yalllll i finally lock in and wrote part two. please tell me yall are proud. anywayy you can find part one here. love yall my babies.
You wake up the next morning with sunlight creeping through your bedroom curtains, casting soft golden streaks across your ceiling. The ghost of a hand still tingles on your skin, you can almost feel the warmth of his fingers, the brush of his lips against your knuckles.
You rub your eyes and stretch, limbs heavy with sleep. For a moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the night in fragments. The bar. The peach martini. The way he kissed your hand like you were something precious.
Then it hits you... the text!
You remember sending it last night, your heart pounding as you typed those two little words. Hey baby. You were too nervous to wait for a reply, too scared to see if he'd respond or if the night had meant more to you than it did to him. You'd tossed your phone aside and forced yourself to sleep.
Now you sit up, heart already racing, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. The screen lights up and you see it, a few unopened messages. You smile before you even read them.
Jermajesty: and here i thought i imagined you.
You bite your lip. He texted you an hour after you sent your message last night. A response that came late enough to show he wasn't desperate, but early enough to prove he was thinking about you too.
You type slowly, savoring the moment.
You: good morning, sorry i dropped dead last night
You also decide to reply to his little message from last night, a smirk playing on your lips.
You: you wish...
Not even thirty seconds pass before the three dots appear. He's typing. Your stomach flips.
Two messages come through back to back.
Jermajesty: good morning, gorgeous
Jermajesty: people have told me i have a big imagination. you just happen to be better than anything i could've come up with in my head
You laugh out loud, tossing an arm over your face, phone pressed to your chest like it's a secret.
Smooth bastard.
Handsome, smooth bastard.
You type back before you can overthink it.
You: flattery will get you everywhere, you know that?
Jermajesty: good. because i have a lot more where that came from.
You: oh yeah? like what?
Jermajesty: like i think about the way you bit your lip when you were thinking. and the way you smell, like vanilla and something sweet. and the way your eyes went wide when i kissed your hand like you weren't expecting it.
You stare at the screen, heat creeping up your neck. You read it twice. Three times.
You: you pay attention.
Jermajesty: to you? always.
You bite your lip so hard you're surprised it doesn't bleed. Your phone feels hot in your hands, or maybe that's just you.
You: so what now?
Jermajesty: now? you tell me what you're doing today. and i figure out how to see you again.
You look around your apartment — the messy bed, the half-open curtains, the pile of laundry you've been ignoring for three days. You smile to yourself, already planning your outfit, already counting down the hours.
You: today i'm free. tomorrow too. and the day after that.
Jermajesty: good. because i plan on taking up all of them.
You set your phone down and scream silently into your pillow.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
The first week of your break is a blur of texts, voice notes, and phone calls that stretch into the early hours of the morning. You learn things about each other in the quiet spaces between words — the way he laughs at his own jokes before he finishes them, the way he says your name like he's tasting it.
You learn that he's a total nerd. A real one. He loves anything involving anime — classics, new releases, the ones with complicated plots you need a flowchart to follow. He tries to explain the lore of Attack on Titan to you over a phone call, and you listen with a smile, understanding maybe half of it, but finding it genuinely adorable how passionate he gets. He catches himself rambling at one point and goes quiet.
"Sorry, I'm boring you."
"Not boring me. I like hearing you talk about things you love."
There's a pause. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "You know, that's rare. Most people just glaze over."
"Most people aren't me."
"No," he says quietly. "They're not."
You truly love talking to him. He's charismatic — the kind of charming that doesn't feel rehearsed. He's respectful, always checking in, always making sure you're comfortable. He's everything you've been looking for in a man, even if you weren't sure that man existed until now.
But unfortunately for both of you, life gets in the way.
The anticipated date never really happens. Not for lack of wanting. Not for lack of trying. But two weeks is not enough time — not when you have a mountain of errands to climb, a life to wrangle back into shape before you're back in the air. Doctor's appointments. Laundry that's been piling up for months. Catching up with family who've been missing you. The mundane, necessary chaos of being a person with a full life.
Jermajesty understands. He never once makes you feel guilty for it.
Instead, he makes sure you feel seen.
A bouquet of flowers arrives on your doorstep two days after you mention, offhandedly, that you love peonies. He remembers. He remembers. You stare at the arrangement for a full minute, a hand pressed to your chest.
Then there's the breakfast delivery on a morning you text him that you're exhausted. A full spread; pancakes, fresh fruit, orange juice, a little note tucked inside that just says: "Fuel for the beautiful. — J"
He sends you a voice note before bed, just to say goodnight. He sends you a picture of his dog Duke sleeping in his lap, with the caption: "can't wait for you to meet him"
Every detail, every gesture, is a reminder that he's not going anywhere. That even though the timing is messy, the connection is not.
"He's adorable" you reply smiling at the picture he sent.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Finally, both you and Jermajesty decided on a date.
Saturday. Three days away. You try not to think about the fact that you leave Monday, that your window of opportunity is painfully small. Instead, you focus on the exciting date you're going to have with him. The anticipation hums under your skin like a second heartbeat.
But if you're being honest with yourself, you're not sure how this whole thing could work. Not really. You're constantly on a plane, flying all over the world, living out of a suitcase in hotel rooms you barely remember. As a flight attendant, you've learned not to think too hard about relationships or love. They never stick. They never fit.
But something about him is alluring. Something about the way he said your name that first night, the way he kissed your knuckles like you were something sacred. You've been dying to go on a date with him since the moment you walked out of that bar. So what's the harm in letting yourself want this? Just this once.
He didn't tell you where he was planning to take you. It's a surprise. He just told you to dress nicely and be ready by 7:00pm Saturday, he'll pick you up.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Friday night you and Bryn are in your apartment, sprawled across your couch, enjoying your last days of freedom. Wine bottles and empty takeout containers litter the coffee table. A cheesy reality show plays on low volume in the background, half-watched, half-ignored.
"So," Bryn says, wiggling her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass, "what are we wearing tomorrow to see Mr. Majesty?"
You laugh at the nickname she gave him. It's ridiculous. It's also kind of perfect.
"I'm not sure yet. But that's why I got you, my friend." You stand, grabbing her hand. "You can help me choose."
You drag her into your room and throw open your closet, pulling out a few options. A little black dress, a red number you've been saving for a special occasion, a flowy floral midi, and the emerald, green one Bryn's been eyeing since she walked in.
"Alright. What you think?"
Bryn sets down her wine glass and walks up to the options like she's judging a fashion competition. She picks up each one, holds it against herself, makes a face, and tosses it aside.
Then she grabs the green one. A strapless, sequin-detailed, mini flare dress that hugs every curve.
"Ooh, this green one is what I'm talking about." She holds it up against your body, nodding approvingly. "Your boobs would look great in this dress, girl. It has been decided. You are wearing it."
You grab the dress, holding it against your body in the mirror. The color is rich, deep, the kind of green that pops against your skin. You can already picture his face when he sees you in it.
"You think he's gonna make a move?" Bryn asks, picking at her nails, feigning casualness.
"A move? Bryn, we haven't even been on a date yet."
"Girl." She looks at you like you've lost your mind. "That man kissed your hand at a bar. He's already made a move. Tomorrow he's just confirming."
You roll your eyes, but she's not entirely wrong. Your mind drifts to the way he looked at you, like you were the only woman in the room. The way his voice dropped when he said gorgeous.
