissing match.

“Much obliged.” You dumped the tray in his unsuspecting hands and he stumbled to keep it upright. Some of his fellow aviators cheered you, amused by the exchange. You made your way behind the bar as he handed you the tray, “Sorry for sticking it ya...” He pondered off, massaging the back of his neck, “Didn’t know you were behind me, I wouldn’t have gone so far back if I did.”

“To be fair, I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“If I ask for refills would that ruin the apology?” He grins sheepishly.

You barked out a laugh, “What if I charge you double for your beers and consider it even?”

“Sold!”

He skimmed you over one more time. “Can I get your name on the side?” Silence fell between you two as you reached for the beers. He leaned on the bar, relaxing as he drew everyone's gaze towards him.

You let out a small laugh, deciding to toy with him a bit. "Callsign?" He knotted his brows together, "Hangman." You bobbed your head. "Top Gun graduate?" He nodded once again. You leaned in next to his ear, your voice quiet, "Piece of advice, Lieutenant….” You glanced into his eyes, whispering, “You might not want to hit on the daughter of the vice-admiral."

You didn't typically pull out your dad's rank, but this time it was worth it. His mug slipped, paling slightly. "They call me little Simpson. But hush,” You dragged a finger over your lips, “This is a secret between you and me.” You gave a small smirk. "Here are your beers sir," He didn't say another word as he toddled back towards his table, his crowd hollering at his stupefied disposition.

The sun had just started to set, disappearing behind the horizon and you called Penny for your break. You tucked away your apron as she took over, pumping cocktails and drinks out with ease. “I’m heading down to the shore for a bit, I missed California sunsets.”

“Remember, I need you back in 15!” She called after you, too occupied flirting.

The sand was warm and the breeze was gentle. Allowing yourself to unwind as you sit in the sand, resting your head on your knees, you listened to the hustle and bustle of the bar in back of you. Your aunt had run the bell and someone just got thrown overboard. You watched as the same aviator from before was one of the few that carried the old-timer out.

You still couldn’t place him but decided to let it go. You could ask Penny about it later.

A familiar tune of piano keys causes your spine to straighten. Nausea twisted itself in your stomach as goosebumps peppered your skin. You stood up, listening for his voice as he started singing, still incapable to believe it unless you see him.

You peeked, treading cautiously towards the window.

And there he was.

Sitting at the piano bench, singing the same song Carole hummed in the kitchen when she babysat you. His fingers danced on the keys as he commanded the room, bobbing his head as he sang. He had a fuller build, aviators sloped on his nose with an open Hawaiian shirt. The same one Carole said he could wear once he was old enough for it to fit him.

Dread spread through your limbs as time stalled. Penny would understand if you left now. You’d just have to run in and grab your things. You’d be gone before he noticed you.

The hesitation only worsened when he raised his eyes and that confidence was taken over by surprise. It was only a second but it was enough to jerk you into action. Descending into the crowd, you concealed yourself between bodies as you escaped towards the back to grab your keys.

The song wasn’t quite finished yet. He kept up his performance and you didn’t have it in you to match him today. “Penny—”

“Go. I know now isn’t the time.” You embraced her tightly, swearing to drop by tomorrow and complete your shift, but right now you needed to go, and having a face-off with the man who broke your heart isn’t what you needed. Maybe later, but not now, it would be too much.

The air hit your flushed cheeks, catching your breath from the sudden intrusion. You glanced up one more time before trekking to your car, watching him bask in the ambiance of the crowd cheering him on, arms spread out to take in the energy. It didn’t last long before his gaze set itself on you, making his way through the crowd with a smile. Anyone would miss it, but you weren’t anyone. His face was tight and he walked stiffer than his usual gait.

You hadn’t seen Bradley Bradshaw since you were 26, and before that, since you were 18. You’d been raised together since you could remember.

It was now or never, you could spilt at the last moment and very evidently run or you could hesitate and let him catch up to you.

Whatever options you had evaporated as the door opened. It moved slowly, and you held your breath.

In that moment you felt foolish, why did you need to hide? He was the one that left you that morning. He was the one that didn’t answer your phone calls and refused to reach out. Outrage simmered in your throat as you felt it flush in your ears. Why hide when you could bury the hatchet here and let him have it?

He slowed as he got nearer as if he could never reach you no matter how far or fast he walked. He dangled his aviators on the neck of his tank, gathering himself. His gaze followed you up and down, leaving a burn wherever you felt his stare.

“Bradley ‘The Brave’ Bradshaw.” You spat.

He winced narrowly at your tone. Wonder steeling his bones as he was rendered speechless.

“How was the last…what? Decade? It’s been almost a decade since I’ve seen you. Phew time just flies. Doesn’t it?” You folded your arms over your chest, standing at attention as he just stared.

He didn't talk for a while. Breathing as he thought, chewing his bottom lip, just like he always did when he was unsure what to say.

“Good talk.” You headed for your car before he grasped your wrist, a gentle tug but one loaded with desperation. “I…” He paused again.

"Fuck, I don't know what to say." He rubbed his forehead, taking a swig of his beer. "I mean, I didn't have time to prepare a script and all." He motioned around, catching his failed attempt at a laugh.

"I'm sorry." He blurted. You both stood dumbfounded, just in surprise at each other's company. "I should've written, or texted, or emailed. I shouldn't have…." He trailed off as if shame carried his voice away.

“Oh wow. He thinks too. Isn't that convenient?” Your biting remark was followed by a snort, “Apology not accepted. It was shitty of you to leave me like that, knowing what was going on and deciding I wasn’t worth even a goodbye. You didn’t even say goodbye Bradley.”

Tears lined your eyes as bitterness warmed you, “I thought I wouldn’t be so mad at you after all these years. Believed that if I ran right now I could put it behind me but no…the years we spent together meant nothing when you left like that.” Your voice hardened with your resolve.

His grasp slackened on your wrist, “Then why did you come back? Thought you would’ve had the wedding by now.” He cocked his head to the side, aggravating you in the process.

“No.” You spit the words out, “Called the engagement off when he said my mother’s illness wasn’t worth the trouble.” Bradley stood dumbstruck, mouth gaping like a fish out of water. It wasn’t often Bradley lost his composure, he had to be able to keep his head on tight if he was flying a jet. In this moment, he felt ill. He didn’t even know.

“She’s…She’s sick?”

You puffed out air, understanding that while you may seething, Bradley still cared for your mother. She took him in when Carole passed and Pete left him with nothing but a dim future. As much as you hated him, you understood that hearing about your mother's illness hurt. He loved her like family and he didn’t have much of that left.

“Bye Bradley.” You shook him off as he trailed after you, this time a bit brisk.

“What do you mean she's sick? Is it a cold, is it the flu?” Panic rested in his eyes as he scrutinized at you. Scanning your face for answers.

Your eyes bore into the asphalt. “It’s stage four Bradley.” You said feebly, the topic weighing you down as if sandbags had been placed on your shoulders, “The doctor said there might be a chance but we don’t know yet.”

He stood rigid, processing this information as grief seized his throat. Squeezing tight until he could barely speak. “I-I didn’t know or else I would’ve…”

“Would’ve what? Finally, called? You cut me off and I made do with it, but my mother? She loved you like one of her own and you just left.”

He rubbed his face. Palms shielding his eyes as he took a few breaths in, “At the time, I couldn’t have stayed. You may not understand why but I couldn’t stay.”

“Or you just didn’t want to.” His eyes shot up towards you, “You know that isn’t why I left. You know damn well.”

“No, I don’t. I woke up the next morning with nothing but your old pair of aviators and some dog tags. The bed was cold and I was alone.” You both had a stare-off, clearly oblivious of what the other was thinking.

You just puffed and watch as Bradley stood there, in all his aviator glory, allowing the anger that filled your body to tide you in. Electricity pooled into your palms and you tried not to slap him, all you could process was that anger, just anger anger anger. It was all you had that wasn’t grief.

Whether he was here or not, it didn't matter. You were too cross to articulate any of it. Years of bottled emotions popping open before you could process them. Stillness suspended itself in the air again, gripping both of you by the neck.

“I need to go.” You said firmly, “I just… I can't handle you right now. Not now.”

Slipping into your car, you give him one last look. He was impassive, closing himself off so he didn’t have to process it.

It wasn’t your problem anyway, you just needed to get home.

