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fluentmoviequoter · 8 months

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Falling Slowly

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: You are Tim's newest rookie, and his favorite. He treats you differently, able to see that your past affects you, and the little things build up until you can't deny your feelings.

Warnings: so much fluff, brief angst, domestic violence (Tim and reader respond to a call & allusions to past dv against reader), one scene is inspired by "The Switch" (1x4)

Word Count: 4.0k+ words

A/N: This doesn't really fit in any specific season, so I put characters in the roles I wanted them to have and just made up some names to fill in the gaps. Hopefully everything makes sense. Please let me know what you think!

Picture from Pinterest

“What are you doing here?” Angela asks, surprised to see Tim.

Furrowing his brows, Tim answers, “I’m here for the TO meeting.”

Angela tilts her head back and groans, passing Nyla a 10-dollar bill.

“She thought you’d give up your position for Metro,” Nyla explains.

“I’d like to, someday, but not today,” Tim replies.

“20 bucks this is his last one,” Angela says to Nyla. “He still has the open invite to Metro and his patience can’t take many more boots.”

Nyla reaches to shake Angela’s hand as Tim rolls his eyes and walks away.

“Let me see his rookie first, then we’ll talk,” Nyla decides. “I’ve got a feeling a lot is going to change around here.”

“Like what?” Angela asks. “Nyla! Like what?”

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the Mid-Wilshire station on your first day as a rookie is both nerve-wracking and exciting. You’ve heard stories about boots making it through the academy to fail once they reach this level, but you’re determined. When you were a kid, you were in bad situations more often than any child should be, but kind police officers changed your life, and you’d like to do the same.

Waving to one of your police academy friends, you sit in the bullpen, waiting impatiently to learn which officer behind you will be your training officer. Getting the perfect training officer is up to fate, based on what you’ve heard, and your TO can make or break your career.

“Good morning, boots! I am Watch Commander Wade Grey. You have made it through the police academy, but don’t expect a pat on the back, your work is just beginning. This is the time to prove yourself, to show your TO, me, and this city why you deserve to be a police officer.” He pauses, moving around the podium to add, “If you should be a police officer.”

As you listen intently, striving to remember every word Sergeant Grey says, two detectives stand at the back of the room and evaluate the rookies.

“He’s only got one shot,” Angela mutters.

“If he gets the pretty one in the front, I’m not taking the bet,” Nyla says.

Angela looks up a row, her brows raising when she sees you. “If he ends up with her, we’re starting a station-wide pool and getting rich,” she adds.

“Now, it’s time to be assigned to your judge, jury, and executioner,” Wade says with a smile. “Or, as we call them, TOs. Our former rookie turned TO, Nolan: you’ve got Edward Henderson.

Officer Nolan nods at Henderson, and you remember his story: a late-life rookie who got a golden ticket. Part of you wants to work with him and learn why he decided on law enforcement, but you only nod at Henderson before turning back around.

“Lance Vincent, you are with our newest TO, Eliza Reagan.”

Wade says your name with a smile that seems a bit more genuine than before. “Officer Bradford, last but not least,” he says as he assigns you your new TO.

You look over your shoulder, a small smile on your face as he nods at you. He is undeniably attractive, and you hope it doesn’t cause any problems.

“Oh, he’s a goner,” Nyla whispers under her breath when you smile at Tim.

“Should we tell him?” Angela replies.

“I think we’ll have to.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Something about you bothers Tim. Not in the usual, grumpy-with-a-new-boot way, but he has a sense that you’re different.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, walking to Tim at the back of the bullpen.

He stands, offering a calloused hand to shake.

“I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy or fun,” he tells you. “Being a rookie is the hardest part of your career, but if you’re a good cop under the uniform, you’ll be fine.”

Nodding, you promise to do your best and express your willingness to learn everything you can from him.

“Good,” he says. “Meet me outside the war room. We’re not wasting any time, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim watches you walk away, and when you stop to let someone carrying a large box cross in front of you, Tim realizes that you’re hurting, or were hurting not long ago. The underlying need to help people is something he recognizes.

“She’s pretty,” Angela muses, walking to Tim’s side.

“Though you know that,” Nyla adds, smiling on his other side.

“She’s a boot. No different than the other rookies,” Tim argues, though his gaze is still on your back as you sign for your bags and weapons.

“Sure, she is. Why don’t you go put her through a Tim test?” Angela suggests.

Tim rolls his eyes as he leaves, wondering what hurt you bad enough to make you want to be a cop. He became a cop despite his hurt, but you’re young and bright – and too good for him – so there must be something in you that makes you worthy of this. More worthy (and more beautiful) than any rookie before you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Several officers wish you luck, with one or two warning you about so-called “Tim Tests” while you wait for Tim behind the shop.

“Don’t tell me you have a checklist,” Tim begins, drawing your attention away from the shop tires.

“No, sir,” you answer. “Just being vigilant, I suppose. I’d hate to start my first day with a flat tire.”

Tim nods, asking where the war bags are. You tell him how you checked the contents and loaded them into the trunk, and he appreciates your brief explanation.

“Good work. The easy part is over,” Tim says. He seems to weigh his options before deciding, “You drive. Show me what you’ve got.”

He follows you to the driver’s side door, opening it as he reminds you of standard shop procedures. As Tim closes the door, you wonder if he’s a gentleman or if he followed you because he doesn’t trust you to drive correctly. Either way, you know what you’re doing, and you won’t let the man in the passenger seat distract you… too much.

Driving toward Wilshire Boulevard for patrol, Tim looks out the window.

“Blue Camaro has an expired plate,” you alert.

“Call it in.”

You do so, hitting the sirens as you engage the traffic stop. Tim raises a hand to stop you from getting out.

“Remember your training. Don’t let the situation get away from you.”

His words linger in your mind, and you complete the stop with no problem, issuing a ticket and returning to the shop.

“I’m driving,” Tim alerts you, spreading his hand across the small of your back as he directs you to the sidewalk.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask when he starts the car.

“No,” he answers bluntly.

You lick your lips nervously, turning your attention to your surroundings. Suddenly, Tim pulls over and hits the brakes.

“I’ve been shot, boot. Where are we?” Tim demands.

Furrowing your brows in surprise at his actions, you answer, “Intersection of 12th and Meadowbrook, west of Redondo. There are several hospitals in a five-mile radius, but only one has a trauma center.”

Tim pulls out wordlessly, continuing his patrol route. Tim doesn't say much else throughout the few hours between his first test and lunch. He lets you point things out, answers your questions about the area and procedures, and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. When he pulls up to a small circle of food trucks where several police officers are waiting, he turns toward you.

“You’re doing well. I’m not neglecting to give you good feedback for any reason other than once you start riding alone, you won’t get it. My role here is to prepare you for your solo career, not hold your hand until you get there.”

“I understand, sir. Thank you for answering my questions,” you reply as you open the door.

Tim’s hand finds your upper back as he leads you to his favorite of the food trucks, a light touch that disappears nearly as quickly as it happened. You thank him quietly for the suggestion before sitting with your fellow rookies.

“Hi, Tim,” Angela says.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his annoyance breaking through his growing fondness for you.

“Just came to get some food. Your boot seems to be in a good mood.”

“Strange, I thought Tim’s thing was ‘break their spirits in the first hour,’” Nyla adds as she joins Angela.

“You two not have work to do or something?” Tim inquires.

“Something like that. How’s she doing?” Angela tips her chin toward you as she asks.

“She’s got good instincts, knows protocols.”

“But?”

Tim shrugs, turning away before Angela can dig deeper.

“I give it a week,” Nyla announces.

“Before what?”

“He can’t take it anymore.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Domestic disturbance in your area,” dispatch alerts.

Tim grabs the radio, accepting the call as he hits the sirens and turns into a residential area. You chew the inside of your bottom lip; domestic calls are your least favorite, especially when kids are involved. Unwilling to show discomfort, you put on your best brave cop face and follow Tim to the door.

A young girl with a bloody nose and teary eyes opens it, and you glance at Tim before kneeling and asking her to come outside. She listens without question, her lower lip wobbling as you smile.

“He’s hurting my mom,” she whimpers.

Tim nods at you before tilting his head toward the shop. You direct the girl to stand at the edge of the porch and wait for you as you follow Tim inside.

“LAPD, put your hands up!” Tim yells as he steps into a bedroom.

Your eyes widen when you see the large man towering over the girl’s mother. He smiles as he reaches for something.

“Don’t move unless you want to give me a reason,” Tim says lowly. “Step away.”

The man looks toward the nightstand before taking a deep breath and giving up.

“I got it,” Tim tells you before radioing a code 4.

You wait until Tim has the handcuffs secured to walk outside. The girl runs into your arms, and you pop the shop's trunk, setting her down as you retrieve a small first aid kit. She lets you clean her bloody nose, gripping your wrist when it stings.

“Where’s my mom?” she asks.

“She’s talking to my partner right now, she’ll be out in a few minutes,” you explain.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you answer.

“Mom!” she yells, letting you set her on the ground before she runs to her mom’s side.

“Get in the shop,” Tim commands as he walks past, his hand brushing your arm as he closes the trunk.

You obey, climbing into the passenger seat and waiting as he talks to the EMTs. When he joins you, he drives to a quiet, empty street before switching off his body cam and gesturing for you to do the same.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer than you’ve heard.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t say what I want to hear. Domestic calls are tough but that wasn’t your first one, was it?”

You shake your head, looking out the windshield instead of at Tim.

“We all have reasons for becoming a cop, and some calls are harder than others. As long as your past doesn’t get in the way and put you in danger, it’s okay to be human,” he continues. “TOs are notoriously hard on you, but we’re also here for you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Tim shrugs, one corner of his lips upturned. “No more sappy stuff, we have work to do.”

“Oh, if you think that was sappy, I’ve got a lot to show you before I graduate to short sleeves.”

The comment catches Tim off guard and makes him feel something he didn’t expect.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the first week, you feel like you know Tim well. His hand spread across your back or shoulder when you’re in front of him, his little reminders that you’re not alone, that you can show emotion when the time allows, and every other little thing he does makes you wonder why there are so many horror stories around his teaching style.

Likewise, Tim thinks he has you down. You ask him questions, ask for his opinions, listen and apply what he says, and send him small smiles when he compliments your work.

But, it only takes a shift to realize that people are multi-faceted, and cops and rookies are no different.

“Good morning,” you greet, passing Tim a small box.

“What is this? A bribe?” he asks.

You smile as you reply, “Nope. Just something I found, and I thought you’d like.”

Tim opens the box, his eyes widening at the 2000 Super Bowl tickets, the Rams’ first win. “I can’t accept these.”

“They were under a bookshelf in my apartment, it’s not like I spent a million dollars on them, Officer Bradford.”

Tucking them into his pocket, Tim opens your door. “Thank you.”

You smile, and Tim thinks your joy is the better gift.

✯✯✯✯✯

During your first call of that day, you show Tim that you don’t just value his opinions.

“Shots fired!” you radio as you duck behind the car.

“Are you hit?” Tim asks.

Shaking your head, you move closer, trusting him to direct you and keep you safe. The men in the house you were called to have automatic weapons, and though you’re a good shot, you’re not a match for their guns alone.

“Backup is on the way, but I need you to do something for me. You trust me?” Tim adds.

“I do.”

“Reach around the back and open the trunk; just far enough to reach the latch. I’ll cover you.”

He stands above you, firing into the shattered window of the house as you slip your arm and back around the end of the shop and open the trunk.

“Good, perfect,” Tim praises as he ducks beside you. His knuckles graze yours as he leans past you. “Can you reach the shotguns?”

Glancing in the window above you, you locate them quickly. “I can.”

“Do it. I got you.”

Once the shotguns are in your hands, you pass one to Tim as you ready your own. Timing your shots, you take out two shooters just as your backup arrives.

“You’re bleeding,” Tim says, his adrenaline dropping as a tactical team takes over.

You look at your arm, just noticing your ripped sleeve and bloody skin. Tim lays his hands on your arm as he turns it toward him.

“I think it was just glass from the windshield,” you say quietly, pointing to the car behind you, riddled with bullet holes and broken glass.

“Either way, we need to get it checked out.”

“Officer Bradford?” you interject. “Thank you. For making sure I trust you.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” he mutters, so soft you can barely hear it.

He taps the Super Bowl tickets in his pocket as he rises to get a paramedic to check on you, and you smile, wondering how bad it would be if you fell in love with your TO.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tim points out. “I need to know that whatever is bothering you won’t impair your ability to work with me.”

“It won’t,” you promise. “Sorry.”

Tim considers pressing, but he trusts you. “I’m here. If you decide you want to talk about it.”

He exits the shop and opens your door before you can reach for the handle.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Did you see that?” Nyla gushes, elbowing Angela.

“Ow. See what?”

Nyla points to Tim, closing your door and laying a hand on your shoulder as he ducks his head to talk to you.

“That’s not a reprimand,” Angela deduces.

When you smile, a tiny upturning of your lips, Nyla laughs.

“Oh, that boy… The door, the touches, listening to her? He’s gone.”

“Not just him,” Angela adds. “She asks him questions, smiles at him, trusts him more than anyone… and the Super Bowl tickets? They’re adorable.”

“Should we do something?”

“Not yet. I think they’re close to realizing.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After your longest, and worst, day yet, you find yourself in a hospital waiting room beside Tim. He hasn't said anything since a speeding driver ran into your side of the shop, though you've apologized countless times (even though there's nothing you could have done).

Tim’s jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried it will snap. You’re sitting close to him, a bandage around your wrist and an ice pack pressed to your cheek.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Stop- stop apologizing, it’s not your fault,” Tim sighs.

His arm is on the armrest between you, and you move your hand toward his. When he doesn’t back away, you turn your arm to allow your knuckles to brush against his.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him kindly. “He ran a red light.”

“And you could’ve been killed,” Tim replies, standing abruptly and walking away.

You slump in your seat, dejected and curious about what you could say to make him stop blaming himself for someone running into you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim and his rookie sitting in a tree,” Nyla sings under her breath.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Tim replies.

“Right, because you’re too busy being mad that she got hurt. Cops get hurt Tim,” Angela reminds him.

“Not with me,” he begins, pausing to take a deep breath. “Despite what you think, I’m upset that she got hurt, not because I’m in love with her.”

“Whatever you got to hear, buddy,” Nyla replies. “But tell me this. If it was Nolan when he was a boot, would you have felt this bad? Even if I believed you didn’t have feelings for her, which I don’t, you’re different with her and you know it.”

Tim sighs, looking out the door at you. He knows it’s true; despite his constant denial, he does treat you differently because you are different, and you’re like a magnet, incapable of being ignored or forgotten. Finally confessing it to himself, Tim knows that his feelings for you will get one or both of you in trouble unless something changes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It is time for The Switch,” Wade says as he walks into the bullpen. “The day you ride with a new TO.”

You glance at Tim, who gives you an encouraging nod. He tells you that you’re a great rookie, but he also tells you that you’re pretty sometimes, which doesn’t seem pertinent (or always true, in your eyes). Wade says your name, and you look up.

“You’re with Nolan,” he tells you.

Smiling at Nolan, you cross your fingers under the desk that it’s a good day.

“Henderson,” you call as he stands up, “what’s Nolan like?”

“He’s great. Really understanding and knowledgeable. A little talkative, but fairly easy going. Just stick to protocol and listen to his directions; you’ll be fine.”

“What about Bradford?” Vincent asks you. “Everyone says he’s the toughest. Anything I should be aware of?”

“I don’t think so. He’s quiet sometimes, but he’s great.”

You collect your war bag with the expectation of a good day. You will miss Tim, but learning how another TO teaches and his views can be invaluable. As you slide into the driver’s seat beside Nolan, you realize something: you like Tim as more than your TO. He means more to you than just being your teacher, your mentor, and a trustworthy officer. The thought hits you so suddenly you're not sure where it came from.

With each passing moment, you find yourself remembering something Tim said or wanting to tell him something, but he isn’t there. Nolan is kind and laughs at your muttered comments, but it is nothing like riding with Tim. As you think about all the little things Tim does, everything begins to make sense.

Someone yells your name when you step out of the shop to get lunch. Turning, you’re surprised to see Vincent storming up to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.

“Tell you what?”

“That Bradford has ‘Tim Tests’ and nothing pleases him!”

You glance over his shoulder, finding Tim and Nolan talking. Tim glances over at you, and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease until Nolan says something else.

“His Tim Tests aren’t that bad; he’s just teaching you awareness and safety.”

“He wants to end my career,” Vincent exclaims before muttering something about you not understanding as he walks away.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s Vincent doing?” Nolan asks.

“That kid has no situational awareness,” Tim answers. “I stopped at a street sign, and he couldn’t figure out where we were.”

“He’s probably scared of you,” Nyla interjects. “And, no, Bradford, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“My rookie can tell me where I am, no matter what,” Tim adds.

“Your rookie is very good, I’ll give you that,” Nolan replies. “But Vincent has potential. Besides, your boot has people problems.”

Tim glances over at you, locking eyes with you while Vincent talks to you dramatically.

“So do I, but I’m still a good cop.”

Nyla watches as both you and Tim sigh before abandoning the conversations you’re in. She shakes her head, calculating her winnings if the betting pool goes her way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking out of the locker room at the end of the day, you’re surprised to be called into Sergeant Grey’s office. You sit across from him, fiddling with the hem of your shirt to spend your nervous energy.

“You are being assigned to a new TO. Officer Bradford has decided to hand you off to someone better equipped to teach you,” Grey informs. “But you’re not in trouble.”

You still your hands in your lap. “Okay. Effective when?”

“Monday morning. So, rest up.”

As you stand, Grey says your name, smiling as he repeats, “You’re not in trouble. This was Bradford’s decision, nothing to do with you. Well, nothing to do with you as a rookie.”

You purse your lips at his phrasing, and he chuckles before sending you out. Walking through the parking lot, you see Tim’s truck is still there and decide to ask him what happened. Standing by the tailgate, you chew your bottom lip as you wait, nervous that you did something, though Wade assured you differently.

Tim walks up unnoticed, saying your name to get your attention.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask, jumping straight to your questions. “I can fix it; there has to be a way to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tim promises. “I just can’t be your TO anymore.”

“Why not?”

Tim shifts his backpack on his shoulder. “It’s not appropriate.”

Your heart drops. Tim knows you have feelings for him, and it makes him uncomfortable; that’s the only explanation. Nodding slowly, you accept your fate.

“And I can’t do this,” Tim adds.

