wallacepolsom
noise dept.
@theartofmadeline
EXPECTATIONS
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
if i look back, i am lost
The Stonewall Inn
NASA
Stranger Things
One Nice Bug Per Day
occasionally subtle
KIROKAZE
d e v o n
Sade Olutola
Jules of Nature
RMH
The Bowery Presents
izzy's playlists!
seen from Singapore
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seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States
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seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
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@fairytaletold
❛ great heroes need great sorrows and burdens, or half of their greatness goes unnoticed. it is all part of the fairy tale. ❜
indie multimuse blog. primarily original characters. follows from draconisa. 21+ required, minors dni. iconless. loved by dani / 35+ / est.
carrd / memes / tags / my edits
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Brexton gave her one last smile before turning toward the door. Without another word, he stepped outside into the cool afternoon air.
Waiting beside a sleek black SUV stood Lincoln, a gentleman in his mid-fifties with neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair and dark blue eyes that carried decades of loyalty. He had worked for the Brooks family for years, long enough to know when his employer’s silence meant more than his words.
Brexton rubbed the back of his neck.
“Lincoln… take me back to the city. Then come back and pick her up at 4:30. I know it’s an hour drive, but…”
His sentence drifted away.
He found himself staring through the diner’s front windows.
There she was.
Bambi moved between tables with effortless grace, laughing softly with a customer before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Even from outside, she seemed to glow.
His chest tightened.
“There’s just…”
He swallowed.
“Oh, forget it.” He let out a quiet sigh before continuing. “Please take her to The Mirage. Take the elevator with her up to my penthouse. Make sure she gets there safely.”
Lincoln glanced toward the diner before looking back at him.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Brooks.”
He opened the rear passenger door.
Brexton climbed inside, and moments later the SUV disappeared down the highway.
The Mirage towered over the city skyline like a monument of glass and steel.
The moment Brexton arrived, he headed straight for the private gym hidden deep within the penthouse level.
Without hesitation, he slipped on a pair of worn black boxing gloves resting on a side table.
Thud.
His fist buried itself into the heavy bag.
Thud.
Again.
THUD.
Voices echoed through his head. Expectations. Business meetings. Deals. Darker memories he’d spent years trying to bury ever since being a little boy.
Each punch landed harder than the last. His breathing became ragged. Sweat rolled down his forehead. The bag swung violently as he unleashed everything he’d kept locked away.
Eventually he ripped the gloves off, tossing them across the room. Not enough. He moved to the bench press. Rep after rep. Then the squat rack. More weight. More strain. Finally the dumbbells.
Music blasted through the speakers loud enough to drown out every thought.
For nearly an hour… Bambi disappeared from his mind unexpectedly.
He welcomed the silence. Then his eyes drifted toward the digital clock mounted on the wall.
4:30.
His stomach dropped. “…Shit.”
Lincoln had her. At least… He better have her.
A hot shower washed away the sweat, steam curling through the marble bathroom. Water cascaded over his shoulders as he stood perfectly still beneath it, trying to slow the unfamiliar nervousness building inside him.
When he stepped out, he dressed with his usual precision. Tailored black dress pants that stopped just above the ankles. Polished black Italian dress shoes. A crisp white collared shirt tucked neatly into his waistband, the first two buttons left undone. He sprayed Acqua di Gio along his neck and onto the inside of each wrist.
One final touch. His silver Rolex clicked into place around his wrist. He looked every bit the billionaire everyone expected him to be. Composed. Untouchable. Confident. All of it matched the man underneath.
The penthouse was immaculate. The scent of fresh linen mixed with polished wood and a hint of citrus lingered through the open living space. Everything sat exactly where it belonged. Perfect.
Waiting in the kitchen stood Hilary, his longtime housemaid and chef.
She held a bouquet wrapped neatly in white paper. Bright yellow sunflowers. Soft dandelions. Deep crimson roses.
She smiled.
“Are these ones okay?”
Brexton looked at them for a long moment before a genuine smile found its way across his face.
“They’re perfect.” His voice came out softer than expected. “Thank you, Hilary. You can leave for the night.”
She nodded knowingly before quietly slipping out through the service entrance. The penthouse fell silent. Painfully silent.
Then… The soft mechanical hum of the private elevator echoed through the room.
Brexton’s back remained turned.
His heartbeat thundered inside his chest. His stomach twisted into knots. His fingers trembled almost imperceptibly against the bouquet of flowers.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him this nervous. Hell, he’s never been nervous. EVER! He’s used to getting his way… he’s used to just using women… but fuck… Bambi has him in the tightest chokehold…
Slowly…
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. He closed his eyes for the briefest second.
Please let her be there.
He turned around. Hope filled his baby blue eyes. His jaw clenched. His breath caught.
For the first time in years… Brexton Brooks forgot how to breathe.