[damixo]

Okay okay I'm gonna hopefully try to work on Naveila cause I REALLY wanna yap about it. I'll probably just focus on very clean grammar and native culture and then figure out how global events affected us later

[fleetingpetal]

there is nothing quite like having strawberry milk and remembering that wanderer’s banner officially became two years old the day prior to yesterday.

[joined-shores-art]

⚘ ‧₊˚ INTRO + MASTERLIST 🕯️⋅ — ⌈#projectworldkeeper⌋ 🩷 — ⋅

abt me: my name is Joi! They/She, digital artist since 2015, hobby writer since 2017. Creator of Project World Keeper, going strong since 2019.

🕯️ oc tag: ⌈#joisartoc⌋ ◇◆

⋅ — about wk — ⋅

World Keeper is a multifandom story available to read on Wattpad and AO3 containing Kingdom Hearts, Nier Automata, RWBY and Monster Hunter, including other story original content like OCs. As of now this story debuted on March 10th 2019 and continues since.

(Please note I do not receive any sort of monetary gain from this, it's all a one person, one wallet, one lifespan thing!)

◇◆ GENERAL RELEVANT TAGS🕯️

⋅ — main tag: ⌈#projectworldkeeper⌋ 🩷 fandom tags: ⌈#kingdomhearts⌋ ⋅ ⌈#rwby⌋ ⋅ ⌈nierautomata⌋ ⋅ ⌈monsterhunter⌋ — ⋅

₊˚ 🩷 WK Novel: On Wattpad · On Ao3

˖˚ 🍈 ⊹ ₊ Character Sheets: Replica Sora ⋅ Viola ⋅ Davis ⋅ Dundorma OCs ⋅ Dundorma Citizens ⋅ Radiant Garden Citizens · The Evernight Faction

-ˋ 🧼 ˚₊ Lore Posts: Faux S.M.B ⋅ Timeline

-ˋ 🌷 ˚₊ Additional Fics: Clean Slates, Lone Blades

˖˚🕯️⊹ ₊ Highlights: 5th Anniversary · PartII Final Chapter Release Tribute · 6th Anniversary · 1K Reads Achievement

₊˚ ‧₊ ⨯ ˖˚ ⊹₊˚ ‧₊ ⨯ ˖˚ ⊹₊˚ ‧₊ ⨯ ˖˚ ⊹₊

｡‧ 🪻 ₊˚ Character Tag List:

⚘‧₊˚ ⌈sora⌋ 👑 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈of team: svvr⌋ 👑🍃💜✖️

⚘‧₊˚ ⌈ruby⌋ 🌹 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈of team: rwby⌋ 🌹❄️🐈‍⬛🌻

⚘‧₊˚ ⌈a2⌋ ⚙️ | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈xehanort⌋ 🌌 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈joi's: viola⌋ 🪻

⚘‧₊˚ ⌈faction: guardians⌋ 🌕 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈faction: evernight⌋ 🌑

⚘‧₊˚ ⌈joi's: davis⌋ ✂️ | ⸙‧ ₊ ⌈joi's: valerian⌋ 🌿 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈joi's: mava⌋ 🪞 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈joi's: lyria⌋ 🎐 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈joi's: hafet⌋ 🏹 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈joi's: theon⌋ 🎇 | ⚘‧₊˚ ⌈joi's: azal⌋ 🎭

[sweetvencms]

( layout ib: @/venusvity )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⚘°᳝ꯥ‧ٓ . . . MASTERLIST

the complete masterlist that will be updated constantly ! 

ABOUT ME !

PROFILES !

GROUP ! ⠀⠀ ／ ⠀⠀ MEMBERS !

DISCOGRAPHY ! 

WRITINGS ! 

please check the disclaimer if you haven't already ! 

coming soon !

[folkloreswf]

— ❛ 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒎 𝒎𝒆 𝒖𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕 ❜ tag drop !

﹒ 　⁽　⚘　⁾　　 a　　˚

[ch4rryc0smos]

ℳ𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

❝ we let the world pass by for forever / feels like we could go on forever. ❞

𓇼 — masterlist for the masterlists, here we are. i can't. ITS TAKING SO LONG, chat i'm going mad, but at least we're here, let's go.

S/I MASTERLIST

F/O MASTERLIST

OC MASTERLIST

TAGS MASTERLIST

SHIPS MASTERLIST

MAINS MASTERLIST

OTHERS MASTERLIST

CRUSHES MASTERLIST

PLATONIC / FAMILIALS MASTERLIST

RETIRED MASTERLIST

╰── [ return to intro ] 𓌈 ⊹

ch4rryc0smos © 2024

[gravegoer]

masterlist + intro ⚘

hi !! ♡ welcome to my blog ! i love music ( esp alternative metal and death metal ) i have manymany interests and i love art! drawing, painting and writing is my forte tho + i love photography , I like / play sports like boxing and taekwondo , working out is also fun !!

✎ " i am bloody , raw , nerves hanging out all over the place "

Arcane ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

Sevika: ( i dont write her 4 men ) + ranked in order of most popular — to least >>> rules at the end <<<

" Sevikas Boss " PART 1 // PART 2

" I hear your call " pirate sevika and siren reader PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3

" Take a hint " PART 1 // PART 2

" Sail the Seven Seas " pirate sevika ! PART 1 //

" Royal Blood " PART 1 // PART 2

" Taking care of her " being her cute housewife!

" Pretty Piltie " counciler sevika meets you

" Princess " sevika doesnt like creeps

" Smokey kisses "

"Sevika, Ambessa, Grayson" HCS for them

" Cuddling the Butches "

" Council member Sevika "

" Wont lose you. "

" Late night care " bathing her

" A little love "

" Safeword " using your safeword

" My Best Friend " she is your gay awakening

" Secrets "

" Gym Day "

" First Time " virgin reader

WIPS ── ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

" Dump him "

MISCELLANEOUS ── ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

" Stolen Glances " ekko x reader

i write for any characters from arcane, other than minors.

im okay with light nsfw, but if you send in an nsfw, ask, and i dont answer it, its probably bc i didnt want to— but feel free

if i dont answer your ask within a week— RESEND!! my ask box likes to eat my asks...help..

i don't repost on this account unless i REALLY want u guys to see it (so fanart, etc). i keep my page to just fics and original posts mostly

if you want to be mutuals, PLEASEEE ask, i wont say no i promise

if you make fanart of my fics pls tag me

[perfectlyoongi]

!BTS MASTERLIST ㅤㅤ↬┊genre: headcanons. ㅤㅤ↬┊series status: on going. ㅤㅤ↬┊always open to suggestions.

↬┊pre-boyfriend!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊boyfriend!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊husband!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊soulmate!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊parent!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊ex-boyfriend!BTS ... angst ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊second-chance!BTS ... hurt/comfort ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊best-friend!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊long-distance!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊roommate!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊jealous!BTS ... comfort ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊older-brother!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊sugar-daddy!BTS ... nsfw, suggestive ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

↬┊co-worker!BTS ... fluff ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. yoongi.ㅤ⋆ㅤjungkook.ㅤ⋆ㅤnamjoon. ㅤㅤㅤ⚘. hoseok.ㅤ⋆ㅤjimin.ㅤ⋆ㅤseokjin.ㅤ⋆ㅤtaehyung.

[equallyshaw]

even after everything | Jay Halstead fic x ex fiance.

warnings: voight being voight and stereotypes.

w.c: 6.8k summary: Years after walking away from the only boy she ever loved, Aria McDavid finds herself across the courtroom from him—this time, on opposite sides of a case that could shatter everything. As a defense team fights to prove the innocence of Carlos Lopez, a man caught in the crosshairs of a corrupt system, old wounds resurface. Jay Halstead, now a detective sworn to protect the truth, is forced to testify—uncovering not only the truth of the case, but the pieces of a love story left unfinished. With a family legacy built on control and silence, and a past full of regrets, Aria must choose between the comfort of loyalty or the danger of honesty. Set against the backdrop of courtroom tension and buried heartbreak, Even After Everything is a story of justice, betrayal, and the kind of love that never really lets go.

They always say if you love something or someone, you should set them free. It’ll come back to you in the end.

They say even in the darkest hours, light can, in fact, break through the tunnel— shining down on the land and its people.

You just have to give it time— for both.

__

When Aria McDavid got the phone call from her colleague—and longtime family friend, 'unce' —Ellis Matthews, she panicked.