His hands slide onto your jaw, his palms against your cheeks as his fingers settle behind your ears, pulling you into a quick kiss. You only begin to respond when he pulls back.

“You’re the best boot I’ve ever had,” he whispers, brushing his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks.

“I’m not your boot anymore,” you remind him.

“That’s your fault. Those little gifts, and soft smiles, and how well you listen… You make it impossible not to fall for you.”

You laugh, leaning against his hands as you reply, “You do too. How do you think I felt when you called me pretty or touched my back? Then you kept comforting me and inviting me to talk. It was too easy.”

“Go to dinner with me?” he asks.

You nod, smiling against his hands before he moves to touch your back again, opening the passenger door as he helps you in. Tim slips his hand into yours, kissing your knuckles as he keeps you close.

✯✯✯✯✯

When the rest of the rookies leave the station, noticing that your car is still there, they ask each other if anyone has seen you.

“Bradford’s truck is gone,” Nyla notices as she walks out.

“Looks like we won,” Angela cheers.

“Where’s Bradford?” Vincent asks.

“On a date,” Nyla answers. “With his former boot.”

The rookies’ jaws drop, wondering how you managed to pull Mid-Wilshire’s resident grump.

“Don’t expect the same to happen to you,” Angela says as she passes the rookies. “We all worked for this one.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fem!reader

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mattitties · 9 months

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can u plz do a fluff fanfic about the reader being scared of thunder and there's a rlly loud thunder storm so matt has to comfort her? thanks :)

thunder - matt sturniolo

“Really? I love when it storms. I think it’s so peaceful and I can just curl up and watch a movie or something,” Matt tells me. It’s our second date and we’re in the “biggest fears” category, and I told him about my extremely irrational, but very severe, fear of storms.

“I get that,” I reply. “It’s really not that I’m just scared of storms, my best friend’s house was struck by lightning and caught on fire when we were in high school, so it kind of just set something off in my head. I know it sounds stupid because it didn’t happen to me, but it just started this crazy fear.”

“Oh wow, that’s terrifying. No, I totally get it, it’s not stupid.”

As I sit with my knees tucked to my chest on my bathroom floor, I think back to that conversation from three months ago. It’s the first storm I’ve experienced since I moved to LA, and I’m a mess. My windows are rattling with each clap of thunder, and all I can think about is my roommate at work right now. She enjoys storms, but my anxiety is getting the best of me thinking about everything that could go wrong.

What if she can’t make it to her car? What if she gets in an accident on the way home? What if I’m stuck here for the rest of the night by myself?

She’s the only person I’ve got here in LA. I had Matt, but then I fucked it all up right on our two month anniversary.

I was so ridiculously busy with work and what felt like 800 pounds of shit piling up in my life that I completely forgot about our anniversary. I stood him up at the dinner that he made reservations for, and subsequently didn’t go to the hockey game that he was going to surprise me with; the hockey game which he got $300 tickets for.

I apologized profusely and told him I would do anything to make it up to him, and he told me he was just really disappointed and needed some space before we talked again.

He called me a couple days later and I didn’t answer because I was so ashamed and embarrassed I couldn’t even face him.

He texted me, I never replied. After three days of missed calls and texts, I guess he got the message because he stopped trying.

A week after that, I texted him apologizing for everything and explained my intentions behind my actions.

He didn’t answer. I don’t blame him.

That was three weeks ago, and it’s been radio silence on both ends. I guess we’re really done, but I really, really need him right now.

I turn on the shower to try to drown out some of the noise of the thunder, but nothing is working. I look at the weather app. It shows the same pattern until tomorrow morning.

I’m so fucked. I can barely breathe, my heart is beating out of my chest, and I just want to die. I’ve been texting my roommate to see when she’s returning but she’s busy at work and I’m trying not to annoy her any more than I know I have been, so now I’m just sitting in front of the shower, praying that everything would just stop.

Ten or so minutes pass, and I hear the front door open. Nobody ever comes to our apartment and my roommate always forgets her key, so I just leave it deadbolted when I’m home. I turn off the shower and call out her name to let her know I’m home, but she must not hear me. I pull myself together as much as possible and go out to the living room, but I don’t see the face I expect when I get there.

“Matt?” I whisper. I’m in such shock that nothing else comes out.

He’s absolutely drenched as he stands by the front door with a bottle of lemonade. I love lemonade.

“Hi,” he smiles shyly as he raises the hand holding the bottle. “I, uh, brought you something.”

I have no idea what to say. I opt for, “what are you doing here?”

“Well, I know how much you hate storms, so I thought you could use some company. Also… I just really miss you. And I would like to talk about us. We don’t have to do it tonight, obviously, but–”

“Yes. Yes, we can talk. Tomorrow? We can get breakfast? My treat,” I say, sounding pathetically desperate, but this is all I’ve wanted for the past three weeks.

“Okay,” he says as he takes off his shoes. “Do you happen to still have some of my sweatshirts and sweatpants? I’m kinda…” he says, motioning to the water dripping off of him.

“Yes! In my room, come.” He follows me to my room and I give him his clothes that I’ve worn an embarrassing amount of times since we broke up. “You didn’t have to come tonight,” I tell him. “This is really, just… I don’t deserve this after what I did.”

He waves a hand at me as if to say forget about it. “We’ll talk about that tomorrow. And I did have to come. Because I care about you, and I know you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight.”

I’m about to cry. I really don’t deserve this guy.

“Let me go change, then we can crack open that lemonade and cuddle and watch something. Sound good?” he asks.

All I can do is nod in response as I watch him smile before he goes to the bathroom. I pour the lemonade into two glasses and set them on the bedside tables.

When he comes back out and lays on my bed, I just stand there, wondering if he wants me to join him.

“Hello, what are you waiting for? Don’t leave me hangin!”

I smile and lay next to him, feeling more at home than ever when he pulls me into him.

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader

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cheynovak · 1 month

Text

The Road to Clarity - part 1

Summary: Y/N is a photographer, loving her job in New York. During a shoot she worked with her now boyfriend, Tom. They soon started dating. Now three years later her life takes a turn and when she flies out to Texas, she meets Jensen, a rancher with a teenage daughter Samantha.

Warnings: slow burn, romantic, nothing to explicit -> yet

English is not my first language

Words: 3730

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

Y/N had always loved the way her camera captured life. In a city like New York, where everything moved at a breakneck pace, photography was her way of freezing time, of holding onto the moments that mattered. Her days were filled with shoots, editing sessions, and gallery meetings, but her nights belonged to Tom.

She met Tom on a crisp autumn afternoon. He was the model for a high-profile fashion shoot, and the moment she saw him, something clicked. His chiseled features, confident demeanor, and the way he carried himself—it all drew her in. What started as professional banter quickly turned into late-night conversations, shared dinners, and eventually, love.

They had been inseparable for the past three years. Y/N often marveled at how lucky she was to have found someone like Tom. They complemented each other in every way—her quiet introspection balanced his outgoing charm, her artistic vision complemented his natural talent in front of the camera. When he proposed under the soft glow of the Brooklyn Bridge, she said yes without hesitation.

But love, Y/N was beginning to realize, could be as fleeting as the moments she captured on film.

It started with little things—a text message he quickly hid, unexplained absences, and a change in his behavior that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Y/N tried to ignore it at first, brushing away her unease as paranoia. But the doubts gnawed at her, growing larger and more insistent with each passing day.

One evening, while Tom was in the shower, Y/N's curiosity got the better of her. She hesitated for a moment, heart pounding in her chest, before unlocking his phone. She wasn’t prepared for what she found. Dozens of messages, photos, and late-night plans with someone else. Her worst fears confirmed, she felt her world collapse in on itself.

Tom emerged from the bathroom, steam billowing out behind him, and saw the look on her face. There was no need for words—he knew she had found out.

"Y/N, I can explain," he started, but she cut him off.

"Don’t," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes. "Just… don’t."

The apartment that had once felt so warm and safe now felt suffocating. She needed to escape, to put as much distance between herself and this betrayal as possible. Without a word, she grabbed her suitcase, threw in whatever she could find, and walked out the door, leaving Tom standing there, drenched in the silence of his own making.

At the airport, she stared blankly at the departure board. She had no plan, no destination in mind—just the overwhelming urge to be anywhere but here. Texas. It was the first place that caught her eye. A place far from the towering skyscrapers and the painful memories they held. She bought the next ticket out and boarded the plane, leaving behind the city that had given her so much, yet taken away even more.

As the plane lifted off, Y/N stared out the window at the sprawling city below, the lights glittering like a thousand broken promises. She let the tears fall freely now, each one a testament to the love she thought she had, the life she thought she was building.

Texas greeted her with open skies and a warmth that contrasted sharply with the cold she felt inside. She rented a small cabin on the outskirts of a quiet town, far away from the hustle and bustle of city life. The days passed slowly, the rhythm of the rural life a stark contrast to the frenetic pace she was used to. She spent her mornings walking along dusty trails, camera in hand, capturing the beauty of a world that seemed so far removed from her own.

One day, as she was photographing a field of wildflowers behind her rented cabin, swaying gently in the breeze, she noticed a young couple lounging near a tree. They couldn’t have been more than sixteen, the girl with long, flowing hair and the boy with a mischievous grin. There was something so innocent, so pure about their presence. Y/N raised her camera and snapped a few shots, the soft click of the shutter almost lost in the rustling of the leaves.

The couple noticed her, and she waved them over, smiling. They approached, curious and a little shy.

"Hi there," Y/N greeted them warmly. "I hope you don’t mind—I couldn’t resist capturing such a sweet moment."

The girl blushed, her eyes sparkling with young love. "No, we don’t mind at all. Can we see?"

Y/N showed them the photos on the camera’s screen. The girl gasped in delight. "These are beautiful!"

"You two make a lovely picture," Y/N said, feeling a pang of something bittersweet as she looked at them. They reminded her of a time when she, too, had believed in love that simple and untainted.

"My mom has a darkroom at home," the girl said suddenly, her voice filled with pride. "She used to develop photos all the time.” Y/N’s curiosity was piqued. "A darkroom? That’s rare to find these days. Where do you live?"

The girl pointed off toward the distance. "Not far, just a couple of miles down the road. You should come by sometime!” The boy nudged the girl gently. "We should get going, Sam. It’s getting late."

Samantha nodded, smiling at Y/N giving her hand. "Samantha, Sam for short, It was really nice meeting you."

"You too, I’m Y/N" She replied, watching as they walked away, hand in hand, disappearing into the twilight. As Y/N stood there, the camera hanging loosely from her neck, she couldn’t resist capturing one last image of the young couple. They walked hand in hand toward the setting sun, their silhouettes framed perfectly by the golden light. She clicked the shutter, knowing that this moment, like so many others, would be one she would keep with her.

The following week, Y/N found herself at a quaint café in town, her laptop open in front of her. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as she sipped her drink, her focus on editing the photos she had taken over the past few days. The images of the teenage couple were among her favorites, and she found herself drawn to the warmth and innocence captured in each shot.

As she worked, the familiar sound of a truck pulling up outside the café caught her attention. She glanced up just as the door swung open, revealing Samantha and a man who looked to be in his early forties. He had light brown hair, slightly tousled, and sharp green eyes that contrasted with his weathered face—features that suggested years of hard work under the Texas sun.

Samantha’s eyes lit up when she saw Y/N. She waved enthusiastically, her smile as bright as ever. Y/N smiled back, motioning for them to join her at the small table by the window.

“Hi, Y/N!” Samantha greeted her cheerfully, sliding into the chair across from her. The man followed suit, offering a polite nod.

“Hey, Samantha,” Y/N replied warmly, turning her laptop so they could see the screen. “I was just working on your photos. What do you think?”

Samantha leaned forward, her eyes widening as she took in the image of herself and her boyfriend walking into the sunset. The colors were rich and vibrant, the mood of the moment perfectly captured. She gasped, her excitement bubbling over.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, this is amazing! I love it!”

Y/N smiled, pleased with the reaction. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted to capture that feeling—you two looked so happy.”

The man, who Y/N assumed was Samantha’s father, peered at the screen, his green eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “That’s a great shot, but I thought you two had broken up?”

Samantha’s expression shifted instantly from joy to irritation. She shot her father a sharp look. “Dad, seriously? You don’t understand a thing, do you?”

Y/N watched the exchange, feeling a twinge of discomfort at the tension between them. It was clear there was something deeper going on beneath the surface.

Her father sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if searching for the right words. “I’m just trying to look out for you, Sammy. You’re young, and sometimes boys aren’t as true as they seem.” Samantha crossed her arms, her voice defensive. “I know that, but we’re fine. It was just a stupid argument, okay? We’ve moved past it.”

Y/N, sensing the need to diffuse the situation, gently interjected. “It’s clear from the photos how much you care about each other. Relationships can be complicated, especially when you’re young, but it’s the love and the connection that really matter.”

Samantha’s expression softened as she glanced back at the image on the screen. “Yeah… you’re right. We do care about each other. I just wish Dad would stop worrying so much.”

Her father gave a small, resigned smile. “It’s my job to worry, Sam.

The moment of tension eased, and Y/N felt a sense of relief. She closed her laptop, feeling like she had intruded on a private moment. “Y/N, would you mind sending me a copy of that picture?” Samantha asked, her voice lighter now. “I’d love to print it out and hang it in my room.”

“Of course,” Y/N replied, smiling. “I’ll email it to you tonight.”

As they got up to leave, Samantha’s father paused, glancing back at Y/N with an expression that suggested he wanted to say something more. His green eyes flickered with a mixture of hesitation and thoughtfulness, but after a brief moment, he simply nodded and walked out the door, following Samantha.

Y/N watched them go, wondering what he had been about to say, but she didn’t dwell on it for long. Instead, she packed up her things and headed back to her cabin, where she spent the evening editing more photos, including the one Samantha loved. True to her word, she sent the image to Samantha later that night, feeling satisfied with the day’s work.

A few days later, Y/N found herself wandering through the small town, her camera slung over her shoulder as always. The sun was warm, casting a gentle glow over the streets, and she felt more at peace than she had in a long time. As she passed by the local high school, she noticed a group of students gathered around a bulletin board, hanging up posters and flyers.

Curious, Y/N walked over and saw Samantha among them, carefully pinning up a large picture of a race with bold lettering announcing a charity event. The flyer explained that the race was part of a school project to raise money for a local cause, and the image captured the excitement and energy of the event perfectly.

“Samantha!” Y/N called out, waving as she approached.

Samantha turned, her face lighting up when she saw Y/N. “Hey! What do you think?” she asked, gesturing to the poster she had just hung up.

“It looks great,” Y/N said, admiring the picture. “You’re doing this as a school project?”

“Yeah,” Samantha nodded enthusiastically. “We’re trying to raise money for a new sports field. The schoolpaper is doing a big feature on it, and we want to get as much coverage as possible.”

Y/N smiled, already anticipating what was coming next. Samantha’s passion for the project was infectious, and Y/N could see how much it meant to her.

So,” Samantha began, her tone hopeful, “I was wondering… would you be willing to take some pictures for the schoolpaper? I know it’s a lot to ask, and we don’t really have a budget, but it would mean so much to us. We’re hoping you might be able to do it for free?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Of course, I’d love to help out,” she said warmly. “I’m happy to do it.”

Samantha’s face lit up with relief and gratitude. “Thank you so much, Y/N! This is going to make a huge difference.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a sense of fulfilment in being able to contribute to something meaningful. “Just let me know the details, and I’ll be there.” As they chatted about the upcoming event, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. The more she immersed herself in the community, the more she realized that this small town had given her something she hadn’t expected a new home.

The day of the event arrived with a clear, bright sky and a gentle breeze that carried the scent of grilled food and sweet treats from the stalls lining the field. Y/N had chosen a light blue summer dress, the fabric swaying around her legs as she moved. She’d even bought a new pair of cowboy boots, a nod to the local style, and felt a little thrill at how they clicked against the ground as she walked. She was trying to fit in with the laid-back yet distinctly Texan vibe of the town, and from the friendly nods and smiles she received, she figured she was doing a decent job.

The event was held at a large open field, which had been transformed into a lively fairground. There was a race track with wooden horses where kids lined up eagerly for their turn, a children’s rodeo that drew cheers and laughter from the crowd, lasso-throwing contests, and a variety of stalls offering everything from smoked brisket to homemade pies. The high school cheerleaders were busy running around in their uniforms, selling tickets for the upcoming football game, their energy infectious as they chattered and laughed, adding to the festive atmosphere.

Y/N wandered through the crowds, her camera slung around her neck, capturing the vibrancy of the day. She photographed the wooden horses mid-race, the concentrated faces of children trying to lasso a wooden calf, and the rows of colorful stalls filled with local treats. Everywhere she looked, there were moments worth preserving.

As she scanned the scene for her next shot, she spotted someone who immediately caught her eye. Dressed in all denim—jeans, a button-up shirt, and a well-worn cowboy hat—a man stood at the lasso-throwing area, his tall frame and broad shoulders making him stand out even in the crowd of similarly dressed locals. He had a short, neatly kept beard that added a rugged edge to his features, and as he moved, there was a calm confidence in his every gesture.

Y/N raised her camera, zooming in slightly, and watched through the lens as he skillfully threw the lasso, effortlessly roping the target. There was something about him that made him different from the countless other men she had seen that day, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Maybe it was the ease with which he carried himself or the quiet intensity in his expression as he focused on the task at hand.

She snapped a few shots, capturing the moment as the lasso looped perfectly around the wooden steer. As she lowered the camera to check the images, she noticed him glance in her direction. Their eyes met briefly, and she felt a small jolt of surprise when he nodded and smiled, acknowledging her presence. There was a warmth in his smile, a subtle charm that seemed to suggest he was used to being watched but wasn’t bothered by it.

Just as Y/N was about to return the smile, Samantha popped up beside her, nearly startling her.

“That’s my dad,” Samantha said with a grin, clearly proud. “He wins at the lasso game every time. It’s not even fair, really—he’s been doing this since he was a kid, and owning a cattle ranch doesn’t hurt.”

Y/N looked back at Jensen—now realizing he was Samantha’s father—throwing another perfect lasso. It suddenly made sense why he seemed so familiar, even though she hadn’t met him properly before.

“So, he’s an expert, huh?” Y/N replied, watching as Jensen accepted a small prize from the booth operator with a casual wave of his hand.

“Yeah,” Samantha said, rolling her eyes playfully. “He’s good at just about everything when it comes to ranch stuff. Mom always said he could rope the moon if he wanted to.”