#fairytaletold
it’s only in the sleek elevator that bambi realizes how plain she must seem. she’s still in the dress she wore to work, a plain thing with a light floral pattern, but likely smelling just vaguely of coffee and fries. what doesn’t occur to her — what should — is how potentially unsafe this is. brexton is a total stranger, one she knows only by name. he could be luring her here to kill her, for all bambi knows, and she’s blissfully ignorant of the potential threat as she shifts nervously next to the driver now. no, her nerves are for an entirely different reason.
she’s nervous because she likes him. she’s worried that she won’t be enough.
she looks over at the driver again. gives him a tentative smile, one that is professionally returned and does little to soothe her nerves. the elevator draws to a stop, doors sliding open. her wide eyed stare is lifting slowly to brexton’s face, taking in every inch of his polish and poise along the way, exhaling a breath. something twists in her stomach, and she thinks: this is it. this is what if feels like to get butterflies. but her mind has gone very suddenly blank. bambi smiles, shy.
“…hi.”
Brexton turns toward the entrance just as Bambi arrives with Lincoln, immediately locking eyes with her. She stands frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted, while time seems to stop around them. Unable to look away, Brexton quietly sets the bouquet of flowers beside the entryway near the elevator before making his way toward her.
When Bambi softly greets him with a shy, “Hi,” Brexton is momentarily speechless. Instead, he silently extends his hand toward her, palm up, his gaze falling to his outstretched hand before slowly returning to her mesmerizing eyes and tracing over her features with quiet admiration. A small smile tugs at his lips as she accepts his hand, allowing him to guide her into the penthouse.
After helping her inside, Brexton lets her hand go, giving her space as she takes in the breathtaking room.
He briefly turns to Lincoln, thanking him and assuring him they will be fine from there before Lincoln quietly departs, leaving Brexton and Bambi completely alone.
As Bambi continues admiring the elegant surroundings in the same delicate floral dress she’d worn earlier, Brexton watches her from the elevator as she walks inside more. The silence between them is peaceful, accompanied only by the gentle sounds of smooth jazz filling the room. Yet the distance quickly becomes unbearable for him. Drawn to her, he closes the gap, resting one hand gently against the small of her back before stepping in front of her, both of his hands lightly trailing up her body, settling at her ribcage. Standing as close as possible, he searches her eyes, lifting one hand to softly cradle her face as his thumb gently strokes her cheek.
Relief washes over him as he quietly whispers, “You came…” The weight of anticipation melts away in that single moment.
Time seems to stand still as he gazes at her before asking, “Are you hungry?”, while moving his hand lower to her jaw line, his thumb then brushing over her bottom lip a few times, before stepping back awaiting a response.
#fairytaletold
the apartment is beautiful. bambi turns in place, taking in everything. she wasn’t really aware that apartments could be so nice; has never lived anywhere with vaulted ceilings and bright, open floor plans. it even smelled nice in here, and she’s realizing — very much too belatedly — that brexton has a lot of money.
“oh—!” she turns again to find him close, the soft exclamation catching there inside her chest. with him this close, she almost forgets to breath. it’s been a long time since someone has been so close. she can feel the heat of him sinking in past the thin fabric of her dress; her cheeks color with a rosy flush as that thumb touches her lips, and she inhales a shaky breath, blush deepening.
“you asked me to,” she replies simply, but there’s nothing simple about it at all. oh god, but that touch is distracting. she knows he’s awaiting a reply, but she can’t seem to drag her mind away from the pad of his thumb, rubbing back and forth over her lip. when he steps back at last, some of the fog seems to lift away. bambi sucks in a tremulous breath, like she’d been holding it the whole time he’d been near, and ——- had she? she didn’t know. she wasn’t sure what to do around him.
“I didn’t have dinner yet,” she starts. quickly adds, “but you don’t have to worry about me!” a hand waves him off, as if brushing away the words she’d just said, fearful of imposing on him. the fact that he might have invited her here for dinner doesn’t seem to cross her mind. she smiles, bright and easy. “I mean, I can always get something on the way home. don’t worry about me.”
Brexton gave her one last smile before turning toward the door. Without another word, he stepped outside into the cool afternoon air.
Waiting beside a sleek black SUV stood Lincoln, a gentleman in his mid-fifties with neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair and dark blue eyes that carried decades of loyalty. He had worked for the Brooks family for years, long enough to know when his employer’s silence meant more than his words.
Brexton rubbed the back of his neck.
“Lincoln… take me back to the city. Then come back and pick her up at 4:30. I know it’s an hour drive, but…”
His sentence drifted away.
He found himself staring through the diner’s front windows.
There she was.
Bambi moved between tables with effortless grace, laughing softly with a customer before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Even from outside, she seemed to glow.
His chest tightened.
“There’s just…”
He swallowed.
“Oh, forget it.” He let out a quiet sigh before continuing. “Please take her to The Mirage. Take the elevator with her up to my penthouse. Make sure she gets there safely.”
Lincoln glanced toward the diner before looking back at him.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Brooks.”
He opened the rear passenger door.
Brexton climbed inside, and moments later the SUV disappeared down the highway.
The Mirage towered over the city skyline like a monument of glass and steel.
The moment Brexton arrived, he headed straight for the private gym hidden deep within the penthouse level.
Without hesitation, he slipped on a pair of worn black boxing gloves resting on a side table.
Thud.
His fist buried itself into the heavy bag.
Thud.
Again.
THUD.