“How the hell did my client get picked up for murder?” she snapped into the phone, already grabbing her coat.

There was no way in hell he did it. No way. Not after everything they’d fought for, not after what he’d already been through.

Her uncle’s voice was calm, but clipped. “Get down to the 21st. Now. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

Aria was already halfway out of her Loop office, the quiet hum of the firm where she worked alongside her father now a blur behind her. Her client, a soft-spoken mechanic who spent years navigating immigration courts, had just gotten his green card. They’d bled sweat and billable hours for it, scraped through bureaucratic nightmares most people couldn’t even imagine.

He wasn’t just a name on her caseload—he was a win that mattered.

And now he was a headline waiting to happen.

The sharp click of her heels echoed through the bullpen, slicing through the otherwise quiet hum of the Intelligence Unit’s office. Only three detectives sat scattered at their desks—and her breath hitched the moment her eyes landed on one of them.

Two looked up as she passed, curiosity flickering in their eyes. But hers were locked, unwavering, on him.

She would still recognize that hair, that posture, that build—anywhere. Unfortunately.

Without a word, she veered toward the breakroom and adjacent office space. Her briefcase dropped onto his desk with a sharp thud.

Jay looked up fast, startled, nearly flinching before his gaze locked on her—his ex-fiancée. His high school sweetheart.

His everything. Once.

He swallowed hard, throat working visibly. Her palms were planted firmly on the desk, eyes molten, nostrils flared; her body leaning forward just a bit.

“Where the hell is my client?” she rasped. The words were low, sharp, and lethal. Jay felt his blood go cold.

From across the bullpen, Hailey Upton stood slowly, exchanging a look with Adam Ruzek, who had already peeked around the edge of his screen.

“I can show you, Counsel,” Hailey offered gently, her tone careful, cautious—like stepping around a landmine.

But Aria didn’t even glance her way. “No. I’d like Sergeant Halstead to do the honors,” she said, voice honeyed with poisonous sweetness.

Jay exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening as he pushed his chair back and stood. He motioned toward the hallway, a silent offer to let her walk first.

“Walk your ass, Halstead,” she snapped, arms crossed, one brow arched high. Both of their minds flashed back to high school.

Jay glanced helplessly at Hailey, who tried very hard not to smile, before he turned and led Aria toward the holding cells.

__

Jay led the way, jaw set, tension rolling off him in waves. He could feel her behind him—sharp and furious, like a storm waiting to strike.

Her heels clicked with precision, every step calculated. Controlled. But he knew her too well. Knew the rage was there to cover the fear. Or guilt.

They turned a corner, and Jay swiped his badge at the secure door, pushing it open.

Blood still crusted around his mouth, one eye nearly swollen shut, bruising creeping down the side of his neck like a handprint. He sat slumped, broken—not just physically, but in spirit.

This wasn’t the man she’d known for nearly seven years.

Not the father of two who had once brought her fresh tamales from his wife’s recipe. Not the man who’d once cried in her office when they finally got his green card secured after three appeals.

This—this—was the shell of someone who had clearly been beaten and humiliated.

Aria’s eyes softened in a blink, the fire turning into something dangerously protective.

“Off,” she said sharply, eyes snapping to Jay.

He hesitated. “Aria—”

“I said off,” she repeated, nodding to the cuffs.

Jay opened the door slowly, glancing back at her once before stepping inside. He undid the cuffs with steady hands, then stepped back to give them space.

“Five minutes,” he said lowly, directing it at her. “Then we talk.”

“Out,” she snapped, not even looking at him.

Jay's jaw ticked, but he left without another word.

The door shut behind him with a click.

Aria took the seat across from her client, folding her hands tightly to hide the shaking.

“Tell me everything,” she whispered.

__

From outside the glass, Jay stood still, unmoving.

Hailey sidled up beside him, arms crossed. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed locked on Aria, his jaw tight.

“She’s always been terrifying when she’s pissed,” he said quietly. “But she’s never looked at me like that before.”

Hailey glanced at him sideways. “What’d you do?”

Jay let out a short breath—part scoff, part sigh. “I left. For Baghdad.”

He paused, staring down at the floor.

“I left a fiancée—two days after I proposed. Came back to a ring… and an empty house.”

Hailey blinked slowly, her expression softening just slightly. “Jay…”

Before she could finish, Adam walked up behind them, coffee in hand, clearly catching the tail end.

“Dude,” he muttered, grimacing. “That’s not just a screw-up. That’s a Shakespearean tragedy.”

Jay shot him a look. Hailey smacked Adam lightly in the stomach with the back of her hand.

“What?!” Adam threw up his free hand defensively. “I’m just saying—Macbeth had less drama!”

"Have you even read the play?" Hailey teased, and Adam scoffed, and the two began bickering with each other.

Jay didn’t say anything. He just turned back to the glass, eyes fixed on Aria, who hadn’t once looked up at him.

And that hurt more than any punch or bullet- he’d ever taken.

__

The second the interrogation room door clicked shut behind her, Aria sat down quickly.

Carlos Lopez looked up, and her breath caught.

Blood crusted his mouth. One eye nearly swollen shut. Bruising spread down his neck like a handprint. He looked shattered.

Not the man she’d known for seven years—the father who brought tamales, the client who cried when they won his green card. This was a shell.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, dropping to her knees. “Carlos… qué pasó?”

“They said I killed a cop,” he rasped. “One of them took me downstairs…”

“Did you ask for me?”

“Over and over.”

Her fury snapped to life. “No more talking. I’ve got you.”

As she stood, the door opened again—Ellis… and Voight.

She didn’t blink at her uncle. Her eyes locked on Voight like a blade.

“You put hands on my client?”

“He murdered one of my officers,” Voight growled. “I’m not coddling him.”

She stepped between them. “Touching a green card holder in custody? You want a hate crime enhancement? Keep talking.”

Voight’s smirk twitched. Ellis raised a hand.

“Don’t,” Aria warned. “You beat a man because you didn’t like what you heard. You want to explain that to ACLU, the Tribune, and my father?”

Ellis exhaled. “...I’ll call your dad.”

Behind the mirror, Jay winced. “Oh no. You don’t want that.”

Hailey’s head tilted. “Wait—her dad’s that McDavid?”

Jay nodded grimly. “And Voight just lit the fuse.”

In the room, Voight glared. “You think threats scare me?”

“They’re not threats,” Aria smiled coldly. “They’re legal guarantees.”

Then, gently, to Carlos: “We’re getting you out. I promise.”

And to Voight, over her shoulder: “And he’s going to answer for every bruise.”

__

Aria muttered under her breath in Spanish as she stepped out, Ellis, Carlos, and her dad leading the way. The tension between her father and Voight was thicker than the Chicago humidity—old enemies circling.

Her dad paused, turning to her with a serious look. In Spanish, low and sharp:“Voy a hablar con Voight. No te metas.” (“I’m going to talk to Voight. Stay out of it.”)

She nodded, but her eyes burned with defiance.

Her dad disappeared behind Voight’s closed office door. The heavy thud echoed like a warning.

Jay, leaning casually against a desk nearby, watched her, then smirked. “Well, looks like the family feud just went executive.”

Aria didn’t smile, but her eyes flicked to him with a teasing edge. “Don’t get comfortable. This isn’t a game you’re used to playing.”

Jay’s grin softened. “Maybe. But I know how to read between the lines.”

She folded her arms, voice low. “Sometimes what’s said isn’t the real story. And sometimes what’s not said? That’s where the bullets fly.”

Jay’s gaze dropped to her hands, clenched tight. “Sounds like you and your dad have a few skeletons in the closet.”

Aria’s laugh was bitter. “More like ghosts. And they don’t rest easy.”

Touche.

Jay’s voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of his loyalty. “I’m here to protect my own—that cop deserved that much. But no matter what happens in there, I’m not leaving. I’ll be in his corner, too.”

Aria’s lips twitched into a sly smile, sharp and knowing. “Well, congratulations, Seargant Halstead. That officially makes you an accomplice. But don’t forget—when push comes to shove, you’ll show your true colors. Blue and brass, right?”

Jay met her gaze, the challenge and unspoken history hanging between them like a thick fog.

__ The three lawyers were back three days later to speak with Voight and to get some more files for the case.

The tension in the bullpen was thick.