Y/N chuckled, amused by the image that conjured. She turned her camera back to the scene, snapping a few more pictures of the other contestants, but she found herself glancing back at Jensen every so often, intrigued by the man who seemed so much a part of this town yet somehow stood out to her in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

“Want to meet him?” Samantha asked, noticing Y/N’s lingering gaze.

Y/N hesitated for a moment. “Sure, why not?” she finally said, feeling a mix of curiosity and something she couldn’t quite name.

Samantha led the way through the crowd, weaving between people who greeted her with familiar smiles and nods. As they approached, Jensen looked up, his green eyes bright with recognition as he saw them coming. He tipped his hat slightly, a polite gesture that felt almost old-fashioned but perfectly in character.

“Dad, this is Y/N,” Samantha said, introducing them with a wide smile. “She’s the photographer I told you about—the one helping with the school paper.”

Jensen extended a hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve seen you around town a few times. You’re doing some good work with that camera.”

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, shaking his hand and noticing how warm and strong it felt. “I’ve been enjoying capturing the spirit of the town. It’s a lot different from New York.”

Jensen smiled, a touch of humor in his green eyes. “I figured you were a city girl.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What makes you say that?”

He glanced down at her new cowboy boots, then back up at her with a playful grin. “Let’s just say you’ve got a bit of a city way of dressing.”

Before Y/N could respond, a group of men called out to Jensen from across the fairground, waving him over. Jensen tipped his hat to Y/N with a slight, respectful nod. “If you’d excuse me, ma’am,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle Texas twang, before turning and heading toward the group.

Y/N watched him go, her mind still turning over his words. She glanced down at her boots, wondering what exactly he had meant. “What’s wrong with my boots?” she asked, turning to Samantha, a hint of confusion in her voice.

Samantha burst into laughter, the sound light and teasing. “Nothing’s wrong with them, I promise,” she said, grinning at Y/N’s puzzled expression. “My dad’s just old-fashioned. He can tell those boots are brand new—he’s used to seeing people in well-worn work boots around here. He wasn’t being serious, just poking a little fun.”

Y/N let out a relieved laugh, realizing that Jensen’s comment had been more about teasing than criticism. “So, it’s not about me looking out of place?”

Samantha shook her head, still smiling. “Not at all. It’s just his way of saying he noticed. You’re doing just fine—better than fine, actually. You’re fitting in more than you think.”

Y/N smiled, feeling reassured. “Thanks, Samantha. I guess I’ll just have to break these boots in a little more.”

“Yeah, maybe do a little more walking in them,” Samantha said with a wink. As the day wore on, Y/N continued to move through the fairground, her camera clicking away to capture the vibrant energy and joyful moments of the event. The wooden horses, the excited kids, the colorful stalls—all provided ample opportunities for great shots. Yet, despite her best efforts to focus on everything happening around her, her attention kept drifting back to Jensen.

He seemed to have an effortless way of commanding attention, even when he wasn’t actively posing. His tall, broad-shouldered frame and confident, relaxed demeanor made him stand out naturally. Y/N found herself repeatedly drawn to him, her lens finding him almost instinctively, as if he was the centerpiece of her day.

Jensen moved through the fairground with an easy grace, interacting with people, participating in games, and generally embodying the spirit of the event. Each time Y/N looked through her camera, he was there—his presence somehow adding a special quality to every shot. His laughter was infectious, his expressions genuine, and his movements so natural that he seemed to glide through the day with an effortless charm.

As she followed him around, Y/N couldn't help but feel a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. It was as though each snapshot of Jensen was more than just a photograph—it was a moment captured in time that held a kind of magic. Her favorite shot of the day came when Jensen was in the middle of a hearty laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling with joy. His perfect white teeth gleamed against the backdrop of the fairground, and there was something so incredibly captivating about the way he looked in that moment. The raw, unguarded joy he exuded made the photograph feel alive, brimming with the essence of the day.

Y/N looked at the image on her camera’s display, and her heart skipped a beat. The way Jensen's laughter was caught mid-air, the way his eyes crinkled with mirth—it was as if she had managed to capture a piece of his soul, and it was both thrilling and slightly unnerving. The fluttering in her stomach intensified, and she found herself smiling, unable to shake the feeling that there was something profoundly special about this moment.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm, golden light over the fairground, Y/N knew that this day would be one she wouldn’t forget. Jensen had unwittingly become the focal point of her photographs, and she couldn't deny that he had also become the focal point of her thoughts too.

-------

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daisynik7 · 1 year

Note

I’ve had this in my head for awhile

“promiscuous” by Nelly furtado for Toji Fushiguro- smut

Promiscuous

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.0k

cw: p*rn without plot, smut – PIV sex (doggy), degradation, public sex, nipple play, fingering, sex without a condom, spit play, daddy kink, breeding kink, cream pie

Summary: You’re a waitress working in a ramen shop at the racetrack. There are always the regulars that come in during the odd hours of the day, killing time with a bowl of ramen or takoyaki, waiting to either win or lose. Toji Fushiguro is one in particular that catches your eye. When he continues his losing streak, you decide to cheer him up in the only way you know how.

Author's Note: Thank you for the request for the y2k karaoke party my lovely @batafuraikisu! I love you so so much, you’re always so sweet and so supportive of me! I hope you like this one for your man Toji! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune.

It’s noon on a Tuesday morning. A gun fires off in the distance, signaling the start of the next race. The regulars you’re used to seeing gather around the monitor, watching as the horses they placed their bets on gallop around the track. Ken, one of the cooks behind the counter, rings the bell; a fresh order of chicken karaage is ready to serve. You stack it on a tray, balancing it as you walk to the dining area, waiting for the race to end, knowing everyone’s attention is on the finish line.

When horse number #4 eventually crosses, followed by #1, then #3, most of the men groan, tossing their crumpled tickets into the nearby trashcan. Goro, a retired grandpa you’ve befriended throughout the years, pumps his fist in the air victoriously. “I knew Prince could do it! Wahoo!”

You smile at him, setting the food down at his table. “Congratulations!”

He pats your hand gratefully, snapping his chopsticks in two, popping a piece into his mouth. “Thank you, dear. Please ask Ken to make three more orders for me.” He points his thumb to the others, moping in their seats, some taking long drags of their cigarettes. “Figured these losers could use a little treat.”

Giggling, you respond, “Coming right up.”

On your way back, you notice a familiar figure slumped in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Toji Fushiguro is a new regular from the past few weeks. He’s significantly younger than the others, and also undeniably attractive. Naturally, you take an interest in him. It’s rare to find someone with his muscular stature around here, considering the usual crowd consist of middle-aged men with beer bellies or elderly fellows hunched over from old age. While you never minded these type of men before, it was a pleasant change of scenery to see someone like Fushiguro grace you with his presence.

Behind the counter, you add an order of takoyaki, hoping to lighten up his mood. It’s obvious his horse didn’t win. He’s been this way for the past two weeks, continuously betting on the wrong one, none of his choices even placing. When the food is ready, you pass it out to the depressed men smoking in the corner, who wave at Goro in thanks. The friendly old man joins them, trying to lift their spirits by offering a round of drinks. Everyone in the restaurant is gathered together because misery really does love company. Well, except for Toji.

You approach him consciously, remembering that you’ve only ever exchanged a few words with each other, whenever he would place his order. Silently, you slide the food over to him until he notices it. He peeks at you with one eye open, glancing at the little plate of octopus balls in front of him. “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s on the house,” you say, smiling.

Glaring at you, he responds, “I don’t need your pity.”

Yikes, you think, standing your ground. Not quite backing down just yet, you explain, “It’s not pity. Consider it thanks for always supporting our business. You’re a regular now.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, studying you thoroughly. “So, this isn’t because I’ve been sulking here for the last two weeks, right?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Absolutely not. But if you really don’t want it, I’m sure Goro and the others will happily eat it for you – ”

“I’ll eat it,” he interrupts, pulling it towards him, finally relaxing.

You smirk. “Great. Have a good meal.” Your gaze lingers on him for a second longer before you turn on your heel, leaving.

Just barely do you hear him mutter a quiet, “Thanks.”

~~~

The next day, Toji is back, nodding at you as he walks into the establishment. This is the most he’s acknowledged you personally before, and part of you feels a sense of accomplishment. As if you’re slowly getting through to him.

Throughout the morning, he sits in his usual seat, watching race after race, groaning at the end of each one. He’ll rush out of the shop only to return minutes later with a new ticket in hand. It’s a sad cycle that continues past lunch, still no luck.

Your coworker is serving him today, so you haven’t said a thing, a bit nervous that he might snap at you for “pitying” him again. However, you’ve been exchanging knowing glances here and there; you can tell he’s watching you, and you don’t mind it. Not at all.

After setting down a table full of ramen bowls for a particularly cheery bunch of winners, you brush past him, his hand grabbing your wrist firmly to stop you. “Hey.”

You face him, alarmed and excited at the sudden contact. “Hello,” you say, stepping towards him.

He doesn’t let go, eyes scanning you up and down. You swallow nervously, not quite sure what to do or say. “Do you need something?”

It takes a beat for him to respond but he does, smirking. “I do, actually. I need some pity.”

You crack a smile, teasing, “Oh, so now you want my pity. What do you want? Karaage? Another takoyaki?”

“I’m not really hungry for food right now.” His grip tightens around your wrist, electricity radiating from his touch straight to your chest, sending your heart racing.

Normally, you wouldn’t do this type of thing, but you can’t help yourself: you’re far too curious to let an opportunity like this go to waste. Mouth grazing his ear and as confidently as you can muster, you whisper, “My shift ends in an hour. Think you can be patient until then?”

His grin widens, teeth showing like a predator who has set their sights on its prey. “Sure. I have a feeling this will be worth the wait.”

~~~

As expected, Toji remains seated in the same spot until you’re done. When you start to approach him, he stands up, ready to follow wherever you lead him. You wave goodbye to Ken and your coworker, who stare at the two of you curiously. Ken even yells out your name, asking, “What are you up to?!”

Ignoring the question, you walk briskly down one of the corridors towards the exit. Toji trails just behind you, not speaking. You turn into one of the single vacancy bathrooms you usually use, pulling him inside with you, locking the door with a loud click.

His back is pressed to the door, staring at you, cocky. “Impatient, aren’t we?”

“Shut up,” you say, clutching his collar, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. He chuckles into your mouth, tongue swiping yours, hands arounds your waist. They slide below your ass, squeezing your flesh between his large fingers. You moan, dragging your lips down his neck, sucking on his skin.

His thumbs hook on the waistband of your jeans, tugging you closer to him. The bulge in his sweatpants is throbbing and hard against you as you grind your body on his, eager for more. He hums. “And here I was thinking you’d be nervous around me. Who would have thought you’d be so promiscuous?”

You laugh, your hands gliding under his shirt, fondling his muscular body. “Are you that surprised? I don’t offer pity takoyaki to just anybody.”

“Lucky me,” he smiles, nipping at your bottom lip.

Soon, you’re both stripped naked, clothes tossed hastily onto the floor. He licks his lips as he studies your figure, hands roaming your body, pinching at your nipples all perky and hard with arousal. He flicks his thumbs across them, asking, “You like having your tits played with?”

You nod, watching hazily as he bows down, lips near your breasts. “Good. Feed them to me.”

You obey, squeezing one in your hands, guiding it into his mouth. He puckers his lips around the sensitive teat, sucking until you whine with pleasure. You pull out of him slowly, releasing you with a loud pop. He does the same with the other side, suckling on your nipple until it’s plump and aching with arousal.

“Think you’re wet enough for me?” he growls, reaching for your throbbing clit, flicking it with his fingers. “Bet I can make you wetter.”

“Then do it,” you moan, grinding against his hand. “Fuck me with those fingers.”

His eyes widen, two beefy fingers sliding into your entrance, stretching you out. “Fuck, you’re bad. So ready to get finger fucked by a total stranger. Nasty slut.” He sticks his tongue in your mouth, slobbering all over you as he pumps his digits in and out of your pussy, rubbing his thumb on your clit. After several more strokes, you come for him, gushing around his fingers until they’re coated in your slick.

“Shit,” he swears, letting you ride out your orgasm on his palm, thumb still circling your bud. “It’s real creamy now. Perfect for my cock.” He pulls out, stroking his dick with his wet fingers, spreading his own precum around the tip. “Bend over for me, sweetheart.”

You’re needy and desperate for him to fill you up now, obedient to his every command no matter how crudely he spits it out to you. In this moment, you’re nothing but a cock sleeve for Toji, waiting to be stuffed full. So you follow his orders, bending over with your hands flat against the wall, sticking your ass out for him. He smacks it, watching with mirth as your skin jiggles from his harsh touch. He nestles his cock between your cheeks, grinding it against you. “Goddamn, that’s sexy,” he growls, spitting into his palm, lubricating his shaft with his saliva. “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, anticipating. “Give it to me.”

“Tell daddy exactly what you want,” he coos, slapping your bottom once more, teasing the tip up and down your folds.

“Fuck, I want daddy’s big cock inside me!” you cry out, thrusting yourself onto him, his dick sliding smoothly inside you.

He laughs, gripping your hips tightly as he starts to thrust. “Yeah, you want daddy’s cock pounding this wet pussy, huh? Look at you swallowing me up. Fucking whore.”

The degradation only spurs you to throw your ass back onto him, fucking you deeper and deeper until your knees are wobbly, legs shaky. He rails you harder, spreading your cheeks apart to watch his dick disappear with each plunge. “This pussy was made to be bred. You want my cum inside you? Ask for it. Beg for it.”

“Please daddy! I want your cum!” you plead, unashamed. Really, whatever figurative chokehold this man has on you is outstanding. To have you begging for his seed, desperate to be stuffed with his load, it’s concerning and riveting all at the same time.

“Louder,” he demands. “Let the whole racetrack hear how much you want daddy’s cum.” He reaches around to stimulate your clit, massaging it between his thick fingers.

“Give me all your fucking cum, daddy!” you moan, choking on your own spit, drool trickling out the sides of your mouth. It’s pointless now to deny how fucking cock-drunk you are for him. Useless to save face when you were already so blatant about seducing him from the start. All you can do now is comply and hope that none of your coworkers can hear you screaming from the other side of the wall.

“Yeah, that’s what I want to hear,” he purrs, flicking your bud rapidly. “You’re going to get all this fucking cum.”

He comes as soon as you tighten around him with your second orgasm. He doesn’t stop stimulating your clit until he empties his load inside you. Slowly, he pulls out, marveling at the lewd sight of his cock coated in cum. “Fuck,” he mutters, continuing to gaze at the mess the both of you made.

You gradually come to your senses, carefully picking your clothes up from the floor. When you’re fully dressed, he steps to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands, kissing your forehead. “Are you working tomorrow?”

With a weak smile, you respond, “Yes.”