"Just... don't fall too fast, okay?" Bryn's voice softens, the teasing edge fading into something genuine. "I know you. You give your whole heart to people who haven't even asked for it yet. Protect yourself a little."
"I will."
"I'm serious. He seems great, but you deserve great. Don't settle for less just because he bought you a drink and called you pretty."
You smile at her, warmth blooming in your chest. "I love you."
"I love you too." She grins, mischief returning to her eyes. "Now send me his location tomorrow so I know where to find the body if he tries something."
"Bryn!"
"I'M KIDDING..." She pauses. "...Mostly."
You laugh, shaking your head, and start gathering the rejected dresses to take back to your closet. You're about to head to the bathroom when your phone buzzes on the coffee table.
"Ooh, lover boy is calling," Bryn sings, picking up your phone and handing it to you. She's already settled back on the couch, scrolling for a movie. "In the meantime, I'll pick something for us to watch. Don't take too long! I'm not watching the first fifteen minutes without you."
You take the phone, already smiling. "Heyyy, you."
"Hey, you."
But his voice sounds different. Tired. Strained. Something in your chest tightens immediately, a knot you didn't know was there pulling tight.
"What's wrong?"
He lets out a long breath, and you hear the weight in it. "I'm so sorry. I have to cancel tomorrow."
The words land like a punch to the gut. The smile slides off your face. "Oh."
Out of everything you were expecting, that was the last thing. You feel the air leave your lungs, the anticipation you've been carrying all week deflating in an instant.
"I'm really sorry. Some family business came up. Me and my siblings have to fly to New York tonight." He pauses, and you hear him exhale, frustrated. "I really am sorry, beautiful. I'll make it up to you. I know you leave Monday. But the second you come back, the second you're free I don't care what I have to move around. I'll make sure I see you."
You close your eyes. The disappointment is sharp, but you push it down. You think for a minute— family comes first. And you meant it.
"Hey." Your voice comes out softer than you expected. "It's alright. Family comes first. Always."
There's a long pause on his end. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost vulnerable. "You're not mad?"
"Disappointed." You force a small smile he can't see. "Not mad. There's a difference."
"I'll make it up to you. I promise."
"You better."
He lets out a breath, part laugh, part relief. "I will. I swear on everything."
"Okay. Well, I should get back to Bryn before she bites my head off for taking too long. We're having a girls' night."
"Okay, gorgeous. I hope to see you soon."
"Yeah." Your voice drops, almost a whisper. "Be careful, Jermajesty. I hope to find you again."
The line goes quiet for a moment.
"I hope I do too," he says softly.
You hang up first, staring at your phone for a long moment. The screen goes dark. You blink, and the disappointment settles into your bones.
You walk back into the living room, trying to school your features, but Bryn looks up from her phone and her face changes immediately.
"Ughhh, I had the hardest time choosing some — hey. Babe. What's wrong?"
She's already sitting up, full attention on you. Your face must be doing something you can't control, because she looks genuinely concerned.
You explain. The call. The cancellation. New York. The promise to make it up to you.
Bryn listens, her expression shifting from concern to frustration to something like sympathy. When you're done, she falls back against the couch cushions and lets out a long breath.
"That actually fucking sucks," she says.
You don't disagree.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
A month had passed since that Friday night.
A whole month.
You've been working nonstop red-eyes, early mornings, turnarounds that leave you dizzy and disoriented, unsure which city you're waking up in. You haven't had time for yourself, let alone anyone else. As the weeks passed, you tried to text Jermajesty as much as you could. You really did. But the constant back-and-forth slowly dwindled, the way all things do when life gets loud. The texts became less frequent. The gaps between them grew wider.
You're not pulling away on purpose. You're just... busy. Overwhelmed. Stretched thin in a way that leaves nothing left over for anyone else. And somewhere in the back of your mind, it's easier to focus on the people in front of you. Passengers, crewmates, the stranger in 14B who needs a pillow, then the beautiful man waiting on the other side of the country. Because thinking about him means wanting him. And wanting him means facing the fact that you can't have him right now.
You're currently in a hotel room in Spain. It's three in the morning. The city hums quietly outside your window, foreign and unfamiliar, and you're lying on a bed that isn't yours, finally — finally — with a proper moment to open your messages.
The last text from him is from five days ago.
Jermajesty: thinking of you. hope you're okay.
You stare at it. The guilt settles heavy in your stomach.
You type something. Delete it. Type something else. Delete that too.
What do you even say? Hey, sorry I disappeared? Hey, sorry I've been a ghost for almost a week?
Nothing sounds right. Nothing feels like enough.
You put the phone down on the nightstand, face-up, as if waiting for it to do something on its own.
You tell yourself you'll reply tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes. And goes.
And so the days continue passing.
Tonight, you're the only flight attendant on a small flight, just fifteen passengers from New York City back to L.A. A milk run. Easy. You can finally go back home and sleep in your own bed, and the thought alone is enough to carry you through.
You're grateful for the distraction. The routine of it, the safety demos, the drink service, the familiar rhythm of the cabin grounds you in a way nothing else has lately. You're in your element. You're in control. Up here, at thirty thousand feet, you know exactly who you are and what you're doing.
The cabin is quiet tonight. Business travelers, a couple on what looks like an anniversary trip, a man in the front row who's already asleep before takeoff. You move through the aisle with practiced ease, offering drinks, checking seatbelt signs, smiling through the exhaustion that has settled deep into your bones.
You're halfway through the service when you feel it.
That prickle on the back of your neck. The one you've learned to trust over years of this job the instinct that tells you a passenger needs something. Or wants something. Or is watching you.
You turn, professional smile already in place, ready to ask if they'd like a drink.
And then you see him.
Jermajesty.
He's sitting near the back of the small cabin you almost missed him. He's wearing a simple hoodie and sweatpants, a beanie hiding his curls. Nothing like the polished, man from the bar. He looks softer. Rougher. Real. And he's looking at you like you're the only person on the plane.
Like he's been waiting for you.
Like he knew you'd be here.
Your breath catches. Your heart slams against your ribs. The drink cart rolls to a stop in front of you, and you're frozen, gripping the handle so tight your knuckles go white.
He smiles. That same slow, devastating smile from the bar a month ago.
And he says, low enough that only you can hear:
"Hey, baby."
The word hangs in the air between you, thick as the cabin pressure.
You open your mouth. Close it. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to reconcile the man from your texts with the man sitting in front of you right now. The two feel like different people, the one-dimensional voice on the other end of a phone, and the warm, breathing, real presence in front of you.
"Jermajesty." His name comes out breathless. "What — what are you doing here?"
He takes a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm flying back home."
"I can see that." You lower your voice, aware of the other passengers, the entire goddamn plane that suddenly feels too small. "I mean — how did you — did you know I'd be on this flight?"
"I might've done some digging."
"You might've?"
"Okay, I did." He holds your gaze, unapologetic. "You told me you worked for the airline. I looked up the crew schedule. Educated guess."
Your jaw drops. "That's — that's insane."
"Is it?" He tilts his head, studying you. There's no arrogance in his voice just honesty. "I haven't heard from you in almost two weeks. You disappeared. I did what I had to do to see you again."
"You could've just texted me."
"I did." His voice is quiet. Not accusatory. Just pointed. "You didn't text back."
The guilt hits you like a slap. You look away at the bulkhead, at the overhead bin, at the safety card wedged in the seat pocket in front of you. Anywhere but his eyes.