Voices echoed through his head. Expectations. Business meetings. Deals. Darker memories he’d spent years trying to bury ever since being a little boy.
Each punch landed harder than the last. His breathing became ragged. Sweat rolled down his forehead. The bag swung violently as he unleashed everything he’d kept locked away.
Eventually he ripped the gloves off, tossing them across the room. Not enough. He moved to the bench press. Rep after rep. Then the squat rack. More weight. More strain. Finally the dumbbells.
Music blasted through the speakers loud enough to drown out every thought.
For nearly an hour… Bambi disappeared from his mind unexpectedly.
He welcomed the silence. Then his eyes drifted toward the digital clock mounted on the wall.
4:30.
His stomach dropped. “…Shit.”
Lincoln had her. At least… He better have her.
A hot shower washed away the sweat, steam curling through the marble bathroom. Water cascaded over his shoulders as he stood perfectly still beneath it, trying to slow the unfamiliar nervousness building inside him.
When he stepped out, he dressed with his usual precision. Tailored black dress pants that stopped just above the ankles. Polished black Italian dress shoes. A crisp white collared shirt tucked neatly into his waistband, the first two buttons left undone. He sprayed Acqua di Gio along his neck and onto the inside of each wrist.
One final touch. His silver Rolex clicked into place around his wrist. He looked every bit the billionaire everyone expected him to be. Composed. Untouchable. Confident. All of it matched the man underneath.
The penthouse was immaculate. The scent of fresh linen mixed with polished wood and a hint of citrus lingered through the open living space. Everything sat exactly where it belonged. Perfect.
Waiting in the kitchen stood Hilary, his longtime housemaid and chef.
She held a bouquet wrapped neatly in white paper. Bright yellow sunflowers. Soft dandelions. Deep crimson roses.
She smiled.
“Are these ones okay?”
Brexton looked at them for a long moment before a genuine smile found its way across his face.
“They’re perfect.” His voice came out softer than expected. “Thank you, Hilary. You can leave for the night.”
She nodded knowingly before quietly slipping out through the service entrance. The penthouse fell silent. Painfully silent.
Then… The soft mechanical hum of the private elevator echoed through the room.
Brexton’s back remained turned.
His heartbeat thundered inside his chest. His stomach twisted into knots. His fingers trembled almost imperceptibly against the bouquet of flowers.
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him this nervous. Hell, he’s never been nervous. EVER! He’s used to getting his way… he’s used to just using women… but fuck… Bambi has him in the tightest chokehold…
Slowly…
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open. He closed his eyes for the briefest second.
Please let her be there.
He turned around. Hope filled his baby blue eyes. His jaw clenched. His breath caught.
For the first time in years… Brexton Brooks forgot how to breathe.
#fairytaletold
it’s only in the sleek elevator that bambi realizes how plain she must seem. she’s still in the dress she wore to work, a plain thing with a light floral pattern, but likely smelling just vaguely of coffee and fries. what doesn’t occur to her — what should — is how potentially unsafe this is. brexton is a total stranger, one she knows only by name. he could be luring her here to kill her, for all bambi knows, and she’s blissfully ignorant of the potential threat as she shifts nervously next to the driver now. no, her nerves are for an entirely different reason.
she’s nervous because she likes him. she’s worried that she won’t be enough.
she looks over at the driver again. gives him a tentative smile, one that is professionally returned and does little to soothe her nerves. the elevator draws to a stop, doors sliding open. her wide eyed stare is lifting slowly to brexton’s face, taking in every inch of his polish and poise along the way, exhaling a breath. something twists in her stomach, and she thinks: this is it. this is what if feels like to get butterflies. but her mind has gone very suddenly blank. bambi smiles, shy.
“…hi.”
The warmth of her fingers slipping between his sent a shock through Brexton’s entire body. Their hands fit together so naturally that it felt impossible to ignore, and with that simple touch came something he’d never experienced before—a yearning so intense it settled deep in his chest. It wasn’t just attraction. It was a craving for her, one that made no sense to a man who had spent years convincing himself he was incapable of wanting anyone.
Her lips parted ever so slightly.
“Me…?”
Brexton answered with a quiet nod, his brows still drawn together as though he were trying to solve a puzzle he couldn’t understand. Their eyes remained locked, each seeming to shine a little brighter beneath the diner lights. At the exact same moment, their intertwined fingers tightened around one another in a gentle squeeze, sending another wave of heat racing through him. A fire ignited low in his stomach.
“At two,” she replied softly.
Instantly, the crease between his brows disappeared.
His gaze drifted from her eyes, taking in every detail of her breathtaking face. The way the light caught her features. The softness in her expression. His thumb continued absentmindedly brushing across the back of her hand as he silently committed the moment to memory.
Why am I feeling like this? He didn’t feel. He was numb. Cold.
Broken in ways no one ever saw, knew, or cared to understand.
So why did this woman seem to have complete control over him without even trying? Her gentle voice, her warm, perfectly manicured hand, her calming presence… somehow she unraveled every wall he’d spent years building.
“Did you—I mean…” Bambi glanced away for only a heartbeat before finding his eyes again. “Did you really come here just to see me?”
