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lil-quinnie · 12 days ago

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Stuck on the puzzle

Part II

BBF!Eddie x Fem!reader

summary ~ Eddie is your brother's best friend and he is a dick.

+18 ~

It started as a tremor on the floor, shaking the thin walls, making the picture frames cling to their nails, fighting for their lives. The guitar solo came through the cracks in the door, destroying any and all concentration you had left to finish your last assignment of the semester. "Seriously?" you muttered as you walked down the stairs, each step weighing a ton, catching the attention of the boy who was sitting comfortably on your couch, with his feet propped up on the coffee table and the radio remote in his hand.

Eddie's smile when he saw you so uncomfortable was gigantic, as if he had achieved his goal. "Did you like my playlist?" he said, turning up the volume every time you tried to answer him. With a final laugh he paused the music and let his gaze rest on your face for a few seconds. God, he always thought you were beautiful, but there was something about you when you were angry that made the metalhead's heart skip a beat. "You're going to end up killing the neighbor's newborn with that noise," you said simply, shifting your weight on your feet, as if Eddie's gaze made you nervous, and he knew it did.

"Where's my brother?" you asked, walking over to the radio with your hand already stretched out to turn down the volume. Eddie also walked over to the radio, at a pace that you knew couldn't expect anything good "He left," the boy's calloused fingers taking up space on the button, until his hand was off the device "He said he'd be back soon and asked me to keep an eye on the house, sweetie," turning up the volume even more "that includes the radio."

"My God, you're insufferable, you know that?!" You crossed your arms in front of your chest and walked away from the radio. Eddie loved watching you walk away, especially in your pajama shorts,"If you ask nicely, I can turn it down, sweetheart."

You didn't need to turn around to know that the boy was smiling mischievously. "How about you turn it down and I won't kick you out of my house?" your voice didn't match the small humorous details on your features, the dimple appearing and the corners of your lips trembling, holding back a smile.

"Not cool, I'm here to keep you safe and you want to kick me out, princess." His feet were now touching yours. You could smell the cheap cologne and the freshly smoked cigarette. "I can defend myself, Munson." He tilted his head, his eyes locked on yours for a second longer than necessary. "I know you can." And just like that he walked away, back to the couch with that smudge smile. Upon the stairs the music was now just a distant murmur but inside your chest, the sound seemed louder than before.

Eddie didn’t come back after that. Not that night, at least.

He left you with the music still humming low and the ghost of his smirk still hanging in the air. And even though the house had finally gone quiet, your head hadn’t. You kept replaying the way he looked at you,like he was trying not to say something.

By the next morning, things went back to normal. Or whatever "normal" meant with Eddie Munson. He barely looked at you when you crossed paths in the hallway. He didn’t knock on your door, didn’t ask what you were listening to, didn’t push your buttons just to see how far you’d let him go.

Until you ran into Caleb Dawson after practice,the heat from the court was still stinging your skin as you left your training routine. Walking down the last few steps with your backpack slung over one shoulder, the cold air sent shivers down your skin, making you curl up against yourself as you looked for any sign of your brother.

Friday practices always ended late, which coincided with the time Hellfire also ended, so you always got a ride home but otherwise your expectations, you ended up bumping straight into the white smile of Caleb, the number 12 on the basketball team.

"Hey, you," he said, wrapping a towel around his neck and in no hurry to leave. "Are you going to the party on Friday?" You raised an eyebrow in surprise. Caleb had never invited you to anything.

"A party, huh?"

"Yeah, after the game. At Carver's house. Everyone will be there... and it would be nice to have you too." He took a step closer, his eyes scanning your face with that air of someone who is used to being accepted.

You smiled, but didn't answer right away. Before you could, a familiar voice cut through the air, "It's not going to happen, big guy.".

Eddie, of course damn Eddie was there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, the unlit cigarette held between his fingers. His eyes were fixed on Caleb, but what bothered you was the way he looked at you like you were a piece of meat.

Caleb shrugged, ignoring the tone.

"She seems big enough to make up her own mind, doesn't she?"

Eddie said this with a half smile, which only seemed friendly at first glance. "She does, doesn't she?" You could feel Eddie's hatred burning through his big brown eyes. You snorted, undisguised.

"I can take care of myself, Eddie."

He finally looked at you. His eyes softened for a moment, but only for a moment. "I don't doubt that. But I don't think that's your vibe."

Caleb laughed dryly.

"What's up, man. Are you playing the big brother now?"

"No." Eddie took a step forward, still with that smile stuck in the corner of his mouth. "I'm just terrible at staying quiet when I see someone trying to take advantage of other people."

The silence was short, but dense. You decided to intervene:

"Thanks for the invitation, Caleb. I'll think about it and let you know, okay?"

The player nodded, still with a confused look between flirting and competition, and left with one last wink that Eddie pretended not to see.

You didn't say anything. You just turned your back, ready to leave too.

"You're not going, are you?" Eddie followed you, quickly opening the van door for you to get in. "I don't know yet." you finished saying, fastening your seatbelt.

The trip to your house was silent, Eddio spent the whole way with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on the window, holding his own head. You turned around abruptly, taking his attention away from whatever was going on in his head at that moment.

"Are you going to tell me why you were so offended or are you going to keep ignoring me?" you snapped.

He threw his cigarette out the window and replied without looking, almost in a whisper. "He looked at you like you were easy." He held your gaze, looking away only to look at your lips, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. "And you're not." he concluded.

And that was it. He waited for you to go inside and disappeared into the dark house.

The music was too loud. The beer was too warm. And Eddie was too close to her. You stood near the kitchen counter, pretending to sip from the red cup in your hand, the liquid clearly alcoholic but vaguely fruity and carbonated that someone had handed you when you arrived. The room was full of faces you barely knew, people you passed in the hallways.

You spotted Eddie again near the couch, talking to a girl from the previous year, Dani, maybe. She was laughing at something he said, leaning in with her hand on his chest like she belonged there and her legs crossed in the metalhead's lap, who didn't flinch or push her away. He just smiled, like always, like nothing touched him deeply enough to affect him.

And the worst part? He seemed fine, comfortable with that girl in extremely short clothes practically sitting on his lap.

You hadn't spoken to him since you got home from practice. Not since he said what he said and then acted like it didn't mean anything. And now here he was, putting on a show, drinking his drink and letting the girls touch him like it wasn’t driving you crazy.

Your brother walked through the kitchen and leaned against the counter next to you without warning. “Are you okay?” he asked, pointing to your untouched drink. “Yeah,” you lied, bringing the red cup to your freshly lipsticked lips.

He followed your gaze, finding Eddie in seconds. Of course he was.

Your brother raised an eyebrow.

“Is he being a jerk again?”

You didn’t answer. Not fast enough.

And that’s when Eddie felt his brother’s gaze and looked up. Your eyes met. Eddie didn’t say anything. He just raised his cup in a playful toast, like getting caught meant nothing. But the way his fingers crushed the rim of the cup said otherwise. Your brother exhaled and shook his head.

A second later, he turned his back and walked deeper into the house hallway, bedroom, somewhere with that girl.

Your pulse fluttered but before your brother could say anything else, Caleb appeared at your side with that casual, arrogant energy, offering you another drink as if it were a conversation starter. “I didn’t think you’d actually come,” he said, leaning in.

You forced a polite smile. “I didn’t think so either.” Your brother stayed long enough to see Caleb’s hand brush against your back.

You took the drink just to keep your hands busy, but your eyes were already drifting back to the hallway where Eddie had disappeared.

“Just surprised to see you without your babysitters.” Caleb said,

you stiffened, eyes flicking toward the hallway again. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“No,” he said, his eyes scanning you far too slowly. “You really don’t.”

It was smooth. Practiced. And it made your skin crawl.

You let out a breath, took a sip just to avoid responding and then you felt it. A presence. Heavy. Familiar.

Eddie. Watching from across the room again. His jaw was tight, and the cup in his hand was crushed, crumpling in on itself like he hadn’t noticed. Or maybe he had. Maybe he wanted you to see.

Caleb noticed too. He smirked.

“What’s his deal anyway?” he asked under his breath, leaning closer. “Always looks like he’s two seconds away from setting someone on fire.”