He grins back, brushing your lips with his thumb. “Good. See you then.”

~~~

The next day, coincidentally, Toji’s horse places first, ending his miraculous losing streak. After collecting his winnings, he waits for you until your shift is done, waving the earnings in his hands, smiling. “Guess I got myself a good luck charm now,” he says, winking at you. “Want to make me a winner again?”

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #fushiguro toji #toji x y/n #jjk toji #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #fushiguro toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

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outsideratheart · 1 year

Text

I’ll be in the stands (Stina Blackstenius x reader)

A/N: This is set in the same universe as Very Important Person. Based off this request. I’m not sure how I feel about this one but I hope you all like it.

Wimbledon. It was the most iconic two weeks of the year. After Australia you had been playing the best tennis of your career so it made sense that you were one of the favourites going into the tournament.

“Stina, I’m leaving” you shout up to your girlfriend.

After supporting you in Paris, Stina invited you to join her on a friends trip then she travelled to London to support you before going to New Zealand for the World Cup. She had attended Roland Garros with your parents who unfortunately couldn’t make it to London which left two spare tickets. You gave them to your girlfriend who chose to bring Frido and Magda.

“Good luck. I’ll see you on centre court” she shouted back down, no doubt still picking out what to wear.

The Swedish Women had really enjoyed embracing the fashion at Wimbledon and spent most mornings working out who is going to wear what. Today would be their last game before leaving for camp in New Zealand. You had your fourth round game to play and then if you win you would be playing your quarter game whilst they were in the air.

Dressed in white you walked onto the legendary centre court ready to fight for a spot in the next round. You had done your research on your opponent and knew how she would play and more importantly how to beat her. It’s why it comes as no surprise that you win the first set 6-2 and the second set 6-3.

As you thank the crowd your look lingers on the row that hold the three blondes with one of them capturing your attention more than the other two. You bring the S pendant on your necklace to your lips. After she gave you it for Valentine’s Day you never took it off and would kiss it after every match you played.

“Do you think she will win?” Frido asks.

“I do”

Stina had more faith in you that you did in yourself and whilst you loved her for it, it also added to the pressure because you didn’t want to let her down. The mental strength needed to be a tennis player was hard to explain to people outside the sport. Stina had watched you lose matches, not because your opponent out played you, because you lost your head a gave point after point away.

The next morning the atmosphere in the house was full of sorrow. The girls were leaving and you wouldn’t see Stina for almost a month. It wasn’t the first time you’d be spending weeks apart but you had gotten used to her company over the past couple of weeks and hated the thought of being away from her.

“Don’t go” you whisper.

You and Stina stood on the doorstep, your arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

“Hjärtat I have to go”

Truth is you weren’t asking her to stay but you do wish her flight could be delayed a day or two.

“I love you, I have faith in you and I love you”

“You already said that”

“Because I meant it. Good luck for your match, I’ll be watching on the plane”

You found little solace in knowing that Stina would still be supporting you from thousands of miles in the air. As her car drove away you felt emptier than you did just ten minutes ago but you knew that it was time for her to go, she too had a tournament to win.

Stina was a nervous wreck watching your match on the plane. You had won the first set on tie-break and she could tell that you wasn’t happy with your performance. The way you looked over to your box with a lost look on your face told everyone that you didn’t understand why the set went on this long. The second set was long but also ended in tie-break but this time you had lost. You sat in your area with a towel over your head as you tried desperately to gather your emotions. The fans at Wimbledon were known for cheering on the underdog and with you currently being number 2 and your opponent unseeded the entire arena was cheering her on instead of you.

You lost the final set 6-4.

“She’s going to be ok right?” Frido wound down the window dividing her and Stina’s booth.

“I don’t know” Stina was already sending you a reassuring text “I hope so”

You felt like you let everyone down. Stina’s message brought a momentary smile to your face but then you remember the reason why she sent it and the smile was replaced with a frown.

The Swedish national team had landed in New Zealand 26 hours after your match ended and Stina’s phone remained glued in her hand but she still hadn’t heard anything from you. She tried calling for the 5th time but like every time before that she was met with your voicemail.

“Is she still not picking up?” Magda asked.

“She does this sometimes. After a big loss she goes dark but she always texts me before doing so to let me know she’s alright”

At first she wasn’t worried but then her phone went off. She rushed to answer it not bothering to look at the caller ID. She assumed it would be you so imagine her surprise when you manager’s voice comes through the phone. She told Stina that you asked her to cancel all media for the next week and since then she couldn’t get a hold of you and she didn’t know where you were.

The team were given the next two days off in hopes that they could get over their jet lag before training starts. Most of the girls had organised to meet up and explore the city but Stina declined their invite.

She was watching Notting Hill on her iPad remembering how you took her there your first day in London before the tournament started. Her favourite scene had just started when heard a knock at the door.

There you stood with some flowers and half a smile on your face. She was just about to talk when you heard the movie playing in the background.

“The fame thing isn’t really real, you know?” And don’t forget i’m also just a girl standing in front of a girl asking her to love me”

You knew the entire movie word for word. It was your comfort film and since meeting you, it had become Stina’s too. Once your finished she flung her arms around you.

“Careful Älskling, someone might think you’ve missed me”

She was happy to see you joking around but you had her worried sick since the end of the match and now here you are in New Zealand acting as if nothing had happened.

“Where have you been? We have all been really worried about you”

“I’m sorry I didn’t text. I knew I had let you down and I wasn’t ready to face you yet”

Your joking expression vanished and the look of guilt took its place.

Stina walked back into her room and laid on the bed.

“Come here” she held her arms open wide.

You laid between her legs with your head resting on her chest. She began tracing patterns on your back and for the first time in days your thoughts became quiet and your mind was calm.

“You could never let me down Y/N. I have learnt that Tennis can be a cruel sport and this week it chose you as one of its victims”

“Hmmm”

“Shall I put this back to the beginning?” She asks referring to the film even though she knew you wouldn’t see much of it. You were bound to be both physically and mentally exhausted.

The blonde felt your heart beat even out just as Hugh Grant spills coffee over Julia Roberts. When she looks down your eyes are closed. She couldn’t believe you were here with her in New Zealand. She wasn’t sure how long you would be staying for so she chose to savour the moment playing out in front of her.

A couple of hours pass and whilst Stina’s whole body was starting to go numb, you looked too peaceful to wake so she put on another film secretly hoping that you would wake up soon because she was starting to get hungry. Just as she was strolling through nearby restaurants the door swings open.

“Stina, Y/N’s here” Frido tells her but stops talking when she sees you fast asleep in her team mates arms or so that what she thought.

“We were at this coffee shop down the road and two girls were talking about how they had just met her” Zecira says not noticing you as she goes into the bathroom.

“Shhhh. She’s asleep” Stina scolds her team mates.

“No she’s not” you slowly sat up but not before placing a gentle kiss to your girlfriends lips.

You saw 4 Swedish woman looking at you and the awkward tension could be cut with a knife. All of them had watched the game and then saw the way Stina had been worried about you.

“Sorry you lost” Fillipa says earning a slap from Magda.

“Thanks but at least now I get to watch you girls play for the next month”

“You’re staying for the whole thing? You’re not going to play?” She was both happy that you were staying but also worried about you taking such a long break away from Tennis.

“I am. As for tennis, I think I need to take some time off but I can practice here when I’m ready because the courts are similar to New York”

Stina couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The two of you just looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak.

“So you Y/N Y/L/N are going to be a WAG?”

“Yes, Stina Blackstenius I am going to be a WAG. I will wear my highlighter shirt to every game and cheer you on”

#stina blackstenius x reader #stina blackstenius one shot #stina blackstenius imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso one shot #awfc x reader #awfc one shot #awfc imagine #swedwnt x reader #swedwnt one shot #swedwnt imagine

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desperate-gay · 1 year

Text

Mornings

Christen Press x fem!reader

The sun peeks out from the blinds and the light makes your skin glow. You are currently laying on your stomach with a sheet covering up your nude body. Your eyes are still trying to adjust to the brightness of the room, so you simply decide to keep them closed.

As you bury your head back into your pillow, kisses start to pepper around your naked shoulder blade and down your spine. A small smile crawls its way to your face, and you begin to stretch out your arms.

“Good morning, baby.” Your now fiancé, Christen Press, breaks the comfortable silence.

While Chris has time off due to her injury, she wanted to make the best of the situation. She surprised you with a vacation to Italy. You always rant about how beautiful it was when you went there for a few days for work. You’re a reasonably known professional football photographer, which is actually how you both met. Once she showed you the plane tickets, you jumped up into her arms and suffocated her with kisses all over her face.

The trip she planned was for 2 whole weeks, and just when you thought it couldn’t get better while you toured the villages of Venice, Chris got down on one knee and asked for your hand in marriage. it didn’t even take you a second to reply. Both of your smiles were so big it looked like it would hurt as she slid the ring on your finger.

You both continued to walk around with your arm hooked around hers. Once you called it a night, you both rushed to your suite and made love for your first time as fiancés.

And that’s how you’re here now, both bare and wrapped up in sheets. her wavy hair falling on your face while she towers over you. She swiftly flips you around so you’re entirely on your back.

Your arms reach up to gather her hair into a pony and move it to the side. Your thumb rubs the apple of her cheek.

“Hi,” you say barely over a whisper.

Chris can't help but smile and the look of you; tired and adorable. She nuzzles her head into your neck to leave kisses down the column of your throat. due to the sensation, you let out a sigh of relief.

“I can’t believe I'm going to be Mrs. Press soon.”

She lifts her head back up so she can look you in the eyes. “I love the sound of that, love.”

“Oh my god, Kelley is gonna freak out when we get back home.”

O’Hara and you both grew up in the same neighborhood and quickly became friends while playing in the streets. You guys always kept in touch, but now that you’re dating—well about to get married—to one of her best friends, you’re both extremely close.

Christen takes your hand and looks at the ring she put on your finger. “All the girls are going to be so excited. They’ll probably start planning the wedding themselves.” She chuckles at the thought.

“We both know Tobin would probably stay out of it while everyone else names every flower in existence and fight with each other, complaining about which is the best.” You explain as she nods her head in agreement.

Soon enough her smile turns into a glare as she looks at you. All you return is a puzzled look.

“You know, you still haven’t given me my morning kiss yet,” she tuts, leaning in. You quickly place your forefinger on her lips, stopping her from moving forward.

“I have morning breath, baby.”

She simply rolls her eyes and makes a slick comment, “I spent all night in between your legs last night, but you’re worried about your morning breath.

Your eyes widen as you playfully hit her shoulder. “Chris!”

“What? I didn’t say anything untruthful,” she shrugs, getting off on top of you and standing up with a sheet still wrapped around her.

“Hey, it works both ways. Just like you said, you spent all night in between my legs, so why are you covering yourself?”

You get up, removing your sheet to prove your point. She looks at you up and down, biting her lip. As she walks towards you, you think she is going to take you again right now right there, but instead, she moves her lips over to your ear and whispers, “Because I didn’t wanna give anyone a free show.”

Confusion takes over your face, so she nods her head to the wide-open window. You can see a couple of people outside, thankfully not looking at the moment. “Oh my god!”

Chris opens up the sheet and wraps it around the both of you. She hugs her arms around your torso from behind while smiling. The people outside turn and see you two by the window. You flush red and timidly wave to them.

Laughs belt out from behind you after she closes the curtains. You lightly kick her shin which just makes her laugh more.

“That’s what you get for not giving me my morning kiss.”

You huff and untangle yourself from Chris’s hold, and pick up your underwear along with her shirt. Her shirt hangs almost down to your knees.

“Hey! What if I planned on wearing that again?”

“I guess change of plans,” You shrug and go to brush your teeth. You can hear a scoff and the unzipping of a bag, signaling she’s getting new clothes to wear.

Once both of you brush your teeth, right when you step out from the bathroom, hands grip your sides and pull you. You’re flushed against Christen’s chest as she looks at you with desire in her eyes.

“You look so good in my clothes, baby.” She husks out, leaning to kiss you. This time you don’t stop her. Her lips crash into yours and move passionately as if you haven’t seen one another in years. When you part, your eyes are droopy, and lips red and swollen.

“Wow.” Is all you can say.

She smirks at you, “There is so much more to come, my love.” Her hand brushed the hair in front of your face behind your ear. She leans down once again and moves to nibble on your ear.

You let out a barely audible moan. “Maybe we should just have an inside day.”

Chris chuckles and walks you towards the bed, “Sounds delightful.”

#christen press x reader #christen press #kelley o’hara #uswnt #woso #world cup #lgbtq

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year

Text

You need some down time (Pierre Gasly)

You thought you had been able to adjust your routine to Pierre's calendar, but your body showed otherwise

Note: english is not my first language. This can also work as an alert for you (and for me too tbh) to take care of yourself and listen to your body. You should work on your dreams but also rest whenever you need ✨️ also, I feel like I can finally write about remote work without having flashbacks from my dissertation

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Tw: reader's excessive tiredness (mentions some symptoms and taking pills for headaches)

"Then we are meeting Esteban there, we'll have to present a talk to the group of sponsors and then we have dinner", Pierre explained.

"And you're sure I can get there on time and not bother? I don't want to make a big entrance where everyone looks at me", you chuckled, "no, it's fine. They're waiting for you already, so you won't be a stranger", he smiled, "I'll just send you the ticket so you have it on your phone", your boyfriend added, hearing you fumble with a plastic medicine wrapper, "is everything alright?", he asked looking up from his phone to see you taking what looked like a paracetamol, "just a little headache, probably have been staring too long at the computer", you reasoned back, drinking some water from your bottle, "is that the bottle you filled this morning? If it is, you're not drinking much water either, and that's not good for you, mon ange", Pierre said pulling you gently so you could lay your head on his chest, "you know I've always been terrible at drinking water".

Like Pierre told you, the guy at the front of the event scanned your ticket, immediately seeing on the computer where he should be escorting you, already seeing a few familiar faces as you made your way to the high tables, seeing your boyfriend and his new teammate along with some of the members of the Alpine PR Team, "Hi everyone! So sorry I was late. The meeting went long and then the traffic here from the hotel was not easy either", you noted, standing next to Pierre, "you look lovely, Y/N, I'm glad you could join us at last", Esteban complimented.

"Thanks, Yuki!", you said, and to anyone else, they thought it was automatic, "sorry, Esteban", you apologised, laughing when the French driver laughed too.

The dinner turned out to be a nice and calm setting, contrasting with the excitement and buzz of the previous event, "do you want some dessert to share? I'm fancying something sweet but I don't think I can eat all of it", you mentioned to Pierre, looking around the menu and deciding on what you wanted to order.

Leaving the restaurant, you latched yourself to Pierre's arm, supporting yourself on him as you walked to the car he had driven there, "are you busy tomorrow?", he asked, "yes, the usual. But I think I'm going to clock in later, I think, a meeting has been pushed", you mumbled, yelping when you felt yourself stumble in your heels even though you know how to walk in them just fine, "nearly fell there, are you good?", your boyfriend asked, "it seems, yes. But I'm good".

The ring of your phone brought your attention from your laptop to the smaller device, seeing Pierre's mother contact appear for a video call.

"Hi, Pascale, how are you?", you asked, saving the changes you made to the document on your laptop before paying her you full attention, "I'm great, chérie. How have you been doing? I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time!", she nudged, "no, it's fine. Perks of working remotely, I don't need to worry about my boss breathing down my neck since I just need to meet the day's goals", you joked, looking at your planner, "and I'm nearly done for the day", you smiled.

Without your control, your hands trembled a little and you were unable to grasp your phone properly, leaving it to fall on the carpeted floor, "Y/N, is everything okay?", you heard Pascale say, "sorry, Pascale, my phone just slipped from my hands", you explained as you grabbed it, checking for any scratches and seeing none, "butter fingers, hm?", she giggled, bringing a small smile to your face, "more like sweaty fingers, I guess".

When Pierre arrived back from his event, he found you just the moment you shut the lid of your laptop, "Only finishing now, amour?", he asked, kissing the top of your head, "yes. Your mother also called me so I had a good break between my tasks", you noted, getting up and grabbing the remote control for the AC to turn it off since the room had cooled off enough, "now, what do we have for tonight?", you asked, "for a change, I don't have anything. Do you want to go explore the city or just sit here?", he wondered, "can we stay in, please? My head hurts a little, probably from being at the laptop all day", you mumbled, "room service and dim lighting it is then".

Finally, you were going home. It had been an intense couple of weeks and you were oozing forwards to spend some time with Pierre and his family without a tight schedule filled with events.

Arriving at the airport, Pierre was quick to get everything ready and you were waiting in line with the time perspective you had expected, greeting the crew and making your way inside the aircraft.

"Here, my love, you can hold my hand", you nudged, knowing that Pierre wasn't the biggest fan of flying, feeing him squeeze your palm.

"Hi, I'm so sorry to inform, but the flight will leave with a delay. The estimate is around forty five minutes", one of the flight attendants apologised, carrying on to inform the rest of the passengers.

"For Goodness sake", you mumbled, groaning slightly ad you felt Pierre squeeze your hand again, "I'll just text my dad that we'll arrive later", he mentioned, grabbing his phone and doing so. "Sorry, I know it's not the end of the world", you mumbled, letting your head rest on his shoulder and closing your eyes for a bit, "it's okay, hopefully soon they'll have some informations", Pierre offered, holding your hand in his and kissing the side of your head.

When you finally landed, you grabbed your bags and walked to the hall where you'd be meeting Jean, "I've never been so happy so see your father, I swear", you mumbled, walking up to the older Gasly man and allowing him to greet you and carry your bags to the car.

Walking up to the bedroom you'd be staying in, you managed to take your pyjamas out along with your toiletries bag, changing out of your clothes, washing your face and brushing your teeth before you met Pierre in bed, "I've been dreaming of this bed for the entire day", you groaned as you finally felt the fresh sheets on your legs, looking forward to cuddle Pierre for the night, "sleep tight, handsome, I love you", you offered, "Good night, mon ange, I love you too", he whispered before kissing your forehead one last time for the night.

Despite his usual routine and his sleep routine working like a clock, Pierre managed to sleep for a little bit longer than usual, opening his eyes to find you curled up on yourself and still facing him, making him brush some hairs away from your eyes and caress your cheek, admiring your features. Your skin was a little more faded than usual, and the circles under your eyes were darker, but hopefully this holiday would help you restore your energies. When you didn't wake up from his touches, he thought it was best to leave you to rest, getting up and tucking you further in, putting on a t-shirt and heading dowstairs to meet his family.

"Bonjour, dear, did you sleep well?", his mother greeted him, kissing his cheek as he poured himself a glass of water, "bonjour, yes, I did, and it seems Y/N is sleeping quite well, too. She's still in deep sleep", he noted, seeing his father arrive in the room.

