#so it seems that they’re copping out of that direction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hayleythesugarbowl · 5 days

Note

hey girlyyyyy could you maybe write for Tim Bradford from the rookie and like the reader is his rookie and while they’re on patrol they run into someone who knows the reader’s abusive ex bf and he makes threats against reader and after their shift reader is super scared so he escorts them home and stays with them idk just an idea 😅

Nightlight || Tim Bradford x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • john nolan fic ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you encounter a man while on patrol who has a threatening message from your ex, your TO, Tim, offers to spend the night with you

word count: 10.3k

warnings: abusive past relationship, reader kind of has a panic attack, mild language, blood, guns, inaccurate police stuff

a/n: ahhh i had so much fun writing this, love!! i took your idea and also added some stuff so i hope you like what i did. i also apologize for the length, i kinda went wild. i imagine this to take place in s1. fem!reader. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“7-Adam-19, armed shoplifter, Radcliffe Complex, 718 Oscar Road. Respond.”

The dispatcher’s voice filled the silence of the car.

“7-Adam-19 responding.” Officer Bradford set down the radio and replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

“What’s the most important thing to remember when dealing with an armed shoplifter, Boot?” Tim asked you after a moment.

“Why did I think that when I was in short-sleeves I would get a break from your Tim Tests?” you muttered.

You’d been Bradford’s rookie for seven months now and some days he still treated you like it was your first day on the force. You appreciated him trying to teach you so thoroughly, but did he have to be so Tim all the time?

“Is that your answer, Boot?”

“No, um, I guess it would be that he’s armed. But no, that’s too obvious for you. Ok, what about what they’re stealing? Their physical state? Keeping their hands in sight at all times?”

Tim sighed, looking bored. “Wrong. It’s—”

“Suspect on the move, heading east on Apple Boulevard,” came the dispatcher’s update, interrupting your TO’s answer.

“Looks like we’re headed east,” Tim said, turning sharply in the direction you’d just come from.

“Saved by the suspect,” you joked.

“Don’t think this is over,” Tim narrowed his eyes at the road. “Lessons don’t stop for crime.”

“Ok, batman.”

Tim glared at you.

“I mean, Sir.”

After you’d first been assigned to Officer Bradford, you’d been told stories of his ruthless training style. Your first thought was that you needed to impress him from day one.

Well, technically your first thought was damn, because you’d have to be insane not to notice how objectively attractive he was. But you’d quickly quelled that thought—crushing on your TO was not how you wanted to start your career as an officer.

So, impressing him was your second thought. And you had been more than a little terrified of not impressing him.

You would be lying if you said that wasn’t how things still were between you two, to a degree—you trying to prove yourself and him making it as difficult as possible.

But, at least after several months, you felt like your TO trusted you more.

“There!” You pointed to a man running down the street, duffel bag in hand.

Tim hit the gas, surpassing the suspect, and skidding to a stop in front of him, effectively cutting him off.

You both hurried out of the car, weapons drawn on the man who was currently aiming his gun back and forth, between you and Bradford.

“Police! Drop your weapon!” Tim shouted at the man.

The man hesitated, seeming to be weighing his options—how easily he could take out two cops.

“Set the weapon down, nice and easy,” Tim ordered, his own gun still pointed at the suspect.”

The man, seeming to sense the inevitability of his capture, sighed and set his gun on the ground.

“The answer was dialogue, by the way,” Tim addressed you, his eyes still on the suspect. “Dialogue is the most important thing when dealing with an armed suspect.”

“Good to know,” you acknowledged, before ordering the man in front of you. “Hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

The man’s gaze shot to you as he obeyed your commands.

“Hey, lady cop, you look familiar,” the criminal squinted at you.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said. You’d never seen this man in your life.

“I swear—”

“Hands on the car!” You ordered

The man reluctantly did what he was told, placing his palms on the side of the shop.

“Wait a minute,” the man sized you up before smirking slowly. “Your Paul Cranston’s girl, ain’t ya?”

You felt your blood instantly run cold at the name.

“You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said again, robotically, grabbing one of his arms.

“No, no I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere,” the criminal whispered. “He told me all about you. Hey, why don’t you let me go and I’ll give you a friendly tip?”

You responded by twisting his arm behind his back even harder.

He winced. “So you didn’t hear then? Paul’s out.”

No. That couldn’t be true. Paul wasn’t supposed to be out for—

“Boot, you going to cuff him or not?” Tim called impatiently.

“Right.” You shook off the stupor and began handcuffing the suspect. Your mind was still on that name, however, and your reflexes were slowed.

Which is how the suspect was able to rip his arm from your grip and shove you to the ground as he tried to make a break for it.

Tim tackled him almost immediately, wrestling him into the cuffs that were dangling on one of his wrists where you had started to restrain him, and pushing him towards the shop.

“Wait, Paul’s got a message for you!” the man hurried out, looking only at you as Tim waked over and shoved him into the backseat. “He said you best watch yourself, because he has connections, and he still hasn’t gotten his revenge. He’s out—and he’s coming for you.”

“That’s enough, get in the car.” Tim slammed the door shut, and the echo of it rang in your ears as the man’s words played over and over again.

He’s out, and he’s coming for you.

“What the hell was that?”

You looked up to Bradford’s questioning—and furious—face. He offered you a hand and you took it, standing up to face him.

“Sorry, I—”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t stop criminals from escaping,” Tim shouted. “Get your head in the game. You do want to be a cop, don’t you, Boot?”

“Yes, sir.”

So much for Tim trusting you. You couldn’t believe you’d almost just let a suspect get away. That had never happened to you before. But, that name—

Your TO shook his head, walking to the drivers side and opening the door. “You know, I should write you up for that.”

You noticed his wording. “But you’re not going to?”

He waited for you to get into the passenger seat before saying,

“I didn’t say that. First you’re going to tell me what just happened between you two.”

You flinched. “It—nothing. It was nothing.”

“Uh-huh. It didn’t sound like nothing. Who’s Paul Cranston?”

You swallowed hard. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

A million images flashed through your head. Paul’s face looming over you. The flashing lights and sirens. Waking up in the hospital.

You shook yourself out of it. You didn’t want to talk about this now. You swore you’d never talk about it again. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we get back to the station. Don’t we have to book this guy?”

Tim sighed, started the car, and re-entered traffic. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Control, this is 7-Adam-19. I need an ID on a Paul Cranston,” Tim spoke into his radio.

And so much for not talking about this now.

“Can you do that without suspicion of a crime?” You asked him.

“You can when dispatch loves you.” He winked at you.

You rolled your eyes at him as the radio began speaking.

“Paul Cranston: caucasian male, date of birth 8/4/92, recently released on parole, history of theft and domestic violence.”

Tim turned his gaze to you. “How do you know this man, Boot?”

“It’s—a long story,” you told him.

“Well then you better start talking if you want to finish before we reach the station,” Tim commanded, making a left turn.

“Can’t you just let it go?” You asked him. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

He’s out, and he’s coming for you.

You couldn’t fight the shiver that racked your body.

Tim’s eyes flicked to you, before returning back to the road. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, shifting the car into park before turning to you.

“If this is another one of your ‘I’m dying, where are we’ tests—”

“Boot, focus,” Tim barked.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s really any of your concern if—”

“Of course it’s my concern!” Tim shouted. His expression was so intense, you squirmed under his gaze and you felt your face heat.

He looked torn for a moment, before sighing and saying, “It’s my job as your TO to train you to the best of my abilities, and I can’t do that if you’re withholding information that may affect your performance as an officer.”

“Fine,” you breathed. “It was a long time ago. I was 18, Paul and I met freshman year of college. We started dating and things were fine, good even, for a while.”

“Until?” Tim prompted.

“Until he got pissed one night because I caught him coming home really late with a ski mask and a bag full of stolen cash. Cliche, right?”

You looked to Tim, but his expression was as stony as ever and you continued.

“Apparently, he’d been stealing since high school and turns out he’d lied to me about working in retail and a whole bunch of other stuff. I threatened to call the police if he didn’t stop and—”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

You watched the houses and trees and cars pass by as you drove towards the station.

“—and he hit me. It didn't stop after that—once he knew he could get away with it. He said if I ever told anyone—about the robberies, the beatings—that he’d kill me. And I let him go on like that for months. I was so scared that if I called anyone, he’d make good on his promise.”

Tim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his fingers turning white, but he didn’t speak.

“But then, one night, it got so bad that I thought he might actually kill me anyway. So I waited until he left the room for a minute and I called 911. He was arrested and—and that’s all I remember before I blacked out. I woke up in the hospital the next morning.”

You kept your voice even, trying not to let the emotion show through your story. You were just recounting facts. This was almost 10 years ago, and you’d moved on with your life.

But reliving it all was hard, even after so much time had passed.

“It’s actually why I joined the academy,” you finished. “I wanted to save people, the way the officers that night did for me.”

You were both silent for a moment.

A muscle in Tim’s jaw ticked. “Does the department know?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. “It’s all part of my file.”

“And the guy back there?”

You shrugged, glancing back at the suspect and lowering your voice. “He must be one of Paul’s partners or goons or—I don’t know. I guess he’s been in contact with him since he was released, if he knows what I look like.”

The thought made your skin crawl.

“I don’t know what came over me,” you kept going. “It’s been years, I just—I didn’t expect to hear about him out of the blue from a criminal on the street, you know? But, I promise it won’t happen again.”

Tim ignored that. “Do you think it was an empty threat?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I sure as hell hope so.”

Bradford was silent for a long moment, his expression tense.

The radio crackled to life. “7-Adam-19, we have a 215 in progress near your area, 239 West Armston Street. Respond.”

“Negative,” Bradford answered the dispatch call.

You stared at him, shocked. “Why aren’t we taking that? We can drop this guy off afterwards.”

“Yeah, I agree,” the suspect chimed in from the backseat. “I think you should take that first.”

Tim payed him no attention. “They’ll have someone else over there in minutes. We have more important things to do.”

“You’re not even going to ask me if I know what a 215 is?” You joked. Tim never passed up an opportunity to quiz you.

“What’s a 215, Boot?”

“Carjacking.”

“Correct.” Tim nodded. “And we’re going to have a talk with Sergeant Grey.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

“Paul Cranston, released on parole from a thirteen year sentence three days ago, currently believed to be residing in the Woodland Hills area.”

You sat in the briefing room, surrounded by other officers, as Sergeant Grey read out your ex-boyfriend’s file. You stared into Paul’s face on the screen, his mugshot visible from all angles.

Bradford stood near the front of the room, leaning against the wall.

“The department is aware of Officer (Y/l/n)’s history with Mr. Cranston,” Grey continued. “And will take necessary action should the situation progress.”

“So, what’s the course of action here?” Tim crossed his arms.

“I’m afraid, as of now, there isn’t one,” Grey said. “Since there is no direct proof against Paul Cranston, we’d essentially be taking the word of a petty thief and wasting resources on what most likely was a desperate attempt to escape arrest. The department doesn’t exactly consider it a threat.”

“Doesn’t consider it a threat?” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous. “How about a charge for threatening an officer?”

“But Paul didn’t threaten an officer,” you sighed, thinking. “The armed robbery suspect did.”

“Exactly, Officer (Y/l/n),” Grey agreed. “Basically, our hands are tied.”

“Then untie them,” Bradford snapped, beginning to pace. “There’s gotta be some technicality we can get him on. Violation of parole, conspiring with a felon, failure to—”

“That’s enough, Officer Bradford,” The sergeant fixed your TO with a firm look. “I appreciate your concern for (Y/l/n)’s safety, but we’ve done all we can do. And, for now, that’s nothing.”

Tim’s concern for your safety. That thought had been in the back of your mind since the ride to the station. You couldn’t figure out why Tim was so determined about this. You supposed you were his rookie and was his job to look out for you. It was just, up until now, he hadn’t exactly done anything to make you believe he’d care so much.

“Failure to take action could be endangering one of our officers,” Tim said, his jaw clenched. “Who’s to say this guy won’t make good on his threat? At least increase security at (Y/l/n)’s residence.”

“Tim, its fine,” you said, your voice firm. “Let it go.”

They were making a big enough deal about this already. It probably was just a case of a criminal trying anything to get free. You doubted Paul even cared about what happened to you anymore. He probably never wanted to see you again—and that was a good thing.

But, then, you couldn’t get those words out of your head.

He’s out and he’s coming for you.

Bradford turned to you, his chest rising and falling. He looked so…resolved. Like he did when chasing down a suspect or that time when you’d walked in on him in the training rooms.

Images of Tim shirtless, the muscles in his back tight as he pushed himself harder filled your head and you quickly shook them away. Definitely not the time.

“We’ll send a surveillance team to Paul��s location in the morning,” Grey said, turning to address you. “But for now the best thing you can do is to go home, get some sleep, and not let this rattle you. Understood?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Good. Because the last thing the L.A.P.D needs is a cop who lets their personal life get in the way of their ability to do their job in any way that’s less than exemplary. I trust that’s not the case?”

You glanced to Bradford, certain he was going to mention your mistake with the suspect earlier.

“No, Sir,” Tim said instead. “My rookies don’t do ‘less than exemplary’. Don’t worry about (Y/l/n)—she’s proved to me she has what it takes to be an officer.”

“Glad to hear it. Shift over. Everybody else, back to work,” Sergeant Grey waved everyone away.

You walked towards the front of the room, hearing grumbled complaints about midnight shift from the unlucky officers who still had to do patrol as you did so.

You stopped in front of your TO. His eyes were on you, his brow drawn in something that looked like concern.

“Thanks,” you said. You couldn’t believe he’d told Grey all that—it was the most complimentary thing he’d said about you in your whole time riding with him.

“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Tim stated, shrugging. “I expect you to live up to any praise I’ve given you.”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling.

“Besides, you’re being trained by me. You’d have to be royally screwed up not to become one of the best on the force.”

“And he’s humble too,” you teased. “But I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Whatever, Boot.” Tim smiled, shaking his head.

“Be nonchalant all you want,” you said, feeling brave. “I know you like me.”

For a brief moment, Tim looked like you’d slapped him. But then, the flash of—whatever that was—was gone and his expression was replaced by one of cold indifference.

“In your TO not your friend, (Y/l/n),” he stated. “It’s not about liking you. It’s about training you.”

You sighed inwardly. Just when you thought you were making ground with Tim, he treated you like you’d just met. “Of course, how could I forget.”

Tim stayed silent.

“Well, I should head out,” you told him, “I’ve got a busy night ahead me. You know, trying not to get killed by my ex and all.”

You’d meant it as a joke, to make light of the situation that left you feeling more uneasy than you’d care to admit. Tim, however, just shook his head and brushed past you, out of the briefing room.

You stood there for a moment, trying to work through what had just happened, before turning around and taking a step in the other direction. Only to find Officers Lopez and Bishop standing in front of you, staring between you and Tim’s retreating figure.

“So how’d you do it?” Bishop looked you up and down.

“Do what?” You asked, confused.

“Get Tim wrapped around your finger,” Lopez answered for her, smirking.

You felt your eyes widen. “Tim’s not—”

“Please,” Lopez put her hands on her hips. “I’ve watched him train dozens of rookies and he’s never stood up for any of them like that. So naturally I figured you’re either blackmailing him or sleeping with him.”

You blanched, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you let what Angela said sink in. You knew she was just teasing you, but the statement caught you off guard. You imagined you and Tim—together. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant thought. And then you realized what you were thinking and you chided yourself, hurriedly un-imagining it.

“No, that’s not—neither one of those things,” you answered quickly. “Trust me, Tim doesn’t give me any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. I actually can’t tell if he hates me half of the time.”

“We’re not implying anything,” Bishop replied. “Only observing. And he doesn’t hate you.”

“How can you possibly know that?” You were suddenly insecure. You still held on to a secret dread that you were going to wildly disappoint Tim—that you already had. Sure, there was all the stuff he had just said. But there was also months of him being hard on you and saying that you weren’t friends.

“Because I’ve seen him hate plenty of people,” Bishop spoke. “And he definitely didn’t look at them the way he looks at you.”

The way Tim looked at you? You weren’t aware he looked at you in a way that was different from the way he looked at anyone else at the station.

“What are you guys trying to say?” You asked them.

“I’m saying watch out,” Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Because Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.”

Could there be any truth to what the two officers were saying? Was it wrong for a small part of you to hope there was?

“Um, ok,” you said, blinking. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

“Don’t believe us if you want, it’s your call,” Bishop shrugged, backing up. “But I’m telling you, you mean something to Tim that the rest of us can only guess at.”

And with that she walked out of the room.

“Bishop can be intense,” Angela said when the woman was out of earshot. “She’s got that whole ‘anti-cops-dating’ thing going on—but I do think she’s right about this. Tim’s tough, and I’m sure he gives you hell—but it’s not because he doesn’t like you. I actually think it’s quite the opposite. ”

Was there really something that everyone saw between you and Tim except for you? You still couldn’t even entertain the thought that Tim had feelings for you that were more than TO and rookie.

“Well you’ve certainly left me with a lot to think about,” you said finally.

“Then I’ll let you start thinking—you’re welcome for the peace of mind.”

You wouldn’t have used the phrase peace of mind, yourself. Sure, it was nice to know that the officers who had known your TO for years were confident that he didn’t look down on you. But, this conversation also had left your head swimming with conflicting thoughts about Tim that you didn’t feel like dealing with right now.

“And take care,” Lopez said knowingly. “We have your back if anything happens.”

With that, your thoughts slammed back to the current situation.

“Right, that. You—you think something’s going to happen?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

“I think in this job we have to be prepared for the worst,” she corrected. “But I also think that bastard would have to be pretty stupid to mess with you.”

She smiled at you and you smiled back. After watching her leave, you followed her path, heading towards the locker rooms.

You thought about what she had said about you and Tim, about Paul.

You hoped she was right—you just couldn’t say which you hoped she was more right about.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Your thoughts bounced between your conversation with Talia and Angela and the message from your ex as you walked to your car minutes later.

When you woke up this morning, you thought the most stressful part of your day would’ve been a police chase or a shootout. You never would’ve expected it to be my ex-boyfriend is out of jail and could be hunting me down and my training officer might have feelings for me.

Funny how things could change so fast.

Suddenly, you heard a bang. You spun around quickly, your heart in your throat. But it was only a car door being slammed shut from across the parking lot.

Get a grip, you told yourself.

You rounded the corner, running a hand through your hair.

You stopped. Tim was leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked you up and down.

“What are you doing?” You asked.

“Driving you home, Boot,” Tim said. “Get in the car.”

“Tim, you don’t have to—”

“That wasn’t a question, give me the keys.”

There was no point in fighting him. Besides, there was a small part of you that didn’t really want to fight him.

You tossed him the keys to your car and got in the passenger seat with a sigh.

Tim started the engine.

“If this is about Paul, this really isn’t necessary,” you said after you’d been driving for several minutes and the silence became too much. “I can handle myself. I am an officer, in case you forgot.”

“You’re a rookie,” Tim corrected, eyes never leaving the road. “And if the department won’t do anything, then I will.”

“What—we’re not going to go looking for him, are we?” You asked.

“Of course not,” Tim scoffed. “I’m not a vigilante, Boot. Where do you live?”

“Take a left at the light,” you guided.

Neither of you talked for the remainder of the drive, save your occasional directions. When you pointed out your apartment building, Tim parked the car and handed you the keys.

“Thanks,” you mumbled to him as you got out of the car, grabbing your bag and heading towards the building.

You heard a door shut behind you and turned to find your TO standing on the sidewalk, an eyebrow raised.

“You didn’t think I was just going to let you spend the night alone with a target on your head, did you, Boot?”

“Tim—”

“No more protests,” he said firmly. “As your TO, I—”

“No, I was just going to say that if you were planning on staying here, why couldn’t I have just driven my own car?”

“I don’t let my rookies drive,” Tim walked past you and to the front door. “Even off-duty.”

You followed him quickly, getting out your key and letting you both in.

When you reached your apartment you did a quick scan of the space—it wasn’t exactly like you’d been expecting company, much less your training officer. You cringed at the messiness.

“How many entrances and exits are there?” Bradford asked.

“Um, just the front door. And there’s windows in the kitchen and the bedroom,” you said.

You skimmed past everything in the place, looking towards the window in your bedroom. Your eye caught on one of your bras hanging from your bedpost. You quickly ran over and shut the door, blushing and hoping Tim hadn’t noticed.

“Please, Boot,” Tim made a face. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen before.”

“Ok no offense, but I usually don’t let guys see my bra the first time I bring them to my place,” you joked.

“If that’s an offer, I’m going to have to politely decline.”

“What—no,” you hurried out, worried your voice sounded wrong. “I just meant—”

Tim interrupted. “I’m going to do a sweep of the place, make sure everything’s as it should be.”

“Is that really needed?”

“I’m not taking any chances.” He left the room and you sunk down onto the couch, letting your bag fall to the floor.

Your TO returned a few minutes later. “All clear.”

“See, everything’s fine,” you said, speaking just as much to yourself as you were to Tim.

“Well,” Bradford started, amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say everything is fine. Your storage closet’s a fire hazard.”

Had Tim Bradford just made a joke?

“I’ll be sure not to exit through the closet in the events of a fire,” you said sarcastically. “And if you keep insulting my living space, I’m going to be forced to kick you out.”

“Bold for someone whose career I could end.”

“You can’t end my career for that,” you shot back. Paused. “Can you?”

Tim raised his eyebrows.

“Only one way to find out,” you said enthusiastically, teasing him now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t let the closet trap you on the way out.

“Nice try, Boot. But you’re still stuck with me for,” Tim checked his watch. “eight hours.”

“Nine hours,” you corrected. You had to leave for work in nine hours.

“You’re right, I should get us drinks,” Tim joked.

You rolled you eyes and he shot you a look. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

Tim got up, disappearing into the kitchen.

“Is all you own ginger ale, Boot?” He called.

“There’s six year old tequila in the cupboard,” you suggested.

“Ginger ale it is.”

Tim joined you in the living room again, carrying two bottles. He handed one to you, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch.

You noted the careful distance he put between you.

“What’s this thing made of, Boot? Plywood?” Tim asked, inspecting the couch.

You smothered a laugh.

“Get comfortable. It’s where you’re sleeping,” you answered.

“Won’t be necessary. If you’re not awake you’re not aware.”

“So, what, we’re taking shifts on guard like this is a stakeout?” You asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t come here to sleep.”

“Tim I can’t let you stay up all night while I’m unconscious.” you sighed.

“You can if it’s an order. Besides, no offense, but rookies are historically less vigilant and have a slower response time…”

You tried not to take offense at that. “Right, Eagle Eye.”

Tim glared at you.

“Angela told me.”

“Of course she did. And at least I didn’t leave valuable evidence on the street to chase after a dog wearing a top hat.”

