The Loneliest
-> Where you are fed up in your current relationship and Charles has to watch as you find somebody else and see how much happier he makes you...
Timezone
-> Where Charles is fed up with being so far away from you at a time where both of your lives are changing, not that he knows that...
Carlos Sainz
All I want
-> Where your so called 'relationship' turned out to just be friends because Carlos 'can't' do relationships...
Max Verstappen
The Loneliest
-> Where you are fed up in your current relationship and Charles has to watch as you find somebody else and see how much happier he makes you...
George Russell
Her Royal Highness
-> Lewis introduces George to HRH Y/N the Princess of Wales during the British GP and the press seems to be hot on their heels...
His Royal Highness
-> George settles into life as the Prince of Wales which involves starting a family and having to overcome an obstacle that nobody saw coming...
Pierre Gasly
I don't wanna leave just yet
-> Where Pierre suddenly ends your relationship; claiming it was your fault and you have to deal with the fallout...
If you love her
-> You finally decide to give Pierre your everything and you get his everything in return but life has other plans for you...
Giving her everything you could never.
-> Where you feel suffocated in your relationship and Pierre helps you to find yourself again.
Logan Sargeant
Oklahoma Smokeshow
-> Where you and Logan both had the dream of getting out of your small town and he was the only one that made it...
“kys” is basic. “i hope your favorite sport gets bought by americans who know nothing about it and proceed to ruin it in ways you didn't even think were possible” is terrifying. it’s possible. it’s happening to me
Prompt: Where you and Logan both had the dream of getting out of your small town and he was the only one that made it.
Warnings: I know Logan isn't southern but I couldn't help myself...
Word Count: 5.8k
Song: Oklahoma Smokeshow - Zach Bryan
There's so much whiskey in his Coke it'll make her nose bend
But she swears that his love is a damn God send
She's known God since she was a child
After being away for so long, Logan had just rolled back into town a few hours ago. He was still settling in when the familiar sound of his old best friend, Colton, echoed through his door. Colton, ever the persistent one, was begging him to join him for a night out on the town. Despite his tiredness, Logan agreed, knowing that if he didn’t, Colton would pester him incessantly for days.
The local bar, a place teeming with old faces and fond memories, was their chosen destination. Logan made his way there a few minutes earlier than planned, the anticipation of a lively night stirring in him. He ordered his usual drink, then took a seat, soaking in the familiar yet distant ambiance of the bar.
Not too long after, a couple of girls made their entrance, their laughter cutting through the murmur of the crowd. Close on their heels was Colton, readjusting his jeans button with a triumphant smirk on his face. Upon joining Logan, Colton ordered a round of drinks for the girls, giving them a casual nod of acknowledgement.
"Do I want to know?" Logan asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity at Colton’s antics.
"They were a lot of fun…” Colton replied, his voice laced with amusement. He wore a smug grin as he indulged in his whiskey and coke. As the night wore on, the bar started buzzing with more patrons. The work-weary crowd was eager to kick back and relax, especially because it was a Friday night.
"There she is!" Colton suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the door. Prompted by his exclamation, Logan turned to look, and a familiar face had him stifling a smile. It was you. "I've missed you, baby," Colton falsely confessed, his arms pulling you into a warm embrace and his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. This unexpected sight left Logan momentarily stunned.
"Oh my god! Logan!" You gasped, your eyes lighting up as they finally spotted him. "You're back!" You gushed excitedly, pulling him into a heartfelt hug. Logan had been away for years, and he hadn't seen you since the day he left, the day he broke your heart. He seemed different now - a little taller, broader at the shoulders, and his voice had a rougher edge to it.
"I've missed you so much, darling," he confessed, his voice soft yet sincere. His accent had changed slightly, the old twang of 'darlin'' replaced with a more polished 'darling'.
"Hey, hey…get your hands off my girl," Colton joked, breaking the moment as he hands you a drink.
"When did that happen?" Logan asked, his surprise evident. He would have never guessed that you'd end up with Colton, given his notorious history and recent display of desire with other women.
"Oh…we kinda just fell into bed together one night and it went from there," you explained, laughing it off as Colton's hand found its way to your hip. "But as it turns out, it all worked out pretty well, I think. Don't you agree, my love?"
"I do…you're all I could ever want," Colton replied, the smug smile returning to his face as he kissed you, reaffirming his earlier statement.
She used to play in the yard and she would dream of one day
'Til the world came around and took her dreaming away
Told her how to dress and act and smile
“You know…” You began, stepping out of the bustling room, finally finding a quiet moment to pull Logan aside. “They always said you wouldn’t make it…’that boys got a head full of cotton’…” The words brought back old memories, both good and bad, but You said them with a smile. “But just look at you now…” You added, voice thick with layered emotions - pride for His achievements, admiration for his strength, and a hint of unfulfilled longing. Longing for the possibility of having made it out like He did, escaping the confines of your small town life.
“If I’d done as I was told, I wouldn’t have achieved anything,” He retorted, his gaze steady on yours, a shared understanding passing between you, Both remembering the desperation, the yearning for more, the urge to break free that you'd both felt.
“I’m so incredibly proud of you, Lo’,” You confessed, your voice barely a whisper as you wrapped your arms around his broad, strong shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. His arms moved instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer, and in that moment, a floodgate of memories was opened, washing over you like a tidal wave.
I'm gonna miss you so much," You confessed, tears streaming down your face like a river. You clung to him, arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace, cherishing the last moments before He inevitably had to leave.
"I know," Logan replied, his voice thick with emotion. His hand gently brushed over your hair, a comforting gesture that you had come to love. "And I'm gonna miss you even more. Just remember if anyone asks...”
"You went to basic training…" You repeated, the words echoing in your mind. He had been drilling this into you for weeks, reminding you time and again. Ever since Logan's dad had crushed his dreams of going to Italy to continue his racing career, every waking moment had been consumed by his relentless pursuit of that dream. He had been working tirelessly, juggling two jobs just to scrape together enough money for a one-way plane ticket.
Despite his efforts, he fell short by a few hundred dollars. So, you gave him the money that you’d been saving up. It was a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. At least one of you was going to make it out of this small town and achieve your dreams.
"I love you so much, darlin'," he said, his voice just a whisper in the quiet night. He slowly pulled away from your embrace, his hands lingering on your cheeks before he leaned down to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.
"I love you more, Lo'," You replied, voice barely more than a whisper, shaking with the weight of your impending separation. He let go of you and then took a step back, creating a physical distance that seemed to echo the emotional one that was about to come.
He walked towards his car then, his silhouette illuminated by the dim glow of the streetlights. You had offered to accompany him to the airport, but he reassured you that it would only make things harder, more painful.
As he drove away, the tears kept falling. With your hand covering your mouth, You retreated back into the house, not wanting anyone to hear the sobs that wracked your body.
He looked at you, a sincere gratitude etched on his face. "I wouldn't have made it without you, darling," he confessed, his voice carrying a tone of deep admiration. "Without your help, I never would have gotten on that flight."
You met his gaze, your eyes softening. "But you did, and that's what matters. I would have done anything to help you, Lo’," you reassured him, your voice firm but gentle. "Lending you a couple hundred bucks was the very least I could do."
He paused for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. "I owe you my career... my success," he admitted, every word echoing the weight of his gratitude. "If you ever need anything, I will always be here for you," he promised, the sincerity of his words reflected in the depths of his eyes.
Just as the moment began to solidify, a loud voice cut through the tenderness. "Come on, baby! We're getting out of here!" Colton shouted from the entrance to the bar, his words shattering the intimate atmosphere like a stone through glass.
You turned to him, a soft sigh escaping your lips. "I'll be there in a moment," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of reluctance. You turned back to Logan, your gaze lingering on his for a brief second before you pulled away, the promise of a quiet conversation lost in the noise of the bar as you followed your boyfriend back inside.
She's an Oklahoma Smokeshow
He's an asshole from back home
"Wow...you look absolutely stunning tonight, Darlin'," Logan said, his voice laced with admiration. His eyes swept over your figure as you approached him, extending his hand to you. He caught your hand in his and spun you around, allowing him a full view of your outfit. The sounds of your infectious laughter filled the quiet room.
"Thank you, baby," you replied, your face lit up with a broad, beaming smile. You felt a warm happiness bubble up within you. His compliment, simple as it was, had a profound effect on you.
"Ready to go?" he asked, his gaze locking onto yours. You were set to meet up with some friends that night at one of their farms. It was going to be a casual gathering with a bonfire, a perfect setting for the summer night. You had picked out a beautiful dress for the occasion, one covered in a soft floral pattern that you knew Logan adored. It was a perfect blend of comfort and style, ideal for the night's activities.
"Definitely," you responded, excitement lacing your tone as you anticipated the fun-filled night ahead.
As you walked towards the car, you looked up at the clear night sky. The stars were sparkling brightly, and a sense of peace washed over you. Tonight was going to be a good night.
Logan opened the car door for you, a chivalrous act that never failed to make you smile. You slid into the seat, the worn leather cool against your skin. The drive to the farm was filled with soft music and comfortable silence, broken by your shared laughter and occasional conversation. The town lights slowly faded in the rearview mirror as you moved further into the countryside, the darkness illuminated only by the bright stars above and the car's headlights.
Once you arrived at the farm, the sound of laughter and soft chatter reached your ears. The bonfire was already crackling, casting dancing shadows on the faces of your friends who had gathered around. You could see the silhouette of horses in the nearby field, their peaceful grazing adding to the tranquil atmosphere.
Logan squeezed your hand reassuringly as you made your way to the group, the warmth of the fire drawing you in. You were greeted with smiles and hugs, making you feel instantly at home.
"Finally, you made it! We were starting to get a little concerned about y’all," exclaimed one of your friends, her smile broad and welcoming as she handed you each a chilled drink.
"I apologise," you admitted, a sheepish grin on your face as you raised your hands in a playful surrender. "I completely lost track of time. I forgot we had decided to leave at 6."
"Well, you should’ve just come by yourself then, Logan," retorted Colton in a teasing tone, a smirk playing on his lips. "Everyone knows girls always take an eternity to get ready...and it’s not even like it’s always worth the wait," he added, his laughter echoing in the room.
"There's no way I'm going anywhere without my girl," Logan stated, his voice filled with warmth and affection. With a soft smile playing on his lips, he reached out, pulling you closer to him. His strong arms enveloped you in a tender embrace, radiating comfort and security, asserting his unwavering commitment to keeping you by his side no matter what.
You nestled into his embrace, your heart fluttering at his words. The air filled with the light banter and laughter of your friends, but all you could focus on was the steady beat of Logan's heart against your own. His presence was a calming familiarity in the midst of the busy party. You felt a sense of serenity wash over you as you leaned into him, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm in your ear. His fingers traced small circles on your back, further easing your nerves. Looking up at him, you found Logan's gaze already on you, a tender smile on his lips. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering a quiet "I love you" that made your heart flutter again. In that moment, surrounded by the noise and laughter of your friends, you knew there was no place you'd rather be than here.
"Could you two possibly get a room? It's honestly nauseating," Colton shouts from a few feet away, his voice filled with feigned disgust. He dramatically clutches his stomach and sticks out his tongue as though he's about to be physically sick. His exaggeration brings a wave of laughter from the others in the room, effectively breaking the intimate moment between you and Logan. “God, This is why I hate parties with girls…,”
She'll never make it out alive
That small town bar scene
Where small vices kill your big dreams
Logan cast a glance in your direction, his brows creased in a question. "What happened?" He asked, the confusion evident in his voice. You turned to look at him, your expression mirroring his confusion. "While I was away, what happened? You used to be so desperate to get outta this place," he elaborated, his words triggering a scoff from you.
"Getting out was never in the cards for me, Logan. We both knew that," you responded, your voice brimming with a resigned acceptance. "While the world turned in your favour, for me, it seemed to stand still. Grandma fell ill, so I had to put my plans on hold and take care of her. Mom was already stretched thin, trying to keep the rest of the family going. After Grandma passed away, it just didn't feel right to pack my bags and leave, no matter how much I wanted it. There were countless nights I found myself staring at your number on my phone, my finger hovering over the call button, ready to tell you that I was booking a flight."
His curiosity piqued, Logan asked, "So why didn't you?" His face was once again etched with confusion.
A laugh escaped your lips as you replied, "I fell into bed with Colton." You paused for a moment, reminiscing. "As I said, things eventually fell into place with him. My parents took a shine to him, and his parents seemed to love me. We began entertaining dreams of moving in together, of finding a little place we could call our own. Mom is already eagerly talking about grandchildren," you continued, your voice tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation.
Logan looked at you, his face a picture of surprise. "But you never wanted any of that," he reminded you, his words echoing your past sentiments.
A sigh escaped your lips as you nodded in agreement. "I didn't, and to be honest, part of me still doesn't. But Colton, he understands that. He isn't pressuring me into anything. We're moving at a pace that I'm comfortable with, something that I'm extremely grateful for," you explained, your tone filled with sincerity.
Logan absorbed your words, his expression sombre. "I guess things changed while I was away," he concluded, his voice carrying a note of resignation.
You nodded and responded softly, "Yes, they did." You understood the underlying meaning of Logan's words. But you also knew that you couldn't give him the reassurance he so desperately sought.
He'd take you home but he's too drunk to drive
You were standing outside the bar, calling Logan on your phone. It was close to midnight, and Colton had left, intending to walk home despite his intoxicated state. You had assured him that you'd call a friend to pick you up, conveniently leaving out the detail that the friend would be Logan.
"Hey...I know it's late but-," you began, but were interrupted as soon as he answered the phone.
"Where are you?" He cut in.
"At Maria's...Colton was too drunk to drive so he's walking home," you explained, sighing. This wasn't the first time you found yourself in this situation.
"I'm on my way," He replied hurriedly. You could hear him moving around over the phone.
"Thank you, Lo'," you said, relieved. As promised you saw his truck pull in a little while later and he climbed out to come and help you in.
"You know, I've been drinking soda all night, I'm perfectly alright," you declare, asserting your independence as he offers a supportive hand to help you up from the cold, hard curb. Despite your protests, he gently assists you, lifting you up to your feet with an unexpected tenderness. He then graciously opens the truck door for you.
"Feel like talking about it?" He tentatively inquires, his voice rich with genuine concern. He leans over to fasten your seatbelt, a simple act that sends a wave of his musky cologne wafting into your nostrils, momentarily distracting you from your turmoil.
"It's Colton…I don't know what more you want me to say?" you respond, your voice laced with a hint of bitterness. Your words hang in the air as he walks around the large, imposing truck and gets into the driver's seat, his silhouette barely visible against the dim glow of the dashboard.
"You...you deserve so much more than him..." he murmurs, almost too softly for you to catch his words. The engine purrs to life, breaking the silence, and he smoothly eases out of the desolate parking lot, leaving behind the scene of your heartbreak.
"Logan, that's your best friend we're talking about," you say, slightly taken aback by his unexpected candour, your voice echoing in the confines of the truck.
"Best friend or not, I can't stand by and watch you get hurt," Logan replies, the raw honesty in his voice making you catch your breath. "You deserve someone who treats you with respect and love, not someone who plays with your feelings." He adds, his gaze focused on the road, but his words aimed straight at your heart.
"Wait, what are you trying to say, Logan?" you ask, a hint of confusion lacing your voice. "He just had too much to drink tonight… it’s not really a big deal, Lo’."
Logan pauses, as if carefully choosing his next words. "It's not just about tonight," he begins, his voice serious. "Remember the night I arrived in town and we all decided to hit the bar? I got there a bit early and saw him... he came in with a few girls and um…wasn’t very discreet about what He had been doing… That was before you arrived. It's not just about him getting drunk, it's about his respect for you."
A silence fills the truck, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine. Your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, processing Logan's words.
"And... and you didn’t think to tell me this before?" you ask, hurt flashing in your eyes. Your heart feels heavy in your chest, the sting of betrayal gnawing at you.
Logan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "You told me you loved him and I didn’t want to upset you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I thought...maybe it was just a one time thing. But seeing him tonight, seeing how he treated you...it’s clear to me now that it probably wasn’t."
His words hang in the air, a sad truth that neither of you can ignore. The rest of the drive is quiet, each of you lost in your own thoughts. The familiarity of the town lights passing by is a stark contrast to the newfound tension between you. It's clear that things may never be the same again.
“He’s not you Logan,”
I've been here, I've been up all night
Thinkin' 'bout a life with you and I
"Look, there's Daddy!" you exclaimed, your voice brimming with joy. Your three-year-old daughter, Daisy, had been waiting for this moment for days. Her constant chatter about her father's impending return had filled the house with anticipation. You had always known, even before you’d gotten married and decided to start a family, that having him away for at least 25 weeks a year wouldn't be easy. It was a sacrifice that came with his job, a reality that you both had accepted.
"There's my sweet girl!" Logan's voice echoed as he climbed out of his truck, his face breaking into a wide grin. His boots crunched the gravel as he walked towards the porch, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the family he had been away from. Upon seeing her Daddy, Daisy looked up at you, her eyes wide with anticipation. With a supportive nod from you, she broke free from your hold, her little legs carrying her as fast as they could towards Logan. His arms instantly enveloped her, lifting her up into a warm embrace. Daisy had always been a daddy’s girl, their bond was undeniable. Seeing them together, their laughter filling the air, made your heart swell with happiness. He turned towards you, his eyes sparkling with affection, "-and my other sweet girl, how are you doing, darling?" He asked, wrapping his free arm around you and pulling you in for a kiss.
"I'm good," you replied. "This little lady right here hasn’t stopped talking about you all week," you said, your fingers gently tickling Daisy's chest, sparking a fit of giggles from her.
"Oh yeah? Is that so?" He asked, his voice full of amusement. Daisy responded by burying her face deeper into his chest, her giggles muffled against his shirt. The sight had you both laughing. "Well, I’m home now so you don’t need to worry," he reassured her, his words causing a wide grin to break out across her face.
"Mommy let me stay up to watch you on the TV. You were going super fast, Daddy!" She spoke excitedly, her eyes shining with admiration. The race had started just before her bedtime. She had insisted on staying up, convinced that her daddy would end up with a shiny trophy if she watched. As usual, she had been spot-on; Logan had indeed finished second.
"I was, and it was all for you, baby girl," he responded, his voice filled with pride. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a Pirelli cap. The silver embroidered ‘2nd’ gleamed in the sunlight as he placed it on her head.
One you'll never know
'Cause you're a small town smokeshow
"Absolutely not, Logan. The answer is no!" his mother declared with a firmness that was rarely seen, effectively putting an end to the months-long discussion. Logan had been tirelessly pleading for a plane ticket to Italy as a gift for his upcoming 16th birthday.
"We should never have let your imagination run wild with this racing car driver fantasy of yours," his father chimed in, shaking his head in disapproval while reminiscing over the countless hours Logan had spent on the karting track.
"But I'm actually good at it. I even got a letter from a professional race team in Italy. They wanna sign me. They sent a scout to the final race last season," Logan retorted, waving the official-looking letter in his hand.
"Logan, you're only 16. We can't just let you travel halfway across the world alone to meet some stranger who sent you a letter!" his mother exclaimed, concern evident in her voice.
"Regardless, I've enrolled you in the Marines. Your training is set to begin in April and that's the end of it. Your mother and I do not wish to hear another word about this. Is that understood?" his father sternly said, clearly drawing the line.
"Yes, sir," Logan replied, his teeth clenched tight in frustration as he walked away. He was resolute in his determination to make it to Italy, regardless of his parents' approval or disapproval.
-----
You know, Pumpkin, when your Momma and I were just about your age, we were already thinking about our future together," her father reminisced as they sat comfortably on the porch, their gazes following the playful antics of her younger siblings.
"I know Daddy, you remind me all the time," She responded, her voice filled with an affectionate smile and a soft laugh that echoed in the warm evening.
"I just believe it's time for you to start considering your own future, Pumpkin. Not too long from now, you'll be settling down, in a lovely house like this one, surrounded by a family of your own," he advised, his words a familiar tune she had heard play numerous times before.
"But what if that's not the life I want?" she ventured to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What? Of course it is…," he returned, his tone one of disbelief, clearly assuming she was joking.
"Oh, I was merely teasing, Daddy," she quickly reassured him, her smile wavering slightly. "What about Logan, though? We've been together almost a year now,"
"That boy isn't what you need...he's got a head full of cotton," her father declared, shaking his head in disapproval.
"He's going to make something of himself, Daddy, I just know it. I've seen him race," she countered, her voice hardening in defence.
"I don't think so, pumpkin...and you deserve someone better. You need a boy who can provide stability and security for you and your future family," he stated, presenting his viewpoint as an unequivocal fact.
Well, I've been here, I've been up all night
Thinkin' 'bout a life with you and I
As Logan lay sprawled in his bed, the warm, humid summer air kept him wide awake. His thoughts, chaotic and relentless, sprinted through his mind at an overwhelming speed. Restless, he climbed out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cool floor. He pushed the balcony doors wide open, allowing the faint scent of summer air to waft in. He sat down, the cold metal of the chair a sharp contrast against his skin, and looked out over the vast expanse of dry fields that stretched out behind the house. In the quiet solitude of the night, he found himself indulging in a dangerous pastime - dreaming about what his life might have looked like if you were still a part of it.
"Logan, you've got 5 minutes till you need to be in the car," his team principal, James, called out, his voice echoing as the mechanics bustled around him. Logan merely nodded in acknowledgement, his mind elsewhere as he pulled up the zipper of his sleek, fitted race suit.
"You're gonna do amazing, baby," you said to him, your voice filled with unwavering confidence. His cap sat atop your head, a stark contrast to your soft features. You stood at the back of his garage, cradling his helmet in your arms, the design adorning it being one you had created for him.
"I can only do it with your support, Darling," he replied, his voice muffled slightly as he pushed his earplugs in and pulled his balaclava on. You then lifted his helmet, the protective gear feeling heavy in your hands, and pulled it down over his head. You let him adjust it, making sure it sat snugly and securely. Once he was comfortable, you flipped his visor up, revealing his striking blue eyes. They twinkled with a mix of excitement and nerves, a sight that made your heart flutter. You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his helmet where his lips would be, and saw a genuine smile reach his eyes.
With a last glance at you, he climbed into the race car, his hands gripping the wheel tightly. As he prepared for the race, he felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. He knew he would give it his all, not just for the win, but for you.
As the engines roared to life around him, Logan's heart pounded in sync with their rhythm. His focus narrowed to the track in front of him, everything else fading into the background. The air was thick with tension as everyone waited for the signal to start.
The moment the flag dropped, Logan hit the throttle, the car speeding forward with a force that pressed him back into his seat. He navigated the twists and turns of the track with precision, his every move calculated and deliberate. Amid the roaring engines and the screeching tires, he found a strange sense of peace.
The race was a blur of speed and adrenaline, but through it all, Logan's mind kept drifting back to you. He imagined your proud smile as he crossed the finish line, the way your eyes would light up. It was that image that propelled him forward, pushing him to take risks and make daring moves.
As he took the final turn and sped towards the finish line, he felt a surge of triumph. He had done it. He had won. But as he slowed down and removed his helmet, his thoughts were not on his victory. They were on you. The thought of you cheering on from his garage, he cleared parc ferme as quickly as he could, heading straight for where his team stood.
As he clambered out of his car and locked eyes with you over the heads of his team, his victory felt all the more sweet. He was surrounded by cheers and congratulations, but all he cared about was the proud smile on your face. It was your unwavering support that drove him, your faith in him that pushed him to be better.
Without breaking his gaze from yours, Logan weaved through the people, shaking hands and clapping backs, but his destination was clear. As he reached the barrier, he pulled off his gloves and reached out for your hand. Pulling you into his sweaty, fire-proof clad body, he whispered in your ear, "This is for you Darlin’." His southern accent slipping back out.
You laughed and pulled away, only to be pulled back in for a deep, passionate kiss. His lips were salty from sweat, but you didn't care. As he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his blue eyes filled with affection and gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
And as the crowd continued to cheer and the cameras flashed around them, capturing their intimate moment for the world to see.
Logan hadn’t even noticed the precise moment when he slipped from the conscious world into the realm of dreams, his dream was so incredibly sweet and comforting that it didn’t matter to him whether he was asleep or awake. So, when he slowly opened his eyes, coming back to reality, and noticed the soft rays of the sun timidly peeking through the dense canopy of the trees, he couldn't help but give a low, amused chuckle to himself.
One you'll never know
'Cause you're a small town smokeshow
"What do you mean you want to leave?" She asks, her voice echoing through the dining room.
"I don't want to stay here forever, Momma. There's a much bigger world outside our town," You responded, my voice steady despite the weight of the words. The room fell silent, with everyone at the long, mahogany table watching your exchange with wide, surprised eyes.
"But that doesn't matter. You'll stay here and marry a nice boy from a good family..." she starts, her voice trailing off when she's interrupted.
"Your Momma's right, Pumpkin. Your family is here, leaving ain’t an option," he interjects from the head of the table. His voice, usually so soothing, now sounds harsh and authoritative.
"But Daddy!" You protest. He is usually the one who indulges your dreams and fantasies, but this time it feels different, colder somehow.
"That's the end of it. You don't see anyone else wanting to leave, do you? Be grateful for what you have," she declares, her tone final and her gaze sweeping over your siblings, hoping to discourage them from getting any similar ideas.
"But Logan left. Why can't I?" You argue, determined not to let the discussion end here. Your will is not so easily broken.
"Do you see how he lives, Pumpkin? Alone in Europe, travelling every other week. It's no life for a young lady like you," he retorts, his stern look signalling the end of the discussion. You rise from the table, tossing your napkin onto the untouched plate before you grab your keys, and head for your car, the sound of your boots clicking against the wooden floor echoing through the now silent room.
Go on and put on that dress that all the bad boys like
I know your daddy ain't home so ride with me tonight
"I just can't do it anymore, Logan. I can't bear the weight of the constant judgement or the suffocating expectation to be someone I'm not!" You exclaim in desperation, shutting the door of the car with a loud ‘thud’. The sound echoes in the quiet street as You make your way towards his house, heart pounding in your chest. He stands a short distance away from where He’d been sitting when you’d first arrived, His silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the porch light.
"And what is it that you want?" He asks, his voice calm and steady, enveloping you like a warm blanket on a cold night.
"I...I want to escape from all of this...I want you to take me away with you," You finally manage to say, a soft, hopeful smile spreading across your lips as He approaches. The soft rustling of leaves under his feet is the only sound in the quiet night as his pace quickens, descending the steps of the porch in a hurry. He pulls you into his arms with a swift motion, enveloping you in a warm embrace, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, reassuring kiss.