"Bonjour everyone, I have fresh pastries and bread!", Jean announced, setting the paper bags on the table, "I have Y/N's favourites too, they were nearly running out but I managed to grab a few", he said, looking around for you, "she's still asleep. Although I'm not sure dreamland wins over these croissants", Pierre said, taking one straight from the bag and biting into it.

By now, Pierre started to get worried. Everytime he went upstairs to check on you, you were still sound asleep and not a sign that you'd wake up soon. "Is she coming down? I can warm up some of the croissants", Jean commented when his son came back, "thank you, but no need. She's still sleeping", Pierre murmured, sitting in the sofa next to his mother, "she must've been exhausted", she reasoned, "every time I called either of you, you were either about to fly somewhere or needing to be at some event, I even interrupted her a few times while she was working and you were off somewhere", she reasoned, "it wasn't easy on her, that's for sure".

The words resonated on Pierre's mind. It had been a couple of busy weeks, even he felt it. Travelling around so he could engage with the new team he was part of was as incredible as it was tiring, and having you there was the safe haven he needed whenever he felt a little lost. But had you been taking care of yourself for all of that time too? Was he the person you turned to when you needed to feel safe too?

About an hour and a half later, you woke up, cursing yourself as soon as you looked at the clock and scrambled out of bed so make yourself look presentable. Deciding that, for now, leggings and an oversized shirt would have to do, you made your way downstairs to greet everyone, "Good morning! I'm so sorry I overslept, I swear I didn't do it on purpose!", you apologised, seeing Pierre make his way to you so he could hug you a kiss your cheek, "hey, is everything alright?", he asked, holding your hand in his and pulling you to sit by the table, seeing his parents get started on what you figured was already lunch, "yes, I'm good. Let me help with that, please, Pascale. It's the least-", you attempted before being shushed by her.

"No need for that, chérie. But we do want to talk about how you are", she said softly, "you had us worried for a bit, I kept telling Pierre to check if you had a fever or something like that", she tried, knowing that you had already noticed where she was going.

Sighing, you placed your hands on top of the table fiddling wirh your fingers, "honestly? I feel a little rested, but not fully rested", you admitted, "it's been a lot these past couple of weeks. Work has been non stop, I have been covering some of my colleagues' vacation days, I feel like I'll need a few days to unwind even. The first thing I thought about when I woke up was that I was late for a meeting such is the habit to be in a squeeze of time", you gulped, "it has been a struggle, and I'm just grateful to finally have some down and off time", you finished, squeezing Pascale's hand that found yours on the cold surface.

"I know you don't need me to tell you this, but you need to take care of yourself, Y/N! You can't go around the day and sleep so little, we saw how busy you were!", she scolded still softly, meaning no harm and rather wanting to help you and make sure you took care of yourself and your well-being. "These days you're here, you're catching up on your sleep, eating good food, having some down time and taking care of yourself, I won't allow anything else under my roof!", Jean jokingly threatened, pointing his finger at you before smiling.

Pierre was looking like you expected him to. "Hey, no guilty frown, please!", you tapped your boyfriend's forehead, hoping to soften his expression, "you had your own things to worry about, and besides, it's also my doing because I didn't want to say anything", you admitted. "But still! I saw you were getting up earlier so you could meet me later, saw that you'd have quick lunches and how you felt more tired. I thought it was all jet lag and being busy, but it was more than that", he reasoned, tracing shapes on your hands, "it's all behind us now, okay?", you reassured, nuzzling your face in his neck when he pulled you into his embrace.

"Now, how about you two go enjoy some croissants outside? Despite the cold, it is a lovely sunny day outside. Just make sure you're warm enough, okay? I don't want anyone sick in this house!", Pascale announced, placing the food tray in the oven.

#pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly × reader #pierre gasly fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #pierre gasly fluff

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keelt9 · 2 months

Text

Chapter 1

Masterlist

No matter the place of the world, December, specifically the first days, is a mess. People come and go with the first decorations for work, home or school, the streets are crowded, people with a refill of energy in good and bad ways.

That's why I was forced to be stuck in the traffic for more than 20 minutes, leaving me with just one option: run to the fifty floor trying to reach my office before the 10 minute tolerance ends.

I barely opened the big crystal door when the small light of the entrance check was about to turn red, signs that you’re late.

“On time.” I raise my sight trying to recover some air when I see Pamela Ludell watching me with hands full of papers. “Still, Claire is already looking for you.”

Claire Murray is my boss, a lovely boss, still could be really strict when she proposes it.

“I have to review the last pages of the manuscript I…” I was about to slip away when Pam cleared her throat and moved her eyes in panic.

Of course Claire is at my back. “Claire, morning.”

Claire gives me a side smile like always coffee in her hand. “Pam, Y/N, morning.” Pam ran away after greeting her back. “Shall we?” She takes a step aside for I walk straight to her office.

Her office is full of books but with a sophisticated touch, big crystals at the back of her desk and a comfy cream lounge. “Tell me Y/N, when was the last time you took days off?”

I sat leaning my head to the left, confused. “Am, what?” Cleair giggles take a folder to her left and read one thing, like she needs some kind of corroboration.

“I correct, why don't you take your vacations?” Claire takes a deep breath and pushes the file to me. “Y/N it’s not a secret that you’re one of my best editors, I love having you here, making my life easier, however…”

The file has plane tickets and a lot of brochures about my home. “You need to take a break, or at this rate you will end up sick or something worse.” I try to talk but she shakes her head and smiles. “Don’t worry I will send you a couple of manuscripts but I don’t want to see you here for at least 3 months.”

“3 MONTHS?!” I stand but Claire laughs. “Listen, I could go for a couple of days…”

“Bye Y/N, enjoy this time, I bet at home they will love to spend time with you.” My words stuck in my throat as her assistant knocked on the door before entering. “Have a good vacation Y/N.”

“And you said yes?” Pam is sitting in my office watching me turn around in my chair, trying to think of a good excuse. “Dang, apparently being a workaholic is a disadvantage in the long term.”

I cover my head with the file. “Could you help me to think of something?” I see the tickets for the night.

“Y/N, go home, rest, enjoy and come back in 3 months. Come on! They’re not firing you, they just want to take you out of here.” Pam took the field out my face, pulled me from my hands. “I'll miss you but God, it’s good not having you here for a while.”

“Three years of friendship and I get kicked out.” Pam laughs, puts my bag over my shoulder and pushes me to the exit. Pam has been my friend since I arrived here in Chicago, she helped me with the moving, knew the city and was my date when I encapsulated it in work.

I turn around before the elevator opens. “If you need something or….” She covered my mouth with a mint candy, smiling as she gave the final push to the elevator.

“Have fun!”

Dragging my feet I arrived at my apartment, and packed just the things I needed. I have winter clothes in my parents house so it is useless carrying too much.

The airport is still in calm people coming and going but not with the passion of the days previous to Christmas Eve, but the ornaments inundated all the airport.

I don't tell my parents about coming home so I take a cab to go home, they are probably working, explain the lights off.

“Y/N?” I heard the voice of Mrs. Carmichael, an old lady, a neighbor three houses away and a good friend of the family. “Is that you darling?” She is standing there with her white cat narrowing her eyes.

“Hi, Mrs. Carmichael, how are you?” Her face turned in an expression of joy, enough to walk faster to hug me in our door.

“Hi, sweetheart, look at you, so beautiful.” She grabs my face and pat my cheek. “Oh, your parents will be so happy to see you.” I nod careness the head of her cat. “You know you are welcome home any minute. Get inside it is cold and you’re barely covered.”

When my parents arrived I didn't know if they were screaming to see me or because they were scared, what I know is they hugged me so softly and kissed me over and over again.

“Omg, here you are darling, here you are. How? Why? When?” Mom says pulling so I can sit.

Told them I was forced to take my vacation? It's rude. “I have extended vacation.” They smile and nod instantly.

“That's great honey. You'll be able to rest.” Mom starts speaking about the multiple things I could do for rest and disconnect from work.

“I'll rest but don't worry I'll give you a hand at the coffee shop.” Like when I was in high school and my first years of college, I helped my parents in his small but enchanting coffee shop, a place mom had since my brother and I were kids but invested big after I graduated.

The first day was a nightmare for me, I had a routine that disappeared in one night; Claire sent me just two manuscripts of a kids book, that's all my work for 3 almost 4 months, so I have to distribute wisely. On my second day I went to my obligated stop.

In a nice street with a lot of old buildings you will find her, covered in elegant colors, plunging in his 3 monitors with a lot of wedding things at her back.

I enter but she just greets me with. “In a second.” I shake my head and I sit in one of the couches she had. “Ready, what can I…”

Leah King takes out her glasses and screams when she sees me. “YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!”

I stand but I receive a bump in my arm. “Yeah it's nice to see you too.” I rub my arm, this time she hugs me shaking me like a smoothie.

“Don't, you dare to tell me you're leaving already.” She splits, the tears in her eyes. “Talk women, talk.”

“You say, I don't tell you.” She quickly trimmed back and grabbed her purse.

“I have what? 1 hour, 2 hours, we can …” I laughed, making her leave her stuff.

“It's ok, I'm joking, I'm…in…vacation?” Leah narrowed her eyes but I explained everything to her, not filters.

“THAT’S GREAT! I was afraid you could faint in any minute if you keep working with that intensity.” I scoff. “But hey, give me two hours, I'll finish editing and I'll pick you up in the coffee shop, alright?”

Leah is a photographer, especially a wedding photographer, she loves living the illusion through the eyes of the bride and groom, the magic moments she captured and the emotions in each one her shots, not counting the amazing eye had for taking those moments, in the right light with the right time.

My parent’s coffee shop is 20 minutes walking from there. When I arrived, their usual 12:00 pm customers were arriving too. I walk to the back of the counter to grab an apron and take orders. After taking it, giving my parents a hand, the coffee shop was running empty.

“Thank you honey.” Dad squeezed my face before raising a plate with a small grape pie. “Enjoy it.”

He walks to the back where my mother is preparing the next round of cookies, I sit for a second when I hear the door open, I walk back to the counter not raising my eyes from my phone where I was reading the chaos after the midweek reunion in the editorial.

“I'm sorry, can I take your order?” I ask, containing the smile, the second I hear the scoff my eyes raise so fast.

“Joe, hi! What are you doing here?” My father asked, appearing at the right moment. “Oh, you remember my daughter?” Please no.

Joe looked at me, his eyes as ice cubes. “Yeah, I do.” I move for my father to take his order, tense as a stick.

I nod still, walk fast to the table where I was sitting, grab the pie to walk back to the kitchen but my plan gets frustrated in the first step.

“Oh that's great, don't worry, Y/N will be at home these days so, she can give you a hand with that.” My father said as I grabbed my pie. “Right honey?”

“What?” I stop at the table.

“Oh no, it's ok, I have the last games of the year and I pretend to go to my grandparents home for Christmas, it's all right.” Joe said, looking at my father.

I learned it years ago. <Joe Burrow hates me>

“Oh come on darling it's been ages!” My mother says take the cookies out of the oven. “You haven't seen him in what? 3 years?”

The first time Joe arrived in Cincinnati, especially when he discovered my mother's coffee shop, I was in my last semester of college. We used to have nice talks, joke around and even go for ice cream from time to time all the days I was able to be at home, until we're not.

After my summer holidays and before I entered work, something changed. One morning there wasn't any talk, he avoided me and practically ignored me. I tried for 4 months but he simply stopped talking. After a drunken night in Leah's house drowning in tears I swear to myself if he doesn't want to talk with me anymore, FINE, SCREW YOU.

Of course after I cry like a baby but I made up my mind.

We’re sitting having a nice lunch. “Jesus! I mean, I understand but even I start to feel about him, a lot of hard feelings.”

I rub my eyes and shake my head. “Sorry.”

“Ok, don't ruin the mood, you came here for rest not for stress.” Leah has a point and the rhyme makes us laugh about that.

“Now you're here, do you remember Miles?” I clean my fingers nodding.

Miles Johnonson an old friend from middle school who we used to spend a lot time together, but the college and work made us apart

“Well, he's been working here, in a laboratory since last year and he's in contact with the one who remains here. He invites us to his party, you should come.” Leah tapped the table multiple times. “Who knows that little lo…”

I interrupted her after taking a sip of my drink. “This is good!” Leah rolls her eyes taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Avoid the topic but we know you were this close to start something.” I scrunch my nose making her laugh.

“I pick you? It's Friday night.” I scoff at my few choices she already left me.

My routine turns very simple and calm, hard to admit, but I am enjoying it these days.

“Do you want something special for Christmas?” My mom asked as I set the Christmas ornament on the top of the tree.

“Not really, are you excited for Pete and I or just for Archie?” Mom's eyes got a special sparkle. Peter is my older brother who has a wonderful marriage with Nora and a ashtoing 3 year old boy, Archie.

“Archie is a lovely boy.” I giggle at her notorious emotion and her clear pick. I try to see Archie as much as I can, but I'm immersed in my work all the time, so I practically obligated Pete and his family to travel to Chicago on special days.

“This is the most impractical place for a Christmas tree.” I can barely reach the top of the tree and the piano at my back doesn't help.

My dad used to be a musician teacher after he retired, in his free time he delighted the customers with lovely music and now he does it with more frequency and the same passion as in his young years.

“Emma, would you mind?” Dad is struggling with a huge box of what seems like the Christmas presents of this year. Mom runs to help him avoiding a possible crash and a broken gifs..

You better not have the present at home with a curious kid.

“Where is the… you know that one?” Mom's ask looking for in the box.

“I couldn't find it.” Dad tried to avoid the killing eyes but he's never been that lucky. “All right, all right I'm sorry. Let's go and we'll bring you here.”

“Y/N is putting the tree Simon.” It's late at night so anyone is coming. All that is left is putting the star and checking the lights, that could give them enough time to go and come back.

“It's ok, I got it.” I smile, appearing at the back of the tree covered in glitter, mom has a fascination for sparkling Christmas trees. “I'm fine, go.”

They leave not before apologizing for not helping to finish but Pete arrives early the next day so all must be ready. Archie coming home without a Christmas tree is out of the question.

I shake my clothes after pulling all the empty boxes in a big one, just the golden star out of place. One big issue, with the tree ready, is daring putting a simple star on the top.

“Not that smart huh?” I speak to myself trying to stand higher than I can and don't touch any ornament. However, even in my tip toes it's impossible.

I feel a huge body behind me taking the star of my hands and helping me to put on the top. The normal feeling must be frightening but I could recognise the fragrance even if it has been a hundred of years.

“Is it the right place?” Joe asked, still he didn't move. My head is debating in excitement and rejection.

But the heart has a memory too and sometimes brings the worst feelings of the past, in a lively way.

#joe burrow #joe shiesty #fic #fanfic #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow fic #joe x reader “joe burrow fan fic #joe brrr #joseph lee burrow

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happiest-hotch · 1 year

Note

Hey my birthday is coming soon and in my dreams hotch will do something for his girlfriends birthday- hope you can write this 🤭

of course !! i hope you have an amazing day !!

It was a beautiful sunny morning when you woke up with a smile on your face. Today was guaranteed to be a good day, with Aaron at home and, marginally more unusually, your birthday. When you stretch out, you don't accidentally hit him and conclude he's not there. In his place, there's a note, and with your curiosity piqued, you grab it to read the elegant handwriting.

Happy Birthday, my love. Get ready for a day filled with surprises. Love, Aaron.

You grin, feeling a flutter of excitement and quickly get out of bed and make your way to the kitchen, where you find a delicious breakfast spread waiting for you. Aaron stands there, watching you with a soft smile.

"Happy birthday," he says, wrapping his arms around you and planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Thank you, Aaron. You didn't have to do all this," you reply, feeling overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness.

"But I wanted to. Birthdays are meant to be celebrated, and you deserve the best." He tells you, his eyes filled with adoration.

After breakfast, Aaron hands you a small gift-wrapped box, waiting eagerly to see your reaction. You unwrap it to find a delicate gold necklace with a charm shaped like an 'A'. It's simple yet elegant, just like Aaron himself.

"Thank you," you say, feeling touched by the gesture. "An 'A' for Aaron?"

He nods. "You're welcome, my love. And you could always tell people it's for amazing." You laugh, shaking your head as you turn around and scoop up your hair so he can put it on you. "Just thought I should give you my initial before I give you my last name." He whispers into your ear making you shiver at his warm breath and with excitement for the future plans he's hinting at.

The day continues with surprises at every turn. Aaron has diligently planned a series of activities that are both thoughtful and exciting. From a picnic in the park to a private museum tour, every moment was designed to make your birthday unforgettable. Throughout the day, Aaron's presence and affection are constant reminders of how lucky you are to have him in your life.

As the evening approaches, you find yourself standing outside a luxurious restaurant. The setting sun casts a warm glow on the surroundings, and you can feel the anticipation building up.

Aaron smiles at you, his eyes twinkling. "Ready for the grand finale?" he asks, his voice filled with excitement.

You nod, feeling a mixture of excitement and curiosity. The maître d' leads you to a private dining area decorated with flowers and candles. Soft music plays in the background as you settle into your seats. Aaron has truly outdone himself.

As you enjoyed a delicious meal, Aaron reaches into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. He hands it to you, his eyes filled with affection.

"Open it," he encourages.

Your eyes widen with surprise at there being another surprise, as if you haven't been spoilt enough already. You carefully open the envelope to find two airplane tickets and an entire itinerary.

"Aaron, I can't believe it. Paris!" You exclaim.

"I remember you mentioning how much you wanted to visit." He explains, a hint of excitement in his voice.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you launch yourself into Aaron's arms, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you, Aaron. This is the best gift I could ever ask for," You whisper, your heart filled with love and gratitude. "And you're going to take time off work? I must be pretty special."

He chuckles, nodding. "You are." He assures you. "You deserve the world, my love. And I'll do everything I can to give it to you."

#aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner

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thunderon · 1 year

Text

alright more pre-crash yellowjackets thoughts! this time: shitty high school jobs they had! (i worked 5 different shitty minimum wage jobs between the ages of 15-18 and have thought about the concept with more gravity than it deserves sorry)

shauna: was a tutor during the school year for literally every subject. she was the only reason jeff and randy passed their junior year. even though she could use the money, shauna never charged any of her teammates if they needed some help. when school was out during the summers, she had a seasonal job at the concession stand at the local concert venue. pretty easy money and she liked listening to the bands play

jackie: unemployed. being the coolest girl in school is a full time job, after all! note: tried to get a job with shauna at the concession stand. it was a complete and utter disaster. she lasted a week, and only made it that long because of how much shauna covered for her. after that didn’t pan out, when shauna worked weekends, jackie would always buy a concert ticket… just to hang out by the concession stand and talk with shauna for the whole show

nat: her first job was working at the local pizza parlor. was employed there for 6 months until it got shut down because, as it turns out, the whole thing was a money laundering front for the mob (which explains why nat never got fired despite being actually kinda bad at making pizzas). after that, she goes to work the 6pm-midnight shift at the grimiest gas station in wiskayok. except for the occasional stick up, it was a quiet job where no one bothered her and she could buy her own cigarettes. however she was constantly sleep-deprived having to get up for school in the mornings. definitely created energy drink concoctions that would send most people into cardiac arrest. van and the other yellowjackets would always stop by to see her on shifts and nat always gives them free slurpees