The question hit him harder than he expected.
Brexton instinctively looked over his shoulder, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. His stomach dropped, and for the first time in a long time, nerves crept in.
What am I doing? This wasn’t him. He didn’t chase people.
But somehow… he couldn’t walk away from her.
Slowly, he turned back to face her, his head tilting slightly as those piercing baby blue eyes settled on hers once more.
“Two is perfect,” he said, his voice steady despite everything raging inside him. “I’ll have Lincoln come pick you up at four-thirty. Lincoln is my personal driver. He’ll bring you to where I’ll be waiting for you…”
He paused, swallowing hard before continuing, a rare hint of vulnerability slipping into his voice.
“Of course… that’s if you’d like.”
Another brief silence followed before the corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smile.
“Oh… and Bambi…” His eyes softened. “I’m Brexton.”
#fairytaletold
how long has it been since she's truly felt wanted? how long since she's been sought out, and not the seeker? years, at this point. the last interaction with any true warmth had been a visit with her brother, three years ago, and the memory of it had sustained her this far. she saw so many people every day, gave so many smiles, got them back in return... but not this. nothing like this, before.
how had it even come to this? she can see the hostess in her periphery, watching the interaction take place. bambi isn't necessarily bothered, but she feels... vulnerable, maybe. uncertain, even as she's drawn in more to him. he doesn't answer the question. he simply looks away, to a point in the distance, and she thinks: this is it. the fragile hope that had bloomed right there in her chest begins to wither, leaves wilting.
no one really wants you, an old voice says. no one will ever really stay. and she might have given into that despair, had those eyes not settled on her again.
a driver. he... had one of those? he wanted to meet. something softens in the man's eyes, and bambi feels herself drawn to that fracture, to the vulnerability peeking out beneath. she's nodding, dazed. when he says his name, it takes a beat for it to register at last. "brexton," she repeats softly, and her cheeks warm further at the intimacy of it. "...I would like that."
Brexton instinctively looks down at her hand as it gently wraps around his wrist. Her touch is warm and unexpectedly comforting, yet it sends an intense wave of chills through his entire body. His jaw tightens once again, a slight frown forming between his brows as he silently wonders, What is she doing to me? Every time she touches him, he feels something he can’t explain.
When she admits she’s surprised to see him, Brexton can’t help but think that he’s just as surprised to see her; and even more relieved. Thank God she’s here, he thinks, realizing how much he’d been hoping she would be.
He answers her with quiet honesty.
“Oh, I… I thought you didn’t want me here?…” He continued, “But no, I’m not particularly hungry, thank you though. I’m actually here to see what time you got off work?”
His wrist slowly pulls back from her grasp, but only so his fingers can gently slide between hers. His thumb softly brushes over the back of her hand while his gaze constantly shifts between her eyes and her lips. His jaw flexes again as he fights the overwhelming urge to kiss her, knowing it isn’t the right moment—no matter how much every instinct tells him otherwise.
A small smile forms across his face as he studies her. Her cheeks are flushed with a deep blush, and her eyes seem completely focused on him, carefully following his every movement. He wonders if she’s nervous… or even afraid of him. More than anything, he wonders if she’ll ever understand the effect she has on him… the way she quiets the world around him and stirs emotions he’s never experienced before.
Then, in the middle of the moment, a simple realization hits him. Despite everything they’ve shared, he’s never even told her his name. To her, he’s still a stranger… a nameless man standing before her, already feeling as though she’s changing his life.
she’s been mistaken for a silly, stupid girl before — and truth be told, it’s not an incorrect assessment — but even bambi sees that frown. sees the way his brows knit together as he looks at her, trying desperately to read him. a knot forms in her gut, but it dissipates with his next words.
“me…?” it shouldn’t surprise her. there’s a very palpable thing between them, some electricity she can’t describe. but the fact that he came back, not to eat, but… “at two,” she begins. god, but her cheeks are heated. the fingers twining through hers don’t help; it’s comfortable, but so very intimate, the kind of touch that she’d desperately craved for years and not dared to hope for. but she doesn’t draw away. fingers curl down, securing the grip. she feels dazed, the way she imagines people must feel when they’re totally drunk.
“did you — I mean.” gaze flicks away, but she forces it back up again, makes herself look up into his eyes despite the way her stomach twists. “did you really come here just to see me?”
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Brexton crossed the room toward her, unable to look away. Their eyes locked immediately, and just like every time before, the noise around them seemed to fade into the background. As he approached, he faintly noticed her rubbing one arm with her free hand, a small gesture that made him wonder what she was thinking. He stopped as close as he felt was appropriate, leaving a respectful distance between them.
Then her angelic voice broke the silence.
“…you’re back.”
The sound of her voice washed over him, bringing an unexpected sense of calm. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, especially not from simply hearing someone speak. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked deeply into her golden-brown eyes.
“Problem?” he asked.
It wasn’t hostile or challenging. The question was firm, but genuine, carrying a quiet concern beneath the surface.
As he waited for her response, his gaze briefly drifted downward to her nametag. Small heart stickers decorated the edges, and for the first time, he read the name written across it.
