Kinktober Special Part 1

The Flower and The Serpent : a Walt De Ville x reader FF : three

A bit of 18 and up, y’all.

Early the following morning, you rounded a corner humming to yourself, only to pull up short and duck back out of sight, peeking around the wall’s edge as Walt and your father were deep in what appeared to be a sombre conversation.

Or, at least, your father seemed serious, but Walt, facing your way down the corridor, was trying to suppress a smile. His eyes flicked toward you and you knew you were caught, but to your pleased surprise, he didn’t mention your presence to your dad.

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Turn the Tide

Requested Here!

Pairing: Lev 'Oz' Ozdil x fem!reader

Summary: Oz is having a bad day, but it only takes a moment for the tide to change.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff and comfort, canon typical stuff such as murder and having conversations in the bathroom

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“You alright, Oz?” Karadec asks, looking at Oz in the mirror as he washes his hands.

Oz glances down, scowling at the stall’s door handle. He yanks his belt to the right, and his belt loop slips off the handle.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he grumbles. “Best day ever.”

Karadec nods, unconvinced, as he dries his hands. He and Oz are close, but not necessarily ‘share what is making today so rough before lunch’ close. Especially when it comes to the little things. Saving each other’s life? No problem. Talking about relationships? If the situation calls for it. Small talk about the mundane moments that make life miserable? It's not Karadec’s preferred topic – or Oz’s, for that matter.

“Good work on the Yu case,” Karadec says instead.

“Thanks,” Oz replies flatly.

“Morgan brought donuts. Just, uh, take it easy today, Oz.”

Oz nods as he hits his fist against the soap dispenser. He’s usually the upbeat, happy one in the group. But today, when every little thing seems to stand between him and a smile, he needs more than a donut.

“Ozzy!” Daphne calls as he returns from the restroom.

Karadec rotates his desk chair to face Daphne and shakes his head twice. That doesn’t come close to stopping Daphne, though, as she drops her smile and looks at Oz.

“Are you okay?” she asks him.

Karadec closes his eyes and releases a sigh. But Oz gives Daphne a different answer than he’d given Karadec: he shrugs as he drops heavily into his seat.

“Would a donut help?” Daphne inquires softly.

Oz straightens his seat and taps his mouse to wake his computer up. “Not today, Daph. Thanks, though.”

Daphne nods, then taps Oz’s desk three times. It’s a reminder that she’s there. It isn’t enough, she knows, so she picks up her cell phone and excuses herself from the bullpen.

In the hallway, she dials a phone number from memory and waits for someone to answer. The line connects, and she skips her usual friendly greeting to say, “I’m calling in the cavalry.”

“Ullson is here,” Soto announces as she exits her office. “Says she has information about her fiancé’s murder.”

Karadec nods and presses his hands against his knees, preparing to stand.

Soto raises her hand toward him and adds, “She said she’ll only talk to Oz.”

“Why me?” Oz asks. “Sorry,” he murmurs when he realizes how his tone sounded.

Daphne sends Soto a single look, and she immediately understands that Oz is having an off day. For a detective in a high-stress, high-stakes job, he doesn’t have many, so Soto is willing to give him the space to work this one out without consequences. Yet, a woman is waiting to give what could be vital information.

“I’ll talk to her,” Oz agrees.

“Want me to sit in?” Daphne offers.

Oz shakes his head and thanks Daphne anyway, then exits the bullpen. Karadec leans back in his chair, inviting someone else to comment on his friend and partner’s new attitude.

“He’ll be fine,” Daphne assures him.

“He didn’t even accept a donut, Daph,” Karadec points out.

“He will.”

“What does that mean?” Soto inquires.

“I called in a favor.”

Karadec smiles then, and Soto tips her head in understanding.

“Knock, knock!” Morgan calls. “Which doesn’t make any sense when the door is standing open: a universal sign of ‘hey, come on in, even if you weren’t invited!’ Why do people say that?”

“Morgan,” Karadec begins, raising a finger toward her. “Tone it down.”

“Tone myself down?”

“Oz is having a bad- no, a not great day,” Daphne explains.

“Give him a donut, he’ll be fine.”

“He’s a grown man, Morgan,” Karadec argues.

“Who likes donuts.” She raises her hands before her chest and adds, “I’m getting a lot of hostility here. Did I cause his not great day?”

“No,” Soto replies. “But we’re treading lightly for now. Let’s not make it any worse.”

“You guys love him so much,” Morgan muses before she sobers and says, “It’s a little concerning.”

“Why are you here, Morgan?” Karadec asks.

“Oh, right! Ms. Ullson killed her fiancé.”

Oz drops his notepad onto the metal table, and the woman across from him flinches as it thuds. She looks up with a smile and apologizes.

“Ms. Ullson, I’m going to be straight with you,” Oz begins. “It’s been a long morning, and I am not in the mood to run in circles or waste any time.”

“I completely understand,” she answers.

“Alright, then.” He flips to a blank page in his notepad and readies his pen. “What information do you have for me?”

“I think that my future brother-in-law, Derek, killed Jake,” she explains softly.

Oz writes Derek’s name, but he watches his new informant, who has been a suspect since the case landed in their laps. She wipes her face as if crying, but there’s no sign of tears.

“Why do you say that?” he asks.

“He was so jealous of his brother, of our relationship. I mean, it makes sense that it was someone close to him, right? Because of the injuries to his face. That wasn’t random, I’d assume.”

Oz sits back in the chair and taps his pen against his other hand. She shouldn't know about those injuries, he remembers.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he agrees. “It indicates a killer who knew Derek, attacked him for a personal reason.”

She nods, then drops her hands toward her lap. Shifting uncomfortably, she moves her right elbow back away from her side.

“Is that the only reason you suspect Derek?” Oz asks. “His jealousy?”

“I mean, I’m sure there’s more, but that’s all I’ve seen.”

Oz nods and flips his notepad closed.

“Is that enough to arrest him?”

“Unfortunately, no. Why? Has he made some sort of threat to you?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Oz nods, standing. “Let me pass this on to the rest of my team, and I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, detective.”

Exiting the interview room, Oz waves to the officer who escorted Ms. Ullson into the station.

“Yes, sir?” he asks.

“Did she drive herself; do you know?” Oz inquires.

“No, sir, there’s a man in a BMW waiting outside for her.”

That’s all the information Oz needed. He thanks the officer and then returns to the interview room.

“Jealousy is a powerful motive,” he says. “It falls under love, one of the most common reasons for murder.”

Ms. Ullson nods.

“Just like pregnancy.”

“I’m sorry,” Ms. Ullson murmurs. “I’m not following.”

“It’s too late to play dumb,” Oz snaps. “You’re pregnant, right? By Dexter, I’m guessing, and either you or he wanted Jake out of the picture. So, are you going to take the blame or tell me again that Dexter did it. Officers are waiting for my command to bring him in and book him.”

“I- I- we never…” she stutters.

“Was it you or him, or both of you together?” Oz demands, leaning his hands on the table.

“It was me,” she admits, crying without faking it. “I didn’t love him, not after Dexter. I… I didn’t mean to kill him, though, I just wanted him to leave before I started showing.”

“You attacked him, hoping that he’d break up with you?”

She nods, then wraps her arms around her waist as she begins to sob. Oz shakes his head as he returns to the door, and two officers take his place inside to arrest Ms. Ullson for the murder of her fiancé.

“It’s like a soap opera,” Oz grumbles as he walks toward his desk.

You trace your finger over the ridges of a seashell. The whirlpool design eroded into it is beautiful and holds your attention.

Your attention shifts, however, when someone whispers, “Incoming.”

Standing from the desk chair, you smile. Oz stops in the doorway when he sees you, and you breathe in time with one another. He tosses his notepad onto his desk before he pulls you into his arms.

With Oz’s arms wrapped firmly around you, you smile and circle your arms around his waist as you return the hug. He pushes his hand up your spine to cradle your head, and you whisper against his shirt that you’re here.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, smiling as he pulls back to look at you.

“I was hoping for that,” you answer, brushing your thumb across his cheek beside his pretty smile.

Oz looks over your shoulder and says, “Thanks, Daph.”

“Oh, it was selfish. I don’t like mopey Oz,” she jokes.

“Thank you for coming,” he tells you. “I… thank you.”

“Well, I brought you something,” you say.

You lift the seashell from his desk and pass it to him. He moves one hand from your waist to accept the gift, and his smile widens as he looks at the shell.

“The lines were etched by changing tides,” you explain. “It’s just a little reminder that things change. Bad days can always turn around and make something beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers. “I love it. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you promise.

“Oh, thank you, Daphne,” Karadec exclaims as he returns from somewhere else in the station.

“You didn’t even try to cheer me up, you don’t get to act relieved,” Oz says.

“I told you to take it easy!” Karadec defends. “I’m just not one to get emotional in the men’s room.”

“That’s true,” Morgan agrees.

“I don’t want to know how you know that,” Oz tells her.

Morgan shrugs, then waves to you. You’ve talked a few times while you waited for Oz, but you’re not here for her today. You’re here for Oz.

“Murder was just reported on a sidewalk off Pico,” Soto calls from her office.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you ask Oz.

“Can we-“

“Have a quiet night in?” you finish for him. “Absolutely.”

Oz hugs you once more, presses a kiss to your forehead, then tells you to be safe and text him when you get home safe. He slides the seashell into his desk drawer for safekeeping, then follows Daphne and Karadec out of the station.

“I should give you a badge for that,” Soto muses.

“He’s easy to love,” you say, shrugging.