van: started working at the movie theater in the mall when she was 14 (the owner needed the help and did not ask enough questions). van is the rare sort of person that is absolutely beloved by both customers and her fellow employees and no one was surprised when she became a manager. she has the best customer service and will help out all the other employees with whatever they need. to this day she still holds the record for most Employee of the Month awards. also i just know van was the ultimate hookup and snuck her friends into shows and definitely took home the leftover popcorn after her shift. if she knew nat was on shift at the gas station, she’d stop by on her way home and give her some

taissa: never worked during the school year because she took way too many classes and extracurriculars (she was a 3-sport athlete: cross country in the fall, basketball in the winter, soccer in the spring. also did debate team AND student gov). her parents actually tried to talk her out of getting a summer job, but taissa has never relaxed a day in her life. she took a job at a clothing store in the mall and claimed she chose it for the employee discounts. the fact the store was located in the same mall as the movie theater was unrelated to anything whatsoever (tho taissa and van’s break schedules coincidentally always lined up and they’d hang out and go to the arcade where they’d have competitions… loser had to buy the winner food from the food court afterwards).

anyways tai would have been a perfect employee… if she didn’t have the world’s worst customer service (“for the fifth and final time, i am not going to give you a goddamned refund if you don’t have the RECEIPT and if you try putting that ugly ass blouse in my face again i will shove it up your-”) …had to have routine talks with HR throughout her tenure there. her manager gently suggested therapy, once.

lottie: didn’t need the money but definitely got a job out of boredom. decided to lifeguard as a summer job. it was basically getting paid to tan and tell kids to stop running. she had a sixth sense for when it’s about to start storming. her coworkers stopped questioning it after a few months and now when lottie says to get everyone out of the pool, they get everyone out of the pool. from lifeguarding lottie actually learned enough about pool maintenance to do the work and check the chemical balances on the pool at her own house. her father thinks the whole thing is ridiculous, her mother thinks it’s nice she has a hobby

laura lee: didn’t work a paid job but volunteered. she played piano for the local church services and on weekdays she worked evenings at the local food bank. if she sees anyone from school show up, it stays between her and God. she has managed to rope each of the yellowjackets into volunteering with her at least once

mari: worked at a local restaurant. tried to be a waitress, but on her very first day she got three different customer complaints about her attitude and so the owner put her in the kitchen where she became a linecook. she had more healthcode violations in her 1.5 years of working there than every other employee combined. the manager fired her on a weekly basis but she always just showed up to work the next day like nothing happened and the boss always took her back because mari is the best damn linecook he ever had

akilah: she’s a baby and was too young to work an actual job but definitely did babysitting (mostly for family). definitely was the kid-whisperer. had plans to work at library once she turned 16

misty: volunteered at the local retirement home and developed a love-hate relationship with an 85yo named Ethel (and by love-hate i mean: misty loved ethel, ethel hated misty)

#yellowjackets #op #while everyone else discusses in depth about the themes of the show and theories for the upcoming season #i am over here yelling ‘GAS STATION CLERK NATALIE’ into a microphone #i know i shouldve said something cooler like a vinyl shop or something but i couldn’t do it #also i have either worked or had a friend who worked all the jobs i listed #so this is certified authentic #taivan #i feel like there’s just enough to tag that

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greenbergwrites · 10 months

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hello me again!! I absolutely loved seeing more of the possessive!stucky verse and if you could share the parts you have from them in modern day I would die of happiness 🫶🏽

Oh, I'm sorry, babe. I definitely saw your reblog/reply to that post and totally forgot to post the rest of what I have.

Here you go, the last of what I had written for the blood in my veins 'verse

It was going to be called learning to breathe again, which I thought was apt

----

If asked, Steve Rogers would say that the world ends on a dreary, snowy day in 1945 while he clings to the side of a train in the French Alps. It doesn’t begin again until 2014 when he stands under a bridge in Washington, D.C., surrounded by chaos and facing off with the world’s deadliest assassin.

It doesn’t matter that the world says, “who the hell is Bucky?”

It doesn’t matter that the world tries to kill him, just days later, on a helicarrier falling from the sky. It doesn’t matter that it’s his turn to fall or that he almost drowns.

The only thing that matters is his last sight before he goes into the water: familiar, beloved bright eyes staring at him in recognition.

Steve’s happy to die in that moment. It’s a good way to go if those eyes are the last thing he knows in this life.

The world - no, the entire fucking universe - pulls him out of the Potomac. Steve doesn’t remember it and there’s no proof of it but it’s irrelevant.

His name is Steve Rogers and if he’s in danger, Bucky Barnes is there.

That’s just the way things work.

“You don’t have to come,” Steve says, standing in a graveyard.

And he really doesn’t. Steve can do this on his own. He’s happy to do it on his own, if that’s what it takes. But Sam is one of the few people in this new world that he actually likes and he isn’t actually opposed to company.

“I know.” Sam smiles. “When do we start?”

They follow Bucky around the globe for months.

Most nights are spent in different beds, most weeks are spent in at least two different countries. Sometimes there’s a backtrack and sometimes they go to places Steve has never even heard of.

In all the time they spend chasing him, neither of them catch sight of a single hair on Bucky Barnes’ head.

With every dead end and every dropped lead, Sam frowns and glances at him nervously. No matter what this new century thinks of him, Steve isn’t clueless; he knows that Sam is looking for the cracks.

Sam, the good friend that he is, is waiting for Steve to fall apart. To breakdown with grief or frustration or whatever emotion is a normal response to a situation like this one. He’s waiting for anger and tears and despair and he doesn’t quite understand that none of that is coming. None of that will ever come.

Because Sam is a good friend but he’s only ever known Steve Rogers broken. He’s looking for cracks, has been since Steve woke up in the hospital after Project Insight fell and Bucky disappeared, because he doesn’t understand.

The cracks were already there and they’re finally starting to heal.

In the sixth month, Steve wakes up to a draft in his room. The window is open and the curtains billow in the breeze, bringing with it the scent of the sea. There’s no one in his room with him and everything appears untouched save for a scrap of paper taped to his shield.

It looks like it came from the bottom of a receipt and on the back of it are three words.

Go home, it says at the top in thick block letters. The word please is written underneath, smaller, like an afterthought.

The handwriting is both familiar and foreign and Steve smiles quietly to himself, caressing the note gently.

“So we’re just giving up?”

Surprisingly, Sam isn’t upset. He is, instead, bewildered and very, very curious. They’re sitting at a cafe in the airport, passing time until their flight boards. Steve bought the tickets before Sam ever opened his eyes that morning and despite what his friend might think, he feels happy with this decision.

It’s hard to explain why he’s smiling, so he hides it behind his coffee cup.

“It’s not giving up,” he says truthfully. “Bucky asked us to go.”

Sam tilts his head, considering Steve with appraising eyes.

“It’s just not what I expected from you,” he says after a moment. “You’ve been acting very til the ends of the earth, if you know what I mean. Didn’t think you’d let him call the shots.”

Steve snorts.

Bucky’s been calling the shots for as long as Steve’s needed him to.

They land in Washington, D.C. at night. The airport is still buzzing with activity but it’s quieter, different than it was the morning they left. Nobody glances at them twice as they loiter around baggage claim for their luggage and Steve is grateful; he’s too tired to put on his Captain America smile.

Just as the conveyor belt starts filling with new luggage, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Fishing it out, he sees a text from an unknown number.

Thank you.

Warmth starts in his chest and spreads outwards, relaxing him just a little. He still feels tension throbbing inside of him, a cord that’s been stretching since 1945, but in that moment, it isn’t so unbearable.

Steve doesn’t bother replying - Bucky probably tossed the burner phone as soon as he pressed send - but he doesn’t delete the text message, either. Instead, he saves it to his phone, where he can look at it any time he needs.

“What is it?” Sam asks, making Steve look away from the words. He realizes he’s been staring at his phone for several minutes now; Sam’s already gotten their bags.

“Nothing,” Steve says with a smile. He pockets his phone again. “Just happy to be home.”

Life settles into a routine again. He and Sam run in the mornings, have breakfast in a cafe somewhere between Sam’s apartment and his. When the Avengers need him, which isn’t often, he helps out and when the remnants of SHIELD need him, which is more often, he helps them, too.

Natasha would be proud of how well he’s taking to the ways of her trade. He and Sam are soldiers first, good in a fight, but they learn the art of blending in; moving through a crowd without anyone ever remembering they were there. It’s new, this tactic. A freshly-bought pair of shoes that he hasn’t broken in yet but once he does, he has no doubt of the comfort they’ll provide.

It definitely makes their jobs easier, at any rate.

There’s not a lot of big battles for Captain America anymore but there are more covert operations. Steve spends most of his time after coming back helping ex-SHIELD agents move through the city without being caught. There’s one last base in DC but its stretched too thin as is with half its agents gone and the other half focused on rebuilding. Besides, not everyone wants to stay with the organization that housed HYDRA for so many years.

So Steve does what he can. He sets up new safehouses, stashes money and weaponry all around the city, sets up a network of help for anyone who needs it.

It isn’t just their own government hunting down SHIELD and no matter what he thought when it still stood, he won’t leave these people to fend for themselves. Not when it’s partially his fault that they’re on the run at all.

He tells a SHIELD agent this when she asks and her eyes widen.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says and then blushes, like she just remembered who she was talking to. “You’re the reason we’re alive at all, Captain. A lot more people would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

It’s the Captain rather than the reassurance that Steve focuses on. His smile, when it comes, feels brittle. He doesn’t bother responding and instead, hands her a slip of paper.

“Only stay there for a night,” he says. “Burn the paper when you’ve memorized the address. Make sure to dye your hair and put on different clothes.”

She nods and then takes him by surprise, hugging him fiercely for just a moment before pulling back. Her face is an even darker shade of red but she ignores her own embarrassment, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders. When she meets his gaze again, she is every bit the SHIELD agent instead of the scared civilian that had been in her place moments before.

“Thank you,” she says. “For everything.”

Steve shakes his head. “No need for thanks,” he tells her. It feels mechanical, wrong, when he puts a hand on her shoulder. He’s still not used to touching people or having them touch him. “You’ll be fine, Agent. Just keep moving.”

She smiles at him and then disappears into the crowd.

A month after they abandon the search for Bucky, the gifts start arriving. Trinkets from France, Germany, Italy, Russia. There’s at least one every month and always from a place they know has been hit by the Winter Soldier.

“This is weird, you know that, right?” Sam says one morning. He turns the tiny Eiffel Tower over in his hands as Steve flips through a brochure for the Louvre. “He’s not even trying to hide the fact that those hits are him.”

Steve shrugs. “Why should he? He’s hunting down HYDRA, same as the rest of us.”

He plucks the Tower from Sam’s hands, placing it and the brochure on a shelf with previous ones. Bucky’s gifts hold a place of honor in Steve’s home, proudly displayed in the living room where Steve can see them any time he wants to. Sam doesn’t know it but the scrap of receipt holding Bucky’s first note is tucked under the music box from Russia. When he’s alone, Steve pulls it out sometimes just to look at it; just to see that handwriting again.

“Steve,” Sam says. “He’s a mentally fragile assassin that just spent the last seventy years being tortured, brainwashed, and forced to kill for a scary secret cult. He needs time to heal, not more death.”

Sighing, Steve turns to face his friend. “Did you ever think that maybe it’s helping him heal?” He asks.

“Yes, I have, actually.” Sam shakes his head. “But that’s not a healthy coping mechanism.”

Steve shrugs. “Lotta things in this world aren’t healthy, Sam,” he says. “Doesn’t mean people stop doing them.”

Bucky’s fifth gift and the first for that month - three months after Steve came home - is an expensive set of drawing pencils and three sketchbooks. It’s also the first gift to include a note.

I remembered this, it says. No signature.

Trembling fingers run lightly first over the note and then the gifts themselves. Steve lets a harsh breath, his eyes burning and his chest aching. He’s glad that he’s alone for this gift, that no one is there to see him shaking apart like this.

He opens the pencils slowly, reverently, and when he holds one in his hand, he feels a little more tension leak out of him. The rest of the day is spent ignoring the world in favor of drawing. His first few pictures are shaky, both from his own emotion and his unpracticed hand, but the more time he spends buried in his sketchbook - his sketchbook - the smoother things become.

His hand is cramping by the time the sun sets and his latest drawing has tear stains ruining his perfect lines and he feels, for the first time since 1945, like Steven Grant Rogers.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Sam says when he sees the art littering Steve’s living room.

Steve snorts. “Just another thing the history books left out,” he replies, bitter.

That pitying expression is back on Sam’s face and Steve decides to ignore it in favor of getting the lines of Bucky’s face just right.

The gifts continue to come and Steve’s shelf becomes an entire bookcase of trinkets. The Avengers are called on to save the world from an artificial intelligence named Ultron. They barely make it out alive but somehow, they all do make it.

Natasha watches him closely after the battle. They’re all undressing in Stark’s version of a team locker room, unconcerned with things like nudity when they’re all too busy minding cuts and bruises.

“What is it?” Steve asks her when he’s tired of the stares.

“You’re different,” she says. Her mouth softens into her version of a smile. “You don’t try to make the sacrifice play anymore.”

She doesn’t ask, so he doesn’t tell her that he finally has something to live for again. He suspects she already knows, anyways.

It’s been almost a month since the last trinket when one of their safe houses is compromised. He and Sam arrive on the scene too late but miraculously, no one is dead. The two ex-agents that were staying there are sitting on the porch, wide-eyed and shaking. Sam kneels down in front of them with kind eyes and a soothing voice. Steve goes inside to check out the house.

Broken furniture litters multiple rooms, one of the beds is upended, the toilet in the guest bathroom is split in two. One hell of a fight took place and it seemed to span the entire house. In the living room, there are bodies piled one on top of the other; unconscious not dead. The only thing surprising about this is that not all of them are part of the strike team that hit the house.

“He was here,” Sam says from behind him. He comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with Steve, staring down at the bodies. “The agents said he’s the only reason they’re still alive.”

Steve smirks at him. “Still think it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism?”

“Yes.” When Steve looks at him, Sam holds up his hands. “Hey, man, I’m the first to admit that I’m grateful. But this still isn’t healthy.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve gestures at the two plain-clothed people. “Did they say where these two came from?”

“Yeah, Barnes left ‘em.” He gives Steve an unimpressed look. “Said something about it being a present.”

Oh.

Steve smiles, looking away from Sam’s piercing gaze. His trinkets are getting bigger.

It takes a few hours to get the HYDRA operatives secured in the DC base and to elicit a promise for whatever information is gleaned from them. He doesn’t know if he trusts the agent who does the promising but Steve will come back if he needs to. At least two of the prisoners were specifically meant for him, anyways.

When he gets home, Steve finds a pile of crushed metal and wiring piled onto his coffee table. It takes him a moment to realize what they are but when he does, he smiles; they’re bugs from all around his apartment.

Next to them is a note that reads: out with the old.

The words are very specific. Bucky doesn’t do anything uncalculated and Steve is sure that’s truer now than it was during the war. He begins to search the apartment but doesn’t have to get very far before he’s proved right. On the bottom of the Eiffel Tower statue, there’s a listening device.

And where there’s one, there’s dozens.

Steve puts the statue back without removing the bug and relaxes a tiny, tiny bit more.

“In with the new,” he says quietly, warmed by the thought that Bucky will hear him.

#moodymelanist #greenberg replies #my fics #the blood in my veins

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tillthereweretangents · 7 months

Text

Paul and Icke (part 6 of N)

In 1966 the Beatles returned to Hamburg, this time as international mega-stars. Icke and several of their other Hamburg friends greeted them at the train station, and were later invited in to meet them backstage.

Paul spotted Icke at the train station and called out to him before the band were rushed through. Later, at the venue, Paul made sure that Icke was invited back to spend time with the band.

George brought up Till There Was You at this meeting, and Icke explained that there had been some confusion, but we don't know if Paul ever found out. (more info at the end of the translation)

Thanks as always to the wonderful @didwemeetsomewherebefore and her mum for the translation of Icke's autobiography (original German is at the end).

The tour was booked from the 24th - 26th June; three days in three cities. Through the press photographer, Peter Bruchmann, I found out the Beatles would be arriving at 5 30 am on a special train at the Ahrensburg station, so I got up at 4 in the morning not to miss this moment. As the train approached, I stood very close to the edge of the platform. A mass of journalists, fans and other commuters also stood on the platform. It was terribly noisy and nobody could understand a word anyone was saying. Luckily, I found a favourable place on the platform - facing the wagon in which the Beatles were basically stood right outside my nose. I saw the guys standing at the window and Paul saw me too. He moved his lips as though he wanted to say something to me, and pointed to the front where they were going to disembark. Unfortunately this was about 10 meters deep with people who were all trying to see the band. I tried with all my might to push through but I was still stuck in the middle. It was just impossible to get through. The Beatles had already disembarked. They were corralled straight away by the bodyguards who had freed a walkway through the crowd. However, Paul managed to turn around, he called to me, ‘We’ll see you later!’, and then they ran at speed through the walkway, out to where the cars were standing, surrounded by journalists and fans who were waiting for them. They were taken with a police escort to the Castle Tremsbuttel, where they were staying the night.

The fact that Paul could even see him even with so many people is remarkable, and even though they hadn't seen each other in 3 years, and had no idea he would even be there, is a testament to how much Icke meant to Paul. Spoilers for the next part, but he never did forget Icke.

There is also footage of the train station arrival here, and interviews from earlier in the week with Icke, Bettina, and others in Hamburg here. A lot of stories we've already shared in this series are included, and some that we haven't as well.

The whole thing happened so quickly that on the way home, I thought it had been a dream. On the way back in the car, I asked myself, what did Paul mean when he called out to me? How should I approach him, how was it going to work that we would see each other when the instructions had been so vague. The two concerts were scheduled for 3pm - 4.45pm and then 7pm - 8 45 pm. In between both concerts there were press conferences being held, to which unfortunately I wasn’t invited. I managed to get a ticket for the second concert, but I still hung around for three hours with the other fans in the hall. Suddenly on the loudspeaker I heard my name. ‘Icke Braun is asked to come to the desk’. I thought to myself, what do I need to come to the desk for? but I went anyway. A man was standing there who I had met before - he was from the newspaper, Der Bild. He told me that Paul McCartney wanted to speak to me, then turned around and went into the conference room and I followed him. Already outside I could hear John Lennon’s voice and as the door opened, I saw him joking with the journalists. As everyone was only speaking English, I didn’t understand much of it. The Beatles were sitting on a podium together with a man I didn’t know. Later I discovered that that was Neil Aspinall who was the personal assistant to the Beatles.