"Then let's get out of here," Logan’s voice a whisper against your lips..
I hope you enjoyed my first Logan fic...I have to admit I have a bit of a soft spot for him so there may be more to come in the future
- E x
Contains: Lots of writing ,No Ross and Rachel(that's gonna be a whole other fanfic), gay yearning, Confusion on sexuality
From the very first time you set foot inside your cousins Monica and Ross’s childhood home, you noticed her, Rachel Green. She was always there, effortlessly glowing, her laugh spilling into the air like something you wanted to bottle up and keep forever. At first, you were just the tag-along kid, two years younger, never quite old enough to be included in whatever Monica and Rachel were doing. They’d close the bedroom door, giggling about secrets you weren’t allowed to hear, and you’d sit outside in the hallway pretending not to care, even though you desperately wanted to be part of their world.
At the time, you thought it was just the sting of being left out, the way little kids always want to be part of the older kids’ world. But the truth was, even then, something about Rachel pulled at you in a way you couldn’t explain. Your heart would leap when she said your name, your stomach would twist when she laughed, and you found yourself orbiting around her like she was the sun and you were stuck in her gravity. It wasn’t just a childish crush or wanting to play with your cousin’s best friend, it was the start of something bigger, something that would stay with you long after those afternoons in Monica’s bedroom faded into memory.
But time doesn’t stop for anyone, and everyone grows up. Somewhere between childhood and now, things shifted. You weren’t just the younger cousin anymore, you were grown, with your own life, your own place, and somehow you ended up in the same apartment building as Monica, Chandler, and the rest of their circle. Which meant, of course, that Rachel was suddenly everywhere again.
Coffee runs in the morning. Late-night hangouts in Monica’s apartment. Movie nights where Rachel would curl up on the couch next to you like it was the most casual thing in the world while you sat there trying to remember how to breathe.
And the worst part? You didn’t understand any of it. The racing pulse, the butterflies in your stomach, the way your eyes always seemed to find her first in a crowded room, you told yourself it was platonic. That it was just leftover fondness from when you were kids. You clung to that excuse because the truth was too terrifying to face: your feelings for Rachel weren’t simple, weren’t easy, and they definitely weren’t just friendly.
“Heyyy, guys, how’s it going?” Joey’s familiar voice rang out as he walked into Monica’s apartment like it was his second home, which, at this point, it basically was.
You were sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a bowl of cereal, half-focused on Phoebe’s story about some eccentric neighbor she’d once had. Rachel sat beside you, legs crossed gracefully, sipping her coffee. Just her being that close made it hard to concentrate on much of anything. Across the room, Ross and Chandler were sprawled on the couch, watching some random TV program that wasn’t interesting enough to hold their attention. Monica, true to form, was fussing around with a cleaning rag, polishing surfaces that didn’t need polishing.
“Hey, Joey,” you said with a little wave, spoon in hand.
Joey’s gaze immediately locked onto you, and his face broke into that mischievous grin you’d learned to fear. He pointed dramatically. “Ahh, just the girl was looking for.”
You blinked, lowering your spoon. “That… sounds terrifying.”
Rachel chuckled beside you, tossing her hair back as her laugh filled the room. It was light and effortless, the kind of laugh that made your chest ache because you wanted to be the reason for it. God, you’d sit through a thousand of Joey’s schemes if it meant hearing that sound again.
Joey ignored your mock horror and strutted closer, resting his hands on the back of your chair like he was about to interrogate you. “So,” he began, drawing it out dramatically, “there’s something that’s been bothering me for a long time.”
The others stirred, sensing entertainment. Monica paused her scrubbing midwipe. Chandler turned down the volume on the TV. Even Ross looked over with faint curiosity.
You narrowed your eyes. “This can’t be good.”
Joey grinned wider. “I’ve known you for, what, five years now? Five! That’s like… half a decade!”
“Very impressive math, Joey,” Chandler deadpanned from the couch, earning a smirk from Monica.
Joey waved him off and leaned in closer, eyes twinkling. “And in all that time, I’ve noticed something. Something weird. Something shocking.”
You groaned. “Just say it.”
He drew it out anyway, milking the moment for all it was worth. “I don’t think I’ve ever ever seen you go on a date. Not once!”
The room fell into stunned silence for a beat before suddenly erupting into noise.
“Oh my God, that’s true,” Monica said, straightening up. “You’ve never once brought someone here.”
“Wait.. seriously?” Ross frowned like this was the most fascinating discovery of the year.
“I thought maybe you were just super secretive about it,” Phoebe chimed in, tilting her head curiously. “Like maybe you’ve got some mysterious double life. Are you secretly married?”
Rachel’s head turned toward you, her brows lifting in surprise. Her lips curved into a small smile, and suddenly you were acutely aware of how warm your face felt.
You laughed nervously, holding up your hands. “Okay, wow, group ambush. Love that for me.”
But your heart was pounding for a very different reason. Because if they only knew the truth the real, complicated, impossible truth that every time you thought about dating, your mind went right back to the girl sitting next to you with the coffee cup in her hand and the soft smile on her lips
“I just don’t do dates,” you said flatly, shrugging like it was no big deal.
“Bullcrap!” Joey shouted immediately, pointing at you like he’d cracked the case. “Everybody dates! It’s, like, the law of nature. You eat, you sleep, you date. Boom!”
“In Phoebe’s words,” he added, turning to her for backup, “you need to find your lobster.”
Phoebe nodded sagely, pressing her hand to her chest. “It’s true. Lobsters mate for life. I saw it on Discovery Channel.”
You sat frozen, desperately searching for something anything that would get Joey off your back. “What about that one guy? From the coffee shop?” you blurted.
Immediately, Phoebe wrinkled her nose. “You mean the weird dude with the long hair? The one who kept trying to buy you coffee and take you out, but you rejected him every single time because something was, quote, ‘off’ about him?”
Ross, without even glancing away from the TV, chimed in like it was his duty: “It’s whom.”
Everyone ignored him.
“Okay, but come on,” you argued weakly. “Who just buys a random person coffee? That’s weird!”
“A lot of people do,” Chandler deadpanned, not even looking up.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “God save me,” you muttered, only half-joking.
There was a pause. A strange, charged silence. Rachel hadn’t said a word through the whole exchange, but when you peeked at her through your fingers, you caught her looking at you with that thoughtful, faraway expression she sometimes got. Like her mind was running a mile a minute, putting puzzle pieces together.
Then she set her coffee down and leaned forward a little. “What if,” she said carefully, “we go on a double date this weekend?”
Your heart stopped cold. “A double date?” you repeated, sitting up. “With… who exactly?”
Rachel brightened, like she’d just cracked the code to all your problems. “There’s this guy who asked me out, and I was going to say no because honestly, I didn’t feel like going but he said I could bring a friend. He’s taking me somewhere really nice, and his friend will be there too. So why don’t you come? You’d be perfect!”
She said it like it was the greatest idea in the world, like she was doing you this huge favor. But all you could think about was how the word “date” felt different when it came from her lips how your chest squeezed painfully at the idea of sitting across from Rachel at dinner while pretending to be interested in some guy you didn’t care about.
Against your better judgment, you heard yourself say, “Why not.”
Rachel’s entire face lit up like the sun had moved into Monica’s apartment. Her smile stretched impossibly wide, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. Honestly, if you got this reaction every time you agreed to anything, you’d say “why not” a million times over.
“Great! I’ll let him know!” she said, practically bouncing as she darted across the room toward Monica’s landline, grabbing the receiver like she’d just won the lottery.
You let out a soft groan, letting your spoon clink against the bowl. The thought of going on a date with some random guy made your stomach twist, but then you caught sight of Rachel watching you over her shoulder, her grin so bright it hurt in the best possible way. And suddenly, it didn’t matter. You’d go on this date. You’d survive the worst man alive, just to see her this happy.
Before you could even sit back, Joey leaned across the table, eyes wide and teeth flashing. “YES! That’s my girl! Go get ‘em, tiger!” giving you a good slap on the back.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Chandler piped up from the couch, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re actually going on a date willingly? This is a historic event. Somebody get a camera.”
You groaned but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, everyone. Really. I’m sure the date go… perfectly.”
Joey grinned, giving you a little fist pump. “Perfect? Ha! It’ll be amazing. And if it isn’t… well, you’ve got us, right? We’ll mock him mercilessly afterward.”
Rachel, meanwhile, had the phone pressed to her ear, already chatting animatedly. She glanced at you, her eyes sparkling, and your chest tightened. Somehow, this disaster of a double date now felt like the best idea in the world.
*Time skip to the day of date*
You were a complete mess. The kind of mess that came from nerves curling tight in your stomach, leaving your hands clammy and your brain spinning. You had never actually been on a proper date before. Sure, in high school you had a couple of boyfriends, but high school boys never planned real dates. Hanging out in someone’s basement with chips and a movie didn’t exactly count.
Now here you were, standing in front of your closet like it was the final boss of a video game. You knew the restaurant was supposed to be nice at least that’s what he’d said but just how nice? Cocktail dress nice? Heels-that-hurt nice? Or was it more of a sundress-and-cardigan kind of vibe? Every outfit you pulled out either felt like too much or not enough.
And that was the problem you weren’t even thinking about what he might like. You should have been. That was normal, right? To dress for the date, to impress the guy. But no matter how many dresses you held against your body in the mirror, your mind kept circling back to one impossible thought: Would Rachel like this?
The truth was, you wanted her opinion more than anyone’s. You wanted her approval, her smile, her effortless way of making even the most chaotic outfit work. You were practically hopeless without her. And as much as you wanted to figure it out on your own, deep down you knew the only person who could save you from spiraling tonight was… Rachel Green herself.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed your bag, stuffed your phone and lipstick inside, and marched across the hall to Monica’s apartment. You didn’t even knock like a normal person you barged in, arms full of rejected clothes, hair a frizzy halo from your outfit war.
“Okay, you need to save me before I completely lose it!” you blurted the second you spotted Rachel lounging on the couch, her legs curled neatly underneath her, glossy magazine in hand.
Monica looked up from her coffee, lifting a brow in that here-we-go-again way, but Rachel’s eyes those gorgeous bluish-green eyes widened in instant delight.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, already tossing the magazine aside like it had never mattered. She bounced up from the couch with a burst of energy, hair catching the light as she moved. “You need help with an outfit!?” Her squeal was half-question, half-celebration, like this was her Olympics.
You sighed dramatically, clothes spilling out of your arms. “I’m hopeless.”
Rachel grinned, practically clapping her hands together. “Hopeless? Sweetie, you came to the right place.”
And with that, she slipped seamlessly into full Rachel Green mode. One second you were standing in the doorway, and the next she had you positioned in front of Monica’s mirror, holding tops and dresses up to your chest with laser focus. She moved around you with an ease that was dizzying picking up a blouse, discarding it, reaching for another.
But you couldn’t keep up. Not because of the speed, but because of her.
Every adjustment sent a new wave of heat rushing through you. The way her fingers brushed your collarbone as she straightened a neckline. The way her nails grazed your shoulder when she tucked your hair behind your ear. The way she smoothed fabric against your chest with both hands, her touch warm, careful, almost intimate.
You could smell her perfume soft and floral, like jasmine and something warmer underneath. It clung to her sweater, her hair, the air around her. And every time she leaned in close, that scent wrapped around you until it was all you could breathe.
“Hmm… this one’s cute,” Rachel murmured, biting her lip thoughtfully as she studied you in a fitted dress. She tilted her head, eyes sweeping over you in slow assessment. “But I think we can do better. You’re too pretty to blend in tonight.”
The compliment landed like a shock, stealing the air from your lungs. Too pretty. She said it so casually, like it was a fact and not the most dangerous sentence you’d ever heard. Your eyes darted to Monica, but she was still at the table, pretending not to watch, stirring her coffee like she hadn’t just witnessed your heart practically burst.
Rachel tugged gently on your wrist, pulling you closer as she reached for another option. Her fingers slipped down your arm in the process, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She didn’t notice, but you felt it everywhere.
And in that moment, a thought crashed into you, terrifying and impossible to ignore you weren’t nervous about the date because you cared what your date would think. You were nervous because all you cared about was what Rachel thought.
The guy waiting for you tonight didn’t matter. The only approval you wanted the only smile that made your chest ache was standing right in front of you, hair falling into her face as she fussed with your hemline.
And God, you weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend otherwise.
You and Rachel were the first to arrive, and the restaurant immediately reminded you why you normally avoided fancy places. Crystal chandeliers glittered above perfectly set tables, polished silverware gleamed under soft lighting, and the low hum of classical music made it impossible to ignore how out of place you felt. You shifted nervously in your chair, suddenly hyper-aware of every crease in your clothes, the way your hair refused to stay in place, and the slight tremor in your hands.
Rachel, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease. She perched across from you with that effortless poise she always carried, flipping through the menu as though she’d dined in Michelin-starred restaurants every day of her life. Every so often, her eyes met yours, and she’d grin a tiny, teasing curve of her lips that made your stomach tighten in ways that had nothing to do with hunger.
Just as you were beginning to convince yourself to calm down, a waitress approached, smiling warmly. “Hi! So, how may I help you, lovely couple?”
Your heart dropped straight to your shoes. Couple? The word echoed in your head as your hands grew sweaty and your cheeks heated. You looked at Rachel, expecting her to look mortified, expecting some judgment but instead, she simply laughed. That light, melodic laugh of hers made your chest constrict and your mind scramble.
“We’re actually waiting for our dates,” Rachel said casually, still smiling, as though being mistaken for your girlfriend were the most normal, amusing thing in the world. The waitress’s face turned pink as she mumbled an apology and scurried off.
You exhaled shakily, trying to force a laugh. “How could she think we’d… a couple?”
Rachel tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well… we are both pretty girls,” she said, winking at you. “I can see how she got confused.”
Your chest sank another inch, your thoughts scattering. Was she teasing? Complimenting? Both? You couldn’t tell. She leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, eyes fixed on yours like she was daring you to respond.
You opened your mouth to respond but couldn’t find anything sensible. Your thoughts were a mess of don’t make it weird and why does she have to be so gorgeous? Instead, all you managed was a nervous laugh. “Right… totally..”
Rachel laughed again, a small, quiet laugh just for you, and leaned over slightly, nudging your shoulder. “Relax,” she whispered, as if she could read your panicking mind. “It’s just a double date. Worst-case scenario, we’ll laugh at the guy together.”
You blinked at her, heart hammering. Laugh with her, you thought. The idea made your chest ache in the best and worst way. “Yeah… laugh together,” you muttered, trying to sound casual.
Then, Rachel’s gaze shifted toward the entrance, her eyes widening just a fraction. “Oh.”
Following her line of sight, you saw your date walking in. Your stomach twisted into knots, your palms slick, and suddenly all your confidence evaporated.
Rachel’s expression softened, almost mischievous now, and she leaned forward again, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back. I’ll make sure you don’t embarrass yourself too badly.”
You swallowed hard, trying to muster a normal smile. “Thanks… I think.”
She grinned, leaning back in her chair, eyes sparkling, and added teasingly, “And just so you know, if this guy turns out to be a total disaster, you’re stuck sitting with me anyway. So really, it’s a win-win.”
You could only laugh nervously, your heart thudding in a way that made the restaurant, the fancy table settings, and even the very idea of this date fade into the background. Because Rachel Rachel sitting there across from you, calm and beautiful, teasing you like she always did was suddenly the only thing you could focus on.
Your date’s name was Jacob though honestly, by the end of the night you weren’t entirely sure whether you should call him Jake or stick with Jacob. Either way, he gave off that unmistakable vibe of a guy who had peaked in high school and never really let go. He spent the entire dinner talking about himself, his “baby” as he dramatically called it his motorcycle. From what you could gather between his endless rants, it was big, black, shiny… basically everything he thought made him the center of the universe.
Every time you tried to add something to the conversation, he’d interrupt, segueing into some story about how he had revved it up that morning or how he polished it so it sparkled. You forced a polite smile, nodding along, trying to focus on the tiny reprieves like when you could steal a glance at Rachel across the table.
And there she was, radiant and completely relaxed, sitting opposite her own date. From the looks of it, he was a far cry from Jacob. She laughed freely at his jokes, her hand brushing lightly against his shoulder, the way she did when she was genuinely enchanted by someone. Your chest twisted painfully. Seeing her smile like that it wasn’t just annoying; it made your stomach drop, your heart ache, and, unreasonably, a little spike of rage twist through you. Just moments ago, she had been smiling at you that same way, and now… now it belonged to someone else.
“Hello? Lady? I’m talking to you!”
The sharpness in his voice jolted you out of your spiral. You blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “Excuse me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.
“Did you just refer to me as… lady?” he said, as if he had just uncovered some cosmic truth.
“Well… you haven’t really told me your name, so I just assumed I could call you that,” he shrugged, like it was completely reasonable.
You choked back a laugh or maybe it was a groan. “Well, maybe if you’d stop talking about your bike for two seconds and let me speak, you’d know my name,” you shot back, fighting to keep your composure.
Jacob leaned closer, placing his hand boldly on your thigh. “Ooo, you’re fiery. I like that,” he purred, as though you were supposed to melt under his charm.
That was the last straw. Your stomach twisted with disgust and frustration, and before you could think twice, you shoved his hand away and pushed yourself up from the table. “You know what? I’m done.”
Storming toward the door, you ignored his stunned protestations. Behind you, you could hear Rachel’s gasp, and you knew she was watching but there was no time to explain, no time to calm down. Your heart still thumped from seeing her laughing with someone else, from the sheer audacity of Jacob thinking that putting his hand on your thigh was charming.
You burst out into the night, the cool air hitting your face like a slap of clarity. Rachel’s voice called your name softly from inside, but you didn’t turn around.
This is exactly why you didn’t do dates. Men were… gross. All of them. They strutted around sweaty and shirtless, like showing off chest hair was somehow impressive. They prided themselves on being loud, obnoxious, and completely oblivious to the world around them. Your hands curled into fists as you stormed down the sidewalk, replaying Jacob’s every terrible story, every awkward, self-absorbed move.
“Y/N!”
Rachel’s voice cut through your thoughts, bright and concerned. You turned to see her jogging toward you, hair bouncing with every step, eyes wide and worried. “Hey! What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I… I can’t do this,” you admitted, letting the weight of the night spill out.
“Do what?” she asked, quick and soft, stepping closer, her eyes searching yours.
“Dates!” you exploded, gesturing wildly. “Men are… ugh, they’re rude, gross, and so full of themselves. And then he he called me ‘lady’! Like that’s supposed to be flattering! And don’t even get me started on him putting his hand on my thigh… I can’t!” You took a deep breath, trying to calm your chest, but it kept hammering anyway.
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up, but she didn’t laugh or judge. Instead, she leaned just a little closer, her shoulder brushing yours, and said softly, “Wow… that sounds terrible.”
“It was!” you groaned, pacing a bit. “And the worst part… I felt stuck. Like, there’s no way to be polite without… I don’t know, letting him keep talking, letting him think this is okay!”
She nodded, keeping her voice gentle. “I get it. I mean… you shouldn’t have to put up with that. I’d be losing it too.”
You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I just… I don’t know why I even bother. Half of them are exactly like that. The worst. And now I’m just… done.”
Rachel reached out, resting a warm hand lightly on your arm. “Hey… it’s okay. You don’t have to do this alone, you know. You’ve got me right here.”
Her touch sent a jolt through you, and you felt your chest tighten. You looked at her, and she gave you one of those small, easy smiles that somehow made the world feel calmer. “Thanks… I mean it. Really,” you whispered.
Rachel leaned closer, tilting her head slightly. “You know… it’s okay to feel frustrated. Especially after a guy like that. But maybe… you just need the right company. Someone who actually listens.”
You swallowed hard, your eyes catching hers, and for a moment, all the chaos of the evening the terrible date, the awkward smiles, the fake charm faded into the background. All that mattered was her, standing there with her hand on your arm, calm, steady, and entirely… you.
“You’re a good person,” she added softly. “I mean it. And I like being around you when stuff like this happens. Even if it’s just to vent.”
Your heart skipped. “Yeah… I like that too,” you said quietly, almost without thinking.
She smiled again, a little teasingly now, her fingers brushing just slightly against yours. “See?” she murmured. “Maybe dates aren’t so bad… when you’ve got a friend watching your back.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Yeah… a friend.” But your chest still throbbed in a way that made you realize maybe, just maybe, this night wasn’t about the worst date it was about her.
You and Rachel decided to walk back to the apartment, taking a slow, easy pace. The city lights painted the streets in warm yellows and oranges, and somehow the night air made everything feel softer, calmer, like the chaos of the restaurant was miles away.
As she walked beside you, you couldn’t help but notice the little things how her hair caught the streetlights and flowed behind her, how her eyes sparkled when she laughed at something only she found funny, how the tip of her nose crinkled in that way that made you want to smile too.
“I remember when I first met you,” she said suddenly, her voice soft, almost nostalgic.
“Really?” you asked, glancing at her, trying to catch the hint of a smile on her lips.
“Yeah,” she said, a laugh slipping out as she remembered. “I came over to hang out with Monica, and when she opened the door, there you were, just following behind her. You were adorable.”
You blinked, surprised, the memory flickering in your mind. You were probably eight, and Monica and Rachel were ten. “Adorable?” you repeated, feeling your cheeks heat up.
Rachel grinned, tilting her head. “You had this little Cinderella dress on and a tiara,” she said fondly. “You wanted me to dress up with you, but Monica didn’t want us hanging out with her… ‘baby cousin.’”
You swallowed, remembering the sting of that rejection, how disappointed you had felt when they wouldn’t include you. “I… I always looked up to you,” you admitted quietly. “You were always so pretty, and I just wanted to be… like you.”
Rachel stopped walking for a moment, turning to face you. “Really?” she said softly. “I thought the same about you. You were brave, funny… adorable, even back then. I wanted to be you too.”
Your chest warmed at her words. Somehow, in that quiet night air, with her standing just a few feet away, it felt like time had folded in on itself. It wasn’t just childhood memories anymore it was here, now, and electric in a way you couldn’t quite name.
Finally, you arrived at the apartment building. You reached for the door, holding it open for her like a reflex you didn’t even have to think about.
“Why, thank you, gentle man,” she joked, her voice lilting and teasing.
You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re welcome, milady,” you replied, letting your words play along with her humor.
She laughed, the sound like wind chimes in your ears, and you felt a little flutter in your chest as she stepped through the doorway. You walked in right behind her, shoulders almost brushing, and for a moment, the city outside, the awful date, everything from beforeit all melted away.
It was just you. And her. And a quiet, lingering sense that maybe, just maybe, some nights were meant for memories and closeness, even if they started in the most chaotic way.
“I had fun tonight… even though my date was the worst,” you admitted quietly as you both walked into the apartment, still carrying the remnants of the night’s tension.
Rachel glanced at you, her eyes soft, and smiled. “I had fun too… but I always have fun with you.”
Your chest tightened at the words. “You mean a lot to me, Rachel. So… thank you for tonight.”
She paused for a moment, then reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “No problem, sweetie,” she said gently, her voice carrying that warmth that always seemed to melt something inside you.
The combination of a few drinks from your date, the lingering adrenaline, and Rachel’s closeness made your heart race in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. You didn’t even realize it until you were suddenly leaning in, her eyes locking with yours, and your lips met hers.
The kiss startled you at first, and you pulled back a fraction, blinking at her as if trying to process what just happened. You scanned her face, searching for any reaction, any hint that maybe this was a mistake.
Instead, Rachel’s smile widened, and before you could think twice, she leaned forward and pulled you back into the kiss. It deepened immediately, turning into something heavier, more urgent. Her hands rested on your waist, fingers digging in slightly, and you instinctively tightened your grip, pulling her closer to you.
“Y/N… oh my gosh,” she whispered against your lips, her voice trembling slightly. The warmth of her breath, the softness of her lips, the way her body seemed to mold perfectly against yours it was intoxicating.
You’d kissed guys before, plenty of them, but none of them compared to Rachel. None of them had this… pull. Her lips were impossibly soft, her hair so easy to wrap your fingers in, her body fitting against yours like it had always been made to. Every touch, every motion, sent electricity shooting through your veins.
For a moment, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of you just the heat between your bodies and the quiet intensity of the kiss. But then… reality crashed back in.
“Hey! How was the date?”
Joey and Chandler’s voices rang from the hallway, and the sudden interruption sent both of you tumbling apart, gasping slightly for air.
Rachel laughed softly, straightening her hair and brushing it off her shoulders, giving you a casual smile like nothing had happened. “Good,” she said, almost too calmly, and then looped her arm through yours. “Come on, let’s get inside where we can actually… talk.”
As you followed her into the apartment, your heart was still pounding, your mind still buzzing from the kiss. And somehow, somehow, you knew this night wasn’t just about surviving a terrible date anymore. It was about Rachel. And the way she made everything else fade away.
• Requested by @hart-kinsella: Basically, the fan fic could be set at one of Jay's Intelligence colleagues' wedding and mc is one of the bride's closest friends; the bride wants to set her up with one hot cop (could also be one who works on patrol). It could either be that the 'chosen' guy is not Jay, but then mc and Jay naturally connect at the reception (maybe through her wanting to avoid the guy she's set up with) or Jay being the 'set up' guy from minute 1 and them just meeting there (with the usual embaressement that comes from friends insisting you should get together) and hitting it off immediately.
• Warnings: curse words/strong language, mention of alcohol consumption, lots of tension and physical contact, heavy making out, suggestive at the end.
• Word count: 8.8k
• A/N: PLEASE READ ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+ DUE TO SUGGESTIVE THEMES. The way I was so excited about this fic but I reread it and now I hate it why am I like this 😭 Let me know in the comments what do you think about this one, I love you all ❤️
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you said to Kim as you watched her sip the champagne from her glass, her huge ring shining against the lights of the room.
She was radiant, a smile plastered on her lips as wide as you had ever seen her in all the time you were friends. She was happy and your heart exploded with joy seeing her finally have her happy ending with Adam, especially after everything they’ve been through.
She looked beautiful in her white wedding dress and you couldn’t hide the tears of happiness you shed when you saw her walk down the aisle, a radiant smile on her lips. Adam looked at her with eyes so bright and full of love it made you wonder if there’d ever be someone who’d look at you like that, as if you were the only person who mattered, as if without you he couldn’t even breathe.
“Of course it’s a good idea! There’s nothing better than a blind date with a hot cop,” she finished sipping her champagne and set it down on the tray as a waiter walked by, thanking him immediately after. “You don’t trust me? Have I ever let you down on the men front?”