“Thank you. I’ll get him home to you as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Selena.”

“You call her Selena?” Morgan asks as you walk out together.

“You don’t know everything about me, Ms. Gillory.”

Oz’s phone buzzes as he prepares to leave the crime scene. Unlocking it, he smiles just as he had when you hugged him.

“I wonder who that’s from,” Daphne jokes.

Oz doesn’t listen to her or Karadec teasing him; he focuses on the picture you sent him. Your living room has been transformed into a perfect movie night setup, and Oz isn’t sure that today could get any better.

“Tides change,” he explains to Karadec.

Defend Myself

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (hockey fan & self-defence teacher)

Summary: During a hockey game, you get into a fight with the drunk man sitting beside you. When Tim Bradford arrives to break up the fight, he decides he'd like to see you again.

Warnings: fight between r and drunk man, unwelcome comments and grabbing (nothing overtly sexual or descriptive), fluff at the end, Tim and Aaron are sarcastic

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: Why I go back and forth between American and British spellings is a mystery.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Alright, ladies,” you call to the self-defence class you’re teaching. “What’s the goal here?”

“Defend ourselves and protect our minds,” they reply.

“Right. Because learning how to fight and keeping yourself physically safe isn’t all that matters. Focusing on what can go wrong in life isn’t any fun, so while we work on self-defence, use it as anger management. Have fun with this!”

Your last class on Friday afternoons is one of your favorites. The women are always excited to learn, they listen well and use good form. Most importantly, they really understand your goal in teaching them. In addition to how great the group before you is, you also get to look forward to hockey after they leave. Whether it’s a game or just to watch practice, you find yourself at the rink most Fridays, and as many other chances as you can get. Hockey and self-defence are two of your favorite things, so afternoons like this are borderline magical.

“Uppercut,” you signal.

As you demonstrate the proper way to move into an uppercut after the warmup, you watch the class.

“Can I ask a question?” a woman in the back row asks between moves.

“Of course,” you reply with a smile.

“Have you ever had to use these moves in real life? Like, to defend yourself?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But that’s why we learn it, right? If we know how we don’t have to live in fear about the when.”

“Which is why we chose the bear,” another girl murmurs.

“Can’t always choose. Preparation is key, and knowing how to react is the most important thing you can learn as a woman.”

“Fighting can be boring though,” someone groans.

“Clearly, you’ve never been to a hockey game. Let’s focus, ladies. Take a breather before we move into strength drills.”

You grab your water bottle from the floor and survey your classroom. Hockey fights are certainly more entertaining than fighting to defend yourself, but you enjoy both.

Los Angeles isn’t necessarily known for its hockey scene, but the arena is packed tonight. Your season pass with the seat on the ice is getting plenty of use this year, and as you sit back to watch warmups, you can’t help the smile that grows on your face.

As the crowd grows and the first period gets nearer, two men take the seats to your right. You nod politely when they greet you, but quickly return your attention to the players preparing to skate out. While the announcer introduces the teams and prepares the fans for a good game, you glance toward the men beside you. The one closest to you seems to already be buzzed, and the oversized cup of beer between his legs doesn’t instill confidence in you. Hopefully, he’ll stay quiet, you think. Cheering for your team is one thing but you know too well how quickly a drunk hockey fan can ruin a night. Anyone who’s been to a hockey game can probably imagine your concern.

You try to ignore him as he gets more talkative, but in the middle of the first period, he drains the remainder of his beer and turns toward you.

“Pretty little thing like you prob’y has some questions,” he says. “I can explain it t’ya.”

“I’m good,” you answer firmly.

“If t’changes,” he slurs as he turns away.

It won’t.

The bell rings and the teams leave the ice as the crowd rises in mass. You stay seated comfortably in your seat as your drunk neighbor leaves with his friend. Since you told him you didn’t need his help, he’s left you alone. As long as that continues, you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the game, and maybe witness a hat trick from your favourite player.

“Here,” your neighbor says as he returns. “Looked thirsty.”

He shoves a cup of soda toward you, and you push it back. “I don’t want that.”

“Just try’na be nice!”

As he falls back into his seat, you lean toward the side to get some room. His arm moves to the armrest between you as he reaches his fingers toward your leg.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him as you knock his hand back into his lap.

“Jus’ a pretty lil’ thing,” he murmurs as he leans over the armrest.

“Sir, get him under control,” you say to his friend.

“He’s not my problem,” the other man answers.

“Stop.”

He rolls his eyes as if you’re overreacting and sits back in his seat. Your fists are clenched tightly as you watch him move away from you, and you’re mad that he’s causing you to miss so much of the game and keeping you from enjoying it.

“Los Angeles, make some noise for the third period!” the announcer yells. “We’ve got a tight game and tighter teams. Make it a night to remember, LA.”

“Night to r’mem’ba sounds pre’y good.”

You take a deep breath before you raise your eyes. Somehow, your neighbor got more drunk in the short break between the second and third periods than the rest of the game combined. He reaches toward your arm, and when you pull away, he frowns and steps to stand over you where you sit.

“Leave me alone,” you demand as you stand.

After you put a bit of space between you, you notice that the people sitting behind you are watching you. You don’t care, however, as he throws an empty cup toward you. You move out of the way, and it isn’t until he lunges toward you that you truly react. Your fist makes impact with his jaw before he finishes stepping forward.

“Fight!” someone yells behind you.

You plan to do just that. If he can’t understand no or stop, maybe he’ll understand some of your favourite self-defence moves.

“Reports of assault at Honda Center: fight in progress. Attendees have made numerous reports of disturbance,” dispatch alerts.

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Code 3.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be fights at hockey games?” Aaron asks. “That’s, like, half of the draw.”

“On the ice. Fights off the ice are a regular occurrence,” Tim answers. “Usually drunk rival teams.”

“Easy to break up?”

“Sure. If you think pulling a guy who can’t feel anything off of another guy who doesn’t even remember why he’s trying to kill someone else easy, absolutely.”

“Could’ve just said no,” Aaron mumbles as Tim turns.

“Man, back up!” a security guard demands.

He grabs your attacker’s shoulder and tries to pull him backward, but it doesn’t work. As you prepare to throw another punch, you see that the drunk guy’s eye is black and swelling, his lip is busted, his nose is bleeding, yet he still isn’t quitting.

“Jus’ stop playin’!” the man demands as he grabs for your waist.

You push his wrists away and shove him against the glass dividing you from the ice. He elbows backward, but you block it with your forearm as he yells at you.

“The police are on the way!” someone yells from higher in the seats.

“Get off me!” the man roars as he pushes himself backward.

You manage to catch yourself before he shoves you against the seats. When he raises his hands toward your chest, you raise your right leg into a front kick and momentarily stun him into remaining still.

“Kick his butt, lady!” a man cheers.

“LAPD,” Tim announces as he and Aaron enter the arena. “Where’s the fight?”

“Follow me,” the guard replies.

He leads them into the section where the crowd has gathered to watch the fight. The moment Tim sees the number of people invested in the fight and the suspended timer above the rink, he expects the worst.

“Call for backup, Bradford?” Aaron asks.

“Not yet. Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Tim answers.

“I doubt the guy can go for much longer anyway,” the guard adds. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to ask what that means before he reaches the center of the crowd. He watches you elbow the man under his chin. As Aaron takes a step toward you, Tim extends his arm to stop him. You’re clearly winning, but the guy is too drunk to realize that he can’t keep going. He’ll realize just how badly he lost once the alcohol wears off. A night in lockup would do that nicely, Tim thinks.

The man steps back and prepares to jump at you, but Tim grabs his shoulder from behind and throws him against the glass before he shoves the man to the floor. With his knee pressed into the man’s kidney, Tim secures the handcuffs on his wrists.

“Take him,” Tim tells Aaron.

Aaron nods and yells for the crowd to clear a path. He follows a small group of security guards as he walks back to the shop.

The crowd around you begins to spread out the moment your attacker is ripped away from you. You take a deep breath and nod at the officer who helped you.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile. “Little tired. Thanks for the assist, Officer Bradford.”

Tim watches your eyes rise back to his face after reading his name tag. He smiles at you just before the buzzer over your head rings as the game resumes.

“You wanna stay?” he asks over the sound of skates and cheers.

You shake your head and follow him to the staircase. Once you’re in the main area of Honda Center and the noise of the game is muffled, Tim turns toward you.

“That was impressive,” he applauds. “I’ve been called to more fights than I can count. Never seen one under control like you had it. You, uh, you clearly won.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to commend me for getting into a fight, officer,” you tease.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asks.

“I teach a self-defence class for women,” you explain. “Been fighting for a while but honed my skills for safety more than entertainment.”

“Then they were wrong.” At your confused look, Tim clarifies, “911 dispatcher said there was a fight. You were just defending yourself.”

“He was drunk and didn’t understand when I told him to stop.”

“Which I am allowed to commend you for.”

You smile at Tim again, and he decides that he needs to see you again. More than being impressed by the thorough beating you delivered to the man who was harassing you and trying to touch you, Tim finds you incredibly beautiful, and he knows you’re talented and care about others. He doesn’t want this to be a one-time encounter.

“Have you ever considered hosting a class for the police department?” he asks, looking for a way to ensure he can talk to you again soon. “We bring in instructors from the city occasionally to host free classes. You’d receive compensation, of course.”

“I haven’t, but it does sound nice. If more women knew how to defend themselves, it might make your job easier.”

Tim agrees as he hands you his card. “Call the station in the morning and we can work something out. If you need a teacher’s assistant or anything, I’d be happy to help, too.”