"I'm sorry. Work has been crazy and —"
"Hey." His voice softens. "No, don't apologize. I get it. I'm just happy I found you again. Like I promised."
You look back at him. He's smiling genuine, warm, without a trace of resentment.
You smile too, unable to help yourself.
"I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything right now." He reaches out and gently touches your hand just a brush of his fingers against yours. "Finish your shift. We'll talk when we land. Okay?"
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He lets go of your hand, and the absence of his touch feels colder than the cabin air.
You step back, grab the drink cart, and continue down the aisle like nothing happened.
But your hands are shaking.
And your heart hasn't stopped racing.
The rest of the flight is torture.
Not in a bad way in the way that makes the seconds feel like hours. You're wishing for the plane to go faster, wishing you could skip ahead to the part where you're on solid ground with him. You're growing impatient, restless, and Jer being here just a few feet away, close enough to touch is not making it easier.
Every time you walk past him, you feel his eyes on you. Every time you offer him a drink or a snack, his fingers brush yours a second longer than necessary. He doesn't push. He doesn't pressure. He just waits, patient and steady, like he's already decided how this ends.
By the time the plane starts its descent, you're a mess of nerves and anticipation.
The seatbelt sign dings on. You take your jumpseat across from him, close enough to see the way his chest rises and falls, the way his fingers tap restlessly on his knee.
He catches you looking and smiles.
Busted.
You look away, heat rising to your cheeks.
The landing is smooth. The passengers start gathering their things, the usual shuffle of bags and coats and impatience. You stand in the galley, helping with bags, saying goodbye, going through the motions but your focus is elsewhere. You're counting down the seconds until the cabin empties.
And then he's there. Standing in front of you. The last passenger off the plane.
He's close enough that you catch his scent the same cologne from the bar, warm and familiar. It hits you like a wave of memory.
"Meet me at the exit of the airport, okay?"
You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Sure."
He leans in, just a fraction. "By the way, you look totally gorgeous in your uniform."
He smirks. Smooth as always.
And then he turns and walks down the jetbridge, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, a smile you can't wipe off your face.
You finish your duties in a blur paperwork, debrief, grabbing your suitcase from the crew hold. Every movement feels automatic, your mind already miles ahead, already at the airport exit.
When you finally make your way out, you see him leaning against a pillar near the doors, scrolling through his phone. He's dressed down, casual, nothing like the polished stranger from the bar. And yet he still takes your breath away.
You stop right in front of him.
"Hey, you."
He looks up, and the smile that spreads across his face is worth every missed text, every sleepless night, every doubt you've carried this past month.
"Hey, gorgeous." He pockets his phone, giving you his full attention. "So I'm assuming you're back home for another break?"
"Yup. Another two weeks." You tilt your head, studying him. "Why?"
He steps closer. "Come to my place tonight."
You blink, caught off guard. "Are you sure?"
"Woman, I've been waiting for you for what feels like forever." His voice is low, sincere. "So yes, I'm sure. I'll cook for you. You can get comfortable. We'll watch a movie. Just the two of us."
Your chest warms. It's so simple. So domestic. So him.
"Okay, Jermajesty." You pause, a playful glint in your eyes. "Just one condition."
"Anything for you, gorgeous."
"As long as you cook me some alfredo pasta."
He lets out a laugh warm, genuine, relief and joy tangled together in the sound.
"Deal, baby."
And when he reaches for your hand this time, you let him take it.
yalllll i finally lock in and wrote part two. please tell me yall are proud. anywayy you can find part one here. love yall my babies.
You wake up the next morning with sunlight creeping through your bedroom curtains, casting soft golden streaks across your ceiling. The ghost of a hand still tingles on your skin, you can almost feel the warmth of his fingers, the brush of his lips against your knuckles.
You rub your eyes and stretch, limbs heavy with sleep. For a moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the night in fragments. The bar. The peach martini. The way he kissed your hand like you were something precious.
Then it hits you... the text!
You remember sending it last night, your heart pounding as you typed those two little words. Hey baby. You were too nervous to wait for a reply, too scared to see if he'd respond or if the night had meant more to you than it did to him. You'd tossed your phone aside and forced yourself to sleep.
Now you sit up, heart already racing, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. The screen lights up and you see it, a few unopened messages. You smile before you even read them.
Jermajesty: and here i thought i imagined you.
You bite your lip. He texted you an hour after you sent your message last night. A response that came late enough to show he wasn't desperate, but early enough to prove he was thinking about you too.
You type slowly, savoring the moment.
You: good morning, sorry i dropped dead last night
You also decide to reply to his little message from last night, a smirk playing on your lips.
You: you wish...
Not even thirty seconds pass before the three dots appear. He's typing. Your stomach flips.
Two messages come through back to back.
Jermajesty: good morning, gorgeous
Jermajesty: people have told me i have a big imagination. you just happen to be better than anything i could've come up with in my head
You laugh out loud, tossing an arm over your face, phone pressed to your chest like it's a secret.
Smooth bastard.
Handsome, smooth bastard.
You type back before you can overthink it.
You: flattery will get you everywhere, you know that?
Jermajesty: good. because i have a lot more where that came from.
You: oh yeah? like what?
Jermajesty: like i think about the way you bit your lip when you were thinking. and the way you smell, like vanilla and something sweet. and the way your eyes went wide when i kissed your hand like you weren't expecting it.
You stare at the screen, heat creeping up your neck. You read it twice. Three times.
You: you pay attention.
Jermajesty: to you? always.
You bite your lip so hard you're surprised it doesn't bleed. Your phone feels hot in your hands, or maybe that's just you.
You: so what now?
Jermajesty: now? you tell me what you're doing today. and i figure out how to see you again.
You look around your apartment — the messy bed, the half-open curtains, the pile of laundry you've been ignoring for three days. You smile to yourself, already planning your outfit, already counting down the hours.
You: today i'm free. tomorrow too. and the day after that.
Jermajesty: good. because i plan on taking up all of them.
You set your phone down and scream silently into your pillow.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
The first week of your break is a blur of texts, voice notes, and phone calls that stretch into the early hours of the morning. You learn things about each other in the quiet spaces between words — the way he laughs at his own jokes before he finishes them, the way he says your name like he's tasting it.
You learn that he's a total nerd. A real one. He loves anything involving anime — classics, new releases, the ones with complicated plots you need a flowchart to follow. He tries to explain the lore of Attack on Titan to you over a phone call, and you listen with a smile, understanding maybe half of it, but finding it genuinely adorable how passionate he gets. He catches himself rambling at one point and goes quiet.
"Sorry, I'm boring you."
"Not boring me. I like hearing you talk about things you love."
There's a pause. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "You know, that's rare. Most people just glaze over."
"Most people aren't me."
"No," he says quietly. "They're not."
You truly love talking to him. He's charismatic — the kind of charming that doesn't feel rehearsed. He's respectful, always checking in, always making sure you're comfortable. He's everything you've been looking for in a man, even if you weren't sure that man existed until now.
But unfortunately for both of you, life gets in the way.
The anticipated date never really happens. Not for lack of wanting. Not for lack of trying. But two weeks is not enough time — not when you have a mountain of errands to climb, a life to wrangle back into shape before you're back in the air. Doctor's appointments. Laundry that's been piling up for months. Catching up with family who've been missing you. The mundane, necessary chaos of being a person with a full life.
Jermajesty understands. He never once makes you feel guilty for it.
Instead, he makes sure you feel seen.