You didn’t respond, just looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Okay there might’ve been some unfortunate meetings but this won’t be the case. Please, please, please. I swear he’s a really cute and good guy!” She begged, putting on her cute puppy face that not even the devil could resist.
Little bitch.
You sighed and rolled your eyes and that was enough to make her clap her hands with joy. “Only because it’s your day.”
“You won’t regret it, I promise.”
The fact was you were already regretting it.
You had never been very good at blind dates, you hated not knowing who you were going to talk to and spend the evening with, you wanted to be able to decide first if you liked that person. What if you didn’t like him, or if he didn’t like you? It would’ve been very awkward.
Actually, it was. It was definitely awkward.
Kim had pointed out from afar a man who was talking to Adam—ignoring how the latter was watching Kim without ever taking his eyes off her even while talking to other people—and you took your time to observe him.
He was a tall man, from behind you noticed his ash blonde hair and a statuesque body that was embraced by a tuxedo. Without even saying anything, Kim grabbed your hand and dragged you towards them, ignoring your signs of protest.
You were so nervous and you hated it.
And it certainly didn’t help that Kim had made it her mission to pair you up with someone, since you were the only single girl in your group of friends.
But you were happy, you weren’t lonely, you were fine being alone and that was important, you didn’t need a man by your side to determine your happiness. You defined your own happiness.
“Hi babe,” Kim greeted her husband, who smiled before sliding his arm around her hips and kissing her. The two of them were so in love it was almost disgusting. “Sorry I was rude. Caleb, I wanted you to meet my friend.”
Your cheeks flushed red as you felt the man’s gaze on you. “Oh so you’re the famous Y/n right? I’ve heard so much about you.”
God please have mercy.
“I hope only good things,” you replied with a smile and offered him your hand, which he immediately shook. The way his eyes moved up and down your body made your skin crawl, and the smirk he had plastered across his lips as he looked at you didn’t suggest anything good.
You pulled your hand away, forcing a smile as he started to speak, and cursed both Kim and Adam when you saw them sneak away, both giggling as they left you alone with that guy.
As they say, a woman’s sixth sense is like a gift, it never fails.
And it didn’t even take half an hour of talking to Caleb to realize he was self-centered and you’d never see him again. He talked your ear off as if you’d known each other your whole life, focusing mostly on him, his work, the gym, his exploits. You nodded every now and then, just to give him the impression you were listening when in reality your mind had dissociated after the first ten minutes of conversation.
And by conversation you obviously meant monologue.
He didn’t ask you anything, and by nothing you really meant nothing, not how old you were, your job, your hobbies, in short the simple questions one asks when one is getting to know another.
You looked around bored, cursing Kim and yourself with every fiber of your being for letting yourself being dragged—for the million time— in a situation you didn’t want to be in.
You decided you’d never take a single piece of her advice about men ever again.
“Once, when I was still on patrol, there was a robbery a few blocks away. I was alone and when I got there the thief was already running. I’ll make this short but even the commander congratulated me…”
You were trying really hard to listen to him but every time you tried to pay attention, he was still talking about himself. It was hard to follow his conversation/monologue without being fascinated by some random spot in the room like the chandelier.
Caleb was a beautiful man, that was objective. He was tall, broad-shouldered, he had a sculpted physique, defined jaw, eyes as blue as the sky. But beauty wasn’t everything, not when his character was similar to a mollusk.
“Hey baby, here you are, I’ve been looking for you for a while,” a male voice reached your ears from behind and you almost had a heart attack when you felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. You snapped your head towards the man, finding yourself in front of one of the most beautiful man you’d ever see.
Forget Caleb, who the hell was this man?
You froze, having no idea what to say or do. Who the hell was he? What did he want?
“Sorry it took so long but the line for the bathroom was endless,” the stranger continued and you tried with every fiber of your being to remain impassive. Your body was tense as a violin string as you tried to subtly move away from his grasp.
Breathtaking or not, you didn’t know him.
“Baby? You have a boyfriend? Kim told me you were single,” Caleb exclaimed almost indignantly, alternating his gaze between you and the stranger. You thanked God he was a second-rate cop and had the detective skills of a hamster or he would’ve seen from a mile away this was the first time you’d seen that man around you.
“Oh, well this is pretty new not many people know about us, but we’ve been seeing each other for a while. Thanks for keeping my girlfriend company—”
“Caleb.”
“Carl. Thanks,” the stranger held out a hand and Caleb looked at it before looking back at you and walking away without a word, a furious expression on his face.
You didn’t even bother following him because damn, you were so relieved you got him out of the way.
The stranger’s gaze was on you even though he had removed his arm from around you.
“Well, I guess you need to work on your acting skills but it went well right?”
You widened your eyes, still confused about what the hell was going on. “Who are you?”
“Oh you’re welcome, I didn’t just save you from the most boring date of your life,” he smirked.
You continued to look at him, confused, embarrassed and unable to form a coherent sentence. Who the hell was this man? And why was he so breathtakingly handsome? And why did he just pretend to be your boyfriend?
He held out a hand towards you, a smirk plastered across his lips, acting like he hadn’t just pretended to be in a relationship with a stranger. “I’m Jay Halstead. You must be Y/n right? It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Jay? Why does this sound familiar?
You widened your eyes, not even trying to hide your expression of fear and shock. “How do you know my name?” You asked, taking a step back, ready to run away.
His gaze softened, understanding he must’ve really looked like a stalker. “Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you, I work with Kim in Intelligence. She mentioned you a couple of times and I assumed it was you since you’re the only one of her friends I’ve never met.”
Then you realized why his name was familiar to you. Kim—when talking about her job—had sometimes mentioned a ‘Jay’ and it was nice to finally be able to associate the face with that name, especially if the face was that one.
God he’s so hot.
“Listen,” he continued, raising his hands in surrender, a drink in the left one, “I’m not a stalker I swear—I came off in the wrong way. I just saw you from afar while you were talking to Carl, and you seemed to be in trouble so I thought I’d help. Let’s start over, shall we?”
You tried not to chuckle at the way he got Caleb’s name wrong and stared at him for a moment. He maintained eye contact, his irises locked on yours with no sign of changing direction. You had only just noticed how green his eyes were and you didn’t know why, but something inside you made you no longer want to run away.
You nodded and he smiled triumphantly and, God, he had one of the most beautiful smiles you had ever seen. He held out a hand to you again. “I’m Jay, nice to meet you.”
You tried to suppress a smile of your own and you clasped his hand. “It’s Y/n, the pleasure is mine.”
That handshake sent a spark up your entire arm, not in the cliché kind of way, but in the way that made you feel your body suddenly enveloped in a wave of heat.
He didn’t let go of your hand right away, but you didn’t care. You liked it, you liked the way his grip was strong, firm, confident, but his touch soft at the same time. You liked how his palm felt rough against yours but his skin was warm, a stark contrast to yours.
His thumb skimmed against the back of your hand before he pulled it away, bringing the glass to his lips with his other hand and taking a sip of his drink. All without him ever breaking eye contact with you.
This single innocent gesture left you breathless.
Did I mention he’s so damn hot and sexy?
He looked at you with curiosity, as if he had already decided that from now on his attention would be solely on you.
“This is the part where I have to thank you for saving me from an embarrassing date, isn’t it?”
His eyes flickered for a second on your lips as you spoke and he subtly took a deep breath, taking another sip of his drink. You pretended it didn’t affect you in the slightest even though your stomach had just flipped.
“You not filing a complaint against me is a great thank you,” Jay replied making you laugh, “and besides, I should be the one thanking Kim.”
You tilted your head slightly to the side, looking at him with a questioning expression. “Kim? Why?”
“For setting you up with the wrong guy, might’ve missed my shot otherwise.”
You burst out laughing again and rolled your eyes. “C’mon Jay, is that the best you can do?”
“Ouch,” he put his hand to his chest as if he was in pain. “That really hurt, I may be rusty but I’m not that bad c’mon.”
You smirked. “You’ll survive officer.”
“Nuh, uh. It’s detective, please.”
“My bad, I apologize Detective,” it was your turn to raise your hands in surrender. “But seriously, thank you for saving me from whatever that was.”
He smiled softly at you. “It was a pleasure. You were a couple seconds away from pulling the fire alarm to escape, I couldn’t just stay there and do nothing.”
“Oh, so you make a habit of being a knight and saving damsels in distress?”
“Nah, only the ones that are worth saving,” he replied, and you laughed, feeling that anxious and nervous feeling fade away as you continued to converse—for real this time—with Jay.
“I could’ve gotten away with it, you know,” you crossed your arms and Jay’s eyes flickered, for a millisecond, to your chest, specifically the neckline of your dress.
“Please,” he raised an eyebrow, “if he had kept talking any longer you would’ve ripped your hair out.”
“Stop you’re so dramatic, that’s not true at all,” you rolled your eyes—even though it was the truest thing you had ever heard—making him chuckle. “What’s your poison?” You nodded to his drink as he brought it to his lips and took a sip.
A teasing smile caressed his lips and then it was your turn flicking your gaze to his mouth. You had tried to resist but damn it was so hard. “Bourbon, neat. Effective right?”
You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his playful energy. “Is efficient a new fancy way of saying banal and predictable?”
He let out a soft laugh, the sound so low and warm it made your insides squirm. “Probably,” he countered, “but it’s still a classic.” He slightly tilted his head to the side as his green eyes roamed along your body, lingering for a moment on your dress before meeting your gaze again. You felt every inch of your skin catch fire under his eyes and you couldn’t help but compare Jay’s gaze to Caleb’s, which only made your skin crawl instead. “But it’s not for you. I think you’re more of a champagne kind of woman.”
At that same moment, by pure coincidence, a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses passed not far from you. Jay stopped him and took it, before offering it to you. You blushed, before taking it, your fingers brushing against him. “Thank you.”
You lifted your glass towards him, a quiet smile playing on your lips. “To Kim and Adam,” you said.
“To Kim and Adam,” he repeated voice low and smooth. He raised his glass to meet you, the soft clink echoing between you. For a moment, neither of you spoke—his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. It was just a toast, simple and harmless, but the way he was looking at you? Nothing about it felt simple.
“So, you’re a champagne type of woman,” he smirked.
“Guilty,” you shrugged your shoulders. “But what can I say? I like little sparkle in my life.”
You took another sip of champagne and that time it was your gaze that roamed along his body, perfectly wrapped in the tux he was wearing—over the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his dress shirt stretched just right across his chest.
Man, he looked so good it had to be illegal.
When your eyes returned to his you noticed the way he clenched his jaw and the slightest twitch of his lips as he looked at you, as if he knew exactly what you were doing but didn’t mind a bit.
His fingers flexed around his glass and a sexy smirk appeared on his lips, his eyes shining like the moon in the night. He slightly tilted his head to the side, his index finger brushing along the rim of his glass in a slow, absent-minded motion—like he was thinking about something he probably shouldn’t say out loud. “A little spark huh? And here I thought I was bringing the spark.”
You giggled. Yep, actually giggled. “Oh yeah? So that’s what you’re doing?”
“If you’re asking me then I’m not doing a good job,” he retorted, with a fake sad expression acting like he just wiped a tear, “you’re hurting me so much tonight.”
“Oh, you poor thing, I’d hate to bruise that big ego of yours.” You placed a hand on his bicep and caressed it in mock comfort and, fuck, you had to use every fiber of your body to not squeeze and feel up his muscles.
He tensed under your touch, his breath hitching in his throat feeling of your hand on him.
His lips curved into a slow, lazy smile—the kind that sent a shiver down your spine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he drew, his voice dropping just a notch lower. “I can take a hit. Besides…” His gaze swept over you again, slower this time—unapologetic. “Something tells me it’s worth it.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the smile threatening to break free, but to no avail. He was too good at this—too smooth, too charming, but damn if it wasn’t working.
“Careful Detective Halstead someone might think you’re flirting with me,” you smirked, taking another sip of your champagne.
He shortened the distance between you, subtly and not too noticeably, but you felt his presence, his scent enveloping you fully, more than it had done so far. “Luckily I don’t care about anyone but the person I’m talking to right now,” he replied, “and they’d be right because that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
The air between you grew heavier—not uncomfortable but charged with something unspoken. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the noise of the wedding reception fading into a distant hum. You should’ve looked away, said something to break the tension, but you didn’t want to.
You’ve never felt anything like this, being so damn attracted to a man you were dying to kiss him, to touch him.
“So confident,” you murmured. You tried to keep your eyes on his, but you couldn’t, not when his mouth was not too far from yours. “And here I thought you were just being nice.”
He chuckled, his voice low and deep. “Trust me sweetheart, there’s nothing nice about what I’m thinking right now.”
You took another sip, hoping to steady the warmth curling low in your stomach. Why were your legs suddenly turning to jelly?
“So…” you started, arching a brow in an attempt to shift the focus back on him, “do you flirt like this with every girl you save, or am I just special?”
Jay’s smile widened and he took a slow sip of his bourbon before answering. “You tell me,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “Do you feel special?”
Damn him.
You laughed softly, shaking your head and taking a deep breath at the same time. “You’re trouble, Halstead.”
He didn’t deny it. “And yet, you’re still talking to me,” he pointed out, eyes gleaming with mischief. “What does that say about you?”
“That I make questionable decisions?”
Jay let out another quiet laugh, but this one felt different—lower, warmer. “Or maybe,” he murmured, leaning in a bit towards you, “you’re exactly where you want to be.”
And the truth? You weren’t sure you could argue with that because he was right, you were where you wanted to be.
You finished the rest of your glass in a single sip because there were two possibilities, this or jump on him and you couldn’t already do that considering you had just met him.
He was throwing you off so much it left you speechless and it wasn’t like you. You didn’t know if you loved it or hated it.
He chuckled as he continued to look at you, as if he had just read your mind.
Your guardian angel, Kim—who you’d thank for the rest of your life from that moment on—appeared at that exact moment, interrupting the game of glances between you and Jay that was becoming too intense for your own good.
“Jay! Y/n? Where’s Caleb?” She asked, visibly excited and smiling.
“I have no idea, courtesy of my fake boyfriend here,” you nodded at Jay who chuckled sexily.
How could laughter be so sexy?
“We need to talk about your questionable taste in men Kim, what kind of rat did you want her to be paired with?” He joked one hand shoved into his pants pocket while the other held his almost empty glass.
“Hey, don’t talk to my wife like that, I’d say she made a good choice in men,” Adam suddenly intervened, wrapping his arm around Kim’s hips and pressing a kiss to her temple. The sight warmed your heart, making you smile like an idiot.
“So, you’ve already introduced yourselves,” Kim continued, alternating her gaze between you and Jay but with a sinister smirk on her lips.
You and Jay exchanged a quick knowing look. “Yeah, he saved me from the mess that was Caleb. And by the way, I’m never listening to you ever again Kim, don’t do that to me again.”
“You two look so good together,” Kim blurted out and giggled, visibly tipsy. “Don’t you think they look hot together honey?”
“Okay that’s enough, let’s get back to dancing,” Adam chimed in again, struggling to contain his laughter, before dragging his wife away.
Before she left though Kim came back to you and whispered, “I was watching you two from afar there’s so much sexual tension between you two that even I got turned on.”
Your cheeks turned on fire but before you could respond Adam finally dragged her away, leaving you alone with Jay again.
He let out a light laugh, and you turned your head towards him. “Do I want to ask you what she said?”
You shook your head, taking another sip of champagne as you still heard her words echoing in your head. “Nope.”
He looked at you for a moment, his eyebrow raised. “Kim really does have questionable matching skills, I take it this isn’t the first time with Carl,” he said, changing the subject.
“You have no idea,” you rolled your eyes, “my brain can’t comprehend how she managed to match me with these men and not one of them was normal.”
“Well, have you thought that maybe they weren’t the problem?”
You gasped in fake shock and elbowed him in the side, and he pretended to be in excruciating pain, making you laugh at the show he was putting on. “I could arrest you for assault on a police officer you know that right? You’d look really pretty in a prison uniform.”
“You think I’ll look cute in handcuffs too?”
What the fuck?! Where the hell did that come from?
Jay, who was taking his last sip of bourbon, chocked on it and started coughing after the liquor went down the wrong way and, although you were embarrassed by the stupidity of that statement, the scene was pretty hilarious.
“You good? Should I call a doctor? What happened?” You teased him, trying to hold back your laughter but failing miserably.
“You know damn well what happened,” he retorted with mock annoyance even as the smile on his lips belatedly came. “And pretty wouldn’t even come close to how good you’d look in handcuffs if you really wanted an answer, but that’s something we’ll talk about later.”
You blushed, once again, from head to toe and hated yourself for this reaction and how easily he could see it. “Later? Who says there’s gonna be a ‘later’?”
He smirked down at you, and it was so sexy it made your head spin. “Trust me there will be.”
“You’re so cocky detective.”
Jay leaned in just a fraction, enough that the faint scent of his cologne wrapped around you—something warm and woodsy, with a hint of spice. “Only when I’m sure about something,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less intense.
His words hung in the air, thick and heavy, and you felt heat creep up the back of your neck. You could've played it cool, thrown back a quip, but the way he was looking at you made your pulse skip in a way that was impossible to ignore.
His gaze dropped to your lips again—just for a second—but it was enough to send a fresh wave of heat curling through your body.
“C’mon,” he said suddenly, holding out a hand towards you. “You owe me a dance.”
You lifted a brow. “Do I?”
Jay shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I did save you from Carl. Seems only fair.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile that broke free as you slipped your hand into his. “Alright, Detective,” you quipped, “but only because you asked so nicely.”
His fingers curled around yours—firm, warm, just the right amount of possessive. And as he led you toward the dance floor, you realized something else: you didn’t want to let go.
The music shifted as you reached the edge of the dance floor—something slower, smoother, the kind of song that practically begged for two people to be just a little too close.
Exactly what you wanted.
Jay didn’t hesitate. His hand slid easily to your waist, fingers splayed warm and wide on the small of your back as he pulled you against him, close enough to send all your senses into a tizzy.
It had been hard until now, but this? Being so close to him that you could even count his eyelashes? It was devastating.
You couldn’t even recognize yourself, you’d never found yourself craving a man’s touch so badly, like you needed it to breathe, and in that moment you realized you’d only met the wrong people because, fuck, you were missing out.
“You good with this?” he murmured in your ear, his voice just for you. Low. Intimate. And there was something in the way he asked—like he cared, but also like he already knew your answer.
You nodded, hoping he didn’t feel the way your heart was beating against his chest. Your bodies began to sway in time to the slow music, like you’d done it a million times, like he wasn’t a stranger to you and you a stranger to him.
You didn’t know anything about the man, and he didn’t know anything about you, but you were so drawn to each other it almost drove you crazy.
As you engaged in small talk, you tried not to focus on how close he was—on how his thumb brushed against your back every time he shifted—but it was impossible. Especially when every slight movement seemed to make the space between you shrink.
He asked about you, what do you do for a job or in your free time, how old were you, how long have you known Kim, you asked about him and his life, and it was crazy how, even though you had known each other for literally a short time, you both felt comfortable talking to each other, joking and laughing when you both made terrible jokes.
“You’re really giving me a hard time,” he said, his fingers flexing on your hip.
You turned your head to meet his gaze, realizing how he was already looking at you. There wasn’t any trace of humor left, his eyes were staring at you, but they weren’t focused on yours exactly, they traveled along your face as if he was analyzing you, memorizing every feature and detail.
“Why?” You asked and his eyes flickered on your lips. He continued to caress your hip unconsciously, your bodies pressed against each other and with every slight movement you could feel the heat between you intensifying.
“Because I’m trying so hard to behave and be a gentleman but it’s getting really hard,” he answered softly, his voice raspy, his breath an inch from your lips. “And I hate not being in control.”
You stopped breathing for a second and a shiver ran down your spine. It would’ve been so easy to break that distance, it would’ve only taken a couple of inches and his mouth would’ve been on yours to finally satisfy that visceral attraction that was pulling you towards each other.
And you most likely would’ve let him do it if it hadn’t been for Kim who, with her usual perfect timing, had grabbed your arm, totally drunk and with a beaming smile.
“C’mon Y/n, we have to dance together!” she exclaimed loudly, jumping up and down with an enthusiasm you had never seen in her as she continued to pull on your arm without even leaving you room to protest.
Jay’s arm was still around your hip, though his grip wasn’t as firm as it had been before, and you hated to admit it, but you already missed that touch.
It seemed mutual because you felt him tense for a moment, his fingers reluctant to release their grip on you, as if he also hated the idea of letting you go. But eventually he did, slowly, the heat of his hand still burning through your dress and against your skin even after you’d pulled away.
“Don’t go too far,” he whispered in your ear, quiet enough to make it seem like a secret between the two of you.
And as Kim dragged you through the crowd to the beat of a more upbeat song, you turned to him and gave him one last look. Jay was still there, standing at the edge of the dance floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets, that intense gaze still fixed on you. He winked at you before you disappeared into the crowd and you almost tripped on your own feet.
Oh my fucking god.
Jay leaned against a wall, his hands still in his pockets, one foot placed in front of the other. In other moments he wouldn’t have waited to take another drink, but that night he wanted to be as sober as possible.
His gaze was fixed on the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, but not on everyone, his eyes scanned the people only for one person in particular. He cursed those disco strobe lights because, in those dim lights, it was not easy to find you.
But when he finally did, his attention was focused only and solely on you, not on the music, not on the world around him.
You were laughing now, spinning with Kim on the dance floor, some strands of your hair coming out of your hairstyle as you moved to the music. He should’ve backed away. Hell, he’d spent years perfecting that skill, knowing when to pull back, where to avoid getting too close, perceive when there was danger. But with you? It wasn’t that easy.
It hadn’t been from the second he laid eyes on you, when he saw you enter the wedding venue with some of your friends.
He didn’t know what kind of witchcraft you had performed on him but he seemed to not be able to stop looking at you. His gaze tracked the curve of your smile and the movement of your lips as you sang along the song, the flush on your skin from the warmth of the room, and the way your dress hugged your figure just enough to make his thoughts stray somewhere they shouldn’t.
He told himself to get it together—to stop looking at you like a creepy stalker—but it was a losing battle, he seemed hypnotized.
And when you tipped your head back, laughing at something Kim said, Jay swore under his breath.
He was in trouble.
Because the truth was, it wasn’t just the way you looked—although you were one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen—it was the way you felt. Warm and soft against him when you danced, your hand fitting so easily in his. The way you leaned into his touch, like part of you wanted him closer, even when you were pretending otherwise.
It almost scared him how he found himself talking, laughing and joking so easily with a stranger he had just met.
But he wanted more of that. More of you.
And that realization hit him harder than it should’ve.
Jay exhaled slowly, willing the tension in his chest to ease. It didn’t work. Not when you turned your head as you kept dancing, scanning the room as if you were searching for something, or someone.
And when your eyes locked, his heart gave a sharp kick, one he didn’t truly expect. And the way you held his gaze? It did something to him.
Your lips curled into the faintest smile—small, almost shy—and damn if it didn’t make something twist low in his stomach. He should’ve been the one in control here, but with just one look, you had him pinned. And the worst part was that he didn’t mind.
Not even a little.
Your attention was caught again by one of your friends who pulled you towards her as you belted out the song in the background, breaking eye contact.
He tried to look away from you sometimes, focusing his attention on something else but it was as if his eyes were attracted to a magnet, you.
And maybe that was the problem.
He wasn’t supposed to feel this, wasn’t supposed to want someone he’d just met with this kind of heat and desire curling through his veins. But here he was, eyes on you, mind already running a dangerous path of wondering how you’d taste if he let himself get too close.
He was about to move—to do something, anything—but then Kim grabbed your hand again, spinning you around in a dizzy circle. Your laughter rang out, bright and carefree, while Jay just stood there against that wall.
He didn’t belong in this moment. Not really. A guy like him—weighted down by too much baggage, too many mistakes, a very dangerous job—had no business wanting you like this.
But God help him, he did.
When the song shifted to something louder and faster, you finally pulled back from Kim, breathless and glowing in a way that had no right to make his pulse pick up. Kim was already dragging Adam away, leaving you alone again, and for half a second, Jay thought this was his shot.
But then, just as quickly, you disappeared into the crowd.
And that shouldn’t have bothered him, but it did. More than it had any right to.
Jay exhaled, dragging a hand through his face. He told himself to play it cool, to just let it go, but the thing was, he didn’t want to let it go. Let you go.
And if he had anything to say about it, this night wasn’t ending until he found you again.
Jay pushed himself off the wall, his pulse thudding a little harder than he wanted to admit.
He wasn’t the type to chase after someone, not like this. But that night, he couldn’t seem to help himself. His eyes scanned the room, but the crowd was thicker now, people swaying to the music, bodies pressed too close.
You weren’t on the dance floor anymore. He knew that much. And the longer it took to find you, the harder it became to shake the restless feeling gnawing at the edges of his control.
Get a grip, Halstead.
He could’ve leave you alone. Should’ve, probably. But as he moved through the party he knew nothing would sit right until he saw you again.
And then, just when he started to think he’d lost you for good, he caught a sight of you through the open door leading to the balcony.
Jay hesitated, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, all he knew was that the moment he saw you again, his mind quieted. And maybe that was reason enough.
Without giving himself time to second-guess, he stepped outside.
You were leaning against the railing, your back to him, the cool night air brushing against your bare shoulders. He let himself take in the sight of you for just a second longer—how the city lights reflected off your skin, how you tilted your head back like you were finally catching your breath.
You were breathtaking. So fucking beautiful it hurt.
“Wasn’t sure if I’d get another chance to steal you away.”
You turned your head at the sound of his voice, and there it was again, that little smile. “Something tells me you love a good challenge Detective.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, nodding. “I feel like the reward will be worthy.”
He moved closer to you as he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders, leaving his hands there for a while as he let your scent engulf him. You then turned fully to face him and Jay didn’t miss the way your eyes roamed along his body, focusing for a moment on his chest, his arms, before looking back into his eyes.
“Oh so you really like me,” you joked, eyes still on him, slightly tilting your head but he couldn’t ignore the blush on your cheeks.
“Thought I made that pretty clear by now.”
And just like that, the tension stretched tight again, thicker this time but with the difference that nothing and no one would interrupt this time.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The distant thump of music spilled through the open door, but out here? It felt like the rest of the world had faded away.
He closed the distance between you, never taking his eyes off yours. He tried to pull away, but it was as if he physically couldn’t, as if he needed it.
“And here I thought you’d even left the party.”
“You’re hurting me so much tonight, I’m not that bad at hitting on you c’mon.”
You giggled and bit your bottom lip. He found himself suppressing a groan because, damn, he had never wanted anything so badly as he wanted to bite your lip.