You tap his card against your thigh as you say, “I’d like that.”

“Bradford!” his partner, Thorsen – you feel like you should recognize the name but don’t – calls. “We got another call.”

“Sorry,” Tim tells you. “Hopefully I’ll see you at the station soon.”

“I think you will.” When you smile at him this time, Tim feels like you punched him, too.

𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐌𝐬.𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥

Pairings- Black!OC x Abbott Elementary Cast, later Black!OC x Manny (Can be read as x Reader though!)

Summary- S1E1-Light Bulb with Naoya Lovel

Warnings- Swearing, kids, mixed race reader( those aren't warnings really, just what to expect)

Jazzie'sNotes!- let me know what you guys think!! I've been really obsessed with Abbott Elementary recently and I'm contemplating if I want to write S1&S2 just to get to the Manny season. I want to get there fast but I know what won't be possible with two seasons worth of writing. Let me know what you guys think I should do.

Word Count- 5,680

“Ten seconds!” Jacob yelled over his shoulder at the people in the room. Melissa and Barbra rushed over to the sitting area in front of the television that played the action news. Naoya sitting the opposite of them on the small couch.

“Oh, we love Action News! Get in early just to watch it.” Melissa said to the cameras. “It just really calms you down after wanting to take a wrench to someone's side mirror in traffic.” She beamed as if what she said was totally normal.

“But the Philadelphia region continues to suffer, temperature in the mid-90s with a heat index approaching 100…” The television said as they all sat and watched.

“Now I’m a proud married Christian woman and I love my husband. But there’s something about that Jim Gardner.” Barba gushed to the cameras. “That non-regional diction.” The woman was practically blushing just at the thought of the man.

“It is so important to support and acknowledge local journalism, okay?” Jacob started. “There’s no agenda here. This is—This is one going, in the streets, powerful stuff.” He explained seriously.

“I get in early just to see my aunt Magnolia on the screen. She’s a news anchor and I like telling her what I like and dislike about her outfits every morning.” Naoya nodded nonchalantly.

“Wouldn’t want to see that dog in traffic.” Jim Fardner said as they all laughed while watching a little Pomeranian dog drive a toy car.

“Yes, Jim.” Barbra agreed, not seeing the confused look Noaya gave her from the side.

“I like the news because that’s when I can say whatever I want and nobody asks any questions.” Mr.Johnson told the cameras with a smirk.

“I’m taking a personal day.” The old man said as he entered the room, looking at the backs of everyone’s heads as they continued to watch the morning news. “Going fishing with my friends. Anyways, toilet papers in the closet.” He said before walking out.

“I hear him.” Naoya nodded, giving the people behind the camera a small smile. “I hear everything. Plus he is a hilarious old man and I wanna know all his secrets. I am this close to cracking him.” She said with an evil smirk making its way into her face as she lined her fingers together to indicate a small amount.

“I saw Jim Gardner once. At the Chipotle.” Barbra smiled bashfully, not taking her eyes away from the television. “Ooh, he orders a bowl so handsomely.” She gushed. Naoya gave the older woman another look, this time more concern than confusion.

It was only a moment later that Jacob was going through the break room fridge, poking around for something. “Who’s branzino is this?” He asked, holding the fish dish in his hands. “This is a very powerfully smelling fish to put in a shared fridge.” The boy complained as politely as he could, closing the ice box with a disgusted look on his face.

“Don’t touch it,” Melissa said looking up from her phone. “I’m making it right at my cousin Annette’s.” She made her way over to have a seat in her usual spot next to Barb. “She thinks she’s the best cook in the family. I’m gonna show her in a non-threatening way. Imma look cuter than her too.” She smirked.

“I have a distant cousin named Annette,” Naoya said, finishing up the delicious breakfast sandwich that she had every morning. “She was psychotic though, used to put poison in the condiments at restaurants.” The younger woman stated, looking off in thought as the rest stared at her in disbelief. “I haven’t seen her in ages. Don’t want to either, she was butt ugly.” She then took a sip of her orange juice.

Just as she finished, Janine walked into the room, putting her bag down on the table in front of Melissa and Barbra. “Guys, the lights in the back hallways have been out for weeks.”

“Thank you for the update,” Melissa said as she applied more makeup.

“What are you wearing?” Barbra asked, looking her up and down.

“And we need to do something about it. Okay?” The short woman tried to sound demanding but it didn’t come off that way. “Uh, Melina, from your class.” She started, pointing at Melissa. “Yeah, she was afraid to come to school this morning. Said it looked like “The Shining.” And I don’t even get how she knows that reference.”

“She loves “The Shining,” Melissa stated.

“It’s a classic movie.” Jacob chimed in.

The camera panes Naoya’s way, who looks at them at their movements. ‘Never seen it.’ She mouthed with a shrug of her shoulders.

“This isn’t okay, alright?” Janine stressed. “And I already talked to Mr.Johnson and he said that there isn’t anything he can do.

“What do you want us to do about it?” Barbra asked the girl tiredly.

“I mean, it can’t be hard. It’s just screwing in a few new bulbs.” The small woman stated.

“Janine, just worry about what can be controlled.” Barbra cut her off.

“Exactly.” Melissa agreed. “All we can do on a hot day like this is our own jobs, anyway.”

“I know what’s right,” Ava said as she barged into the room and made her way over to the coffee machine. “Why is it February and hotter than the devil’s booty hole outside?” She asked.

“Climate Change.” Jacob and Naoya said at the same time, causing them to point at one another in recognition while Ava shot both of them a tired look. “We are living in the middle of its disastrous effects. The permafrost in Russia—” He was about to rant before Ava cut him off.

“Nerd.” The woman said between coughs, which sounded more like a laugh. Naoya rolled her eyes while Jacob just turned back to what he was doing.

“Ava.” Janine started, walking up to the woman who was still laughing from her childish joke. “Can someone from the city come and check on the back hallway lights?”

“Girl, no.” The woman answered, her usual judgmental look on her face. “Do I look like the Kool-Aid man?” She asked, halving around the room. Her eyes stopped on Naoya, who raised her eyebrows in question. “Don’t answer that.” She pointed at the woman, who just shrugged it off. “I don’t have enough juice to manipulate the inner workings of city hall.” The principal continued, looking back at Janine and scoffing before making her way out. “They’ll probably come in the summer.” She said as the bell rang.

“I’m the summer?” Janine asked after doing a double take at her words. But the woman was long gone and the others were making their way out of the room to their classes.

“Tough break. Want some egg white bites?” Jacob asked, easing closer to Janine and holding out a plate. The solemn woman looked up at him with a new determination. “No. I don’t have time to eat.” She said before walking out. Jacob was mid-bite when he turned and faced Naoya, who was putting her bag over her shoulder. And before the man could even speak, the woman stopped him. “No, I don’t want your peasant food, Jacob. It’s insulting that you would ask someone as cultured as myself such a question.” She started before strutting out of the break room. Jacob stood there in disbelief.

“It’s just egg white bites, you put them in the microwave.”

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“Janine, what on earth are you doing on that thing?” Naoya asked as she rushed down the hall to the smaller woman who stood on a ladder. She had just come from using the restroom and leaving a class of a bunch of nine to ten-year-olds unattended for even a few seconds could lead to chaos. She didn’t know that chaos would be the grown woman who was the height of a nine to ten-year-old.

“I’m going to fix this broken light.” The woman said determinedly, only a step above the floor in the heightening tool. Naoya made it next to her, seeing the woman wasn’t doing much movement. She placed her hands on her hips, a smug look on her face. “Janine, you are not meant to go to those heights. God gave you your stature for a reason. Plus you’re terrified.”

“I am not terrified.” The woman said, shooting a glance at her. At that, Naoya gave her a knowing look before ushering the woman to go ahead. Janine nodded and looked back at the matter, fear gripping her. She gulped looking back at Naoya. “Okay, I am terrified but I’m gonna do it because I’m on a mission.” She said before carefully making her way up the ladder.

“If this backfires, you buy my dinner,” Naoya asked, after checking in on her classroom through the glass door, seeing them still doing their reading time. At that, Janine gave a confused look to the air, since she was too scared to look down. “Uh, no. This bet is not in my face, at all.”

“Well, at least have some faith in yourself, goodness gracious.”

At that, Janine continued, taking the cover off the lights and continuing to tweak at the wires. “See, look at this. It was just a loose wire.” The woman said, briefly glancing down at the people below her. She then connected the wire with another one, watching as the light stopped flickering. But it didn’t stop for long, the bulbs brightening before bursting in her face.

“Oh!” The woman screamed as she ducked:

“Janine!” Naoya yelled from below her, hosing her arms out in case the woman fell. Instantly, all the rooms were filled with the sounds of confusion and discomfort. The doors opened as the teachers exited.

“Oh, God! Can someone please help me down?” Janine asked, her voice shaking from the fear of the height she was at and the bulb exploding before her.

“And why would we do that since you caused this situation?” Melissa asked as she propped her door open.

“Okay, I didn’t know doing this would cause all the power to go out.” Janie tried to justify, still clutching onto the ladder.

“Well, the power is not all out,” Barbra stated. “It’s on in some places and off in others.”

“It’s off in my room,” Gregory said.

“On in the gym.” The coach said tiredly, slugging up to the group.

“Yeah, it’s off in my room,” Melissa spoke back up. “Thank God we got the A/C or we’d all be meltin’ already.”

“Okay, well before anyone freaks out, the best thing to do in these situations is just stay calm and—” Naoya started as she looked around the group but was silenced by the frantic voice of their terrible and terrified principal.