“Don’t worry about him,” you muttered. “he’s harmless”

When Caleb’s hand brushed your hip, that was enough. You slipped away from him without a word and headed toward the hallway, heart pounding, blood screaming.

You needed air, or space, anything. You pushed open the first door you found and there he was, Eddie and the same girl from later, her back to you, his hand extended a small bag of something crushed between his fingers.

The girl took it, gave a knowing smile, and then turned and walked past you without saying a word, touching up her lipstick as she went.

You stared at her, your jaw tense.

Eddie let out a sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose, already expecting what was coming next. He slowly turned to you and before anything else, he blurted out,

"It's not what it looked like." You laughed harshly, bitterly.

Eddie didn’t move. He just stood there, sighing, rubbing his face like he could feel the storm coming.

“No? So she wasn’t sitting on your lap ten minutes ago? Wasn’t that her hand on your chest?” He finally looked at you. His eyes dark, tired, and already filled with regret.

“I was selling her weed,” he murmured. “Oh yeah,” you snapped “Does her fingers up your shirt come with the usual service?”. His mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile, not this time.

“You let Caleb touch you.”

You stepped forward.

“You let her touch you. You let her sit on you.”

“I didn’t let anyone do anything,” he snapped. “She sat down. It wasn’t a fucking invitation.”

“You didn’t stop her either.”

He held up his hands “What did you want me to do? Push her away? Make a scene? Because, God forbid, I ever look like I care what you think.”

Your stomach twisted, that hurt, And he saw it.

“Don’t do that,” you said quietly, “don’t act like it,like this doesn't mean anything.” He blinked. Just once. He felt it. You knew he did.

And maybe that was finally enough, you parted your lips, the apology or more so confession,right there, balancing on your tongue.

Then the door creaked open

“There you are,” Caleb’s voice spilled in like poison. “Been looking for you.”

You turned your head just slightly, just enough to see Caleb standing in the doorway, holding another red cup and flashing that practiced grin.

Eddie’s jaw clenched, his stare dropped to the floor like he couldn’t stand the sight of either of you.

“Of course you were,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Then he moved, brushing past you, his shoulder hitting yours hard enough to make you stumble.

And just as he crossed the threshold, he threw the words over his shoulder like a knife. “It doesn’t.”

The door slammed behind him, and it echoed louder than the music outside.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of too-loud music and too-sweet drinks. After Eddie pushed past you and left you reeling, you didn’t try to follow him. You couldn’t, not when your lungs felt tight and your vision blurred with something dangerously close to tears.

You found Caleb again or maybe he found you, either way, you smiled when he handed you another cup, even if it tasted worse than the last.

You laughed at his dumb jokes, nodded when he leaned too close, pretending, for your own sanity, that none of it mattered.

But then you saw him, in the hallway near the back door, his hand against the wall, lips tangled with someone else’s. Her fingers curled in the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer and Eddie exploring her whole body with the tip of his fingers.

The world tilted slightly, your heart dropped so hard it might’ve hit the sticky party floor. You turned sharply, nearly spilling your drink, panic flooding your chest in hot waves. Your throat closed up and you weren’t sure if you wanted to scream or throw up.

You drank instead, more than you should have perhaps.

Everything after that was messy, you remembered your brother finding you near the kitchen, his voice distant and concerned. You remembered saying something stupid, laughing too loudly, insisting you were fine while your body begged for the opposite.

You didn’t remember how you ended up outside, but the cold was biting at your bare arms when your legs finally gave up. You stumbled near the porch, the sounds of the party muffled behind the door, and then there were hands, strong and familiar hands.

“Hey, hey sweetheart” Eddie’s voice, low and urgent, cuts through the noise in your head. “I got you.”

You tried to push him away at first, something slurred and shaky slipping from your lips. But your body betrayed you, leaning in the second he wrapped his arms around you.

“Don’t,” you mumbled against his chest. “Don’t act like you care.” but he didn’t answer, just pulled you in tighter.

Eddie carried you to the van, muttering curses under his breath, at himself mostly, and carefully laid you down in the backseat. His jacket came off next, tucked behind your head like a pillow. “She’s not okay,” your brother’s voice said behind him. “This is messed up.”

Eddie didn’t turn around, he just brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, jaw clenched like it hurt to look at you “I know,” he said. “I fucked up.”

Your eyes fluttered half open. You didn’t speak, just listened.

“Why’d you do it dude?” your brother pressed once the door slammed shut. They were in the front now. “You like her. I know you do. So why kiss someone else?”

“Because I’m a fucking idiot, that’s why” Eddie snapped. “I saw her with Caleb and my head went somewhere dark.”

“That’s not a reason,” your brother bit back.

“I didn’t mean for her to see it,” Eddie muttered. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“But you did. And you keep doing it.” Eddie’s voice is hoarse now. “You think I don’t know that?”

You shifted in the back, trying not to make a sound, but your breath caught.

Eddie must’ve heard it. His voice softened.

“She’s not just some girl, man.”

The van rolled into silence again. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the quiet ache in your chest.

The house was dark when the van pulled up. Porch light flickering, the usual hum of cicadas and silence. Your brother opened the door first, stepping out with a sigh that sounded too heavy for his age. Eddie didn’t wait for instructions this time. He scooped you back into his arms, gentle like you were glass already cracked. You stirred, barely, cheek pressed to his chest, breath shallow from whatever mess you were drowning in.

“Take her to bed,” your brother said. Not cold, but not warm either. “And stay with her. Just in case.”

Eddie nodded once, he didn’t say anything back.

You woke to the chill of early morning creeping through the cracked window and your room drowning in shadows, but you weren’t alone.

There, on the floor, with his back against your dresser and his head tilted to the side, was Eddie, assleep. His breathing is steady, almost silent, his jacket half draped over his legs like a makeshift blanket, curls falling into his face.

For a second, you just watched him, and for this second, everything else,the party, the kiss, the ache in your chest, just faded.

Almost.

You sat up slowly, trying not to make a sound, but he stirred anyway, like he felt you move. His eyes opened, sluggish and dazed from sleep, and he blinked a few times before focusing on you.

“Hey,” he rasped, voice rough with exhaustion. “You’re alive.”

You didn’t answer right away, just stared. His smile was crooked, barely there, and still, somehow, sad.

“You should sleep more,” he muttered. “Still look a little pale. Like you might ghost me for real this time.”

“And you still look like an idiot,” you shot back, voice low and flat.

Eddie rested his arms on his knees and didn’t take his eyes off you.

“Idiot, sure. And smartass too. I told you Caleb was a dick.”

“You didn’t tell me, you growled it.”

He let out a dry laugh and rubbed his face. “Yeah, guess I did.”

“You always do this?” you asked, nodding toward him on the floor. “Fall asleep in drunk girls’ bedrooms?”

“No.” He yawned, jaw cracking. “Just the ones that make me insane.”

You were under the covers, still dressed, still pretending the world outside didn’t ache.

Eddie hadn’t moved since you noticed him,you shifted, the blanket rustling, and his eyes fluttered open.

He blinked a few times. “Hey…” His voice was gravel, sleep-soaked and low. “You okay?” You sat up slowly. “You stayed.”

He gave a dry chuckle, pushing his hair back. “Your brother said to keep an eye on you. Thought I’d fail if I left.”

“You always do what he says?” you murmured, voice quiet but teasing, laced with something bitter underneath.

Eddie’s brows twitched. “Depends on the day.” He rubbed his jaw, looking up at you from the floor, eyes scanning your face. “You scared the hell out of me tonight.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I scared myself.”

There was a beat. And then his voice softened. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For all of it.” He stood slowly, each movement deliberate, eyes never leaving you. “For being a dick. For letting you think I didn’t care. For kissing someone else even though it didn’t mean a damn thing.”

You didn’t move, not at first, but something about the way he looked at you,like he was holding back, like he was afraid touching you would break the both of you,made the air buzz.

“And now?” you asked, voice hushed above a whisper.

He was in front of you now, close. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cigarettes and regret on him.

“Now I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, barely a whisper. “You’re all I think about it. Even when I try to forget. Especially when I try to forget.”