“Well,” you batted your lashes, “you’re definitely making it hard for me to leave now,” your eyes flicked to his lips before returning to his and he told himself to calm down but, God help him, if you did that again he’d lose every ounce of control he had left.
“I guess you found a good reason to stay then,” his tongue flicked across his bottom lip and he couldn’t miss the way your gaze landed on his lips, again. The light was dim, not very bright, but he could see so clearly how dilated your pupils were and it drove him crazy, knowing you felt the same.
“Is that so?” You murmured. He leaned closer to you and placed his hands on the railing at either side of you, trapping you in his arms but not touching you. Your breathing quickened at the closeness, your lips parted slightly as if you needed air, and that was enough to make his pulse quicken and the heat in his blood spike.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” he taunted
You let out a quiet laugh, warm and soft, and something about the sound made his fingers itch to touch you again, so much so that he tightened his fingers around the cold metal of the railing.
You took his tie—which had been dangling between you—into your hands, and Jay seriously thought he was going to collapse at your feet at any moment. You hadn’t done anything too dramatic, but he felt like he was going to have an aneurysm. Just seeing your fingers caress the fabric of your tie, how you played with it while you continued to look at him, drove him crazy.
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” you repeated under your breath the words he had said a few hours earlier. His hands were gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles were completely white from trying to vent the frustration he felt.
His fingers inched closer and closer to you, until the sides of his thumbs were brushing against your dress. God, how much he wanted to grab you, hold you and touch you, every inch of your body until the ground disappeared beneath you.
You didn’t pull away, if anything, you shifted closer, your warmth seeping into his skin.
“What are you thinking about?” You asked when he remained silent, staring at you while you continued to play with his tie.
“I think,” he murmured, his thumb sweeping slow circles against your pelvis’ side, “you’re gonna be a problem for me.”
The tension cracked, sharp and electric, and neither of you moved, like you were both waiting to see who’d break first.
“Maybe I want to be,” you admitted quietly.
That was all he needed.
Jay didn’t overthink it, he just moved, closing the last bit of space between you. His hand slid to your waist and made you stand upright, as he tilted his head down, giving you plenty of time to pull back.
But you didn’t.
You stayed right there, your breath warm against his skin as your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.
“You’re making this impossible,” he said, his voice rougher now, low enough that only you could hear. His fingers flexed against your waist, dragging you closer without meaning to. Or maybe he did. He wasn’t sure anymore. “I’m trying so hard to be good, but—fuck.”
“But what?” you interrupted, your tone softer, breathier than before. His eyes snapped to yours, and the challenge in your gaze nearly broke him. “What happens if you stop trying?”
His breath hitched. Jesus Christ.
Jay let out a low, bitter laugh, because you weren’t making this any easier. And the worst part? You knew it. You knew exactly what you were doing to him.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” he asked, as his fingers trailed up, just slightly, brushing the curve of your ribs. It wasn’t a question. Not really.
Your lips parted, and for a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d call his bluff. But instead, you tilted your head, eyes fixed on his mouth like you were imagining the same damn thing he was.
“I really, really do,” you murmured. And that was it. That was the crack in the dam.
His other hand came up before he could stop himself, fingers grazing along your jaw, tilting your face toward his as his nose brushed against yours. “You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he admitted, no more games, no more teasing. Just raw, unfiltered truth. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t even know you but you’re driving me crazy. You have to stop me.”
You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Instead, your lips curled into the faintest smile, bold, knowing, and it only fueled the fire already burning through his veins.
“The thing is, I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered, leaning in just enough for your breath to brush against his lips, “I don’t want you to be good or patient.”
The words punched through his last shred of restraint like they were designed to. And for a beat, all he could do was look at you—at the flush on your skin, the way your chest rose and fell a little too fast.
“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he warned, though it came out rougher than he intended, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, slower than necessary.
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you shot back, quiet but sure—so sure—and, fuck, he was done for.
He wanted to win that little silent race, to see you snap but the truth was that he had lost from the start, he had no chance of winning.
So, when he finally kissed you, it wasn’t an attempt.
It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the way you tasted, in case it was the last time. The faintest hint of champagne lingered on your lips, but beneath it was something that made his heart slam harder against his ribs.
You kissed him back like you wanted this just as much as he did, your hands sliding up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deeper, making his jacket fall on the floor.
And Jay? He let himself fall into it. Into you.
Jay’s lips moved against yours, slow and thorough, but nothing about the way he touched you felt careful. His hands slid along your waist, fingers pressing into the curve of your hip, squeezing you like he was memorizing the shape of you. Every brush of his skin against yours sent sparks racing through your body, and the heat pooling low in your stomach only grew stronger with each passing second.
His palms flattened against your lower back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between your bodies, until you could feel how much he really wanted you. He was warm, solid—everywhere—and the way he held you made your breath hitch.
You tugged lightly on the back of his neck. The muscles beneath your fingers were tense, and a shudder ran through him as your nails scraped gently against his skin. His breath hitched in response, and something about knowing you could unravel him like this made the heat in your blood burn hotter.
“You’re killing me,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice rough and frayed at the edges. His lips brushed over yours again, lingering like he was savoring the taste of you. But his hands, God, his hands, were anything but patient.
His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path up your spine, skimming beneath the hem of your dress as he went. The warmth of his touch against your bare skin felt a sharp, delicious shiver curling through you, and when his hand settled at the small of your back again, his grip tightened, so possessive like he wanted to keep you exactly where you were.
And you wanted to stay there.
You wanted more.
Your body arched instinctively into his, and Jay swore softly under his breath, his hold on you turning rougher, like he was losing the battle to keep himself in check. His fingers flexed at your hip, sliding lower, almost touching your ass before skimming back up, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch you most.
And when your hand drifted from his neck to the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric, you felt the sharp rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm. His heart was racing and the realization felt another jolt of heat spiraling through you.
“Jay,” you breathed against his mouth, in such an intense and desperate tone, as if you needed him and his distance hurt you, and his response was immediate. His lips crashed back onto yours with a hunger that stole your breath, and the slow, careful rhythm shattered beneath the weight of all that tension.
He kissed you harder now, deeper. His tongue swept along your lower lip, and when you opened up for him, he groaned softly, a low, desperate sound that made your knees go weak.
His hand slid higher, dragging up your side, fingers brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ribs. He didn’t stop there. He traced the outline of your body desperately, knuckles grazing the side of your breast before his palm flattened against your ribcage, holding you firmly against him.
“Is this okay?” He whispered against your lips.
“Yes, god, yes please Jay,” you whispered back and damn, if your breathy voice hadn’t completely destroyed him. He loved seeing you as desperate for him as he was for you.
He kissed you again. “You’re driving me insane,” he murmured against your lips, and there was no teasing left in his voice. Just raw need. “I can’t—If you want me to stop say it because I fucking can’t.”
The response to those words of his was the way you grabbed his face and crashed your lips onto his again. “I don't want you to stop.”
Whatever fragile restraint he’d been clinging to snapped completely.
Jay’s hands tightened on your waist as he backed you against the wall, pressing you there like he needed to feel every inch of you against him.
His lips left yours just long enough to trail down your jaw, his breath warm as it ghosted over your skin. He didn’t stop when he reached your neck. Instead, he tilted your head gently to the side, giving himself more access as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat and making you sigh in pleasure.
And when his teeth graced that sensitive spot just below your ear, you couldn’t hold back the soft sound that escaped your lips.
Jay froze at the sound—just for a second to control himself before he’d come in his pants. He groaned low in his throat, his mouth returning to yours in a kiss that was rougher now, messier, hungrier. Like hearing you fall apart pushed him over the edge.
One arm was around your waist as he held you so tightly it was almost impossible to move, while the other hand slid down, fingers spreading wide across your thigh. His thumb brushed slow circles against the sensitive skin there, inching higher with every pass. “Tell me to stop, and I will, okay?” he repeated.
But the way he touched you, the way his mouth lingered on yours, made it painfully clear he didn’t want to stop.
And neither did you.
“If you stop now, I might actually lose my mind.”
He chuckled before kissing you again as you pulled him closer, tilting your head to deepen the kiss even further. Your hands cupped his face, his beard tickling your palms as he took your breath away completely.
He slid his hand up your thigh again, taking advantage of the slit of your dress to touch your skin, to squeeze it, to feel it, to press his fingers so deeply into it until they left their mark. He grabbed your leg and wrapped it around his waist, making his pelvis grind with yours and making you both moan into the kiss.
His lips trailed back down to your neck, licking and sucking every inch of skin he had access to. “I want you so fucking bad.” His breath was hot against your skin, and when he spoke again, his voice was nothing but a rough, desperate whisper.
“Oh my fucking god Jay,” you gasped, trying to keep your voice low as his hand slid on your ass, squeezing it until you almost moaned again. “I want you so much too… Please…”
His lips found yours again, a desperate, greedy kiss that only deepened the ache between you two. There was no hesitation, no slowing down. Every touch, every movement, felt like a need that couldn’t be contained. You could feel the heat rising between you, consuming both of you in a way that made everything else fade.
His hard dick pressed into you, and the pressure made your breath hitch, another moan escaping as you started to grind into him again. His mouth left yours only long enough to whisper your name, low, rough, like a command.
“God, I need to feel you,” he muttered against your skin, like he was about to break. His teeth grazed your ear before his lips closed around the sensitive spot just below it, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped again. It only turned him on even more, his hands moving and exploring every inch of you, as though he couldn’t get enough.
Your fingers dug into his shoulders, his back, his chest, pulling him even closer, matching the urgency of his movements. You wanted to rip that shirt off of him, you wanted to feel his skin under your fingers, touch him everywhere.
His lips trailed down to the curve of your shoulder, sucking gently as the strap of your dress slid down. The sensation made you pulse race beyond imagination, and you found yourself tugging at his shirt, eager to feel more of him.
“Jay, fuck,” you breathed again, voice trembling, and you pulled his face back to yours, crashing your lips together with the kind of hunger that mirrored his own. The kiss was messy, full of heat and need, and you lost yourself in it. You bit his lower lip, sucking it and making him groan. And, fucking hell, the sound was so sexy you felt it directly in your lower regions.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck Y/n,” he muttered desperately. His fingers brushing over the lace of your underwear before slipping inside, feeling how wet you were. The contact was electric, and the sharp moan you let out almost made him come in his pants. “Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips.
“Yes, shit… Oh… Oh god Jay you feel so good please don’t stop,” you moaned, your body moving on instinct, a desperate need for more, and the words only seemed to unravel him further.
There was no turning back now, and for once in your life, it felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
Description: The intelligence team gets called to a hostage situation at Chicago Medical Center
Pairings: Jay x Reader, Will Halstead x Platonic!Reader
Warnings: mentions of blood, someone is shot, someone is taken hostage, paranoia/mental disorder, someone is attacked?, super emotional
The day started out as a normal day, Jay woke up to an empty bed and his alarm going off. He let out an annoyed groan, reaching over to turn the alarm off.
He rubs his eyes for a minute before lazily swinging his legs off the side of the bed and heading for the kitchen.
He found Y/n leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee out of the hot mug. Her bag sat on the counter beside her, packed with her lunch and snacks for her shift today.
"Morning, sunshine" Jay said, sleep evident in his voice still as he approaches her.
Y/n smiles, feeling the same butterflies she felt everyday since they met years ago.
"Good morning, handsome" Y/n says softly as she places her mug down, wrapping her arms around Jay's waist and resting her head on his chest.
Jay lets out a content sigh, rubbing his girlfriend's back and pressing a kiss to her hair.
“Can we just stay here all day? Lets just call out sick” Jay whines and Y/n laughs into his chest.
“Voight will kill you and Maggie will kill me” she reasons as she wiggles out of Jay’s hold, pressing a kiss to his cheek and handing him a mug of coffee “now, go get dressed before you’re late”.
Jay rolls his eyes but knows she’s right “Okay” he says like a defeated child before dragging himself back to the bedroom, a little more pep in his step from the caffeine.
Jay comes back out to the kitchen ten minutes later, dressed in a plain grey shirt and blue jeans, his gun and badge on his hip.
Y/n stares at him for a second, not realizing she’s holding her breath.
“What? What’s wrong?” Jay asks, concerned, not understanding why she’s staring at him.
Y/n clears her throat, pushing herself off the counter “Jay Halstead, the man that you are” Y/n says with a giggle, fanning herself with her hand “I don’t know how you have this effect on me after all these years” she says quietly.
Jay smirks “Oh baby, you have no idea” he says, his eyes going up and down her body.
“Alright, come on hot stuff—you are trouble” Y/n says jokingly, handing him his travel mug with coffee and grabbing her lunch bag.
“Hey, you started it” Jay defends, as he follows her out the door, making sure to lock it.
“Uh huh” Y/n hums.
——
“Morning, Maggie” Y/n greets the charge nurse as she enters the ED.
“Good morning, have a good weekend?” Maggie asks curiously as Y/n puts her things away.
“Yeah, we stayed in mostly, we went to the farmers market Sunday. How was your weekend? Any hot dates?” Y/n wiggles her eyebrows at her friend.
Maggie laughs, shaking her head “Nope just me, myself and I” she jokes, making Y/n chuckle.
Before she can say anything else, a certain red head comes through the ED doors, making a b-line to the doctors lounge.
Y/n frowns, after all these years she knows when Will is just being quiet and when somethings wrong.
“I’m going to go check on Will” Y/n informs Maggie and she gives her a nod.
Y/n pushes open the door to the doctors lounge, finding Will putting things away in his locker.
“Good morning, William” Y/n says with a grin, she knows how much he hates when she calls him by his full name.
Will glares at her, shutting his locker door.
“Alright, come on, tell me what’s up” Y/n says, crossing her arms over her chest.
Will shrugs “Nothing’s wrong” he says quietly.
“Will, please, i’ve known you since high school. I know when something’s wrong. Is it the Natalie thing again?” Y/n asks gently.
Natalie and Will had been dating for a while before she broke it off and then started seeing another guy. She had strung Will along on multiple occasions and accused him of being a bad boyfriend when Will had given her everything.
Y/n and Jay weren’t her biggest fans and Will knew that.
She’s met by silence from Will so she takes that as a yes.
“Why don’t you come over tonight and we can watch the Blackhawk’s game and order pizza? I’ll even pick up your favorite beer” Y/n offers, knowing Will won’t pass it up.
“Okay” Will says with the same defeated tone his brother used earlier in the day.
“You’re just like your brother” Y/n lets out a giggle “Now come on, we have some lives to save” she says, stepping behind Will and pushing him out of the lounge.
——
“Bro, I know I could beat you” Adam tells Jay from his desk, somehow the subject had come up who would have the higher score in the shooting range.
“Dude, in your dreams” Jay laughs, shaking his head.
The rest of the team watches with amused looks, enjoying the banter.
“He was literally a sniper in the rangers, Adam” Haley reminds her coworker.
Adam looks at Kim “Babe, you have to back me up on this” he pleads with her.
Kim shakes her head, laughing “Sorry, I think Jay would beat you” she says innocently.
“Damn, that’s cold” Kevin says, patting Adam’s shoulder.
Jay chuckles at his friends antics before Voight comes out of his office in a rush.
“Everyone, vest up. Chicago Med’s on lockdown. There’s a hostage situation” Voight says hurriedly, already making his way downstairs, vest on.
Jay is out of his chair and following Hank before anyone can blink.
The atmosphere in the room changes as the rest of the team follows them downstairs.
“Sarge, do you know who it is? What department?” Jay is praying and hoping Hank doesn’t say the ED.
All he can think about is Y/n and his brother.
Voight is silent for a second as they all get their gear on.
“Hank, come on” Jay pleads now, he can feel his heart in his stomach.
“In the ED, that’s all I know. They didn’t say who”
——
“Hey, Y/n, Trauma 3 is waiting for a bed in psych, can you get his vitals for me?” Will asks, looking at the tablet in his hand.
“Yeah, I gotcha” Y/n doesn’t hesitate, heading for the room.
Y/n knocks on the door frame before pulling the curtain back slightly and stepping in.
“Good Morning, Mr. Harris. How are you feeling?” Y/n asks the older man, heading to the side of the bed to start on his vitals.
“I’m fine” He says quietly, not looking at Y/n.
She’s not really bothered by this, it’s common for the psych patients to not be very talkative.
“Okay, well i’m just going to take your vitals and I will be out of your way” Y/n says sweetly.
“They’re here, aren’t they?” Mr. Harris says, looking around the room.
“Who’s here, Mr. Harris?” Y/n asks, not sure who he meant by that.
“They’re coming to kill me, just like they did my wife” he says, starting to get fidgetly.
The monitor begins beeping rapidly from the rise in his heart rate.
“Mr. Harris, no one is here to kill you, you’re safe” Y/n tries to calm him.
The older man looks at her, a wild look in his eyes “You’re one of them. They sent you in here, to test me” he says, pulling off the wires that connect him to the monitor.
“Mr. Harris-“ Y/n starts but he runs out of the room before she can stop him.
“Mr. Harris! Please we are just trying to help” Y/n follows him out of the room.
She watches his wides eyes look around the ED, the other doctors and nurses look unsure what to do. Maggie is on the phone, probably with security.
Before anyone can react Mr. Harris reaches for the security guard, by the entrance, easily taking his gun out of the holster and spinning around, pointing at Y/n.
Y/n feels her blood run cold as she puts her hands up in surrender.
“Woah, okay, okay just take it easy” Y/n says calmly, she notices Will and Connor out of the corner of her eye, looking like they’re ready to tackle him.
“Hey, buddy, why don’t we just put the gun down” Will tries to reason with him, Mr. Harris looks at him wildly, grabbing Y/n and pulling her towards him forcefully.
“Not before I get the information I need from her” he says, pressing the gun to Y/n’s side.
“Will, it’s okay” Y/n tries to get him to leave it alone.
“Shut up!” Mr. Harris yells, pressing the gun into her side harder, looking around the ED.
His eyes land on the doctor’s lounge, forcing Y/n inside.
By now Maggie has started the lockdown protocol, evacuating the patients and thankfully, Mr. Harris doesn’t seem to care about them.
Connor looks at Will once the last of the patients are out “Come on, we have to let the police handle it” he says and Will shakes his head.
“I’m not leaving her alone with him” he tells Connor before heading for the Doctor’s lounge where Mr. Harris has the gun pointed at Y/n.
“Mr. Harris, Why don’t you let her go, she’s not here to hurt you” Will tries to reason.
“Yes, she is and I’m going to find out why” He says, pulling on the girl’s hair, making her let out a whimper.
Will can feel his stomach drop as the man, hits her on the head with the butt of the gun, making Y/n yelp.
——
The intelligence team pulls into the Chicago Med parking lot fast, lights and sirens on. The patients and staff from the ED outside. There’s already uniforms on scene and Hank finds Trudy in the midst of everything, directing the uniforms.
“Jay and Kim, grab the long guns” Voight instructs and the two nod, heading for the trunk.
Kim takes notice of Jay’s frantic scanning of the crowd. “I’m sure they’re okay, Jay” she tries to reassure him but truth is, she’s unsure herself and she can only pray Y/n and Will are safe.
“I don’t see them outside” Jay mutters, taking the gun and walking back to where Voight and Trudy are.
The two look at Jay and he can just tell by the looks on their faces it’s not good.
“It’s Y/n, isn’t it?” Jay asks, a feeling on dread washing over him.
“Jay, it’s two hostages….Y/n and Will” Trudy tells him hesitantly and he feels his blood run cold.
The rest of the team feel a pit in the their stomach but shake it off.
“Jay-“ Hank starts but Jay cuts him off.
“No, you can’t bench me Sarge, you can’t expect me to sit this one out” he tells his boss, shaking his head.
“I wasn’t planning on it, but you have to breathe, you can’t go in there emotional, Jay. You have to be strong for both of them” Voight isn’t usually such a softie, so it catches the team off guard.
Jay nods “I’m good” he simply states.
Voight nods turning to the rest of the team.
“Hostage negotiation already tried reaching them, they won’t pick up the phones so we’re going in. Jay and Kim with me, the rest of you hang back” Hank instructs the team.
They all nod or give some sign of agreement before following his lead.
When they make it inside, Jay can feel the bile in his throat.
Y/n is being held up by her hair, theres a large bruise already formed on her forehead and blood trickling down the side of her face. She looks scared out of her mind, tears in her eyes.
Will is stood with his back to the team, his hands up in surrender and it looks like he’s trying to talk the man down.
If this was any other moment, if he wasn't on the job and this guy didn't have a gun to his girl's head, Jay would have probably killed the man. But he held back for his job's sake but mostly for his brother and girlfriend's sake.
"Mr. Harris, my name is Hank Voight, This is detective Burgess and Detective Halstead, we just want to get everyone out of here alive" Voight says through the door gently, trying to deescalate the situation.
He had one shot and if that didn't work they would have to move to a more lethal approach but they always had to try one more time.
"Yeah? Does that include this bitch-" Mr. Harris yanks Y/n by the hair again, making her cry out "that was trying to kill me?" he questions.
Jay was fully ready to take him out in that moment.
Will was facing the team now, he could see the look on his brother's face and he just prayed to God that the man would let Y/n go.
Y/n felt a very tiny sense of relief when she saw Jay was there. Everything will be fine now that Jay is here. That's what she told herself.
Everything escalated rather quickly, one moment Hank was trying to reason with the man, understand what he was talking about and the next there was a struggle, the gun was pushed to Y/n's forehead and then a loud bang. a gunshot.
Jay's heart stopped before he realized it was Kim that had fired the shot, the man dropped as Y/n fell to the floor, Will catching her in the process.
Y/n's ears rang and she felt herself shake, she could barely understand what was happening as Will held her up.
Jay stormed through the door along with Voight and Kim, b-lineing it for Y/n. Voight kicked the gun from the body, Kim went to check on Will as Jay took Y/n out of his arms.
"Y/n, hey, baby can you hear me?" Jay guided her to one of the stools at the nurses station, sitting her down.
Y/n couldn't hear anything, just saw Jay's mouth moving and that was it.
It took a second before she got her full senses back, her body still shaking "J-jay" Y/n cried, clinging onto his shirt.
Jay felt some relief when he heard her voice.
"Hey, hey, baby. Where are you hurt?" Jay asked franticly, looking over her.
Y/n shakes her head rapidly "M-my head is pounding" she mutters quietly "Thank you for coming" Y/n whispers.
Jay gives her a sad smile "I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world baby. Now we need to get you checked out, okay?" Jay says gently and Y/n nods, her eyes wide and spacing out.
Conner comes into view, kneeling down in front of her "Hey, Y/n, I’m just going to check you out and then we can get you cleaned up, okay?” He says softly and Y/n only nods again.
——
Jay guides Y/n into their shared apartment, her hands are still shaking.
“You wanna take a shower, honey?” Jay asks gently as he shuts the door and locks it behind him, keeping one arm around Y/n.
“Okay” Y/n says very quietly, not making eye contact.
Jay guides her to their bedroom and then to bathroom “Do you want me to help you or do you want to shower on your own?” He asks cautiously, rubbing his hands on her arms again.
“I-i can do it” Y/n says, she’s never was one to ask for help.
“Okay, how about you hop in and I’ll leave you one of my shirts and some shorts.“ Jay offers.
Y/n looks down at her hands before looking up at Jay, making eye contact for the first time since what happened.
Jay’s heart instantly breaks, seeing the tears in Y/n eyes.
“C-can you stay in the bathroom?” She asks voice cracking. She didn’t want to be fully alone, not yet at least.
Jay nodded instantly “I’m not going anywhere, baby” he promises “let me grab your clothes and a towel” he tells her before going to their closet.
Jay comes back with one if his tshirts and short and towel, finding Y/n standing in the same spot. Only when he’s back to her side, she goes into the bathroom, stripping from the scrubs she got from the hospital-since hers were covered in blood- and getting into the shower.
Jay does his best to keep his composure, the reality of the situation finally starting to set in. He almost lost the love of his life today. If Kim hadn’t have been so quick to react, Y/n could have been dead.
Y/n can feel it sinking in too, her bottom lip quivering as she finishes up the shower. She didn’t take her regular shower, normally taking a moment to just enjoy the warmth of the water.
Right now, all she wanted was to be in the safety of Jay’s arms.
As she turned the shower off she noticed her hand shaking, she hadn’t noticed it before from the adrenaline.
When she pushed the shower curtain to the side, Jay was there with a towel. Y/n steps out wordlessly letting Jay wrap her up in the fluffy towel.
Suddenly Y/n let out a choked sob, gripping onto Jay’s shirt once again and bury her face in his chest.
Jay felt the tears rolling down his face and he didn’t hold back either as he held her, the sobs racking through his body as well.
“I was s-so scared, J-jay” Y/n stutters out between breaths, pulling her face out of his chest and looking up at him.
“I know, baby, I know. I wish you never had to go through that” Jay says, his heart utterly broken a the sight of her tears, her bloodshot eyes.
“Bub, why are you crying?” Y/n questions, feeling guilty for upsetting him.
“I almost lost you, baby. I wouldn’t be able to live if I had” Jay tells her, as if its so obvious.
As odd as it may seem, she smiles softly, reaching up to wipe his tears “You can’t get rid of me that easily” Y/n jokes, softening the mood.
"An Oscar-worthy performance" - Aaron Hotchner x Reader
SUMMARY: Your best bet to get the unsub talking is to play right into his fantasy. As much as Hotch detests the idea of sitting you in front of that murderer, he knows the team is out of options. While you're playing the role of a scared little thing, Hotch needs to do everything in his power to hold himself back. Even if he knows you're faking it.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 7k
WARNING: this text includes descriptions of sexual harassment, vulgar language and self-harm. Read at your own discretion.
Aaron Hotchner knows that looks deceive. In a way, it’s his job to see past the first impressions. His expertise in seeing more than meets the eye is unparalleled. Although reading between the lines is a rare and precious talent, sometimes it isn’t enough. If the author refuses to acknowledge subtext or implications, who’s to say they even exist? How can a writer be convinced to give up what they deliberately refuse to put into words?
Rossi looks over his shoulder, hearing you come in. He notices the coffee cups in your hands but doesn’t say anything about them. Your allergy to sitting idly is a well-known fact among the team members. No one would bat an eye if you started to sweep floors just so you don’t sit still, waiting for something to happen.
You set the coffee on a nearby table before coming closer to the two-way mirror. Rossi glances at you, his hands hidden in his pockets. Even in the darkness of the room, he can see the way you’re nervously chewing the inside of your cheek. With a small sigh, his gaze returns to the scene inside the interrogation room: Hotch confronting the man responsible for ten deaths.