A bouquet of flowers arrives on your doorstep two days after you mention, offhandedly, that you love peonies. He remembers. He remembers. You stare at the arrangement for a full minute, a hand pressed to your chest.
Then there's the breakfast delivery on a morning you text him that you're exhausted. A full spread; pancakes, fresh fruit, orange juice, a little note tucked inside that just says: "Fuel for the beautiful. — J"
He sends you a voice note before bed, just to say goodnight. He sends you a picture of his dog Duke sleeping in his lap, with the caption: "can't wait for you to meet him"
Every detail, every gesture, is a reminder that he's not going anywhere. That even though the timing is messy, the connection is not.
"He's adorable" you reply smiling at the picture he sent.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Finally, both you and Jermajesty decided on a date.
Saturday. Three days away. You try not to think about the fact that you leave Monday, that your window of opportunity is painfully small. Instead, you focus on the exciting date you're going to have with him. The anticipation hums under your skin like a second heartbeat.
But if you're being honest with yourself, you're not sure how this whole thing could work. Not really. You're constantly on a plane, flying all over the world, living out of a suitcase in hotel rooms you barely remember. As a flight attendant, you've learned not to think too hard about relationships or love. They never stick. They never fit.
But something about him is alluring. Something about the way he said your name that first night, the way he kissed your knuckles like you were something sacred. You've been dying to go on a date with him since the moment you walked out of that bar. So what's the harm in letting yourself want this? Just this once.
He didn't tell you where he was planning to take you. It's a surprise. He just told you to dress nicely and be ready by 7:00pm Saturday, he'll pick you up.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Friday night you and Bryn are in your apartment, sprawled across your couch, enjoying your last days of freedom. Wine bottles and empty takeout containers litter the coffee table. A cheesy reality show plays on low volume in the background, half-watched, half-ignored.
"So," Bryn says, wiggling her eyebrows over the rim of her wine glass, "what are we wearing tomorrow to see Mr. Majesty?"
You laugh at the nickname she gave him. It's ridiculous. It's also kind of perfect.
"I'm not sure yet. But that's why I got you, my friend." You stand, grabbing her hand. "You can help me choose."
You drag her into your room and throw open your closet, pulling out a few options. A little black dress, a red number you've been saving for a special occasion, a flowy floral midi, and the emerald, green one Bryn's been eyeing since she walked in.
"Alright. What you think?"
Bryn sets down her wine glass and walks up to the options like she's judging a fashion competition. She picks up each one, holds it against herself, makes a face, and tosses it aside.
Then she grabs the green one. A strapless, sequin-detailed, mini flare dress that hugs every curve.
"Ooh, this green one is what I'm talking about." She holds it up against your body, nodding approvingly. "Your boobs would look great in this dress, girl. It has been decided. You are wearing it."
You grab the dress, holding it against your body in the mirror. The color is rich, deep, the kind of green that pops against your skin. You can already picture his face when he sees you in it.
"You think he's gonna make a move?" Bryn asks, picking at her nails, feigning casualness.
"A move? Bryn, we haven't even been on a date yet."
"Girl." She looks at you like you've lost your mind. "That man kissed your hand at a bar. He's already made a move. Tomorrow he's just confirming."
You roll your eyes, but she's not entirely wrong. Your mind drifts to the way he looked at you, like you were the only woman in the room. The way his voice dropped when he said gorgeous.
"Just... don't fall too fast, okay?" Bryn's voice softens, the teasing edge fading into something genuine. "I know you. You give your whole heart to people who haven't even asked for it yet. Protect yourself a little."
"I will."
"I'm serious. He seems great, but you deserve great. Don't settle for less just because he bought you a drink and called you pretty."
You smile at her, warmth blooming in your chest. "I love you."
"I love you too." She grins, mischief returning to her eyes. "Now send me his location tomorrow so I know where to find the body if he tries something."
"Bryn!"
"I'M KIDDING..." She pauses. "...Mostly."
You laugh, shaking your head, and start gathering the rejected dresses to take back to your closet. You're about to head to the bathroom when your phone buzzes on the coffee table.
"Ooh, lover boy is calling," Bryn sings, picking up your phone and handing it to you. She's already settled back on the couch, scrolling for a movie. "In the meantime, I'll pick something for us to watch. Don't take too long! I'm not watching the first fifteen minutes without you."
You take the phone, already smiling. "Heyyy, you."
"Hey, you."
But his voice sounds different. Tired. Strained. Something in your chest tightens immediately, a knot you didn't know was there pulling tight.
"What's wrong?"
He lets out a long breath, and you hear the weight in it. "I'm so sorry. I have to cancel tomorrow."
The words land like a punch to the gut. The smile slides off your face. "Oh."
Out of everything you were expecting, that was the last thing. You feel the air leave your lungs, the anticipation you've been carrying all week deflating in an instant.
"I'm really sorry. Some family business came up. Me and my siblings have to fly to New York tonight." He pauses, and you hear him exhale, frustrated. "I really am sorry, beautiful. I'll make it up to you. I know you leave Monday. But the second you come back, the second you're free I don't care what I have to move around. I'll make sure I see you."
You close your eyes. The disappointment is sharp, but you push it down. You think for a minute— family comes first. And you meant it.
"Hey." Your voice comes out softer than you expected. "It's alright. Family comes first. Always."
There's a long pause on his end. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, almost vulnerable. "You're not mad?"
"Disappointed." You force a small smile he can't see. "Not mad. There's a difference."
"I'll make it up to you. I promise."
"You better."
He lets out a breath, part laugh, part relief. "I will. I swear on everything."
"Okay. Well, I should get back to Bryn before she bites my head off for taking too long. We're having a girls' night."
"Okay, gorgeous. I hope to see you soon."
"Yeah." Your voice drops, almost a whisper. "Be careful, Jermajesty. I hope to find you again."
The line goes quiet for a moment.
"I hope I do too," he says softly.
You hang up first, staring at your phone for a long moment. The screen goes dark. You blink, and the disappointment settles into your bones.
You walk back into the living room, trying to school your features, but Bryn looks up from her phone and her face changes immediately.
"Ughhh, I had the hardest time choosing some — hey. Babe. What's wrong?"
She's already sitting up, full attention on you. Your face must be doing something you can't control, because she looks genuinely concerned.
You explain. The call. The cancellation. New York. The promise to make it up to you.
Bryn listens, her expression shifting from concern to frustration to something like sympathy. When you're done, she falls back against the couch cushions and lets out a long breath.
"That actually fucking sucks," she says.
You don't disagree.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
A month had passed since that Friday night.
A whole month.
You've been working nonstop red-eyes, early mornings, turnarounds that leave you dizzy and disoriented, unsure which city you're waking up in. You haven't had time for yourself, let alone anyone else. As the weeks passed, you tried to text Jermajesty as much as you could. You really did. But the constant back-and-forth slowly dwindled, the way all things do when life gets loud. The texts became less frequent. The gaps between them grew wider.
You're not pulling away on purpose. You're just... busy. Overwhelmed. Stretched thin in a way that leaves nothing left over for anyone else. And somewhere in the back of your mind, it's easier to focus on the people in front of you. Passengers, crewmates, the stranger in 14B who needs a pillow, then the beautiful man waiting on the other side of the country. Because thinking about him means wanting him. And wanting him means facing the fact that you can't have him right now.
You're currently in a hotel room in Spain. It's three in the morning. The city hums quietly outside your window, foreign and unfamiliar, and you're lying on a bed that isn't yours, finally — finally — with a proper moment to open your messages.