Jay looks up from his desk as Aria, Arthur, and Ellis walk back in. Tension walks in with them. Arthur eyes Jay with that you ruined my daughter’s life, and I haven’t forgotten it glare. To Ellis, in Spanish but loud enough:

Arthur- dryly, “¿Él otra vez? Pensé que habíamos fumigado.” Him again? I thought we fumigated.

Jay’s brow twitches. He gets it. Her Spanish lessons during high school still clung to him.

Aria, snapping under her breath: “Papá, basta ya.” Dad, stop already.

Arthrur with his back to her: “Deberías agradecerme por decir lo que él no se atreve a decir.” You should thank me for saying what he won’t dare say.

She mutters something that almost sounds like a threat, but she walks off with Ellis. Jay watches, jaw clenched.

They walked back out, thirty minutes later, with two threats from her father about some lawsuit and Tribune article, and one from Voight, about an old case.

Aria walked behind her father and uncle, texting away on her phone, to the client's wife - Martha, telling her that she was on her way to meet for coffee.

"Watch out, Counselor, we wouldn't want you to trip down the stairs in those heels," she heard to her left, as she paused at the top of the steps. Her head raised, then twisted towards the voice: Officer Ruzek.

She gave him a forced thankful smile, before stepping down the stairs, with years of practice- in heels and continuing to text away.

As she walked out of the bullpen, and out the gate, she heard steps behind her and a voice: We've got a lead.

She locked her phone, and as she was walking out, she heard behind her: "City's really scraping the bottom defending his kind, huh?"

She froze, blood already boiling - now molten, as she turned on her heel - her uncle and dad turning around quickly.

Ellis tenses. Arthur curses under his breath.

“You want to run that back with a badge number attached?”

She steps toward him like a storm breaking its tether. That fuego puro rises up hard.

Jay, just exiting from upstairs, sees it unfolding — rushes down the stairs just in time to catch her by the waist, her just a few feet from Officer Kessler.

Jay urgently spoke, “Aria—hey. No.”

Officer Kessler grinned, “You sure you want to grab her, Halstead These days, guys like us aren’t allowed to call it what it is. You cuff her, blink twice — we’ll get it handled.”

Jay’s blood ran cold. He’d heard locker-room filth before. But this? This was a code. A quiet way of saying: She’s ours to break. Just say the word.

And Jay Halstead didn’t break women. He protected them. Even from his own. Especially from his own.

Jay snaps. Wrong move, buddy. “What did you just say?”

Kevin ran down the steps, settling in between him and Kessler, “Jay, don’t—”

Jay didn't bluff, “No. Say it again. Say it in front of IA this time.”

Jay lunges — Kevin grabs him from behind.

Aria tries to twist free from Adam, who’s got a hold on her wrist now.

Even more cockier - Kessler spoke again, “Touchy. Must be something in the blood.”

Aria nearly bites her own tongue in half. Almost steps on Ruzek with her heel. Ellis steps between them, cool but seething.

“Officer, if you want to be anywhere near this case, I suggest you back off. Otherwise— The Tribune loves a good old-fashioned meltdown. I’ll make sure your name’s spelled right.”

Seargant platt appeared behind her perch - now, “Officer Kessler. My office. Now.”

Kessler tries to defend himself. Trudy cuts him off with a single stare.

“You just got real close to pissing off the wrong lawyers. And me. Move.”

Kessler storms off.

Aria exhales, tension still high.

Aria to no one in particular, under her breath, “A cop protecting me and my client? Who’d’ve thought.”

Jay leveled with her, “Not protecting. Just picking a side.”

Trudy over her shoulder, “Enjoy it while it lasts, Counselor. You’re still a thorn in my ass.”

Aria nodded.

They all walk out — leaving the station charged in their wake.

__

Her and her father had been arguing for over two hours now, elbows deep in charges, case files + personal history.

The glass walls do nothing to contain the storm inside. Aria stands stiff across from her father, arms folded, the city behind her flickering like a warning.

“You’re compromised,” Arthur says, quiet but firm.

“Excuse me?”

“I saw you. In the bullpen. The way you looked at him. Jay Halstead’s not just a name on a file. He never was.”

She exhales through her nose.

“And you think I can’t separate the two?”

“You didn’t. Not then. You ran—from him, from this city, from everything.”

“I ran because I had to.”

“Because he left. Two days after slipping a ring on your finger. Left you here with—”

He stops himself.

“Say it,” Aria snaps. “Say what you really want to say.”

Arthur’s voice lowers. “You were pregnant.”

Silence drops like a hammer.

“You gave up my first grandchild without a word.”

The silence lands like a gunshot.

Aria’s jaw tightens. Her arms fall to her sides.

“Don’t you dare put that on me,” she says. Her voice cracks. “I was 18. Freshly graduated. Alone. Engaged to a man in a war zone. I’d just buried my mother, and you were drowning in your own grief.”

A pause. Her voice drops.

“And yeah. I gave up my child. My choice. Because I couldn’t give them anything. Not stability. Not certainty. Not him.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“And what? You’d drag me into court? Called Jay back from the Middle East? He never even knew. Still doesn’t.”

Arthur stands, slow and deliberate. “He’s not worthy of knowing.”

Aria stares at him, breath stuck in her chest.

“I don’t get to hate him, Papa,” she says quietly. “Not for what I did. We were supposed to be married. Raise a child together. And I took that from him.”

Her throat tightens.

“If anyone gets to be angry — it’s not you. It’s not even me. It’s him.”

Arthur doesn’t speak.

“This case has dug up everything I buried under law books and trial prep,” she adds. “And no, I can’t- will not recuse myself. Because there’s a family depending on us.”

She swallows hard.

“If I feel anything when I see Jay, it’s not resentment. It’s regret. Guilt. It’s wondering what we could’ve been if life hadn’t ripped the floor out from under us.”

A long beat.

“I didn’t come back for him. But maybe… maybe I’m supposed to finish what we started.”

Arthur’s shoulders shift, tension giving just slightly.

“You always did love lost causes,” he mutters.

“They’re not lost,” she says, turning for the door. “Just the ones no one else bothers to fight for.”

She’s gone before he can argue.

__

15 days later.

Aria approached the witness stand slowly, heels echoing across the courtroom like clock hands ticking down. She stopped a few paces from Voight, then set both hands on the edge of the stand, posture firm but calm.

“This city—this department—has notoriously upheld racist techniques and behaviors,” she said. “Put in place to protect you. The white male saviors.”

Voight’s expression didn’t flicker. It never did.

She went on, pacing just slightly, letting her words hang. “Over the past decade, tactics have shifted. Strategies have changed. But not you. You’re what they call ‘old school,’ right?”

She turned to face him head-on.

“Wouldn’t you say that, Sergeant Voight? Years of misconduct allegations, use-of-force complaints, lawsuits—your file has its own cabinet at CPD, doesn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

She leaned in just enough. “So what makes this case different? What makes it believable that you didn’t put your hands on my client, that you didn’t escalate because of the color of his skin? Because he wasn’t white-passing, wasn’t fluent, wasn’t ‘safe’?”

Her voice sharpened. “Because he was at the wrong place, wrong time—and you had no one else to blame?”

She gave the jury a moment to absorb that.

“I’ve known Carlos for eight years,” she said, turning slightly toward them. “He was my first client. I sat with him through interviews, paperwork, and the day he got his green card. I was there when his daughter was born. When he married his wife, Martha. He worked years to get here. What, in your expert opinion, Sergeant Voight, makes you think he’d throw all that away?”

Still, he said nothing.

She narrowed her eyes. “What training, what background, what education gives you the authority to determine that? What certifies you as an expert on immigration status, racial identity, or asylum culture?”

A small tick appeared in his jaw.

She tilted her head. “What exactly gives you the right?”

Voight finally snapped, “Are you trying to get me to say I’m a racist? Or a bigot?”

Silence dropped like a curtain.

Aria froze for half a second, then turned to face him fully, arms folding slowly across her chest.

“Well,” she asked coolly, “are you?”

A rustle swept the room.

Before he could reply, she stepped forward again.

“There was a complaint filed in 2001, wasn’t there?” she asked. “Just weeks after 9/11. A fellow officer of color reported you for using racial slurs, aggressive profiling tactics during a routine stop near Little Village. You remember that, don’t you?”

Voight opened his mouth, but the judge’s gavel slammed.

“Ms. McDavid,” the judge warned.

She held her hands up lightly, like surrender. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Voight, ever defiant, called after her as she walked away. “You think you know me, Counsel. But I’ve been doing this job longer than you’ve been alive.”