Bambi.
The name seemed to fit her perfectly.
His eyes lingered on her outfit for a moment, while slightly licking his lips, ending it with small bite of his bottom lip, before returning to the nametag and then back to her eyes.
His jaw flexing from biting down on his teeth, and a small frown on his brows appeared as he reached up and straightened the slightly crooked badge… his knuckles ever so slightly brushing over her nipple by reaching too close… maintaining eye contact the entire time while fixing it. He’s fixated on her.
Shit… I didn’t mean to do that… his eyes widened…
She smelled elegant, her perfume subtle yet impossible to ignore. Her dress complemented her eyes perfectly, making them seem even brighter beneath the lights. Looking at her now, he couldn’t help thinking about how long the week had felt. He had spent days looking forward to seeing her again, and now that he was finally standing in front of her, he found himself struggling to find the right words.
But when no answer came, uncertainty quickly crept into his thoughts. His confidence faltered.
His gaze dropped to the floor as doubt began to settle in. Maybe she didn’t want him there. Maybe his presence was unwelcome. Maybe he had misread everything.
“I’m sorry…” he said quietly, still looking down. “This was a mistake… I shouldn’t have come…” He looks back up into her eyes.
With those words hanging heavily in the air, Brexton slowly begins to turn away, preparing to walk out and leave the moment behind.
He thinks to himself, please stop me from walking away… craving her touch.
And then… something stops him before he can take another step, and the silence between them suddenly feels charged with the possibility that this encounter is far from over…
#fairytaletold
if he’d asked — if she could have read his thoughts — she would have told him that she’d worn this exact perfume for years now, and for one simple fact: because it had been her mothers. she wasn’t the elegant one. she wasn’t the poised, timeless beauty that her mother had always been. but she wore the scent all the same, clinging to the memory in any way she could.
but she doesn’t know what he’s thinking, and she doesn’t know what she’s thinking, either. bambi stills beneath his touch, a shy sort of blush coloring her cheeks. no one had ever affected her so; then again, no one as magnetic as this had ever set her in their sights. she doesn’t know what he’s doing here again, but — surely it’s not just for her, right? it couldn’t be. a man like this? he wouldn’t ever be interested in her, he —…could he?
it’s only when he turns away that bambi realizes he’d been waiting for an answer. quickly, she’s surging forward, unthinking as a small, warm hand clasps itself around his wrist. “no!” she’d made him feel unwanted, somehow, and it hurts her to even thinks about. bambi smiles brightly. “no — no problem at all! I… well, I’m just surprised to see you again.” her expression gives her away; she’s always been painfully easy to read, and right now, it’s obvious that he has her flustered. that she’s pleased to see him here. “um — did you want to have a seat? can I get you something?”
Brexton couldn’t pull his eyes away from her. There was something about the way she looked at him that made it feel as if he were slowly sinking into the depths of her eyes, unable and unwilling to escape. A concerned expression rested on his face as he replayed the comments his friends had made to her. He couldn’t tell whether she’d been flattered, embarrassed, or secretly bothered by them, and that uncertainty lingered in the back of his mind.
How was someone this beautiful?
Even more distracting than her appearance was her voice. It was soft, warm, and effortlessly calming. He found himself hanging on every word she spoke, realizing he could listen to her talk all day… and all night without ever growing tired of it.
Then everything changed.
As Brexton extended the crisp $100 bill toward her, she gently reached up and rested her hand over his. Her delicate fingers curled around his closed fist, refusing the money. The simple touch made his stomach twist into tight knots, and his eyes widened ever so slightly.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling.
Her touch is gentle… he thought. Her hands are unbelievably soft…
Yet beneath that softness, he could feel them trembling.
Her hands were shaking.
Neither of them spoke as they stood there, their eyes locked together. The sounds of the diner—the conversations, the clinking dishes, the bustle around them—all seemed to disappear. For a brief moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist. It was only the two of them.
Then, just as quietly as she’d reached for him, she slipped her hand away.
A warm smile spread across her face.
“Goodnight,” she said.
Brexton glanced down at his still-closed fist. The once-perfectly folded $100 bill was now wrinkled from where she’d held his hand. He looked back up at her, momentarily caught off guard by her refusal.
Then he stepped closer. As close as he dared.
“Well…” he said with a faint smile. “…that was a mistake.”
Before she could protest, he reached forward and gently tugged on the apron tied around her waist, pulling her as close to him as possible. Slipping both hands toward one of the apron pockets, he tucked the folded $100 bill inside.
She let out a quiet gasp of surprise.
Their eyes met again.
Without thinking, Brexton’s hands settled lightly against her hips for the briefest moment before he quickly let go and stepped backward, realizing what he’d done.
He glanced through the diner’s front windows and saw Mason, Sawyer, and Colt waiting for him outside.
Turning back toward her, he offered one final look.
“Now you have a good night.”
The words came out with an unexpected firmness—almost sounding more like a command than a farewell.
Then he turned and walked outside to where the boys were waiting by his car.
The drive home was unusually quiet.