“Okay! This is it, y'all! The End Times!” The woman said as she rounded the corner in a hurry, a light strapped to her head. “It’s three months early, but it’s happening!” She said, as she closed in on them, giving the closest thing to her a tousle, which happened to be the very thing that was holding Janine up.

“Aah, don’t shake the ladder.” The smaller woman yelled from up top.

“Gregory is the only person that can stay in my bunker, so stop asking.” The crazed principal continued. Naoya’s head jerked back at her words, shocked at the woman’s blatant advancements that were harassment at this point.

“Ava,” Barbra started, holding her arms out in a non-offensive manner to calm the woman. “It is just a partial power outage. Alright, listen up everyone—.”

“Listen to Barbra, y'all!” The doomsday woman yelled, still latched into the latter out of fear.

“Are you kidding me?” Janie asked, clasping at the top of the ladder for support as it shook again.

“This is what we’re gonna do.” Barbra started again. “Everybody without power, please, head to the gym.”

“Head!” Ava chimed in again.

“We will conduct classes there until this is all fixed. It is not ideal—.” She stressed, looking up at the culprit on the ladder. “But it will work.”

“You hear her. Let’s go!” Ava demanded with a nod.

“Guys!” Janie called from the top of the ladder, causing them all to look up at her. “I-I just wanna I-I’m sorry, everybody.” The woman said nervously. “I just thought if I could get up here and get this done then we wouldn’t have to wait and..”

“And look where it landed us, baby girl.” Barbra cut in. “Everybody please head to the gym. We’ve got bigger fish to fry now.”

“Oh, Jesus! My branzino! Everybody out of the way. Out of the way!” Melissa yelled as she sprinted down the hall filled with children.

“Well, if someone can please help me! I feel like I’m one wobble away from death!” Janie begged from where she fluted the top of the ladder. At that, Naoya walked closer, raising her hand to help guide the woman down but was intercepted by Gregory's large arms. The two people glanced at each other, unexpected by the other one's move. Naoya waved her hand, signaling him to help instead. “Thank you,” Jannie said, too spooked to even pay attention to the odd interaction before her. “Okay, give me your hand. Take your time.” Gregory soothed, his large hand latched onto Janine’s. When he was turned away from her, she gave the camera an odd look, scratching the back of her ear. “Whenever you're ready.”

“Okay.” Janine sighed. There was a moment of silence between them all as they waited. “Am I doing it?” Janie asked, just standing there.

“No, honey,” Naoya spoke up, raising an eyebrow at such an odd question.

“Okay, let’s do a count of three.” Janine reiterated, adjusting herself to prepare.

“Okay,” Gregory started. “One, two…three.” He finished and the woman still wasn’t moving. “One more time.” He said.

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“This is all my fault,” Janie said as she looked around the gymnasium at all the students. The shock clock then went off, the constant noise startling Gregory, who paused his class to speak to the woman. “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have tried to do the job of a newly graduated DeVry student, but this is okay.” The man sassed, with an awkward smile as she gestured around the room. Melissa was teaching her kids the best she should with something in flashcards, while Barbra was teaching her students to tell time.

Naoya was on the other side of the room, all her students sitting in rows with their eyes closed and taking deep breaths, with her in the front as a group meditation process. She chose this alternative instead of their gym scheduled gym activities, so the kids weren’t accidentally hitting four-year-olds in the head with basketballs.

Janine sighed, going to pick up her phone that pinged. She read the messages she got from Tariq, and that pissed her off even more. Well, it wasn’t helping her attitude for today.

“I made this mess, and I need to fix this.” She said again, looking around at the distressed room of teachers.

“Okay, but fix this how? Gregory asked her. “It seems very outside of your skill set. You should probably just wait for somebody to get to it—.” He tried to reiterate what Barbra had been saying all along and Janine was not having it.

“I don’t want to wait for someone to get to it!” Janine hissed. “You know, our children have needs that deserve to be met. And I’m going to fix this. Nothing is going to get in my way.” She said determined.

“What if you have to climb another ladder?” Gregory finally asked. “Those seem very tricky for you.”

“No.” That was all Janie gave him. “Not today.

Sometime later, the bell rang, signaling to everyone that it was much time.

“Aren’t you going to lunch, Janine?” Melissa asked as she, Barbra, Gregory, and Naoya made their way to the gymnasium doors.

“Uh, no, I’m actually gonna stay and help the lunch ladies with lunch.” The shorter woman tried to find a reasonable excuse.

“The lunch ladies don’t like you, Janine. They never say hello back.” Naoya said, crossing her arms as she looked at the woman across from her. “So, is that what you’re really doing?”

“Yes!” She answered. “And maybe trying to get the lights back on.” She rushed out at the end, hoping no one heard. At that, the two older women groaned.

“Would you give that a rest?” Melissa started. What do you want? To make the whole school blow up?”

“No!” The woman said as she folded her arms. “Plus, I can’t. Luckily the school was built as a bomb shelter in WWII, so…”

“Let it go.” Barbra practically begged the girl before her before she and the rest of the teachers started walking away.

“Okay, I will.” The woman told them, watching them exit. She and Gregory held long eye contact, both knowing the truth deep down. After they were gone, Janine looked back down at her phone, not paying attention to her friends next to her.

“You’re not gonna let it go, are you?” Jacob spoke up.

“No, I’m not gonna let it go, Jacob, okay?” She said, giving the two of them a look. “I need to right my wrongs.”

“Okay, we’ll count me out.” He said, waving her off.

“I never counted you in,” Janine said to him, confused about where he got that from.

“Well, then count me in.” He restated. “Because I don’t have any lunch plans.”

“Okay.” She sighed. She then looked at the woman next to him, her purse on her shoulder. “Weren’t you going to lunch?” She asked.

“You owe me lunch, remember? Your plan backfired.” She reminded the woman from earlier with a shrug. Janine sighed, turning away from them and walking, knowing they would follow. “That’s not how bets work, Naoya. Both people have to agree.”

“That’s how my bets work and you owe me food, woman!”

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“This is just like the one in my apartment, this is going to be easy,” Janine stated as the three of them made their way to the breaker box that was in the custodian closet. “Me and Tariq have to go in that thing like three times a month.” She said them behind her, Jacob holding the flashlight above her head.

“Maybe you should move.” The man suggested.

“Yeah. Tariq says he is “practicing” his credit score.” Janine struggled out and she pushed to get the metal box open. “Apparently 380 isn’t a good—.” She continued to struggle, her words getting lost in her. “Let me try,” Naoya said as she softly nudged the smaller woman out of the way. She gave the box a pull and the thing popped open. She turned and smiled at the two. “I loosened it,” Jannie said, trying to save face.

“Sure, Jan,” Naoya said, going back to looking in the box. “Oh..” she said, looking at the jumbled mess of wires and switches.

“Oh, no,” Janie said, looking at the same thing. “Don’t touch. Not even a little bit.” She read out loud, giving the camera a certain look. “Uh, okay. What’s that say?”

“End of the Road? It’s so hard to say goodbye?” Naoya read out loud, looking at the labels next to some of the switches. “What? Motownphil—These are Boyz II Men songs.” She deadpanned, turning to the rest of them.

“Why?” Jannie asked, moving to stand in front of the box herself.

Jacob chuckled. “It’s ironic ‘cause I’m on Bended Knee.” He joked, giving the camera a brief look. Naoya genuinely snickered while Janie just laughed awkwardly. “Heh. Okay.” She said before going back to the wires. “Oh God, why is that one hot?” Offering them a glance of concern. “Let me try this one.” She said and just a flip of a switch caused a giant spark to erupt, the trio screamed and jumped back to dodge the sparks as best as they could.

“What in the world.”

“What going on?”

Melissa and Barba exclaimed as she entered the hot and dark school building with children running around. “It’s so hot I’m gonna frizz.” Just then, Janie and Jacob came out of the appliance closet, their hair a mess from the static they endured. The three teachers who left for lunch automatically knew who the culprit for everything was.

“Janine! What did you do?!” Barbra asked, quite fed up with the younger woman. “Looking like ‘who shot John.’”

“Barbra, look, I know you told me to let it go, but I couldn’t. Jacob and Naoya—.” At that, she looked back to see where the woman was but she was nowhere to be found. “Jacob helped me open the breaker.” She was quick to accuse.

“I ran away as soon as the sparks started flying. I was looking out for myself.” The woman shrugged as she leaned against the wall next to her. “Plus, I wasn’t about to get yelled at by Barb for this whole mess.”

“It was a chance to support a strong Black woman.” The man next to her breathed out, in a state of shock, quite literally.

“The breaker?!” Melissa asked. “Janine! You can’t do this stuff! What had you come to work today and lose your mind?”

“Look, I—.” She tried to find something to say. “I just have—she gulped—I feel lightheaded.” She said as she swayed.

“Ohh, okay,” Barbra said worriedly as they all closed in on the smaller girl.

“Did you eat today, because I know you didn’t have lunch,” Melissa asked the girl worriedly.

“And you didn’t have any breakfast,” Jacob stated, his tone showing his concern for the woman’s wellbeing. Janine couldn’t even say anything, her balance was off and her mind was delirious.

“Okay, we’re losing her,” Melissa yelled, easing up on the girl. “Do I have your consent to slap you?” At that, Janine fell backward into Gregory’s arms just as Ava and Naoya rounded the corner. “There she goes,” Melissa said over the shocked screams of her colleagues. “She’s out.”