Your hand reached up,impulsive, aching and brushed his jaw. His breath hitched. “Then stop trying,” you said, voice breathy, eyes locked on his.

That was all it took.

He cupped your face and kissed you, slow at first, like he wanted to savor every second of it, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. His lips moved with a kind of desperation that made your stomach twist, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t touch you right.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, and you moaned softly when his tongue slid against yours. You were gasping by the time he pressed you gently down onto the bed, his hands roaming, fingertips dragging under the hem of your shirt.

“You want this?” he murmured against your mouth, you nodded, but he pulled back, eyes burning into yours. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you breathed, hips arching up instinctively, chasing the friction of his body over yours. “I want you.”

He groaned, dragging your shirt over your head and kissing down your neck, slow and reverent. When his mouth reached your collarbone, you tilted your head to give him more, and when he bit gently into your skin, you whimpered,back arching, hands threading through his hair, pulling.

“Fuck, baby, you’re killing me,” he said, sucking one of your nipples to his mouth, voice rough as his hand slid into your panties. You gasped as his fingers found you already wet, already aching.

“You’re so wet for me,” he growled against your throat, sliding one finger inside you, slow and deep.

You cried out, grinding against his hand. “Eddie”

“That’s it,” he whispered, curling his finger, watching you fall apart beneath him “Let me hear you.”

Your body was humming, pleasure coiling in your gut. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he rasped. “I’ll never stop if you keep making sounds like that.”

When he slid a second finger in, your hips bucked, and he groaned at how tight you felt. He kissed your stomach, then lower, until he was between your thighs. You barely had time to catch your breath before his tongue replaced his fingers like you dreamed a lot of times, he was hot, slow, methodical.

“Eddie! fuck” you cried out, hand covering your mouth, the other gripping the sheets. You were shaking already, hips grinding against his face, and he didn’t stop,not when you begged, not when your legs trembled around his head.

When he finally came up for air, lips wet and pupils blown wide, “you taste so sweet” he hovered over you, dragging his jeans down with one hand.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered. “I can’t breathe when I look at you.”

You reached for him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lined himself up and pushed in, excruciating deep. Your breath caught and your eyes fluttered shut at the stretch.

“You okay?” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Yes,just move,please.”

He began to thrust, slow and steady, and every drag of his hips made your breath catch.

“I’m not gonna last,” he growled into your neck. “Not with you like this. Not when you’re looking at me like that.”

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Then don’t.”

His pace picked up, his hand sliding between you to rub your clit, and your moans turned desperate, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Gonna make you come first,” he panted. “Wanna feel you shake around me, wanna hear you fall apart.”

“I’m, fuck fuck fuck Eddie, please”

“That’s it, baby. That’s it. Let me have it.”

You came with a cry, clenching around him so hard it stole his breath, and he followed with a growl, hips stuttering, body trembling.

“You feel so good” he panted against your neck as he spilled inside you.

And then it was quiet again, the kind of quiet that made you dizzy, like the air had finally settled. He collapsed beside you, breathing hard, arm thrown over your waist as if letting go would undo everything that just happened.

You laid there in the dark, skin still buzzing, lungs catching on the shallow rise and fall of breath. The silence wrapped around you both like a heavy blanket, not awkward, not tense, just... thick. Weighted with everything neither of you had said.

Eddie was still beside you, his chest bare and damp with sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead. One arm curled loosely around your waist, like a tether, like if he let go, something might break.

You didn’t speak, didn’t really need to.

The room was thick with it: the afterglow, the breathlessness, the ache behind your ribs that had nothing to do with the way he’d touched you.

Your fingers skimmed the inside of his wrist, so gently it was barely a touch at all, but he responded like he felt it everywhere , his arm tightening just slightly around you, his face turning into your hair.

He exhaled through his nose.

The sound wasn’t happy, Wasn’t sad either.

It just… was.

You both stayed like that, still, quiet. The warmth between your bodies doing more than words ever could. Eventually, your eyelids grow heavy, lashes fluttering closed. You could still feel his breath on the back of your neck, warm and steady, his fingertips brushing your side rhythmically, like he was memorizing you even in your sleep.

Neither of you said what it meant. or said what would happen tomorrow.

But neither of you moved, either. And that said enough for now.

Part II

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nevereclipse · 3 months ago

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Never Again

Pairing: Tim Bradford x wife!reader

Word count: 2.7k

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Requested: yes, here

Summary: When your parents come to visit you, they're as a toxic as ever. But after coming back from a brief undercover operation, Tim finds out the true extent of your parent's cruelty.

Warnings: mentions of police corruption, physical/verbal abuse and discussed past child abuse, mentions of bodyshaming and accusations of cheating (from y/n's parents.) Use of y/n. Probably incorrect representations of American & use of the metric system because I'm Australian.

A/N: I may have gone slightly overboard with this one, hopefully it's what you wanted. I thought y/n having rich parents added an interesting bit of backstory and dynamic with Tim, especially in her reasoning as to why she didn't tell Tim the truth about her family.

---

Your hands were shaking slightly when you put down your phone. You’d just ended a call with your mother, where she’d demanded that her and your father come and stay for a week with you and your husband while they were visiting LA. It’d been about a year since you’d seen them – probably around last Christmas. With them living in New York while you lived in California, visits were rare. An intentional fact, something you’d chosen very purposefully when you’d decided to join the LAPD instead of the NYPD. Not that you would’ve ever joined the NYPD in the first place. Partly because your parents would’ve done everything they could to lock you out, but mainly because you had no faith in the department after hearing your entire childhood about how your parents could get the police captain to do ‘anything they wanted.’

You set your phone on the sofa and took a steadying breath. Your husband, Tim Bradford, would be getting out of the shower soon, and while he knew some things about what your childhood was like, he didn’t know the full story (and never would). It’s not even that you thought he wouldn’t believe you, you knew he would, but how could you possibly complain about your upbringing when his had been… undeniably worse? So, you took a breath to steady yourself, and waiting for Tim to emerge from your bedroom.

Tim walked out, predictably, in sweatpants and a dark green shirt, his usual sleeping attire. You stole that shirt whenever he was away, because his constant wear of it meant it always smelt like him.

“Hey, baby,” you said, glancing up. You ran a hand through your hair quickly and forced another deep breath.

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed, and in an instant he was beside you on the couch, gentle grasping your hands in his. “What’s wrong?” His eyes searched yours.

You shook your head quickly, answering, “Nothing, Tim. I just got off the phone with my mother.”

Tim scowled. He’d never liked your mother, not since he’d first met her and had been forced to sit silently while she criticised you for how much weight you’d put on (it was less than a pound). Still, you insisted on maintaining a relationship with her, and with your father, so he softened his expression slightly and asked, “Oh?”

“She and Father are going to come over next week. Father’s in town for business, so they thought they’d… drop in.” You swallowed.

“And you’re okay with that, right?” Tim asked hesitantly. If you ever expressed even the slightest indication that you didn’t want your parents to visit, he’d call them himself and tell them to fuck off. But you nodded, and said it was okay, so Tim relented and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Okay,” he murmured into your hair, “I love you.”

You ducked your head and whispered, “I love you too,” all while guilt and nerves settled into your stomach.

You were panicking. Not enough for the average person to notice, maybe, but enough for your husband to. Tim sat on your bed, putting on his fancy shoes, and watched you struggle to choose which dress to wear for dinner with your parents. It’d taken you an hour to do your makeup, a process which usually took half of one, max, and nearly another hour just to put light waves into your hair.

“Sweetheart.” Tim finally said, coming to stand behind you in the mirror. He rarely used pet names, and the sound of the word softened the tension in your shoulders. “You’re going to look beautiful whatever you wear. You always do.”

“Not beautiful enough for my mother.” You almost spat the words out, alternating between holding two nearly identical dresses in front of your body.

Tim gentled grabbed your waist and maneuverered you around so you were facing him. “What did we agree about dressing for your mother?” He asked, cupping your face so you were forced to meet his earnest, dark blue eyes.

“…Not to.” You admitted begrudgingly, a slightly flush coating your face at the intense eye contact. Even after three years of marriage and five of dating, Tim always managed to fluster you.