She stopped.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he said, his voice steadier now. “Plenty. But I don’t make them based on skin color. That’s not who I am.”

She turned just slightly, saw something shift in his tone—not guilt, but conviction. And for the briefest second, it gave her pause.

The flicker passed.

Aria returned to the table, her silence as powerful as anything she’d said.

But Voight kept talking.

To the jury. To the judge. To himself.

Trying to explain who he was.

But Aria had already made them question it.

And that was the whole point.

__

The courtroom emptied on the judge’s call for recess, murmurs trailing Aria’s exit like smoke. She didn’t wait for Ellis. Didn’t wait for her father. Her heels echoed against marble as she pushed through the heavy doors and into the hallway.

The Intelligence Unit stood at the far end, arms crossed, expressions locked. She didn’t stop.

But Jay did.

“I’ll catch up,” he murmured, already moving.

She felt him before she heard him — his presence familiar, his steps intentional. His hand brushed her arm, gentle. She didn’t flinch.

He guided her behind a marble column, just out of view.

“That was a hell of a move,” he said quietly.

“It was overdue,” she replied, eyes fixed forward.

“You alright?”

“He tried to bait me.” A pause. “Almost worked.”

She finally looked at him. “But I’ve studied that man for years.”

Jay nodded. “You held your own.”

“I always do.”

Silence lingered. A shared breath.

“You know where I stand,” he said.

Her gaze softened. “I hope you remember that—when this is all said and done.”

A beat.

“Don’t fall in line with them, Jay,” she added. “Don’t mirror their beliefs just to survive.”

He didn’t respond. Just listened.

She looked down the corridor, then back at him.

“I’ll see you later,” she said.

And she was gone.

Jay stayed rooted, the words ringing in his chest.

He didn’t know if it was a promise or a warning.

But he prayed it was the first.

__

Aria tugged her coat tighter around her shoulders as she stepped into the hallway, purse slung over her arm and exhaustion clinging to her bones. The hum of the office had finally died down—most lights off, the cleaning staff starting their rounds.

Her father stood just outside his office, tie loosened, jaw tight.

“We’re putting Halstead on the stand,” he said flatly.

She froze mid-step. “¿Qué pasa?”

“We’re putting Jay up there to testify,” he repeated, voice like a stone dropped in still water. “And you’re going to question him.”

She blinked at him. “The hell I am.”

“You are,” he snapped, stepping toward her. “Because you’re the one who knows him. You’re the one who—”

“No.” Her voice cracked sharp. “The only reason you’re doing this, Papa, is because you can’t stand him. You can’t stand what he did.”

He didn’t flinch.

“Just admit it,” she pushed. “This isn’t strategy. This is a personal vendetta.”

He slammed his hand on the doorframe, voice rising. “Because he ruined your life!”

The words echoed, louder than the walls could hold.

Aria stood still. Her eyes searched his face, but it was unreadable—just a father, caught between fury and heartbreak.

Then, softly, like a confession:

“No,” she whispered. “He never did.”

She stepped back, pain blooming in her chest like something sacred.

“I ruined his.”

And with that, she walked past him—head held high, but heart breaking all over again.

__ Flashback — Sunday family dinner: Freshman year of high school.

The McDavid family sat stiffly around the table. Arthur’s eyes burned into Jay. He couldn’t stand him—not because Jay wasn’t good enough, but because Jay was everything Arthur wanted for his daughter, just not yet.

Kind. Respectful. Sweet. Funny. Caring. From a good family, too.

Arthur’s eyes burned into Jay. “You know, high school girls ask for a lot of things they’ll regret later.”

Jay blinked. “That… might be the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Charlotte’s voice cracked as she slammed her hand on the table. “Arthur, be nice! Don’t talk to him like that.”

Aria shot a glance at her mom, surprised by the outburst.

Arthur ignored her and turned back to Jay. “A baseball jock? Passing grades? That’s not the future I planned for my daughter. She’s on the debate team, headed to New York for undergrad and then law school. That’s been decided since she was a baby.”

Charlotte reached across, squeezing Jay’s hand, her gaze never leaving her husband. “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

The tension thickened, but Aria knew better than to step in. This wasn’t just about Jay. The fights had been going on for months—since Jay started coming around. But what she didn’t know was the real reason: her mom’s cancer had come back. They were fighting about that too—something Aria wasn’t ready to be privyed to.

After dinner, Aria pulled Jay outside, her voice soft. “That was the first time I really saw them fight in front of me… it started around the time you started coming around.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, smirking. “So you're saying I ruined your family? That’s… honestly, that's a first. Wanna say it again for the people in the back?"

Her lips twitched despite herself.

Her voice dropped. “But to hell with what they think. You know that.”

Jay nodded, his smile gentler now. “Yeah. I know.”

__

Aria stood in front of the brown apartment door, a white bag of tamales and rice in hand, debating whether to knock. Stir up a conflict of interest—or walk away. Pretend they never crossed paths again. She sighed—and knocked.

A minute passed. Then the door opened.

Jay stood there. He must be hallucinating. He swallowed hard, eyebrows knitting.

“May I come in?” she asked softly.

He stepped aside, pulling the door open wordlessly.

The Loop apartment looked exactly how she imagined it would. Modern. Sleek. A man cave through and through. It stung a little, how familiar it still felt. She set the bag down on a chair near the door, along with her winter coat.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. She turned to him, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Your face does that scrunch when you’re upset,” he added gently.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You still know me that well, huh?”

“Like a book, Ari,” he murmured. He stepped beside her. “Still remember my favorite?”

“Lucky guess?” she teased, pulling food from the bag.

She took her place on the brown leather couch, feet tucked beneath her. Jay sat across from her. They ate in silence. Tension, angst, grief, and anxiety clung to the room like thick fog.

She set down the container—two tamales gone, rice and beans half-finished—and took a long sip of the cold beer he’d placed beside her.

“So... why’d you come, Ari?” Jay finally asked, setting aside his own food.

She sighed, wiped her lips, and turned to face him. She couldn’t tell him the truth: that he might be on the stand tomorrow. That they were dragging him into something he didn’t deserve.

“I wanted to apologize,” she began. “For leaving. After you left for basic.”

His chest rose with a deep breath.

“I left because I was scared—of everything. The future. What could happen. My dad was grieving my mother, and I... I felt trapped. Without you, I didn’t have my anchor. My light at the end of the tunnel.”

She looked up at the ceiling, blinking away tears.

“And don’t think I was mad you left to serve. That’s not it.” Her voice broke. “It’s just... I was alone.”

She sniffled, fingers fidgeting in her lap.

“Two days after you left for basic... I found out I was pregnant.”

A tear slipped out.

Jay froze. His blood ran cold. His mind stopped. She was—pregnant?

She looked at him. He was unraveling in silence.

“I told my uncle. I couldn’t tell my dad, I was too scared. And when my uncle... said a few cruel things, I fled. I stuck to the plan—New York for undergrad, live with my aunt and uncle, go to law school, come back to Chicago...”

She wiped her cheeks.

“But there wasn’t a place in that plan for a baby. Not even for marriage. And we were just kids, Jay.”

He swallowed, his throat thick with emotion.

“Right before the end of my first year... I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.” Her voice cracked. She saw the way his eyes glossed over.

His beautiful blue eyes—full of pain.

“I met a couple through my uncle’s law firm. A well-off couple—both lawyers. She’s a federal judge now. They love my aunt and uncle, and I knew they’d love her. I gave her up for an open adoption. They gave me mercy. And our daughter... she knows about me. She’ll always know. At their discretion.”

Aria stood, pacing. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“What’s her name?” he asked, voice low—hope flickering through her like electricity.

She smiled gently, freezing in place. “Leona Simone,” she said. “It means Lioness.”

A softness crossed his features. “Do you have a picture?”

She nodded and pulled out her phone, swiping to her favorite album.

“She goes by Leo,” she whispered, chuckling under her breath. That sound alone made Jay’s chest ache.

She sniffled, wiping her eyes as she turned the phone toward him.

In the photo, Leona sat behind her mother’s judge seat in a courtroom—Second District Federal Circuit. Her adoptive father sat on one side, her adoptive mother on the other. Her smile was wide, radiant.

She looked like she belonged there. Even at ten.

Jay didn’t notice the detail right away.