“Sparky could’ve been involved in the crime,” you said, indignant. “And that was one time!”

“One time too many,” Tim mumbled, lifting the bottle to his lips, his eyes sparkling.

“Ok, so when you were a rookie you were, what, perfect?” You shot back.

“Damn straight.” Tim nodded.

“You made no mistakes, at all?” You prompted.

“Well,” Tim took a sip of his drink. “There was one thing.”

“Aside from the graffiti incident?”

“That wasn’t a mistake because it wasn’t my fault. I was following direct orders and—you know what, never mind. If you don’t want to hear it—”

“No, no, I do!” you scooted towards the edge of your seat in anticipation. “And none of that ‘I worked too hard and too efficiently’ crap.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically. “My first week on the job I was put on paperwork duty, which was—”

“Boring and tedious? I can imagine,” you deadpanned, having been put in charge of paperwork by Tim many times.

“I was going to say necessary and a valuable skill to have,” Bradford corrected. “But anyways, we had just got done booking a couple suspects and I was working on the reports. A triple homicide and a prostitution case. It was a long day and I was tired and I guess I got sloppy—”

“You? Sloppy?” You interrupted.

“Do you want me to tell you this story or not?”

“Right, sorry. Continue.”

Tim did. “I’d just finished tagging the evidence for both cases and when I was filling everything out I somehow got the numbers mixed up. Long story short, according to my report, the homicide gun ended up being linked to the prostitution case and the weapon allegedly used in the triple homicide was…a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you now.

“Forensics caught it before it was sent to the judge, thank god,” Bradford sighed. “But the next day when I was getting ready for my shift, I was greeted by dozens of similar handcuffs in my locker—apparently Smitty has a guy.”

“Tell me you kept them,” you begged, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Of course not!”

Tim blinked.

“Well, not all of them—Isabel made me take a pair home. I found out later that she was the one who orchestrated the whole prank. She used to do stuff like that all the time before she, uh,—”

“Tim—”

You’d heard about Bradford’s ex-wife. How she’d become an addict, gotten herself mixed up with bad people. You knew how much it had affected Tim, even if he hadn’t said so.

She was in rehab now, getting her life back together. You were glad she was finally getting the help she needed. Still, you knew how much she meant to Tim. How much it had hurt him to move on from her and let her start a new life without him.

“I’m fine.” Tim said firmly, clearing his throat. “It’s good to talk about her…before. She’s on the right path now.”

You stared at the ground in front of you, picking at your fingernails.

“Are you still in love with her?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You didn’t know why you asked—didn’t know why you cared what the answer was. Ten minutes ago you wouldn’t have even dared to ask that question.

But he was being so uncharacteristically open and you seemed to be getting along well. You reluctantly brought your eyes up to Tim.

His eyes had gone wide. He looked like he wanted to leave or yell at you or both, and you immediately regretted it.

But then his eyes softened and he opened his mouth. “No. I’ll always care about her and she’ll always be someone that I did love. But relationships change—people change.”

You nodded. “I get it—I mean, I’m kind of rusty on relationships—but I get it. I actually haven’t dated anyone since Paul. I guess it was just hard to trust someone after that. I kind of sabotaged any relationship that had any chance of starting.”

It was the first time you’d admitted that to anyone. You wouldn’t have pegged Tim as being so easy to talk to. You had almost forgotten about the whole Paul situation before you’d just brought him up. You had been enjoying hanging out with Tim, no matter the circumstances. He was actually pleasant to be around when he wasn’t on the clock.

You imagined this happening more often—you and Tim, not just coworkers but friends. Maybe even more. Maybe this was one relationship you didn’t have to end before it started.

You dared to let yourself think about it. You watched Tim process your words. Saw the emotion clearly written in his face as he looked at you intensely.

“Hey, thanks again for not letting me be alone tonight,” you told him, you’re voice soft.

“Don’t take it personally, Boot,” he said. “My house is being repainted and even your place beats breathing in paint fumes all night.”

“I’m honored,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “But you have to admit this has been fun—hanging out.”

Your little impromptu sleepover. You smiled.

Tim, however, looked like a switch had been flipped inside of him. You watched as he clenched his jaw, leaning almost imperceptibly away from you

“Listen, Boot—”

He was cut off by the sound of breaking glass and a loud thumping sound.

You both shot up off the couch, abandoning your drinks. Tim’s hand went to his gun. You did the same.

Tim turned to you. “Stay here.”

“Like hell,” you shot back, following him as he started to do a sweep of the main room.

If that sound was someone—Paul—breaking in, you weren’t going to sit here and let Bradford fight your battles for you.

He signaled to let you know he was moving to the kitchen. You nodded, following.

“Clear,” he muttered, and moved on towards the bathroom. You were right behind him when you heard another noise, like the muffled sound of scraping of furniture, and you spun around.

The bedroom. It was the only room in that direction that you hadn’t checked yet.

You glanced to Tim, but he hadn’t heard it. He was a few feet ahead of you, just now entering the bathroom.

You slowly stepped away from him and made your way across the apartment, down the hall and over to the closed bedroom door.

Holding your weapon in one hand, you opened the door with the other. But, you barely had time to see what was on the other side before you were grabbed and a cloth was shoved into your mouth.

Your gun was ripped from your hand, and you were pushed hard onto the ground. Your wrist burned where you landed on shards of glass from the broken window

Something smacked into the back of your head and you were dragged and thrown onto the bed on the corner. You heard the door shut.

Squinting up into the light, rubbing your throbbing head, your heart dropped as you saw who was in front of you.

“Did you miss me?” Paul sneered, spinning your gun in his hand.

You froze. Everything crashed into you at once. The events of the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend sped through your mind. Suddenly, you were scared and 18 again, at the mercy of this man.

“I guess you got my man’s message,” Paul continued. “Because you don’t exactly look shocked to see me. Scared, of course, but not shocked.”

Coming back to yourself, you scrambled up onto your knees, ready to knock him out.

Paul shook his head, laughing. “No, no. If you move even an inch I’ll shoot you right in the forehead.”

You sat back down, your heart thumping in your chest as you scanned the room for a way out. Some way to get the upper hand on him. You had been trained for this.

“Listen to me,” he continued, his hand coming to the gag in your mouth. You flinched away from him. “I know there’s someone in here with you. If you try to scream to alert them, I will also shoot you. I’d like to play with you first before I put a bullet in your brain but, hey, I’m not picky. Is that clear?”

You nodded, trying to measure how fast you could knock the weapon out of his hand before he could take a shot at you. Paul took the cloth out of you mouth.

You gasped in air. “Backup’s going to be in here any second and then you’re going back to prison.”

Tim would notice you were gone. He had to.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Paul smiled. “I’ll be long gone and you’ll be long dead before that happens.”

You glanced towards the door. What was taking him so long?

Suddenly, Paul reached forwards and gripped your face in his hand. “Just as beautiful as I remember. It was such a shame things had to end with us as they did. How did that happen again? Oh, that’s right. You betrayed me.”

“And that was the best decision I ever made,” you spat.

Paul backed up, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten feistier, baby. It’ll make this so much more fun for me.”

He stepped back towards you, his face inches from yours, sneering. “This’ll be just like old times.”

Bam! The door to your bedroom busted open. Bradford rushed in, taking in the situation. You breathed a sigh of relief.

“Get down on the ground!” Tim growled.

Paul froze for only a second, fear flashing across his face, but it was enough. You lunged, wrestling the gun out of his hands, your wrist protesting.

You trained it on him. Paul was surrounded.

“You have five seconds to get on the ground before I shoot you,” Tim bit out, his expression murderous.

“Come on, baby, you’re not going to let Officer Buzzkill treat me like that, are you?” Paul appealed to you.

You leveled your gaze on him, ignoring his words. “You heard him. Get on the ground.”

Paul slowly knelt, never taking his eyes off of you. Tim charged him, pulling out handcuffs and locking them around his wrists.

You took a moment to be amused—of course Tim had off-duty cuffs.

“So this ends the way it starts, huh?” Paul shook his head. “You getting me locked up?”

“Just like old times,” you echoed his earlier statement. You stayed stoic, putting your hands on your hips to hide the way they shook.

Anger sparked in Paul’s eyes before he took on a smug expression. “You’re right. You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Don’t listen to him, Boot,” Tim warned hauling the man up off the ground.

“You know I’m right,” Paul’s manic eyes bore into yours. He was enjoying every moment of this, laughter in his tone. It took all that was in you to keep your expression blank, unaffected. “You’ll always be that person I knew—the person who loved me. Because you did—love me. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You just took it all like the victim you are. You pathetic bitch—”

He was cut off abruptly as Tim slammed him face-first against the wall. Paul cried out.

“That’s enough!” Tim shouted. “If you ever threaten—no, if you even look at (Y/l/n) again, I will hunt you down and personally remove every external limb from your body, do you understand me? (Y/n) is a million times the person you will ever be and you don’t get to make her feel small. If I didn’t think sitting in a cell for the rest of your life was a worse fate, I’d kill you right now—screw the department.”

Your ears were ringing, your head dizzy as you tried to ground yourself. Your voice came out tiny. “Tim, stop.”

Bradford turned to you, almost as if he had forgotten you were in the room. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched around the man in custody.

“And she’s not a victim,” Tim whispered, turning back to Paul, his voice right by his ear. “She’s a survivor.”

With that, he shoved Paul back to the ground and moved over to you, his eyes roaming over your face. Your body. He took the gun out of your hands, setting it on the desk. Then, he gripped your injured wrist and you winced as he inspected it.

“Probably hurts like hell, but you won’t need stitches. Any other injuries?”

“Um, he hit me in the back of the head,” you felt your scalp, a lump already forming.

Tim’s hands moved to your hair, his touch gentle, his breath on your cheek as he leaned to get a better look.

Your own breath caught, your heart racing at the intimacy of your position.

“What’s the damage?” You almost whispered.

Tim’s eyes met yours, the heat of his stare spreading through your body. “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but there’s no external bleeding.”

Tim stepped back, and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

“Are you—are you ok, Boot?” He asked carefully.

How did you even answer that question? You were still in shock, unable to process what had just happened.

“I will be,” you settled on, breathing in slowly. Exhaling.

Tim looked like he wanted to say more but he clenched his jaw, glancing in the direction of Paul, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he had finally accepted his defeat.

“I’m going to call for back up, you go clean that up,” Tim gestured to the blood covering your wrist where you had landed in the broken glass. “You need help?”

“No, I got it,” You nodded, walking towards the bathroom as you heard Tim make the call.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“This is off-duty officer Tim Bradford, badge 34831. I need a unit to my location for a 126. Suspect in custody. Code 1.”

Tim’s voice faded as you made your way down the hall, shutting the bathroom door after you to access the medicine cabinet behind it.

You took out the necessary supplies and began cleaning the wound. You stopped in front of the sink, letting your burning eyes close for a moment, massaging your temples.

Now that you were alone, you let yourself collapse, bracing your hands against the counter

Images flooded your senses.

The gag. Paul hitting you from behind. You, young and frightened, huddled on the ground. That gleam in his eyes.

Your eyes snapped open, your breath coming out fast.

He’s in custody. You told yourself. He can’t hurt you anymore.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror staring wearily back at you, your hands still shaking as you brushed your hair back from your face. Was it hot in here or was it just you?

Turning your attention back to your wrist, you took a deep breath and continued to dab at the wound.

You reached for the bandages on the counter. A sheen of sweat broke out on your forehead as you wrapped your arm.

You pictured Paul’s grip on you. His words rang in your ears.

You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.

The room tilted. You swayed on your feet so you sunk down to the ground, leaning your head against the cabinet, the cool wood pressing against your head.

You tried to slow your erratic breathing but you couldn’t. You couldn’t—

The sound of footsteps and voices carried through the door. You were vaguely aware that it was probably the backup here to take Paul away.

You closed your eyes, your throat tight, you pulse thundering in your ears.

I’m ok, you tried to tell yourself. I’m ok. I’m ok.

You were unaware how long you sat like this. You had no concept of time. Your thoughts were wild, images flashing in and out, unable to form conscious ideas. Every breath sending a sharp pain through your body.

“Boot?”

The muffled voice was closer than the others had been.

“Boot?” The voice was louder now. You registered Tim at the door. He knocked once. Twice.

“Boot, I’m coming in,” he shouted, his voice laced with worry. The door was shoved open.

“Dammit,” he cursed, seeing your state. You felt him getting closer to you, but you didn’t look up as he knelt by you, his concerned expression taking in yours.

“Hey, look at me,” Tim coaxed. “(Y/l/n), breathe.”

He seemed miles and miles away. There was a pause.

“Hey, Boot, I got another test for you,” he spoke quickly, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I want you to tell me the most annoying person we work with.”

“What?” You rasped, barely hearing him.

“Bishop’s an easy target,” he said. “And Lopez is a slob, so you can’t go wrong there. West’s got the whole daddy issues thing. Don’t even get me started on Nolan—”

You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry.

“And then there’s me. I mean, I’m annoying right?”

You breathed a shaky laugh, opening your eyes slowly.

Tim smiled. “Oh so you agree? It’s ok, Boot, you can say me. Go ahead, I can take it.”

When you didn’t say anything, Tim kept talking. “Personally I’d go for Detective Coleman. The man makes double what I do and I’m convinced he doesn’t own a decent looking tie.”

“L-like the—the green one from last week,” you managed, trying to slow your breathing.

“Leprechauns would call it tacky,” Tim agreed. “Now, since we’ve discussed this from all angles I’m going to need you to choose wisely. Because this is going to go on your evaluation for today.”

You gulped. “Are—are you going to get me fired if I say you?”

Tim let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “I knew it. Guess who’s going back to long-sleeves on Monday?”

“In this heat wave? You—you wouldn’t dare,” you joked, sniffing.

“I don’t know, I am the most annoying person you work with—sounds like something I might do.”

You laughed again, this time the sound coming out less strained. You focused on taking deep breaths, feeling your heart rate return to normal.

“There you go.” Tim stood up, offering his hand to you for the second time that day. You gripped his arm as he pulled you up onto shaky legs.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, embarrassed to have had your TO see you like this now that your head was clearer.

“For what, doing my job?”

You smiled weakly at him, running a hand along your forehead. “Sorry for um—”

“Having a normal reaction to a highly emotional situation? Don’t apologize for being human,” Tim said firmly, his forehead creased.

“So, he’s gone?” You’re voice came out small.

Tim’s expression softened. “He’s gone.”

You nodded again, looking at the floor.

“Hey, (Y/n), look at me.” Tim said. You brought your gaze up to meet his. “He’s never going to hurt you again, ok? I’ll make sure of that.”

You let your eyes fall closed, feeling ashamed that you had been so affected. That Tim had to handle all of this for you. “I know. And I’ll understand if after…all this, you don’t see me fit to—to be a police officer anymore.”

Tim’s eyes hardened, his voice hardening with them. “With all do respect, Boot, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. I meant every word of what I said back there—you’re a survivor. All I saw tonight is that you are a brave and intelligent woman who just so happens to have a scumbag of an ex-boyfriend. Don’t let it define you because then he wins. You’re a great cop, (Y/l/n). It’s rookies like you who make the force as strong as it is.”

You listened to Tim speak. He sounded so…passionate. Bishop’s words came back to you.

Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.

You desperately wanted that to be true, now more than ever. He’d been so kind to you in this past hour—staying with you, rescuing you, reassuring you, bringing you back from whatever dark place you had just been in.

And then this. Talking about you like he…like he really cared about you. And maybe it was just because he felt like as your training

Officer he had to protect you. But in the moment, it felt like maybe it could be more than that.

“So what I’m hearing is, I’m getting a promotion?” You teased finally, brushing your hair back from your damp face, breaking the silence.

Bradford put up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you still have a lot to learn from me.”

You sighed. This was normal, this was comfortable. How you and Tim always acted with each other. You were both relieved and disappointed at the change back into familiar territory.

You ran a hand through your hair, stifling a yawn. Saying today had been a long day would’ve been the understatement of the century.

“Now come on,” Tim flicked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

“Let me guess, nine p.m. sharp every night?” You teased.

“That’s not true.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Nine-thirty,” he admitted.

You giggled, following Tim out of the bathroom and into the hallway which led to the living room.

You glanced at your bedroom as you passed it, trying not to think about what had happened in there. It was over now, you told yourself.

“Since my room is kind of a crime scene, I guess we’re both crashing out here,” you sighed, gesturing to the couch.

Silence filled the room and you immediately realized your mistake, cheeks flaming.

“Or, right, I guess you can go now. Danger’s over.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim said. “And get to bed even later? I’m not going anywhere.”

You stepped into the living room. You were glad Tim was staying. You felt safer with him here, even though you knew it was irrational.

“I’ll get the blankets and stuff,” you said, turning back the way you’d came.

“Let me go with you,” Tim offered.

“I would but they’re in the closet and I don’t want it to trap you or something,” you said.

“You think I can’t take a closet full of your crap? Bring it on,” Tim challenged and you led him down the hall.

A few minutes later you returned to the living room, blankets and pillows in tow. Tim helped you pull out the couch bed—you were grateful you’d opted for this couch instead of a regular one—and you stood back, admiring your work.

“Take the couch,” you told him. “It was your bed originally.”

“Not gonna happen.” Tim crossed his arms. “It’s your house. And you’re injured.”

“I’m fine. And where are you going to sleep? The floor?” You asked him.

Tim scanned the room and then sat down on the chair across from the couch-turned-bed.

“Are you sure you’re ok on that?” You asked. It didn’t exactly look comfortable for spending hours on.

“Trust me, Boot, you got the short end of the stick. Have fun sleeping on plywood.”

You smiled. “So, what, you’re just going to sit over there and watch me sleep?”

“I can leave, if you’re—”

“No,” you’re voice came out faster and more sharp than you’d intended. “I mean, you came all this way, I don’t want you to have to get an Uber home at this hour.”

You climbed into bed, aware that you were still in your clothes, but not caring enough to change.

“We should get some sleep, it’s been a long night,” Tim sighed. He got up and turned the lights off, darkness filling the room.

“Damn, boot,” you heard Tim’s voice even though you couldn’t see him anymore. “It’s pitch black in here. You don’t sleep with a light or anything?”

“Well I don’t usually sleep in my living room,” you pointed out. Then you stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute. Is Officer Tim Bradford afraid of the dark?”

Tim scoffed. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you teased.

“There is no secret,” Tim shot back.

You winked. “Exactly.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.” You smiled.

The room fell silent. You heard him sit back down.

You laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The seconds ticked by.

“Do you—do you think he really would’ve shot me?” You asked, finally.

“I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “He clearly thought you guys had unfinished business. But guys like that get high on fear—on desperation. He couldn’t have that if you were dead. In his mind, he’d be losing his power over you.”

He paused.

“Besides, I don’t think he would’ve gotten the chance,” Tim said. “He clearly underestimated the badass-ness of his opponent.”

You snorted. “Did you just say ‘badass-ness’?”

“It’s a word!” Tim defended.

You laughed, turning over on your side.

“But seriously, if you ever need anything, you can always talk to me,” Tim said, sounding earnest. “I mean it.”

“I may just take you up on that,” you responded. “Do you tell that to all your rookies?”

You could barely make out Tim’s frame in the dark. “No, not all of them.”

“I’m going to take that as I’m special,” you said.

Your next words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“You know, Lopez and Bishop had this crazy idea that you had feelings for me,” you said, staring up at the ceiling. “But I told them it was just that—crazy.”

Tim didn’t speak.

“It is crazy right?” You asked. You had to know. He still was silent. “Right?”

“Boot, look—” Bradford started. His voice came out rough, as if he hadn’t talked in days. Your heartbeat was a deafening roar in your ears.

“Tim?”

You could hear more than see Tim’s movements. He stood, pacing the length of the room. Sat back down. Stood up again. Sat.

“Dammit, Boot, I can’t do this,” he finished. “I can’t do this right now, (Y/n).”

Your pulse quickened. He hadn’t denied it.

You stood up.

And maybe it was having to deny your attraction to your TO for seven months. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the attack earlier. Maybe it was because the darkness felt safe and secret—made you feel like you could do anything. Maybe you were just too eager after his small encouragement—or, lack of discouragement.

But, whatever the reason, you walked over to where Tim sat, kneeled down, looked into his confused, strained eyes, and kissed him.

Tim froze, his lips still against yours. And then, almost as if he was afraid you would vanish or startle, he placed his hand gingerly on your waist, and leaned into the kiss.

And he was kissing you back. Tim Bradford was kissing you back.

His free hand went to your hair, deepening the kiss as he gripped you closer. He kissed you like he had been waiting a lifetime.

It was desperate and raw and passionate—it was perfect.

You broke apart, both gasping for breath.

“Listen, Boot,” Tim started. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You’ve had a long and confusing day—”

You interrupted him. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. But I’m not confused about this.”

You brought your lips to his again. This time he didn’t hold back. He pulled you closer to him and you felt the warmth of him through his shirt.

When you came apart again, he was smiling.

“Well, I guess I can check thinking that you hate me off my daily checklist,” you whispered.

“I don’t hate you, Boot,” Tim said. “I actually hate how much I don’t hate you.”

You studied the planes of his face, the light from the hallway illuminating his eyes. His lips. His jawline.

“Boot—”

“If you’re going to say that this is a bad idea, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight,” you said.

“I thought that was obvious.” Tim stated matter-of-factly. “I was going to say actually I’d appreciate it if you did turn on a lamp or something, because—”

You laughed, kissing him again.

“But seriously,” Tim continued. “You know we can’t do this.”

“Why not?” You pouted. “If it’s what we both want.”

“It’s not about what we want—we could be putting both of our careers in jeopardy.”

You knew he was right. Of course he was right.

“But is it—what you want?”

“God yes,” Tim blurted, standing up, his voice strained. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment I started training you. Do you know how hard it’s been trying to put distance between us and deny every damn thing when all I wanted to do was—”

He broke off, running a hand along his hair.

“Then do it.” Your heart pounded in your chest. “You’ll only be my TO for a few more months, we’ll just keep it a secret until then. No one has to know.”

Tim looked at you.

“Ok you’re right, Bishop and Lopez will totally know something’s up,” you admitted.

“I guess I’ll just have to transfer,” Tim joked.

“What happened to ‘Tim Bradford finished what he starts’?” You asked.

“Oh I intend to do just that,” Tim whispered. “Are we really thinking about doing this?”

You thought about the consequences you could face—Tim could face—if it got out that you and your training officer were romantically involved. You knew it would be a huge risk—one that could get you cut from the program.

You looked at Tim. He was watching you like he never wanted to let you go again. You thought about how long you’d wanted this, even if you didn’t fully know it until tonight.

And the decision seemed clear.

“Yeah,” you beamed. “Yeah I think we are.”