“Exactly. You are stunning. I promise. But if you’re worried, I would go with the darker one.” Tim carefully avoided touching your hair, knowing a single hair out of place would send you into another spiral of panic. He hated seeing you so stressed, hated it with every fibre of his being. Especially when it was caused by your parents; he knew all too well the pain a well time jab (verbal or literal) from a parent could cause.

You took a breath and nodded. “Thank you.” You got into your dress just in time for the oven timer to go off.

Your mother never knocked more than once. It was, she believed, completely unnecessary for someone of her and your father’s social importance to ever deign to bang on wood like deliverymen. So, when you heard the one sharp, precise rap against your front door, you knew exactly who had arrived. Your stomach dropped in preparation, and with one last fitful look at the mirror, then Tim, you opened the door.

“Hello, Mother. Father.” You said with a gracious smile, sweeping your arm to the side. “Come in, please.”

Your father embraced you in a quick, impersonal hug, but even as you hugged him back, your eyes were glued to your mother. She swept her gaze over what seemed like every inch of your house, searching for the invisible dust she would inevitably find. She glided a finger along a bookshelf, looked at it, scrunched her nose in silent judgement, before finally turning to you with a precise smile.

“Darling,” She said, quickly taking you in, “It has been too long since we’ve visited. God knows you don’t want to see your parents anymore, hmm?”

You forced a slight chuckle, refusing to take the openly dangling bait, “Yes, Mother. It’s been too long. Please, come join us for dinner.”

Tim watched the interact out of the corner of his eye as he made small talk with your father. On the surface, the two of them should’ve gotten along – both outwardly grumpy and work obsessed. But where Tim’s grumpiness and work obsession came from a desire to not get hurt, and to help people, your fathers came from a cold disinterest and casual cruelty. Tim had never managed to force himself to like your father, but he pretended to, for your sake. In Tim’s eyes, it was a miracle you’d turned out to be such a soft, kind person. One hand on the small of your back, the other gesturing as he spoke to your mother, he led your family into the dining room, where the meal you’d slaved away at for hours sat waiting.

“So, Timothy,” Your mother asked, setting down her cutlery, “How’s Y/n treating you as a wife?” The was a sharpness in her town that made your skin prickle – the kind of sharpness that came right before a criticism, thinly veiled in polite conversation. Your father had an ever so slight smirk on his face, but he chewed his food silently.

Tim opened his mouth to respond, to brag with great pride about how lucky he was to have married you, when your mother interrupted him.

“I mean, if this is the standard of meals she’s making you, I can’t imagine marriage is living up to everything you dreamed.” Your mother made direct eye contact with you as she said that, her eyes seeming to pierce directly into your soul.

Your cutlery clattered to the table. Luckily, you were holding it only a few centimetres from the wood, and it barely made a sound. Just enough for Tim to reach out and clutch your thigh under the table, a silent comfort.

“Actually, Mrs. Taylor, I love the food that Y/n makes for me. I’m very lucky to call her my wife.”

For a brief moment, a scowl flashed over your mother’s face. Then she laughed, the sound high and sharp, and utterly fake. “Oh, I jest, I jest, darling. I’m sure Y/n here wouldn’t dream of letting you down. Would you, dear?”

“Of course not, Mother.” You replied, the food you’d earlier thought so delicious turning to cardboard in your mouth. It was an effort to swallow.

Your father chuckled at that, adding, “Our Y/n always knows better than to let people down, hmm?”

Your smile was as weak as your response was noncommittal.

Things were… okay for the next few days. Not good, but not as bad as it could’ve been. Tolerable. Your parents were always nicer when Tim was around, covering their critiques with smiles and sharp laughter.

So, when Tim announced he had to run tac support for Lucy for a few days, and your parents had another five of their visit, you almost broke down in tears. You had no problem with him going undercover – he’d done it a couple of times before, as tactical support, and you knew it was relatively safe. But you hadn’t been truly alone with your parents for years, and you didn’t want to be now.

Still, you couldn’t exactly explain that to Tim, not without telling him a lot more about your past then you really wanted to, so you swallowed your fears, kissed Tim goodbye, and prayed that it would be a short assignment.

Things went downhill quickly. Your parents stopped covering their insults, and you woke up each day feeling like you were seventeen again, crumpling under the weight of their words and expectations. It wasn’t long until you were at the end of your tether, and a casual insult turned into a proper argument.

“You know, he’s probably cheating on you.” Your mother’s word were completely unprompted, the two of you sitting next to each other on the sofa, browsing Netflix.

Your blood chilled. “Excuse me?”

“Timothy, dear,” repeated your mother. “I mean, honestly, what do you expect? He’s spending all his time with this… Lucy woman, and you’ve really let yourself go since you two got married.”

You took a deep breath and tried to keep your tone steady. You ignored the insult and simply addressed the accusation. “I trust Tim, Mother. And I trust Lucy. She was at our wedding, and I work with her every day. They would never do that.” You pushed off the couch, walking around the lounge room.

Your mother hummed noncommittally, and of course your father chimed in. “Y/n, all your mother is saying, is that men… well, they have desires. And if Tim feels you aren’t satisfying him as a wife…”

“He doesn’t.”

Your mother plastered on a sharp smile, “Good, then. Because Lord knows it’s embarrassing enough for us to tell our friends back in New York that you’ve moved here to become a cop, instead of a lawyer, but to have you be divorced? It would be pathetic, even for you.”

You scoffed, the tiny bit of the patience you had left disappearing. “It’s a good thing I’m not getting divorced, then.” You winced at the snap in your tone.

The shift on your mother’s face was instant, moving from bland cruelty to cold anger, and she pushed herself off the couch You felt your head snapping to the side before you felt the sting of the slap. Your mother grabbed your collared shirt, pulling you close.

“How dare you speak to me in that tone. You are nothing. You’re lucky we didn’t cut you off when you abandoned your family and moved out here like a little shit. Do you know how embarrassing that was for us? How much of an embarrassment you are? Where did our perfect little daughter go, hmm? Why do you insist on being such a failure?”

You stared forward, tears welling in your eyes. Your cheek stung, and you could tell a red print was already forming. Before you could open your mouth to come up with a half-hearted defence, a cold voice cut through the room.

“Get your hands off my wife.”

Your mother dropped you instantly, and you turned to see Tim, a little dirty and a lot furious, glaring at your parents from the doorway.

Ever defensive, your mother spat out, “What did you just say to me?”

Tim stalked forward, towering over your mother, “I said ‘get your filthy hands off my fucking wife.” His voice was a low snarl. “Get out of our home. Now. Before I arrest you for assault and harassment.”

Your fathers jaw dropped, “Excuse me-.”

“I said GET. OUT.” Tim’s voice was so full of venom, that even not directed at you, it made you flinch.

Your mother grabbed her purse with a huff, and, with one last glare at you, scurried out of your house, your father following behind her.

Instantly, Tim was in front of you, leading you to the sofa with gentle hands and warm concern.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly, eyes flickering over the palm-shaped mark on your cheek.

You shook your head numbly, unsure what to say. You’d never wanted him to see this, and a few stray tears fell down your cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Tim pulled you against his chest, gently rocking forward and backwards. The soft touch was all it took for you to start sobbing, clutching his shirt in shaking fists. All the while, he rocked you and stroked your hair, whispering comforting words into your ear.

When your tears finally subsided, you pulled back and sniffled.

“Has this happened before?” Tim asked, and even though he tried to soften his voice, he couldn’t quite hide the rage that was clearly racing through him.

Still unable to speak, you just nodded.

Tim cursed under his breath, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? Has this been happening all your life?”

You pulled your knees to your chest and wiped the heel of your palm against your nose. No point in hiding it now, you supposed. You took a shaky breath, and forced yourself to say, “Yes. It has.” Tim glowered. “I don’t know… I didn’t want to tell you. You… you had such an awful childhood, your father was such a monster, and I didn’t want you to think I was trying to one up you. Besides, I grew up so lucky, I mean, you know how loaded my parents are… I was worried… I…” Your voice broke. “No one ever believed me. When I was a kid. Even when I’d go to school with bruises, people would look at my parents and the circles we were in and assume I was just clumsy or deserved it. The only person I ever told laughed in my face. I guess I just… I didn’t want to be that stuck up little rich girl complaining about mommy and daddy being mean.” Your face was wet, and guilt writhed in your stomach. Guilt at lying, guilt at telling the truth, guilt over your parent’s words, but still, you continued to speak. Continued to pour your heart and soul out to your husband.