The sticker covering the judge’s nameplate: Leona Halstead-McKnight.

His breath stilled. His eyes met Aria’s, then flicked back to the photo.

Shock. Disbelief. Heartbreak.

He wiped a tear and stared at their daughter.

“I know. It’s a lot,” Aria said gently, taking the phone back. "Even with the adoption, she knows her birth name. The full one, uses it as her middle name sometimes," she hummed. She searched again, swiping to one of her most treasured photos—the day Leona was born.

“She was pressed to my chest, just before I signed the papers.”

Jay took the phone, hesitant. The picture said it all—her smile wide, but full of pain. Her eyes glossy with tears.

She motioned for him to swipe.

The next image: Leo at four, beaming at Navy Pier in Aria’s arms.

Happy.

He could see her features—hers, and his. A perfect blend of two people, who once thought they had all the time in the world.

“Do you regret it?” he asked, voice trembling.

She shook her head. “No. They gave her what I couldn’t. What we couldn’t. If it had happened later... maybe. But back then? I wasn’t ready. You weren’t ready.”

She clasped her hands, grounding herself.

“I’m sorry if that’s not how you feel. I understand if you hate me. But I was eighteen, Jay. And so were you.”

He nodded slowly.

Then, he asked, “Did you ever stop loving me?”

Her phone screen went black. She didn’t need it anymore.

“No,” she said simply. “Never. I... always believed we’d cross paths again. That we weren’t finished.”

Jay stood as she slid the phone back into her pocket.

“I’m sorry, Jay,” she added, meaning every word. “For how this happened. I never envisioned us reconnecting this way.”

He knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him. She was following her principles. Protecting her client. Doing the right thing.

But still—

“Don’t go,” he whispered as she walked past. “Stay.”

She turned.

He cupped her face, just like he did the night he asked her to marry him.

“I let you leave once,” he murmured, eyes searching hers. “I’m never letting you leave again.”

And then he kissed her. Hot. Heavy. Desperate.

Clothes shed quickly—too quickly, maybe. But Aria didn’t care. One thing echoed in her mind.

She prayed the words he once said were still true:

That he’d love her, no matter what.

Especially, if her father threw him to the wolves; especially then.

__

The courtroom buzzed low with tension. Aria sat poised, every thread of her suit starched and perfect, but her insides churned. She’d spent the night tangled in memory and skin, in regret and old wounds. She hadn't told him. Not fully. Only a whispered, "I’m sorry, Jay. Whatever happens today... I’m sorry."

She thought maybe he knew. She hoped.

She wasn't expecting her uncle to get up and announce what he did, everything stilled.

"The defense of Carlos Lopez calls on Detective Jay Halstead to speak on behalf of Seargant Hank Voight."

She was throwing him to the wolves, pulling the rug out from underneath him for the second time: her leaving after he left, and now.

Jay’s head jerked slightly, like the air had been knocked from his lungs. He looked toward her, confusion bleeding into betrayal. Everyone in the courtroom followed his gaze—to Aria.

And they saw it.

The shared history.

The devastation.

He stood slowly. Walked past her like she didn’t exist. Like she was just another lawyer.

But she felt it. That cut.

The way he didn’t look back.

He took the stand, hand raised, voice flat as he swore in.

Aria now stared at Ellis, her jaw tight. Her mind flashed to all the years before this case—how her father hated Jay from the start. That boy who showed up uninvited, proposing without asking permission, forcing Aria to flee after her mother’s death, pregnant and alone.

She had trusted Ellis once. Now, she felt completely exposed.

She clenched her fists, the betrayal cutting deep. He said he wouldn’t question Jay. He promised.

Ellis’s gaze was hard as steel. He wasn’t just trying to break Jay as a witness—he was trying to get under the skin of the entire CPD unit, and under Aria.

Jay briefly looked over at Aria, a tight set to his mouth. He caught her eye from across the courtroom.

For a moment, the noise around them faded.

That look he gave her—the same one he’d given just before he proposed that spring break night years ago. Quiet, unwavering, full of promises.

"Forever.” it said.

__ Flashback: Spring break - Senior year.

Jay and Aria lay tangled in the quiet stillness of his childhood bedroom. The clock read 2 a.m., the faint sound of Jay’s brother snoring from the next room the only other noise.

Aria’s eyes searched his face, vulnerability bleeding through. “Promise me you’ll always love me,” she whispered, her voice barely steady. “No matter what happens when you leave for basic training.”

Jay’s hands found her face, his touch gentle, grounding. “I promise, Ari. Always.”

A heavy silence hung between them, thick with the weight of the unknown.

Then, slowly, Jay’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Will you marry me?”

Aria’s breath caught in her throat—hope and overwhelm crashing into one fragile moment.

They held each other tighter, a quiet vow forged in the shadow of uncertainty.

__

Jay took the stand, hand raised, voice steady as he was sworn in.

The courtroom held its breath—until the CPD counsel rose abruptly, a cold smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Your Honor,” he began smoothly, “the prosecution was made aware, thanks to Detective Hailey Upton's diligence, of a prior engagement between Detective Halstead and Ms. McDavid.”

He paused, letting the weight of the revelation settle. “Given this, alongside the longstanding animosity between Sergeant Voight and Mr. McDavid, we must question the impartiality of this testimony. It appears this is less about justice and more about personal vendettas.”

Whispers filled the room.

Aria’s heart sank. This had been a trap laid weeks ago — Hailey had quietly passed the engagement details to the CPD counsel, who had patiently waited for this exact moment to blindside them both.

Jay’s eyes flicked to Aria’s, a flicker of frustration and hurt there. She clenched her fists, knowing this wasn’t just about the trial anymore — it was a twisted game to get under their skin.

__

The courtroom seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with expectation and old wounds barely covered. Jay Halstead sat rigid, his jaw tight, eyes flicking once toward Aria before fixing ahead. The weight between them was almost physical—years of memories tangled with pain, betrayal, and what-ifs, all swirling in that sterile space.

The CPD counsel rose smoothly, breaking the silence like a sharp knife.

“Detective Halstead, please describe your role in the investigation of Carlos Lopez.” His voice was polite but cold, carefully calibrated.

Jay cleared his throat. “I responded to the scene after reports of a shooting. I assisted with securing the area and gathering witness statements.”

Carlos Lopez—the bakery owner, with a family, facing the impossible charge of shooting a police officer—had been Aria’s first client, years ago, when she was still just finding her footing as a lawyer. She knew the truth: Carlos was innocent. The real threat was the tangled web of bias and power closing in.

The CPD counsel’s gaze hardened. “You’ve been known to clash with Sergeant Voight over his... unconventional methods. Would you say that’s accurate?”

Jay’s voice didn’t waver. “We don’t always see eye to eye. But I respect his commitment to the job.”

A flicker of something—regret, maybe—passed in his eyes as they met Aria’s for a fraction of a second before he looked away.

The counsel pressed harder. “And your prior engagement to Aria McDavid—does that complicate your judgment in this case?”

Jay’s hand clenched the edge of the witness stand. “My personal history has no bearing on my duties as a detective.”

There was a charged silence.

The counsel leaned in slightly. “The McDavid family has long held disdain for Sergeant Voight. Arthur McDavid’s influence is well known. Do you believe this case is being used as a personal vendetta?”

Jay’s voice dropped, heavy with contained frustration. “I’m not here to speculate on politics or family grudges.”

Across the courtroom, Aria’s heart hammered—memories of better days crashing into the cold reality. The way he’d looked at her once—full of quiet promises and unspoken dreams—felt like a ghost haunting this room. Now, they were forced into roles neither wanted, pretending the cracks didn’t show.

When it was her turn, Aria rose, every step deliberate. Her voice was calm but resolute.

“Detective Halstead, in your experience, do Sergeant Voight’s tactics sometimes cross ethical or legal boundaries?”

Jay’s eyes met hers, and for a moment the courtroom seemed to disappear. He hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Sometimes. His methods are aggressive—maybe too much. But he believes it’s necessary to keep people safe.”

She pressed on. “Have you witnessed him target individuals unfairly, based on their race or background?”

Jay swallowed. “There have been times... actions that made me uncomfortable, especially toward minority communities.”

Aria’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you believe that bias has influenced the investigation into Carlos Lopez?”

He looked down briefly before meeting her eyes again. “There are factors that need deeper scrutiny. Bias can be hard to see, but it’s there.”