He cupped your face in his hand, his fingers warm against the back of your neck. Your eyes closed against his touch. You felt comfort for the first time in hours.

“You need rest,” Tim whispered and your eyes fluttered open. “As much as I’d love to do this all night.”

You nodded, backing up towards your bed. Tim ran a hand through his hair again and then sat back down in the armchair.

“What’re you doing?” You asked him.

“Going to bed,” Tim answered, as if it was obvious.

“Get over here,” you gestured, rolling your eyes at him.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Tim smiled.

You climbed into bed beside him, pulling the covers over both of you.

You lay your head on Bradfords chest. You could feel his heartbeat in your ear as you closed your eyes.

“You know, this will kind of be like doing undercover work—minus the threat of getting killed,” you said.

“I don’t know about that—I wouldn’t put anything past an angry Sergeant Grey.”

“We’ll just have to be so in-character that we never find out,” you said.

“I’ll make sure to be extra tough on you next shift,” Tim agreed.

“And that’s different from any other day how?” You shot back, sitting up.

“Hey, training rookies is a sacred duty and I take that very seriously. If you think I’m going to throw your education out the window simply because—”

You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. You echoed his earlier words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Tim shook is head slightly, eyes roaming over your face.

“What?” You asked.

“You’re so beautiful, (Y/n),” Tim breathed. “I’m so glad I can finally tell you that.”

“Me too,” you said. “Even if it took…this for it to happen.”

“Speaking of which, maybe I’ll take a sick day tomorrow,” Tim said. “Since there’s no way Grey—or myself—is letting you go to work. What’d you say?”

You wanted to fight him, say you were fine and you could make it to your shift the next day. But the promise of taking a sick day with Tim was to tempting to pass up.

“I say I’m glad your house is being repainted,” you teased. “Because then you’ll have to stay with me.”

Tim smiled knowingly. “My house isn’t being repainted, Boot. And I’m all yours.”

You grinned, laying back down and resting your head back against Tim. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

You felt safe, protected in his arms.

The rest would come. Dealing with what had happened tonight. Starting your secret relationship with Tim. Eventually facing everyone at work who had heard the news and would want to ask if you were ok. And you would be ok.

But for now, this was enough. He was enough.

“Tim?” You whispered.

“Hmm?”

You struggled for words to fit the gravity of what you were feeling for him. “Thanks for…everything.”

“What are TOs for,” Tim shrugged.

“Apparently keeping the night light business afloat.” You giggled at the look on Bradford’s face.

“Shut it, Boot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed loves!! i’m so down bad for tim it’s not even funny 😵‍💫

#tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #the rookie #the rookie x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader #tim bradford x rookie!reader #eric winter #eric winter x reader

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 10 months

Text

The Golden Ratio - Part One

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k

Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.

But she was here, finally. Oxford University.

Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.

An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.

She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.

Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.

She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.

They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.

When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.

She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.

“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.

But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.

She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?

Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.

“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”

She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.

“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.

Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”

Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had.

Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?

When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.

Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.

God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.

She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.

Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.

Just my luck.

The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.

A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly.

He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”

She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.

“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”

“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”

She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.

Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.

Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.

“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”

A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.

“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”

She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.

“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”

Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.

She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.

It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.

“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”

“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”

“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”

He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.

“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.

He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.

“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.

“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.

“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”

She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.

“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.

“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.

“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”

“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”

She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.

They’re so blue.

“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”

“A simple table is sufficient, look–”

His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.

“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”

She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.

“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”

This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”

“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.

She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.

Does he always have to be so bloody intense?

“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”

“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.

She sighs.

Of course you do.

“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”

He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.

“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”

He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”

“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”

Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.

Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!

She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”.

Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.

Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.

Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.

She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.

Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from [email protected] pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.

Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.

“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.

Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”

“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”

“See you then.”

Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.

She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.

At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.

“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.

He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”

She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.

Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!

“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”

They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.

She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.

“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.

He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”

She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.

“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.

“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”

Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.

“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”

She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”

“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”

She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”

“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.

“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”

“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.

“Pardon?”

“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”

“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.

“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.

“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.

A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”

She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”

The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.

They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.

Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.

She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.

Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.

It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.

“H-hello?”

“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.

There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”

She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”

Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”

It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”

“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”

“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”

She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.

Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.

She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.

Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.

Without thinking, she types out a message to him.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

Within seconds he’s typing a response.

“Would you like me to have alcohol?”

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x you #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey smut #michael gavey angst #michael gavey #michael gavey saltburn #saltburn michael gavey #ewan mitchell #saltburn #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey fan fic #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fan fiction #saltburn fan fic #saltburn fanfic

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urrockstar-xe · 1 year

Text

meant for each other - j.m x fem!reader

posted april 30th, 2023, 9:23 pm

pure fucking fluff this is so cutesy im sry

masterlist

wordcount: 0.9k

“What do you see in him?”

Sarah��s question made you laugh. What did you see in him? Please,

When you looked at JJ you saw the stars that scattered the sky the night you shared your first kiss, you saw the sunlight coming in through your curtain, shining perfectly over the boy lying fast asleep in your bed. You saw the waves crashing against you in the most comforting way possible.

When you looked at JJ you saw your safe space, your future, and a slight fear of ever relating to “the one that got away” by Katy Perry. This is ironic considering your entire life you’ve been practically preaching words like “You’re 16 he’s not the love of your life, he’s just some boy, don’t worry, the pain will end” but now you get it because if anything were to happen you probably wouldn’t shower a lot and you’d cry so much you’d end up the most dehydrated you’ve ever been.

But as Sarah and Kie giggled beside you, you didn’t say all that. You simply responded, “What do you see in john b and fucking Topper?”

This threw the three of you into another fit of laughter as Kiara seconded what you said and Sarah defended her taste in men. You let her, and all of her points were valid. You didn’t defend your taste because it seemed impossible for anyone to understand.

And for the most part, you were right. Your friends would watch as you laughed at a stupid joke JJ made or how fast he’d do something simply because you’re the one who asked (“jj open this beer for me?” “Yes, ma’am”), they’d watch as you scold him for the hundredth time through tears because he takes the phrase “ride or dies” far too literally for your liking. They noticed every single time that JJ sat down how he’d nod towards you as a signal to come to sit by him, and how you happily obliged every time, whether it be in his lap or on the floor in front of him. (though when this is the case he’ll have you switch places while making some dirty joke about sitting between your legs which always ends in you shoving his shoulder and him using your thigh as a pillow). They notice how gentle you act towards him whenever there's a new bruise on his cheek or cut on his lip. They notice all of it and for the last 2 years (1 year and 3 months of friendship, 8 months of something more) John B will say “They’re meant for each other,” and his two friends would nod and hum in agreement. Sarah caught on fairly fast to how you two were. The dynamic of two people who would do anything to prevent losing all they had.

The first time she fully noticed just how bad it was, happened a while back when John B was getting arrested and the cops had you all surrounded.

She saw the look that flashed in your eyes when you saw JJ prepping his gun for whatever idiotic idea he had in mind, she saw the sirens going off in your head as he watched John B direct JJ’s plan elsewhere and give himself up. The sirens didn’t stop until all of the cop cars and boats were scattering back to where they belonged. Leaving the group of pogues without their friend. But all you could think of was the image of your boyfriend murdered in front of you by a bunch of cops. Because yeah it didn’t happen but what if it had? Sarah had seen the way you pushed JJ back just to grab fistfuls of his shirt and bring him right back to you, “what the fuck was that, JJ? Huh? If they had even seen that gun you’d be bleeding out right now, No actually you’d probably be fucking dead” Pope tried to intervene but he was quickly shut up by Kiara pulling him back to her side, silently telling him to leave you be. JJ was quiet, his eyes rapidly moving to follow the stream of tears rolling down your cheeks, his hands softly placed on your wrists to try and keep your hands from shaking more than they already had been.

“You always say that stupid shit about having nothing to lose but I fucking do JJ and it’s you, you’re what I have to lose and if you ever do some stupid shit like that again I swear to god-”

And at that moment, as Sarah saw you practically fall into him, sobbing into his shoulder while he held you together, she realized.

She saw what you saw, she saw everything you had, everything you needed, who happened to come in the form of a pretty and reckless teenage boy.

Now, months later, she watched as you were twirled in a circle by that very same boy. Smiling and Laughing as you danced under the tree lights at the chateau.

“They’re meant for each other” This time it was Sarah saying it, with a soft smile on her lips. Four people agreed in hums and nods. “They've always been like that?” Cleo’s question was immediately answered by groans and laughs, “only since the beginning of time,” Pope replied, “it’s like they're in their own little disgusting world,” Kie joked.

“I think it’s sweet,” Sarah said, “me too,” John B agreed.

#jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagines #outer banks imagines #obx imagine #Spotify

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candycandy00 · 8 months

Note

Can you do a Suguru and Satoru fic with them being horny bullies to a shy curvaceous nerdy girl? I love the bully stories!

Hope you like it!

Smut. 18+. Rape/Noncon. Fem Reader. College AU. Bullying. First time sex. Oral sex. Coercion. Gojo and Geto are cruel scumbags. This is a mean-spirited little fanfic! And before anyone wonders, I did discuss details with the requester before writing this.

You’re sitting at a small table in the back of the empty campus library, peacefully reading your book, when you hear the heavy wooden door open. That alone is unusual enough. At this time of day, an hour after all classes have ended, the library is always deserted, not even a librarian or custodian in sight. But then you hear a pair of loud voices, laughing, talking, and you feel panic rising in your heart.

With only one way in or out of the library, you know you can’t simply flee to an exit. Those two are near the door. Your only option is to hide and hope they don’t spot you. Maybe you could even circle back around to the door once they move further in. So you grab your book and your bag, so they won’t see any signs of your presence, and move quietly but quickly to the row of shelves nearby, ducking low to try to stay out of sight.

You can hear them walking around, making no attempt to be quiet. They don’t care if you hear them approaching. Hell, maybe they want you to, maybe it’s part of their plan to terrorize you.

“You sure she’s in here?” a voice asks as they move toward the tables.

“I’ve seen her come in here every day this week. This is definitely her new hideout,” the other replies.

They’re getting closer to the shelves. You’re not an idiot. You know they’ll check them, but if you can time it just right, you might be able to move between the shelves to avoid them.

Suddenly they go silent. You can’t hear their voices or their footsteps. Fuck. They know you’re hiding between the shelves, and they don’t want you to know which direction they’re coming from. You try to watch both ends of the aisle you’re in, your plan now being to flee in the opposite direction the moment you catch sight of them.

You stand there, ready to run, your heart pounding, when you finally see it. On the back end, a glimpse of white hair as the tall young man moves around the corner. You immediately make a run for it, sprinting toward the front, toward the library door. But just as you reach the end of the aisle, two strong arms reach out from the side and grab you.

“Got you,” a smooth voice says as you’re dragged back into the aisle, between the tall shelves that now feel like the walls of a cage.

You struggle and kick, yelling, “Let me go!”

In the aisle, Gojo Satoru is waiting for his best friend, Geto Suguru, to bring you to him. They’ve been bullying you relentlessly all year, gradually getting worse as the months rolled by. It started simple, with them occasionally knocking your books out of your hands and laughing as they gave fake apologies, then shoving you against the wall and pretending they didn’t see you. Lately, their tactics had taken a decidedly sexual turn, as they’d taken to flipping up your skirt and commenting on your panties and even copping feels of your chest or ass when they caught you alone.

You were an easy target for them. Quiet, reserved, and having few friends to surround yourself with, it was obvious why they chose you. Despite the growing intensity of their harassment, you haven’t reported them. Doing so would make the entire school hate you, and no one would believe you. Gojo and Geto were the school’s golden boys. They were beloved by everyone, and could do no wrong. They were easily the hottest guys in school, got perfect grades despite never seeming to study, and had both won various awards for their performances in several different sports.

They were perfect, and you hated them. The universe was cruel indeed, to make the two biggest scumbags on the planet also be so gorgeous that everyone was blinded by their beauty. Everyone but you.

Geto’s grip on you loosens just a bit, but at this point you’re trapped between them. If you try to run again, they’ll easily catch you. They’re both track team stars, for fuck’s sake.

You try to calm down, to talk to them rationally and pray they’re feeling merciful today. “What do you two even want? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Geto is behind you, his hands around your waist. It’s the kind of position you’ve seen couples in. Gojo is standing in front of you, uncomfortably close, a shit-eating grin on his face. “We just wanna play with you,” Gojo says, his eyes hidden behind the dark sunglasses he wears when not in class.

“Why were you running away?” Geto’s voice asks into your ear. “That hurts our feelings.”

You turn your head to look at Geto. Of the two of them, he’s definitely the most likely to listen to reason. “I-I don’t feel well today. Please, just let me go.”

Geto looks to Gojo. “She doesn’t feel well, Satoru. What should we do?”

It doesn’t sound like he’s asking a serious question. It sounds like he’s mocking you.

Gojo gives you a look of fake concern. “Poor thing. What’s wrong? You on the rag?”

Before you can even answer, Gojo’s hand shoots out and moves under your skirt, squeezing your crotch through your panties. You gasp and freeze up in terror. He’s never been this bold before.

“I don’t feel a pad,” he says, withdrawing his hand.

“Maybe she uses tampons,” Geto suggests, his grip on your waist seeming to tighten.

Gojo snaps his fingers loudly. “That’s probably it! Let’s find out!”

“No, stop!” you cry, wriggling out of Geto’s grasp as Gojo’s hand moves toward your skirt again. “I’m not on the rag!”

Gojo stops, lowering his hand. “Then what’s wrong with you?”

You look back and forth between them, trying to think up a convincing lie. Would they have pity on you if you made up a sob story? You could say your dad died yesterday, or that you just found out you have cancer. But lying about things like that, even to escape danger, just doesn’t feel right. And besides, these two sadistic assholes probably wouldn’t care.

“I think I’m coming down with the flu,” you say, hoping that maybe, just maybe, they might want to avoid possibly catching it from you.

“Oh, that’s all?” Geto asks.

“Should have gotten your flu shot like we did,” Gojo adds with a laugh.

Your heart sinks as you watch Gojo pull something from his pocket. Geto is no longer holding you but he’s so close against your back that you can feel his body heat.

Gojo holds up some sort of pen. “I ordered this the other day. It’s a super strong permanent marker. The ink is guaranteed to stay on skin for at least seven days, no matter how much you scrub it.”

He pulls the cap off and points the marker at you. “Why don’t we test it out? I could write, ‘This dumb cunt belongs to Gojo and Geto’ across your forehead!”

You shrink back away from him, but that only results in you pressing your back into Geto’s toned chest.

“Satoru, I don’t think that many words will fit on her forehead,” Geto says.

“Oh, right. Well, we can just scribble it all over her face then,” Gojo replies.

“Please, don’t! Just leave me alone!” you cry out, your voice breaking into a sob.

They watch you shake and tremble, then look at each other. Gojo nods, as if they had already agreed to something beforehand, and Geto suddenly steps back away from you, giving you space.

“Okay, we’ll leave you alone today,” Geto tells you.

You look up at him with teary eyes. “You will?”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, as if he’s suddenly feeling shy. “Yeah. We didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Gojo pats your shoulder in what he probably thinks is a comforting manner. “The truth is we kinda like you. We didn’t realize we were taking things too far.”

You look at both of them with wide eyes. You don’t trust them at all, so you just want to get out of here as fast as you can. “So… I can go?”

“Sure,” Geto says, smiling at you.

Without waiting for them to change their minds, you grab your fallen bag and book from the floor and walk down the aisle, toward the door. Just before you get to the end, you hear Gojo’s voice.

“Hey, Suguru, who’s that nerdy little guy she always sits with at lunch? Mori-something…”

“Moriyama,” Geto corrects him. “He’s always in the chemistry room around this time, with his little club of fellow nerds.”

“Yeah, that’s him! Since she can’t play with us today, let’s go play with Moriyama!”

You stop dead in your tracks and look back at them, a deep, engulfing dread building in the pit of your stomach. “What did you say?” you ask them, your voice weak and quiet but echoing in the mostly empty library.

They both look at you. “Never mind us,” Geto says with a charming smile. “Go on home and take care of yourself.”

Gojo looks back to Geto, as if he’s ignoring you now. “Hey, let’s drag Moriyama out of the chemistry room, strip him naked, and write all kinds of hilarious shit all over him! Then we can make him walk back into the room like that so all his friends can see!”

You feel your heart pounding again. Moriyama is a sweet, kind, happy young man who has made your miserable life at this school just a little bit bearable. You’ve never told him about the bullying you suffer through, but you think he suspects something is troubling you. He’s always trying to cheer you up and offering to listen if you need to talk. In truth, you’ve started to develop feelings for him, but you haven’t had the courage to tell him yet.

You can’t let these two monsters hurt him, especially not because of you.

“Leave Moriyama alone!” you say, more firmly than you’ve ever said anything to them before. “He has nothing to do with this!”

They look at you again, and they both grin. “We’re going to play with someone today,” Geto says. “Will it be you, or Moriyama?”

Your hands are shaking at your sides. There’s something different about them today. They’re more aggressive, more cruel, more terrifying. But you have to protect Moriyama, so you slowly walk back down the aisle to stand near them as you say, “Y-you can play with me.”

“That’s great,” Gojo says happily, then he looks at Geto behind you. “Did you lock the door?”

“Of course.”

You look between the two of them, your eyes frantic. Lock the door? What were they going to do to you?!

All of a sudden, Gojo leans down and picks you up, practically slinging you over his shoulder as he carries your panicked, squirming form to the cluster of tables near the back. He flops you down onto one of the tables, on your back, and starts unbuttoning your shirt. You scream and try to push his hands away, but Geto is at the other end of the table, and he grabs your wrists to pin them down.

Completely helpless to stop him, you whimper in shame as Gojo pushes your unbuttoned shirt open and shoves your bra up above your ample breasts, exposing you. He lets out a whistle as he pulls his sunglasses down to get a good look. You’ve never seen his eyes up close before, and wish you never had. They’re deceptive, far too beautiful to belong to someone so twisted.

One of Gojo’s hands squeezes your breast, way too roughly. If the rumors are true, he’s slept with a ton of different girls. He should know how to touch a woman, which means he’s intentionally hurting you. He laughs when you wince under his touch.

“She’s got decent tits,” he says to his friend.

Geto releases one of your hands and reaches down to grope your other breast. His touch is softer, but equally unwelcome. You jerk your free arm down and try to push the offending hands away, but Geto pinches your nipple harshly and says, “If you keep struggling, we’ll assume you’d rather we play with Moriyama.”

You freeze up again, dropping your arm beside you. Geto releases your other wrist and looks at Gojo. “So who’s going to fuck her first?”

The words send a spike of panic through your whole body, but you realize fighting will do you no good. They’re way stronger and faster than you, there are two of them, and they effectively have a hostage. The deck is stacked against you so badly, you don’t have a prayer.

You close your eyes for a moment as tears begin to leak out. You don’t want your first time to be with these assholes. They’ll hurt you on purpose, make it as unpleasant as possible. All you can do is hope they might not notice you’re a virgin.

“I want to,” Gojo says, unbuckling his belt. “I’ve been hard for like twenty minutes now.”

Geto frowns. “I hate going in after you. You always leave them all stretched out.”

Hearing this terrifies you, but you try not to show any reaction.

“Okay, fine,” Gojo says. “You can fuck her pussy first. But I’m taking her mouth right now.”

You watch in stunned horror as Gojo pulls out one of the chairs from the table and sits down, spreading his legs far apart and reaching into his open pants. He pulls out his dick, and you can only think to yourself, “That can’t be right.”

They’re not supposed to be that big, are they? How is that supposed to fit inside you? You look at it with terror as Geto pulls you up from the table and pushes you to your knees in front of Gojo.

“Get busy,” Gojo tells you. “My dick’s not gonna suck itself.”

Thinking only of protecting Moriyama, you scoot closer to Gojo and lean your face forward. You’ve never done this before, but you just have to put it in your mouth and move your head back and forth, right? So you open your lips and let his cock slide in. It feels gross, but you try to ignore that as you make shallow motions, your lips sliding partway down his shaft and then back.

After a few seconds, Gojo sighs and says, “Use your fucking tongue, sheesh. If this is the kinda head Moriyama’s getting, I feel sorry for the guy.”

You feel your face burning with embarrassment, and you start running your tongue over his tip, hoping it will satisfy him. The sooner he finishes, the sooner you can get his dick out of your mouth.

Geto moves behind you and pulls your open shirt off your shoulders, then unhooks your bra and pulls it off. Even though your tits have been out for a while now, you still somehow feel even more exposed. You feel Geto’s warm hands on your breasts, kneading and squeezing, then his fingers playing with your nipples. You keep your hands stiffly at your sides, resisting the unbearable urge to pry Geto’s hands off you and shove Gojo away.

It feels like an eternity of this torment passes before Gojo’s cock suddenly seems to get harder in your mouth. Then all at once, there’s a flood of gooey cum filling you, coating your tongue and throat. You draw back reflexively, letting some of it spill out over your lips.

“Hey, don’t waste it,” Gojo says, using his fingers to scoop up some from your chin and then shoving it back into your mouth. You gag and heave, but he forcibly holds your mouth shut. “Swallow it,” he says.

You have no choice but to obey, letting it glide down your throat as tears stream down your face.

When it’s over, you barely have a chance to catch your breath before the boys pick you up and sit you on the table again. This time Gojo is behind you. He’s climbed onto the table and has his legs on either side of you, his arms around your torso. Geto is in front of you, pulling your skirt and panties down your legs and then tossing them onto the floor. When he pushes your legs apart, you close your eyes, trying to block this all out.

You feel his fingers on you, opening your folds, feeling around.

“She’s dry as a desert,” Geto says, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“So let’s get her wet,” Gojo replies, one of his hands snaking down to fondle your pussy. You jerk in his grasp, trying and failing to shrink away from his fingers that are now stroking your clit.

“S-stop!” you cry weakly.

Geto is between your legs, leaning forward. You can’t see what he’s doing, but you feel his tongue glide over your spread open pussy.

Gojo jerks his hand away. “Dude, you almost licked my fingers. Gross.”

They both laugh as Geto takes over stroking you with his thumb. Soon you can feel it, a slickness you can’t believe. You hate them! Why is your body betraying you like this?

“She’s ready,” Geto says before opening his own pants.

“That was easy,” you hear Gojo’s voice at your ear. “Guess we were right. She is a little slut. I bet Moriyama would cry if he found out his girlfriend’s getting wet for other guys!”

They have an entirely wrong idea about your relationship with Moriyama, but at this point there’s no point in trying to correct them.

You raise up as far as you can to look down. Geto’s cock is already out, and it’s almost as big as Gojo’s. He runs his hand up and down it a few times, then he closes in on you. He positions himself just right, and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath.