“How’s it going?” you ask, quietly.
“Slow and painful,” Rossi answers. A tone of defeat rings in his voice. “At least for us. He seems to be having fun.”
“Hotch seems frustrated.”
The older man glances at you again. Hotchner is facing the criminal sitting opposite him, so you can’t see his face. Even so, through the way his body stiffens, you can easily tell his mood. ‘To be loved is to be known,’ as some would say.
“Who wouldn’t?” Rossi’s eyes focus on the scruffy men handcuffed to the table. His hands clench into fists inside his pockets when he recalls the macabre fate of the victims.
Hotch suddenly yells accusations at the man in front of him, hands slamming the table separating them. The murderer, however, continues to be still. Completely unaffected, except for a small, sly smile appearing on his lips. He looks insidious.
“Maybe that’s the point?” you think aloud. “He’s enjoying the fact that we’re banging our heads against the wall.”
“Well, if we stop banging, we will never know what happened to Jane Roberts.”
A nervous silence falls between the two of you. Anxiety and helplessness crawl up your spine, eating at your every coherent thought. Your fingers fidget, desperately looking for a way to relieve the unbearable, growing tension.
Hotch continues his aggressive, yet largely ineffective, interrogation. It’s been two hours and he’s no closer than he was before making the arrest. Your frustrated mind begins searching for new ideas: there has to be a better way to get him to talk. This can’t be it. No, the word ‘impasse’ doesn’t exist in your vocabulary. You’ve always made sure of that.
“You know, back at the Academy, I roomed with a girl who worked park-time as a call girl,” you begin, remembering something that might yet be of help. “Not the paid sex kind, it was more of a paid girlfriend experience.”
Rossi furrows eyebrows in confusion. He may have a less-than-ideal relationship history but he’s never sunk that low. “Guys would pay her to go on a date with them?”
An airy chuckle leaves your lips upon seeing his reaction. Truth be told, you were just as surprised when you learnt about that.
“As crazy as it sounds, the money was really good,” you say. “She’d always pick up the check when we went out. Sometimes I asked her for dating advice but she always said that she’s an expert at making men think they’re dating her, not actually dating them.”
Hotch yells again, making the scruffy man in front of him laugh.
“Any wise words that might help us here?”
Lonely businessmen might not have a lot in common with serial killers but they’re all men - there must be something connecting them at a basic level.
“She told me once that most men are identical, deep down,” you recall. “They all want to feel powerful, admired and accomplished. Their sense of power lies either in violence or sexual prowess, although most of the time, those are enmeshed. A vulnerable woman plays into their needs and fantasies, whether they know it or not. The difference is some will help her change the tyre, while others will kill her with a tyre iron.”
“But at the end of the day, it all comes down to the same need,” Rossi sums up, clearly pondering your words.
“It doesn’t always work, obviously.” You shake your head slightly. “Spencer would probably do neither and start talking about manufacturing tyres or the dangers of having the wrong pressure inside them.”
Rossi chuckles in agreement. If there is one person who can be used as an exception to a rule, it’s the boy wonder currently looking at maps of the local area.
“What do you make of these two?” Rossi asks, vaguely pointing at the tense scene playing out behind the pane.
“Normally, I’d say that Hotch is the type to change the tyre but right now?” You rub your hands together in slight discomfort. This is the first time you’ve ever seen Aaron acting like this. How much of it is an act, how much truth? “He looks like he’s about to kill someone with a tyre iron.”
“The problem is our unsub has more experience in that.”
Rossi’s defeated comment gives you an idea. Not a great one, definitely not an exciting one, but an idea that might yet be a checkmate. If the mountain doesn’t come to Muhammed, Muhammed must go to the mountain. Or, in this case, if the head stops banging against the wall, maybe the wall will come to the head.
“If he’s comfortable being the killing kind and not the helpful kind, we should probably use that,” you state. “Force his guard down. With Hotch descending on him, he’s focused on keeping his cards close. Maybe we’ll get him talking if he thinks we don’t know he’s holding that tyre iron.”
Rossi shakes his head. “It’s too late for that. He knows we’re unto him.”
“No, he knows you’re onto him,” you point out, making Rossi stare at you with squinted eyes. Reading between the lines. “You and Hotch. He hasn’t seen me yet.”
Intrigued as he is concerned, Rossi turns to rest his shoulder against the pane. Not watching Hotch’s futile attempts, his attention is now focused solely on you.
“Be straight with me, kid,” he orders.
The realisation dawns on you at that moment. Should he agree to your proposal, you will have to go through with it. Sit in front of a man who eats girls like you for breakfast. Even if Rossi dismissed your suggestion, you can’t take your words back. He will know how far you’re willing to go to succeed. For now, you’re unsure whether that’s good or bad.
“I’m gonna go in there, pretending to have no knowledge of his crimes or his victims,” you say. If he can see through your false confidence, he doesn’t let on. “I’ll play right into his little power fantasy and when he lets his guard down, I’ll nudge him into giving up Jane’s whereabouts.”
Rossi stares at you in silence. The longer he goes without saying a word, the more you’re convinced he’s in agreement. He’s probably gauging Hotchner’s reaction or his own thoughts about the possible consequences: will he be able to live with himself if you do go inside and things go sideways?
Finally, Rossi opens the door to the interrogation room. Hotch looks at him with a confused expression, but follows the man anyway. David wouldn’t barge in without a good reason.
Hotch stares between you and Rossi. Although he appears collected, there’s a sense of impatience in the way his eyes flicker. He doesn’t want to waste what little time you have.
“She wants to do it,” Rossi says, painting at you.
Hotch gives you a suspicious look before turning his attention back to the other man. “Do what?”
“Tell him, kid. It’s your idea.”
Rossi walks away from the conversation. He reaches for the now lukewarm coffee and stares at the unsub on the other side of the two-way mirror.
“I know we’re all doing our best here,” you begin, slowly crumbling under Aaron’s watchful gaze, “but this is getting nowhere. Clearly, that twisted cockroach of a person is having fun, while we’re ripping our hair out. Instead of putting up a fight, I think we should coerce him. Play into his fantasy.”
An almost imperceptible twitch of his facial muscles tells you everything you need to know - he’s already got a pretty good guess what you’re about to say. Still, he wants to hear you put it into words. Maybe there’s even a semblance of naive hope inside him, that you turn out to be more reasonable than he assumes.
“What are you suggesting?” he asks.
“I’ll go in there,” you state. The darkness of the room makes you almost miss the way his expression hardens. Defiance. “If he thinks I’m all pliant and vulnerable, he will put his guard down. Treat me like one of his victims. Then, when he doesn’t know he’s being played, I’ll get him to talk.”
Hotch doesn’t answer right away. Just like Rossi did, he’s pondering the consequences. In Aaron’s case, the situation might be even more complicated. How can he send the woman he loves into a room with a man who knows no fear or morality? After always making sure you’re safe, risking his own life to save yours, he’s being asked to leave you unprotected. Exposed.
In a way that defies all logic and natural laws, he nods quietly.
“I don’t like this,” he says after a while.
“None of us do,” Rossi chimes in. “But she’s right. We’re getting nowhere. For all we know, Jane Roberts might already be dead.”
Aaron clenches his jaw tightly. Two aspects of his life clash, leaving chaos and indecisiveness in their wake. Perhaps love and logic exist on one spectrum, always tugging and pulling in their own directions. The closer he steps to one of the ends, the more enticing its opposite seems.
Hotch exhales loudly, signalling a choice has been made.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks. What may sound like the stern voice of a leader hides a heartfelt tremble between words. Whether he’s putting up a front for you or himself, no one can really know.
“I’m sure we’re out of options and Jane is running out of time,” you answer.
Aaron’s gaze meets yours in a silent confrontation. A wordless probing, an attempt at seeing beyond what he’s shown. The look in his brown eyes softens, appearing somewhat sad, if not apologetic.
“He’s handcuffed to the table, he can’t hurt you,” he reassures. You think the words are more of a reminder for himself, rather than for you. It’s Aaron who needs to justify this decision to his own conscience.
Aaron Hotchner, however, isn’t the only person capable of reading between the lines, hearing conversations in silent rooms. In the confines of his home, you’ve learnt to see what lies behind the mask of an FBI Unit Chief.
“Even if he could, I know you’d stop him in time,” you answer, pertaining to all the things he’s too afraid to say outside the comfort of his bedroom.
It’s a split second but it happens nonetheless - a flicker of a smile appears on his face. Yes, to be loved is to be known. Right now, Aaron Hotchner is eternally grateful that the woman in front of him knows him almost better than he knows himself. Anybody else might crumble underneath the plight he carries within but not you. No, you treat old bruises and unhealed wounds like stars aligned in a yet unknown constellation. Only for you do they make sense and dear God, is it beautiful.
“You can end this whenever you want,” he continues. “Even if he doesn’t tell us the location of the body, I won’t be angry with you.”
“I know.” The tone of your voice sounds a bit too casual for the task awaiting you. “You like me too much to be angry.”
His lips stretch into a small, hel-back smile. “I will be here all the time.”
“Hey, Rossi!” You call out to the other man, who until now has been pretending to not hear a sliver of your conversation with Aaron. “Make sure Agent Hotchner doesn’t lose it, alright?”
“I’ll see what I can do but no promises,” he answers with apparent amusement. “I still have a few things I want to do in life.”
“Watch and learn, honey,” you whisper to Aaron before entering the interrogation room.
The door closes behind you with a fateful click. Like a ringing bell in a theatre, the curtains open and you must convince the audience that your act is genuine. Hopefully, your middle school drama teacher was right and you do have a talent for dramatics.
The man sitting at the table watches you like a predator. His eyes notice every small detail - the flow of your hair, the creases in your clothes, the slight glimmer of jewellery. Even the adorable way you nervously bite the inside of your cheek. He waits for you to sit down before he speaks:
“Well, hello there, little lady.”
In any other circumstance, you would bite back with a positively ‘unladylike’ response. Feeling Aaron’s stare on the back of your head, you give the murderer in front of you a coy smile.
“Good morning, mister Beckett,” you greet him.
“I ain’t no mister, love.” The confident tone assures you that you’re neither the first nor last woman he’s spoken to this way. “Just Neil.”
“Of course, Neil.”
The man leans back in his chair. Lips turn into a sinister grin.
“Say it again,” he demands in a low voice.
“Neil,” you repeat, pretending that you don’t know why he’d ask you to do so.
Beckett’s sly smirk only widens, a wild look shines in his eyes. He makes you think of a nature documentary you’ve seen a long time ago. In there, a slowed-down footage showed a tiger at the zoo, attempting to pounce on one of the visitors when they turned their back to the animal. The only thing that saved them was a thick pane of plexiglass. Whether a beast is caged or not doesn’t change the fact that it remains a beast. No matter what we tell ourselves.
Hotch lets out a long exhale. If the breathing exercise is meant to help, it’s doing a poor job. Rossi tells him a reassuring ‘she’s okay’ but it does little to curb Aaron’s anger. He knows all too well what Neil Beckett felt the moment you said his name. Hotch feels that same primitive want and possessiveness every night, when your desperate gasps of pleasure fill what little space is left between your bodies. No other man should ever hear those sweet sounds. They wouldn’t know how to care for such a gift.
“What can I do for you, love?” asks Neil. He’s eyeing your silhouette with little, if any, reluctance. You take that as a good sign. After all, you are putting on a show just for him.
“Actually, I should be the one asking you this,” you answer, still as innocent as he wants you to be. “The FBI agents had to leave for a while. I’m here to make sure you’re comfortable and cared for.”
Neil Beckett leans forward. The low-hanging lamp is directly above his head, covering half of his face in a shadow. Whoever said that the devil has horns and hooves was deeply mistaken. Instead of looking like a goat, he resembles an average man living in the country: hay-coloured fine hair, a torn plaid shirt, sunburnt neck. A smell of motor oil and freshly cut wood surrounds him like an ominous miasma.
“So it’s just the two of us?” he asks, thrill peeking out from between his words.
“Yes, mis-...” you hang your voice, offering a smile. “Neil,” you correct yourself. “There’s just you and me, Neil.”
The answer seems to satisfy him. Restless, he begins to bounce his leg. His eyes flicker down your blouse, then at the two-way mirror behind you. Little does he know that Aaron meets his gaze. Hotch recognises the sexual, sadistic frenzy in Neil’s eyes. Aaron forcefully unclenches his hands, feeling how the tight grip is shooting pain through his joints.
“Turns out her friend was right,” Rossi says without looking at Hotch. “Some men can’t tell between lust and violence.”
“Maybe someone should teach him,” Hotch answers under his breath.
Rossi gives him an amused look that quickly turns into a sign of concern. Nothing about Hotchner’s stern expression suggests the comment is a joke. In fact, it seems like a promise or a resolution.
“He’ll get some good teaching in prison,” David says. Considering the ages of the victims and what Beckett has done to them, the lesson learnt behind bars will be fatal.
The thought of Neil dying after the first prison beating doesn’t satisfy Hotch. If anything, it fuels his anger. Still, Aaron tells himself that he’s not a sadist. Exercising justice is much, much different from vengeance or pleasure from violence.
Neil Beckett sharply tugs at his handcuffs. The table loudly drags against the floor. Your heart skips a beat, adrenaline tickles the tips of your fingers but you do your best to keep a coy, warm expression. Men bigger than Neil couldn’t free themselves; there’s nothing to worry about. Even if he did, Aaron is a few meters away.
There’s nothing to worry about.
Facing a definite defeat, Neil leans even closer to you. His face is no more than a hand’s length away from yours. As a last-resort defence, you could, of course, spit on him. Not that it would do much.
“I could make us both more comfortable and cared for,” he drones through clenched teeth, “if you took off these handcuffs.”
As befits this type of killer, his resolve is almost non-existent. Whatever he wants, he must get immediately. Growing frustration is the key to making him talk about Jane Roberts but not yet. First, you must make him believe that he has you all pliant and coerced.
You give him a sad, almost pitiful, smile. “I’m afraid Agent Hotchner left with the key.”
Now both of his legs are bouncing erratically. Is this what the tiger felt before pouncing on the tourist behind the plexiglass?
“No need to be afraid, doll,” he says. His tailored appearance is steadily slipping, revealing another piece of the true horrors churning inside him. It won’t be long before you see exactly what Jane Roberts did. “It’s just you and me… You and me,” he repeats, more to himself than to you.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Neil?” you ask.
It’s for the better that Aaron can’t see your face. If he did, he’d see the same big eyes you give him in the mornings, begging for just another five minutes before starting the day. So far, he has yielded each time. Had Hotchner seen the way you’re looking at Neil Beckett, his iron resolve would crumble immediately. Those pleading, glistening eyes are only for him. Other men might find them too inviting.
“We could talk,” Neil answers. “The other guy only knows how to yell. He better not be yellin’ at you, doll. I’d have to sort him out.”
When you giggle at the thinly veiled threat, Aaron clenches his hands into fists again. He knows you don’t mean it - nothing about Neil’s thinly veiled threat is amusing or heartwarming to you. Even so, Hotch can’t quite hold back the putrid feelings stewing inside him. He’s never considered himself a jealous man but a principled one. Standing in that dark room, watching you play coy with a criminal who only sees you as prey, he finally makes that admission to himself. He, Aaron Hotchner, is jealous that another man is hearing all your sweet sounds committed to his memory. While he realises his possessiveness is infantile at best, a semblance of pride justifies his anger. After all, wouldn’t any man in his place feel just as bitter? In fact, Hotch is doing much better than what would be expected of him in this moment - he stalls, trusting your judgement and skills. He could barge in and tell Neil Beckett exactly what he thinks about his disgusting attitude but he chooses not to. The poise of a saint, truly.
“Lucky guy waiting for you back home?” Neil continues his inquiry. Aside from his bouncing legs, you can hear the quiet, rhythmic clicking of the handcuffs. It sounds like he’s tapping his fingers against the table, recreating a racing heartbeat.
Neil Beckett wants to dominate, to conquer. That includes things he perceives as belonging to other men. However, if you seem too involved with a theoretical partner, Neil might lose his interest in you.
“There is someone but…” You hang your voice, counting on the possibility of Beckett not pushing the matter further. Give him only as much as he wants to hear.
“He treatin’ you right, doll?” The tone of his voice comes off almost paternal.
Putting on a timid, abashed expression, you look at your fidgeting fingers, expertly coming off as embarrassed.
“He’s trying his best,” you say.
The answer seems to be just right. Neil gives you a practised sympathetic look that does little to hide the frenzy in his eyes. If he felt the range of emotions an average person does, he’d make quite a good actor.
“That ain’t enough,” he says in a low, hoarse voice. “For a girl like you, he should be doing more than his best. Men nowadays don’t know what a sweet girl needs.”
You look up at him, just as shy and hopeful as Jane Roberts was two days ago. “Do you?”
“Sure do.” Neil chuckles quietly. “I could tell you all about it.”
“Really?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, doll.” Beckett suddenly leans back in his chair, pulling away after a period of pushing. Abusive partners tend to do that, you notice. “But first, I need you to do something for me.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want that little agent back there freeloadin’. Turn that camera off and we’ll talk.”
You find it hilarious that Neil Beckett thinks that Aaron Hotchner would pick up a thing or two about flirting from him. As ridiculous as his claim is, you don’t let your composure slip. After this little lark is done, you can laugh all the way back home and into Aaron’s bed.
“Oh, I-I’m not sure if I can,” you stutter out.
“Come on, sweet thing,” he beckons in a condescending voice. “He ain’t your daddy, you don’t have to listen to him.”
Oh, Neil Beckett. If only you were at least as smart as you are perverted…
Pliant and gullible in all the right ways, you get up from the chair. You don’t have to turn around to know that Neil’s eyes are glued to your hips as you’re walking to the camera in the corner of the room. Turning the device off, you glance quickly at the two-way mirror in front of you. There’s no way for you to know if Aaron is facing you. You wish you could give him a signal that everything’s fine but considering Neil’s attention on you, it would be too risky. Beckett might start suspecting something.
As you sit down again in front of Neil, you realise that this is the most important part of the meeting. Every little smile and giggle lead you to this moment - Neil Beckett is convinced that you’re the only witness to this conversation. There can be no guesswork, only covert interrogation.
“Can you tell me now?” you ask him shyly, batting your eyelashes the same way you would at Aaron.
“Come closer, doll,” he demands, voice raspy and trembling. He’s reaching his limit.
You set your arms on the table, leaning in to the man. With a satisfied, sly grin plastered on his face, Neil leans forward as well. Again, your faces are no more than a hand’s length apart.
“Nah, a little closer.”
Anxiety clenches your stomach and chest. Your throat tightens around a lump inside it. As you fix your thoughts on Aaron standing guard on the other side of the mirror, you manage to swallow your fear, turning terror into an admirable show of juvenile bashfulness.
Then, you stop thinking about Aaron and begin wondering about Jane Roberts. She’s somewhere out there, helpless and hopeless. Now, you’re the only person she has, even if she doesn’t know it.
You lean in farther, feeling Neil’s breath fan against your face with each exhale. The tips of your noses are barely an inch apart. “Is this enough?” you whisper.
“It’s perfect, sweetheart,” he answers, voice equally low. His eyes study your features in detail. It seems as though he’s trying to remember the way you look or he’s imagining what you’re going to look like after he’s, well, done with you.
Aaron Hotchner is so beside himself, he might as well step out of his body and enter a new plane of existence. Focused on the scene behind the two-way mirror, he doesn’t even notice that Rossi has been observing him for quite some time now. David is worried about your well-being, that’s understandable. What concerns him more, however, is the impending possibility of Hotch doing something less than reasonable. He recalls what you have said at the beginning, that most men are identical in some ways. Staring at Aaron’s stiff shoulders and clenched jaw, he’s inclined to agree. Hotch, just like Neil Beckett, is a ticking time bomb. There’s no way to tell when either of them will give in to their needs.
The tension temporarily subsides when Spencer enters the dark room. He opens his mouth but before he can share the news, he freezes suddenly, seeing you leaning in so close to Neil Beckett. Rossi, all too aware of Aaron’s agitation, doesn’t let Spencer address the very obvious elephant:
“What is it, Reid?”
Spencer furrows his eyebrows as he stares between the two men, silently gauging all that they refuse to say. Judging by Hotchner’s expression, the unsaid words are not good. Spencer has seen Aaron angry but never as disturbed as now. Fury appears only secondary to something deeper, more primitive.
“The medical examiner finished the last report,” he says, voice revealing suspicion of the strange arrangement before him. “Hannah was missing a chunk of her ear. Judging by the ridges and circular shape, it was bitten off.”
Rossi’s face twists into a grimace. “Neil Beckett bit her ear off?”
“Part of the lobe,” Spencer corrects, “not the whole ear.”
Hotch turns on his heel. “I’m ending this.”
“Wait!” Rossi manages to grab Aaron’s arm before the man can reach the doorknob.
While Hotchner doesn’t free himself immediately, the cold stare he gives David makes the older man let go. He leans backwards, silently moving away from the raging man. A falling knife has no handle and furious Aaron has, for lack of a better phrase, no handle.
“This may be our only chance,” Rossi argues. He’s clinging to remnants of Hotchner’s restraint. “Jane’s only chance.”
Aaron gives him a confused look. “Dave, I’m not about to let that man bite her ear off,” he retorts, voice trembling with barely controlled emotions.
“I know, just-” Rossi sighs, realising that Hotchner is past reasonable arguments. “Let’s just wait a little bit longer. He’s about to break.”
“Not just him,” Aaron mumbles under his breath.
Against his better judgment and itching hands, Hotchner chooses not to make a decision. He allows the situation to unravel naturally, with you leading the grand finale. Curiosity gets the better of Spencer and he stays in the room, intrigued by the upcoming unravelling. Besides, Rossi might need a little help in preventing an aggravated assault.
You swallow nervously. No matter how much saliva your mouth produces, your throat is still dry and painfully tight. Even if you wanted to scream, you don’t think you could.
Neil’s breath fans against your skin with each exhale. Stray strands of your hair dance sway on the gusts. It will take a few tries to wash out the smell of motor oil and freshly-cut lumber. His eyes continue to study your features, unblinking, as though he doesn’t want to idly waste time.
Beckett dives in towards your neck. His nose brushes against your jaw as he takes a deep breath. Whatever he smells on you, it makes him grunt with satisfaction. Under the table, you’re digging your nails into the flesh of your hand. The sharp pain temporarily distracts you from the unwanted close proximity. Neil has barely touched you but his sole presence feels intrusive. Like an invader outside the castle gates, he doesn’t need to attack for you to gauge the power of his army. All it takes is an attentive eye and a little bit of imagination.
“You’re all sweet and buttery,” he whispers. “Do you know what that means?”
“N-no,” you answer. “Is that good?”
“It’s perfect, doll. Just right.” Neil takes another inhale of your smell. His grunting sounds now more sexual than just satisfactory. It makes your skin crawl. “The lovely aroma of a ripe cunt.”
A sinking feeling in your stomach makes you sick to the point of throwing up. Digging your nails further into your hand, you try to think about Aaron. He’s on the other side of the mirror, keeping watch. Before you entered the interrogation room, he made a promise to keep you safe. There’s no reason for you to start doubting him now.
Neil has begun to talk about his victims, which is a green light for you. The whereabouts of Jane Roberts are within your grasp. He just needs the last nudge. What would a pliant, scared girl do in your shoes?
“The… others?” you choke out, tears falling down your face. You never thought the talent of crying on demand would come in handy after growing out of Barbie dolls and stuffed ponies.
To your horror, Neil licks a few tears off your cheek.
“Even your tears taste sweet, doll,” he murmurs. “Where have you been all my life? I could have your scent all over me.” Neil rubs his nose against your cheek, a pleased hum rumbles inside his chest. “I would get drunk on it. Bathe in it. Or better yet, drown your little man in it.”
His repetitive mentions of water make something click in your mind. All of his victims had pruned skin and water in their lungs but no algae. A body of water that is safe for drinking, deep enough to bathe or drown and isn’t natural…
Tears stop falling. You lean away from Neil, keen eyes focused on his face. The sudden change of your demeanour stumps him. The frenzy inside him subsides for a moment as he tries to make sense of the situation.
A sly grin spreads across your face.
"Oh, you little scoundrel,” you say, tone as amused as it is condescending. “You threw her body into the water tower, didn't you?"
What follows happens so quickly you barely register it:
Nostrils flared and eyes glazed with fury, Neil dives at you. Before you have the chance to get away, Aaron pushes Beckett away. The force of the shove makes the table drag along with the man as he almost falls off the chair.
Neil’s eyes remain on you. Again, you think back to that documentary. Strangely enough, that tiger in the zoo looked more human than Beckett does right now. After all, the tiger kills for understandable reasons: fear, hunger, protecting its cubs. Neil Beckett, however, murdered ten women for reasons you will never fully understand. Doesn’t that make him more animal than a tiger?
“You-”
Aaron stops Neils from speaking when he slams his fist on the table. You can’t see his eyes but you’re quite sure they have the same terrifying look as Beckett’s.
“One more word and I will gladly tell the DA how you assaulted a federal agent. Might add a few details of my own, for good measure.”
His newfound lack of respect for law and order actually makes Neil Beckett silent. The murderer seems unaware that a new charge wouldn’t change his outcome - he’s never going to see the light of day again.
Hotchner unchains the handcuffs from the table and forcefully pulls up Neil by his arm. Beckett winces for a second. Any more strength to that pull and he would have a dislocated shoulder. You have a burning suspicion that this was perfectly calculated by Aaron - enough to hurt, not enough to leave a mark.
After Neil Beckett is dragged out of the room, Rossi offers you a helping hand. You dismiss him, deciding to stand up on your own. That isn’t a smart decision, as your knees buckle under the weight of your body. David is quick to catch you, keeping a protective hold on your arm. He could ask how you’re feeling but he finds it obsolete. Legs tend to give out when people are definitely not alright.
“Reid ran to call the dispatch,” he says. You weren’t even aware that Spencer had witnessed the interrogation. “In an hour, Jane Roberts will be back with her parents.”
“Yeah and then it’s just the rest of her life,” you answer quietly.
Rossi gives you a look of confusion and disbelief. “You saved her, kid. In my books, that’s a good thing.”
“I know, it’s just…” Your voice trails off. You look at the other side of the table, where Neil Beckett was sitting just a moment ago. “I don’t think she’s going to share your opinion once PTSD sets in.”
“That’s between her and the therapist.”
You don’t respond, even though you know he’s right. When Jane Roberts is retrieved, your job ends and hers begins. The only thing you can do is pray that she’s equipped for it.