The words hung between them, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Aria closed her notebook. “No further questions.”

Behind her, Ellis’s voice was barely audible, a sharp warning: “You pivot this case right, or I’m pulling you. Your father will be sitting next to me.”

Her hands trembled just slightly, but she nodded. This was far from over.

__

The verdict came quietly but carried the weight of thunder.

“Not guilty.”

The words echoed through the courtroom, disbelief and relief mingling in the air. Carlos Lopez, the man Aria had fought for from the start, was free.

But freedom felt hollow.

The real killer—a disgruntled confidential informant from narcotics, the one whose bitterness festered into violence—had slipped through cracks in the system. The officers had known, yet the case had become a battleground far bigger than the truth.

Jay and Aria sat opposite each other, the buzz of the courtroom fading to a murmur. Their eyes met, and everything unsaid hung there: the sleepless nights, the whispered apologies, the fractures left raw by this trial.

They both knew this case had marked them—not just professionally but personally. It had torn open old wounds and exposed every fragile piece of what once was.

Still, stubborn as ever, their love lingered beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniable.

Jay’s voice was barely above a whisper when he finally spoke that evening, “We’re in deep, Aria.”

She met his gaze, her own voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope. “Maybe. But we’re not done. Not yet.”

In that soft exchange, amidst the chaos and the scars, one truth remained clear: no matter how far the world pushed them apart, they still fought to hold onto each other.

Because some bonds—broken, battered, and bruised—refuse to fade.

They say if you love something, you set it free. It’ll find its way back in the end.

Even in the darkest hours, light breaks through— shining down on the land, on its people.

You just have to give it time.

And so, the love that Aria set free all those years ago - did in fact, find its way back to her.

Strong - steady - unwavering.

Even through her darkest months, following the court case, navigating the ending of her professional relationship with her father & uncle - light broke through.

The light that was once in her life - Jay, came back with fierce and bright- lighting up her days, as they fell into step, side by side.

All they needed was time - and time, was finally on their side.

[moonacrefarm]

anticipating love

summary: your parents marriage didn’t survive the test of time and neither did you first love. 

contains: childhood friends to lovers to strangers, second-chance romance, angst, hurt/comfort, slight miscommunication, fluff, 18+ series, mentions of stalking, mentions of cancer, no mention of y/n

authors note: it might be a second before the third chap is finished bc im in the middle of finals ^.^

series masterlist

previous part | next part. 03. fated ones

02. never hesitating

A biting chill fills the air, numbing your fingertips instead of warming your bones, a striking difference from the scintillating sun that scorched San Diego. You adjust your jacket, trying to fight off the cold as you walk through a graveyard. The place is meant for rest, for the souls of the living to find peace in their loved ones' death. Yet as you stand elbow in elbow with your mother, peace does not find you. It takes the shape of a man you had told off not even a night ago.

Bradley hunches in front of his mother and father's tombstone, hands moving wildly as he speaks to them.

"I completely froze! I was surprised she didn't slap me. Mom taught her a mean backhand when we were like 6 and I've been scared of it ever since." His voice carries through the graveyard, a few other visitors side-eyeing him with curiosity.

Your mom scans you up and down. "And you weren't going to tell me Bradley was back?" Eyebrow raised and accusatory, you have nothing to say but a shrug. You were going to tell her eventually, but it wasn't high on your priority list. It was just another way for you to run. She nudges you, slowing down your walking pace as if to give Bradley more time with his parents.

Since you landed back in California, your mom had a few things to do. Her long list of "do's before I die." You weren't a fan of the list name, but making peace and making amends was important to her. This was her second round battling cancer, and there was no guarantee she'd get another one. Visiting the Bradshaws' grave was one of the first things she planned to do. Carole was her right-hand from before you and Bradley were even thoughts. She pats your hand, letting you go as she approaches Bradley. You keep your distance as she gently squeezes his shoulder, softly calling his name.

You aren't sure how you expected him to react, but you didn't expect him to cry. His initial shock is washed away by teary eyes and tightly hugging your mother as if he'd never see her again. When Bradley officially cut contact with you, you hadn't expected him to ice your mother out. He didn't have family to spare, and it was out of character for who you thought he was. Seeing him now, you can tell that never changed. Maybe he'd been scared to reach out to her, maybe he felt ashamed, felt isolated. You weren't sure, and only he could tell you. But that would require being on speaking terms with him.

The sound of your name pulls you out of your stupor, eyes switching from your mother to Bradley's.

"I raised you better than that. Come say hello to the Bradshaws." Your mother's playful scold makes you wince. Here you are, a full-fledged adult, being scolded in front of the Bradshaws like you're still 3. You aren't sure what to say. Anything you had was lost to thought the moment you saw Bradley. You meekly sound out a greeting, staring at the pictures on their tombstones with watery eyes. You didn't know Bradley's father, but you knew Carole, and she never failed to tell you stories of whirlwind love.

Your mother launches into her update, chatting with Carole as if no time had passed. Updating her on the latest and greatest, from their old high school classmates to her argument with your father.

"C'mon," Bradley taps the back of your elbow, "Let's give them some space."

You walk off with him, the silence heavy between the two of you. Neither of you knows what to say, especially after the other night.

"Welcome home," is all he says, hands stuffed in his pockets as he searches your face.

"Welcome home," you answer back swiftly. You allow the awkward silence to engulf you, hoping it'll tear him down and he'll leave you to wander around by yourself.

"You're killing me, Bugs. Please say something."

"There's nothing to say."

"There's everything to say." He steps in front of you, blocking your path with scrunched eyebrows.

"You wanna hash it out here?" You question him, urging him to think wisely.

"No, I just—"

"Just what? What do you want from me?" Your whisper is harsher than you realize, a few glances from the other visitors catching your attention.

"I want to talk. I want to explain what happened, and...and I want answers too." He holds his chin high, knowing that if he caves for a second and loosens his resolve, he'll bend to whatever you will him to. He always does.

The thing about Bradley Bradshaw is that he gets straight to the point. He itches to resolve conflict, waiting for the right moment when he can swoop in and fix everything. The timing is never on his side, the moment never quite right. For whatever reason, Bradley Bradshaw couldn't understand the value in "time and place." So there he sits, snug on that perch of his, waiting for a sunrise that'll never come.

"You want answers?" You bark out a cold laugh, one that sends a chill through the back of his neck. Your finger prods his chest, enunciating each word as you speak. "You want answers? I wanted answers for the past 8 years, and look where that got me. Stuck, waiting for someone who never showed."

"Please..." He says breathlessly, "Please Bugs, just let me—fuck I don't know what you want me to say, just let me explain. Let me apologize."

"Why did you leave?"

His eyes flicker to yours, back stiffening as you take one small step closer.

"Well, what is it, Bradshaw? Why did you leave that night?"

"Bugs..."

"No, you walked right into this. Why did you leave?" The sharp edge to your voice has softened, weakening to a state that matches your heart: broken.

"I didn't want to, Bugs, but you were engaged." You flinch, stunned into confusion as he continues. "When we slept together I had no idea you were engaged. What’s worse? When I found out, I didn’t think you did anything wrong, I didn’t give a shit about your fiancé or his feelings. I just wanted you…in anyway you’d have me.” His voice became small, rubbing the back of neck and moving to play with his right earlobe. A habit he’s had since childhood.

"You had so much power over me,” He continued, “and it terrified me." He takes a pause, gazing at you as if he's debating on saying this last piece of information.

"I loved you so much, but I didn't know who I was. And when I found out you were engaged, I couldn't face you. It felt like you chose him, and Bugs, I regretted it the second I drove off, but I couldn't go back. I tried to call, text, and nothing ever went through. You never responded, and I was too ashamed to contact your mom. I was stuck, Bugs. I'm sorry I hurt you."

The confession leaves you in tatters. Engaged? You hadn't gotten engaged to River until a year and a half later. Did he try to call you? Text you? It was radio silence whenever you tried to contact him, so how did you miss all his attempts?

"Bradley?"

"Yeah, Bugs?"

"Where the fuck did you hear I was engaged?"

"What do you mean 'where did you hear I was engaged?' River told me."

Your conversation is now the center of attention on this side of the cemetery, the sound of your voices too loud.

"River told you? When the fuck did he tell you?"

“That morning. I got a message from him, called him and asked if it was true but he showed me your engagement photos. I didn’t know how react so I just…left.”