Then you feel it, his cock ripping into you. You grit your teeth and hold back any sound from escaping your mouth. You won’t let them hear you scream.

After a few deep, hard thrusts, Geto pauses. “Satoru?”

“Yes, Suguru?”

“You won’t believe this.”

You open your eyes to see Geto staring down at where your bodies meet. Gojo leans forward to look, then says, “Holy shit! She’s a virgin?!”

They both look to your face for confirmation, but you can only look away without speaking.

Gojo laughs loudly. “Oh wow, that’s hilarious! You’re losing your virginity to a guy you hate!”

“Satoru,” Geto says, his voice somewhat strained as he thrusts back into you, “shut the fuck up.”

He’s not going as deep or as hard as before. Is he trying to be gentle with you? Now? He doesn’t need to bother. It doesn’t change what he’s doing to you, what he’s been doing to you for months now. He’s just trying to ease what tiny shred of conscience he has left.

Gojo is watching your face, seeming amused. “Wait, was that your first blowjob just now? That explains why you were so lousy at it! No offense.”

You turn away from him, just wanting this to be over. All you want is to go home and take a bath, to scrub their touch away, to wash off the smell of their expensive cologne.

Geto pumps in and out of you for a while longer, then grunts as he suddenly pulls out. Then you feel his hot cum splatter on your stomach.

“You should’ve given her a creampie,” Gojo tells him.

Geto rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because getting her pregnant would be a great idea. Idiot.”

Gojo gets off the table and leaves your limp body lying prone, your legs still spread apart, blood trickling out of you. He gets the marker, the one he’d threatened you with earlier, and starts writing on your body. At this point you don’t even have the energy to care. You think you hear Geto telling him to stick to places that would be covered up by your clothes. He’s probably afraid someone will find out what they did.

Before they leave, Geto throws your shirt over you and says, “I’ll leave the door locked on our way out so no one comes in.” You look at him blankly, not responding. Are you supposed to thank him for this tiny speck of decency amidst a sea of abuse?

Gojo grins at you as he puts his sunglasses back on. “We’ll see you tomorrow! And if you open your dumb slut mouth about this to anyone, we’ll make Moriyama’s life hell.” Then he blows you a kiss as the two of them disappear out the door.

For a while, you just lie there, staring up at the ceiling, not thinking or feeling. Then you sit up and look down. The words are upside down for you, but still easy enough to read. Written across your chest is the word “WHORE” in all capital letters. On you lower stomach, Gojo has scrawled, “We popped this cherry!” along with an arrow pointing at your crotch. He even doodled a couple of cherries on a stem.

With trembling hands, you pull your clothes back on and pick up your bag and book. You’re already sobbing by the time you make it to the door.

Worst of all is the unsettling realization that you’re only halfway through the year, and now you’re stuck being the fucktoy of your bullies. This was going to be one hell of a year.

#gojo x reader x geto #gojo x reader #geto x reader #gojo smut #geto smut #gojo satoru #geto suguru #Jjk x reader #Jjk smut #x reader #tw: rape

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ruewrote · 7 months

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𝑖𝑚 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛. . . 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦.

PAIRING: jj maybank x gn!reader WARNINGS: 'unreciprocated' feelings GENRE: angst/fluff SONG INSPIRATION: back to you by selena gomez WORD COUNT: 757

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all you’ve ever wanted was to be loved, like the sort of love that you’d find in hallmark movies and romance novels.

maybe it was because it always seems to work out for the two best friends who realize that they’re in love with each other years down the line, doing the whole running to stop the train scene or booking the first flight to wherever the person was because they couldn’t help not being without them for another second.

yeah well this definitely isn't a movie this is real life. where you're in love with your playboy best friend. who has very clearly not shown any interest in you in the whole six years of your friendship, you should probably stop doting over him.

then again it is quite difficult to do that since you can't help being attracted to him since he's the literal guy version of you, not in looks but in personality you were practically the same person.

sarah and kiera always comforted you whenever you'd see him chasing another girl. even though john and pope never said anything, you could see their obvious side glances at you.

you just couldn't wrap your head around why he couldn't see what was right in front of him, quite literally!

pining over someone that wouldn't even look in your direction romantically doesn't really do wonders for your mental health. that’s how you ended up wrapped up in your covers with a large pizza with sweet home alabama playing in the background. the other pogues were at some party that you weren’t wanting to go to so you opted for the ‘self care’ night you were currently having.

your parents had conveniently gone out for a date night so you could sulk in peace.

ding dong!

“seriously? maybe if i stay quiet they'll just go away–” you think but were cut off by the constant ringing of the door bell.

groaning as you dragged yourself out of bed and downstairs, the doorbell still being rang in a songlike manner, looking through your peephole being met with a soaked jj.

You twisted the key and pulled the door open for him. “what are you doing here jay?”

“nice to see you too, now if..you… don't mind.” he squeezed past you into your home, his clothes still dripping, grabbing a towel for him so he couldn't soak the carpet more than he already had, trying to spare yourself the lecture from your parents later.

“i thought you were at that party?” you questioned him as you watched him drag the towel across his body briefly before ruffling his hair with it.

“oh yeah! there was a noise complaint, cops showed up and they shut it down blah blah blah.” he let the towel hang over his shoulders as he approached you.

“thought i'd come and see my favourite person instead!” he smiled at you, looking up into his eyes. it was always a dangerous game with jj, that intoxicating blue had the tightest hold on you. he didn’t know that all he'd have to do is look at you to get pretty much anything he wanted.

you’d keep that to yourself though.

“yeah, yeah. you're lucky i didn't leave you out in the cold.” you snorted, making your way back up to your room, him trailing close behind you.

“you know the drill, maybank.”

“I know, no outside clothes on the bed,” he whined, standing at the bottom of your bed playfully throwing his head back, impatiently waiting for you to come back with the spare clothes he left with you. It made sense to leave some since he stayed over so often.

with a salute he shut the bathroom door.

you totally forgot what you were worried about with the way that jj made you laugh as you both joked and stuffed your faces with cold pizza. as the night went on you did manage to finish your movie with protests coming from the sleepy blonde.

not knowing how it happened but the two of you ended up cuddling, him being the big spoon you laying on his splayed out arm, the other thrown over your stomach. hearing his evened out breaths from behind you knowing he was asleep as the credits rolled.

smiling to yourself knowing he would doze off before the movie finishes since he always does.

“it hurts me, just how much i ache for you.” you whisper out loud before drifting to sleep..

Not knowing that he was actually awake beside you.

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yzy-dragon · 1 year

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I absolutely ADORED S2E9 "Three Stories" of Link Click and was a bit surprised to see the discontent here on Tumblr, and I totally understand the reasons why people didn't like it, especially in the context of the pacing of the rest of S2 (which I also have some opinions on but I won't talk about that here), but I also felt the need to just get my heart out why I love it so much. A bit of background, I'm Chinese American but have lived in and visited China numerous times.

Music and theater. As a western classical musician and an amateur Chinese opera singer enthusiast (I saw someone else post about the possible inspo this episode got from Chinese opera), I VIBED with the artistic direction of this episode SO much. The three-part structure was almost like a sonata/symphony (and remember that one scene where Qian Jin was air-conducting in a previous episode!!) or scene changes in a Chinese opera. Nothing needs to be said about the animation style that hasn't been said already, but I like how scenes from the three individual "stories" were interwoven and reused like leitmotifs. Especially that crazy, tortured laughter. Idk if any of the parallels were intentional on the part of the director, but it's what I got from it due to my personal experiences. I know that's a highly subjective takeaway though, which brings me to my next point....

Qian Jin's "tragic" backstory. I know a lot of people were upset that the extent of Qian Jin's tragic backstory was "oh his wife cheated on him", but I think the "basicness" of his struggles was the whole point (by the way, this segment displayed various attitudes towards work, family, marriage, individual pride, and life in mainland China so subtly but so well!). I also don't think sympathy was the main thing we were supposed to feel for him, although of course there is some. The whole "tragicomedy" aspect of Qian Jin's story is that it's not some horrible, terrible, rare thing that happened to him, but a common problem faced by so many hardworking but busy married men trying to provide for their families: infidelity. But Qian Jin sees himself as the main character of an elaborate play that rivals the great dramatic classics (which, funnily enough, often depicted very DRAMATIZED versions of a rather basic series of events). And his viewpoint is validated when....

Qian Jin meets the twins. That segment is still largely from Qian Jin's perspective, because we still don't really know how LTC and LTX even feel about him. But for Qian Jin, it's a stroke of fate and fortune that could only possibly happen in theater. He's very far removed from reality at this point. Reality is that a cop whose job it is to investigate violent crime comes across two kids who are the victims of a violent crime. Again, nothing particularly special or even coincidential. It's comical like that.

The fairy tale section. Unlike the first two, I think this segment is from Xixi’s perspective, which not only justifies the cartoony artstyle but also makes it heartbreaking, due to her childlike innocence. Like Qian Jin, she also perceives her reality as something it’s not, but unlike him, she doesn’t have delusions of grandeur of being a tragic protagonist. It’s just a little fox trying to survive in a forest full of predators and hunters.

All that tortured laughter. I’ve actually noticed in a lot of Chinese media that they like to use laughter as a way of signifying a person’s complete mental breakdown due to the tragedies they’ve suffered. It’s a very internal thing that has people on the outside going, “WTF?” In this episode we have a lot of characters crazily laughing together at the same time and it seems like they’re relating to each other, but in reality they’re all trapped in their own nightmarish hells and motivated by selfish purposes.

Back to the topic of Qian Jin, even though he (innaccurately) may see himself as the hero of his own story, it's not enough for him. He wants to use Cheng Xiaoshi to change the past. He wants to become the director of the play.

I know a lot of people were disappointed this episode didn't advance the plot, especially in regard to Cheng Xioashi and Lu Guang's storylines, but I was actually prepared for a backstory episode and couldn't have been more satisfied. Again, I have other opinions on the rest of S2 but at least standalone, I think this episode was nearly perfect. And I really wasn't expecting this, but it's really elevated Qian Jin to one of my top characters.

#link click #shiguang daili ren #long post #link click season 2 #qian jin #li tianchen #li tianxi #cheng xiaoshi #lu guang #most artistic episode #I stan!

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dallasgallant · 2 months

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“Ain’t nobody call the Fuzz in this neighborhood cause they know better!”

This line sits with me as a very telling one that often goes overlooked, as it’s lost in the blur of energy before the rumble. Now most of this is going to be from existing knowledge but it did prompt me to dig into poor communities a bit more. The line is said differently between the Book and the movie but both are said within the idea of pride and community— when they’re caught up in the high of before a rumble, all the energy close to bursting out of them- repping their kind and going on this spree of yelling stereotypes and taking ownership. In the movie Steve’s much more happy and hyped as he yells it— in the book he also says it to correct Darry but in a more exact tone.

In a surprise to no one cops aren’t friends to poor communities. Economically poor, crime heavy communities tend to be over policed and often met with force, brutality etc. We know the boys get hauled in a lot, sometimes just for the assumption they did something. Cops pick out, they stereotype and often target within the neighborhood.

There’s a social aspect as well that’s not so direct to do with police action and that is the social isolation. Lack of resources, mistreatment and disapproval from those outside creates strong communities that further isolate. In a lot of ways it’s a helpful thing, mitigating the effects of poverty by having a social net and trust. A detail I like is that Darry seems to be a part of a phone tree when Pony was late the first time (not exclusive to poor areas but a great example of having networks.) People help each other out “help their own” building networks. A lot of work is under the table or can be barter based - questionable legality of work, building/fixing things, way of general running of life. Perception of law is different.

This isn’t to say everyone in the neighborhood has broken the law at some point but it’s likely a lot have at least something of questionable legality or more likely have family members who are greasers, criminals etc but will protect them. All of the guys instantly flock to go help Dally after he robbed the store and have been stated to hide and protect the guys whenever they do something like this. It comes back to the “help/protect your own” … no one in the neighborhood is calling the cops because they know what will happen if they do. A family member or friend might be taken in, potential brutality, people coming in and uprooting the way you live your life because it’s “abnormal” etc etc etc.

If someone does call the cops who do you think they’re going to help? A bunch of no good, greasy hoods or the nice boys from the other side of town with their khakis and new cars and clothes? It was probably a greaser who threw the first punch too… doesn’t matter their side of town or what its over, or if some Soc is standing over some bleeding greaser kid. It’s systemic. (An aside but this is also why it drives me nuts people would assume the boys to be bigots because they’re … lower class in the 60s… let’s do some introspection there. Added to the fact that, there’s a lot of overlap with racial issues, their community would likely be FAR more integrated than the west or even rest of the town. Not that their wouldn’t be ignorance but the assumption— that’s not the point of this post but a pet peeve of mine)

Anyways, the Outsiders often gets reduced to a simplistic “use vs them” of just Greaser vs prep like it’s one of the beach movies they watch. When in reality it’s actually a lot to do with class and societal expectations/conditioning.

—

Papers if interested Here and here

Either for general interest or potentially helping with writing. Ones an older study (which skimming and certain sections I found interesting), the other IS Wikipedia but it’s for the general idea

#the outsiders #outsiders 1983 #outsiders #steve randle #charecter study #outsiders meta #Curtis gang #essay #details

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gh0stsp1d3r · 4 months

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ℳ𝒶𝓎𝒷𝒶𝓃𝓀𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇

Part 3, chapter 1- run bitch, run!

Series masterlist

It doesn’t seem like it but rafe and reader will have their comeback I swear 🙏🏽 this is just more buildup.

Summary: the secret thing with Rafe has been weighing down on you, moving weed turns into a nightmare, and you and your brother are at odds for a while.

“We’re gonna be fine, dude. Quit stressing so much.” You told John B when you pulled up.

You all got outside, you stretching as they began to walk. You followed.

“I don’t… I don’t know about this.”

“Bro, you’re worrying way too much about this, okay? It is just farmers who brought organic seeds from South America that we are gonna unload.”

“Yeah. It’s usually a pretty easy job. I mean, I gotta grinder and a pre roll if it’ll help calm your nerves.” You offered, pulling both out your pocket.

“It won’t, thanks. It’s a drug-smuggling operation.”

“Do you wanna get your dad or not?” JJ asked.

“Yes, I do! Okay? Look, this has to work out, all right? I doubted him, and I blamed him. And all this time, he was just trying to protect me. And now he’s been abducted so I kinda need a bit of -“

“John b, no! Okay, listen, listen, I know.” JJ exclaimed, putting his hands on JBs shoulders, all of you stopping in your tracks. “You know who you’re gonna have to trust right now? Papa J.”

“Papa J?” You snorted, laughing at the name.

“Shut up. I got this, 100%.”

“I mean, 60% would be good, honestly.” John B mumbled, continuing to walk.

“Holy shit, look at that thing.”

“Yeah, dude, it’s like an RV with wings.”

“They’re already unloading.” You pointed out, watching them put it into the U-Haul.

“Yo! We aren’t late, are we?” JJ asked.

“Nope, there was a change of plan though. “ Mike walked towards the three of you.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

“You three, are gonna drive the truck up to Elizabeth city to make the drop. The address is in the truck. There’ll be a dummy car for you to use to come back. The plane’ll still be waitin’.”

“Right, okay, so, um, you just want us to drive the truck?” You asked.

“Correct.”

“Can I like… flash you a titty or something instead? Shit, there a bed anywhere?” You glanced around, trying to laugh it off. But the man’s face was serious.

“Funny.” He remarked, looking down at you. JJ was gonna take the keys before John B pulled him.

“Actually, can I borrow ‘em for one second?”

“Hey, hey, this is not what we talked about. This is way more dangerous.”

“Not to mention they’re looking for John B right now, anyone sees him, we’re all done for.” You spoke quietly.

“It don’t matter what we talked about, in for a penny, in for a pound. You do this, you get your ride.”

“Yeah, it’s just that-“

“If not, you know how this works, right?” He looked at you, leaning down.

You all glanced around, there was no other option.

“Now, highway patrol is changing shifts as we speak. This is the window, take it to the drop house on prospect. Directions are in the truck. Any luck, we’ll have you back before sundown.” Mike chuckled, holding the keys out again.

“C’mon. Take the key.”

“Yeah, c’mon, get in the fuckin’ truck.” You mumbled, taking the keys and getting in the drivers seat.

“How are we gonna fit?” JJ asked, watching you start the truck.

“Sit on each others lap.” You shrugged. “Or someone just crouch down in the middle.”

JJ ended squatting down into the middle, bumping around with every movement. John B sat in the seat.

“You have any idea what’s in the back of this truck?” He asked JJ.

“Yes, John B, I know what’s in the back. And it’s gonna be fine, it’s gonna work out, okay?”

“I’m sick of your bullshit plans, man.”

“Goddamn.”

“No, I’m just saying this might top the time you told me to fake appendicitis in jail.”

“Yeah, and that almost worked.”

“Can you get the map out? I got no fuckin’ clue where I’m goin’ right now.”

John B held in.

“All right, we need to get to 158, okay?”

You ripped the page out, looking at it.

“Cop. Y/n, there’s a cop.” John B said, you and JJ looking at the car.

You put the paper away, heart racing.

“Shit.”

“Okay, play it cool, alright?”

“I’m playing it cool. You play it cool.”

“I’m super cool.” John B defended, leaning against the window.

“I’m as cool as it gets, alright?”

You were indeed not as cool as it gets. You brought your hand up, waving with an akward smile as you passed. “Hi, officer.”

John B grabbed your hand, making you pull onto the side and off the road, all of you shouting over each other.

“Oh my God he’s getting in the car. John B, he’s gettin’ in the fucking car!” You shouted, the sirens wailed and you groaned. “Damn it!”

“Dude, goblin mode, alright? We gotta lose him, okay?” JJ exclaimed.

“Goblin mode? What does that even mean, JJ?!”

“That’s what we gotta do!”

“Shut up and hang the fuck onto something!” You shouted over them, JJ grabbing onto the seats as you sped up, before swerving directly into the forest.

“Get out, get out!” You shouted at the both of them, both of them running.

“I swear to God, JJ if we get through this I’m gonna kill you!” John B told him, running past the trees.

“You probably won’t have to because barracuda Mike will first.”

“How the fuck does she run so fast?!” JJ asked when he lost sight of you, looking around and catching his breath for a moment. He saw you sprinting for your life behind the trees and both started running again.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

“Listen, I been going through it over and over and over again, okay? You said it yourself, right? The only way this thing goes south is my dad. Alright, we gotta nip that shit in the bud. We gotta take him out.”

Barry sat back, watching Rafe pace around.

“And anyway, who’s gonna know? He’s already dead, you can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” He stopped his pacing for a moment, looking at Barry now.

“Hey, if my pop stays here, all right, our deal, us doing business together, using the company to launder the money, all that fifty-fifty shit…”

“Mmm-hmm…”

“All that’s gone.”

Barry leaned in. “So what you’re asking me right now… is something that once it’s done, cannot be undone. There’s no going back. I’m talkin’ bout your family, talking about your pops, talking about your blood. And blood complicates things.”

He took a sip, pausing. “Hypothetically speaking, let’s say I do it. And then, for whatever reason, you decide to change your mind… sell me out.”

Race shook his head. “No. Yeah, this has been a long time coming.” Rafe leaned in closer now. “He’s always had his boot on my neck. Holding me down. That’s all gonna be over soon.”

Rafe stood up, walking away. “I’m not changing my mind.”

Barry took the handful of cash in his hands, this kid was becoming fucked up.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

You stopped on the road, panting heavily and groaning, laying on the ground, JJ and John B coming up from behind.

“My dad.. is somewhere in South America, probably with a knife to his throat, and what are we doing? Moving weight?” John B panted. “In goblin mode?”

“What does that even mean, Jj?!”

“How many times will you complain about me trying to help save your dad?” He shouted.

“Help is the exact opposite of what you’re doing right now!”

“You know what? You’re right. You’re absolutely right. But you know whose fault that is? You and your treasure obsessed father.”

John B shoved JJ, you standing up and watching the exchange. Jj laughed, falling back.

“Oh, okay! That’s where we’re going?”

“Yeah, that’s where we’re going.”

“Yeah, and it looks like we just went there too!” JJ shoved John B.

You shook your head at them, watching them push and shove at each other.

You got inbetween when it became too much, John B going to attack JJ.

“Enough!” You shouted at them at the top of your lungs, pushing them away from each other. The shout scared away nearby birds and might as well have shook the damn trees.

“Fighting each other isn’t gonna help us do shit! Are you guys fucking out of your minds?” You pointed to your temple, looking at the both of them.

“I don’t even wanna hear it from you, y/n!”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” You shouted at your brother, you shoving him now. You both fought, pushing and shoving him onto the ground.

“Get off me!” He shouted, punching your chest.

“Fuck you, JJ!”

A siren wailed, making both of you pause your movements and look at the sound. John B’s eyes widened, you getting off of JJ, fixing your hair.

“Howdy, boys. And girl.”

“Sup, shoupe?” JJ nodded.

“You guys okay?”

“Yeah, we’re uh, you know, just, um… we’re, we’re good.” John B said, fixing his clothes and watching as Shoupe reached underneath the Twinkie.

“Tracker. Makes it a lot easier to keep an eye on you hoodlums.”

“Hoodlums?” You scoffed, and began to walk up to shoupe, JJ and John B pulling you back with an eye roll.

“All units, evidence team is en route to the abandoned U-haul. Over.”

“Copy that.” Shoupe spoke.

“Sounds like duty calls. So uhm… we we wouldn’t wanna hold you up.” JJ pointed, beginning to walk. “So we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Hold on a minute. We just found a U-haul full of drugs. Out near 158. Y’all wouldn’t happen to be involved in that, would you?” JJ looked at John B.

“You see that? That’s profiling, John B.”

“I know.”

“And I really don’t appreciate it.”

“Just cause we’re pogues doesn’t mean we’re drug dealers. No, no, we’re not that desperate now, shoupe.” You told him.

“I can see the grinder sticking out your pocket.” He pointed.

You looked down, eyes widening and pushing it back down.

“I don’t deal.” You shrugged.

“Nah, you been too busy beating people up and breaking up parties. Huh?” He looked at John B now.

“Okay, there’s an explanation-“ JJ started, but was cut off.

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but I’ve got a warrant.”

“Wh- a- a warrant?” John B asked.

“Toppers pressing charges.”

“Hold up-“

“What?”

“For what? No, he started it!”

“He did start it!”

All of you talked over each other, John B being pulled over to the van.

“Are you serious?”

“Hands up against the van.”

You threw your hands up in defeat. Jesus you just couldn’t win.

“Shoupe- I didn’t even- this time, I didn’t even do anything, okay?”

“Shoupe, do you know what topper did to John B?” You asked.

“No, but I know what your boy here did.” He put John B in handcuffs. “He beat him in front of the whole town.”