“Yall feel this heat?” Ava asked, just now seeing the sight of the woman on the floor before her. “Oh my God! She’s pale like a zombie! You know, they eat the hottest people first, let me back my tasty ass up.” Ava said, going back to where she came from down the hall. At her stupid words, Naoya was tempted to follow her but snapped out of it when she saw Janine on the floor.

“Uh, okay! I’m gonna go see if I can get some water out of the fridge. Hopefully, it’s still cold.” Naoya said before running off.

“Oh my God, my branzino!” Melissa yelled, moving to push Barb back.” “Excuse me, Barb. She’ll be okay!” She yelled as she pushed the older woman out of her way and jumped over the unconscious woman.

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Once Janine woke up from her little coma, the coach told her that all the kids and teachers were outside. She walked out to see all of them playing in the water that was sprouting from the fire hydrants while the teachers lunged in chairs. “Oh, look who’s back in the land of the living,” Melissa said once she saw the small woman exit the school.

“Who opens the fire hydrant?” Janine asked

“Well, as Melissa would say, snitches get stitches,” Barbra said.

“It was Naoya,” Jacob whispered to his shorter friend, pointing over at said woman who was playing in the water with the children. She had her bat at her side, leaning her weight on it as she splashed the kids who came near her to throw water her way.

“That is correct.” Melissa started again. “But I am not talking to you on account of you killing my branzino.” She said, before leaning back in her seat. Barbra gave her a look and cleared her throat. Melissa looked at the woman from under her shades and sighed a little before sitting back up. Barbra then got up from her seat, allowing Janine to take it.

“So that’s it, huh?” Janine asked, looking around at the kids. “I , uh, gave it my all, passed out, and ruined the school day?”

“Oh, you tanked,” Melissa told her. “You tanked Janine. You took the whole school down with you. It was impressive.” She pressed, knowing she was pushing the woman’s buttons.

“Look, I know. I should’ve stopped. I’m sorry.” Janine sighed. “I just felt so bad when I saw that look on Melina’s face this morning.”

“You don’t think it kills us to see those faces in the morning?” Melissa asked her. “What, are we made of stone? You’re not the first person to feel things, kid. We care.”

It was silent for a moment as Janine thought over the woman’s words. “How do you and Barbra stop yourselves from caring too much if that’s a thing.”

“Because it’s the opposite.” Melissa smiled at the girl as she took off her shades. “We care so much we refuse to burn out. If we burn out, who’s here for these kids? That’s who you gotta take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, what’s with you today Nini?” Both women jumped at the sound of Naoya’s voice, while the woman just stood behind them with her bat. “You’re normally bananas, but…” She trailed off, waving at the girl's aura.

“Uh, I don’t know. Just some stuff at home, I think.” Janine shrugged with an answer.

“Oh, okay,” Melissa said with a nod. “See, that’s the other thing me and Barbra learned. All that at-home stuff—you gotta leave it at the door. Otherwise, you open up a whole nother Panera’s box of problems.”

“I think you mean Pandora’s box,” Naoya told the woman sitting in front of her.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s Panera’s box.” She nodded, while Janine and Naoya both gave the camera a look.

Later on that day, Naoya was in her room in the process of changing the clothes she had on into some that she kept in her closet. She enjoyed playing in the water with the kids but she was not going to go home wet. As she was in the process of changing, she got a phone call. Looking down at her phone, she saw the contact and quickly answered the phone.

“Hello, Adona.” The girl sighed into the phone as she pulled a new shirt over her head.

“Oh, well don’t sound so pleased.” The feminine voice over the phone said to her. Naoya rolled her eyes, as she opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out a plastic store bag. She offered the camera a glance, knowing they were probably thinking as to why she kept so many plastic bags in her drawer. But all she could offer them now was a shrug as the voice over the phone continued.

“Anyways, how are you?”

“What do you want, Adona?” Naoya spat, stuffing her semi-wet clothes into the plastic bag.

“What? I can’t see how my own sister is doing?” The woman said over the phone, the hurt in their voice obviously sarcastic.

“No, but I know you. And I know that you only call when you need money. Money for something other than your child.” The younger girl snapped over the phone. All she got in response was a sigh and some shuffling from the other end.

“You know, you don't have to rub it in.” Adona started, and Naoya rolled her eyes at the woman’s words, knowing this conversation was about to go to the argument they always had. “This all would have been so much easier if the rest of us weren’t left out of her will.”

“That’s not my fucking fault, Adona. I tell you that every time you call. Do you think I want the burden of you and the others calling me every month for some fucking bill for me to pay? Not to ask how I’m doing?” Naoya spat at her sister over the phone. She could feel her eyes start to sting, she was never the best at arguing when it came to her family. She’d been called sensitive all her life and it rang true every time she talked to her siblings.

“ “The others”? That’s what you call us? You’re family?” That was all Adona could say back. Naoya rolled her eyes and let out a scoff, pulling the phone away from her face as she sniffed and held her head back, trying to stop her tear flow. After only a few quick seconds, she brought the phone back to her face. “Uh, I can already see where this is going, so I’m gonna end it here. Just send the amount and I’ll talk to you some other time. Take care.” She said before pressing the red button on her screen to end the call.

She placed her phone in her back pocket and moved around her room to gather her things, trying her best to occupy her mind from what just ensued. She was so in her head that she forgot the cameras were there. And she didn’t hear the voice of Gregory at her door.

“Naoya?” He called out to her.

She looked up at the sound of his voice as she placed her things into her bag. “Oh, Hello Gregory.” She smiled, her face showing none of the emotions she was feeling.

“You’ve eaten?” He asked, just standing in the doorway of her classroom.

“Uh, no, actually. Janine was supposed to buy me lunch because I bet that her plan would backfire.” The woman said as she placed her things in her arms. At that, Gregory gave her a questioning look. Naoya raised her hands in surrender. “I know, I sound like a terrible friend. But it’s not that I don’t believe in Janine, I just know how to black a bet. Get it from my father.” The girl shrugged. She and Gregory both laughed lightly. And when it died down, they just started at one another, the air between them oddly peaceful.

“But, uh, are you offering?” She asked, looking at the man before her.

“Uh, yeah. I was going to ask Janine too.” He said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the said woman’s room.

“Cool! Let’s go.” She said with a genuine smile, causing the man to smile at her as well. They walked out and over to Janine’s room, where it looked like the woman was doing something on her phone. Gregory knocked on her door to get her attention. “Hey.” He said.

“Hey,” Jaimie said, looking at the two.

“Have you eaten?” He asked.

“Oh. No. The um, lunch lady gave me that can of peaches but no can opener, so, no.” She chuckled, pointing at the can on her desk.

“What? No fair! You’re so lucky. Well, besides the whole can opener situation. ” Naoya said jokingly.

“Alright, we’ll, you wanna go get something to eat? With me?” Gregory said before Naoya lightly cleared her throat. “With us?” Gregory was quick to reiterate. Naoya nodded, offering the slightly flustered older man a brief look.

“Oh,” Janine said, looking between the two. “I was gonna wait for my boyfriend to finish his show to eat…” She said. Naoya nodded at her words, understanding where she was coming from. Well, understanding as best as she could because she’d never wait to eat for a man. But maybe that was love. She caught the way Gregory’s posture changed at Janin’s words out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t say anything but she did give me a crazy side-eye, hoping he noticed.

“But…no.” The shorter woman started back up with a laugh. “I’m hungry now, so I should eat now, right?”

“That’s typically how hunger works, yeah.” Gregory played along.

“Right! Normal people eat at normal times, like…4:00.” She said, pointing over at the clock on her wall.

“Yeah. All true.” Gregory said with a nod before smiling. “So, let’s go eat.”

“Let’s. Okay.” Janine said with an equally large smile before moving to grab her things. At that, Naoya turned around to head out the door, not wanting to be in the middle of an obvious love fest. She gave the cameras outside a knowing look, a large smirk on her face.

Seconds later, the two of them walked out of the room, Naoya joining them to go down the hall. On their way, they ended up meeting Jacob.

“Oh, hey guys, what up?” The man said.

“We’re just headed to get something to eat,” Gregory answered.

“Oh, great, I’ll join.” The man just inserted himself, not catching the looks thrown his way by the three. “After school crew.” He continued.

“Ooh, “After School Crew.” I like that.” Janine smiled. They all ended up stopping at the lights coming on within the school. They looked over to see Mr.Johnson in the supply closet, standing next to the breaker machine in his fishing gear.

“You touch the lights, didn’t you, Janine?” He asked, shooting an accusatory look the woman’s way.

“Yes,” Janine answered with a defeated look.

“Good thing I got me a system.” The man told her, flicking the breaker box closed. “I’ll make love to you. Like you want me to.” He continued to sing. This caused them to all sigh and continue walking. Naoya stayed behind, a fond smile on her lips as she watched the old man. When he caught the sight of the woman still there, he paused and looked at her.

“You have a good fishing trip?” She asked the man, crossing her arms over another. The man looked at the girl kind of shocked that she asked and that she knew.

“Yeah. Yeah, I actually did.” He said, offering her a smile of his own. Naoya nodded at his words before walking away, following the crew that left her. Mr.Johnson looked at the spot she left, a fond smile on his face as she continued to sing the song.

Next Year

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (w/ retinoblastoma + a prosthetic eye)

Summary: Tim accompanies you to your yearly ophthalmologist appointment for the first time.

Warnings: depictions of anxiety about dr visit, fluff, comfort

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Are you going to Lucy’s party?” Angela asks as she walks into the station beside Tim.