Tim’s face crumpled in time with his heart as he listened to you tell the whole sordid tale. When you finally stopped speaking, he was silent. After a moment of just staring at you, he just pulled you into another hug.

“I am so, so, sorry, my love,” he whispered, stroking a hand over your back, “I’m sorry that happened to you, I’m sorry you were born to such bastard parents, I’m sorry no one believed you, I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me, I… I’m just sorry. You didn’t deserve that. And they’re wrong. You’re not pathetic. Or a failure. Or anything else they’ve ever said.”

At that, Tim pulled back slightly and looked directly into your eyes. Into your soul. “You are the most important part of my life, Y/n. I am here for anything, anything, you need, and it kills me that you were hurting in silence this whole time. But never again, okay? We’re going to deal with this together – whatever you want to do. I will never let those bastards hurt you again.”

And for maybe the first time, you believed him.

FIN.

hope you enjoyed :) i love protective tim

#never rambles #never writes #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #the rookie #rookieposting #tim bradford imagine #hurt/comfort #protective tim bradford #never writes masterlist

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jordanstrophe · 1 month ago

Text

"Found it," Caretaker muttered, hurrying in with an armful of pills, damp towels, and a blood pressure cuff.

“Quit smothering me, I’m not dying.” Whumpee groaned from the bed caretaker made for them.

“You had a head injury,” Caretaker argued, fluffing the pillow under their neck. “You will sit there and be babied, and you will like it.”

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #comfort whump #hurt/comfort #injury whump #recovery whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #comfort prompts #whump writing #protective caretaker #whump prompts #whump dialog #caretaker dialog

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aventurineswife · 20 days ago

Note

Hi hello hope you’re having a great day!

I’ve been in drought for Phainon fics especially after his drip marketing came out just recently.

If this isn’t too sensitive of a topic for you could I request Phainon helping reader overcome their fear of men? Perhaps with Dan Heng and Aventurine as well?? With lots of hugs too!!

Hold Me Until the Fear Fades

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Comfort, Emotional Healing, Trauma Recovery, Gentle Romance, Fluff, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Characters, Hugs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Vulnerability, Safe Space, Found Family (Implied/Optional).

Warnings: Past trauma (non-specific, implied abuse or assault), Mention of fear/anxiety triggers, Emotional distress and recovery themes, Depictions of panic or hypervigilance (mild and handled sensitively), Comforting physical contact (e.g., hugs, hand-holding) after explicit consent, Heavy emotional themes but handled with care and positive progression.

A/N: Don't worry, it's not sensitive at all! And I can relate to the topic lol.

You didn’t expect him to sit so far away.

The garden shimmered in the twilight, Coreflames casting soft glows across the marble. Phainon rested across from you on the bench’s edge, hands on his lap, eyes lowered—not in shame, but in thoughtfulness. He was careful. He had always been careful.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, voice trembling. “It’s just… sometimes I still flinch. Even when I don’t want to.”

Phainon shook his head gently, white hair shifting with the breeze. “Don’t apologize. Fear is something we survive through. You don’t have to justify your survival.”

You stared at your hands. You didn’t even realize they were shaking until his presence stilled them—without touching, without speaking.

Just being.

“Would it help if I moved further?” he asked softly. “Or closer? I want you to feel in control.”

You paused. “Closer… but slowly. Please.”

He moved an inch at a time, saying nothing, giving you time. When he was at your side—still not touching—he opened his regal coat and extended it slightly, a silent offer. “May I hug you?”

Tears welled unexpectedly in your eyes.

You nodded.

He wrapped his arms around you as though you were glass and treasure all at once. His embrace was warm silk, patient and steady. There was no pressure—only presence.

“You’re not broken,” he whispered near your ear. “And I will wait as long as you need. I promise, I’ll never be a fear you have to run from.”

In his arms, your breath began to slow. Maybe healing didn’t always come in leaps. Maybe it was found here—in a quiet garden, in a safe embrace, and in the trust that someone could see you and not expect anything more.

It was late when the door knocked.

You hadn’t meant to cry. The Astral Express was quiet, and the stars beyond the window blurred as your eyes stung. You expected silence in return.

But Dan Heng waited. Not entering—just… waiting.

“I heard…” His voice was quiet, hesitant. “I brought tea. And… a book. Only if you want company.”

You opened the door with trembling hands. His eyes didn’t roam. He didn’t stare. He stood with his usual stillness, a porcelain calmness that, strangely, didn’t intimidate—it reassured.

You moved aside.

He sat on the floor by the wall, letting you have the bed. Placing the tea where you could reach it. Offering nothing but presence.

“I’m afraid,” you whispered. “Men… sometimes. They’ve—hurt me. I don’t want to think that about everyone, but…”

Dan Heng didn’t flinch. He simply nodded. “It’s not irrational. You learned through pain. That takes strength—not weakness.”

“I don’t want to be scared of you,” you admitted.

“You don’t have to trust me today,” he said. “You don’t have to ever, if it means peace for you. But I will never give you reason to fear me.”

You looked at him. He hadn’t moved an inch. Not even to close the distance.

“Can I… hug you?”

His eyes softened—just barely. He stood, careful as a breeze, and let you step forward. His arms wrapped around you only after you reached for him.

He didn’t hold too tightly. Didn’t sway or rock. He was just… there.

A steady heartbeat. A silent oath.

For the first time in a long while, you felt safe at night.

Of all people, you never expected Aventurine to handle it so gracefully.

You’d flinched when he approached too quickly in the lounge. Your body had gone rigid. He stopped, instantly, arms raised—not in defense, but in surrender.

“Oh no, sweetheart. That wasn’t your fault,” he said gently, his usual flamboyance toned to a soft drawl. “I scared you. That’s on me.”

You sat at the far end of the couch. Your eyes darted to his accessories, his rings, the glint of his smile. Part of you wanted to flee. The other part…

“You’re different,” you said quietly.

He chuckled, removing his glasses and setting them down. “Darling, I’ve heard many things. ‘Charming,’ ‘terrifying,’ ‘morally grey with impeccable taste’—but that’s a new one.”

“No. I mean… you didn’t get mad when I flinched.”

He leaned back, away from you, and placed a hand over his heart. “If anyone made you feel like your fear isn’t valid… tell me their names. I’m rich enough to ruin them.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. A little.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He tilted his head, smile soft now. “I gamble for a living, sugar. But trust? That’s the riskiest hand of all. So, how about we start small?”

He held out one arm in open invitation. “You say the word, I’ll wrap you in the warmest, safest hug this side of the galaxy. Or I can stay right here. No pressure. No stakes.”

Your breath shook. You reached forward.

He caught you like silk catching rain, arms curling around you with practiced grace—yet none of his usual bravado. Just warmth. Sincerity.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured. “I’m not here to play games with your heart. Not this one.”

You let your head rest on his chest, listening to the steady beat beneath designer fabric.

For the first time, a man’s embrace felt like shelter, not fear.

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marvelwitchergilmore · 1 month ago

Text

There For You

Summary: Joaquin Torres x fe!Reader -> All your life you've told people you're 'fine'. So what happens when Joaquin sees through the mask?

Disclaimer: A lot of angst with a splash of fluff here and there. Dealing with feelings of guilt and high walls, Joaquin shows up for the reader, homemade meals, hurt/comfort fluff, Joaquin sees reader, happy ending.

I’m fine.

That was a sentence you were used to saying. If there was a book published after everyone had died, listing the amount of times you’d said a word or a phrase; I’m fine would be a top contender.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“Well…”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, I promise,” you laugh.ed. “Honestly, it’s okay.”

“How’s your day been?”

“It’s been-”

“Well, I’m just about to…”

Fine was something you’d always been. Mostly because you had to be. You couldn’t really remember when it all started, just that it did. And now it couldn’t change. You’d tried once, not being fine. It didn’t go so well.