To your dismay, Aaron disappears until Jane Roberts is safe and sound at the hospital, her parents standing guard over their daughter. You keep telling yourself that he also needs to calm down but it doesn’t make his absence any less disturbing. As supportive as the rest of the team is, there’s only one person whose comfort you desperately need.
Hotch finds you in the conference room, alone. Everyone else left to give you some space, although in their minds, that means they’re still staring at you, worried sick, just on the other side of the door. Aaron doesn’t ask anyone about how you’ve been doing while he wasn’t there. That would be a waste of time. He needs to find out for himself
Hearing the door open and close, you turn around. Gone is the cold, professional demeanour. The man in front of you seems small, afraid. With his anger dissipated, Aaron looks strangely deflated as if he came home after a terribly long day of hard work.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
It’s expected of lovers to worry about one another. You know that. Even so, you’re reluctant to let Aaron know what’s really going on inside you. He’s got enough on his plate as is.
You giggle quietly, attempting to soothe his nerves. “Would it be very inappropriate right now if I said I’m hungry?”
He smiles at you but the expression isn’t happy at all. There’s something profoundly sad about the way he’s staring at you. “Not unless you’re planning to bite someone’s ear off.” Aaron vaguely points to the picture included in the medical examiner’s report that Spencer brought earlier.
A slight grimace appears on your face. “Ew,” you whine. Despite apparent disgust, you still lean closer to study the picture. “You know what’s worse?” you ask, making Aaron quirk his eyebrow in curiosity. “That didn’t kill my appetite.”
The two of you laugh dryly. You’re too loved, too known, by each other to believe faux nonchalance.
“How are you really, honey?” Aaron asks after a minute of silence.
What a strange dilemma it is - whether you’re honest or not, he’s going to be upset either way, just for a different reason. You want to spare him your grim thoughts but the way he’s looking at you makes you reconsider. A sense of understanding glimmers in his eyes. Whatever baggage you carry, no matter how large the piece of heaven on your shoulders, he wishes to know all of it. There’s no piece of you too unsightly that he couldn’t hold dear.
“Feeling a lot of mixed emotions,” you answer. As you exhale, you can feel poisonous tension leaving your body. With it gone, you can finally think clearly again. “On one hand, I’m kinda proud of what I did back there but at the same time, I’m disgusted with myself.” Unable to meet his adoring gaze, you look at your own shoes. “Playing into his game felt… wrong. Sordid. Even though I knew I was doing it for the right reasons.”
Feeling Aaron’s warm hand holding yours, you look up at him. His attentive eyes study you for a moment as he decides which one of the million things in his head he should say.
“You did what no one else could.” His voice is quiet, comforting. “Without you, we never would have found Jane Roberts.”
Hotchner sighs when he sees you shaking your head. Maybe the worst offender is that voice of doubt in the back fo your head. If only he could pluck it out.
“That hardly makes me feel better. It’s just…” Your gaze leaves his face again. Tears, honest this time around, gather along your lashline. All the bleach in the world won’t be able to make you feel clean again. “I know he was thinking about doing to me what he did to those women. And I indulged him.”
Aaron prefers to forgo considering that. Even a second of pondering that fact would make him go back to Neil Beckett and make sure that man can’t do much thinking for the rest of his short life. It’s better for everyone if Hotchner simply pretends that never happened.
Gently, he grabs your chin between two fingers. A tender, yet firm, pull forces you to look him in the eye. Seeing you cry, his own eyes glisten with tears. Somehow, he manages to push them back whence they came from.
“You beat him at his own game.” The confidence in his voice makes the statement sound lik a fact of nature and not just reassurance. “Not everyone would be smart enough or brave enough to pull that off. No matter what he said, you didn’t let fear get to you. It’s admirable.”
There’s nothing admirable about what you’ve done. In fact, that deplorable level of manipulation should be kept secret. It’s not good etiquette to let everyone know just how awful you can be.
“You don’t have to sweet-talk me, Aaron.” As you say his name, something about the look in his eyes changes. It softens. “I’m already wrapped around your finger.”
“Is that so?” he muses, a smile spreading across his face. “Rossi might have a different opinion. He had to stop me from coming in and giving Neil Beckett a stern talking to.”
The thought of Aaron barging into the interrogation room and re-enacting a scene from Rambo on a criminal makes you laugh. Not that it would be impossible, just improbable in given circumstances. It’s not like Neil actually hurt you or threatened you. He was just a deranged hick.
That little moment of humour goes a long way in lifting your spirits. No one is disgusted with you for playing into Beckett’s fantasy. Even more, they are impressed with your success. Their concern lies only with you being exposed to someone as vile as Neil Beckett. Whether he would have given up the location or not, the team would be just as worried about you.
Putting on a coy expression, you lift Aaron’s hand, playing with his fingers. A suspicious and amused look adorns his face.
“The dashing FBI agent has only one weakness,” you say in a theatrical voice, “a hardened criminal chatting up his girl.”
Hotch chuckles. His fingers move from your chin to your jaw, tracing it gently.
“I don’t like my girl,” he fondly stresses the title, “showing that side of her to other men, criminal or not.” While Aaron is willing to admit to himself that he gets jealous, he’s not about to indulge you. Knowing your antics, you would have a bit too much fun with that information.
“What side?” you ask, insidiously innocent as ever.
“The one that’s for my eyes only,” he whispers before kissing you softly. His lips move slowly, with purpose. He wants to feel everything about you, commit this very moment to memory. It’s a matter of principles, not jealousy, when a man stakes a claim on the woman he loves and enjoys every second of that belonging.
Or so he tells himself.
“You know, next time-”
“There won’t be a next time,” he cuts you off.
As he’s kissing you in the conference room, in full view of the rest of the team, you think it might be a good decision. Unprofessional conduct, demoralising federal agents, etcetera.
Sam Seaborne dating a member of the Secret Service would include...
• First of all, he thinks that you are the coolest. thing. ever.
• You are one of the Secret Service members who was selected to travel with the president, so needless to say, you know how to kick butt.
• C.J. was always your secret fangirl, but after your help at Roslyn, Sam can’t believe that you do this stuff as your JOB.
• He’s always asking about specific martial arts and moves. “Do you know how to snap someone’s neck?” And of course he wants to know what you’d do if the White House was infiltrated, or if someone pulled a gun on a staff member. He’s just so curious and you’re almost relieved when he gets distracted by something else because he can ask questions for HOURS.
• The advantage of working for the same boss is that you go most places together. Sam is usually with the president because he’s the main speech writer, and of course you’re needed for protection, so you’ve spent a lot of date nights on Air Force One.
• I mean, let’s be real, most dates are on the fly. Sam gets so focused on his work that you have to catch him by surprise when you get the chance. Maybe it’s in the middle of a bill being passed, or some international crisis, but the second there’s a break, you’ve got takeout ordered and find a way to corner him in an empty office (last time you tried to have dinner in his, Toby kept throwing the rubber ball at the adjoining window, despite Sam mentioning that he was on a date). When you’re busy on an assignment, or because the President is being stubborn and won’t go to bed, Sam likes to enter the Oval Office with the excuse that he needs to talk to the President, but he really just wants to see you. After the first three times, the President is sick of it and turns to you. “Just take the night off. Please. I think he’s running out of reasons to get in here and I don’t want him to resort to giving me weather or stock market updates.”
• Because you visit Sam’s office so often, you know most of the assistants. And they are HUGE fans of yours, mostly because when you’re around, Sam will rant to you instead of them. You hold weekend self defense lessons for them sometimes in the Secret Service gym, and everyone brings snacks. When Sam finds out, he thinks it’s amazing, and keeps trying to convince you to let him watch. You insist that it’s ladies only. HOWEVER, when one of your friends in the Secret Service gets sick and can’t help you with the lessons, you need a volunteer to do demonstrations with. You mention it to Ginger, Sam overhears, and bugs you for days about letting him help you. You eventually relent, mostly because you can’t say “no” to those blue eyes. During the first demonstration of the weekend lesson, you throw him to the ground. He stays down on the ground, the assistants giggle, and you hear a weak voice say “I regret this decision.”
• Sam loves to recite speeches to you. It helps his creative process, to read it to you. Usually, you don’t have to give input because talking it through helps him fix any problems, but when you do offer advice, he listens very intently. Your opinion carries a lot of weight.
• Alternatively, he loves hearing you read. He loves listening to poetry, novels, essays, even the Constitution. He just loves hearing you read. Lazy days (during the rare instances you both have time off) are spent with his head in your lap, your hand in his hair, and a book in your hand.
• Sam has a healthy fear of you — he knows you can hold your own. But, if anyone every insults you or makes a rude comment, you can hear an angry “HEY!” from across the room. He’s there in seconds and he’s there to beat down whoever tried to hurt you.
• A lot of people underestimate your political knowledge since you’re in the Secret Service. Once, while hanging out with the senior staff, you gave some input and Josh made a comment saying you didn’t know anything about the situation. Sam was L.I.V.I.D. It didn’t matter that Josh was his best friend, he defended you with INTENSITY. Of course, once Josh got to know you more, the two of you became friends. You’re probably the only people keeping Sam grounded.
• Sam doesn’t always express his emotions outright (he kinda sucks at saying what he’s feeling unless you ask him directly), but when he does, it is so genuine and sweet that you want to melt. Sometimes you find little scribbles among his notes that are about you and your relationship. Like: “I can’t think of any word to describe her but ethereal. She can’t be from this world.” He’s only ever written essays and speeches for the most part, but now he finds that he can’t help but write little blurbs about you. He never mentions it, but you treasure them when you find them.
• He knows you have to be professional while on duty, but he can’t stop flirting with you. He’ll pretend he’s never met you before, try some slick pick-up line, stand a little too close, the whole routine. You are the classic “she IS the job” kind of person, so your responses are mostly “Thank you, Mr. Seaborne.” “Alright, Mr. Seaborne.” But you cannot stop smiling.
i saw ur gonna be busy soon, i hope i haven’t missed ur cut off date for requests!
if u could do #55 with Sam Seaborn i’d be one happy camper :)
(u r like the only account i’ve found that writes for the west wing i’m absolutely in love with it!)
Aw thank you!!! You actually got this in right before the cutoff! @eminems-skittles also writes for the West Wing so you should give her a follow!! We West Wing people need to stick together <3
I absolutely adore this prompt. Enjoy! ;)
Tagging @girloncorneliastreet and @eminems-skittles
It’s morning already, after another long night at the Whitehouse. You groan when your alarm goes off, and you hear Sam reach over and smack it into silence.
He makes some noise between a sigh and an upset whine, and you smile, still groggy. He rolls over to you. His chest practically crushes you, his arms squeeze you close, and his legs somehow become completely entangled with yours. You sigh.
You’re happy.
The sun isn’t quite up yet, just a few lazy rays, the air feels cold and fresh, and you’re cozied up in your bed with your best friend.
But then the alarm on the other side of the bed goes off, and you remember that Awake You™ is a tricky bastard.
Two alarms. Really?
”Sam,” you mumble. No response.
”Sam.” He huffs.
”Sam!”
”What?” He finally says from where he’s buried himself in your neck.
”I need my arms back.”
He rolls over again with another disgruntled noise and you squint, pressing the button on your second alarm.
Finally awake, you sit up and stretch. Sam gets up slowly and turns to look at you, but you suddenly burst out laughing.
He’s got the most confused and tired expression on his face. You’re wheezing.
”What?”
”Your - your - your bed head, Sam! Your HAIR!” You howl.
His black hair, normally combed back, is sticking straight up in the air in every direction.
He‘s still confused, so you shove him off the bed with your hand.
”Go look in the mirror!”
He disappears, and when he comes back, you’re still laughing hysterically, tears now steaming down your face. He has a goofy smile on his face, and is looking at you like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
”It’s not that funny,” he mumbles.
”Yes it is!!”
He flops back on the bed, and leans over to you, trying to give you a kiss. But every time he turns his head, his hair flops, and you laugh harder. Soon, he’s laughing too, and you’re both a mess.
You fall over onto the pillow, and he crashes on top of you, both of your chests heaving, desperate for air.
It just gets worse every time you look at each other.
When you’ve both stopped gasping finally, he plants soft kisses on your jaw between giggles. And you’re smiling, so wide, and he looks so ridiculous but so cute.
This must be, you think, what it feels like to be home.
a/n: for @duck2005. okay so like hamilton woo. i’m sorry this is so short i just couldn’t get into it.
word count: 700
warnings: guns, violence, sam being sweet
masterlist
As you weaved your way through the crowd of Secret Service agents you called to the President. “Mr. President!” the smiling man turned around to look at you opening his arms toward you.
a/n: this is for my little happy-go-lucky speechwriter. @duck2005. gif not mine, all credit to @donnajosh. i’ve been thinking about this for a bit and i really like the idea. i enjoyed writing this and would love some more requests.
word count: 900
warnings: maybe 1 curse.
masterlist
There was a tremendous difference in how you carried yourself one day. You were happier, more confident. And while everyone noticed, they didn’t know why. But you surely did, it was because of the ring on your finger. A dainty, yet stunning ring, engagement ring specifically. From Sam Seaborn.
A/n: Just a little one to try and get back into things. Inspired by prompt ("i brought you flowers." "for what?" "there has to be a reason?") From @novelbear
Please reblog and review ❤❤
“What are those?“ You inquire with a raised eyebrow.
“Flowers” Sam says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And it kinda is.
“I know what flowers are Sam. I mean what are they for?” You amend, slightly concerned.
You haven't forgotten something have you? A birthday, anniversary, a date? A quick glance at a calendar assures you that's not the case, so what is Sam up to? He's not trying to apologize for something is he? You guys haven't had any arguments lately so that doesn't really fit either, unless he's trying to get ahead of the game.
“They're for you.” At your confused expression he continues, “What? I need a reason to get you flowers?” Sam replies.
And oh, isn't he just the sweetest? You melt at his words. And while you'd never tell him this you think that you'd do anything he asks.
“Have I told you I love you lately?” You ask giving him a hug, careful not to crush your new flowers.
“Mmm I wouldn't mind hearing it again.” He answers, relaxing into your hug.
Request: anything with sam seaborn but try not to spoil anything after season 2 ep17, as i’ve just started watching and k am completely uwuu with him. i guess id love it if there’s some idiots in love, with angsty pining and a happy ending 🥹
Summary: You've been in love with Sam Seaborn since you met him on the Campaign Trail, and according to your coworkers you are not doing a good job at keeping that hidden. Your friends and colleagues are convinced you're not the only one pining. You're more focused on supporting Sam as a colleague in your role as Deputy Press Secretary and a friend, through the good days and the bad, like in the aftermath of Rosslyn. Despite the day-to-day chaos, everything seems to be the same until the night of Bartlet's Third State of the Union when things finally click for the two of you.
Starts right after Let Bartlet be Bartlet and mostly follows the plot through Bartlet's Third State of the Union, up until the Senior Staff finds out details about Colombia.
Author’s Note: I have been a Sam girly since day one. I read the word angst and pining on that request and absolutely ran with it. Like I cannot overstate how insanely this ran away from me but I really loved writing every second. I hope you enjoy! Feel free to stop by my ask to chat or with your own request! xoxo
As always this can also be found on my ao3
Divider credits to @/saradika
Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, hospitals, and references to (no depictions of) injury/death
“So, when are you going to tell Sam?” Even before you look up from your desk, you know the exact mischievous smile on Donna's face as she leans against the frame of your office door, just like she knows that you’re about to roll your eyes in response.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” As expected, you roll your eyes.
“Oh please, do you think you’re subtle?” Setting your pen down on your desk, you finally look up from the draft speech you’re reading. As Deputy Press Secretary, you don’t always get the same read-ahead that CJ gets before a big announcement, but you’ll take as much information as you can get, whenever you can get it.
“Would you like to talk subtle? How about –”
“– Subtle? Who’s subtle?” As if summoned, Sam Seaborn comes strolling into your office, interrupting Donna before she can say something incriminating about you and the feelings you've been trying to hide since you first met on the Campaign.
“Certainly not this latest FEC nomination draft that’s been put in front of me. We’re really coming in hard on campaign finance reform aren’t we?” You flash a quick look at Donna that says so help me if you don’t play along, hoping that Sam buys your sudden shift in topic.
‘I’m trying something new, Let Bartlet be Bartlet.” Sam says, so earnestly it makes your heart clench a little.
“I like it.” You say honestly. Over the past few years, you've mastered the ability to separate your feelings for Sam from your professional and political opinions on his writing. It certainly helps that most of the time, the two are in agreement: Sam's incredible. “Does Toby?”
“Sam!” From the way that he’s hollering down the hallway, you’re pretty sure that Toby does not, in fact, care for the heavy handed nature of Sam’s latest draft. In true Sam fashion, he just flashes you and Donna a charming smile before turning to respond to the summons.
“See, that right there. That look!” Donna says, placing a hand over her heart, pretending to swoon.
“Again, I don’t know what you mean, Donna. He gave you the exact same look.”
“Oh it might have started that way, but as soon as you looked back, it was something different entirely, something captivating. I felt like I was intruding on something personal."
“What are you, an office romance writer now? Doesn’t Josh need you for something?”
“Hey Donna, Josh just called to ask if I’ve seen you. He said he needs the file before Joey Lucas gets here.” Carol, your savior, right on time to get you out of this situation before the entire West Wing knows about your feelings.
“That’s what I’m doing, I had to go grab it. Shockingly, despite Josh’s wishes, I have not yet mastered the art of teleportation. I’m on my way back.”
“Strange, I thought you were here to berate me.” You tease.
“Is it berating if it’s done with love?” Donna counters.
“About Sam?” Carol chimes in. Okay, so maybe Carol isn’t here to save you.
“Carol! Not you too!” Donna and Carol share a smile as Donna turns to make her way back to Josh’s office. “Okay how about this. Let’s grab dinner later and over a glass of wine I’ll explain to you all about why my saying anything to Sam is a bad idea.”
“You’re joking but we’re going to hold you to it.” Donna calls over her shoulder as you groan.
“Carol, does she need me?” You ask, when Carol lingers in the doorway.
“Yep, something about Sam’s newest draft.”
“Tell her I need five minutes.”
“She’s going to tell me to come back in three.” She says knowingly, but you’re counting on this response.
“Good thing I can get it done in two.” You wink at Carol, quickly returning to the draft in front of you so you can wrap up and head over to CJ’s office.
A few hours later, you find yourself out to dinner with Donna, Carol, and Ginger. You know Donna wants to press you on your interrupted conversation from earlier but so far you’ve been foiling her at every turn, picking up a new conversation wherever anyone leaves off.
Finally, you set down your empty wine glass. You’ve managed to time it perfectly so that you can immediately nod to the waiter, indicating your readiness for a refill. Donna patiently suffers through another conversation about your annoying neighbor until finally, your second glass of wine is set in front of you, and she pounces.
“So, Sam.” She says, as if that’s all she needs to say. Unfortunately for you, it is.
“So... Sam.” You say, trying for casual. You fail, spectacularly, if the immediate rush of blood to your cheeks is anything to go by.
“My lips are sealed.” Ginger says, before you can even say anything to her about keeping what you’re about to say between the four of you. Not that you think she’d ever say anything to Sam, it just feels like a necessary precaution before you discuss him in front of one of his assistants.
“Fine, what do you want to know?”
“Are you going to tell him how you feel?” Donna asks.
“We all know there’s something there.” Carol says at the exact same moment.
“I mean, I know I spend all day outside his office but it’s not like I’m the only one who sees it.” Ginger adds. “There’s absolutely something between the two of you. Half the time you’re in his office, I feel like I’m interrupting something very personal and very hot.”
“You’re the worst. Seriously, all of you.” You pause to take another sip of wine. “No, I’m not telling him anything, that would be terrible. Even in the best of work environments, I couldn’t imagine dating a coworker, much less in the White House. That sounds like a recipe for disaster. Not to mention the fact that he’s not into me. Not to mention the fact that I’m not his type - I mean come on, I’m no Mallory.” You don’t mean it self-deprecatingly, if anything you mean it as a token of your admiration for Mal. It’s almost hard to feel so jealous of her when you know firsthand how much of a sweetheart she is. Mal’s a girl’s girl, so much so that it almost leaves you feeling bad for never telling her how you feel for Sam because you know she’d have backed out in a heartbeat.
“Oh come on, he hasn’t seen Mallory in ages. I should know, I keep his calendar.” Ginger tells you.
“Besides, they went on a few dates, it’s not like he swore off all other women forever.” Carol adds.
“So we’ve solved Mallory. Now will you tell him?” Donna asks.
“Absolutely not, I’m a big fan of not making a fool of myself at the workplace. Or in general really. An odd interest of mine - not looking like an ass.” You’re laying it on thick, hoping the girls will take pity on you and change the subject.
“You’re a pain.” Donna groans.
“I’m charming, what can I say?” You deflect. “Seriously though, I appreciate it. I just – I mean, he’s Sam. He’s brilliant, and clever, and maddeningly attractive. And we’re colleagues, and friends, good friends, and I don’t see the point in ruining a good thing by owning up to these feelings like a blushing schoolgirl.”
“How long have you felt this way?” Ginger asks gently.
“Since the campaign.” You softly admit.
As you look down at your wine, using it as an excuse to look away from the intense eye contact with your friends, you don’t see the way they all exchange glances with each other. With your forced casual tone giving way to reveal how flustered you truly are over this, they realize how serious your feelings really are. If anything, this makes them want to talk about it more, wholly convinced that there is something between the two of you, but as good friends do, they see that you’ve hit your limit for the night so in silent agreement, they all drop it and turn the conversation to mindless office gossip.
You spend the rest of the night trying not to spiral over your feelings for Sam. You know you haven’t been doing the best job keeping them undercover, how can you? You mean what you said, Sam’s absolutely brilliant. There’s something about his effortless, often dorky, earnest charm that just worms its way right into your heart every single time you see him. But tonight’s not the time to think about it further, so you accept the out that your friends are giving you, and turn the conversation elsewhere.
A few days later, you’re in your office having an incredibly late cup of coffee, working on compiling additional info CJ asked for in preparation for the end of the polling. You’re reviewing your latest edits when your cell phone rings. Without looking, you flip it open, assuming it’s CJ or Carol.
“Hello.”
“Hi, she’s on her way back from polling, how soon can you be in her office?” Carol’s tone sets off your internal crisis alarms, and immediately you’re on your feet.
“Faster than she can, I’m in mine.”
“I’d bring coffee.” Carol warns you in a low tone before hanging up. You’re not sure what this is about, but you’re desperately hoping that this doesn’t mean an unfortunate turn in the polling numbers. You grab your coffee, the notes you’re working on, a pen, and a blank notebook just in case, and make your way to wait in CJ’s office.
“I mean, god, Carol. How stupid can he be?” After a few minutes, you hear CJ coming down the hall. You’d hate to be the person on the other end of her rant. Mentally, you prepare yourself to begin whatever damage control you’re about to help with.
“Do you want me to call Leo?” Carol’s measured tone is a stark contrast to CJ's frantic one.
“Absolutely not. Not until we know anything for sure.” CJ says as she enters her office. At the sight of you waiting, she seems to deflate just a fraction. “Good, you’re here. Carol, close the door and send him in the second he gets here.”
With one eyebrow raised, you listen as CJ fills you in – it takes a considerable amount of effort not to drop your jaw in astonishment when she tells you that Sam has likely been photographed giving Laurie a gift. Your immediate reaction is astonishment – how can such a brilliant, political savvy man be so naive sometimes? You know as well as CJ does that Sam was warned in advance about his friendship with Laurie, just as well as you know that Sam has too much goodness in his heart to take the warning at face value. Sam can’t fathom judging someone in that way, in profiting off of a friendship like that, so in some ways you’re not surprised to hear that he visited her anyways.
All the while you're biting back the irrational feelings of jealousy. You’re ashamed to be jealous. Sam’s your friend, just like he is Laurie’s. Neither of you own him. Besides, it’s a terrible situation all around. No, there’s no time for your feelings tonight, you’re here to do a job, your friendship comes second and as far as you're concerned, your fondness for Sam comes last. It has to. For both of your sakes.
Still, you’re not in CJ’s office as Sam’s friend or defender. You’re there as CJ’s Deputy, and close confidante and it’s time for you to get to work. You sit down opposite CJ as the two of you prepare your game plan, and when Sam finally arrives, you remarkably manage to keep a straight face while CJ berates him, jumping in every now and then when your expertise is required.
Finally, CJ hits her limits and sends you to your office to follow up with any contacts that you trust to answer your questions without asking any of their own. You’re not surprised when Sam follows you, going immediately to lean against one of the chairs on the other side of your desk. You shut the door, knowing what’s coming.
“How dare she?” Sam’s pissed in a way you’ve rarely seen. You take a split second to set your things down and nod, encouraging him to continue. He’s not mad at CJ, not really. He’s mad at the people judging him and his friend, he’s mad at the business you’re all in treating people the way it does, and he’s mad at himself for not taking everyone’s cautionary warnings more seriously. Besides, it’s much better to let him get it all out now, with you, than risk him blowing up at CJ or worse, Toby. You sit there quietly let Sam get it all out of his system, and he finishes his rant, sinking down into the chair in front of him.
“I know, and I’m sorry.” You tell him, and you mean it. Against your better judgment you reach a hand out and place it on top of his on the desk. Instinctively, Sam twists his, placing his palm against yours and moving his thumb on top of your first finger. You sit there, holding hands, for just a moment, offering a hint of nonjudgmental comfort, knowing that he needs it – a moment of refuge between friends. Nothing more, and nothing less. You only let a moment go by before you pull your hand away, and shift back into work mode.
“I’m going to see what I can find out. Do you want to stay here? I can’t promise you’ll like what I find.”
Sam just nods as you pick up the phone, dialing the first contact who came to mind when he had told you and CJ all of the details in her office. It’s the first phone call of many, and between you and CJ it takes hours to even confirm that there was a photo. At that point you offer Sam a sympathetic look, just a moment, to say I know. You’re a good man. It was a sweet gift. You make a mental note to remind him of that soon, just as soon as you get the White House through this.
By the time you make it home, you only get a few hours of sleep before you’re back at the office, which is unfortunately par for the course. You stop at Carol’s desk on the way in, confirming the latest updates with her before you head to your desk where you find a hot cup of coffee with a note waiting for you.