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Did you get invited yet? Because you can’t say no before she asks you.”

“Tim!” Lucy calls.

“When’s the party?” he asks.

“A week from today.”

“Can’t. Maybe next time.”

Angela shrugs, conceding defeat, but Lucy wants to know why Tim refuses to attend. Usually, he’ll say he doesn’t want to, but his short answer - can’t - intrigues her.

“Why not?” she inquires, walking quickly to keep up with Tim’s long strides through the station.

“I’m going out of town that day,” Tim says.

“Why?”

“Chen,” Tim sighs, stopping to face her. “I can’t go to your party, I’m sorry.”

“Okay. But, where are you going?”

“Is no not sufficient?”

“Tim, c’mon, give me something so I don’t just assume you hate me and never want to see me outside of work.”

Tim raises his brows, and Lucy shakes her head quickly. He knows he can’t get out of this easily or quickly, so he blows out a breath and explains, “I’m going to San Francisco with my girlfriend.”

Lucy’s eyes widen as she gasps. “Are you proposing?” she whispers.

“What? No.”

“Why else would you be taking her up there, then? You can tell me if you’re proposing, I’m really good at keeping secrets.”

“Not something to brag about in a police station, Chen.”

“I’ll ask Angela to interrogate you.”

“It’s a doctor’s appointment,” Tim admits. “And truly none of your business.”

“A doctor’s- Is everything okay?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out, so we can’t come to your party, but if you keep this between us, I will make sure I come to the next one.”

“Keep what between you?” Wade asks.

Lucy presses her forefinger to her lips and nods once, but Tim rolls his eyes and answers, “Next week.”

“Ah,” Wade murmurs. “Tell her we’re keeping her in our thoughts and let us know if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Tim sees the look of hurt that flashes across Lucy’s face at not being included in whatever it is you’re dealing with. Yet, she knows that medical issues can be stressful enough without a bunch of cops asking you questions or treating you differently.

“I’ll see you at the next party then,” Chen says. “And bring me some Ghirardelli!”

“No.”

“Are you ready?” Tim asks as he turns his truck off in the parking garage.

You look at him from your place in the passenger seat and shake your head. “I’m nervous.”

Tim takes your hand over the console and smiles as he promises, “Everything’s going to be fine. Even if it’s not, we’ll deal with it. Okay? And just think about the cheesecake you get later.”

You take a shaky breath and smile as you nod. Tim squeezes your hand before he exits the truck, walks to your door, and takes your hand as you walk to your doctor’s office. The waiting room is tiny, and you cross your fingers as Tim opens the door that it’s not busy. You’re anxious enough without having to stand or step around other people while you wait.

“Good morning,” the receptionist greets.

She’s new, you realize, and you offer a small smile as you tell her your name and birthday.

“Alright,” she says after typing for a moment. “I’ve got you checked in and they’ll call you back shortly.”

“Thank you,” Tim tells her, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you to a chair.

You clasp your hands together in your lap to hide your shakiness from Tim, but when your leg starts bouncing beside him, you realize it’s pointless. He’ll see your anxiety even without the outward responses.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to him.

Tim nods once and watches you walk to the bathroom before he looks at the small table beside his seat. There’s a pamphlet about retinoblastoma, and he picks it up to read the back as he waits for you.

With your hand on the doorknob, preparing to exit the restroom, you realize that you’ll probably have to come straight back. It’s one of the more annoying responses to anxiety, the constant bathroom breaks. When you remember that Tim is waiting outside for you, you feel better.

“What are you reading?” you ask as you sit beside him, leaning toward him.

Tim flips the pamphlet closed, and you smile as you furrow your brows.

“It is my first time,” he points out. “You’ve told me a lot, but I’m not going to pretend like I know exactly what you’ve dealt with or have to go through every year.”

You wrap your fingers around Tim’s forearm as your leg begins bobbing up and down again. He extends his arm over your torso to rest his hand on your leg. Almost immediately, a nurse opens the door and calls your name.

“I’ll be right here,” Tim promises.

You follow the nurse into a small exam room and try to listen to her instructions on reading the charts to test your vision. You’ve done this every year for as long as you remember, so you know how to do it. Still, you haven’t cracked the code to eliminate the anxiety that comes with the yearly doctor visits.

“Read these letters,” she prompts.

Resisting the urge to squint, you read, “A, K, L, M.”

“Good, and these?”

“Y… uh, P? E, R.”

“Okay,” the nurse mumbles before showing you more letters. “Good, done with that. Now we’ll check your eye pressure and dilute your eyes for the doctor’s examination. Do you have any questions about that?” You shake your head, and she smiles as she prepares the numbing drops. “Tip your chin up toward me slightly?” she requests. “Good. Open nice and wide.”

You blink after the drops hit your right eye, and she quickly moves to do the other side. A moment later, she instructs you to sit closer to the machine that checks your eye pressure. After the pressure is checked and your retina is imaged by the retinal camera, she instructs you to turn toward her.

“Time for the worst part,” she announces. “Tip your chin up again? Thank you.”

As the dilation drops begin working, you swallow to get the taste out of your throat. You can feel the drops draining down the back of your throat as your vision shifts, growing farsighted. Luckily, you return to the waiting room before it gets too bad. Tim appears blurry as you sit beside him and wordlessly pull his arm against your chest to hold his hand. He turns to lay his other hand on your knee and brushes his thumb against your inner thigh.

“Feel okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you answer against his arm. “Just don’t like the dilation.”

“Nobody does,” Tim whispers, as if it’s a secret. “What happens next?”

You appreciate Tim’s presence beside you more than he’ll ever know, but the fact that he’s concerned about you and wants to know exactly what you’re dealing with and thinking makes you love him even more.

“I’ll talk to the doctor about changes, but there aren’t many this year. Then he’ll check my retina, and every other year he does imaging and ultrasounds to look at the tumor. I got them last year, so I shouldn’t need them unless he sees something.”

Tim nods and carefully pulls his arm away.

“How’d you know?” you ask as you stand.

“Do you need help?” he says rather than answering.

You shake your head and walk carefully to the bathroom. Before you sit back in your seat, you’re called back again and wave to Tim. He’ll be there when you finish, and that’s a good comfort as you follow the tech to the exam room across the small hall.

“Good morning,” the doctor says as he walks in, glancing your way before he sits and looks over through your oversized chart and the results of today’s vision test. “Any changes to vision or pain?”

“No pain,” you answer. “My vision is a little blurrier than last year, mostly when I’m looking at things far away.”

The doctor nods and sets the large folder aside as he moves his chair toward you. “Anything else?”

You shake your head and follow his light as he moves it from left to right. He raises his retinoscope and direct ophthalmoscope to further examine your retina.

“Good reflectivity,” he tells the technician behind him. “Minimal changes.”

“So, I’m cured?” you joke, pressing your hands against your thighs.

Your doctor smiles, a rare expression, at your comment and murmurs, “If only it were that easy.”

He moves closer to examine your eye through the ophthalmoscope and hums as he moves upward. When he lowers it and pushes back to look at his notes from last year, you bite the inside of your bottom lip and prepare yourself for bad news.

“You’re fine,” he announces, causing you to release your breath. “There has been a minimal change to your vision, but it’s not even worthy of updating any preexisting prescriptions. Your retina looks as good as it can, there’s no new damage, no swelling, and the tumor obviously hasn’t changed. The nerves are intact and healthy also.” He presses a few buttons on the computer and three images of your retina load, and he points to the one on the far left to say, “This was six years ago, and there’s been very little change since then. These nerves and vessels are maintained, the fovea centralis is healthy, and that’s what I wanted to see.”

“Thank you.”

“And the other eye still matches,” he adds.

“Was that a joke, doctor?”

He shrugs, reminds you of eye safety rules, and tells you to schedule your next appointment with the receptionist before you leave. You thank him again and then follow the tech slowly to return to the waiting room.

“Ready?” Tim asks, offering his arm as he walks to your side.

“I need to make my appointment,” you answer as you wrap your arms around one of his.

“Already on it,” the receptionist tells you. “Does the same day next year at 10 a.m. work for you?”

“Yes,” you and Tim answer simultaneously.

“Perfect. You’ll get some email reminders, and I’ll get you an appointment card now. See you both next year, then.”

You doubt it; you rarely see the same receptionist twice, but you enjoy hearing that Tim will undoubtedly be at your side again next year.

“And?” Tim prompts as he leads you out of the office.

“Everything’s fine. My retina’s okay, the nerves are functioning and healthy, so I’m as good as I can be.”

“That’s great!”

You nod and remind him, “Now I need cheesecake.”

“Of course. Hold on tight.”

You do just that, trusting Tim to get you safely where you need to be. After he gets you into the truck, he drives to Union Square. Then, Tim leads you into Macy’s to go to the top floor and enjoy lunch and cheesecake at the Cheesecake Factory for a reward. You and Tim talk about work, Kojo, and enjoy the time together, even if you are in San Francisco for an unexciting reason.

“Left?” Tim clarifies as he leads you out onto the street.

“Yes,” you answer. “You have to figure it out once we get closer though.”

Tim smiles and pulls you closer to his side as he leads you down the street to your next appointment. It’s much faster, just answering a few questions and waiting for your eye maker to polish, clean, and check the size of your prosthetic eye before you’re ready to go. As you leave, the effects of your dilation begin to wear off.

“At least I don’t have to ride back to LA with dilated eyes,” you tell Tim after he asks what your relieved sigh was about.

“I wouldn’t have made you do that,” he counters. “We could have gotten a hotel.”