“How’ve you been?”

Silence. “Actually, I don’t think I’ve been good. Yeah, it’s kinda been-”

“Can I ask your advice on something real quick? It-It’ll only take like a second.”

That second took three days. And it was still a conversation talked about months later.

So, after that, you put the smile back on. You’d tried to sit up, only to slouch again a few seconds later, and you plastered on your smile. If anyone asked, you were fine. At the very least, you were a variation. Okay. Good. Well.

And them? They needed your help. Or advice. Or needed you to just listen. You needed to take in their information so they could get it off their chest and you were to keep your own to yourself. Once they’d actually asked you to.

“How was work?” They asked you as you sat down, your entire body ready to just cry itself to sleep.

“Not great.”

They shook their head and sat back. “Oh, no. Actually.” They’d heard the tone in your voice. The last time they heard that tone, it hadn’t been something great. “Can you not tell me? It’s just, I don’t like hearing about that kinda stuff.” They meant you work. So, pulling your feelings back in, you turned your head away and looked back towards the window. “But, I have a new update. So…”

Again, you’d plastered on a smile. You didn’t have the energy for the argument that would come if you shook your head and said no. You also didn’t want to be alone at that moment. So, if sitting through a variation of the same conversation you’d heard more than a thousand times was what you had to go through to avoid an argument where inevitably you’d apologise, then you’d sit through it.

Some days it felt like if someone asked more than once…maybe even pushed you for the truth, you’d collapse right there. You’d cry and tell them everything. And feel completely guilty about it afterwards. People didn’t need your troubles burdening them. People needed you. As a friend, as a shoulder to cry on, as an advice service, as a soundboard. They needed you.

Even when your voice notes went unheard, when your texts were skimmed over and left behind in favour of someone else's conversation. It was in the small hours of the night the guilt would creep up on you. What if they’d been dying to get it off their chest all day and you’d just interrupted them. Maybe they’d skipped over it, but it still interrupted them. They’d already said they didn’t want to know.

They didn’t need to know.

Because you were fine.

So, you got up. You answered the text messages, you listened to the voice notes, you found time in your busy schedule to go to lunch or grab a drink with them. And each time, you’d come back home, your words still with you.

“Alone again,” you sighed as you sank into your sofa. “Alone again.”

Sometimes, you were glad to be alone. It meant the weight on your chest was a little less full of guilt. That you’d still wanted to tell them things when you knew they didn’t really want to listen. That, deep down, you just wanted to leave and let them keep talking. It was a lot to take on sometimes. Thankfully, some days, you didn’t really notice the weight. Not until weeks later when it would crash back over you.

In your own way, you’d screamed for help before. You’d been drowning. But nobody had heard you. They’d pointed out that you weren’t you and that you needed to apologise. So you had done. If more than one person was saying it, it meant it had to be true, right?

It took a while, but you’d succeeded. You’d finally become the person they wanted again. Inside, most days, it was like being held together by glue and duct tape. You kept the mask up, for as long as you could, to give you time to replace it with stronger stuff; wood, nails, bricks, metal. If they didn’t see you still fixing it, they wouldn’t make such a big deal about it. They wouldn’t blame you for being the person you’d become who wasn’t you.

And eventually, they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the wood and metal and the mask you’d been wearing.

Everything would be normal for them. And you’d be able to still keep everything in, without the walls bending and breaking like cardboard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Morning, Y/n.”

You looked up and smiled from your desk. “Morning, Cap.”

“Hey, Y/n.” Joaquin followed Sam.

“Morning. You guys okay?”

They both nodded. “Hill just gave us our debrief. Told us to come and find you.”

You nodded. “Yes.” From your desk, you pulled out two files and handed them over. “The mission is on a little island, just south of the European continent. We’ve had confirmation of sightings of ex-hydra agents in local areas.”

You pushed the diagram from your tablet onto the projector screen. “They have been here, here and here.” The spots formed a triangle on a nearby coast. “We also know one is confirmed to have once been affiliated with the flag-smashers.”

You gave them both the rest of the debrief. “Barton will be flying you out tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? Why tomorrow?”

“Because our sources tell us their secret shipment isn’t going to arrive until then and if we don’t catch them with it, then there is a chance our case may not hold well enough. Hill doesn’t want to take the risk of it falling through.”

After thirty minutes, they both had everything they needed to know.

“Get your rest now, Torres. We’re gonna need it for tomorrow.”

“Aye, aye, Cap. Where you headed?”

Sam turned around as he walked out of the door. “Got a date.”

You leaned over the desk. “Bucky and your sister have a date!”

“Same thing!”

“Sam! Leave them alone!”

“Hey, they brought this on themselves. I’m just making sure nothing…untoward is gonna happen.”

You sighed. “Bucky is over a hundred years old. His flirting skills remain in the 40s.”

“It’s not him I’m worried about.”

As Sam left leaving both you and Joaquin with laughing smiles on your faces, Torres turned around to you.

“You got much on tonight?”

You shrugged. “Not a lot. Why?”

“Wanted to see if you’d like to come with me later.”

“Do you need my help?”

Even for Joaquin, that question fell off your lips far too quickly.

He shook his head. “No. Just me and the others were gonna catch a film and some dinner. Wanted to see if you’d like to come?”

“Oh…” The all too familiar guilt crushed your lungs. They didn’t need your help. “No, no. It’s okay. You guys have fun, though.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded, your smile feeling a little forced even for you. “Yes. Of course. You…go and have fun.”

“Okay. But the invitation is still there so if you change your mind…”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

Joaquin didn’t know what it was, but something made him stay right where he was. He could have left. Gone home, napped, got ready to go out. But something made him stay.

“Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

He shrugged a little. “It’s nothing. Just…have you been sleeping?”

“Have I…” His question took you by surprise. “Y..yes. I’m sleeping.”

“Properly? Like…eight hours, REM sleep, all that jazz?”

You tilted your head a little, looking at him as if he had just grown a second head. “Not…not all the time, but that’s mostly down to my neighbours. Is there something you want to tell me? Are you okay?”

Joaquin nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. But you’re sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Okay. Alright then.”

“Alright.”

“See you later?”

You nodded. “Maybe.”

He didn’t see you later. But by the looks of it, he had a good time anyway. Kate’s instagram story showed you as much. But he did see you the day after. You were there, readying the jet and some of the equipment before him and Sam were about to jet off.

“Keep your earpiece in-”

“At all times. I know.” Joaquin and Sam repeated after you.

“I’ll be tracking you guys every step of the way. If you need my help, just call out. I’ll be able to hear you. And remember, we need confirmation of the shipment before you start bringing people in.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck, guys.”

“Thanks, Y/n.”

Almost twenty four hours later, they were back along with confirmation of the shipments and a dozen people in custody.

Thankfully, the paperwork after it kept you busy for a couple of weeks. For as much as you wanted to say yes each time you were asked to attend something, the paperwork gave you a real excuse so they didn’t think you were avoiding them. Because you would have loved to have said yes. But after years and years of only ever being needed, it was hard to grasp the concept of being wanted. Which part of you still didn’t believe.

But, as the months and missions went on, things started to slip. Not by much but you could feel it. Yet, somehow, the mask managed to stay up.

Unknown to you, however, Joaquin saw right through it. He saw through it all. The masks, the reassurance, the mystery. He knew you cared. A lot. People always knew they could go to you. They always did. Joaquin also knew Sam had tried to talk to you a few times.

He’d seen something in you. Something that he saw in a lot of people he’d helped. But after his third attempt, he decided to let you come to him when you were ready.

“You know, if you ever want to talk-”

You smiled, laying a hand on his upper arm as you passed him. “Sam. I promise you, I’m okay. If I ever need someone to talk to, I’ll come to you. But, seriously, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay. I promise.”

Joaquin, however, wasn’t as patient. Maybe with everyone else, he could be. But not with you.

Not when he was visibly seeing the changes in you that you were somehow managing to hide from everyone.

It had started with the first sleepless night you’d all seen for the first time in a while. A level seven threat just on the outskirts of the city. Almost everyone was called in to help. It had been a lot. You’d been put through a lot.