As he dropped Mason, Sawyer, and Colt off one by one, very little was said. Eventually, Brexton found himself alone behind the wheel, heading back toward the city with nothing but the road ahead and his thoughts keeping him company.
His mind refused to settle.
Who is she?
What an idiot… how did you not even ask her name?
What was her deal?
How dare she not take my money… she deserved every penny of it.
Did she like what the guys were saying?
Was she embarrassed?
I need her…
I need to know everything about her.
I have to go back.
The days that followed offered no relief. Throughout the week, she remained on his mind constantly. He replayed every second they had shared together—the way she looked at him, the sound of her voice, the softness of her touch, the tremble in her hands, and the smile she gave him before wishing him goodnight.
No matter how hard he tried to focus on work or anything else, his thoughts always found their way back to the waitress at the little diner.
When the weekend finally arrived, Brexton didn’t hesitate.
“Lincoln, please take me to this diner.” Brexton stuck his hand out with a paper and an address written neatly on it. Lincoln is Brexton’s driver & personal security guard.
He climbed into the back of the car and they made the familiar drive out of the city, his anticipation building with every passing mile. Hope settled heavily in his chest as he pulled into the parking lot and stepped inside.
His eyes immediately began searching the diner, scanning every booth and every table.
Then…
There she was.
Standing across the room.
Their eyes met once again.
Brexton couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
Here we go…
#fairytaletold
it was so… unlike her to be this affected by someone else. she was empathetic, sure! cried at movies and sad commercials, got excited over insignificant things. but to have her heart beating so wildly… to have her breath held captive in her chest? the sensation is foreign to her, some alien thing she can’t quite wrap her head around. why he make her feel this way?
why was he so different from everyone else?
brows knit in slight confusion. she’s about to ask what was a mistake? when he makes the answer abundantly clear. he tugs her close, and bambi gasps. the money is completely forgotten about; all she sees are the vivid blue of his eyes, smelling the fresh, masculine scent of some expensive cologne on his skin. she blushes. even as he steps back, even when he turns away, bambi remains rooted to the spot, heart beating wildly in the cage of her ribs.
she lays awake that night, and she swears she can still feel that phantom touch.
bambi does her best to forget about him. it’s difficult, with such an empty life: he fills in the gaps left by loneliness, occupying her thoughts during quiet times. but he was just like any other customer, wasn’t he? they crossed paths into each other’s lives, and now they’re going on separate paths. you can’t expect people to stay beside you forever (and boy, hadn’t she learned this lesson well?) she has almost made her peace with this until that saturday morning. she feels it. there’s a prickling over her skin — a sensation of being watched. bambi turns, absently rubbing a palm over the goosebumps prickling her arm.
and then she goes wholly still, a deer that’s in the hunter’s scope. he crosses to her, and she doesn’t move. she wonders if she’s even breathing as he draws up close to her, except that she smells it again — that cologne. her name tag, adorned with small heart stickers, hangs crookedly on her dress. bambi looks at him, eyes wide.
“….you’re back.”
Brexton had finally clocked out after what felt like the longest workday of his life. His black hair was neatly cut into a mid-to-high fade, his close-shaven black beard was as sharp as ever, and his piercing baby blue eyes carried the exhaustion of a man who had spent every ounce of energy he had. Still, when his three closest friends insisted on grabbing a drink before calling it a night, he agreed.
Hours later, they stumbled out of the bar laughing louder than anyone on the sidewalk. Brexton had only nursed a couple of drinks throughout the evening, but Sawyer, Mason, and Colt were all considerably more intoxicated than he was.
“I’m starving,” Sawyer groaned.
“The nearest diner’s still open,” Mason pointed across the street.
Brexton shrugged. “Works for me.”
A few minutes later, they stepped inside the warm little diner. The scent of fresh coffee, bacon, and grilled onions filled the air as a hostess greeted them with a welcoming smile before leading the four men to a booth near the middle of the restaurant.
As his friends immediately launched into another loud conversation, Brexton quietly scanned the diner. His eyes wandered across every occupied booth, every family, every late-night trucker, every couple enjoying pie and coffee. It was simply a habit of his—always observing the room.
Finding nothing particularly interesting, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He checked for any missed texts, unanswered calls, and even skimmed through a few work emails that had arrived while he’d been out.
Then…
Everything stopped.
“Excuse me, gentlemen…”
The voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard.
Soft.
Warm.
Almost… angelic.
Brexton froze completely.
His thumb hovered over his phone screen while time itself seemed to stand still.
Sawyer leaned over and bumped his shoulder.
“Dude…”
No response.
Sawyer nudged him again.
“Brex!”
Brexton blinked and finally looked up.
Standing beside the table was their waitress.
She had long brunette hair cascading over her shoulders, light golden-brown eyes that seemed to glow beneath the diner lights, and a smile unlike anything he’d ever seen.
His heart skipped.
She’s…
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.
Their eyes remained locked together, each seemingly caught off guard by the other.
Finally Brexton cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry… what was your question?”
She seemed just as frozen as he had been.
Then, almost reluctantly, she blinked, smiled again, and softly asked,
“Can I get you started with something to drink?”
Brexton couldn’t look away.
“I’ll just do an iced tea, please… unsweetened.”