The last text from him is from five days ago.
Jermajesty: thinking of you. hope you're okay.
You stare at it. The guilt settles heavy in your stomach.
You type something. Delete it. Type something else. Delete that too.
What do you even say? Hey, sorry I disappeared? Hey, sorry I've been a ghost for almost a week?
Nothing sounds right. Nothing feels like enough.
You put the phone down on the nightstand, face-up, as if waiting for it to do something on its own.
You tell yourself you'll reply tomorrow.
Tomorrow comes. And goes.
And so the days continue passing.
Tonight, you're the only flight attendant on a small flight, just fifteen passengers from New York City back to L.A. A milk run. Easy. You can finally go back home and sleep in your own bed, and the thought alone is enough to carry you through.
You're grateful for the distraction. The routine of it, the safety demos, the drink service, the familiar rhythm of the cabin grounds you in a way nothing else has lately. You're in your element. You're in control. Up here, at thirty thousand feet, you know exactly who you are and what you're doing.
The cabin is quiet tonight. Business travelers, a couple on what looks like an anniversary trip, a man in the front row who's already asleep before takeoff. You move through the aisle with practiced ease, offering drinks, checking seatbelt signs, smiling through the exhaustion that has settled deep into your bones.
You're halfway through the service when you feel it.
That prickle on the back of your neck. The one you've learned to trust over years of this job the instinct that tells you a passenger needs something. Or wants something. Or is watching you.
You turn, professional smile already in place, ready to ask if they'd like a drink.
And then you see him.
Jermajesty.
He's sitting near the back of the small cabin you almost missed him. He's wearing a simple hoodie and sweatpants, a beanie hiding his curls. Nothing like the polished, man from the bar. He looks softer. Rougher. Real. And he's looking at you like you're the only person on the plane.
Like he's been waiting for you.
Like he knew you'd be here.
Your breath catches. Your heart slams against your ribs. The drink cart rolls to a stop in front of you, and you're frozen, gripping the handle so tight your knuckles go white.
He smiles. That same slow, devastating smile from the bar a month ago.
And he says, low enough that only you can hear:
"Hey, baby."
The word hangs in the air between you, thick as the cabin pressure.
You open your mouth. Close it. Your brain is short-circuiting, trying to reconcile the man from your texts with the man sitting in front of you right now. The two feel like different people, the one-dimensional voice on the other end of a phone, and the warm, breathing, real presence in front of you.
"Jermajesty." His name comes out breathless. "What — what are you doing here?"
He takes a slow breath, eyes never leaving yours. "I'm flying back home."
"I can see that." You lower your voice, aware of the other passengers, the entire goddamn plane that suddenly feels too small. "I mean — how did you — did you know I'd be on this flight?"
"I might've done some digging."
"You might've?"
"Okay, I did." He holds your gaze, unapologetic. "You told me you worked for the airline. I looked up the crew schedule. Educated guess."
Your jaw drops. "That's — that's insane."
"Is it?" He tilts his head, studying you. There's no arrogance in his voice just honesty. "I haven't heard from you in almost two weeks. You disappeared. I did what I had to do to see you again."
"You could've just texted me."
"I did." His voice is quiet. Not accusatory. Just pointed. "You didn't text back."
The guilt hits you like a slap. You look away at the bulkhead, at the overhead bin, at the safety card wedged in the seat pocket in front of you. Anywhere but his eyes.
"I'm sorry. Work has been crazy and —"
"Hey." His voice softens. "No, don't apologize. I get it. I'm just happy I found you again. Like I promised."
You look back at him. He's smiling genuine, warm, without a trace of resentment.
You smile too, unable to help yourself.
"I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything right now." He reaches out and gently touches your hand just a brush of his fingers against yours. "Finish your shift. We'll talk when we land. Okay?"
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He lets go of your hand, and the absence of his touch feels colder than the cabin air.
You step back, grab the drink cart, and continue down the aisle like nothing happened.
But your hands are shaking.
And your heart hasn't stopped racing.
The rest of the flight is torture.
Not in a bad way in the way that makes the seconds feel like hours. You're wishing for the plane to go faster, wishing you could skip ahead to the part where you're on solid ground with him. You're growing impatient, restless, and Jer being here just a few feet away, close enough to touch is not making it easier.
Every time you walk past him, you feel his eyes on you. Every time you offer him a drink or a snack, his fingers brush yours a second longer than necessary. He doesn't push. He doesn't pressure. He just waits, patient and steady, like he's already decided how this ends.
By the time the plane starts its descent, you're a mess of nerves and anticipation.
The seatbelt sign dings on. You take your jumpseat across from him, close enough to see the way his chest rises and falls, the way his fingers tap restlessly on his knee.
He catches you looking and smiles.
Busted.
You look away, heat rising to your cheeks.
The landing is smooth. The passengers start gathering their things, the usual shuffle of bags and coats and impatience. You stand in the galley, helping with bags, saying goodbye, going through the motions but your focus is elsewhere. You're counting down the seconds until the cabin empties.
And then he's there. Standing in front of you. The last passenger off the plane.
He's close enough that you catch his scent the same cologne from the bar, warm and familiar. It hits you like a wave of memory.
"Meet me at the exit of the airport, okay?"
You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Sure."
He leans in, just a fraction. "By the way, you look totally gorgeous in your uniform."
He smirks. Smooth as always.
And then he turns and walks down the jetbridge, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, a smile you can't wipe off your face.
You finish your duties in a blur paperwork, debrief, grabbing your suitcase from the crew hold. Every movement feels automatic, your mind already miles ahead, already at the airport exit.
When you finally make your way out, you see him leaning against a pillar near the doors, scrolling through his phone. He's dressed down, casual, nothing like the polished stranger from the bar. And yet he still takes your breath away.
You stop right in front of him.
"Hey, you."
He looks up, and the smile that spreads across his face is worth every missed text, every sleepless night, every doubt you've carried this past month.
"Hey, gorgeous." He pockets his phone, giving you his full attention. "So I'm assuming you're back home for another break?"
"Yup. Another two weeks." You tilt your head, studying him. "Why?"
He steps closer. "Come to my place tonight."
You blink, caught off guard. "Are you sure?"
"Woman, I've been waiting for you for what feels like forever." His voice is low, sincere. "So yes, I'm sure. I'll cook for you. You can get comfortable. We'll watch a movie. Just the two of us."
Your chest warms. It's so simple. So domestic. So him.
"Okay, Jermajesty." You pause, a playful glint in your eyes. "Just one condition."
"Anything for you, gorgeous."
"As long as you cook me some alfredo pasta."
He lets out a laugh warm, genuine, relief and joy tangled together in the sound.
"Deal, baby."
And when he reaches for your hand this time, you let him take it.
Synopsis: Meeting your new boyfriends family was intimidating, specially because he is a Jackson, but fear not, you have way more in common that you realize
WARNINGS: implied curly haired reader, curvy!reader as always, it’s implied reader has a little bit of an accent while speaking(this is a little self indulgent idc) literally nothing else, fluff at every turn, also spanish but i’ll give you the translation don’t worry
Y/H/C= your home country
A/N: MY LATINAS THIS ONES FOR USSSSS EVERYBODY CHEER!!!!!! i hope you guys like this one🥹 Also the way i wrote Alejandra is kind of an ode to my mommy lmao, so have fun
requested by: @cherryxkissed 💗
This content is NOT AI and shall NOT be used to train AI
You’ve changed your outfit like five times now, saying you were nervous was an understatement. In about 15 minutes Jermajesty is supposed to pick you up to go to his mom’s house…to meet his family for the very first time. You really like Jermajesty, he was the perfect man for you, and you really didn’t want to blow this.