Despite working mostly on the tech side of things, you were still a fully qualified field agent.

When everything had finally died down and people could head home before the six o’clock news briefing later that day, you’d stayed awake. You’d combed through everything you could, you’d brought up every piece of CCTV footage, you’d gone through every statement you could in order to piece together a coherent explanation that wouldn’t scare the rest of the country into a coma.

“Have you even gone home?” Joaquin asked you just as the clock turned to read 21:03.

You swivelled in your chair, a little quieter than usual. “Not yet.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

That was the first time you hadn’t fought someone who was trying to help you. Joaquin drove you home and when you got inside, your phone started ringing. And you just let it ring, and ring and ring. For a moment, your heart held out hope. Maybe your friend was calling in to check on you. But from the texts that followed…they weren’t.

You’ll never guess what’s just happened…

Over the next six weeks, Joaquin saw the changes. They were subtle. He had to hand it to you. You were clever at hiding it.

“From the amount of coffee you’d been drinking, you shouldn’t still be yawning.”

You chuckled. “Must be decaf.”

There was a drop in your expression from the happy smile it had held a few seconds earlier. Then it was quickly replaced with a defeated, yet somehow accepted, expression. Whoever you were texting, you were happy to help. But wishful of something else nonetheless.

Then he saw it in the way he made you jump. Or how anyone made you jump.

It was rare someone ever managed to scare you. You were observant. Saw things way before other people did. So when he walked up to your desk, with you facing him, and he saw you jump when you finally looked up, something else flicked inside of him.

It was like each individual light switch was slowly turning on one by one each time he saw you. You were tired. It wasn’t decaf because he saw you pour directly from the pot of regular he’d just made. The hopeful then saddened expressions when looking at your phone. The distant look in your eyes. He didn’t know where you’d go, but sometimes you’d just completely disappear. The tired pull of your body into and out of work. The declined invitations. The reassurance that they wouldn’t want you there. The true acceptance of your own statement, no matter how many times he’d tell you it was wrong. The glassy look in your eyes when someone asked for a second time if you were okay. The even brighter glassy look in your eyes when your friend surprised you at work and ate lunch with you.

She’d asked you how you were and you’d told her some things. It hadn’t been much. Just paperwork and research. She’d asked questions to know more, but before you could get to any kind of topic that didn’t come with a generic answer, she’d moved on. Brushed it off and the brief thankful look in your eyes that you’d finally be able to tell someone something was gone.

He’d watched you help others, talk to them, be their soundboard, look out for them, take their comments that even you had noticed had been a subtle dig at you. So, when the day came that you stepped away for a small break, Joaquin went in search of you.

You were ten seconds away from crying for eight hours straight. You were exhausted. Anytime anyone said anything to you, nothing seemed to register. You could hear the voice in the back of your mind of people telling you that you needed to apologise. But that just frustrated you more because you didn’t know who to and for what. Just that you needed to. You’d been trying to sleep at night and you knew others could see it. You were just grateful that they accepted you had noisy neighbours. Only, in the three years that you had new neighbours, they’d never once woken you up.

The image of the unplayed voice notes kept flashing through your head. But they needed you. They needed someone to vent to, or someone to get advice from, or someone to brag to. They didn’t like doing the same, but it was okay. It had to be okay.

Some people could have full lives, but lonely existences? You had friends, you had family. There shouldn’t be any reason why you should feel like this. Maybe that’s what you had to apologise for? They knew you were grateful for their help when it was given. And, despite the times their promise you could always come to them felt empty, they knew you were grateful for their offer, right?

A knock came to the single bathroom door. “Y/n? You okay in-”

“I’m fine. I’ll be out in a second,” you called out from inside. Your eyes shut tight and your fist was against your forehead. Quickly, you turned around and ran the tap, splashing your face a few times, trying to ignore the dizziness inside your head.

“Hey, I was getting worried-”

Joaquin saw your legs buckle just before you caught yourself on the frame of the door. “S-Sorry. Lost my footing. I just needed a second to-”

From your grip on the door and the tremble in your legs, you were finding the energy to move forwards without completely falling over. Then he saw your face. The tired eyes, the wetness to your lashes, the tear stains at the bottom of your cheek.

Then it was the shaking in your fingers as you lifted your hand for a moment but quickly replaced it. Your chest was moving at an uneven rate and finally, your hand slipped.

“Whoa, hey, okay, okay. Come with me.”

With one arm around your back, Joaquin helped carry you over to a nearby chair before he crouched down in front of you. “Hey, look at me. How are you feeling?”

“I…I’ll be fine.”

Your eyes were still closed but Joaquin shook his head. “Okay, no. I’m taking you home.”

“Honestly-”

“No buts. I’m taking you home. When was the last time you got any decent sleep?”

You were trying to think of when but just as you did, you were finding it difficult to find the words. The voice in your head was too loud; you’re fine, you’ll get better, this shouldn’t be happening, get over yourself, people have it worse, others need your help, others need his help.

“I-I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to worry about me. You-you should go. I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll call a cab-”

“Don’t try and fight me on it. I’m going with you.”

If you had the breath or the energy to, you would have done. But you didn’t. So, two hours later you were freshly showered with your hair washed since the smell of anti-bac from the doctor Joaquin had called had been knocking you even more dizzy and nauseous.

It had surprised you when you’d come out of your bathroom to find warm and fresh clothes laid out on your bed. A pair of shorts and a t-shirt – fresh from the dryer, despite you having picked them out of your dresser before you went for a shower. And a sweater. It wasn’t yours. But the familiar warm scent of it let you know it was Joaquin’s.

Put it on to keep you warm

You did as the note said and by the time you pulled it over your head, another smell drifted through your home. Downstairs, you found Joaquin cooking.

“You really don’t have to stay-”

“I’m staying. You’re run down and you need someone to look after you.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ve looked after myself before-”

“And now you don’t need to.”

“Joaquin.��

He just stopped and looked at you. “You do everything for everyone else. And in the last six weeks alone you’ve done that on minimal sleep. You need someone to take care of you, and I want to. You can keep fighting me on it, but I’m staying. And before you say anything – you do not need to apologise. Not to me, not to anyone else. People get sick and people let others take care of them, it’s just how it works.”

That had been the sixth time he’d told you you didn’t need to apologise. So, to avoid saying it again, you changed the subject.

“What are you making?”

You came to find out Joaquin had ran down to the corner store whilst your clothes were warming in the dryer. He’d made you one of his family’s recipes. A full meal – one that his mother swore could cure everything. A bad tummy, a bad day, a broken heart. It was a cure to everything.

“Thank you.”

Joaquin smiled and for the most part, you both ate in silence. But you could feel his eyes on you. Watching your movements, probably noticing the slight shakiness still in your hands.

“I’m gonna stay the night.”

“You really don’t have to-”

“I want to know. See it with my own eyes that you’re sleeping.”

“You do realise how creepy that sounds right?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, that does kinda sound- you know what I mean. I want to know if you've actually had a decent night's sleep.”

“I’ve only got the one bed at the minute-”

“I can take a couch-”

“Or you could stay with me.”

A slightly awkward silence replaced the once slightly comfortable one.

“Sorry. I…you probably…I should have- I’m sor-”

“Do you want me to stay with you?” The look on Joaquin’s face was nothing but complete softness. There was no harsh judgement in his eyes or his voice. There was no mockery or fakeness. It was nothing but just pure…

Care.

And somewhere between the awkward silence and the caring gaze, your voice answered before your brain even had a chance to drag you back under the water and raise the mask.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Okay. Such a tiny word with such a heavy meaning.

Ninety minutes, a full meal that hadn’t been microwaved, a loaded dishwasher and two sitcom episodes later, you were brushing your teeth before finally getting into bed.

Joaquin lay beside you. At first he’d offered to remain on the outside of the covers. But you didn’t want him to get cold. So, with a quiet smile, he’d pulled the other side of the covers back. Your phone had started blowing up with different text messages from different people but one in particular was more incessant than the rest.

And once Joaquin knew the texts weren’t important – mostly from your reaction after you’d read them as they came up as notifications, he’d taken your phone from you and turned it off completely.