“Maybe next year.”

Tim smiles and turns you to face him on a sidewalk in Union Square. He brushes his thumbs gently across your cheekbones before he kisses you. It was his first time accompanying you to an appointment. If every visit is like this, you may actually look forward to next year’s visit.

Always Time for You

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: After you move to Los Angeles to escape an abusive relationship, you meet Deacon Kay and fall in love. When your ex arrives in Los Angeles, you have to tell someone, but don't want to worry Deacon.

Warnings: former abusive relationship, depictions of domestic violence, abuse, angst, fluff and comfort (none of the SWAT men do anything abusive, it's an ex!)

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The trip across the country is long and slow, each day spent holding your bruised cheek out of view and looking over your shoulder. You promise not to let your guard down when you finally reach Los Angeles. Surrounded by high rises and over 4 million people to blend in with, it would be easy to think you’re safe. But you know better.

Your little apartment in a quiet corner miles from downtown is nice, if not lonely. As you create a new life, you’re unbothered by the solitude, too concerned with being safe than having friends.

And then, in a moment, all of it changes.

1 Year Later

“Excuse me,” someone says behind you.

You flinch when a gloved hand raises beside you, then step out of the way and apologize to the officer. He nods once, then joins his team on the other side of the road. The police presence in your neighborhood today is too familiar. The last time you saw this many cops in one place was because you called them, and they barely made it in time.

Another approaching siren pulls you from your memory, and you step back from the curb. Something stops you, a feeling that going home would not be the right choice.

One of the SWAT officers looks at you and points in your direction. You freeze, remembering the officer who asked Well, did you tell him to stop? You provoked him; you shouldn’t do that if you already know what he’s like. When you look up again, two officers are walking toward you. Chewing the inside of your bottom lip, you hope they’ll walk past you.

“Hi, I’m Sergeant Deacon Kay, LAPD SWAT,” the officer who walked past you earlier says. “Do you live around here?”

“I do,” you answer softly.

“Would you mind answering a few questions?” the other officer, whose nametag says Street, asks.

“Sure,” you agree. “If I can.”

Deacon pulls a picture from his pocket, a folded piece of paper that he straightens before asking, “Have you seen this car around here?”

You lean closer, fighting against your memories, and answer, “I saw it last night. It sat across the street with its lights on from around 8 until midnight.”

“What made you notice it?” Street asks.

“The lights,” you explain. “When it turned, they lit up my living room, then didn’t go off.”

“Left around midnight, you said?” Deacon clarifies. You nod, and he points east to ask, “That way?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for your help.”

They step back, and you ask, “Um, is it safe? Will he be back or is there anything I should be worried about?”

Deacon smiles and assures, “It’s safe. We’re going to get him.”

As he joins Street to return to Black Betty, Street asks, “We don’t know that; we’ve been looking for two days.”

“And we’ll find him today.”

The next night, someone knocks on your door, and you tiptoe across the room to look through the peephole. When you see Sergeant Deacon Kay, you open the door but hold it as you look at him.

“Hi,” he greets. “I just wanted to let you know we caught him.”

You sigh and whisper your gratitude.

“And… I came to ask you out.”

Smiling, you nod, and for once, you don’t think about your last relationship and let yourself hope for something new, something better.

1 Year Later

“Good morning,” you greet as you answer the phone.

“It is now,” Deacon replies. “How are you?”

“I’m better now.”

You open the door to leave for work but stop when you see a package on your doormat. Deacon says something, but the words across the top of the box are familiar, too familiar. You squat to see it better; the We’re back note is split by the box pulling open. You lift the flap with one finger and see a rope curled tightly inside, with two knots to form hand restraints. You jerk backward, falling onto the floor as you scramble from the box. Your phone hits the floor, and Deacon yells as you reach for it.

“Hey,” you breathe, staring at the box. “I’m okay, sorry, I got startled and dropped my phone.”

“Everything okay?” Deacon asks.

“Yes,” you lie. “Everything is fine.”

“Then I’ll see you tonight. Have a good day.”

“You, too.”

When you reach your car, a pack of matches is tucked under the windshield wipers, and you throw them into the backseat before slamming the door closed and locking it. Someone is close, and the fear you thought you’d left behind hits you like a train when you realize who it is.

Deacon knocks on your door an hour before your date, but he’s still in his uniform.

“I’m so sorry,” he begins. “I have to work overtime, for- for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll have time to make it up to you, but I will. I promise I will.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “Be safe and call me when you can.”

Deacon leans in, ignorant of how your muscles tense before he touches you. He kisses your cheek, whispers another apology, and leaves. As he drives away, you see a knife tucked behind the plant by your door. Rather than spend the extra time with the door open to look at it, you close and lock it. Your breaths grow heavy as your chest tightens, but you have no proof that he’s nearby. You can’t tell the police, and Deacon will get stressed with overtime, so you have to wait for this to pass on its own.

The following week, almost ten days after the first box arrived, you call in sick to work. Sitting in your living room, you watch the front window. You can see your porch and car. By noon, you haven’t seen anyone. Slowly, you open the door, and there’s a boxing glove on the first step, with what looks like dried blood across where the wearer’s knuckles would be. You feel a pressure building in your eyes and know that the terror you experience will kill you from the inside if you don’t tell someone or do something.

“Where are you?” you whisper brokenly, looking across the street but seeing nothing.

Your car catches your attention, a baseball bat propped against the back door, and a spray-painted X marking your door. You know the paint will draw attention, so you find a sponge and car wash in your storage closet before you hesitate at the door. If he was close enough to do this without being seen, he’s close enough to do something to you.

You set the cleaning supplies down and take your phone from your pocket. Scrolling past Deacon’s contact, you text someone else and then sit by the door, staring out the window as you wait for him to arrive.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Luca asks when he sees your blotchy cheeks and blood on your palms, crescent-shaped marks created by digging your nails into your palm.

“He’s here,” you confide in him, struggling to breathe evenly. “Luca, he’s so close.”

“Who?” Luca asks, taking your wrists and looking into your eyes. “Who is he?”

“My ex, he- he hurt me, Luca, and  now he’s here. There’s been knives, matches, rope… he keeps leaving stuff he used to use.”

“Use?” Luca repeats, his voice dropping. “To… to hurt you?”

You nod, then press against his forearms to plead, “You can’t tell Deacon. He’s so stressed with the overtime; I haven’t even talked to him in a week.”

“He needs to know.”

“No, no, Luca, promise that you won’t tell him. I’ll tell you if anything changes or if I actually see him, but I had to tell somebody.”

Luca hesitates, then nods. “Have you seen anything?”

“No,” you admit, dropping your head as a tear rolls over your cheek. “Just the stuff. And the notes… they sound like him, but they don’t look like his handwriting. What am I supposed to do, Luca?”

Luca shakes his head and pulls you into a hug. It’s not the same comfort you can get from Deacon. The realization that you can’t do anything until he’s close enough to see increases your terror to let you finally cry.

Three days after confiding in Luca and thanking him with dinner for cleaning your car, you decide to visit Deacon at the station. You must see him, so you steel your nerves and open the front door. A small pile of weapons and notes is built against your door, and it topples as you step out. You rush to your car and don’t take the time to remove anything from the windshield until you stop at a gas station a block from the station. Shoving the notes, matches, and short length of heavy chain into the trashcan without more than a glance, you hope that Deacon has time to talk. You won’t tell him anything, but you will ask for one of his hugs that make everything better.

As you round your trunk, a truck speeds in behind you. Suddenly, your arms are gripped tightly, and someone pulls you back quickly. Someone else pulls black fabric over your head, and you are shoved into the back of a car before you can think to scream.

“Not a word,” a man says, pushing a cold gun barrel against your ribs.

“We’ll do it,” Deacon offers. “Luca and I can drive by the residence in an unmarked car and bring back a report of what we can see.”

“Do it,” Hicks replies. “Go the long way around, check gas stations and restaurants in the area, too. We need to find her.”

Deacon leads Luca to his unmarked Charger, and Deacon takes the driver’s seat. As they drive toward the suspect’s residence, Deacon stops at a red light beside a gas station.

“Isn’t that your girlfriend’s car?” Luca asks, pointing to a gas pump.

Deacon’s brow furrows as he puts the car into reverse and backs into the station lot. He parks behind your vehicle, and he and Luca walk alongside it, then look over the top at each other.

“I’ll check inside,” Luca offers as Deacon dials your number.

“Thanks,” Deacon replies.

Your phone goes to voicemail, and Deacon looks down in time to see the screen light up in the center console. Luca runs out of the convenience store and calls, “Deac, get in here!”

Deacon runs into the store, and Luca asks the employee to play the security footage again. They watch as three men take you, and Luca takes a shaky breath before he says, “Deacon, there’s something you should know.”

“Time to go home,” one of the men in the car coos.

You stiffen, scared that by home he means they’ll hand you over to your ex. The car lurches to a stop, and you slam into the back of the seat before two sets of hands steady you.

“Well, look who it is.”

Shifting, you try to block out your ex’s voice, but knowing he can see you while you can’t see him makes your heart race and your chest tighten painfully. When he slips his hand under your fabric hood and runs his fingers along your jaw, you jerk backward. The man beside you shoves you forward so your hood can be ripped off.

“Don’t do that again,” your ex demands lowly, holding your jaw tightly.

You look around, hoping to see someone else around who can help you.

“You know the police couldn’t help before.”

“We did what you asked,” the man driving says.

“And? You’ll get paid when I pay you.”