“Yeah, which is-“ you tried to defend.

“And kept beating him after he was down, and Topper may be a douche but you know better than that.”

Shoupe dragged John B over to the cop car.

“Shoupe! Come on, he was messing with John B’s girl. You’d do the same.”

“Shoupe, I get it, okay? But I can’t be locked up right now.” John B told him.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that beforehand.”

“Come on man, we’re doing this again? I don’t have time for this”. He spoke, getting in the backseat.

“Come on.”

“JJ, please.”

“He didn’t do shit too.” He stepped to the side, you standing next to him.

“You know!”

“You both stay safe and stay outta trouble.” Shoupe told you both, stepping inside.

“Hey, John B. Listen, we’re gonna fix it. We’re gonna get down to South America and save your dad.” JJ came up, talking to him.

John B nodded.

“Promise, okay?” You told him.

“Back it up, buddy, we got to go.”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out. We’ll save your dad, okay?” JJ followed the car as it moved. “You hear me John B? We’re gonna get him!”

You and JJ watched as the car moved, you two staring at the road.

“Shit.” You muttered, kicking a rock on the ground and leaning against the Twinkie, your hands over your face.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

You and JJ stood far away from each other back at the Chateau, everyone else talking amongst themselves while you sat in the corner. Your head was hung low, looking at the ground. Your head snapped up at the sound of the door opening.

“Welcome back.”

“Woah.”

“Good to see you, man.”

“You gotta be kidding me.” JJ mumbled, looking up at John B with a smile.

John B walked towards them all, JJ sitting in the tree.

“I have something i wanna share with you guys. I can get us down to the Orinoco.”

“Are you serious?”

“Okay. And how’s that gonna happen?” Cleo asked her.

“My dad’s gonna let us use the plane.”

“Ward?” You and JJ spoke in unison.

“Your dad?”

“Yep. We lay low tonight, then wheels up first thing in the morning.

“Okay.. that’s a lot to process, your dad actually helping us.”

“I talked to him. He’ll do it.”

“So we trusting Ward now?” Cleo asked.

“Trust Sarah.”

JJ rubbed the back of his neck, still skeptical.

“But wait, i also just have one more thing to say. Um… Since we’ve gotten back from the island, I’ve done some things that I regret. A lot.”

Amen to that, sister, you thought, quietly laughing.

“Yeah, uh…” John B cleared his throat. “I feel… i feel like we’ve all done a thing or two that we regret.”

JJ scoffed from the tree, nodding.

“And I don’t… Poguelandia, guys. It’s all I’ve been able to think about. We were all together on that island, and it was a good thing, and I don’t want to ruin a good thing. And I.. I just wanna know, are we still all in? Are we still all together?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, looking up at JJ.

“Because I am.”

“Yeah.” Kiara whispered, hugging her.

They all laughed and hugged, JJ walking over to them.

“Let’s go get Big John, all right? What do you say there, shit bird?” He looked to John B.

“I think this deserves a woogity. How long are you gonna pretend you’re not coming over here? You too, y/n!” Pope glanced over at you, you sighed and stood up, going next to them.

“Come over here.”

You smiled as you all got into a group hug.

“Now we woogity!”

“Oh, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

“We’re doing it, man!”

“Mm-hmm.”

They all sat down, chatting with each other. You sat alone, until JJ suddenly sat down on the steps next to you.

“Hey.” You mumbled to him, remembering the fight you both had earlier.

“Hi.” He handed you a beer bottle, you smiling and taking it from his hands.

“Look, I know I’ve been.. weird, lately-“

“You don’t say.” He teased, small smile playing on his lips. You nudged him.

“Anyways, I’m just going through a lot. It’s rough. And honestly? I’m still upset over Rafe. And dad. And everything, really. God, I can’t keep a stable job or a house.”

He sighed, leaning back a bit. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a little bit of an asshole.”

“I haven’t been a saint either.” He shrugged. “I’m… sorry, too.”

“Wow, my brother apologizing? What universe is this?” You laughed, he rolled his eyes and laughed with you.

“It’s hard as fuck, you know? The place that we grew up in, and even though we might have some terrible memories, it sucks. It’s all… gone, and everything’s, I dunno, different?”

“Yeah. I know. I think I’m gonna work on becoming your legal guardian.”

“Wait, you serious?” He turned to you with furrowed eyebrows.

You sighed. “You’re 16, dad’s missing to the police and you don’t got anyone else are far as I’m concerned.”

“Yeah but you’re just a… terrible parent. Not my first choice.” He tilted his head to the side, joking.

“Oh, shut up. Be lucky I even like you.” You ruffled his hair, making him laugh and attempt to push your hand away

“You know, tell me more about you and Rafe.” He said suddenly, and leaned against the steps.

“Why would you want me to tell you that?”

He shrugged. “I just wanna know what you saw in him. He’s insufferable.”

“He’s not that insufferable if you know him.” You shrugged. “He’s sweet… when he wants to be.”

“Mm, yeah right. I don’t believe it.”

“He can be. He just… has some really bad daddy issues and is a little insane.”

“Oh, so he’s the male version of you?”

Ylu rolled your eyes, lightly shoving him and smiling. “No, what I was getting at was that he’s messed up, but just like anyone else he had his reasons.” You paused.

“So how did you guys even meet?”

“He met me at my job a few years back, we talked for a while, hit it off, and we mostly just hooked up for the most part until he asked me to date him. That was like… last year?”

“Damn. So you guys woulda been dating for almost a year?”

“Like 9 months, yeah. But I really loved him, as messed up as he was. Think a part of me still does.”

“Huh.” He mumbled, looking back out in front of him.

“Yeah. Now what about you and Kie? What’s that all about?” You raised your eyebrows, he groaned and threw his head back.

˚⊹ ʚɞ♡︎ ˚⋅.

Taglist: @cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron series #john b #jj maybank x sister reader #jj maybank series #jj maybank #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x you #rafe cameron x female reader #maybanks sister #rafe cameron x y/n

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gourmetjello · 7 months

Text

nikto x reader : intimidated

oh gosh loves it feels so good to be back after such a long break! i’m sorry i disappeared for over a month. sickness, late trainings, writer’s block, studying and barely hanging on by a thread took a toll on me but i’ll try to be back ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

i know it sounds unusual but i’ll try my best to write for other characters too. i know i’ve teased a little list before but now i’m starting to see a pattern form and these are the people i’m most likely going to write for : könig, krueger, ghost, ‘09 ghost, nikto, roach, soap, capt. soap, ‘09 makarov (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

hopefully you all are satisfied with the list! if you have any more suggestions just let me know somehow. now hope you enjoy the fic! ♡

tw ; alcohol, mention of drugs.

—

“drink up, drink up!”

a voice yelled from behind you and all you could hear was the sound of shot glasses being knocked against each other once again. the sound was so familiar by now that you even made a mental note on how glasses sound different when they’re filled and when they’re empty. actually, why was someone raising toasts with an empty glass?

“bottoms up, y’all, don’t be pussies-“

but you didn’t have a glass in your hand, not now. you just stared at the people that were having fun and you couldn’t help but think about how you even ended up here.

there was a friend that you shared with this one guy, that’s quite literally all you were one hundred percent sure about — basically nothing. you could be looking at them directly and you would have no idea who they are, thanks to the cliche ‘friend of a friend’ circle going around this whole party. nobody knew each other, but friends and relationships don’t exist when you’re just drinking, right?

so there was that guy. and when you finally saw his face for the first time, you got the chills down your spine. he immediately seemed like someone you shouldn’t really be messing with — like he was planning something evil? or maybe he already did something bad, it felt childish to think about things like these at your grown age and you couldn’t even put your finger on what your senses told you about this person. just leave him alone and get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.

just as that thought crossed your mind, a yell broke through the happy little murmurs and drunken words.

“y’all, what the fuck! get outta’ here! right now! cops outside! holy fucking shit!”

cops outside? what the hell? why?

before the panic settled in, you blinked outside and you were amost immediately sure this wasn’t the fucking police. at least ten men dressed in black tactical outfits stood right next to the huge outdoors pool in the nicely maintained backyard. the well trimmed trees gave them an even scarier look too, painting shadows in the night all over their already dark forms.

you could even see from the corner of your eye that some were equipped with ballistic shields like it was some kind of movie. you have never seen one of those in real life before, and now it gave you a really bad feeling (pretty obviously). their faces were hidden and they were coming closer and closer to the main building all of you and your.. acquaintances were inside.

the guns hanging from their torsos.. wasn’t a nice sight, to be honest. you were convinced that these men were probably legally allowed to do anything as long as they got a bit closer to what they wanted to achieve. and for that, you weren’t exactly sure what it was. come on, shutting down a (not so) little house party with people who look like came straight out of a counter-terrorism organization? isn’t that a tiny exaggeration?

you could have sworn that you only looked away for a few seconds but the next moment you looked around the whole room was empty. fuck. well that’s a situation coming your way for sure, because one of those monsters was heading right towards your direction with a slightly wrinkled paper in his hands.

you wanted to yell and scream at him, to let him know that you absolutely had no clue what this whole thing was about and that you weren’t involved with whatever stupid drug smuggling anyone around you did — since you were sure that you weren’t the target, and they knew that too. but they had to listen to anyone they could catch.

“party’s over..” a deep voice mumbled with a heavy accent. you could recognize it anywhere. a russian accent, gosh.. you’re fucked.

and soon the paper was pressed right into your face. your nose was rubbed against the thin material, not even allowing you to see whatever was printed on it. but it was most likely a person, or at least that was what you could make out when he held it a little further away from you.

“missy, you know this fella?” the man asked.

you had no idea who was on the photo. it was a man with a beard and he seemed way too damn old to be right here, in a house party with some silly college students? he couldn’t be here, you’ve never even seen his face before.

you hesitated a little, not knowing which answer would get you out of here quicker.

“do not keep that mouth shut, come on. you’ll get outta’ here faster, come on.”

your brain immediately sobered up and a small whine left your mouth as you finally took the time to examine the terrifying person that was standing right in front of you. face mask made of kevlar, a gun hanging from his side and a pistol on his right thigh. bulletproof from head to toe. ballistic shield placed next to his other leg.

this guy was going to kill you. one hundred percent. or at least le looked like he would try to do that.

“come on, we don’t bite?”

he tried to speak normally but his statement sounded a lot more like a question, like he wasn’t sure about it either. it could have been the fact that it probably wasn’t usual for them to talk to people that look like they don’t even know where they are. and you were just like that right now. lost as fuck.

you stared up at the photo of the man once again. the black and white printing was so bad that you were barely able to make out the details on it.

“i- um.. no idea w-who’s on the photo.”

“do not lie, missy.”

“i really- i don’t know!”

“well, then let me tell you so you maybe remember, hm? this dude right here,” he gently knocked the face of the man on the paper, the material gently crumbling under his heavy, gloved finger “whose house you’re at right fucking now, has a fuck ton of cocaine under these,” now he kicked the flooring, “these little tiles.”

your eyes widened and to a person who had no clue that you were just as lost here as they are, it would probably come across as some realization. but no, it wasn’t any kind of realization — you really didn’t know about any of this! and it was hard to believe too. you didn’t even see a single line of coke on this party, it was too expensive to be wasted on little college student get-togethers?

“s-sir, i really don’t-“

“we know you know.”

“but i don’t!”

the man’s eyes widened as you started losing your shit. he probably heard the unsure shake in your voice as you slightly raised it — which was probably a stupid idea, but the situation was already bad enough when you’re locked into a burning hot little room that smelled like alcohol with someone who’s straight up dressed in carbon from head to toe? this was getting out of hand.

“missy, i’ve got the legal right to shock you, and if you refuse to give out any information then i’ll just have to do that..”

you were becoming annoyed. you were intimidated as hell and you knew that you couldn’t do anything in a situation like this, you were shaking scared. this man was making you feel so uneasy.

maybe he did it on purpose because as you stayed silent he just stared into your eyes, like a madman. he wasn’t even blinking behind that mask, the black face paint covering the area around his eyes making the color of his irises pop out from the black atmosphere around it. you just weren’t sure why he was doing this.

he placed a hand on his gun now, like he was about to slip out his pistol. but he didn’t have the right to kill or shoot you or anything like that, right? right? panic was filling your brain and goosebumps were running up and down your body as you had no idea about what these men could and could not do to an innocent civillian that actually had no clue about whatever was going on!

“we can play this game, missy. but you won’t like it.”

“i’ve said everything i know! nothing.”

“for fuck’s sake, just say something, anything.”

“but i don’t know! i accidentally ended up here, too.”

“whatever. fuck you, missy.” the man grunted as he finally let his pistol down, letting you back out from the corner he had held you in this whole time. it felt like you could finally breathe again and the cold sweat running down your temples felt like a normal reaction again.

“get the fuck outta’ here and if you know anything. keep your mouth fucking shut. am i understood?”

“y-yes sir.”

you were breathing heavy as you finally made it out of that room. it was a feeling you never wanted to experience ever again — you almost got yourself killed. and you were 99% sure that if you said the wrong stuff he wouldn’t have hesitated to use that pistol. what is wrong with humanity..

the man peeked above his shoulder to look at you walk away. he didn’t take his eyes off of you until you finally exited the whole damn house. you’re never ever coming back and that’s for sure. holy shit.

—

sorry about how bad and rushed this was! :(

#cod #call of duty #cod oneshot #cod nikto #nikto x reader #nikto #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #andre nikto #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x you

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charincharge · 6 months

Text

I Don't Want To Wait, sixty-seven

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: WHOOPS, I disappeared for two years. (Legit the last chapter was posted in May 2022!). But I’m back and have written… a lot of the rest of this fic, so we’re just going to post weekly (or even twice weekly!) until we’re finished. And I hope you’re still out there, anyone, to enjoy it. Quick recap for a previously on IDWTW. Aelin and Rowan had sex! It was great. Then they walked in on Rhoe and her dance teacher Petrah having sex, which was NOT great. Aelin never wants to go back to dance again. We returned to school. Senior second semester is going great. Busy for Aelin, who is still trying to work her butt off re: APs and grades. Less busy for Rowan, who is already recruited to college for lacrosse. Aelin and Lys had a huge falling out, but have slowly rekindled their friendship now that Lys is sober and working on her shit. Elide and Manon came out! They’re running as homecoming queens! Dorian and Chaol haven’t DTRed and are taking a break. Last we left off, Aelin texted someone to help retrieve her lacrosse hoodie from the dance studio after hours. But who? Keep reading to find out. Also, I have been gone for so long that I have NO idea who is still in the fandom or reading Rowaelin fic. Please reblog to spread the word! Taglist doesn't seem to possible anymore, so please share! Love you all and missed you all. Comment, message, meme, gif, whatever. Let’s go, team.

Aelin watched with wide eyes as Lys lowered into a crouch and removed a bobby pin from her hair. When she’d texted her friend to help with her mission, she hadn’t realized that Lysandra was a bona-fide expert at breaking and entering.

“It got boring in rehab,” Lys said with a small shrug, as if that explained her masterful lock-picking.

“Good to know,” Aelin said, chewing her thumb nervous and glancing over her shoulder at Rowan, who waited patiently in the jeep — aka, their getaway car. She didn’t think they’d actually need one, but this whole thing was such a thing, she figured it was probably safest to have a getaway car. What if the cops were called about the break-in, and they had to run?

Aelin almost chuckled at the thought of Orynth’s elderly Police Chief trying to run after them, but it hadn’t stopped her from telling Lys to dress all in black and meet them at the dance studio at eight. Luckily, Rhoe was at the station overnight, so he couldn’t see their ridiculous antics. But, after all, this mission was serious. She tried to refocus on Lys, who was finagling with a pin in the lock, taking her sweet time. A rush of panic ran through Aelin. What if they got caught? What if this got put on her permanent record? What if they got arrested?

BZZZZ. Aelin’s phone vibrated in her hand, making her jump with surprise.

“Gods,” she muttered under her breath, causing Lys to chuckle under her breath.

“Tell your buzzard not to worry, we’re almost there,” she said, twisting the pin again in a different direction. Aelin sighed at the reassurance. She knew that Rowan had to be feeling her nerves as well. Although maybe not quite as much. She wasn’t usually concerned about being a rule follower, but every step of the way had made her feel more and more stressed out. Which might have to do more with her overbearing boyfriend watching their every move than anything else. Couldn’t he just sit there and look cute and not worry? She looked at his text and shook her head. She should have known it’d be impossible. He was the biggest worry wart of them all.

Are you sure no one’s in the studio? It looks like the lights are on upstairs. Rowan texted from the front seat, his view of the studio probably better than theirs. But Aelin had spent too many years of her life at this studio. Despite her churning stomach, she knew they were fine.

Last class ended an hour ago. They always leave the lights on for the cleaning staff, but they get Fridays off, so they’re on until Saturday morning. It was part of my class schedule to turn the lights off. We’re good.

She looked over her shoulder after sending the text, and watched as Rowan threw a thumbs up in her direction. She couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he looked in his oversized black hoodie with the hood up. Despite completely disapproving of her decision, he showed up ready for the assignment at hand.

“Tadaaa,” Lys sang out quietly as the lock clicked open, the door popping ajar.

“Honestly, when I asked you to help me break into the dance studio, I figured we’d be throwing a rock into a window or something,” Aelin whispered, even though there was absolutely no reason to whisper at all. Aelin had timed it purposefully, so she wouldn’t have to run into … anyone. Okay, she really didn’t want to have to talk to Petrah. She’d avoided the studio (and Petrah) for so many weeks following the revelation that she’d been involved with her dad, and she had no intention of breaking that now. So, they’d had no choice but to break into the studio under the cover of darkness.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Lys said. “The door upstairs has a lock, too, right?”

Aelin nodded. Annoyingly, there were three doors they had to break open — the building door, the door to the second floor, and then the dance studio entrance. Thank god Aelin had her locker key, so that wasn’t a worry.

“So, why are we doing this again?” Lys asked as they trudged up the long stairwell to the second floor. She tried not to flinch as the rubber-covered stairs squeaked beneath her shoes. “Not that I’m not happy to help,” she continued. “I just thought that you started dancing again and loved it?”

“Ugh,” Aelin groaned. “I did.” Aelin paused for a beat too long, causing Lys to flip her dark curls over her shoulder to get a better look at Aelin.

“But?”

“It’s…complicated,” Aelin sighed as Lys crouched down in front of the second floor door.

“Well, this is going to take a minute,” Lys laughed. “Tell me.” Aelin was going to refute again when Lys’s voice changed, softer. “Unless you don’t want to…”

Aelin nearly smacked herself. She’d thought this would be a ridiculous, fun (and pretty low-stakes) way to hang out with Lys again, and here she was totally ruining it by keeping things to herself again.

“No, it’s not like that,” Aelin reassured her as she continued to work on the lock. “It’s just… horrifying.”

“Well now you can’t not tell me,” Lys snickered, but Aelin recognized the slight trepidation in her friend’s green eyes. Still nervous to push things. Aelin bit the bullet and let it out in a whoosh.

“Oh my GOD.” Lys’s nose crinkled, and she fell to her knees completely as her shoulders shook with laughter as Aelin told her story. “I mean, we all knew Rhoe fucked,” Lys cackled, causing Aelin to smack her friend’s knee.

“EW! That is my dad,” she said, fake heaving.

“He’s a hot, hot firefighter daddy, though,” Lys said, her eyebrows wiggling.

“I swear to god I will vomit straight on you.”

Aelin tried to be serious, but Lysandra’s smile pushed them both over the edge into a fit of giggles. They laughed and laughed, releasing the tension that had been hovering around them like a thick blanket all night, officially removing all traces of formality. Unable to help herself, Aelin reached out for her friend’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently and was relieved as Lys squeezed back. They weren’t healed, per se, but they were healing, and that was the most that Aelin could really ask for right now.

Taking a breath and wiping the remnant tracks of tears from her cheeks, Lys pushed herself back up to her knees. “Second lock?”

“Speaking of my family…” Aelin started nervously, but forged on, curious. “How’s Aedion doing?”

To her credit, Lys didn’t even lose pace as she unlocked the next door with ease.

“I know you want me to reply with something equally scandalous, but there’s nothing going on between me and Aedion,” Lys replied succinctly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay,” Aelin said, not completely convinced, but chose to respect her boundaries and believe her words.

The pair fell into an awkward silence as they headed down the hall toward the studio door. Just one last lock to get through — and then she’d never have to return to this place. A part of her heart panged at that thought, that she’d be leaving Orynth and this studio behind and not really getting to say goodbye to it. But running into Petrah was NOT an option.

“Hey, isn’t this the studio?” Lys asked of a propped open door, a gentle music wafting from inside. Aelin’s stomach sank. Had someone stayed late tonight practicing? It was a plus that they wouldn’t have to break into yet another door, but she really didn’t want to risk running into anyone. “I thought you said it was closed.”

At the same time, the pair noticed the schedule on the door, showing the company’s new rehearsal schedule. Their rehearsals now went until nine on Friday night, meaning that Aelin had shown up in the middle of a packed studio, instead of an empty one. And one where Petrah would surely be. She contemplated turning right around, but Lys had already opened the door too far, leading them into the studio lobby where the company was on break, milling around and refilling their water bottles.

And at the front desk, Petrah’s eyes widened with surprise upon seeing her. “Aelin!”

She should have guessed breaking in had been too easy. Had the doors even been locked? She knew Lysandra had gotten through them too quickly! Grumbling, she stepped out of the shadow and into the lobby toward Petrah. She couldn’t run away anymore, so she had no choice but to say hello to the woman who she’d been studiously avoiding for weeks. And by the look on Petrah’s face, she knew it, too.

“I’ll go grab your jersey,” Lys whispered, leaving her to fend for herself. “See you downstairs!”

“Traitor,” Aelin mumbled under her breath as Lysandra all but ran into the locker room, excusing herself from the awkward conversation that surely lay ahead. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck, watching Petrah approach nervously.

“Aelin,” she said again, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you….” But Aelin cut her off.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she said, ready to slap her hands over her ears, lest Petrah talk about her dad in any less than completely formal way.

Petrah’s deep pink lips curled up on one side in amusement, but Aelin watched as she took another deep breath and shook off whatever she’d been about to say. Instead, she watched as her smile fell into a wistful expression. “We’ve missed seeing you around here,” Petrah said.

Aelin’s eyes shot to the open doorway of the studio where the company practiced, all jetes and pirouettes and well-supported port de bras. She had missed dancing. She really had just gotten back into it when she let it fall away. Petrah must have seen her expression because she smiled faintly and let her delicate hand fall to Aelin’s shoulder.

“You could join the class. Dance it out,” Petrah suggested.

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dancers. She watched the emotion pour from them. That is what she needed. But as Lysandra held up her jersey and trailed down the stairs in the periphery of her vision, Aelin shook her head.