It was the first time he’d seen you relax in ages.

Not by much, but it was a start. Besides, if there was a real emergency, they’d call him, too. Not that he’d let you anywhere near work for the next few days at the very least. You needed a break.

Finally, you got into bed and felt your body, despite how stiff it felt, relax into the mattress.

“I don’t know if I can fall asleep.”

Joaquin didn’t say anything. All he did was move a little closer to you before taking your hand in his and resting two of your fingers against his wrist.

“Count my pulse.”

“Does that work?”

Joaquin nodded. “Whenever I was on deployment and couldn’t sleep, this is what I would do.”

You took his word for it. And for the first time in almost six weeks, you fell asleep long before the clocks touched midnight. And somewhere in the night, your fingers had gone from holding his wrist, to his hand to suddenly being held completely by him.

When you finally woke up in the morning, the day before was slow to come back to you. The panic, the dizziness, the sickness, Joaquin, the doctor, the sweater, the meal, and…the pulse. You felt warm. And when you finally opened your eyes, you found yourself tangled with the very man who had helped you.

The very man who had stayed.

And for a short moment, you closed your eyes and leaned into him again. And, almost as if he did it all the time, Joaquin’s arms held you closer before you felt his lips brush the top of your head. And you both stayed like that for a long time. You were certain you’d fallen asleep again.

But Joaquin stayed. He didn’t try to move, he didn’t attempt to leave or wake you up.

He stayed and held you.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have done in a while.”

Lifting his hand, he carefully brushed the stray hairs from the front of your face to behind your ear. “Good.” Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your forehead. “Good.”

After a few beats of silence, you spoke again. “I know you told me not to fight you on it-”

“Y/n.”

You held onto his arm as you looked up at him. “No, no. I’m not gonna…I just wanted to say thank you.”

Joaquin was quiet as he looked at you, studied you. “You’re welcome, but you never have to thank me for staying.”

“Not many people have. Not many people noticed I needed someone to stay.” The true answer was that before Joaquin, nobody had stayed. But that seemed too sad to say out loud. And you had a feeling he already knew the true answer.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay-” It was almost like the tears before the tears. That feeling of your chest catching onto itself and the rush of blood to your heart to try and keep it at a normal pace.

Joaquin shook his head. “No, it’s not. You’ve done everything for everyone. They should have noticed. And I’m sorry for not noticing sooner.”

You just shook your head lightly, “It’s not your fault. I kept it hidden.”

“Why did you?”

You swallowed, looking down at his chest, your fingers tracing the letters on his t-shirt. “S’ easier, I guess. You get so used to being jumped over that eventually you stop being a hurdle.”

You could feel Joaquin’s hands on your back, his thumbs slowly tracing back and forth.

“I have tried…before. I’ve tried talking to people, telling them about my day but then they’ve asked me to not tell them. Sometimes they’ll say they can’t handle it and that’s not their fault. So, I’ve kept it all to myself. And I know I can handle a lot. It’s not like other people’s problems are as big as what I’ve faced at work…it kinda just adds up. And I don’t know what to do after that.”

You took a breath, trying to steady yourself.

“I know Sam’s asked me a few times to talk to him but I can’t seem to shake the guilt. He spends his entire time helping the world. You, too. I should be able to handle…all this. I know I’m only human but it just feels like…it feels like I’ve gotten this far. Why can’t I keep going?”

Joaquin was quiet when he spoke to you, his voice soft and without abruptness or judgement.

“Because even the strongest humans need a break.” Joaquin pulled you a little closer to him. “You are extraordinary, and you’ve been there for everyone who has ever needed you. But you also need to take time for yourself. Your job is stressful enough without adding everyone else’s problems on top. And the fact that people have told not to talk…I am begging you, Y/n. Talk. Tell someone what’s going on. Talk to Sam, talk to me. I want to hear you. The good, the bad, the ugly, all of it.”

For the first time, not only were you hearing someone say those words, but you were also hearing them mean it.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Looking at him, you felt the tears come forward. And for the first time you didn’t fight them. Leaning up, you held onto Joaquin and he held you right back, tight to his chest.

Joaquin felt the panic pass through you and eventually leave, he felt the tears falling onto his shirt and he just held you closer. You both knew you wouldn’t be ‘fixed’ at the end of the day, but that was something that helped.

You’d felt yourself break once before and your family had noticed, but from their words and their hugs and their actions when you finally moved again, they expected you to be right back to normal. So you’d put the mask back on.

But not now.

You didn’t have to.

And for as scary as that was, it was also freeing.

You and Joaquin talked some more after the tears had slowed and a silence had passed. And then he listened some more over breakfast. Eventually, he decided to stay a while longer.

A week later, you finally got back into work. You had said you wanted to go back after three days but Joaquin had nearly tackled you back from the door.

The first person you went to see was Sam.

It was a long conversation but not a single ounce of it was judgemental. No words out of his mouth were telling you that you needed to apologise or that you needed to go back to ‘normal’. With a gentle hand on your back, he handed you a phone number of one of the veterans he used to help. They were now a licensed counsellor and therapist.

“...and if you ever want to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, give ‘em a call. Sometimes it can be easier talking to a stranger.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

It was a process. Talking, dealing with the guilt, learning when to walk away. But it was helpful. Eventually your anxiety stopped spiking as high each time the phone rang, or it flashed with a notification. You didn’t feel like you needed to go someplace because someone needed you to.

It was nice to feel wanted.

“You okay?”

You looked up over the desk at Joaquin. Sam had left the room a few seconds ago, both of you shouting at him to leave Bucky and Sarah alone. He’d been caught stalking them at the grocery store the last time. But, like usual, he ignored you both.

You smiled with a short nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“You mean it?”

The true smile remained on your face. “Yeah, I mean it.”

In the last few months, you’d come to find you couldn’t hide anything from Joaquin. Even if you lied, he’d know the truth. And he’d stop at nothing until you’d finally tell him as much.

But you weren’t lying. You were really okay.

“Wanna join me after work?”

“Where are you headed?”

“The Park. They’re showing a movie tonight. Thought you might wanna come with me.”

“Is anyone else going?”

Joaquin paused. “Not exactly.”

You just looked at him confused.

“Kate’s probably gonna already be there and some of the others but I’m asking because I thought we could go…together.”

“Together?”

Joaquin nodded. “Kinda like a date. Or not a date, if you don’t want it to be. But it could be. Again, if you don’t want-”

You smiled, a little amused at his nervousness. The Falcon – a Captain in the Air Force and one of Captain America’s closest allies – Joaquin Torres rarely ever seemed nervous. But you found it cute.

“I don’t mind it being a date.”

He looked up, a little like a deer caught in headlights. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “I don’t.”

“So, it’s a date?” Joaquin smiled.

You nodded with a smile of your own. “It’s a date.”

“Great.” Joaquin was trying his best to not let his excitement jump out of his skin. “I will pick you up at six.”

“Okay.”

Joaquin was walking out the door backwards, his eyes still on you. Which meant he crashed into the wall before looking behind him to step out of the door. You giggled a little, watching the embarrassment flood on his cheeks as he apologised to the wall before he disappeared down the hallway.

And just as he had said, he knocked on your apartment door at six o’clock. You were just in casual clothes but he looked at you as if you were some kind of model.

“You look beautiful.”

You felt yourself blush. “Thanks.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

Without a second thought, he took your hand in his as you headed down the hallway and into the elevator. And where it should have been awkward silence, it wasn’t. Because you talked.

By the time you both got to the park, you were in a fit of laughter. You and Joaquin had found a spot just in front of a tree to lean against before you helped him flatten out the picnic blanket he’d brought with him.

“My lady,” he presented you with the blanket fresh on the floor.

“Why, thank you, kind Sir.”

And the movie played.

By the time the credits rolled, you were slowly falling asleep on his shoulder. And by the time you’d both made it back to your apartment, collapsing on the sofa, you’d both fallen asleep together watching an old re-run.

Maybe people hadn’t stayed before. Maybe people hadn’t listened before.

But Joaquin did.

And would forever.

510 notes · View notes

sleepynegress · 3 months ago

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