She gave a small nod.
“Of course. Be right back, gentlemen.”
As she walked away, Brexton found himself watching her disappear toward the kitchen.
“Earth to Brexton,” Mason laughed.
“I think our boy just fell in love.”
Brexton ignored them.
Several minutes later, she returned carrying everyone’s drinks with practiced ease. She placed Brexton’s iced tea in front of him before pulling out her notepad once more.
“Are y’all ready to order?”
Before anyone else could answer, Sawyer leaned forward with an exaggerated grin.
“I’d love a chicken fried steak…”
He paused dramatically.
“…and you for dessert.”
The table erupted with drunken laughter.
Colt chimed in.
“I’ll take whatever she’s serving.”
Mason added another equally embarrassing comment.
The waitress forced a polite smile, though Brexton could see the discomfort beginning to show in her eyes.
His stomach sank.
“Guys,” he said firmly.
Nobody listened.
Another joke.
Another laugh.
That was enough.
“Knock it off.”
The entire table fell silent.
Brexton looked directly at the waitress, still not knowing her name.
His face burned with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry,” he said sincerely. “Please excuse them. They’re piss drunk and don’t know what they’re talking about.”
He looked over at his friends.
“We’re actually going to go.”
Sawyer opened his mouth to protest.
“Nope,” Brexton interrupted. “I’m driving all of you home, and we’ll hit a fast food drive thru instead.”
The three men exchanged guilty looks before quietly standing from the booth.
Brexton could barely believe how embarrassed he felt.
The waitress simply stepped to the side, saying nothing as the four men made their way toward the entrance.
Just before reaching the door, Brexton stopped.
He reached into his wallet.
Without hesitation, he pulled out a crisp one hundred dollar bill.
Walking back toward her, he gently held it out.
“Please take this.”
She looked down at the money, then back into his eyes.
“I’m sorry again.”
Their eyes met once more.
This time…
Neither of them looked away.
The noisy diner disappeared.
The conversations around them faded into nothing.
It felt as though the entire world had gone silent.
Brexton’s mind raced a hundred miles an hour.
What is she thinking?
Is she upset?
Does she think I’m just like them?
What’s her name?
Where did she come from?
Why does it feel like I’ve known those eyes forever?
Questions flooded his mind faster than he could answer them.
One thing, however, was certain.
He couldn’t leave without knowing who she was.
Somehow…
Some way…
Brexton knew he had to learn the name of the woman whose angelic voice had managed to stop time.
bambi’s stomach had flipped when they sat in her section. even she can’t tell what it is that she’s feeling — trepidation? unease? just as quickly, a wave of guilt washes it off. it’s not like her to judge a book by its cover. sure, they looked like the kind of customers that came in drunk at 2am, rowdy and handsy and hard to shake off, but…
by the time she’s stepped up to their table, she’s smiling. bambi lets herself look at them at last, one man to the next, and then — then………
oh. he’s so handsome. probably the most handsome man that she’s ever seen, and her tongue goes heavy in her mouth at the sight of him. she’s staring, and doesn’t even realize he is too until his friends had called him out. she shakes it off, gives a smile. she can do this! she can get their order and serve these men and never, ever see them again. it would be fine. and she’s regathered herself entirely by the time she comes back with all of their drinks.
and then the comments start. her blush is immediate — a warmth that creeps up neck, over her cheeks, pricking hotly against her skin. she wants to turn and run. she wants to hide. but she’s gotten caught crying no less than three times after particularly tough customers, and the boss said maybe she’s not cut out for this, and she’d insisted she was, she could do it, please —
yet before she has to do anything at all, the man is stopping them. bambi is watches, hands trembling and dazed, as he ushers three shamefaced men out single file like nothing more than a bunch of unruly kids. she’s still standing there when he comes back, a neat bill folded against one palm.
“oh,” she starts, blinking. eyes widen when she sees just how much that is. her focus shifts up to his face; he really feels bad, doesn’t he? “oh — no, please, I couldn’t. it’s alright, honest!” the last thing she wants is for her discomfort to somehow become his burden, which clearly, he thinks it is. she reaches out, fingers curling over his own to close the bill into his palm. it’s only after she’s gone and touched his skin that she realizes the mistake — he’s warm, and something buzzes inside her, like electricity emanates from him. she tugs back her hand. offers one last smile, eyes warm.
“have a good night.”
IG: @demodejewelry - read more on my blog!
Brooklyn Nine-Nine – 3.11: Hostage Situation
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"Okay." She leans on him, and Chase takes her weight easily. "I'll make you a grilled cheese or something at home."
He doesn't argue - is all too aware of their situation, even though he would have taken up extra shifts to cover for anything they would have spent on making her feel better. They make it to the curb as the car pulls up, so Chase ushers Charlie into the backseat ahead of them, keeping her hands in his and preparing to be the one to answer any of the drivers chit-chat.
Luckily, their place isn't that far from Charlie's campus. Proximity had been a factor in choosing it, so they didn't need a car.