George saw me and waved me to his side. I went a bit nearer to the stage but kept my distance. Why should I stand around on the stage looking stupid when I had nothing to say? So I stayed where I was and waited until the end of the conference until I said hello to the guys. A few journalists then left the room but most stayed. When the Beatles came down from the stage, George asked me ‘how are you and what are you doing with yourself’? I said, ‘yes I’m good, I’m now married!’, John heard that and called, “Where’s your wife, let’s see your wife!” and Neil said to me; the Beatles wishes must be obeyed! So I called Evelyn and told her the Beatles wanted to meet her. She was able to come straight away because we had talked about something like this happening.

We wonder if John wanted to see her to see how much she looked like Paul, which, if you look at the picture above, there is a bit of a resemblance (she's between Icke and Ringo, the woman on the other side of Paul is Kathia Berger).

We withdrew into a little room, and suddenly I saw that there was Kathia and Bettina from the the Star Club. I must have overlooked them amongst all the chaos. When Evelyn appeared, she was the first to be introduced to the Beatles. Everything revolved around her and as they were all speaking in English, I stood by looking stupid, and I also took the chance to go to the toilet. in order to do that, I had to go through the hustle of journalists who were waiting to grab one of the Beatles. When I came back from the toilet, they were begging me to take them back into the conference room. One said, if you take me with you, I will give you 1000 Marks. When I got back to the Beatles, I asked if I could bring a few people in to meet them, but John and the others were emphatic; no way, we want this to be just us. Bettina took a few photos out of her bag, which showed the Beatles in the Top Ten and the Star Club. The boys were delighted and told her that they would like to have the photos. I told them that the photographer who took them was standing outside the door. ‘Fetch him in, fetch him!’ said John excitedly. The photographer was called Peter Bruchmann, and was absolutely delighted to be the only journalist to be allowed into the conference room. It was he who had given me the tip that the band would be alighting off the train at Ahrensburg . I knew him from the time when the Beatles played at the Top Ten. At that point he hadn’t heard anything about them, and I had to persuade him to come and see them and take a few photos. These became the most famous photos he had ever taken.

Even three years later, we see how important Hamburg was to them.

And here are some photos from that day! You've probably seen some of them, but now you know who everyone is!

Paul told me before the band went onstage that we would see him afterwards, however they disappeared from the stage straight away; while the public was still clapping and calling for more, they were already in their cars. That was the only way to take them from their fans in safety. This was the only contact that my wife Evelyn had with the Beatles.

There are stories that Paul and John wandered around St Pauli after the show. Based on this we wonder if they realized they hadn't given Icke any actual information and were hoping that maybe somehow he'd be nostalgic too and they'd run into him.

This paragraph is from the introductory part of Icke's chapter about the Beatles, which is why it's more retrospective:

Years later, when the boys were already famous, and I was allowed backstage, we were sitting in the Ernst Merck hall and George Harrison mentioned ‘Till There Was You. I told him that it was actually Kathia’s music taste and not mine. So he understood, but there is still footage from The Star Club where one can hear ‘And now we will play ‘till there was you’ for Icke’

It sounds like George always assumed Icke had a crush on Paul or was gay or that they were together or something based on thinking "Till There Was You" was Icke's favorite song. Icke sounds quick to correct him, and quick to mention it in the book, as this is near the beginning of the Beatles chapter. As you've seen throughout these parts, Icke does a lot of questioning his sexuality and trying to make it clear something doesn't mean what it sounds like. This book is only from 2018. It's very sad to us that he's still doing that even now in his 80s.

Let us know what your thoughts are!

Icke and Paul saw each other one more time (as far as we know, though Icke is still alive so that could potentially change) but we have one more part before we get there, so stay tuned!

Original German of the translation is below!

Original German

Vom 24. bis zum 26. Juni, also an drei Tagen, waren für die Tournee in drei Städten jeweils zwei Konzerte vorgesehen. Hamburg war nach München und Essen die dritte Station. Von dem Pressefotografen Peter Brüch-mann wusste ich, dass die Beatles morgens um 5:30 Uhr mit einem Sonderzug am Bahnhof Ahrensburg ankommen sollten. Also war ich schon vor 4 Uhr aufge-standen, um diesen Moment nicht zu verpassen. Als der Zug einrollte, stand ich ziemlich nah an der Bahnsteigkante. Jede Menge Journalisten, Fans und zufällige Fahrgäste standen auf dem Bahnsteig. Es herrschte ein fürchterliches Gedränge und ein Lärm, bei dem man sein eigenes Wort nicht verstand. Zum Glück hatte ich einen günstigen Platz erwischt. Der Waggon, in dem die Beatles waren, hielt praktisch genau vor meiner Nase. Ich sah die Jungs am Fenster stehen, und Paul sah mich auch. Er bewegte seine Lippen, als ob er mir etwas sagen wollte und zeigte nach vorne, wo sie aussteigen würden. Bis dahin waren es ungefähr noch zehn Meter voller Menschen, die alle zu den Beatles drängten. Ich versuchte mit aller Kraft, mich zu ihnen durchzukämpfen, legte mich mit den Leuten an, die ich dabei anrempelte, und blieb trotzdem in der Menge stecken. Es war einfach kein Durchkommen. Die Beatles waren schon ausgestiegen. Sie wurden sofort in die Gasse geschoben, die die Bodygards für sie freigemacht hatten. Trotzdem schaffte Paul es noch, sich umzudrehen. Er rief mir zu, wir sehen uns nachher, dann liefen sie im Eiltempo weiter durch die Bahnhofshalle nach draußen, wo ihre Autos in einer riesigen Ansammlung von Journalisten und Zuschauern auf sie warteten. Unter Polizeischutz wurden sie zum Schloss Tremsbüttel gefahren, in dem sie übernachteten.

Das Ganze war so blitzschnell gegangen, dass es mir auf dem Weg nach Hause wie ein Traum vorkam. Auf der Heimfahrt im Auto fragte ich mich, wie Paul das meinte, was er mir zuletzt zugerufen hatte. Wie wollte er es denn anstel-len, dass wir uns nachher noch sahen? Die beiden Konzerte waren von 15:00 bis16:45 Uhr und von 19:00 bis 20:45 Uhr angesetzt. Zwischen den beiden Konzerten gab es die erwähnte Pressekonferenz, zu der ich leider keinen Zutritt hatte. Ich hatte für 20 Mark eine Karte für das zweite Konzert ergattert, trieb mich aber schon drei Stunden vorher mit vielen anderen Fans vor der Ernst-Merck-Halle rum. Da hörte ich plötzlich über Lautsprecher meinen Namen: Icke Braun wird gebeten, zur Kasse zu kommen. Ich dachte, nanu, was soll ich denn an der Kasse, ging aber hin. Da stand ein Mann, den ich von der Begegnung an meiner Wohnungstür kannte, also der Mann von der Bild-Zeitung. Er sagte, Paul McCartney will Sie sprechen, drehte sich um und ging zum Konfe-renzraum. Ich hinterher. Schon von draußen hörte ich John Lennons Stimme, und als die Tür aufging, sah ich, wie er sich heftig mit einem Journalisten zoffte. Da alle nur Englisch sprachen, verstand ich natürlich nicht viel davon. Die Beatles saßen auf einem Podium zusammen mit einem Mann, den ich nicht kannte. Später erfuhr ich, dass er Neil Aspinall hieß und der persönliche Assistent der Beatles war. George sah mich und winkte mich zu sich ran. Ich ging ein bisschen näher zum Podium und blieb in einiger Entfernung stehen. Warum sollte ich auf der Bühne blöd rumstehen, wenn ich gar nichts zu sagen hatte. Also blieb ich, wo ich war, und wartete das Ende der Konferenz ab, bevor ich die Jungs begrüßte. Einige Journalisten verließen den Raum, aber die meisten blieben da. Als die Beatles von der Bühne runterkamen, fragte George: „Wie geht es dir, was machst du so? Ich sagte, ja gut, ich bin ja jetzt verheiratet." John hatte das mitgehört und rief „Und wo ist deine Frau? Zeig sie uns mal." Aspinall sagte zu mir: „Der Wunsch der Beatles muss dir Befehl sein." Also rief ich Evelyn an und sagte ihr, die Beatles wollten sie kennenlernen. Sie konnte sich sofort auf den Weg machen, weil wir vorher schon darüber gesprochen hatten, dass sowas passieren könnte. Wir zogen uns in ein kleineres Zimmer zu-rück, das hinter dem Konferenzraum lag, und plötzlich waren auch Kathia und Bet-tina, die Barfrau aus dem Star-Club dabei. Die beiden musste ich bei dem ganzen Trubel übersehen haben. Als Evelyn eintraf, war ich erstmal bei den Beatles abge-meldet. Alles drehte sich um sie, und da sie sich, na klar, auf Englisch unterhielten, stand ich nur blöd daneben und nutzte die Gelegenheit, um auf die Toilette zu gehen. Dazu musste ich mich durch die Journalisten drängeln, die darauf lauerten, einen der Beatles zu erwischen. Als ich von der Toilette zurückkam, bettelten sie, ich sollte sie mit reinnehmen. Einer sagte, wenn du mich mitnimmst, kriegst du 1000 Mark von mir. Zurück bei den Beatles, fragte ich, ob wir nicht ein paar Leute ruhig reinnehmen sollten, aber John und die anderen meinten sofort, auf keinen Fall, wir wollen unter uns bleiben.

The Beatles mit uns im Backstage der Ernst-Merck-Halle. Zwischen George und Paul steht Kathia, zwischen Paul und Ringo sind Evelyn und ich, und neben John sitzt Betty, die damalige Barfrau des Star Clubs. Bettina holte aus ihrer Tasche ein paar Fotos, die die Beatles im Top Ten und im Star Club zeigten. Sie waren begeistert und sagten, die hätten sie auch gerne. O.k., sagte ich, der Fotograf, der die aufgenommen hat, steht vor der Tür. - Hol ihn rein, hol ihn rein, sagte John. Der Fotograf hieß Peter Brüchmann und freute sich wie ein Schneekönig, dass er als einziger Journalist ins Hinterzimmer durfte. Er war es übrigens gewesen, der mir den Tip gegeben hatte, dass die Band am Bahnhof Ahrensburg aussteigen würde. Ich kannte ihn noch aus der Zeit, als die Beatles im Top Ten spielten. Von denen hatte er damals noch nie gehört, und ich hatte ihn mit Mühe überredet, sie sich mal anzusehen und ein paar Fotos zu ma-chen. Es wurden die berühmtesten Fotos, die er jemals gemacht hat.

Vor der Vorstellung hatte Paul noch zu uns gesagt, wir sehen uns hinterher. Aber als sie von der Bühne verschwunden waren und das Publikum noch klatschte, saßen sie schon wieder in ihren Autos. Das war ja auch die einzige Möglichkeit, wie sie sich vor den Fans in Sicherheit bringen konnte. Für Evelyn war dies der einzige Kontakt zu den Beatles geblieben.

Viel später, als die Jungs schon berühmt waren und ich mal in den Backstage durfte, wir saßen da in der Ernst-Merck-Halle, hat mich George Harrison auf Till there was you angesprochen. Da habe ich ihm das dann erzählt, dass der Musikwunsch eigentlich auf Katja zurückging. Das hat er auch verstanden. Aber es gibt Auf-nahmen, die irgendwann im Starclub mitgeschnitten wurden, auf denen man hören kann: „Und nun spielen wir für Icke Till there was you."

#icke braun #paul and icke #hamburg #hamburg 66 #bettina derlien #kathia berger #@didwemeetsomewherebefore #peter bruchmann #john lennon #paul mccartney #george harrison #ringo starr #the beatles

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

Text

Surrender

She opens her mouth to say it’s her, but Aaron beats her to it. The words out of his mouth before she can say them, as if he'd stolen them from her lungs, just as he had with her breath in the hotel before they came here. Making her laugh so hard she’d almost forced her wine out of her nose. A moment that felt so long ago now she could barely hang onto it.

"It's me."

A Minimal Loss AU

-x-

Hi friends!!

This...got away from me. Massively. But if there are two things I love, it's writing these idiots realising they are in love and AU's of Minimal Loss.

Sorry this ended up being a day later than promised, but I kind of like how it turned out.

Please do let me know what you think <3

-x-

Warnings: Canon typical violence/mentions of blood and injury

Words: 6.5k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

The first thing Emily does when she gets to the airport is upgrade her ticket.

She hates flying commercial, which she knows is a champagne problem, so as soon as Aaron asked her to go to Colorado for an undercover assignment with child protective services, she groaned. She was happy to do the work, but the idea of sitting wedged in between two strangers in economy for over five hours was enough to make her decide she’d cover the cost so she could sit in first class, with the intention of re-reading the research Penelope had pulled together on Benjamin Cyrus so she could make sure she was as prepared as possible. A feeling deep in her gut that she couldn’t explain telling her that they were out of their league on this one, that there was something they didn’t know.

“Emily?”

She turns from where she is standing in line to see Aaron behind her, his go bag over his shoulder, and she frowns, “Aaron? I thought Reid was coming with me.”

He flashes her a tight smile before clearing his throat, “He couldn’t make it,” he says, offering no further explanation, “I decided to come in his place.”

She nods, a mix of excitement and trepidation settling in her stomach, burning her chest as it bubbled upwards. One of the reasons she’d been so keen to take this assignment, to get away from DC for a few days, was because of him. She needed time and space, recent feelings she hadn’t expected overwhelming her every time he was near.

It started when he knocked on her apartment door, his heart on his sleeve and as vulnerable as she’d ever seen him when he came as close as he came to begging when he asked her to go to Milkawakee with him. A sign she’d passed a test neither of them knew she’d been taking, her unwavering loyalty to him, to the team, even in the face of his disinterest and distrust of her enough to push away any lingering resentment he’d felt about her initial arrival.

They’d become friends after that, something that she’s sure surprised him as much as it had surprised her. Aaron had come to her place the morning after they got home, his eyes lingering on the white bandage on her head as he said he’d come over to check on her. He’d looked so uncharacteristically nervous, so unsure of himself, when she joked that he could have just called her, that she’d let him in. They’d sat together and talked over coffee and breakfast she ordered in, because she had no food in her fridge, and everything was different after that.

She had been the one to check in on him after Haley had divorce papers sent to the office. Emily had got halfway through one beer before she left the bar, unable to have fun with her friends when she knew that Aaron, the man who had quickly become her best friend, the person she knew she could go to and receive no judgement, was suffering alone and in silence somewhere else. She made it back to the office as he was leaving, and smiled wryly as she offered him her spare room for the night.

He took her up on the offer and she stopped off at a store on the way home to buy him his favourite kind of scotch, one she didn’t like, and they sat on her couch, shifting between silence and mindless chatter, talking about everything except his broken family.

That night she pretended she didn’t hear him crying in her spare room after they went to bed, and, for the first time but certainly not the last, she pretended she didn’t feel overcome with the desire to hold him close. To protect him. To storm across town and give Haley a piece of her mind over how this was handled, even though she knew deep down Aaron wasn’t anywhere near blameless for the breakdown of his marriage.

After that, she noticed her feelings for him, the way she’d get butterflies in her stomach when he was near, or how just being around him made her day better, were getting stronger. The man she had once thought she’d never like let alone anything else quickly becoming the person she wanted to be around all the time. Leaving her feeling like nothing short of the teenage girl she had once been, not the grown woman she prided herself on being now.

It was in New York that she could finally put a name to the feeling. When watching the footage of the explosion that could have, and should have, killed him, made her heart clench. The air in her lungs turning to stone as she struggled to heave in a breath, leading to a momentary response that JJ had picked up on. She’d waved it off, managed to move past it in the chaos of the moment, but it’s when it all fell into place. Puzzle pieces finally clicking together, the picture clear to her for the first time since she’d felt that initial pull towards him.

She was in love with him.

It was only further confirmed for her when relief washed over her when she saw he was okay, that he’d walked away from what had killed his friend. It was overwhelming, something she could have easily drowned in, and she was grateful for the short, but quiet. journey home. The nature of the case meant everyone else, Aaron included, fell asleep, and she could keep an eye on him, protecting him silently and privately.

She was in love with him, and even though there were moments when she was sure he loved her too, his gaze bright as it occasionally lingered on her a little too long, she felt paralysed by it. Frozen in place as she convinced herself nothing could come of it, that he was still so hurt by the divorce that she’d only break her heart in the process.

She’d come second all her life. To her mother’s job. To every partner she’d ever had, something always took precedence. To the cause whilst she was in Vienna, well aware if Clyde and the others had to sacrifice her to take down Ian they would have done. She wouldn’t mind if it was only Jack she thought she’d come second to, Aaron’s love for him, how good a father he was, one of the many things she loved about him, but she refused to be a rebound to his marriage. To be someone Aaron could push his love onto until he found somewhere more stable to put it. A more permanent home for it all.

She nods and clears her throat, pushing her love for him back into the box it belonged in, the lid never quite fitting properly, allowing parts of it to always flow free.

“Well,” she says, smiling at him, “I hope you brought clothes that make you look more like a social worker and less like a fed.”

He frowns and looks up and down and his usual outfit of a suit and tie “What’s wrong with-”

“Next please.”

Emily turns as Aaron is cut off by the woman at the desk behind her and she smiles and nods, stepping forward before she looks back at Aaron, “I’m about to upgrade my ticket,” she says, nodding towards the desk, “I can pay for yours too-”

“Em, no, it’s okay,” he says, already shaking his head, achingly familiar with her generosity, “I’ll be fine.”

She rolls her eyes at him, “Aaron, just let me do this,” she says, beckoning him up to the desk with her, “Knowing you’re stuck in economy will really ruin the taste of my champagne.”

He chuckles and shakes his head at her, and he considers arguing with her, but she simply raises her eyebrows at him. It was a conversation they’d had more than once, her willingness to spend money, to do so without thinking, something he was still uncomfortable with. But he knows he can’t say no to her, that this was how she showed she cared, and he selfishly wanted to experience every moment of it she offered him. Letting it allow him to believe for even a second that she felt half of what he felt for her.

Her beauty had always been undeniable, even as she stood here just a couple of paces at him, a look on her face he’s sure she’d give a child if they were misbehaving. He now thinks it’s one of the reasons he’d been so resistant to her being on the team at first. That his attraction to her, even when he was still married to Haley, was somehow her fault, a reaction he knows was nothing short of unfair.

He knows he shouldn’t have been surprised that her beauty was more than skin deep. That it shone from inside of her too, her empathy and kindness second nature, something she did without thinking or trying. She helped him find somewhere to live after his marriage ended, let him stay at hers that first night when the idea of going back to his empty home with divorce papers in his briefcase was too much to bear. She’d gone furniture shopping with him, her distaste for his taste clear as she gently made fun of him, insisting that he clearly needed her.

He realised he was in love with her the moment he heard an officer was down in New York when Detective Cooper was shot. For a terrifying few moments, he’d thought it was her. Well aware that she’d always put herself between danger and someone else, a tendency to self-sacrifice that rivaled his, and the fear, immediately chased by the relief made him realise what had been in front of him for longer than he cared to admit. He loved her. More than he thought possible.

There were moments when he wanted to ask her out, to make one of their regular dinners an actual date, but he always held himself back. Sure that she deserved better, that she didn’t need the complications of being with a divorced father. So he stopped himself every time, convincing himself that he could be happy just being her friend.

“Come on,” she insists, exchanging a wry smile with the desk agent who was watching them with interest, “You know it’s a drop in the bucket for me.”

His eyes meet hers and she smiles at him, a smile that could convince him of anything, and he nods, “Okay, fine,” he relents, pushing down the rising discomfort at letting her pay for this, “But I’m buying dinner when we get to Colorado.”

She rolls her eyes at him but nods, “Fine, you can buy dinner at whatever wonderful establishment the tiny town we’re going to has to offer.”

His response is a smile before he passes over his passport and boarding pass to the woman in front of them, and it makes her stomach flip. Forcing her to bite the inside of her cheek in an attempt to stop her smile from spreading.

It’s a moment she looks back on in the coming days, a flash of hope and happiness that keeps her going when everything goes wrong.

___

It all goes downhill very quickly.

The death of the woman who worked for Child Services, her name escaping Emily in amongst the worry about everything else, set everyone on edge. Emily stands in the corner of the chapel, well aware of Aaron standing near her, the smell of his cologne, of him sneaking out from underneath, offering her more comfort than it should.

“They’ll be on their way by now,” he says quietly, and she turns to look at him, her eyebrows furrowing, “The team. They’ll be on their way.”

She nods and looks back at what’s happening in front of them, carefully analysing everything that was being said, the power that Cyrus had over everyone unsettling in a way she hadn’t experienced before.

“I bet you wish Reid had been able to come,” she says quietly, grateful for this moment that almost felt normal amongst everything. A few moments alone with her best friend, the man she loves, enough to ease her rise anxiety a little. The fact they were powerless, stuck in here with no way of escaping, feeling a little easier to swallow because he was the person she was stuck here with. She looks at him and shrugs slightly, “That way you wouldn’t be stuck in here.”