You end up going for this outfit and you do your normal everyday makeup, a couple minutes later, Jermajesty is knocking on your door.
“Hi” you say as you open the door
“Hello pretty girl” he says before giving you a sweet peck “Are you ready?
No the fuck you aren’t, you’ve never been less ready for something in your life
“I guess” you giggle putting your purse on your shoulder, he smiles softly and takes your hand after you close your door
“Nah they’re gonna love you” he says opening the car door for you, you get in
“Thank you” you smile “I hope so”
“You’ll see”
…
The house was big, and loud, even from the porch you could hear the loud chattering, in some way it reminded you of your own home. Quickly after Jer knocks on the door, you hear a loud “Yo Jers here”, a tall, smiley man opens the door, that one has to be Randy.
“Hey man” he immediately daps up Jermajesty before looking at you, then looking back at him with a knowing grin “Oh shit we got company today” he smiles extending his hand out to you “I’m Randy”
“I know” you smile and take his hand “i’m Y/N”
“We’ve heard nonstop about you” Randy says “Come in come in”
“Oh have you?” you smile and look back at Jermajesty, who’s mouthing a small “dude” at Randy
“Oh yeah the man won’t shut up” Randy laughs, just as you’re about to reply, you see his other two siblings, Jaafar and Genevieve already waiting for you
“Oh look at you” Genevieve immediately walked up to you to hug you “Your gorgeous you must be Y/N” She smiles at you as you nod “I’m Genevieve it’s so nice to finally meet you”
“And i’m Jaafar hi” he gives you the sweetest smile as he stands his hand out to you.
Before you can even register it you were on the living room surrounded by his siblings —who you’ve never met— asking you all types of questions about yourself, and they’re so eager to know everything, speaking over each other, smiling so big.
“So how did you two meet?”
“How’s my brother treating you?”
“What do you do for work?”
“What-“
Suddenly, in the mist of all the chaos a woman comes into the living space, beautiful blow out hair, simple makeup, smelling like a whole bath and body workshop. Her smile was warm as she looked at you and she opened her arms so big to hug you
“Oh my goodness how beautiful are you?” she pulls away from you now putting her hands on your cheeks, your expression is nothing short of pure shock “Look at your hair and your face, Jerma she’s beautiful” she says now looking at Jermajesty
“I know mom, and i’m here too” he said putting his arms out, waiting for his mom to acknowledge him, she laughs and goes to him, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek
“What’s your name?” she directs her attention back towards you as you tell her your name and you how nice is meeting her and how much Maj talks about her.
But she immediately notices something in the way you speak, the way you look, your body….could it be?
“And where are you from darling?” she says
“Y/H/C ma’am but i’ve been living in LA for a while now” you say smiling
She gasps, did you say something wrong? are you still gonna have a boyfriend when the day ends?
“Tu eres latina?” she says holding a hand to her heart (Are you latina?)
“Si señora” you say smiling (Yes ma’am)
“AY por fin” she says hugging you tightly, you reciprocate (finally) “Por fin alguien bajo este techo me va a entender lo que estoy diciendo” (finally someone in this house is going to understand what i’m saying)
“¿Ellos no hablan?” you ask, now looking at her (They don’t speak?)
She looked dramatically toward the living room where Jer, Randy, Jaafar and Genevieve were already pretending they weren’t listening.
“Nada, y siempre están molestándome que con mi acento y que no me entienden nada” she scoffed (Nothing, and they’re always teasing me with my accent and saying they don’t understand nothing)
You throw your head back laughing
“Hey so…translation?” Genevieve asked
Alejandra rolls her eyes “She’s latina, i finally have someone in my corner who understands me…and won’t tease me for my accent”
“Yeah Maj teasing your own mother for her accent is crazy” you say now locking your arm with Alejandra’s, Jermajesty is stunned to say the least
“B-Baby” he chuckles “It wasn’t that bad”
On the other side of the living room, Genevieve, Randy and Jaafar are whispering to each other and laughing at how just one look from you and Jermajesty is a nervous wreck
…
After eating, Alejandra took you to the backyard, eager to know all about you, and so that’s what you did, you told her about your parents, your traditions, your favorite hometown food —She promised to make it for you sometime— everything about her reminded you of your mom, you couldn’t help smile and just hoping this wasn’t a dream.
Every time you got excited your accent got thicker, and Jer honestly thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever heard.
“She’s getting that seal of approval fast” Genevieve said to Jermajesty, who was looking at the backyard attentively “Took my husband a couple months to get all buddy buddy with mom”
“Yeah man i think this is the first and last time you bring someone home, if you let her go mom kills you” Randy and Jaafar chuckle
“She was so nervous too” Jermajesty said looking at his siblings
“What? how? she fits right in” Jaafar said
…
“I miss home you know?” Alejandra said sitting back on the lounge chair, looking at you like you were the only person who truly understood what she meant
“I know Mrs Jackson” you give her a kind smile
“Please, is Ale for you, Mrs make me feel old” she says fake shivering making you laugh “How does my Jerma treat you?”
You sigh “He’s amazing, perfect gentleman” you nod at her “You did a wonderful job Miss Ale”
She looks at you with tears in her eyes “He’s my youngest, my baby” she chuckles “i’m glad he found you” she grabs your hand “now i have a friend to talk to in Spanish”
You look at her fondly “Anytime you want Miss Ale”
“Ma” Jermajesty comes into the backyard “Can i have my girlfriend back please” he steps in front of both of yall sulking like a little kid
“Ay you’re so toxic Jerma, let her have some peace” she said, you get up from your chair putting your arm around his waist
“You having fun” he looked down at you
“The most” you smile at him
As the day fades away, you two say your goodbyes, telling everyone how nice it was meeting them. When you get to Alejandra, she hugs you tightly
“Cuídamelo” (take care of him) she says holding your face softly, planting a sweet kiss of your cheek
You nod “Se lo prometo” (I promise)
And justice like that, Jermajesty and you walk back to his car, driving to your apartment
“So, yall are besties huh?” he asks you as he drives
“She’s so sweet Maj” you look at him “I really had nothing to worry about”
“I did tell you that but you never listen to me girl” he says grabbing your hand, interlocking your fingers with his “I am glad yall liked eachother…I don’t like that i can’t understand what yall are saying in spanish tho” he says, you shrug
“That seems like a you problem mi amor, should’ve listen to your mom when you were younger and learned it”
He laughs and brings your hand to his lips, giving it a sweet kiss
“You sound just like her too” he chuckles
Miss Ale
Mi niña, ya eres una Jackson, eres bienvenida cuando quieras ❤️
(My girl, you’re already a Jackson, you’re welcomed here anytime)
You smile softly at your phone.