Your mind is a whirlwind of confusion. The only reason you'd even gotten engaged to River was because Bradley left you that morning. You didn't see a future with him and broke it off weeks before you'd even spent the night with Bradley.

Both of you stand stupefied, looking at the other for answers neither of you has.

"I didn't get engaged to River until a year and a half after you left. I had already broken things off before you even visited Virginia. What do you mean he called you? How did he even know you were at my place? He was in New York.” You rub your temples, feeling a migraine coming on. It’s sudden by the information send a splitting ache through head.

"That's why you left?" You continue, massaging your eyes from the sun. "You thought I cheated on my fiancee with you? Did you think I lied about the breakup?"

"He showed me the engagement photos, what was I supposed to think?"

"You were supposed to ask me. You were supposed to stay. That's what you were supposed to think."

"Bugs, I didn't want to leave, but in that situation, would you have stuck around? Finding out I was engaged after sleeping with you? Seeing the proof right there?"

He might've been right. You probably would've fled. As angry as you wanted to be at him, you felt that you couldn't. Putting this in perspective made you feel guilty for being angry at him in the first place. Did you have a right to be? Maybe not, but how did River know Bradley was at your place that morning when he was supposedly in New York and you both had cut contact. Let alone to send engagement photos.

"Are you lying to me?" The question falls from your lips as you try to make sense of it. He has to be lying. The timeline doesn't make sense.

"Now you think I'm lying? I may have left that day, yes, but you never reached out, you never returned my calls. You chose your 'fiancee' over me, and I didn’t have it in me to look at you after that."

The look on your face makes his stomach twist. Something doesn't add up, and you pale. Hands shaking as a shiver takes over your body. "Bradley. River was in New York that week. We broke up a while before you even came back to visit, and never took engagement photos. I called and texted and called and texted, and you never responded to me. Didn't you?" Nothing you do soothes the throbbing behind your temples and nausea whirls in your stomach.

Bradley’s hands are warm as they find purchase on your arms, pulling you towards him and tugging your chin to face him.

"You called me?"

You nod weakly, "For weeks. For weeks, I called. I got scared that something happened to you, and I couldn't reach you. One of our old neighbors said they'd seen you alive and well, and I had to accept the fact you didn't want to speak to me."

All the anger you had used to guard yourself is withering. Suddenly you feel cold, a cool tingle spreading in the back of your head. The puzzle pieces are there, but you refuse to put them together.

Why would River do all that? How did he do all that? It doesn't make sense. But if the look on Bradley's face tells you anything, he's as confused and hurt as you are. Both of you have been wallowing in resentment these past few years, only to find out it'd been built on a lie.

"Bugs, you're shivering. Let's get you back to the car, okay?" You nod numbly, allowing him to guide you. He sits you in the passenger seat of the Bronco, and you stare blankly out the window, watching fellow visitors clean their loved ones' graves and cracking open beers with them.

Everyone has their special way of dealing with grief. Others never visit, and some spend all their time here. Some people decorate with flowers and seasonal decor, while others pour out liquor and loud music while they talk with their tombstones. You'd grieved when you lost Bradley. Halfway convinced he was the love of your life and you'd never find anything more. You didn't, and that made the loss hurt even more. Years of resentment grew and blossomed, poisoning the relationship you had with River. But was it really ruined because of you? If all that Bradley said is true, your relationship was built on the same lie it died on.

You see your mother approach Bradley, her brows creased as she looks at you. You can't hear what they're saying, but at some point, they've moved you back to your car as your mom hops into the driver's seat. You can do nothing as the fear and anxiety freeze you. If River had planned all of that, what else could he have done? Did do? The thoughts consume you whole as they finish up their conversation with hushed whispers and sideways glances.

"Please drive safe. I'll call the number you gave me when I get back home." Bradley taps the car, watching as you two drive off.

[voidghsts]

# — GIRLFRIEND PAIGE BUECKERS HEADCANNONS . . .

paige bueckers masterlist | main masterlist

⚘ her love language is physical touch, always wanting to hold your hand or have it in your back pocket or is resting her head on your shoulder or in your lap

⚘ leaves small notes around your apartment or your bag, reminding you how much she loves you or compliments, anything to make your day better

⚘ is always down to build legos with you when she has free time

⚘ will buy anything and everything that she can for you even if you want to pay for it yourself, will immediately tell you to put your wallet away if you pull it out

⚘ she could listen to you talk for hours and stay attentive to all the things you say

⚘ will carry you or even give you her shoes to walk in if your feet are hurting

⚘ your #1 supporter no matter what and is so proud of everything you accomplish and is so proud to be your girlfriend

⚘ practically knows you more than you know yourself from your favorite scene in a movie down to all your routines

⚘ always sending you updates when away for a game when she can whether it’s a picture, a text or calling you

⚘ always complimenting you

⚘ will do everything she can to cheer you up if your sad or just not feeling it that day

⚘ takes candid photos of you

⚘ keeps a polaroid picture of you in her wallet at all times

[021894s]

BOYFRIEND TEXTS W/SUNGHOON (5)

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʙꜰ!ꜱᴜɴɢʜᴏᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴄᴜꜱꜱɪɴɢ, ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ, ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴄʀᴀᴄᴋ

masterlist

⚘᠂᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂⚘ ᠃

taglist: @cornenhapovs @myjaeyuns @magssu @leeknowsgfsblog @luminouskalopsia @jentlecoeur @heeslut4life @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @jaeyungxrl @rapmonie2047 @anormieee @nishislcve @leesura @en-happiness @kimsunoops

[marvelstoriesepic]

✿ 2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist ✿

First of all, thank you so much!! ❤︎ This goes out to every single one of you who vote on the poll, took the time to send in a prompt, shared kind words, or just showed up for this little celebration with me ❤︎ This small challenge was born out of wanting to create something special after hitting 2k followers. Your beautiful prompts, excitement, and support have made it so much more than I hoped for!! 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

This masterlist will hold all the drabbles written for this event, and I will be updating it as I post them ❤︎

⊱❊⊰ How it works ⊱❊⊰

• Drabbles are posted in the order I received the prompts

• I'll be sharing one fic a day so I can give each one proper care and love, and it will have some time in the spotlight (also, I don’t wanna overwhelm you or myself lmao)

• If your drabble isn’t up yet - it’s coming!! I will add a title to the still unnamed requests once their done.

• A few stories go a little over the original 2k words intention. Bucky just brings out the extra in me. Couldn’t help myself.

Please know: Whether your drabble ends up being short or long, the amount of thought, heart, and effort is the same. I put all my love into these and I am so grateful you trusted me with your ideas! ❤︎

Thank you for making this so special! ❤︎

Divider by @saradika-graphics !! ❤︎

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

✿ Misfire (mild angst, yearning)

✿ Powdered Sugar (angst, yearning, hurt/comfort)

✿ Beneath the Constellations (mild angst, hurt/comfort)

✿ Wear My Heart (angst, yearning)

✿ Poison of the Spotlight (mild angst, hurt/comfort)

✿ Eyes made of Starlight (mild angst, mild fluff, yearning)

✿ Your Ghost Knows Me (angst, dark themes)

✿ Where We Were When the Stars Came Out (fluff)

✿ Even When It Hurts to Hope (angst, hurt/comfort)

✿ Look at Me Like That Again (fluff, yearning)

✿ If You Asked Me Now (angst, mild fluff, yearning)

✿ I Would Let the World Burn (angst, hurt/comfort)

✿ Soft as the Sound of Healing (angst, hurt/comfort)

✿ Somewhere Between Chapters (fluff, yearning)

✿ What the Mirror Doesn’t Say (slight angst, comfort)

✿ Tattoo Me in Flowers (fluff, yearning)

✿ Train Me in Resistance (slightly suggestive, yearning)

✿ Lie Better (slight angst, enemies to lovers)

✿ Notice Me (slight angst, fluff)

✿ The Splinter and the Spark (enemies to lovers)

✿ A Home for Now (slight angst, pretend marriage)

✿ Mad for You (angst, hurt/comfort)

✿ You’re Okay (slight angst, hurt/comfort, fluff)

There are still quite a few of your lovely requests unfinished, and I apologize, but I got a little busier than I thought I would be in the last few days, so I wasn't able to sit down and write more. Still, I will manage to complete them all over time. Thank you, guys!! ❤︎

If you’d like to support me and my writing, please consider my ko-fi ♡