Aaron frowns at the thought of it. It’s enough to make him tense, every muscle in his body tightening for a moment as he considers what she’s said, thinking of how he’d feel if he was stuck outside, watching the compound from a distance, knowing his options to help were limited. Here he could see her, could reach out and place his hand on her arm if he wanted, provide comfort to the both of them as things continued to escalate.

He knows he couldn’t do it. That he couldn’t stand out there and wait for the hostage negotiators to work it out, or for the inevitable stand down with a man who was clearly on the edge. That the idea of a minimal loss situation, when she could be part of that loss, was unthinkable.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than here with you,” he says, the serious tone to his voice enough to make her turn to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed. He sighs and reaches out, briefly squeezing her shoulder before he can stop himself, dropping his hand before someone can see them, “I would have had them tear this place apart to save you.”

She smiles at him, because she knows even though he means it right now, it isn’t true. He wouldn’t risk everyone like that, he’d do what he had to do. Because he is a good man, an honourable one, and that was part of why she was in love with him.

Any response she may have had is cut off as Cyrus announces to his followers that he’s poisoned them all. His speech sanctimonious as he eventually reveals he has done no such thing. It makes Emily and Aaron look at each other, fear they are trying to hide from the other, but failing, reflecting in both of their eyes.

“This is…” she fades off, her eyes flicking to Cyrus, not missing how he was watching them, his face stern as their eyes meet. She looks back at Aaron, “I don’t think this is going to end well.”

Aaron nods, his agreement nonverbal as Cyrus approaches them. Aaron clenches his teeth as he watches how the other man looks Emily up and down, leering at her in a way that makes him want to hit him, his protective instincts thrumming under his skin.

“You two are looking mighty cosy back here,” he says, looking between them, “You guys worked together long at CPS?”

Emily smiles at him, “I’ve only been there a couple of years,” she replies, drawing on reality and adapting it, something she’d done during her time with Ian. The lies easier to remember if they were born out of truth. She nods towards Aaron, “He’s been there a lot longer.”

Cyrus looks back and forth between them, a smile that turns Emily’s stomach spreading over his face, “I’ve got to say,” he says, stepping towards Aaron, his hand firm on his shoulder as he goes to move past him, “You really don’t look like any social worker I’ve ever seen.”

He squeezes Aaron’s shoulder before he leaves the chapel, sleaze and narcissism following him like a bad cologne.

Emily blows out a steady breath, concerns that their tentative cover could be blown increasing by the second. Her worry for Aaron, her jokes the night before that he looked nothing like a social worker as they ate apple pie at a local diner reverberating around her head. Turning from a gentle way to make fun of him to something that might genuinely put him in danger, stealing the breath from her lungs.

“I hope the others get us out of here soon,” she says, her lips pressing into a firm line when she looks up at him, “He’s already escalating with this test with the wine.”

“Everything will be fine,” he replies, and she almost allows herself to believe him. To be drawn in by the comfort he always seemed to exude, drawing her in like a moth to the flame, something she’s so sure would one day burn them both.

She isn’t sure how much time has passed, what day it is anymore, when they are dragged unceremoniously from the seats they’d taken, huddled together in the back row of the chapel. She’s pulled up by her arm, something that makes her yell out before she can stop it, her muscles protesting the sharp movement.

“Leave her alone,” Aaron seethes as he’s pulled up himself, one of Cyrus’s lackeys on either side of him, holding him in place.

“The boss wants to see you both,” the man holding Emily up says, his breath fowl as he leans in closer. She makes a point of not reacting, of not giving him the satisfaction. Her eyes briefly meet Aaron’s and she nods, silently letting him know that she is okay.

Aaron clenches his jaw, tight as he’s forced down a hallway, focusing on the footsteps behind him, of Emily’s heeled boots hitting the floor, a rhythm that brings him comfort. Assures him that she’s okay because she’s with him and he won’t let anything happen to her.

Their eyes meet as they are forced into seats opposite each other in a small hallway, the space between them so small their knees almost touch.

“Which one of you is it?”

They look at Cyrus, and she feels her heart drop into her stomach. The fury on his face, the tone of his voice, led her to only one conclusion.

He knew.

Her eyes flick to the supplies the team would have sent in behind him, the supplies she knows will be bugged, and she looks back at him, well aware whatever happened next the others would be able to hear.

“What do you mean?” She asks, purposely playing dumb, desperately trying to gain some time to figure out what to do, the bad outcome she’d been fearing since they stepped onto the compound feeling inevitable.

Cyrus chuckles bitterly and steps words them, leaning down so he is at their level whilst they are sitting, “Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Emily can feel Aaron’s gaze burning into the side of her face but she doesn’t turn to look at him, knowing it won’t help them. That any hint that they were both lying could be deadly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aaron says, his voice measured as he looks at Cyrus, his eyes stern as he stares him down, “We both work for CPS.”

Cyrus smiles again, shaking his head before he stands back up straight, pacing as he shakes his head. He turns back to look at them as he pulls the gun from his holster, pointing it straight at Emily’s head. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t do anything other than stare straight ahead, but she hears the sharp intake of breath from Aaron. The exhaustion from the last day or so, the lack of sleep and food and water enough to make his usually unbreakable exterior crack.

Cyrus chuckles, “Oh, she’s fearless isn’t she,” he says, pressing the gun into her skin, pushing the bangs out of the way with the barrel of it so he can see it, see the pressure it applies to her temple, “So sure of herself.” He keeps the gun in place and leans in, his face so close to hers she can feel his breath, can see the plaque on his teeth, “If only you were a few decades younger,” he says, smirking at her, “You’d be perfect.”

He stands up straight and points the gun at Aaron instead, smiling at him as their eyes meet, “Maybe it’s you,” he says, casting a glance back at Emily as she makes sure she doesn’t react, despite every part of her screaming as she sees a gun pointed at Aaron’s chest, “As I said, I ain’t ever seen a social worker who looks like you.”

She knows they are running out of time, that Cyrus isn’t the type to be above just starting to shoot, and she blows out a steady breath as she looks at Aaron, his eyes locked with the other man’s, both of them unwavering. She can’t help but think about how much she loves him, how she knows she’s strong, that she’s seen and done more than anyone else knew, but she wouldn’t be able to handle seeing him killed in front of her. Wouldn’t be able to deal with the guilt of costing a young boy his father because she hadn’t said anything.

She just hopes, if they make it out, Aaron forgives her for it.

"It's me."

He flashes his gaze to hers as he silently tells her to be quiet, his attempt to protect her clear. It's an all too brief meeting of their eyes before he's pulled upwards by Cyrus, not using the strength she knows he has against a man they both know he could take.

Her stomach twists, the bitter taste of guilt and agony climbing up her throat at the realisation he was doing this to protect her.

She watches as Aaron is thrown to the ground, held in place by the man standing behind her, his grip on her shoulder so tight it would hurt if she could feel anything. Cyrus kicks Aaron several times in the gut, drawing out groans that Emily is sure she’ll never stop hearing.

“You had enough, cop?” Cyrus says, kicking him in the head before he spits on him, making Emily’s body tense, anger running through her veins,

“I can take it,” Aaron grits out, spitting as he rolls, his palms on the floor as blood drips from his mouth. For a moment, Emily thinks he’s lost his mind, that he’s antagonising Cyrus, and she shakes her head, “I can take it.”

She looks past him to the boxes of supplies and it dawns on her, she was talking to the others, not to Cyrus. Letting them know not to come in, not to risk everyone on the compound, and for a moment she hates him for the honour that made her love him. Terrified that it would get him killed.

Cyrus’s mocking smile falls from his face and he kicks Aaron again, forcing him onto his back, his boot pressing firmly into his chest, putting pressure on already damaged ribs, “You can take it, can you?” He asks, putting more pressure on Aaron’s chest, making him yell out, the pain stealing his breath. “Maybe you can take this too.”

He pulls his gun back out of his holster and aims at Aaron’s left arm, pulling the trigger without a second thought.

This time, Emily can’t control her reaction. It makes her yell out, gaining Cyrus’s attention, seemingly reminding him she was in the room. He looks past her to the men behind her.

“Get her out of here.”

She’s pulled to her feet and tugged backwards, her eyes meeting Aaron’s as he looks up at her, his face already bruised and swollen from Cyrus’s attack.

They lose eye contact as she disappears around the corner, and the last thing she hears is another thud, another kick aimed at the man she loves.

___

When Aaron wakes up, the first thing he notices is the pain.

He isn’t even sure when he fell asleep, doesn’t remember passing out, or anything much past when Cyrus shot him. He groans, opening his eyes and blinking them against the dim light of the room. He looks around a little, unable to do more than simply turn his head, even though somehow hurting his chest. He was in a bedroom, lying on a mattress that he was sure he’d consider uncomfortable in normal circumstances.

“You’re awake.”

He turns his head a little sharper to his right, groaning when the movement rocks his whole body against the lumpy mattress, and his eyes meet Emily’s. Something he knows is relief washing over her face as she stands from the seat next to him and sits on the bed, the sight of her hand wrapped around his the moment he realises she’s holding it.

“Em,” he says, swallowing thickly as he rests his head back down, “What…what happened?”

“I convinced him to put us in the same room,” she says, squeezing his hand, something he actually feels this time, “I’m not sure if he believes I’m a social worker,” she says, laughing humourlessly, the sound making her chest ache as it escapes, “But I think he’s more distracted by the fact that this can’t go on forever than worrying about us anymore,” she swallows thickly as she looks at his face. One of his eyes is almost swollen shut now, and his lip is split. The sight of it makes her ache, her heart cracking in her chest because she knows it’s her fault.

That he had been trying to protect her.

He tries to sit up but can’t, the pain burning in his abdomen, the familiar feeling of cracked ribs stealing his breath, “Em, can…can you help me sit up?”

She nods, already standing up to provide support as he sits up, her hands on his back taking most of his weight as they work together to have him sitting against the headboard. The new position eases some of the pressure on his ribs, and he looks at his left arm. His eyes land on a strip of blue fabric over his arm, blood staining the fabric, just beneath the tie he’d insisted on wearing, and he looks back at her. The bottom of her shirt was ripped, a strip of it missing at its hem, revealing some of her pale skin.

She looks down at herself and tugs at the ruined shirt, a vain attempt to cover her exposed skin, she sits next to him on the bed, closer than she usually would, desperate for any comfort she can soak in from him, their situation and how dire it was settling in now she could no longer concentrate on waiting for him to wake up.

“I never thought I’d say it,” she says, looking at his arm, her eyes fixed on the makeshift tourniquet and bandage she’d put on it, “But I’m glad you insisted on wearing the tie.” She looks at him, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes meet, “The bullet was a through and through, I heard it hit the floor,” she explains, “We just need to get it stitched up when we get you to a hospital. You have cracked ribs,” she says unnecessarily, worried what what happen if she stopped talking, concerned that if she wasn’t talking about this her anger that he’d done this for her would win out, “And your face is pretty messed up,” she smiles sadly when he chuckles at the way shes said it, his right hand flying to his ribs when it hurts, “But you seem okay apart from that. I’ll feel better when you’re seen by a doctor though,” her smile slips from her face, “You…you were unconscious for a long time.”

He watches her carefully as she looks down at the bedspread beneath them, the movement making her hair move. The usually soft and shiny locks stuck together with sweat from the last couple of days of not being washed. He spots a bruise on her temple as her bangs shift and he frowns, reaching out for her without thinking, ignoring the painful pull in his ribs as he pushes her hair out of the way to get a better look at it.

Her eyes snap to his as soon as his skin touches hers, his skin warm and soothing as he gently runs his thumbs over the bruise left behind by Cyrus when he presses the gun against her skin.

“Em-”

“I’m fine,” she says, reaching up to capture his hand, linking their fingers together to drop their hands to the bed, not missing the relief on his face as the pressure is removed from his chest, “It’s just a bruise.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing, his hand tight around hers, showing strength neither of them was sure he was capable of right now. She smiles and shifts closer to him, their thighs touching, something that brings them both more comfort than they would ever admit to.

“Aaron,” she says, her hand squeezing his, “You had the shit kicked out of you, you were shot…” She drifts off, shaking her head as she chokes on a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “I’ve got one tiny bruise, I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

She clenches her teeth, her jaw tight as she looks at him, everything she’d been pushing down for months mixing in with what they’d been through breaking free. Any reason she had for not talking to him about this before, about keeping an emotional distance, long gone. Because in the time she was separated from him, when she knew Cyrus could have been killing him and she wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. Aaron’s sacrifice for her, the way he’d given himself up without second thought in an attempt to protect her, removed any previous fear she had that her feelings were one way. That he was mistaken in how he felt about her, so clouded by affection and love for the wife he had lost that he was pushing the feelings onto her.

He loved her. He’d almost gotten himself killed for her, and she felt like she should be the brave one this time.

“Why did you sacrifice yourself like that?” She asks, even though she’s sure she knows the answer, the way he’s looking at her, touching her, the only confirmation she needs.

“You ask that like you weren’t a few seconds behind me,” he says, smiling softly at her, “I saw it on your face. You were going to let him hurt you to protect me.”

She can’t deny it, instead, she looks down at their joint hands, his blood dried under her fingernails, a stain she’s sure she’ll always see, “Aaron…”

“You know why, Em,” he says, his words soft as she slowly looks back up at him, her wide eyes meeting his, “You know why.”

She closes her eyes and blows out a steady breath, shaking her head as she laughs wryly, “I’ve been convincing myself for months that you didn’t feel the same way,” she says, opening her eyes, hoping he will ignore how they shine, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He smiles, a lopsided thing because of his swollen face, but it eases something in her gut, “The same reason you didn’t,” he says, wishing he could pull her into his embrace, that he could hug her as tightly as he’d wanted to for longer than he’d care to admit, “I was worried you didn’t feel the same way,” he shakes his head at himself, “I’m still not sure why you do.”

He’d spotted it, the final puzzle pieces about how she felt about him slipping into place, the moment he sacrificed himself to Cyrus. A look in her eyes he’d never seen before, love and affection and anger slipping past her well-built defences for the first time since they’d met.

She sighs, shifting closer, their faces close enough now she could lean in and kiss him, “Aaron-”

“All I’m saying sweetheart,” he says, the nickname slipping free without him meaning it to, the use of it making her heart swell, “Is you are way out of my league.”

She shakes her head at him, “You’re ridiculous,” she says, locking away the information for when they were out of here, reminding herself to tell him all of the reasons he was wrong, to tell him he was perfect for her again and again until he believed her. She looks at him, lost in the colours of his eyes that she’d never seen so close before. Flecks of gold she knows she’ll count one day soon, something about him that she would know and no one else would, “I love you.”

He smiles, relief easing some of the pain in his chest as it washes over him, the words he’d never expected to hear from someone other than Haley sounding nothing short of magical from the woman sitting close to him.

“I love you too.” He says, and she smiles widely, something he’s sure should feel out of place given their situation but it feels perfect. She leans in to kiss him but he stops her, shifting back to stop her lips from touching his, “Not here, not like this.”

She frowns at first, irritation forcing her to pull back a little, but it is gone as soon as it is lit in her belly. The fire of her anger put out by the way he was looking at her, the romantic fool she knew that lingered under his hard exterior shining through. As absurd as it feels, she knows she’s right.

She never wants to remember their first kiss being in this place.

She nods and presses her forehead into his, her eyes closed as she breathes him in, “You’d better not die on me then. Otherwise, I’m going to be really pissed.”

He chuckles as she pulls back, his hand tight around hers, the warmth of his skin a much-needed reminder that they were both still here, that they were alive. “Deal.”

___

They get separated in the explosion, and for an agonising couple of minutes, she thinks she’s lost him after all. It’s only when she sees him limping out afterwards, his good hand pressing into his damaged ribs as he makes his way to her side, that she feels anything close to relief.

It was over.

She cries when he hugs her, his good arm around her back as he pulls her close, with no real strength behind the action. Tears she’d suppressed for what felt like forever burning down her cheeks. When she pulls back to look at him, she sees tears on his face too, the relief they felt for getting through this ordeal palpable.

If the team thinks the hug is odd they don’t say anything. And they also don’t say anything when she insists on getting in the same ambulance as him, refusing to let him out of her sight for even a moment until she’s forced into another room at the hospital. The team meet her there, her go-bag over JJ’s shoulder. She hugs her friend gratefully before she goes to the accessible bathroom, washing quickly with water and hand soap before throwing her hair up and changing into fresh clothes, abandoning her ruined shirt in the trashcan in the corner. A token of these last few days she didn’t need to keep.

The next time she sees Aaron is a few hours later. She’d sent the team to the hotel, and all of them trying and failing individually to get her to go with them, and she feels nothing short of glad to be alone. To have some time to think about the last few days, everything she’d seen and experienced. The feelings for the man she loved that she’d finally given in to, her white flag of surrender stained with his blood remorse that it took almost losing him to get him.

She’s led into his room by a nurse who quickly leaves them alone, and she smiles as their eyes meet. He still looks awful, his face black and blue and somehow more swollen than when she’d last seen him. There’s a bandage on his arm now, stark white and clean, and he has a couple of IVs, one of which she’s sure will be antibiotics to stave off any infections he may be at risk of.

She smiles as she sits on the edge of his bed and is grateful when he reaches out for her immediately, their hands linking together like it was something they’d always done. “Hi,” she says, feeling strangely embarrassed by the simplicity of her greeting, “How are you feeling?”

He smiles, “As okay as a man with five cracked ribs, and a new hole in his arm can be.”

She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head at him, “Aaron.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, lifting their hands to his lips, pushing back a groan at the pain that licks up his chest at the movement, before he kisses her knuckles, “I’ll be okay, I promise.”

She nods, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she tries to figure out what to do next, what to say, and she clears her throat, “I…never said thank you,” she says, her smile shaking as their eyes meet, “For saving me from him hurting me.”

He nods, squeezing her hand and pulling her closer, grateful when she shifts towards him, her presence more of a balm to him than any of the medication the doctors had tried to make him take. He’d refused them all for now, wanting to make sure he was clear-headed for this, for her, so that there was never any part of her that would doubt this was what he truly wanted.

He shrugs like it was nothing, like he couldn’t have died for her. Like he wouldn’t have if that’s what it came to.

“It’s what you do, for the person you love,” he says, and she smiles widely, her cheeks aching with it. She knows they have a lot to talk about, that their confession in the room they’d been locked in was merely the start of it all, but she knows whatever comes next, at least she’ll have him by her side.

“I guess it is,” she replies, her eyes drifting to his lips before flashing back up to his. He nods gently and she leans in to press her lips against his.

They lose themselves in each other, surrendering to the love they held between them, and in that moment nothing else in the world matters.

-x-

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