"C'mon. You can have a nice hot shower while I make you a grilled cheese or something."
it’s that touch that soothes her — grounds her. tethers her solidly to the man who might as well be half her heart. it doesn’t occur to her just yet that there’s another man she could have called: for years, there’s been nothing but them. for as long back as she can remember, charlie has only had chase. in a way, even now, it will always be chase.
she gives him a smile, grateful smile. distantly, she hears him talking to the driver as he slides in, but she’s not really paying attention. these episodes always leave her so damn tired. she’s hollowed out, drained — and the moment chase is buckled beside her, charlie leans her head against him.
“….. thank you.”
in the end, love will return in a different way.
rhaego + rhys ( @smcrtcss )
Inch by inch, Charlie relaxes, and so does Chase.
He doesn't try and rush her, but when she says yes he stands from crouching and gently coaxes her to stand with him. Chase stoops to pick up her bag, making a soft noise (exaggerated, to maybe make her smile) as he shoulders the weight of her books.
An arm is looped around her shoulder, and for a second Chase is glad he'd decided to Uber here instead of riding his bike - so now he doesn't have to worry about the logistics of getting it home. Pulling his phone out, he books a car, and then thinks about what they might have in the cupboard to eat.
"You want me to spring for some take out? Will that help?"
it is stupid, and it does make her smile — exactly as her brother intended. no matter that it’s a watery thing, thinned down by weariness and tears; the corners of her mouth still curl, and she feels her heart lightening.
“no —— it’s okay.” a gentle rebuff. she appreciates the sentiment. is tempted, even, but their money is stretched too thin to allow him to splurge just because she’s feeling… like this. she leans against him, temple at his shoulder. swallows hard as another stupid rush of emotion rises up in her throat, like it’s too big for her body to hold. “you already helped.”
SWEET/VICIOUS 1.07 | Heartbreaker
a heated kiss while holding them by the throat. // @smcrtcss
rhaego targaryen is kind of the talent that comes once a generation. he’s heard it said for years: in magazine articles greedily devoured back when they were worlds apart, in instagram comment sections scrolled at midnight, knowing better. a bright light in a stagnant field. a visionary. an artist. the irony of man like that finding a man like him has never escaped him, not even once. not since that night — lifetimes ago — where he saw rhaego in the flickering lights of a party in full swing and felt his heart speed past a beat. he’d been too beautiful, too well kept and perfectly styled, even then. and now? with years of experience sharpening his eye?
the man in question seems to feel this line of thought. that, or he senses the point of focus aimed at the back of his neck, dextrous fingers at the clasp of a diamond choker. rhys — perfectly groomed by those expert hands — stands so as not to wrinkle his suit, and he isn’t quite quick enough to glance away before their gazes snag and catch. fuck. he’s too old for stammering words and telltale blushes; this doesn’t seem to stop the warmth as it blooms across high cheeks, suffusing heat into his tan.
from across the room, rhaego is watching. the stare is a palpable press to his skin, the downy hairs at the back of his neck raising under phantom fingers. they have to be downstairs, soon. they’re dressed for the first day of festivities in milan; they can’t do anything right now. that knowledge is both blessing and curse, but he holds to it as rhaego crosses the room, his polished shoes the only sound that dares to break the silence now.
“do you like what you see?”
rhaego loves to do this: ask questions that have no business being voiced to begin with. he knows the answer. they both know he knows. what he’s really waiting for is to see how well rhys will voice this — will it pass muster? or will rhaego demand he say it again?
“yes,” he says, but that won’t be enough, sincerity be damned. rhys lifts his eyes. forces himself to meet rhaego’s at last, and the heat — the intensity twisting in those depths has him sucking in a breath. does he know the power he wields? does he know the effect he has?
(yes.)
“you —— look beautiful.” stupid. he’s so stupid, with his simple words that always feel painfully lacking. rhaego is more than beautiful, but how can he relay that to him? how can he voice the way his stomach churns just to be so close to him?
his chin dips, gaze falling away — and rhaego’s hand is there, viper quick, to force his eyes back up. soft fingers slide past the stubble of his jaw. the grip settles comfortably around his throat, and he swallows hard against the weight. his cock twitches. rhaego smiles like he fucking senses it. maybe he does. maybe that’s why he pulls rhys down, fingers tightening their hold, to catch his mouth in a hot, wet kiss. he can’t help it; rhys moans against those lips, soft and demanding at once, at the teeth that graze his lower lip. already, the festivities are forgotten. he’s got a hand at rhaego’s hip and is pulling him closer, other hand lifted towards that dark, gleaming hair, half hard against the zipper of his pants —
— and rhaego catches the wrist neatly. he steps back, unruffled and poised, leaving rhys panting in his absence.
“you’ll ruin my hair,” he chides. a brief glance downwards, clocking rhys’s physical need and, just as quickly, dismissing it. he runs a thumb below his bottom lip, as if checking that his lip balm hadn’t smudged there. gives rhys a grin. “well? let’s go, then.”
rhys nods, slightly grim. it’s hours before they’ll be back in this room — and he’s going to feel every one of them.
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[as if this is not a normal and natural human thing to want] yeah i just really want to connect with people for some reason. Like some weird loser freak
@yxkanna // because that's what you and I do. protect each other.