Picking up the sticky note on top of it, you smile as you read Thank you. I hope you still take it the way you did on the Campaign Trail. With your head full of memories of laughing and strategizing with Sam along the campaign, you take a sip of your coffee and are unsurprised when it’s perfect. When Sam commits, he commits. You brush aside your personal feelings for the man as you pick up where you left off last night, and if you have a soft smile for the rest of the morning whenever you take a sip of your coffee, nobody’s any the wiser as to why. Until you and Sam are in the same meeting and Donna catches his stare lingering on the cup in your hands. In a sheer quirk of timing, she watches as you look down at your cup and then smile at Sam almost the exact second he looks away from you. She'll tell you about this later and you'll brush her off, telling her that you love her but it sounds like her imagination is running wild.
In a few hours, you’ll be with CJ when she finds out the results of the poll, the nine-point jump that nobody dared to hope for. You’re not in the Oval when it happens, but she’ll later tell you that Sam’s okay, and the two of you celebrate both facts over pizza in her office.
From there, things seem to be normal, as normal as they can be with your job. You do your job, Sam does his, and you determinedly avoid Ginger’s raised eyebrows whenever you pass by on the way to Sam’s office, you dodge Donna’s pointed questions, and you try to escape Carol’s knowing looks when she (also) catches you looking a little bit too long. Maybe if you weren’t being so stubborn and actually looked, you’d see them doing the same to Sam, you’d know that they’ve been telling him all of the same things they tell you. But you’re both too focused on the job, on what could go wrong, that you refuse to see what could be right in front of you.
All in all, it seems like a normal day when it happens. You’re practically swimming in NASA reports, trying to help CJ dodge Danny when she pops her head into your office.
“Hey, we’re heading out.”
“The Rosslyn thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Enjoy the traffic.” You both laugh. God bless traveling by motorcade, it ruins everyone else’s day but when you’re in it, dodging traffic between DC and Arlington, it’s the closest thing to a miracle you have.
“I’ll call you from the car on the way back with any updates. Do you have the current remarks?”
“I’ve got them right here, I’ll be ready and waiting to hear the latest presidential ad libs.” You joke. CJ laughs and everything seems normal. The next few hours fly by, you’ve got the tv on in the background on low volume like you always do, but your attention is elsewhere when it happens. You don’t register what you’re hearing until Carol literally runs into your office.
“Turn around.” Carol nearly yells at you.
“What?” You’ve never seen Carol like this, you’re not sure what to expect.
“Look at the damn tv.”
“Carol, what’s going –” You’re in the middle of a question you never finish as you swirl in your chair, turning to face the news. Suddenly, you scramble to grab the remote off of a nearby cabinet, turning the volume on.
“Oh my god.” The remote falls out of your hands, hitting the floor. Neither you nor Carol notice as it hits at an angle that dislodges the back, sending the batteries flying everywhere. They stay on the floor, unnoticed, until a custodian comes to clean in the middle of the night.
“What do we do? What do you need?” She’s not quite in panic mode, not quite in work mode. Carol is somewhere in between, eyes completely locked on the screen in front of you as you suddenly hear every phone in the bullpen start ringing.
It hits you faster than you’d expect, that with Sam, Toby, Josh, and CJ all in Rosslyn, you’re going to be the woman with the answers for a while.
“Call Margaret, ask her if she needs me. Check in with Donna, Bonnie, and Ginger. See if they know anything. And Carol, keep the press out of here.” You’re giving orders left and right and it’s a testament to how capable Carol is that she manages to take it all in, heading back to her desk to do exactly as you’ve asked.
You allow yourself just one minute to panic. One minute to worry about your people. You want to cry. You don’t know anything but you’re prepared for the worst. This isn’t just your job, it’s your life, these people are your family. You've known them for years, you've spent long nights and early mornings with them. You feel like a little kid, lost at the supermarket, looking between the rows of food and throngs of adults, trying to find your mom. You don’t have time for this, your friends don’t have time for this, and the country doesn’t have time for this. So you force yourself to take a deep breath, and you pick up the phone, ready to get to work.
The rest of the night is a blur. If pressed, you don’t know that you could recall finding out about Josh or the President. All you know is the bone crushing fear you’ve felt and how it’s mixed with the bittersweet relief at finding out that everyone else is okay. Are you allowed to be happy it’s only two people you care about? You don’t know. You don’t have time to know. Besides, it’s not like you can ask anybody for the answer.
Once she returns, you're CJ’s shadow, fetching her water and a cool cloth for her head, pretending you don’t notice that she’s in worse shape than she’s letting on. Finally, you’re sent to the hospital. CJ can’t be in two places at once and she’s needed at the podium more than you are. It’s more of a favor to a friend than it is an ask from your boss. There’s no real reason to have the Deputy Press Secretary in the waiting room at the hospital, but you go anyway.
You’re not senior staff, but you’ve been there since the beginning, so it’s really no shock to anyone when you walk into the waiting room. Everyone’s heads immediately pop up, and you feel a pang of guilt for not having any updates to give them.
You’re not sure where to sit, you don’t know where you’re needed. You don't even realize that you've crosses the room until Donna sees you and stands up, and the next thing you know you’re pulling her into your arms. You’re holding one another while the rest of the room tries not to stare at this moment, it’s so raw, it hurts. You have to stop yourself from bringing one hand up to your chest, as if you could feel the pain from the outside.
You just stand there, holding Donna, when another hand is placed on your back. You don’t need to look to know it’s Sam, of course it is. The three of you stand there, holding onto one another, nobody daring to say anything.
Eventually, you sit down, and somehow you’ve maintained your position in the middle of them. Donna’s on your left, hand holding yours so tightly you know it will leave marks, and Sam on your right, one arm on the back of your chair, just barely brushing against you. You both need the comfort but right here, in a room illuminated by harsh fluorescents with too much silence, you don’t know how to give it. So you lean back, just a fraction of an inch. Just enough to press against Sam, to let him know you’re there.
The three of you stay like that for a while, until CJ calls and tells you and Sam you’re needed back at the office. You think that leaving that waiting room, walking away from Toby, and Donna, Charlie, and Mrs. Bartlet might rip your heart straight out of your chest. Until Mrs. Bartlet pulls you into a hug and promises that she’ll personally make sure you two receive any updates. Until Toby gives you the harshest look he can muster under the circumstances, as close to a confirmation of your place at the White House as he can bring himself to give. Until you press a loving kiss to Donna's hair, the closest thing to a sister you have in this town, and she repeats Mrs. Bartlet's promise.
You don’t realize that you’re holding Sam’s hand until he lets go long enough to slide your jacket over your shoulders. For his part, Sam doesn’t realize either. He’s so caught up in the guilt of walking away from the hospital holding his best friend that he doesn’t notice much of anything until you two make it to the car out front.
Sam’s just going through the motions as he lets you slide into the car first. Everyone’s on edge tonight, and the Secret Service usher you two into the car, eager to get you to the White House quickly and in one piece. You don’t know what makes you do it, but suddenly you’re five minutes into the drive, sliding across the seat, flinging yourself at Sam. In one fluid motion, you’ve twisted sideways, tucking your legs under you and burying your face in Sam’s shoulder. Sam doesn’t hesitate to grab onto you, strong arms circling you, holding you tighter than ever before.
You sit like that for a while, all that can be heard is the way you’re breathing heavily, trying not to cry. You don’t know what to say, nobody tells you the protocol for something like this.
Finally, you pull away, brushing away a piece of Sam’s hair that’s fallen onto his forehead.
“Do you want to work in my office when we get back? After you talk with Nancy?” You hope that Sam understands what you’re saying. That he knows you really mean I couldn’t handle it if it was you. Thank god you’re safe. I’m sorry it was Josh. I’m sorry it was the President. Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything. I’m right here. You’re not alone.
Sam just nods, and says “I think that’s good. We can stay updated easily that way.” Sam hopes that you know that he’s really saying that’s my best friend. I’m barely staying upright. Please don’t make me write his eulogy. I won’t survive it. Thank you for coming. Thank you for holding me. I don’t know what to do with my hands when I’m not holding on to you. I think I need you to get me through the night.
You just nod, sliding back to your original spot, leaving one hand reaching across the middle. There’s no time at all before Sam’s hand is set on top of yours, and in a mirror image of the night in your office focused on Laurie’s graduation gift, you turn your palm up and hold onto Sam for dear life.
There’s an added grief in your heart tonight at watching Sam go through this. It’s hard enough going through it for yourself, feeling your fear and anger and sadness over Josh, President Bartlet, for all of your friends. It’s seeing the look in Mrs. Bartlet’s eyes reflected in Donna’s. When you held Donna, you were sure that she felt heavier than normal, letting herself sink into your arms, bones weary and filled with love and grief that she doesn’t know how to put down.
But there’s something additional about watching Sam do it. Sweet, incredible Sam. Sam, who hit on his boss’ daughter, and takes the opposing view to help the President prepare for the worst response. Sam who writes speeches that bring people to tears and helped convince a nation to vote for the underdog. Sam who loves classical music, and his alma mater, and would do anything for his friends. Sam, a lawyer, a speechwriter, a trusted confidante to the President, and a man who once spent an overnight drive between campaign stops trading the worst puns with you, until you had to beg him to stop because you laughed so hard it physically hurt. Sam, who jokes about it with Josh but doesn’t even realize how beloved he is, how many heads he turns in a room. Whose hopeful optimism bleeds into his every political project. The man who has captivated most of your thoughts since the day you met. It breaks something in you watching him get through it, and you're bound and determined to be there every step of the way.
Somehow, you make it through the night. When he gets the call that Josh is out of surgery, Sam’s so excited he picks you up, spinning you around right in the middle of the bullpen. His joy is contagious. It’s a brief reprieve in a terrible night that you’ll never forget. The first time that he feels calm enough, that he lets go of his fear and anger long enough to joke with you again, you have to take a second in your office to cry silently. You’re so relieved and it’s the only way your body can figure out how to process the myriad of emotions you’ve been feeling since Carol first came into your office with the news.
Somehow, the world keeps turning. You make it through the night, and then the next, and then things slowly go back to normal. People stop being so afraid to whisper Josh’s name, they stop worrying that referencing the President will tempt the universe to bring him more pain. Eventually, people can reference Rosslyn again, they don’t find other ways to reference taking where they’re getting off the Blue Line to go get drinks after work. And you and your friends, your family, figure out how to talk to one another without expecting Josh to be lingering over your shoulders, without it feeling like you’re doing something wrong by not sitting in silence.
Through it all, you continue your work: preparing CJ for briefings, tackling any assignments thrown your way, and navigating the press with a charm that seems to come back stronger every day. It’s exhausting work, but you’re thankful for it. You watch in amusement as Sam encounters Ainsley Hayes on Capital Beat and try not to overplay your hand when everyone teases him afterwards. You’re convinced that everyone can see through you as you offer him a sympathy that nobody else seems to possess, before joining in on the teasing.
It’s normal again, until you hear CJ yelling in the hallway. Shrieking, really, about Leo’s latest idea: bringing Ainsley in to work for this Administration. You don’t love the idea, and you try to convince yourself that it’s for reasons other than jealousy. Aside from the disastrous takedown, everyone’s seen the way she can go toe-for-toe with Sam. She’s gorgeous, she’s smart, and hell even you’re a little infatuated with her. It’s easy to take Sam and CJ’s side, to listen to them complain behind closed doors, to wish that she’d never been on that damn show with Sam. But decisions like that are way above your pay grade, so you just hope you can put your head down and avoid interacting with the two of them at the same time.
When she eventually starts work, you feel like an ass for wanting to hate her as she attempts to politely navigate being a fish out of water, a Republican in the Bartlet White House. It doesn’t take long for the office gossip to reach you about everything that happened between Ainsley and Joyce and Brookline. You gasp when Ginger gives you the details in a dramatic retelling of Sam’s righteous anger and the way he fires them.
It’s equally a testament to Sam’s willingness to do the right thing as it is a critique of those two assholes when you tell Ginger that Sam firing them is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. The only problem is, that it’s the closest thing to admitting your feelings that you’ve done since your dinner with her, Donna, and Carol all those months ago and it reignites their efforts to act as matchmakers.
They pick it back up subtly. Ginger mentions you a little bit more in front of Sam, trying to keep an eye on his responses. When she slips in stories about her weekend, she makes sure that you’re featured prominently in them. Anytime she goes to your half of the office, she makes sure to refer to you and the Deputies, not just the Deputies. Carol mostly just observes, pays attention to how many times she walks by and finds him in your office, or vice versa.
Donna is the real lynchpin of the plan. She brings you up frequently in the way that only she can. A reference to the briefing you gave in CJ’s absence, a retelling of something you said that made Josh laugh, and then finally, the pièce de résistance – a quick, blink and you miss it, comparison between you and Sam, and Josh and Joey Lucas. It nearly knocks Sam off his feet, his instinct to deny, deny, deny. But that doesn’t stop Donna, if anything it encourages her further. It’s at this point that she ropes Josh and CJ into it. A well placed comment here and there over the next few weeks, and suddenly the entire senior staff is wondering what’s going on between you and Sam. The kicker is that you’re each convinced that the other doesn’t know, you practically beg them to keep their mouths shut. Leo pretends not to know anything about it, but at the end of the day, a few days before the Third State of the Union, when the President needs a break from talking policy and political ramifications, the two share what they’ve each heard like the protective, gossipy dads they are.
Finally, it’s time for President Bartlet’s Third State of the Union, and the White House is aflutter getting ready. You’ve been back and forth between your office, CJ’s, Sam and Toby’s, and Josh’s so many times that you think you could trace the exact path in your sleep.
“Sam, it’s a great draft. The section looks great, just like it did four hours ago.” You tell him, head resting on your hand.
“I know, but it needs to be better.”
“No, it doesn’t. You just need to take a breather. You’re getting neurotic.”
You both ignore Ginger huffing under her breath. “Getting?” She mumbles to herself in the bullpen.
“Come on, let’s go get coffee.”
“I have to write, I need to fix this.”
“Sam. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking. Stand up and walk with me to the coffee pot for five minutes.”
Suddenly, he acquiesces. How can he not when you’re looking at him like that? Sam trusts you, and while his instincts are screaming at him to keep drafting, he finds himself standing up, following you blindly like a sailor lured into the sea. For your part, you’re so proud of yourself for getting him to take a break, even a miniscule one, that you don’t give him the chance to sit back down. Instead, you gently hold onto his arm as if he’s an old school gentleman taking you for a lap around the garden as you set off to get a cup of coffee.
Sam listens while you talk about your family, sharing an anecdote from your latest call home and takes the moment for what it is – a life raft designed to keep him from sinking down, chained to his perfectionism and fear of failing Toby and the President. Eventually, you let him get back to it, the two of you spend longer curled up in your office working on last minute edits and preparing remarks for hours. Finally, he has to deliver his updates to Toby, and you need to go chat with Chris about a quote she's been asking for.
“It really is a great speech, Sam. You know it. I know you do.”
Sam just gives you a grateful smile as the two of you make your way out of your office, and head off in separate directions.
You don’t see Sam again until after the speech. You’ve each been busy between conversations with CJ, Toby, and Josh about everything from polling, to Officer Sloan. For two people who are laser focused on the same things, it’s almost funny how you keep missing each other throughout the night.
You’re constantly in motion engaging the press at the exact times CJ needs you to, while strategically disappearing when you don’t have any updates for them. You know there’s something else going on, you’ve picked up on the signs in the past few years, but you’ll find out when you need to so you keep your head down and focus on your own work. By the time you find Sam again, he’s back in his office, already thinking about what tomorrow will bring.
“I heard what you did for Ainsley, that was sweet of you, Sam.” You say, leaning against the doorframe to his office.
“She was in a bath robe. She’s mortified.” He sighs, clearly having already been torn to shreds over this.
“Yeah but you didn’t plan that. It was a series of unfortunate accidents. It was still sweet. Besides, you should be mighty pleased. It was a great speech.” You walk over to him, sitting on the edge of his desk.
“It turned out well.” He agrees.
“When’d you finally finish?”
“Right before he walked on stage.” He admits, and as always, that sweet grin does something to you.
“You’re incredible.”
You mean for it to come out light hearted, as a testament to his ability as a speechwriter. Instead, you somehow convey years of yearning, of admiration, of the feelings you’ve been trying not to share. You know the second that you say it that there’s no going back. You just hope that Sam has the grace to let you get away with it, to let you brush it off as though it was just a casual compliment, Bartlet Communications member to Bartlet Communications member.
Sam freezes, for just a second, and it’s just enough time for your brain to cycle through to concern. You move to hop down from his desk, mouth already opening to explain yourself away when all of a sudden Sam jumps up, his hands flying to the outside of your thighs to keep you in place.
“Wait.” He says, and the two of you look down simultaneously, equally surprised by his hold on you. “Sorry, I, uh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” He says, flustered. You’ve heard of Sam being like this from Mallory, but you’ve never witnessed it yourself.
Oh. All of a sudden, something clicks for you, and in a second you’re cycling through all of the times you’ve wound up sitting together laughing, talking at all hours, in the times you’ve gone to each other first with news or for feedback, and in the rare moments of physical connection.
Oh. At the same time, Sam is too busy feeling your thighs under his hands to think of much of anything aside from the sound of you telling him that he’s incredible. He thinks it might be the greatest compliment that he’s ever received.
For the second time in as many minutes, Sam’s body moves faster than his brain and suddenly his lips are on yours. You move as much by instinct as you do desire as your hands snake up to pull Sam closer to you. Time seems to stop as you hold onto one another, kissing like your life depends on it.
You’re not thinking about the speech, or about the questions you’ve been fielding from the press. Your world has gone quiet, you don’t notice the sounds of people talking in the bullpen, and you certainly don’t notice the first time that Ginger clears her throat, trying to give you and Sam a moment to compose yourselves.
Ginger certainly wasn’t expecting this when she stood up from her desk to go give Sam a message from Leo. Given that the door is wide open, she thinks that you two probably weren’t either. She knows that whatever Leo needs Sam for sounds serious, and that every minute could count. She wants to be able to close the door and let you two have your moment but she knows that she can’t. She can, however, give you two the decency of reacting calmly even though she wants to throw confetti in the air. So when you don’t respond the first time she clears her throat, she waits approximately five seconds and tries again. This time, she pairs it with a gentle knock on the door.
“Hi, I’m sorry. Sam, Leo needs you. I told him I had to grab you and that you’d be there shortly. It was the most time I could give you.” She says with a slight smirk before immediately turning around. “I didn’t see anything.” She calls over her shoulder, and even though she’s trying, she can’t keep the laugh out of her voice.
You’re…alarmed. On the one hand, you’re embarrassed to have been caught making out at work like a horny teenager. On the other hand, you now know firsthand that kissing Sam is every bit the experience that you always thought it might be. Ginger caught you so off guard that you twisted your neck to look at her, but your hands are still around Sam’s neck, and he’s still holding onto your waist.
“Hi.” You say, looking at him shyly for the first time since you two met.
“Hi. This is terrible timing but apparently, Leo needs me.”
All you can do is laugh. This job is full of terrible timing, you’re used to it, but in this context it’s truly just funny. Sam joins you in laughing, and delicately tucks a piece of hair behind your ears.
“We should talk later. Can we talk?” He asks.
“I’ll be here. You know how to find me.” You lean back up, pressing one more kiss to his lips while you can. There’ll be time to talk later, you’re sure of it. You’ve been waiting for so long, what's another few hours.
Sam just nods and detangles himself from you, and you bite back a giggle at how reluctant he seems to do so. He takes a few steps away before he turns back to you.
“I’ve been wanting to do that forever.” He admits.
“Since we first met.” You admit, smiling so big that it almost hurts.
Sam rushes back over to you, offering one more kiss before pulling away again. What a man. What a truly incredible man.
“Okay. I should go. Before Leo sends the calvary.”
You’re left giggling, sitting on Sam’s desk, as he leaves. You know that you should head back to your desk, and you will. But first, you take a second to just bury your head in your hands, still smiling, as you kick your legs in excitement.
You’re not sure what the rest of the night will hold, or when you and Sam will get to talk, but you know that you’ll make it work, just like you have with everything else. You can only hope that it involves a whole lot more of Sam's sweet smiles, and of feelings his lips against yours.
in which anthony bridgerton finds himself enamored with the ton's most stubborn debutante...
PAIRING: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader
WARNINGS: given last name (Bennett), boring men, annoying Anthony, protective siblings, a generally healthy family dynamic, angst, fluff, so much pining, miscommunication ig, medling servants, dramatic confession (ala Anthony Bridgerton style)
WORD COUNT: 6.5k
🎶 : reflections - the neighbourhood
AN: 🩵♥️💗 - love this one so so much!! It's not really set in any season, but if it were, I imagine season two Anthony (looks wise) and season three Anthony (vibes wise)!! enjoy pookies!!
You could not bring yourself to care.
You tried, you really did. But this lord, whatever his name was, was the most trying man you’d ever had the misfortune of meeting. Your mother’s close childhood friend had introduced you to him, and from then on, you’d not found a way to be rid of him. It’s not that he was horrible in any way, just extremely dull. And pompous.
He was currently talking about how many homes he had in the countryside. You scratched your brow, the signal you and your mother had devised long ago. A signal that meant it was time to free you from whatever you were taking part in.
Today, it applies to this boring conversation. “How wonderful, my lord-”
“Darling.” Your mother approached the table, feigning an apologetic look. “We really must be going. Your father has sent for us.”
“Oh.” The lord, you still didn’t remember his name, frowned. “Then you must leave. I insist.”
“Really?” You frowned as well. “I would hate to-”
“I will see you at the Danbury Ball. Do not worry.” He took your hand, kissing the back. “Until then, Miss Bennett.”
“Until then, my lord.” You hooked your arm through your mother’s, all but running out of the ice cream shop. “Thank you.”
“Of course, my darling.” She smiled. “May I ask what was wrong with him?”
“I-” You couldn’t very well tell your mother you hated him, or that you didn’t know his name. That he wasn’t at all what you pictured for yourself, and even though you knew you must marry for duty, you wished you could at least enjoy the man. “He was quite self-centered.”
“What man isn’t?”
Your mind drifted for a moment, imagining any number of men you’d read about. One your your newer novels had the dreamiest man, the most perfect man. He was stoic, but loving, reserved, but all encompassing when it came to his love. “I imagine some.”
“Ever the idealist, my dear.”
Your sister, Mary, was young, only six and ten years of age. You felt a certain protectiveness over her, to shield her from the way men were. You wished she could remain naive forever. That hope, the one only you knew, locked you into a dutiful marriage. Then your sister, as kind and naive as she was, could marry for love without a care in the world.
She would never come to know the harsh realities you faced, and that was fine with you.
But there were moments.
When you walked in the park, your eyes would drift to the lovers on the benches, giggling and smiling. Your heart would flutter when the man would brush something from his wife’s cheek, or even kiss her longingly.
Something you had never experienced, and most likely never would.
“Are you listening?” Mary frowned. “You’ve drifted off again.”
“I’m sorry.” You sat up in your chair, smiling at the young girl. “What is it you were saying?”
“I was asked to a ball.”
“A ball?” Mary had yet to debut; who in the world had asked her to a ball? “Who has asked you?”
“One of the Lady Bridgerton’s daughters. We met at the library, and she was quite witty. We became quick friends.”
The worry that had built up in your stomach quickly subsided. “I’m sure Mother will be thrilled. The Bridgerton girls are wonderful.”
“Perhaps you can meet one of their handsome brothers.” Mary wiggled her eyebrows. “I have heard they are quite easy on the eye.”
“And where exactly are you hearing this?” You scoffed, sitting back in your seat. “You are much too young-”
“I read about it, if you must know. In Lady Whistledown.”
“Must I repeat my earlier sentiment?”
“I am six and ten years of age, sister. I am hardly a child.”
“In my eyes-” You reminisced fondly. “You will always be a child.”
“I wish I were not.” She huffed, folding her arms indignantly.
“Well, you are.” You teased, opening your book back to where you’d left off. “It is the way of older sisters, Mary. We will always think of you as we first met you.”
“You first met me when I was a babe.”
You laughed, not bothering to look up from your book. “Exactly.”
“Our girls look exquisite, do they not, my lord?” Your mother was ecstatic, brimming with joy, when Mary told her the news. “The very picture of elegance.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” You scoffed. “I’m dressed as a pirate.” Mary had failed to mention that the ball she’d been invited to was the Bridgerton’s annual Masquerade Ball. You had no use for new gowns, deciding to give your Mother your allowance to make Mary the most exquisite girl at the ball. “Mary, however, looks beautiful.”
She grinned, spinning in her sparkling white gown. It was in the style of their mother’s youth, with a large, voluptuous skirt and tight corset top. She had wings, large fabric ones, with a beautiful halo. “Thank you, sister.”
“Shall we make our way?”
Your father grumbled. “I would very much like to.”
Your father had always been quiet, reserved in nature. To hear him say he would like to attend a ball was quite shocking, amusing even. You laughed, hooking your arm through his. “You would like to, you say?”
He nodded, helping you into the carriage. “Perhaps this will be the ball you find a suitable husband, my dear. Where better than the Bridgerton ball?”
Your cheeks grew red, squeaking in shock. “Father!”
It had been his turn to laugh at you. “The Bridgertons are a fine bunch. Their eldest-”
“I will not entertain this any longer.” You hissed. “You and Mary, I swear.”
“You swear?” Your mother climbed into the carriage, shaking her head. “Do not swear, dear.”
“Yes, mother. My apologies.”
Your father hit the roof of the carriage twice, signaling to the driver that he could begin the short drive. Mary was practically bouncing with excitement, staring out the window the entire ride.
When you arrived, their footmen were already waiting, ready to help you out of the carriage. Mary’s cheeks grew red, muttering a quick thanks before she stepped aside, waiting for you. “I feel like a princess.”
“That is because you are one.” You smiled warmly, taking her hand. “Shall we?”
She nodded, holding the front of her skirts so she wouldn’t trip. “They have a beautiful home.”
You nodded. “They do, yes.” They had flowers in every corner of every room, each covered in decadent glitter that practically glowed, thanks to the countless candles, of course. The party goes themselves was just as exquisite, every one of them decked out to the stars. “I do believe this is the most elaborate ball I’ve ever been to.”
“Benedict?” Anthony called out. “Come here.”
The younger brother complied, annoyed that Anthony had taken him away from his newest conquest. “Yes, my loving brother?”
“Who is that?” His finger pointed toward a pair of girls, one dressed as an angel, the other dressed as a pirate. He’d laughed when he first saw her attire - the British Empire had constant problems with pirates, and here she was, dressed as one. It was amusing, to say the least. “I have not yet seen her.”
“I am shocked.” Benedict scoffed. “Considering your quest to find the perfect woman, one would think you would find Miss Bennett quite becoming.”
“Miss Bennett, you say?” Anthony raised a brow. “Any relation to Lord Bennett?”