And here you thought you were gonna blow this…
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EKKKK THIS IS SO CUTIEEEEE also first time including my mother language in my fics everyone cheer
i just wanted to come here and say, tysm for all the likes my jermajesty ff got (and keeps getting) it makes my heart so happy!!! i thought it wasn't going to get any engagement but i'm glad i was proven wrong. also so happy i got followers from it, thank you truly.
i plan to write more, i'm currently have a michael ff in the works so expect something soon my lovies. if you have any requests, send them my way don't be shy hehe. i can't wait to start building a community here love yaaa!!
warnings: use of y/n like twice and mentions of alcohol
hii cuties, this is my first attempt at writing here so pls don’t bully me if this is ass 😭 has been years since I wrote a fanfic but here i am again. here’s an idea that’s been floating in my head for weeks now…
"I needed this like yesterday," your best friend Bryn exclaims, sipping on her wine her manicured fingers delicately clasping the glass.
"Mhm, tell me about it" you say, sipping your own glass of wine as the sweet flavor coats your tongue.
After weeks of nonstop work, you and Bryn finally got a break and decided to press pause on your busy schedules and actually hang out. You're wearing a cute glittery mini backless dress with strappy heels, feeling yourself, laughing and enjoying the night.
"A peach martini coming up ma'am" the bartender says, sliding peachy color martini across the bar.
You and Bryn look at each other, eyebrows raise.
"Did you order this?"
"No, girl. Maybe it was a mistake."
"Excuse me, I think there's been a confusion. I haven't order anything else," you tell the bartender.
"The gentleman over there order the drink for you." He points to someone further down the bar, sipping his own drink while in an animated conversation with another guy. You turn to look, and he catches your eye. He gives you a small nod and smile.
Oh.
“Oh, thank you” you say politely taking the drink. You give the mystery guy one last look before turning back around.
“Ouuuh, you got a secret admirer bae. And he’s sexy too? I know that’s right." Bryn grins, and you both giggle.
“He’s cute” you say with a shrug.
“Cute?! Baby, that’s a man. And you’re sexy too. Perfect combo if you ask me.” Bryn smirks, swirling her wine.
“Well, if he’s a 'man,' he can come and talk to me” you joke.
“Mhmm. Be careful what you wish for.” She winks at you before sliding off her stool and heading towards the bathroom.
You don’t even have time to react before you hear a deep voice behind you.
“Thought u might want another drink, guess I was right.”
You turn fully to face the mystery man. He's even more handsome up close. Soft curls fall across his forehead, and a small smile plays on his perfectly structured face. He’s wearing a white long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms that make you look a second longer than necessary.
“Uh, yes, thank you. That was really nice of you.” You finally take the drink and sip it. Mmm peachy.
“Can I take a seat and accompany you?” he asks, gesturing to the empty stool beside you.
“Of course.”
He sits, turning his body toward you his knee lightly brushing yours.
“I’m Jermajesty.” He holds out his hand.
“Y/n.” You take his hand, and your breath catches as he carefully brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The gesture is so old-school, so unexpected, it sends a little thrill through you.
“I've never seen you around here before," he says.
“First time me and my best friend come this bar, actually. You come here often?” you ask, making conversation.
"Every now and then." He pauses, his eyes holding yours. "First time I've seen something beautiful, thought.”
You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. You can’t help yourself; your eyes briefly drop to his lips. Gosh. Those lips so perfect to kiss... or bite.
“Do you tell that to every girl you see here?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.
He leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping. "No. You're the first one that's gotten my attention gorgeous."
"Gorgeous, huh?" you repeat, tilting your head. "That's a strong word for someone you just met."
He leans back slightly, studying you like you're more interesting than he expected. "And yet it's the right one."
Okay, that makes you smile. You look down at your drink, then back up at him.
"So, what do you do for a living? Besides shut down compliments from handsome strangers at bars."
You laugh, shaking your head. "I'm a flight attendant. Me and my best friend, Bryn both are actually. We're on a two-week break right now, so we're making the most of it."
His eyebrows lift, interest flickering in his eyes. "A flight attendant huh? That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"The way you carry yourself. The confidence." He pauses, letting his gaze sweep over you once, slow appreciative, but respectful. "And the fact that you're probably used to men trying to get your attention at 30,000 feet."
You smirk. "You'd be surprised. Most of them just want another bag of pretzels."
He laughs, warm and genuine. "I bet you get asked for a lot more than pretzels."
"All the time." You start playing with the stem of your glass. "The trick is knowing which requests are worth entertaining."
"And am I worth entertaining?"
The question lands soft but heavy. You hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel intentional.
"I'm still sitting here, aren't I?"
His smile deepens. He shifts closer, his knee brushing yours under the bar once again. Neither of you pulls away this time.
"So two weeks off, huh? That's a decent amount of time. What do you do with yourself when you're not working?"
"Right now? Sitting at a bar, letting a mysterious man buy me drinks."
"Good answer." He chuckles. "But what about tomorrow? Or the day after?"
You raise an eyebrow. "Why? You trying to fill up my schedule?"
"Maybe." He says it simply, no games. "I'm a man who knows what he wants. And I'd like to see you again. Outside this bar. When you're not distracted by that pretty drink in your hand."
You bite back a smile, looking down at your martini. "You're bold."
"I'm interested. There's a difference."
You look up at him through your lashes. "And what makes you think I'd say yes?"
He leans in, voice dropping low enough that only you can hear. "Because you haven't said no yet."
"So Jermajesty, anything else you think you know?"
"I know enough." He leans forward, resting his forearm on the bar. Closer now. "I know you're wearing something glittery that I'm trying real hard not to stare at. I know you sip your drink slow like you're savoring it. I know you got a smart mouth. And I'm wondering if it's as sweet as it is sharp."
Your stomach flips, the air between both of you thickens. You wet your lips without thinking, and you catch his eyes follow the movement.
"Only one way to find out," you say, voice softer than you intended.
His jaw tightens. Just a flicker. But you caught it.
"Careful, gorgeous. I just might take you up on that."
You hold his stare for a beat too long, neither of you backing down. The bar noise fades around you. It's just him. Just you. And the space between you feels electric.
Suddenly Bryn appears at your elbow, swaying slightly. "Okay bae, I love you but I'm fading fast. You ready?"
You break the stare down with Jermajesty, taking in a deep breath you didn't even realize you were holding. Your faces were closer than you thought, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, close enough that if either of you leaning in just an inch...
Your skin feels hot. Every nerve in your body is dancing in a delicious, dangerous way.
You glance at Jermajesty, then back at Bryn. "Yeah, one sec bae."
You stand, running your hands down the skirt of your pretty dress. Partly to smooth it, partly to give your shaky hands something to do. You turn to him, offering a small smile.
"Well, it was nice talking you, Jermajesty."
He doesn't say anything right away. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pen, and grabs a napkin from the bar. He scribbles something, slides it across to you.
"In case you wanna finish this conversation."
You pick it up, fingers brushing his. The contact is brief, but you feel it all the way down your spine. You don't look at it. You just fold it into your palm and give him a small smile. "I might."
He stands as you get up, and his hand catches yours gently. "I hope you do."
You and Bryn head out. She's already buzzing in your ear, "Oh my god, oh my god, did he give you his number? Let me see!" but you just laugh, tucking the napkin into your clutch.
You laugh interlocking arms with her, "Bryn, chill-"
"I will NOT! You had that man eating you up with his eyes the whole night!"
***
You finally made it to the quiet of your apartment studio, kicking of your heels, and changing into something more comfortable and softer. The napkin is crumpled but you can still read it clearly: Jermajesty and a number.
You stare at your phone for a full minute. You slowly type the number in. Staring at the blank message box.
What do you even say?
You type "hey" delete it. You try again, "it's y/n," delete once again. Too formal.