“I can’t tonight.”

“I understand that it might be strange to spend time with me after what you overheard…” Petrah trailed off as blood pooled in her cheeks, filling her usual pale complexion with a deep blush. “It was completely casual. It’s only happened a handful of times, and we both know it’s not serious. I’m not trying to replace your mother, or anything like that, it’s just… an occasional stress release, and oh my god, I am sorry I didn’t mean to say any of that.” Aelin cringed at the words. She wanted to stop Petrah, but the woman couldn’t be stopped even if she wanted to. “Please don’t give up dance because of this,” Petrah pleaded. “You have such a gift, Aelin, and I would be filled with regret for the rest of my life if I knew I was the cause of you walking away from it.”

Aelin took a breath, the comforting scent of chalk and worn leather infiltrating her senses and calming her down as she figured out what to reply to Petrah. Of course she wanted to dance still. It was undeniable, the way her body pulled her toward the studio, the way a sense of calm settled through her despite her initial discomfort upon seeing Petrah. She thought about her lack of free time and her constantly building stress as the semester went on and how badly she wished she could just dance it out. That release of emotion centered her, and she knew that she was feeling off kilter without it. Making time for dance had improved her life drastically — it'd kept her sane as the rest of her semester spiraled out of control — and she wanted it back. So, so badly.

She was on the verge of agreeing to join the practice when there was a crash and loud shriek from the studio. When the shriek morphed into a choked sob, a churning nausea overwhelmed Aelin. She watched as Petrah’s face morphed into one of horror as she sprinted into the studio. Sure enough, one of the dancers was on the floor, cradling her ankle, cheeks red and involuntary tears dripping down her skin, while another dancer attempted to help her stand. The girl hissed, crying out in pain and sat down again.

“Call an ambulance,” someone ordered, and suddenly there was a frenzy, a rush of dancers looking on in terror at the injury in front of them. Aelin stood with her back against the wall, not wanting to be in the way, slinking out of sight while so much was going on. It felt like a sign from the universe that Aelin shouldn’t even think about wasting her time with dancing. Like the gods warned her that she had way too much going on to even consider it.

With Petrah distracted, Aelin slipped out, trying to gain control of her waging feelings. She slid into the backseat next to Lys, her mind reeling and unable to get the image of the crying dancer out of her head. So caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t even hear Rowan call out to her, until red and blue flashed behind them. He swung his head over her shoulder, his mouth agape in horror as he stared at his unusually quiet girlfriend.

“Ace, what did you do? Are those the cops?!”

Aelin shook her head, the horrible feeling of nausea persisting in her gut as Rowan drove away from the studio.

. . .

It had been days since Aelin had received a text from an unknown number, and she still hadn’t decided what she was going to do.

I thought you should know we’re holding an emergency dance company audition this Tuesday at 5pm. Please come, Aelin.

Aelin chewed her sandwich thoughtfully as she pulled up the text again. The audition was merely hours away, but she was still on the fence.

“You still haven’t made up your mind?” Lysandra asked, glancing at Aelin’s phone screen. Her former — maybe current — friend had started joining them at the lunch table in the last few days since their late night break in, continuing to heal and thaw what had broken between them.

“I keep telling her to pro con list,” Rowan said, letting his fingers trail across the back of her neck and kneading the tight muscles there with his strong grasp.

“Mmmm,” Aelin mumbled, leaning further into his touch. “Con. Time spent without you.”

“Pro, something to do while I’m at lacrosse practice,” he countered as his fingers massaged a particularly tender part of her neck. She angled her head so he could have better access, but he took it as an invitation to let his head drop to her bare skin and press his lips against it, causing her body to light up. As she leaned toward him with another light moan, Dorian slammed his tray down on the table with a loud thwack.

“Get a room or get outta here,” he complained, tossing a fry at the still-intertwined pair.

“Someone’s got their panties in a bunch,” Aelin laughed as she tossed the fry back at the offender.

“My panties are perfectly smooth, thank you very much,” Dorian quipped. “Some of us would just prefer not to bear witness to your foreplay.”

“Pro,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear, his lips ghosting against the tickling skin there. “I really love watching you dance.”

“Pro,” Aelin whispered back. “Increased stamina, muscle strength, and flexibility.”

Aelin glanced up at Rowan, who was already staring back at her with a fiery intensity. Her eyes glanced down at his mouth, which was curled into a satisfied smirk. His throat bobbed with a slow swallow, surely thinking of all the way those fitness benefits could be put to good use. She leaned in slightly, her lips a hairs breadth away from his when another fry hit her cheek. Aelin whipped her head around, rubbing at the salty spot where the food had made contact with her face.

Dorian was the picture of innocence, eyes wide as he chewed his own fry.

“Con,” Lys interjected. “Increased horniness.”

“Literally didn’t think that was possible,” Dorian said with a snort. “So, what are we pro-conning?” he asked, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Orynth Dance Company is having an emergency audition after an injury, and Aelin was personally invited to try out,” Lysandra explained.

“But I don’t really have the time,” Aelin started. “It would require actual rehearsal time. Like, a lot of nights. Not just an hour long class. Plus, I’d have to see Petrah every day. And I have to knock this last semester’s grades out of the park if I want to even think about getting a scholarship anywhere, plus I have a million AP exams to study for coming up, and that’s not even considering keeping up with hospital volunteering and going to your games and having any kind of semblance of a social life and…” she trailed off, her stomach finally settling as she came to the conclusion she knew she was going to come to all along. “I can’t join the dance company.”

Rowan frowned and reached for her hand. “Are you sure, Ace?” His hand wrapped around hers in a comforting squeeze, and she knew he was asking seriously. “We could make it work. I could help you study, we could bring out your color-coded schedule again to make sure we could fit everything in.”

“I know,” Aelin sighed, squeezing back. “But, I’m sure.”

But as the afternoon ticked by, Aelin couldn’t ignore the swirling feeling of guilt trying to pull her under. She was so distracted by the approaching time that she completely zoned out through all of AP Lit, startling when the period ended and Dorian poked her side.

And as five PM approached closer and closer, she found herself growing more agitated and even snapping at Rowan at one point. It wasn’t his fault; he had to head off to lacrosse practice, but Aelin had found herself so worked up that she had thought maybe he’d want to help release some tension.

“I’ll come right over after practice,” Rowan promised as he twined his hands around her waist.

“But you’ll be all sweaty and gross,” Aelin replied with a frown.

“I thought you liked when I get sweaty,” he laughed, nuzzling his nose into her hair. Aelin sighed, knowing she was being petulant, but she couldn’t get out of her own head.

“Only when I’m the one doing it!”

She tried to push him away, but Rowan’s grasp on her was iron-clad, too tight for her to even think about prying him off her. “Ace,” he lowered his voice. “I would love nothing more than to skip practice and be with you, but you know this is the only thing I need to do this semester to keep my place at Wendlyn.”

“Because Wendlyn’s more important than me?”

“I think you need a snack,” Rowan laughed, but Aelin didn’t find that funny at all.

“Sorry my blood sugar problems are amusing to you,” she said, stiffening within his grasp. She felt Rowan sigh deeply and watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his brows up the way she loved so much.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You know that’s not—”

“I know,” Aelin replied quickly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Rowan raised a single brow as if to tell her he knew exactly what had gotten into her, and so did she.

“It’s not even four yet,” Rowan said. “You could still go.”

But Aelin was nothing if not resolute. She’d made up her mind, and it was completely logical. And she was sticking to it. No, she’d head home and, yes, get a snack, and dig into her lit homework. Maybe Dorian would be willing to give her his notes from the class, seeing as she couldn’t remember a single thing that was discussed earlier.

She forced a smile and shrugged her shoulders back. “Nope, you were right. I need a snack. I’ll head to Maeve’s and see what she’s got for me.”

Rowan grimaced. “She closed for the afternoon, actually, while they put in a new stove, but she should be reopened by the time I’m out of practice.” Aelin shivered as Rowan let his fingers trail in small circles up and down her back. “Why don’t I stop there on my way to your place after practice? Cheeseburger and brownies?”

“And then orgasms?” Aelin asked, causing a loud snort to erupt from Rowan.

“You want to have sex after cheeseburger and brownies? That feels dangerous.”

“Well, we could have sex first, but reheated cheeseburgers are pretty garbage,” Aelin replied, loving the soft smile that appeared on Rowan’s face. It was the one solely reserved for her. When she was being particularly ridiculous or annoying, it was like he couldn’t help but love her more, and the small curve of his lips let her know that.

“You’re right. Cheeseburgers first,” he paused. “Then sex, then brownies?”

“Deal,” Aelin said as she reached her hand out to shake his. But he instead grasped it in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles lightly.

“I love you,” he said.

And though Aelin wanted to roll her eyes, she took a moment to relish the fact that her best friend in the whole world loved her. And would do anything to make her smile. In fact, he’d succeeded in getting her too distracted to think about the auditions and…

As soon as she thought about them, her smile faded again.

“Just go,” he whispered, but Aelin shook her head.

“Have a good practice. See you in a few hours.”

She kissed him and sent him off, hoping to pour herself into her studies. But even with her book open, Aelin digested none of what she was reading. She kept looking at the clock, distracted. Even as it passed five pm, knowing that she was missing the auditions, she still couldn’t focus. And her mood started to plummet.

It plummeted even further as she received a text from Rowan saying that their coach needed him to stay behind for a bit after practice and that he’d be later than anticipated.

She tried to read more, and when that didn’t work, she attempted to do some math equations, but she couldn’t get her brain to work. She knew what she needed. And it was to dance it out. Despite everything, that was still her best coping mechanism. When a second text from Rowan came in, apologizing for being even later, Aelin had had enough. She couldn’t just sit here and wallow. Instead, she wrote a note for whoever would get home first – her dad, Lorcan, or Rowan — and began walking.

She didn’t even know where she was walking until she ended up at the dance studio. It was unlocked, but empty. She couldn’t remember if there had been an end time to the auditions, but it seemed completely deserted. No one was sitting at the front desk, and the lights were eerily dim. This is what she’d expected to walk into last week when she’d stolen back her lacrosse hoodie, and she was even more annoyed about it somehow.

Instead of focusing on that, though, she went straight for the first open studio and turned the lights on. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered on, illuminating the wooden floors beneath with a warm yellow glow. She toed her sneakers off and padded barefoot to the corner of the studio where the massive (and ancient) stereo system was stored. She pulled her phone out and connected it, pulling up one of the old playlists Rowan had made for her and closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. Her feet took off, working in sync with the rhythm reverberating through the bare floor. Next, her arms spread, stretching out and shaking off the stress of the last few weeks.

For the first time, she really let herself feel it. The worrying and wondering what the future would hold. She knew Rowan was destined for Wendlyn, but she had no idea what she would do if she didn’t get in, too. He’d assured her that they’d stay together and figure it out, but who really stays with their high school boyfriend? She knew they weren’t like everyone else – they were special – but it didn’t stop her from thinking about it and wondering. When it came down to it, that’s why she really couldn’t bring herself to audition today. She couldn’t risk spending less time with Rowan, not if this was the last few weeks of their relationship.

Whoa. Where did that thought come from?

She ignored the small tear that pooled in the corner of her eye, letting it drip down her cheek as she spun in time with the music. How could she doubt her and Rowan’s relationship after all this time? She knew in her soul that they were destined to be together. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t wake up and see him every day. But there had been a small slice of fear since they first kissed, and it had ebbed and flowed with each passing day until it was now a gaping chasm in the pit of her stomach. The idea that she could end up elsewhere without Rowan was a real, actual problem. And the timeframe was closing in on them. What if this was the end of them? How would she ever recover?

Her hands reached overhead and then she let her body collapse to the floor in a graceful fall, letting go over the overwhelming sensations of fear that had been swirling and threatening to paralyze her. She arched her back and her neck released, the tension that Rowan had tried to knead attempting to relax and letting gravity pull her down, down, down.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Rowan. She did. More than anything. She just didn’t trust this world. She didn’t trust that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. I mean, just look at her dad. He’d thought he’d found the love of his life, and she walked away like it was nothing. Walked away from Aelin.

She didn’t want to cling to Rowan, to be the girl who changed her whole life just to be with a guy. She wasn’t that person. No. She was Aelin fucking Galathynius, and she could live life fully on her own. But she wanted to be with Rowan. Wanted the whole package. Saw their life together. And wanted more than anything for it to become a reality. But what if that future disappeared? What if it was cut short? What if they drifted apart. What if they tried to do long distance? Last summer while he was at camp was only two months and it was pure torture. It caused a rift so big between them that she wasn’t sure they’d overcome it. And yes, of course they did. But… to do it again? And for four years?

Her emotions threatened to choke her as she continued to dance out her frustrations, stomping and spinning and leaping, hoping against all hopes that the answers to her anxieties would appear if she could only dance long enough. She left every feeling, every worry, every gnawing anxiety on the dance floor, letting it tumble out through her moving limbs.

She didn’t know how long she’d been dancing when she opened her eyes again and refocused at herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the girl she saw there. She may not have come up with any answers, but she felt better. Raw, red eyed, red cheeked, and breathing hard, Aelin felt totally exposed. Which is why she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice cut through the silence, over her harsh exhale.

“Practice starts next week.”

The director of the company stood in the darkened doorway of the studio, arms crossed and lips pursed in thoughtful approval.

“Oh, I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t,” she said with a formal smile. “But we’d still love to have you. If you want.”

It wasn’t necessarily the answer she had hoped to reach, but something about this moment felt like the universe trying to reassure her. That things do work out the way they’re supposed to.

“Yeah?” she asked, feeling somewhat hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she said.

A wide smile crossed the director’s face. “Welcome to the Orynth Dance Company,” she congratulated her.

Aelin didn’t know what had overcome her, but she couldn’t help but run over to her and throw her sweaty arms around her neck in a giant hug.

“Thank you.”

Right on cue, Aelin’s phone buzzed with another incoming text.

Cheeseburgers en route. See you soon. Xx

. . .

As anticipated, the cheeseburgers were exactly what Aelin needed to rejuvenate herself, but Rowan was totally right that there was no way to be sexy after housing a half pound of meat and cheese.

“I’m so stuffed,” she said, patting her extremely full stomach.

Rowan snorted. “Why don’t we take a post-dinner break and watch something?”

“Only if it’s Housewives!” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen where he was cooking dinner for him and Rhoe, who were properly affronted that Rowan hadn’t brought them cheeseburgers, as well.

Aelin sighed and chuckled softly as she let herself slump over onto Rowan, who was already pulling up Housewives onto the television.

“You are such an enabler,” Aelin laughed.

“It’s easier than dealing with him being pouty,” Rowan smartly replied.

Aelin was about to agree when they were interrupted by an unusual ring tone.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, sitting up suddenly. “Is that your… home phone?”

Aelin genuinely couldn’t remember the last time that had rung. Usually she and her dad were both contacted on their cells. They really just had a home line because it was part of their internet package. She couldn’t even remember who had that number.

“Uh, phone’s for you Aelin?” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen.

Even weirder?

“Who the hell would be calling this late on a Tuesday?” Aelin whispered. Rowan’s brow lifted.

“Why don’t you go see?”

Curious, Aelin pried herself off the couch and headed to the kitchen where Lorcan was standing with a spatula in one hand and the phone in the other.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

Lorcan shrugged, simply shoving the phone forward. Helpful.

Aelin cradled the phone against her ear and took a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Hello!” A deep voice rang out over the phone. “Is this Miss Aelin Galathynius?”

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Excellent!” the voice boomed, causing her to pull the phone away from her ear slightly. “My name is Xavier Forul, and I’m a local alum of Wendlyn University. I’d love to have you in for an interview some time in the near future. Whenever you’re available! I know you’re a busy senior with a lot on her plate.”

Aelin’s heart took off, beating faster as his words unfolded.

“Interview?”

“Yes,” he continued. “It’s my favorite part of the process. As a former Wendlyn man myself, I get to sit down and speak with young promising applicants to see what their goals and ambitions might be and how they might become part of the Wendlyn world.”

Aelin glanced at the silver-headed mop peeking out above the couch and exhaled slowly. This was it. The universe reassuring her. She felt it with every fiber of her being. She could dance, she could nail her classes this semester, and she’d get into Wendlyn and be with Rowan.

“Wow, thank you so much for reaching out,” Aelin began, her autopilot pilot voice taking over. “I’d love to meet with you.”

As Xavier explained the details of the interview, Aelin’s hope buoyed. She’d been waiting for a sign from the universe, something to tell her that she and Rowan were going to work out and be fine. If a personalized phone call on a landline that hadn’t rung in more months than she could count, inviting her into the home of a University alum wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. And Aelin began to hope for the first time that everything was going to actually work out.

~*~

#idwtw #idwtw au #rowaelin #rowaelin fan fic #rowaelin fic #tog fanfic #throne of glass #rowan x aelin #she's backkkk #i stg i'm finishing this fic #no fic left unfinished

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americaswritings · 2 years

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When we fall | Part 1

Warnings (for all parts): Fluff, angst!!, description of injuries, blood, violence, use of guns, mentions of death, probably unaccurate policing/medicine

Summary: You moved to Chicago to start a new life. Working as a doctor alongside your brother Connor you make new friends and although you swore to yourself not to let any man in your life at least for a while, your promises fail when you lock eyes with a handsome stranger in a bar.

Words: 6k

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Doctor!Rhodes!reader

A/N: I just started watching Chicago PD (I'm on season 3 now) after I've been watching Fire and Med for years now. I just can't stand Voight so I only began watching for Jay and Burzek! And I am so in love with Jay. Please, this man is perfect. Just look at that handsome face!!

This is going to be a 3 part series I wrote on a whim. Originally I only planned on writing one scene, but then I figured it needed a backstory so this happened...

I have to say I am really proud how it turned out. I was just in such a flow when I wrote it that the story basically wrote itsself. I hope you enjoy and that the characters feel true to themselves :)

You had only began working at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center a few months ago, hesitant to work alongside your brother but knowing it was an opportunity, which would be stupid not to take.

Having moved to Chicago recently to be close with your brother after a messy break-up, you were still adjusting to your new life.

It was why you were more than relieved when you got along well with your co-workers, especially Natalie and her boyfriend Will.

They were understanding of your situation, were never bothered to show you where to find something at the hospital and made you feel welcome from the beginning as they invited you in on their group plans and joked like you were old friends.

Although you still felt a little uncertain at times to work with your brother, who had made himself a name as a brilliant trauma and cardiothoracic surgeon, he had been supportive since your decision to leave your old town behind and start a new life in Chicago.

Maybe, you thought, coming here had been exactly what you needed. A fresh start, a new beginning with new friends and no men to mess with your heart. At least for now.

“I told you I have sworn off men”, you sighed, shaking your head in amusement at Natalie’s try to play matchmaker. “They’re trouble. I don’t need that in my life right now.”

“Hey!” Will send you a look, though you knew he wasn’t mad. “She’s not wrong though”, April stated and Ethan next to her grinned. “I mean it though”, you said directed at Natalie. “I just want to focus on myself right now. My job. No dating for now.”

Everyone at the table nodded and you relaxed, glad you had found these people, who respected and supported you. “Cheers to that!” April raised her glass and you did the same when you noticed yours was empty.

With a groan you pushed yourself out of your seat and up, gesturing towards the bar. “I’m going to get another drink. Anyone want something?” They all shook their heads, already moving onto another topic.

As you made your way over to the counter you studied the people around you, trying to determine who was a cop, a firefighter and who a regular. Right in the beginning the others had introduced you to Mollys, claiming it was Chicago’s bar where first responders spend their time after shift.

Figuring it might come in handy to memorize some faces you let your gaze drift over the sea of people, recognizing a few men that Connor had once told you worked at the CFD. They were laughing loudly, beers in hand as they seemed to be talking enthusiastically about something.

At the table next to theirs your gaze came to a hold, your eyes caught by a man you had never seen before but looked slightly familiar. Your brows furrowed as you rummaged in your head for something that connected you to him, but you couldn’t find anything.

The people who sat with him didn’t look familiar either, consisting of men and one woman with chestnut hair. Your eyes drifted back to the man, who had caught your attention, his brown hair styled neatly and his hands wrapped around a bottle of beer that he just raised to his lips.

You didn’t meant to stare, but you were mesmerized, torn between trying to determine why he looked so familiar and captured by his effortless handsomeness.

He wore a green shirt, making you think his eyes were the same shade, although it was hard to know with the distance between you.

He seemed relaxed, leant back in his seat but listening to the others conversation attentively. Having sensed someone’s eyes on him he suddenly looked up, his eyes searching the room for a split second before they fell onto you.

Your face heat up as a blush crept up your cheeks, knowing you had missed your chance to turn away. The man raised his brows slightly, in confusion just as much as amusement it seemed, before he lightly lifted his bottle, as if he was saying cheers.

You clutched your glass a little tighter, glad that it had been refilled in the time you had spent gawking at him, and copied the movement, an unstable smile on your lips. Then you turned away, meeting Stella’s gaze from the other side of the bar.

The two of you had met when she had been at the hospital for smoke inhaling a while ago and you had clicked almost instantly, connected by your determination to hold your own in a field still dominated by men. And by your past with toxic relationships as you found out later.

“What was that?”, she asked, a teasing grin tugging at the corner of her lips as her eyes flickered between you and the man behind you. A part of you wanted to ask if he was still watching you, the other longed to forget it had ever happened.

“I don’t know.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Can we just forget it ever happened?”

Stella’s face lit up, her curls dancing around her face as she shook her head. “Yeah, you wish. But that was definitely something.”

You exhaled, pinching your nose. “Thank you for the drink.” You saw Stella open her mouth in protest at your ignoration of her words, but before she could say anything else you send her an apologetical smile and hurried off.

No one seemed to have noticed your encounter and you slipped into the booth with ease, trying hard not to steal another glance at the unknown man a few tables away.

No men, you reminded yourself. Right now you needed to focus on getting your life together, not getting your heart broken by a handsome stranger.

“Dr. (Y/l/n)?” “Yeah?”, your head shot up from where you had filled out paper work. Because Connor and you were only half-sibling, you didn’t share the same last name, something you had been more than glad over when stepping foot in this hospital for the first time.

No one knew where you came from and that you shared genes with the successful Dr. Rhodes and you had left it at that at first, wanting to make your own impression first before dropping the information.

You could still remember their shocked faces, the questions, but most of all the excitement as they asked what Connor had been like growing up. If you had any embarrassing stories to tell or photos to show.

You didn’t, keeping them to yourself for now, because you hadn’t come here to make fun of your brother. He had been your rock through your breakup and your move here, something you were so grateful for you feared you would never be able to show him just how much.

“We have someone hit bit a bullet waiting in the three.” Your eyes widened. “Why didn’t they come with an ambulance?”, you asked, grabbing your iPad along the way.