“His daughters. The pair of them. The younger one is Eloise’s friend, I believe.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Thank you, Benedict.”
“I must warn you, brother, she is quite…” Benedict tilted his head. “Interesting.”
She looked beautiful, wonderfully witty. Her face radiated confidence, the quiet kind that pulled Anthony in. “I do enjoy a challenge.”
Benedict laughed. “Then I wish you luck, brother.”
He approached slowly, smirking as the girls commented on the house. “I do believe this is the most elaborate ball I’ve ever been to.”
“I’m glad you think so.” A man, you presumed a Bridgerton, grinned from behind his mask. “I shall let my mother know.”
Mary grinned, waving politely. “Hello.”
The man waved back, obviously finding humor in her eager nature. “Hello. You must be the young lady Eloise invited.”
“Yes.” Mary nodded. “Is she here?”
“She is indeed. Just behind you, actually.” He pointed over Mary’s shoulder. “The one who looks as if she wished she were anywhere else.”
Mary laughed, looking up at you for permission. “May I?”
“Go on then.” You ushered her away, watching as she greeted her new friend. “They met only three days ago.”
“I heard. Eloise talked of a smart girl she met at the library.” The man’s eyes were rather intense, you noticed. They were pulling you in, a look behind them you wished you could decipher. “She did not mention her stunning sister.” Your stomach flipped, caught off guard by his comment. “May I know your name?”
“I-”
“Viscount Bridgerton.” Your father called out, and you gasped, curtseying quickly. “How good to see you.”
“Lord Bennett. Welcome.”
“I apologize.” You stood straight, cheeks hot from the mistake. Later, you would look back on the moment you met the most perplexing man you’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. “I did not-”
“And how could you have?” The Viscount shook his head. “Do not apologize.”
Your mother looked mischievously between the two of you. “Your father and I were just going to grab a glass of punch.”
“I can join you-”
“No, no.” Your mother shook her head. “Why don’t you stay and make new friends?”
“Mother-” She hadn’t even waited for you to reply, and when you turned back to the Viscount, he was still smirking. Obnoxious really. “I apologize for her behavior. She is eager for me to-” Why were you explaining yourself? “If you’ll excuse me-”
“Would you care to dance, Miss Bennett?”
“You wish to dance?” You tilted your head. “With me?”
“Is there another Miss Bennett beside you?”
“If you insist.” You took his hand, following him to the floor. “How long has your sister enjoyed reading?”
“Which one?” He raised a brow.
You fought the intense urge to glare, feeling it was rather obvious. “The one my sister has grown fond of.”
“Ah. Eloise.” He placed a hand on your waist, and you ignored the way his touch caused your skin to tingle and your heart to flutter. “She has always enjoyed being educated. She particularly loves to correct my brothers and me on every matter we speak of.”
“She sounds like a spitfire.” You grinned. “I would love to know her.”
“I am sure you will in the coming months. My sister and yours have been writing to each other, planning their meetings. Penelope Featherington has even joined their little posse.”
“I enjoy Penelope.” You grew defensive. Men of the ton seemed to pull Penelope into their little jokes. “She is a kind-”
“Do not assume I find displeasure in Miss Featherington or her company. She is a close family friend.”
“Ah.” You nodded. “I see.”
“And what is it you enjoy doing?”
“I-” Why must he look at you so unwavering, like you are the only person he cares to talk to? It is most unnerving. “I also enjoy reading. I particularly enjoy books regarding history.”
“History?” He grinned. “Do tell.”
“Miss Bennett!”
You turned around, shocked to find yourself disappointed. Why, you had no idea. “My lord.”
It was the man you had seen earlier that week in the ice cream shop. “I am pleased to see you.”
“Thank you, my lord.” You still did not know his name. “Are you enjoying this fine day?”
Your little piece of tranquility had been ruined. You’d found a new book and were determined to at least finish the first chapter in the park. It seemed that the plan would not come to fruition. “I must say, you look beautiful in this light.”
You tried your hardest not to scoff. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Would you mind terribly if I sat with you?”
“I-”
“Miss Bennett!”
Your stomach flipped at the sight, almost happy to see the Viscount running toward you. You quickly stood, brushing off your dress. “Viscount Bridgerton.”
“I thought we agreed to meet at the ice cream shop?”
You tilted your head, deeply confused. You had not made any plans to meet the man. His eyes quickly darted toward the ever-persistent lord, and all became clear. “My mistake.”
“Not at all. I am here now.” He smiled, extending his arm. “Shall we?”
You waved goodbye to the lord, gratefully taking his arm. Anthony smiled politely at the lord. “Beesbury.”
“Bridgerton.”
You waited until you turned the corner to speak. “I could have saved myself.”
“Oh?” He tilted his head. “It looked to me as if you were trapped.”
“I was. But I had a plan, I assure you.”
“Please do tell.”
You scoffed. “I do not have to tell you anything, my lord.”
“I feel it is only right. Consider it payment for my saving you.”
“What a gentleman you are. Demanding that a lady pay you back for a good deed.”
“I never claimed to be a gentleman.”
You gasped, a shocked smile gracing your lips. “Viscount Bridgerton. What a horrid thing to say.”
“Why were you with Beesbury anyhow? He is a dreadfully boring man.”
“He is.” You nodded.
“You agree?”
“Of course.”
“Then why would you entertain his company?”
You thanked the lord for your timely arrival, walking up your home’s steps. “Until next time, Viscount Bridgerton.”
“You are quite a confusing woman, Miss Bennett.”
You scoffed, yelling over your shoulder. “I could say the same of you, my lord.”
The dreaded Danbury Ball.
You loved Lady Danbury, you really did. But the thought of seeing Lord Beesbury was not something you were looking forward to. It was as if he had some magical sense, because as soon as you’d arrived, he had been on you, greeting your family. “Lord Bennett.”
“Lord Beesbury.” Your father looked less than enthused. “I assume you’ve met my wife and eldest daughter.”
“Yes, of course.” He took your hand, kissing the back much too intimately. “Miss Bennett, wonderful to see you.”
“My Lord.”
“And who is this?” Beesbury smiled. “I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting.”
“This is my youngest daughter. She has yet to be presented into society.” Your mother was making it quite clear that he could not have her. As if there was not another reason for you to despise the man, he was looking a little too longingly at your sister.
“Ah, I see.” He turned back to you. “Shall we dance, my lady?”
“I-”
“I believe I was promised the first dance.”
How was he always there? You quickly curtsied, politely smiling at the Viscount. “Lord Bridgerton.”
“Miss Bennett.” He turned to Beesbury. “I do apologize.”
“It is not a problem. I will see you after.” He kissed the back of your hand once more. “My lady.”
“My lord.”
“Lord Bridgerton.” Your mother grinned. “How wonderful to see you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” He smiled. “Could I steal your daughter for a dance, my lady?”
“Of course, of course.”
“Mother.” You hissed. “I have not said yes.”
“Nonsense. Go on, dear.”
You took his hand reluctantly. “You must cease this ‘savior’ act. It is quite tiring.”
“I am sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“I am sorry that I saved you from the annoying man that is Lord Beesbury.”
“Lord Bridgerton!” You gasped. “You must not say such things.”
“You never told me why you allow him to bore you so.” His hand yet again found its way around your waist, fingers digging into you a little too tightly. And yet, you found yourself not asking him to loosen his grip, for fear of losing his touch entirely. You squirmed, heart pounding from the proximity. “I must know.”
“Must you?” He was, without a doubt, the most arrogant man you’d ever known. “Just because you are a Viscount does not mean we all answer to you.”
He was caught off guard by your comment, something you found immense satisfaction in. “You astound me, Miss Bennett.”
It was his turn to catch you off guard, it would seem. “I allow him to bore me because he is from a fine family. A good man, despite his lack of personality. He would be a fine husband.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course, you do.” He spun you around, momentarily stumbling as you fell back into his arms. “Tell me, what exactly do you disagree with?”
“He is not worthy of you.”
If Anthony Bridgerton was wholy arrogant, he was wholy swoon-worthy as well, devastatingly so. “I beg your pardon?”
“We have not known each other long, Miss Bennett. But I must say, I never thought you would be the kind to settle for a man simply because of his status.”
“You’re right.” You glared, remembering why he angered you so. “You have not known me long, so you do not understand me. Nor will you.” You curtsied, glad the dance had ended. “If you’ll excuse me.” You stalked toward Mary, grabbing her hand and pulling her away from whatever conversation she was having. “We’re leaving.”
“Why?” Mary whined. “I was-”
“What is the matter, dear?” Your mother frowned. “Has something happened?”
“I would like to leave.” You glanced over your shoulder, his eyes still trained on you. “I am tired, Mama.”
“As you wish.” Your father nodded. “After you, my dears.”
“You know I must ask you what happened last night.” Your father’s voice cut through your reading. “You left so suddenly.”
“It was nothing. Like I said, I was tired.”
“If you plan to continue your tradition of reading in my study, you must be prepared for sudden interrogation, my dear.” You hated it when your father was right. “What did Lord Bridgerton say?”
“How do you know it was the Viscount?” You scoffed. “It could have been anyone.”
“True.” He nodded. “But it was the Viscount, wasn’t it?”
“You’re terribly insightful.” You groaned. “He made an assumption about my character. One that was entirely misplaced.”
“So he offended you?”
You nodded. He had, even if he was wrong. And you couldn’t very well tell your father the truth, that the Viscount had assumed you to be some power-hungry debutante, unloving and cold. “In a way, yes.”
“Would you like me to speak with him?”
“That won’t be necessary, Father. But thank you.”
He was quiet for a moment, staring at you as if he were trying to decipher you. “I know what you are doing, my love.”
“And what is that?”
“You wish to protect your sister.”
“I-” You closed your book. “Any good sister would.”
“Yes. But you are-” He tilted his head, trying to find the right words. “Your mother and I are not destitute.”
“I know, Father.”
“Then why have you vowed to marry for duty, rather than love?” He frowned. “You are quite telling. The men you see, do they bring you joy? Laughter?”
You shook your head, too embarrassed to speak.
“If you were married for love, your sister would be perfectly content. Her dowry, the same as yours, is more than enough to live comfortably.”
“Father-” A tear ran down your cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“I should be the one apologizing, my dear.” He laughed, standing up from his desk. “You take too much upon your shoulders. It is my job to look after your sister and her future, and I have turned a blind eye to your interference. From now on-” He brushed a hair behind your cheek. “Promise me you will only entertain lords who entertain you. No more of the duty nonsense.”
“I promise, Father.” You wrapped your arms around him, hugging tightly. “I promise.”
“Good.” He nodded. “I would like a biscuit.”
You pulled your head away from his chest. “A biscuit?”
He nodded once more. “Would you care to venture to the kitchens with me?”
“I would.” You grinned, placing your book on the end table. “A biscuit sounds wonderful.”
“We must stop meeting like this.”
Anthony Bridgerton was the bane of your existence, it would seem.
“Viscount. How good to see you.”
“You must not lie.” He frowned. “Are you enjoying this?”
“The event?” You looked around the room, taking in the countless paintings that covered the walls. “I do love museums.”
“As do I.” He smiled, standing beside you, observing the painting before you. “Where is dear Lord Beesbury?”
“Engaged, thankfully.” You smiled back. “Some poor lady will be miserable till death do they part.”
“On that, we agree.”
“I do so love this painting.” You sighed. “It is captivating.”
“Yes, it is.”
You looked over, shocked to see his eyes fixed on you. “I must explain my sudden departure to you.”
“There is no need. I was being callous-”
“May I? Please?” You felt faint under his gaze. “You said I was settling for Beesbury because of his status.”
“It was wrong of me-”
“You were not entirely…wrong.” You began to pick at the skin around your nails, a nervous habit you had picked up around your debut. Your mother hated the habit, as did you. You just couldn’t seem to break it. “I vowed to marry for duty, so that my sister could marry whomever she wanted. She is my pride and joy, you see.” You swallowed, staring at the ground. “I love her so dearly, and I only want the best for her-”
“We are quite similar, you and I.”
His voice was tight, tense. Why, you had no idea. You looked up, laughing at his comment. “Perhaps, we are.”
“Could I accompany you while you remain here?”
Your cheeks felt hot. “I-”
“It was a stupid idea.” He laughed. “Excuse me-”
You shouldn’t have done it. But in that moment, you couldn’t think of any other way to stop him from leaving. You reached out, grabbing his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “I would love that, my lord.”
“Wonderful.” He smiled, slipping his hand out of your grasp to hook his arm through yours. “Tell me, who is your favorite artist featured today?”
“I do so love Jean-Antoine Watteau’s work.” You grinned. “It is so detailed, beautifully done.”
“I agree,” Anthony would later pinpoint this moment as the day he fell in love with you.
“Hello?” You called out, the pale blue halls empty save for a few servants. “Hello?”
“Do you need help, Miss?”
You nodded. “I’m here to pick up my sister, Miss Mary Bennett.”
“Ah.” The maid smiled. “Follow me. I believe they are in the drawing room.”
“Thank you.” You followed her through the doors.
“A Miss Bennett, my lord.”
You curtsied, smiling as Anthony burst to his feet. “My lord.”
“Miss Bennett.” He began to fix his vest, making you laugh. “I was not expecting you.”
“I’m simply here to bring my sister home.” You looked around the room, smiling at the others who inhabited the space. “I won’t be long.”
“Please.” He blurted out. “Won’t you stay for tea?”
A quick laugh left (who you could only assume) was his brother’s lips before Anthony glared at him, promptly shutting him up. “I wouldn’t want to intrude-”
“You wouldn’t be.”
His mother watched with utter fascination, quiet as a church mouse.
“I am sorry, Lord Bridgerton, but my mother wishes us home for dinner.” You looked behind you, tapping your foot impatiently. “Where is she?”
“Come with me.” Anthony set his book down, grabbing your hand in his. You gasped, as did his mother and (you assumed yet again) his older sister. “I have an inclination as to where they are.”
“Very well.” You gave in, wishing he could hold your hand forever. “After you.”
The halls of the Bridgerton estate were beautiful, even without the dazzling decorations. The paintings that lined the walls were perfection, the furniture antique and well-kept. “I must say, my lord, your home is-”
It couldn’t be. You slowed, pulling Anthony to a stop as well. “Is that the-” The painting. The very one you both had stared at for minutes while you confessed your reasoning behind leaving. He bought the painting.
He nodded, swallowing thickly. “I acquired it after you left.”
“I see.” Your voice was small, smaller than you’d wanted it to be. “But why?”
“I-” He searched your face desperately. “I believe you know why.”
“My lord-”
“Please.” He shook his head. “Call me Anthony, I beg of you.”
“That is most inappropriate, my lord.” You hissed, although it had no bite. Your insides were mush, his attention causing you to short-circuit.
“I apologize.” He did not look the least bit sorry. “I’m sorry, but I must tell you something. You-you have captured my-”
“Anthony.” The lord groaned, his arm falling from yours as he turned around.
“Yes, brother?”
“Mother is calling for you.” It was not Benedict, but rather Colin, who called from the end of the hall.
“Tell her I will be there in a moment.” He turned back around, disappointment etched on his face. “Will you wait for me?”
You nodded, cheeks still burning from his words. “Of course.”
“I will be back, I promise you.”
“Go.” You ushered him away, staring at the painting in fascination. He had bought this because of you. He had bought this because you told him you loved it. It was-
“Poor girl. She has no idea.” You whipped around, a servant's voice echoing through the hall. “He’s going to eat her alive, he is.”
“You mustn’t say things like that.” Another whispered, before laughing. “Even if it is true.”
“Lord Bridgerton has gone through more ladies than I’ve gone through households.” The first servant whispered. If this were not about you, you would tell the servant her whispering needed improvement, but you were curious.
Curiosity killed your love. If you could have even called it that.
“He will not truly love her. He is a rake, through in through.” The second spoke. “What man isn’t?”
Your eyes welled. You were stupid, so stupid to believe in his attention. Forget Mary and her naivety, that was you. It had been you all along. You were easily tricked, but no longer. You stalked around the corner, ignoring the gasps the servants let out at your appearance. “My lady.”
You paid them no mind, tears streaming down your cheeks as you found Mary waiting for you in the foyer, Anthony and Eloise standing dutifully beside her. “Sister!” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Is something the matter?”
“We’re leaving.” You kept your eyes to the ground, grabbing her hand as you pulled her toward the door. “Say goodbye to Miss Eloise.”
“Bye!” Mary waved quickly. “Why are you walking so fast?”
The Bridgerton siblings stood there in confusion, staring at the girls until they left their view. “What was that about, do you think?”
Anthony shrugged, heart clenching at the thought of your upset face. “I haven’t the faintest clue, Eloise.”
“What has happened?” Mary pestered. “Sister?”
“You are not to go to the Bridgertons again.” You muttered, stalking past your footmen and up the stairs toward your room. “I don’t want you around that family ever again.”
“You must tell me what is going on!” Mary yelped. “And stop pulling me!”
“I-” You looked behind you, face paling at the sight. Your grasp on your sister’s wrist was tight, too tight to be comfortable. “I’m sorry, Mary.”
“I will be fine.” She smiled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “Please, do not shut me out.”
“Come along then.” You huffed, ushering her into your room. You explained as you removed your coat. “I was foolish, so very foolish.”
“Is this to do with a certain Viscount?” Mary wiggled her eyebrows.
“He is a rake. And he-” You sobbed, slapping a hand over your mouth. “I thought he was an honorable man, but he is not. He has fooled me.”
“What did he do?” Mary looked positively frightened. “Has he-”
“No!” You shook your head quickly. “I believed that he- I don’t know why.” You crumbled to the floor. “I thought he- he loved me.”
“Oh, sister.” Mary sat beside you, pulling you into her hold. “I am so sorry. So very sorry.”
“Will I ever know what has happened with you, my dear?” Your mother frowned, worriedly watching as you simply read your novel. “You’ve been rather distant.”
“I do not know what you mean. I am simply tired.”
“You have been tired for nearly two weeks.”
“It must be my cycle, Mother.” It was nowhere near your cycle, but your mother was nothing if not persistent.
She nodded, like that explained everything. “Ah, I see.”
You hid a laugh behind your hand as your sister rolled her eyes.
“My lady.” Your mother’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gilligan, interrupted. “There is a gentleman in the foyer.”
“Did you catch his name, Mrs. Gilligan?”
“No, my lady.”
“No matter, I will go see what the man wants.”
You groaned, sitting up and making yourself presentable. Mary laughed, shaking her head. “Do you think it’s him again?”
You glared. “I hope not. Besides, he wouldn’t dare-”
“He’s here.” Your mother poked her head through the drawing room door. “Shall I let him in?”
Mary shook her head. “I think it would be best to tell him that she is ill.” She looked back at you, smiling comfortingly. “Do you agree?”
“Yes.” You nodded. “Please, Mother.”
She sighed. “Very well. But you cannot avoid him forever, my dear.”
You waited till she had left the room to scoff. “I beg to differ.”
“She’s right, you know.”
“Traitor.” You stuck your tongue out playfully. “I do not wish to see him.”
“And I understand, truly, I do.” She placed her hand over yours. “But he can never defend himself if you do not give him the chance.”
“There is nothing for him to defend himself over. We were never courting, there is nothing to say.”
“You and I both know that is not true in the slightest.” She raised a brow, waiting for you to disagree with her. “He is devastated by your disappearance.”
“And how would you know?”
“Eloise writes to me now that you have banned me from going over. He has confined himself to his room, and when he is not in his room, he is a shell of himself.”
“I do not see the issue.”
Mary shook her head, deciding to drop the subject. “The Featherington ball is coming up.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Will you at least go to that?” Mary pleaded. “For my sake?” She jutted out her bottom lip, and you caved most easily.
“Fine, fine.” You glared. “Now let me read my novel, please.”
The Featherington ball, much like its matriarch, was over the top, its halls covered in dramatic florals that overwhelmed the senses. It was beautiful, but even beautiful things could cause you pain. Or at the very least, exhaustion. “Must I go in?”
“Do not be such a bore, sister.” Mary hooked her arm through yours, dragging you toward the stairs. “It will only take a moment.”
“I know. That does not mean-”
“Too late.” Mary wiggled her eyebrows, descending the steps. “Come along then.”
Your eyes scanned the room, stomach fluttering as you met the Viscount’s gaze. He was gloomy and terribly handsome in his dark ensemble. The very picture of a leading man in some novel, perhaps one of those newer novels by that woman, Jane Austen. Your breath caught in your throat, Anthony had this horrible trait of turning you into a right mess. “I need some fresh air.”
Your sister groaned, tired of your antics. “But we’ve only just arrived.”
“I’ll only be a moment, I swear.”
Your mother escorted her further into the ballroom, introducing her to the many other young ladies who would most likely be making their debuts the following year. She was certainly ready, of that you were certain. “Miss Bennett.”
Your heart clenched, eyes shutting as if that would stop him from speaking further. “My lord.”
“You are recovered.”
You tilted your head. “I'm sorry?”
“From your sickness.” Anthony stepped closer, his voice lowered. “I called on you.”
“Did you?” You shrugged, feigning ignorance. “That is a shame, Viscount Bridgerton. I would have loved to see you.”
“That I find hard to believe.” He looked positively miserable. “Has something happened?”
“I do not know what you mean. If you’ll excuse me-” You stalked away from him, toward where you had no idea. Anywhere where he was not would be idealistic.
“You cannot avoid me forever, Miss Bennett.”
“I believe I can, my lord.”
“Enough!” He hadn’t yelled, but his tone was enough to halt your steps. “I must know what I’ve done.”
“I-” You were at a loss for words. “You-”
“Correct me if I am wrong, Miss Bennett, but I believed us to be growing close. I believed-” His swallowed, hand twitching as if he itched to hold you. “I thought-”
“You are wrong.” It pained you to say it, but you had to. “Whatever you believe, or believed, you are wrong. We were nothing, not close, no growing to be. We are acquaintances, that is all.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. Out with it then. Tell me what I have done to make you hate me so.”
“I have heard the talk, the gossip. The Ton is relentless in their information, especially when it comes to you, my lord. Tell me, how many other women have you bought paintings for? How many other ladies have you pulled into a false sense of hope, of companionship?" Your voice grew tight, your eyes watery. “Of love?”
“Miss Bennett-”
“I cannot bear to look at you.” You practically hissed at the man, shocked that he had not stopped you. “I am disgusted by you, by your behavior.” You whipped around, walking further into the house and further away from the party.
“You drive me mad!” He hissed back, following after you. “My thoughts are consumed by you, you and you alone. You haunt me in my sleep, your wit, your beauty-” He groaned, looking as if he truly was going mad. “I am enamored by you!”
Your tears were falling freely, and Anthony frowned at the sight. You walked forward, shoving his chest firmly. “Do not come near me again.” You sobbed, shoving him once more. “Swear it.”
“I cannot.”
“Why not?” You sobbed again, his hands wrapping around your wrists before you tried to shove him once more. “Why not?” You shook against his hold, your resolve breaking by the second.
“Because I am in love with you. You have bewitched me, and I cannot stay away from you.” He brought your hand up to his heart, pressing your palm to his chest. “My heart yearns for you.”
You shook your head, tears subsiding. “You do not mean it.”
“But I do.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “I mean every word.”
“Anthony…” Your eyes darted to his lips. “We will tear each other apart-”
“We will not.” He smiled, his breath intertwining with yours. “We will not because I love you, and I believe you love me.”
“Love you?” You scoffed. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“You heard our maids talking, did you not? About my past? That is why you were upset, why you left so suddenly.” His hand found its way to your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Why would you be so upset if not for love?”
“You have no idea of my feelings.” You could feel your self-restraint weakening by the second. “No idea at all.”
His eyes fell to your lips. “I look forward to a life of finding out, my lady.”
“If that is your idea of a proposal, my dear Viscount, you have misinterpreted this situation.”
He laughed. “Have I?”
“No.” You shook your head, arms wrapping around his neck. “You have not.”
“You are quite the contradiction, Miss Bennett.” His lips brushed against yours, your knees buckling. “Quite the contradiction indeed.”
bonus part: the moment anthony bridgerton proved, yet again, to be the man of your wildest dreams
The autumn air did not deter either of you from your daily promenade; if anything, it prompted you to take your time, to enjoy the changing leaves and crisp breeze. You took advantage of the cool weather, grasping Anthony’s arm as if he were your only source of warmth.
Anthony did not mind in the slightest, and if he had, he did not show it. He revelled in your touch, in his wife’s affection. He took pride in it, in the fact that you loved him so dearly, that you cherished him so publicly.
“Should we sit?” He whispered, nuzzling his nose against your ear. You giggled from the touch, shoving his arm playfully. “You must be tired.”
“I am hardly tired, but you are awfully sweet for thinking of me.”
“I always think of you.” He kissed your cheek. “You occupy my every thought.”
“That is no good.” You frowned. “What of our babe? Do you not think of him?”
“Or her.” Anthony’s hand gently caressed your bump. “Of course, I think of the babe. Which is why I must ask you to rest, my love.”
“Fine, fine.” You glared, plopping onto the bench. “If you insist.”
“I do.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “Are you cold?”
“With you by my side, how could I be?” You traced shapes on his chest haphazardly. “You are warm enough for the both of us.”
“You tease, yet you cling to me.” He reached out, carefully pulling a leaf from your hair. “You are quite the contradiction.”
“Is that not why you love me?”
“One of the many reasons, yes.” His eyes fluttered to your fingers, pulling them from his chest, examining them. "You have stopped, yes?"
You nodded, cheeks growing hot. "I have not picked at my hands in quite some time, Anthony."
"Ah." He smiled, kissing each one delicately, still as giddy as the day he first saw you. “You continue to amaze me, Lady Bridgerton.”
“Stop it.” You glared. “You forget we are in public, my lord.”
“You forget I do not care.” He whispered, finding pleasure in the laugh that left your lips. “I am finding it very difficult not to kiss you.”
“You must control yourself.” You said it so firmly, but he knew you did not mean it. You enjoyed his attention. You even confessed to him, one night when neither of you could sleep, what you once dreamt of, what you found yourself daydreaming of during your time as a young debutante. He never forgot, always striving to fufill each and every dream.
Little did he know, he fulfilled your every dream by simply being your husband.
He loved the way your nose crinkled when he dove down to kiss your cheeks, the way you visibly became flustered by his love. “Please, my darling? Just one kiss?”
“Oh, alright then.” You could never say no to him, nor did you want to. And as he dove down, kissing you much too deeply for you to be in public, you couldn’t help but think back to when you wished this were you. When you wished to be so loved, so unconditionally and perfectly loved.