Then you think about the way he kissed your knuckles. The way he looked at you like you were the only person in the bar.
warnings: use of y/n like twice and mentions of alcohol
hii cuties, this is my first attempt at writing here so pls don’t bully me if this is ass 😭 has been years since I wrote a fanfic but here i am again. here’s an idea that’s been floating in my head for weeks now… you can find part two here.
"I needed this like yesterday," your best friend Bryn exclaims, sipping on her wine her manicured fingers delicately clasping the glass.
"Mhm, tell me about it" you say, sipping your own glass of wine as the sweet flavor coats your tongue.
After weeks of nonstop work, you and Bryn finally got a break and decided to press pause on your busy schedules and actually hang out. You're wearing a cute glittery mini backless dress with strappy heels, feeling yourself, laughing and enjoying the night.
"A peach martini coming up ma'am" the bartender says, sliding peachy color martini across the bar.
You and Bryn look at each other, eyebrows raise.
"Did you order this?"
"No, girl. Maybe it was a mistake."
"Excuse me, I think there's been a confusion. I haven't order anything else," you tell the bartender.
"The gentleman over there order the drink for you." He points to someone further down the bar, sipping his own drink while in an animated conversation with another guy. You turn to look, and he catches your eye. He gives you a small nod and smile.
Oh.
“Oh, thank you” you say politely taking the drink. You give the mystery guy one last look before turning back around.
“Ouuuh, you got a secret admirer bae. And he’s sexy too? I know that’s right." Bryn grins, and you both giggle.
“He’s cute” you say with a shrug.
“Cute?! Baby, that’s a man. And you’re sexy too. Perfect combo if you ask me.” Bryn smirks, swirling her wine.
“Well, if he’s a 'man,' he can come and talk to me” you joke.
“Mhmm. Be careful what you wish for.” She winks at you before sliding off her stool and heading towards the bathroom.
You don’t even have time to react before you hear a deep voice behind you.
“Thought u might want another drink, guess I was right.”
You turn fully to face the mystery man. He's even more handsome up close. Soft curls fall across his forehead, and a small smile plays on his perfectly structured face. He’s wearing a white long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms that make you look a second longer than necessary.
“Uh, yes, thank you. That was really nice of you.” You finally take the drink and sip it. Mmm peachy.
“Can I take a seat and accompany you?” he asks, gesturing to the empty stool beside you.
“Of course.”
He sits, turning his body toward you his knee lightly brushing yours.
“I’m Jermajesty.” He holds out his hand.
“Y/n.” You take his hand, and your breath catches as he carefully brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The gesture is so old-school, so unexpected, it sends a little thrill through you.
“I've never seen you around here before," he says.
“First time me and my best friend come this bar, actually. You come here often?” you ask, making conversation.
"Every now and then." He pauses, his eyes holding yours. "First time I've seen something beautiful, thought.”
You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. You can’t help yourself; your eyes briefly drop to his lips. Gosh. Those lips so perfect to kiss... or bite.
“Do you tell that to every girl you see here?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.
He leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping. "No. You're the first one that's gotten my attention gorgeous."
"Gorgeous, huh?" you repeat, tilting your head. "That's a strong word for someone you just met."
He leans back slightly, studying you like you're more interesting than he expected. "And yet it's the right one."
Okay, that makes you smile. You look down at your drink, then back up at him.
"So, what do you do for a living? Besides shut down compliments from handsome strangers at bars."
You laugh, shaking your head. "I'm a flight attendant. Me and my best friend, Bryn both are actually. We're on a two-week break right now, so we're making the most of it."
His eyebrows lift, interest flickering in his eyes. "A flight attendant huh? That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"The way you carry yourself. The confidence." He pauses, letting his gaze sweep over you once, slow appreciative, but respectful. "And the fact that you're probably used to men trying to get your attention at 30,000 feet."
You smirk. "You'd be surprised. Most of them just want another bag of pretzels."
He laughs, warm and genuine. "I bet you get asked for a lot more than pretzels."
"All the time." You start playing with the stem of your glass. "The trick is knowing which requests are worth entertaining."
"And am I worth entertaining?"
The question lands soft but heavy. You hold his gaze, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel intentional.
"I'm still sitting here, aren't I?"
His smile deepens. He shifts closer, his knee brushing yours under the bar once again. Neither of you pulls away this time.
"So two weeks off, huh? That's a decent amount of time. What do you do with yourself when you're not working?"
"Right now? Sitting at a bar, letting a mysterious man buy me drinks."
"Good answer." He chuckles. "But what about tomorrow? Or the day after?"
You raise an eyebrow. "Why? You trying to fill up my schedule?"
"Maybe." He says it simply, no games. "I'm a man who knows what he wants. And I'd like to see you again. Outside this bar. When you're not distracted by that pretty drink in your hand."
You bite back a smile, looking down at your martini. "You're bold."
"I'm interested. There's a difference."
You look up at him through your lashes. "And what makes you think I'd say yes?"
He leans in, voice dropping low enough that only you can hear. "Because you haven't said no yet."
"So Jermajesty, anything else you think you know?"
"I know enough." He leans forward, resting his forearm on the bar. Closer now. "I know you're wearing something glittery that I'm trying real hard not to stare at. I know you sip your drink slow like you're savoring it. I know you got a smart mouth. And I'm wondering if it's as sweet as it is sharp."
Your stomach flips, the air between both of you thickens. You wet your lips without thinking, and you catch his eyes follow the movement.
"Only one way to find out," you say, voice softer than you intended.
His jaw tightens. Just a flicker. But you caught it.
"Careful, gorgeous. I just might take you up on that."
You hold his stare for a beat too long, neither of you backing down. The bar noise fades around you. It's just him. Just you. And the space between you feels electric.
Suddenly Bryn appears at your elbow, swaying slightly. "Okay bae, I love you but I'm fading fast. You ready?"
You break the stare down with Jermajesty, taking in a deep breath you didn't even realize you were holding. Your faces were closer than you thought, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, close enough that if either of you leaning in just an inch...
Your skin feels hot. Every nerve in your body is dancing in a delicious, dangerous way.
You glance at Jermajesty, then back at Bryn. "Yeah, one sec bae."
You stand, running your hands down the skirt of your pretty dress. Partly to smooth it, partly to give your shaky hands something to do. You turn to him, offering a small smile.
"Well, it was nice talking you, Jermajesty."
He doesn't say anything right away. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pen, and grabs a napkin from the bar. He scribbles something, slides it across to you.
"In case you wanna finish this conversation."
You pick it up, fingers brushing his. The contact is brief, but you feel it all the way down your spine. You don't look at it. You just fold it into your palm and give him a small smile. "I might."
He stands as you get up, and his hand catches yours gently. "I hope you do."
You and Bryn head out. She's already buzzing in your ear, "Oh my god, oh my god, did he give you his number? Let me see!" but you just laugh, tucking the napkin into your clutch.
You laugh interlocking arms with her, "Bryn, chill-"
"I will NOT! You had that man eating you up with his eyes the whole night!"
***
You finally made it to the quiet of your apartment studio, kicking of your heels, and changing into something more comfortable and softer. The napkin is crumpled but you can still read it clearly: Jermajesty and a number.
You stare at your phone for a full minute. You slowly type the number in. Staring at the blank message box.
What do you even say?
You type "hey" delete it. You try again, "it's y/n," delete once again. Too formal.
Then you think about the way he kissed your knuckles. The way he looked at you like you were the only person in the bar.
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