Maggie waved off your comment, chuckling. “Cops. You know how they are.”

Actually, you didn’t. Coming from a small town you had no experience with shootings and gangs and many of the other trauma causes that were common here in Chicago. It was why you had been so excited about your job offer at the hospital.

Although you were still adjusting to the changes of living in a city and there were downsides you hadn’t considered before, you liked it. It felt so different, giving you the sense that in this city everything could be possible.

So many options and so many possibilities, as if you could completely reinvent yourself. It was thrilling, making you wonder how you had ever lived without the adrenaline rush of stepping into a busy ER.

Quickly scanning the information on your tablet you pulled open the curtain, clamping the iPad under your arm as you disinfected your hands.

“Hi, I’m doctor (y/l/n) and you are?” You glanced up, startled as you met the eyes of a familiar stranger. The man in front of you grinned, seemingly better at covering up his surprise. “Shouldn’t it say my name on your tablet?”

He didn’t sound rude, only a little sarcastic and perhaps even teasing. You gulped, trying to recompose yourself. “Right. I just prefer getting to know my patients myself than just relying on numbers and letters.”

You didn’t see his reaction when you grabbed your iPad again, glancing down at it. “So your name is Jay Hal-” “Halstead”, he finished for you and you looked up at him again.

It made sense now, why he had seemed so familiar to you nights ago at Mollys. “You’re Will’s brother.” The man in front of you, Jay, as you knew now, raised a brow. “Have you considered becoming a detective?”

He was mocking you, again, and you were tempted to smack him with your iPad. “So-”, he paused, letting his eyes drift over you. You felt your body tense under his gaze, cop’s eyes, and stood a little straighter.

“You were watching me at Mollys.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, biting your tongue. You could only hope the embarrassment that began to sink in didn’t show.

“I was not watching you”, you stated and he raised a brow, daring you to explain yourself. “I just thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why. Now it makes sense.”

You turned halfway towards the door, gesturing to the halls where somewhere his brother was treating another patient.

“I don’t think that’s the whole truth.”

You almost gasped at the confidence in his voice, instead blowing out a breath. “It definitely was.”

He shook his head, smiling. “I don’t buy it.”

There were many things you wanted to say to him, but you swallowed them, knowing it was no use. He clearly enjoyed teasing you, so you wouldn’t give him more fuel.

Instead you let out a sigh, shifting into professionality. “So, Mr. Halstead”, you began. “Jay is fine.” You tried not to let his interruption let you lose your string again and nodded. “Jay, you’re here for a bullet wound on your left upper arm?”

Jay nodded, his eyes- they really were green- bright. Pulling on your gloves you decided it was time to reclaim your own position a little. “And you decided to just walk in here instead of coming with an ambulance? Seems a little reckless, don’t you think?”

He raised one brow at your question. “It’s just a graze. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for my boss.” He rolled his eyes, making you wonder what his boss was like.

“Seems like your boss is a lot smarter than you”, you muttered, but to your surprise Jay grinned. “You’re new here, right? At least I’ve never seen you here before. Do you always talk to patients like that?”

You shrugged, unbothered by his words as you stepped close to him to take a look at his arm. You didn’t know what had gotten into you to talk to him like that, but you had the feeling with him it was fine. That he could take it, perhaps even enjoyed it over your dry professionalism.

“Only to the ones I like best”, you said with sarcasm in your voice, too focused on inspecting his wound to check his expression.

Jay didn’t move under your touch, allowing you to move his arm before you let it go again. He had done this before, probably multiple times. It was why he was so unbothered, perhaps even annoyed to waste his time here on something that seemed unsignificant to him.

For a moment you were tempted to ask him how he could choose a job that demanded such sacrifice, but you didn’t know him and you doubted he would give you an honest answer. Not that you could blame him. You were practically strangers.

And was your job much different? Although you had never been hurt and doubted it would ever happen, you were still making countless of sacrifices for it. Taking on extra shifts, working through the nights, staying longer to take more time for your patients and putting their health over your own sometimes.

“It’s just a graze shot”, you said when you were done inspecting the wound, ignoring his look that seemed to say “told you”.

“But you still need to be careful with it. Give it rest, avoid any rapid movements, don’t lift too heavy with it…I think you know.”

Jay nodded, watching you remove your gloves. “Does that happen often?” He tilted his head in question and you bit your lip. “I mean, you- getting shot on the job.”

“Are you asking if I come here often?” His lips were curled into a lopsided grin, looking way too handsome on his features. You rolled your eyes at his teasing, ignoring the way your heart beat a little faster in your chest. “Forget it”, you stated, throwing your gloves into the bin.

“I am going to tell one of the residents to come and bandage the wound. Then you’re free to go.”

But before you could move the curtain again and leave the room you heard Jay’s voice behind you. “Wait.”

You paused, turning back to him slowly. For the first time he wore a serious expression, his jaw twitching.

“I’m with the Intelligence”, he stated, in a way that told you the name should ring a bell. It didn’t. You were too new to know much about it.

Jay seemed to sense it by your lack of a reaction to his words. “We’re…very involved in the City.”

Whatever that meant. You tilted your head in question. “You mean with the gangs?”

Jay shifted. “Voight, my boss, he can be very- intense.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his guarded expression. It was a topic you wouldn’t pry at. “And you’re okay with it? I mean- you’re just so…casual about this.”

You bit your lip, hesitant to ask him but curious as well. The cops in your home town had barely ever used their weapon to the point you sometimes even doubted they were able to.

Jay shrugged nonchalantly. “Before I worked for the CPD I was in the army. I’ve been through a lot worse than a graze. Getting shot at is just another part of my job.”

A veteran.

In such a short amount of time Jay had revealed so much to you. Suddenly you had a lot more respect for the man in front of you and you wondered if that was his way of coping, covering up his battle wounds and scars with sarcasm and wit.

You swallowed, trying to find words. But none seemed fitting. “Sounds like I will be seeing you here often then.” You kept your voice emotionless, although the thought of seeing Jay regularly made your heart speed up a little. Of course you would prefer different circumstances.

Damn his handsome face and wit.

He grinned slightly, shifting the atmosphere back to something lighter. “Don’t get too excited. I prefer staying bullet free.” “As you should.”

Typing something into your iPad you gave Jay a final nod. “Stay safe out there.” Then you turned to the door, already halfway out when you heard his voice again.

“I don’t even know your name.”

You froze, smiling to yourself when you tried not to put too much weight into the fact that he had called you back a second time. It seemed almost as if he didn’t want you to leave just yet.

But you pushed the thought aside, knowing it was pointless. You couldn’t let yourself get distracted so easily.

Turning back to him you put on a polite smile.

“You’re a detective, figure it out.”

You were surprised by your own confidence, but with Jay you didn’t feel shy or insecure. He made you feel like you could say anything and he wouldn’t mind. The type of man that didn’t get upset easily, so comfortable with who he was that it took a lot to get him to lose his temper.

“I could just ask my brother, you know.”

You shrugged, unimpressed. “If that lets you sleep at night, sure.”

You left the room smiling to yourself and it took you another few minutes to calm your rapid heart and collect yourself.

“You didn’t tell me you have a brother!” “What?” Will looked up from the computer, startled by the way you had barged into the break room.

Your shift was over and you couldn’t wait to get home and relax on the couch, but before that you needed to talk to Will. Because after encountering the other Halstead your mind hadn’t been able to let go of what had happened between the two of you. The way he had looked at you, teased you. How he had made you feel nervous and confident in just a matter of moments.

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a brother?” You leaned on the desk, sure that you had Will’s full attention now. “You didn’t tell us you had a brother the first few weeks either.”

“That’s different.” You shook your head. “And I did tell you. So…?”

Will leaned back in his chair, stretching his back. “I didn’t think it mattered. I would have introduced you eventually but- wait, is Jay here?”

You bit your tongue, feeling a little caught. You hadn’t thought that maybe Jay didn’t want his brother to know what had happened. But it was too late now, and anyway, how should you have known?“

"He was. He is fine though.” You kept your words vague, aware that you weren’t allowed to share personal information with Will. Even if they were brothers.

Will let out a sigh. “That idiot. Probably got himself in trouble again.” He reached for his phone across the desk and you quickly got up, straightening.

“You didn’t get it from me”, you threw in before Will could drag you into it and he looked up at you with curiosity in his eyes. “I wasn’t going to mention you.”

“Oh.” You nodded, feeling relieved yet a little flustered. Will studied you with attentive eyes, reminding you of his brother for a second before his expression shifted into suspicion.

“So you met Jay.” He said it in a way that proposed something meaningful behind his words, but you couldn’t figure out why. “I did.” You shifted your weight to the balls of your feet before swaying forward again. A nervous habit. “I bet he’s the younger one.”

“He is, yeah.”

You suppressed a grin. It made so much sense. “So I should probably head home now. I got the early shift tomorrow.”

“Right.” Will nodded, the phone in his hands seemingly forgotten as his eyes were still fixed on you. “Did something happen between you and my brother?”

Your heart sank a little. Were you really so obvious? “I told you I’ve sworn off men. And your brother is- annoying.”

You wished the last part didn’t sound like it came straight from a five year old’s mouth, but it was too late to take back.

“Trust me, I know that.” Will let out a sigh, but you could see the fondness in his eyes. The gesture alone told you they had a close relationship.

A cop and a doctor. What a pair.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Weeks had passed since you had last seen Jay. He hadn’t shown up in the hospital again, which you were both glad for and disappointed at, and since you had been taking on extra shifts for a sick co-worker, you had spent almost all your time at the hospital or passed out in your bed.

“You haven’t gone out with us in weeks!” Sylvie was currently trying to convince you to come to Mollys. You had gotten to know her through Stella and the two of you had gotten along well, her sweet and kind nature something that made you feel comfortable around her instantly.

Although you had quickly learned not to underestimate the girl. She was working with a bunch of guys after all and had learned to stand her ground with them.

Sylvie could be very persistent, you realized again when she had called you to invite you to a girl’s night out. “Stella won’t be working today, so it’s our chance to spend the night as just us girls.”

You gnawed your lip, thinking. You were tired, craving your couch and tv more than going out again, but Sylvie wasn’t wrong, you had been mostly on your own the past days. Being a little social and getting out of your own apartment would probably be good.

“Urgh, fine”, you groaned. “But you’re paying my first drink.” You knew Sylvie was smiling triumphantly on the other end of the line. “Deal.” “Now get your ass over here!” It was Stella’s voice in the background and you chuckled. “You are the worst!”

“And you love us anyway”, she chirped and you hung up, shaking your head with a smile on your face.

You hadn’t thought about impressing anyone when getting ready, but you were more than glad you had put a little effort into your outfit and make-up when you stepped into Molly’s that night, your getup like a wall build around you.

“You came!” Stella crossed the room, her voice loud enough for a couple of heads to turn towards you. You could kill her for drawing attention to you, but you forced a smile onto your lips instead, trying not to look at anyone except her.

“Hey”, you muttered, shrugging out of your coat and hugging her. “Wow, girl you look stunning!” Stella’s eyes flashed up and down your body as she let go, a smirk on her face.

“A little quieter, please?”, you almost whispered, aware that you still had the attention of the people around you. Stella seemed either completely oblivious to it all or unbothered, because she grinned at you. “Looking like that you will draw attention to you whether you like it or not!”

You felt your cheeks heat up a little, glad when you spied Sylvie making her way over. “I told her not to make a scene, but she wouldn’t listen. You know how she is!”

You hugged her too, smiling as Stella let out a breath. “I did not make a scene. And I’m standing right here, you know?”

Laughing, the three of you made your way to the back, where you slipped into a booth, your drink already waiting for you. “You know me so well”, you told Stella as you took your first sip, relaxing a little now that the attention had mostly vanished.

“I got you, girl!” Stella winked at you, before launching into a story about their newest rescue. Soon you were enveloped in laughter and smiles, the stress of the last days forgotten for the night.

Only when Stella declared it was time for another round of drinks you felt the exhaustion return to your body. “I think I’m going to head home”, you told them, stretching a little in your seat. “Early shift tomorrow?”, Sylvie asked and you nodded.

“You’re way too selfless, taking on all these extra shifts”, Stella pointed out, but you waved her off. “I’m the new one, so it’s fine. Helps me get to know everyone and everything better and it’s not like I have much to do in this city yet. I only got my gym membership, but I didn’t really have time to look for anything else.”

“See? That’s exactly why you need time off! You should be out exploring the city!” You smiled at Stella’s enthusiasm. “It’s not like it won’t be here tomorrow. I’m planning on staying here, so there’s plenty of time to get to know it all.”

Sylvie offered you a smile. “I’m glad you do. I know it can be quite an adjustment to move to a big city like Chicago, but it will feel like your home in no time.”

You felt your heart squeeze painfully in your chest as you thought back to the past months, which had been filled with nothing but heartbreak, loss and a turmoil of emotions. Even as you had decided to start a new life in Chicago, you had been filled with fear and uncertainty, scared to make the wrong call yet again.

Never could you have imagined to find a job, that was so challenging, but gave you a sense of purpose and a group of friends, that felt like you had met them long ago.

“It already kind of does”, you admitted, your eyes fixed on the empty glass in front of you before you looked up at them again. They both looked at you with big smiles on their faces and you almost felt tears fill your eyes. It had been a long day.

“We should do this more often”, you told them as you got up and grabbed your coat. “That’s what I said!” Stella nodded.

“And I still need to show you that spinning class. You would love it!” Sylvie sounded so excited that you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I am sure. Just text me and we’ll find something.”

“And you’re sure you can’t stay longer?”

Your eyes drifted to the counter as you considered staying for another drink, but your body felt heavy and almost sore from the day’s work. “Next time. But you two have fun and don’t drink too much”, you winked at them.

As you excited the bar you waved towards a few familiar faces before pulling your coat closer around your body to prepare yourself for Chicago’s cold.

Still you shivered as you stepped outside, pulling out your phone to order an Uber. Something you had only done once before, on your way here, but was an easy and quick way of getting around the city.

It would take a few minutes for your driver to arrive and you realized it would have been a lot smarter to wait inside, but you hadn’t thought of it then and you felt too proud to step inside again.

Pressing your hands together you rubbed them against each other a few times to create heat, before slinging your arms around your torso. Chicago’s harsh winters wasn’t something you hadn’t gotten used to yet, but the promise of snow lingering in the air made it almost worth it.

You heard the faint sound of the door opening and closing behind you so you took a step to the side of the building, not wanting to stand in the way of whoever had just left the bar.

To your surprise the person came to stand beside you, his presence alarming you until you glanced up to find none other than Jay Halstead standing next to you.

Immediately your body relaxed again, as if it knew by instinct his presence meant safety. “That was quite an entrance”, he greeted you, referring to the moment you had stepped into Molly’s.

You felt your cheeks flush at the memory, hoping he couldn’t see it in the dim light of the streetlamp. “I didn’t know you were here.” You kept your eyes trained at the empty street in front of you, willing and dreading the moment your driver came to pick you up.

“I was with the unit”, he said and you turned your head towards him. “Are you here often?” He shrugged, his eyes darting to the building. “I guess so, yeah. It’s the place where everyone comes.”

You nodded silently, contemplating his words. “But if I want to be alone, I go to the bar at the corner North Milwaukee Avenue.” You met his eyes curiously. Was he making recommendations, because you were new in the city or did he have another intention?

“So bars and hospitals. Everywhere else I can expect to run into Jay Halstead?” You didn’t know why you asked, but a part of you wanted to know. Wanted to know more about him, what his life was like, what made him who he was.

Jay grinned faintly. “You make it sound like I’ve got issues.” “Do you? Have issues?” You were teasing and he smirked. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I don’t think I have.” Even as you said it you knew your words couldn’t be farer from the truth. Hadn’t your issues been what had led you here?

Jay watched you for a moment, seemingly picking up on your change of mood, but sensing you weren’t ready to talk about it. You appreciated it, welcoming the silence to sort your thoughts again.

“So what led you here to Chicago?” His question was innocent and something you had been asked countless of times since your move here, but for some reason you felt the urge to be open with him. No lies or excuses.

And even if Jay barely knew you, you thought he would be able to pick up on it. He must be an excellent detective.

“There were some…things I needed to leave behind.” It was vague, but more than you had told most who had asked. Only the girls knew about your breakup, but even with them you hadn’t shared many details.

Jay didn’t ask further, his grave expression suggesting he understood you better than you might have thought. “Why Chicago?” You glanced away from him, taking in the empty road, the skyline with its lights in the background. “I needed a fresh start, somewhere where no one knew who I am. And I got family here, so it made sense.”

You could feel his eyes on you and you swallowed before facing him again. For a moment your eyes locked, none of you saying anything as you started at each other. Jay was the first one to break the heavy atmosphere, a smile dancing at his lips.

“But you’re not a criminal on the run, are you? Because I would have to arrest you, if you were.” The tension that had risen in your body at the mention of your past vanished and you grinned, relieved about his ability to lighten the atmosphere. “What gave it away?”

Jay leaned a little closer, his eyes glistening. “Maybe the way you always look over your shoulder-” You inhaled. Was that really something you did? “-or that you’re nervous around me, a cop.”

The air you had held escaped you in a surprised sound and you hugged your torso a little tighter. “I’m not nervous around you”, you huffed, shaking your head. Jay grinned.

“How is your arm by the way?” You weren’t interested in talking about yourself any longer, shifting the topic onto him. Your gazes travelled down his arm where his jacket was covering the wound you had inspected. It seemed like forever ago and like yesterday at once.

“It’s good. Voight’s keeping me at a leash, make sure I’m 100% before I get into the field again.” He said it like it wasn’t a big deal, but you could hear the strain in his voice. He missed it, being out there on the streets.

“Sounds reasonable to me.” “Yeah.” Jay nodded, a faraway look in his eyes. It seemed like you weren’t the only one with secrets.

You looked up at the sound of a car nearing, a black car approaching the two of you. Checking your phone you held it up. “That’s my ride.”

But you only managed one step towards it before Jay pulled you back, his hand wrapped around your lower arm. You gazed at it, confused and startled by his reaction and he loosened his grip, his hand falling to his side after a moment.

“You know the guy?”, he asked, pointing to the man that was sitting behind the wheel, an impatient expression on his face.

Slowly you shook your head, your eyes flickering between the car and Jay. “But he’s my ride. See-” you held up your phone to him, but Jay paid it little attention.

“Yeah, no, you’re not climbing into that car”, he stated, his voice firm but not unfriendly. “Wait, what?”

Surprised you watched Jay walk towards the car, waiting for the driver to pull down the window before leaning in. You couldn’t hear what was said, only watched the two speak for a minute.

Their conversation ended with Jay handing the man money, before walking back towards you as the car sped away in the darkness.

“What the hell was that?”, you asked as Jay came to stand beside you again, his body just as relaxed as before. “You’re new in Chicago, right?” You didn’t say anything, knowing it was a question he didn’t expect an answer to.

“You should not be climbing into a car with a stranger. And not in the dark.”

Your head spun as you tried to process what he was implying. “It was just an uber! Everyone does that around here.”

You sounded clueless and defensive, shocked about the sudden change of events. Jay eyed you. “Well, then take it from me to never do that again. At least not alone. Chicago’s not a good place, especially for women, trust me on that one.”

You didn’t know what to say, blinking at him as the impact of it sank in. What if Jay hadn’t stepped outside? You doubted anything would have happened, but what if he was right and you had been reckless? Naive?

“So how am I supposed to get around the city then? Because driving in this traffic is madness.”

For the first time since your interruption Jay smiled again. “You can just ask me. I am much cheaper anyway. And on top you will get to see my face.”

You rolled your eyes over his confidence. “Now that’s a deal I can’t decline”, you muttered, fighting the grin that threatened to spread over your face and failing. Damn it.

“But for real, what am I supposed to do? I can’t just call you all the time I want to go somewhere.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem if we went together.”

Your eyes widened as you almost choked on the air. “You mean a date?”

Jay shrugged, his eyes not meeting yours for only a second. “You can pay me back for saving your ass twice.”

“Twice?”

“Getting into that car for one and saving you from freezing here on the street by driving you home.”

Smooth. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Does that work with every woman you’re trying to impress?”

Jay shrugged, fiddling for something in his pocket before pulling out his car keys. You watched a car light up at the other side of the street, following Jay towards it.

“I wouldn’t know. And who says I’m trying to impress you?”

“Maybe because of this whole I’m-a-cop-and-I’m-so-tough-thing.”

Now it was Jay’s turn to chuckle. “That’s not just a thing. So, what are you saying?”

Oh. You bit your lip, considering the thought of going on a date with Jay. Hadn’t you just recently decided not to date and focus on yourself for a while?

But you couldn’t deny you wanted to say yes. To spend more time around him and enjoy the feeling of ease he gave you.

“Maybe.”

You said it with a teasing smile, scared Jay might take your answer in a bad way, but he sent you a confident grin. “I can work with that.”

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alittlebitofloveliness · 1 month

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Party Animal- Shepard sibling fic

The party is everything Curly expected it to be, loud but not in the rowdy, violent way he’s used to, but rowdy in a way that said no one here was ever worried about getting busted by the cops- probably because they had buddies who were cops. Instead of smoke and cheap whisky, high end cologne hangs heavy in the air, a smog Curly is unused to making it tough for him to even breathe.

Whatever. It’s not like he’s planning to be here long. Hell, he never wanted to be in the middle of a super soc hangout in the first place but Angel really is a unique kind of demon sent straight from hell to have him hiking his way into his own personal hell.

“Hey grease,” Some asshole in a green madras shirt steps in front of him, “the fuck are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be slashing someone’s tires on your own side of town?”

“Fuck off,” Curly growls, shoving hard at the dude’s chest. Maybe it’s not the smartest thing he’s ever done, instigating a fight in a den of socs but the fury coursing through him at the moment makes him feel like he could kill the lot of them easily. “Where’s my sister?”

“Oh,” the guy’s eyes gleam, “you mean the party favour? I think I saw Carl and a few of the other guys bring her upstairs a few minutes ago.”

“Motherfucker!” Curly’s fist connects with the guy’s face, and the familiar crack of cartilage under his fingers is simultaneously satisfying and does nothing to quell the fury raging through his chest. Blood spurts from the soc’s nose, quickly ruining his too expensive shirt and the only thing stopping Curly from finishing the job and absolutely flattening him is the knowledge that Angela is somewhere in this house alone with Carl Langton and who knows how many other assholes from the football team.

Maybe he should’ve brought back up for this. Then again he didn’t exactly think in the time between finding out where Angela had snuck off too and practically kicking the door in.

“Angel!” The soc seems to be steeling himself to swing back, but Curly is already gone, tearing up a nearby staircase as shouts and gasps of shock echo behind him. “Angel! Goddamnit Angel, where the fuck are you!”

He’s properly deranged now, can hear it even himself, as he kicks open doors and tears down hallways, switch clenched tightly in his fist. The fuzz might show soon, but ain’t no one in the house right now that’s stupid enough or brave enough to cross him. Good.

The last door he kicks open reveals four or so socs. Three of them are laughing and jeering, while the fourth is practically on top of Angela, kissing her so deeply his tongue must be halfway down her throat. She looks tinier than usual surrounded by all of them, and while she jumps when the door bangs open, Cury can see the glimmer of relief in her eyes when she sees him, mingling with panic and under that, a current of rage, hiding her embarrassment.

A fresh wave of anger floods through him at the sight, something he didn’t think was even possible. Whether it’s directed at Angela or the socs he doesn’t know.

A quick slash with his switch leaves one soc howling, and the rest hurriedly backing away, unwilling to bring fists to a knife fight. Angela swallows, eyes wide. Curly can see the terror in her eyes and it just about kills him. The knowledge that some of it might be because of him is too much for him to bear.

“We’re leaving,” he seizes her arm tight enough to bruise and drags her out of the room, ignoring her spluttering until they’re safely outside. It’s not until they’re halfway back to the eastside that he lets his grip loosen and allows her to shake her arm out of his grasp, grumbling under her breath. The fact she doesn’t yell at him tells him she knows just how badly she messed up.

“Here,” he shrugs out of his jacket and shoves it at her, all too aware of the fact she’s in her skirt and bra and nothing else, even though he’s still so angry he can hardly stand to look at her. Those assholes. He doesn’t want to think of what would’ve happened if he’d been even a few minutes later. Hell, he doesn’t want to think about what already happened by the time he did get there. And he especially doesn’t want to think about how Angela went there on purpose, all by herself.

Angela seems to recognize that quiet is the best she could hope for right now, zipping up his jacket and plodding along silently beside him until they’re almost back to their street.

“Don’t tell Tim.”

The words are like bellows stoking the rage that had steadily been cooling inside him, causing it to flare once again, red hot.

“Don’t tell Tim? Don’t tell Tim that you ran headfirst into a party full of socs? That you chose to go get yourself taken advantage of?”

She scoffs. “I had it handled.”

“Yeah, it sure looked like it when you were locked in a room with half the football team! Jesus Angel, what the fuck did you think was gonna happen?”

She doesn’t answer, which means she knows that whatever she thought was whimsical wishful thinking, the kind of hoping none of them can afford. He’s kind of glad that for once she’s got nothing to say, because he is far from finished.

“Did you really think they invited you there for any good reason? Were you really so stupid? Or did it just make you feel special, being asked to a party no other east sider would ever get close to?”

She’s crying now, which is terrible in a different kind of way because ANgela never cries, not really, but tears are pouring down her cheeks and her entire frame is trembling, a glossy sheen making her eyes glitter in the moonlight and it’s still not enough to quell the anger in his chest.

“Do you ever get tired of wanting things you can’t have?” He finally stops, chest heaving, because that’s the root of it isn’t it, that Angela was a girl born wanting because she never had anything in the first place, so everything in the world will never be enough for her. She’s a princess in the east side, a demon in her own right, has respect and reputation, the most the east side has to offer and yet it still isn’t enough for her, not by a long shot. No wonder that soc guy could manipulate her so easily. The promise of something better could lure his sister into anything.

Curly hates it and in that moment he hates her too, because Angela has never been stupid, not like him. She’s pulled a lot of stupid stunts in her time, but never ones this particular brand of dangerous. It can’t happen again.

“I’m sorry,” Angela’s voice breaks and suddenly Curly’s anger evaporates just like that, because Angela is never sorry for anything she does, so this really must have broken her. “I’m so fucking stupid. I’m sorry.”

She’s crying and shaking and in that moment her pain is somehow more important than his own fear so he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, and she leans against his side, tears quickly abating. She’s still shaking though, bad enough he can feel it even through the thick leather of his jacket.

He’s still angry with her, furious even, but it’s late and he’s tired and she’s safe. They can fight it out and deal with the rest of it tomorrow. He can’t accept her apology, but he can’t yell at her anymore either.

“C’mon Angie,” he murmurs, and resumes walking, “let’s go home.”

They walk the two blocks and then climb through their window, careful not to wake Tim or ma. Curly immediately crosses to his own side of the room and flops up on the mattress, fully ready to sleep until at least noon the next day.

He’s almost asleep when he hears the whisper, so quiet he’s not sure he’s even supposed to hear it.

“Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Anytime,” he promises, and he means it. He’ll always be here for her. Anytime.

#the outsiders #angela shepard #curly shepard #tim shepard #the outsiders fanfiction

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secretmellowblog · 11 months

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@breadvidence recently wrote a great bit of Les Mis meta where they pointed out how Jean Valjean’s “compliments” to Javert in Montreuil-sur-Mer really are just..... conciliatory flattery, and don't reflect his real feelings about Javert at all. And that's a great point, and something I wish more people explored! Lines like "you are a good man and I esteem you" aren't Jean Valjean's earnest feelings towards Javert. Instead they’re examples of the way Jean Valjean often retreats into excessive deferential politeness to authority as a survival strategy. As I mentioned in another recent post— Jean Valjean is a genuinely kind person, but he’s also someone who often has literally no choice but to act overly polite to authorities/the police, because if he’s not polite enough they might start to find him suspicious. If he doesn't lick their boots enough, they might start investigating him. He's instinctively deferential out of fear of violence. He's flattering out of fear. He's polite "at gunpoint." He's polite to cops the way you're polite to an armed police officer who pulls you over.

And Jean Valjean's polite tranquil behavior towards Javert during Javert's "resignation"— saying things like “you are a good man and I esteem you, I want you to keep your job” and etc etc— is later explicitly confirmed to be at least somewhat of a calculated tactical decision Jean Valjean made out of terror:

He was carried away, at first, by the instinct of self-preservation; he rallied all his ideas in haste, stifled his emotions, took into consideration Javert’s presence, that great danger, postponed all decision with the firmness of terror, shook off thought as to what he had to do, and resumed his calmness as a warrior picks up his buckler.

I love the phrase "he resumed his calmness as a warrior picks up his buckler"-- it's such a great way of summarizing how Jean Valjean's ability to have polite conversations even when he's breaking down internally has been such a useful defense mechanism for him. I also love the contrast between the excessively polite way Jean Valjean talks to Javert when he’s acting out of terror/self-preservation….vs the more honest way he talks about Javert when he’s alone during Tempest in a Skull:

“That Javert, who has been annoying me so long; that terrible instinct which seemed to have divined me, which had divined me—good God! and which followed me everywhere; that frightful hunting-dog, always making a point at me, is thrown off the scent, engaged elsewhere, absolutely turned from the trail: henceforth he is satisfied; he will leave me in peace; he has his Jean Valjean. Who knows? it is even probable that he will wish to leave town! And all this has been brought about without any aid from me, and I count for nothing in it!”

It's just extremely funny. The contrast between “you are a good man and I esteem you” vs “that Javert, who has been annoying me so long” <3 The contrast between “you are an honest man” vs “that frightful hunting dog” <3 The contrast between “I want you to keep your job” vs Jean Valjean fantasizing enthusiastically about how hopefully Javert will leave town and never ever annoy him again. <3

It makes the “Punish Me, Monsieur le Maire” stuff even funnier. Jean Valjean is dissociating out of panic and saying whatever polite platitudes he thinks will flatter Javert....but those polite platitudes keep making Javert spiral further into long-winded deranged rants about how he dESPISES this kindness and it enRAGES him, as Jean Valjean just sits there very politely & quietly losing his mind. It’s peak comedy really.

I feel like Jean Valjean’s deeply weird thing with Javert often gets flattened in different directions, when people interpret it. Either Jean Valjean is an all-forgiving all-loving angel who thinks Javert did nothing wrong, and all of his flattery is sincere expressions of admiration—- or Jean Valjean is (like in the BBC version) the kind of violent pitiless person who would angrily order Javert to kill himself. It's rare for writers to get anything resembling the hilariously baffling ambiguous Weirdness of his relationship with Javert in the book. I think it's because adaptations often don't grasp the idea that a genuinely kind compassionate character can also (underneath it all) still be deeply tormented, broken, and angry-- and that their anger doesn't mean they're any less kind, or any less capable of pity and mercy.

#is this coherent?#who knows #les mis #jean valjean #people might take this as me being anti valvert or whatever. but it is the opposite. it is a valvert post #this is Thee dynamic #the comedic potential #the hijinks that could ensue #also a tangentially related thing:#I think the thing that often puts me off a lot of valvert fics #is that I think most writers believe 'jean valjean being excessively kind to javert' would be a sign their relationship had *improved*#whereas to me its like #almost the opposite in a way?#I think maybe you would know Jean Valjean actually had a healthier dynamic with Javert #if he was comfortable enough to be angry with him or upset with him #without needing to be afraid that he'd suffer consequences for not being excessively respectful/deferential/ polite #and thats my hot take #like comment and subscribe! -dabs #read 'Annoyances' by secretmellowblog on Ao3

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bronx-bomber87 · 10 months

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Happy Tuesday wonderful Fandom :) Already 5 eps into s4. Insane. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented and reblogged my answer of my top eps meant a lot. 😊 Solid moments in this one just not a ton. This is a Lucy centric ep with one of my all time Lucy moments in it. I’ll let you read so you can find out what that is ha Off we go.

4x05 A.C.H

I love any and all scenes we get with Tamara and Lucy. She’s such a mom to her I can not. They’re sisters but also a massive mom/daughter dynamic in there too. Lucy is making a morning smoothie and asking for blueberries. Tamara checks the fridge finding none. Lucy getting all mom-like on her. Saying she needs to put stuff on the list when she finishes it. Tamara swearing she didn’t eat them.

Lucy doesn't believe her but lets it go. Pick your battles and all that. She gets all excited about dressing up for the West Hollywood parade. Trying to get Tamara excited about it too. Lucy in such a mom mode here. I love it. Tamara is sassy by saying her suggestions suck LOL Their dynamic is so cute I love it so much though.

They get a knock on their door interrupting their convo. It’s one of their neighbors asking if Lucy is a cop? Lucy confirms this and asks what's going on? She continues on and says she lives in 604 across from the lady she’s coming to her about. Apparently ghost hunters are trying to commit elder fraud with her neighbor. Charging her outrageous prices. Lucy handles it like the confident BAMF she is. Directing everyone involved on what to do. Gah I love that we’ve reached this stage with her. I enjoy the growth journey don’t get me wrong, but I also truly enjoy the results too. So nice to see her settled and confident. Handles this rowdy group like a pro. I'm so proud of her.

We join everyone in roll call. A.C.H. Is written on the board. Grey is handing out candy for right answers. He asks Nolan what today is and what that acronym means? He says Halloween and doesn’t know the other half. Still expecting candy... such a putz. Harper replies correctly with ‘Anything Can Happen.’ Lucy asks what kind of crazy stuff might happen? Tim starts running down a list of things. Teenagers trying to steal kids candy, masked people running into liquor stores. Discerning if they’re late for a party or have a gun?

Grey is waiting for Tim to list one more thing. He is pre-smirking and Tim is confused af. Wade elaborates asking Tim how his uniform was torn 3 Halloween’s ago? Lucy looking perplexed as well. Poor Tim looks like he’s reliving something so uncomfortable. Like he’s seen things he shouldn’t have with that LOL

That dead behind the eyes look. Poor love. Lucy’s reaction is the best part. You know she’s enjoying his embarrassment for this. Delighting in it really. For that party it was a fair assumption i’m sure haha I mean look at the man. He’s beautiful and when they got to the yummy muscles underneath i'm sure didn’t help his case. Heh

First off I love this cute moment of them handing out candy together to kiddos. Could they be any cuter doing this? Also you know I love the Tall/Smol shots. Look at the smiles and closeness. My heart. I can just imagine them handing out Halloween candy together now. Most likely at Tim’s house. Since he lives in a neighborhood and being this damn cute about it. Handing out candy and dressing up while doing it. *sigh* A girl can dream eh?

Earlier in the ep before roll call Lucy got a phone call. She found out her mother has paid for her to freeze her eggs….Naturally this is upsetting to Lucy. How could It not be? Minute the kids step away Lucy goes off about it. Tim clearly not excited about this talk LOL I’m dying his reaction is too funny. Lucy is so valid in what she’s feeling though. It’s a pot shot at her. At her insecurities. Straight from her mom.

The way her mother treats her I can totally understand why she feels this way. How it looks is exactly what Lucy is venting about. Makes it seem like her mom is giving her a fail safe in case she never finds someone. Which is so damn rude but in line with her mom as person. Tim is trying to do logic instead of empathy. Thinking it’ll help her but it does not....He is looking at it with analytical eyes instead of empathetic ones. He is playing devil's advocate on this one. Telling Lucy her mom is probably just looking out for her. Knowing how busy she is. When he really shouldn't because it's her mom...

Lucy is so offended by his POV on this. Hating him trying to justify her mother's motives. I think if this was anyone else Lucy might've considered this. But its not...it's her mom who she has a very strained relationship with. Basically trying to plan her life for her. Control some aspect of it since she has no say in Lucy's career. Also let’s also note her touching his arm while berating him LOL. No need for that madam... but she is a moth to the flame in touching him. hehe Can't say I blame her. The sassy banter here is on point as usual though. Her face after Tim says he’s not taking her side. I’m rolling. They could not be more married if they tried.

Tim starts comparing her situation to car insurance and her clock ticking. Oh Timothy no...what are you doing my love? He is so damn insightful with her most of the time. Then is such a man in certain moments like this one. Telling her doing this appointment is just insurance. That you don't get car insurance hoping you get into an accident. The policy is just a waste of money.

That she needs to view this the same way. Might as well have her mom pay for it. Lucy does not let him get away with that though. Saying she's going to pretend he didn't just compare her fertility to a car crash LMAO Seriously the marriage vibes with this scene are off the charts. Their ‘fighting’ always bringing me such joy.

The cuteness continues when a mom comes up asking them to help find her daughter. Her daughter was dressed as Stitch. They both point (in-sync btw) at the table where a kid is wearing that costume. They realize this kid's not her daughter. That the parent must’ve taken her daughter and left his kid. This next part is ovary explosion time for me. *fans self*

Tim coming over all soft asking this kid questions. He’s in dad mode and I’m melting. Look at how soft he is above. Naturally good with kiddos. Despite his wonderful demeanor the kid has no clue how to answer any of Tim questions.... It’s so funny. His answers are so matter of fact. Daddy. Duh. Ha

I love them tag teaming to get this kid to talk. Lucy telling Tim she's got this. (Not really but she sure tries haha) I adore him just letting her step right in. Taking her shot at it. This is a look into them as parents and my heart wants to implode ha How they would talk to their kid. Lucy takes a slightly different approach at it. She fails just as miserably as Tim. It's so funny how they both crash and burn in their tactic's. They could not be any cuter in this scene if they tried.

This is my favorite part of the episode right here. More proof of how far we’ve come with them. This entire scene is a beautiful result of the last 3 seasons. They’re able to locate the missing girl and return Alton home. The guy didn’t even realize he picked up the wrong kid… Lucy stating once they’re back in the shop ‘That poor kid. Imagine having that idiot as a father.’ Tim notes there are a lot worse out there... trust me.

Like a foreshadow to 4x09 and all we learn about his father. Tim knows first hand how much worse a father can be. Hurts my heart for him to think he wouldn’t be a good father. Just because his own was awful coupled with his damaged past. If anything it’ll make him an even better one. Someone who would want to break the toxic cycle of what he grew up with. You can tell Lucy wanted to fight him on the dad comment. That she wants to reassure him he would be a wonderful parent.

She is respectful and doesn’t press the issue. Personal stuff while it’s more common for them now she knows when to press and when not to. This is one she doesn’t push on. Let's Tim just speak his piece on it. What is absolutely wonderful is her follow up question to that. Lucy keeps them in the personal life zone with it. The best part of it is Tim’s answer. He takes a beat and looks at her first before he dives in. He's intensely thinking before presenting his reply.

Look at our boy just being so openly vulnerable and answering her. Very honestly too btw. No push back or him shutting down. Just an honest and vulnerable answer. How far we’ve come I could cry. The amount of trust he has with her. To be this open and vulnerable about Isabel of all people and what their plans were once upon a time. My heart.

Tim spills his guts about where he thought his life would be now. He thought he would have kids already. He and Isabel had all these life plans. 3 kids, watch them grow up and everything that comes with that. Sharing with her what he thought his life would be by now. Willingly just talking about these things with Lucy. It's insane how natural this whole convo is. Lucy absorbing it all as he speaks.

Tim ends it on a sad note of ‘But…’ Lucy finishes it for him. Saying things don’t always work out. Lucy then connects the dots as to why he was playing devils advocate earlier with her appt. She says as such to him. That life doesn't always pan out the way you expect it to. This would be a way to protect against that. It's what he was trying to convey earlier just poorly ha. Difference being this time he was genuine and empathetic. So it gets through better like it always does when he's soft with her. Will say it breaks my heart Tim telling Lucy about his family plans that never happened. Like it's a distant dream he'll never achieve now. The beautiful thing to take away from this is he told her freely. Used it as advice even to bring home his point.

Tim didn’t hesitate to open up when she asked him. Saw it as an opportunity to give her advise on her problem. The growth in this man is incredible. I'm in awe of him. Remember in S1 when personal life was a dirty word? How he instantly would clam up and shut her down immediately? Now we're here. With them talking about wildly personal stuff in the shop. The progress is wonderful. Makes me teary thinking how far they’ve come. How far Tim has come because of that wonderful sunshine woman in his life. How closed off he used to be. Now they’re casually talking about their personal lives. Not only that but Tim sharing his past life goals with Isabel.

They’re making me all emotional lol God I love this ship. Their slow burn is so worth every bit of waiting. Because they got to develop as people and grow. Be the best versions of themselves when they did get together. This scene is a wonder to behold. To see them get to this place from where they started. *heart clutch* S4 is this beautiful payoff of the bond they’ve forged. How they’ve both grown. Hell Lucy driving is driving and it’s not a thing. Just natural. Their progression makes my soul happy and even happier that I get to write about it. This is their last scene together but it's a damn fine note to end on.

Angela comes over to update Lucy and Tamara on the ghost hunter situation. Tells them the creepy history attached to the building. Tamara is sufficiently freaked out. Says they should move haha Lucy tells her ghost's aren't real. Lucy is more worried about the hunters coming back to bother her neighbor. Angela says 99 percent of the time when a close friend or nice neighbor i.e. Lucy report it they go away and don't return.

Lucy then makes a statement that has me wanting to hug her. Saying she hopes she has a caring neighbor like herself when she’s old and alone. (Just wait Lucy we're almost there...sorta ha) Angela asks her if she’s having bad dating week? Lucy laughs tells her no. Then explains what her mother did. Angela tells her to go for it since it costs so much and she doesn't have to pay for it.

Lucy’s line above is everything. I do not blame her. Just be one more thing to hold over Lucy’s head. I know that life well… To Lucy it's just more guilt to have poured on. Something her mother can use against her later on. Better to limit her to the ammo she currently has. Tamara is sweet and says she can adopt if nothing else. Lots of kids who need a home. She’s not wrong. Also her mom must be out of her damn mind if she think's she can be apart of her kids life. She would have to do a complete 180 in how she treats her before that happens.

Lucy and Tamara decide to get ready for the parade. Lucy thanks her for coming with. She comments how cold her bathroom always is. Tamara cracks a joke about it being cause 20 people died in their building LOL Lucy accidentally knocks over some makeup and watches the dust get sucked in behind the mirror. As if there is a draft. They pull it off together and it reveals a giant hole in the wall leading to all sorts of nooks and cranies.

Tamara refuses to let Lucy climb into this creepy hole by herself. I just love their back and forth so much haha Lucy lets her come with. Leads to this creepy hallway where someone has been staying. They find the blueberries Lucy was looking for earlier. It's on this creeps make-shift bed. It’s so eerie. The ‘ghost’ that’s been living in their walls has been eating their food. Entering everyone's apt's at his convenience.

That’s so unnerving tbh. Just coming into their apt whenever for food through the hole. Lucy calls Angela and says it’s not a ghost. Someone has been living in their walls. Tamara walks over and sees a collection of women’s jewelry and bras. Saying she’s getting stalker vibes. They see mail down there too. It’s for the girl that reported the ghost hunters this morning. Margaret in 604.

Lucy hears creaking and wants to investigate it. Angela says she’ll call It in for them. The more they delve into this area the creepier it gets. They find his peep holes too. It’s then in the holes they see Margaret doing laundry alone. The creepy dude comes out of the shadows after her. Lucy calls for her but she doesn't hear her.

Then comes one of my favorite Lucy moments. She finds a weak spot in the wall and goes after the creeper. She handles herself like an absolute bad ass. What a fight sequence with just a broom stick. Tim would be so proud. It’s so impressive to watch her take this guy down. One of the best parts is Tamara gets to see the whole thing. Cheers her on and jumps up and down with Lucy dispatches him. It’s amazing.

We catch them the next morning Lucy in mom mode once again. Default setting with Tamara is you ask me. She is asking her if she slept at all? If she wasn’t feeling safe they could go to a hotel. Then Tamara gives her the best compliment she could. She is a certified bad ass. I would feel safe with her too. I love Tamara getting to see Lucy in action. Seeing what a strong bad ass woman looks like. And it’s her.

They get a knock on the door and it's Angela to update them on the wall guy. This next portion is pretty sweet and funny. Let's them know if they hear anything just the scene being processed. Angela then asks what Lucy wants to do about her appointment? She says she’s going to do at least the consultation. (I think this is partially Tim's influence from their earlier convo in the shop.)

Angela goes off on a rant about how babies don’t sleep for more than 3 hours, can’t tell if they’re smiling or have gas, and they pee on you when you change them. It's true my nephew had a Pee-Pee TeePee LOL But to not to let that dissuade her from motherhood ahhaa. Tamara pulls her leg some and it’s so funny how easily she riles Lucy up. Mom/Daughter vibes in this scene and I love it. Angela gets serious saying Jack best thing ever happened to her. Wishes Lucy the same whenever she’s ready. She will be when it’s her kid with Tim ❤️ I love this season so much. Such goodies almost every single ep.

~~~

Side notes non-Chenford

Did enjoy Pete coming back. Him helping Tim And Nolan with their drug bust of the zombie drug. Also never hate seeing Tim in civvies mmm. That tight sweater and jeans. Glad I had the room for this gif above. To see him in said sexy outfit. Watching him in action and that outfit? Have mercy.

Thank you to those who continually like, comment and reblog these reviews. Makes my heart so happy. I shall see you all in 4x06 :)

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