With the distraction, you lean away from your ex. He slides his fingers into your hair when he notices the distance, pulling you forward by the roots. You gasp at the pain, but when you’re shoved out of the car and fall at his feet, suddenly, you’re the same scared girl you were before you ran. There is no escape, and no one knows to look for you.

“Gas pedal is on the right, Street!” Deacon yells from the backseat.

“We’ll get there,” Street promises, remaining patient even as he faces Deacon’s anger and fear. “We need the surprise.”

Deacon’s leg bounces as they approach the tradeoff spot in the note they found from your ex to the men who snatched you at the gas station. Your safety is the priority, but Deacon knows Hondo is worried about what he’ll do to your ex.

“I’m getting her out of there,” Deacon says. “You focus on the criminals stupid enough to email each other with their plans.”

“You got it,” Hondo responds. “Stay liquid.”

As they pull into the parking lot, Street parks by a fence where they can see the black SUV from the gas station and a grey Chevelle beside it. Street exits the driver’s seat in his civilian clothes and waves to the man standing at the back of the SUV.

“Hey, man! I’m trying to get to the road with the stars, uh, Walk of Fame or something? This city is so confusing, can you tell me where to go?” Street calls.

“Yeah,” the man replies, turning so Street can see him. “Away from here.”

Someone groans, and Street says, “Yeah, sure. You okay?”

“Better than you’ll be if you don’t go.”

Street puts his hands up, then smiles. “You’re not very observant.”

Luca and Hondo approach the car from the other side with their guns raised. As they yell commands, three men surrender and move to the side, but your ex remains beside you.

“Step back,” Street demands, moving directly behind him. “These guys have a bet going on how quickly I’ll get impatient today. I’m thinking about letting one of them win. Walk toward my voice.”

“You always were treated like you’re more important than you are,” your ex tells you. “Same cop,” he muses, looking at Luca. “No one wants you.”

“Yep, I’m impatient,” Street decides. He holsters his gun, grabs his collar, and hauls him backward.

As your ex hits the concrete, he begins fighting, so Street drags him across the rocky surface while Deacon rushes to your side. You hear Hondo radioing for backup but focus on Deacon as he kneels beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod and sit up carefully. Leaning against Deacon, you hug him tightly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Deacon asks softly, brushing his thumb over a bruise on your jaw.

“You were already working overtime, and honestly… I thought I was going crazy,” you admit. “He was leaving stuff and notes, but I never saw him, so I didn’t know.”

“Babe, I always have time for you,” Deacon assures you. He kisses your forehead and adds, “Especially if you’re in danger.”

“He… I moved to LA because of him,” you whisper. “He hurt me. A lot.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to deal with all of this alone, but you can tell me. Please tell me.”

“I will,” you promise. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“I love you.”

“I love you. I miss you.”

“I’m done with overtime; I’m coming home with you.”

You don’t argue, giving in to your craving for Deacon’s safety and comfort. He’ll always be with you, have time for you, and love you through everything and with all of your scars.

i bet on losing dogs

Description: Roy & Y/N have big news to share with Oliver and Dinah but it doesn't go well

Warnings: pregnancy, talk about roy's addiction/sobriety & oliver being a bad mentor, angst

Word Count: 1.1k

Roy felt weird being in Star City after so long. He felt even weirder as he pulled into the driveway of Oliver's house. Well, more like a mansion. His hand was tangled with Y/N and she could feel the nervousness radiating off of him. She took his hand and placed it on her stomach, reminding him of the life growing inside of her.

"We don't have to do this. We could go home, order takeout, cuddle while watching shitty movies," Y/N offered. She knew that Roy could push himself to prove a point but sometimes he'd get hurt in the process.

"That sounds nice but look we're already here. C'mon, babe, why are you so nervous?" Roy wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a conversation with Oliver like an adult and he wanted his family to keep growing.

"I know that you and Oliver aren't on the best terms. I just don't want you to feel like we have to do this," Unfortunately, due to the circumstances of Lian's birth, Roy wasn't as present as he would've liked but he promised himself that this time would be different. He decided to start with his relationship with Oliver and Dinah, which was estranged, to say the least.

"I feel bad that Lian has missed so much with Oliver and Dinah. I want our baby to have a big family. I want our baby to have the birthdays with both sides of the family. I want our baby to have what I didn't," Roy reminisced on his days after being taken in by Oliver. It was surprisingly lonely until he met Dick and Y/N.

"Okay, okay. You ready?" She fluffed her dress so that her little baby bump wasn't prominent. While she was only a few months along, the two of them wanted to keep a secret until a little closer to her due date. It was a miracle that her dad and siblings hadn't figured it out yet.

"As ready as I'll ever be," He murmured after getting out to open Y/N's door. The two of them walked to the front door of the large house. Y/N noted that it was smaller than Wayne Manor. Roy hesitated before finally pressing the doorbell.

"Roy, Y/N, it's so great to see the both of you," Dinah opened the door and she hugged Roy almost immediately. She took a step back and ruffled his hair before giving Y/N an even bigger hug.

"It's great to see you too, Dinah." Dinah let the two of them into the house before shutting the door behind them.

"Oliver is just in the dining room," She said and guided the couple to the area.

"It's been a long time since you've been back, Roy," Oliver greeted his former protege and gestured to the chairs on the opposite side of the table. Roy pulled out Y/N's chair before taking a seat next to her.

"Yeah," He agreed. He expected the awkwardness.

"Well, let's eat," Dinah said before describing the various dishes that were laid out on the table. Small talk was made, it felt like picking at a scab that was aching to come off. There were even small jokes that were made. Y/N felt a sudden bout of nausea and the unease was present on her face.

"Are you alright?" Roy leaned over and asked. His eyes scanned hers with worry clear on her face.

"It's just my stomach," She said reassuring him and patting her stomach lightly.

"I'll walk you to the bathroom," Dinah offered, mainly to give Oliver and Roy a chance to talk. The two of them had rarely spoken since Roy got clean and stuck out on his own.

"How far along is she?" Oliver asked the obvious question. Bruce was gonna be pissed that he didn't know first.

"Almost four months," Roy admitted

"So, this is a shakedown then?" Oliver's tone was condescending as he fumbled in his suit pocket for a checkbook.

"What?" Roy was confused. Nothing about this suggested that he was here to ask for money.

"Money? I'm assuming Daddy Bats isn't kicking out money for the baby and that's why you're here," Oliver had never been more wrong in a deduction in his life.

"You really think that's why I'm here?" Roy's voice cracked and he could feel blush creeping up his neck. He felt like the scared teenager he used to be. His hands were clenched hard on his thighs.

"Yes," Oliver's voice was definite like he had already decided that this was clearly all Roy wanted.

"I don't want your money, I just wanted my kids to have a relationship with the man who made me a hero," Roy admitted, surprisingly calmly

"Roy," Oliver tried to interrupt.

"I know that I wasn't the greatest sidekick ever and yeah, I fucked up. But why is it so hard for you to realize that I am better now? I got better without your help because you left me." Roy said gesturing to himself. He thought he was doing alright in life all things considered.

"I didn't leave you," Oliver tried to correct it but that's certainly not what happened. At least, that's not what happened from Roy's perspective.

"Oh, so what would you call it?" Roy almost yelled. Oliver wasn't there when Roy was living in alleyways when he was going through withdrawal for what felt like an eternity, or when he finally put himself back together because he found out about his daughter.

"I didn't know how to help you. You were addicted to God knows what. Oh, and poor Y/N was just throwing away money to keep you in rehab," Oliver threw the final jab, revealing a new tidbit about one of Roy's rehab stints.

"What?" Roy damn near yelled. He knew Y/N was there for him but he didn't know to what degree.

"She never told you?" Oliver's face softened at the last moment. Roy didn't notice and just stood from the table. He could feel threatened to spill. He refused to let them fall in front of Oliver.

"Tell Dinah, I said thank you for the meal and that I'll call her later," Roy gathered himself before finding Y/N and Dinah obsessing over her small baby bump. Y/N could tell something was wrong right away.

"Roy, what's wrong?" She asked walking up to him and placing her hand on his stubbled cheek. His hand covered hers and he gave a shy smile.

"Let's do those shitty movies and takeout," He spoke so softly that she had barely heard him.

"Okay, babe," She knew now wasn't the time to poke for answers but she was sure he would tell her when he was ready.

Click here for part 2

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Why We Pretend We Can't

Part 2 of Pretending You Can't

Requested Here!

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop(analyst)!reader

Summary: Months after he realized how touch starved you are, Karadec continues helping you overcome your touch starvation and get used to touch.

Warnings: touchstarved r, emotional vulnerability, canon-divergent backstory for Karadec, minor injuries, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Lieutenant Melon asked to see you,” an officer tells you.

You look up from your desk in the Major Crimes bullpen and nod once. You’ve spoken to him a few times since you were transferred out of Robbery/Homicide, but an early-morning call can’t be anything good. Coming in early to complete reports has become a habit, but your routine is interrupted. You lock your computer screen before you stand, and when you brush your hands together, you realize that the muscles in your arms and hands have tensed.

Last night, you didn’t sleep well, thinking about your loneliness and relationships that aren’t where they should be. It’s a cycle you’re used to, but one you thought you left behind when you found a group of friends and realized that Adam Karadec’s hands feel like home. Yet, it’s been a long few months since his unexpected house call, and not every day can be good.

“Good morning,” you greet, knocking on Melon’s open door.

“Morning, traitor,” he replies. “I’ve got something I could use your help on.” You open your mouth to argue that you have a new job, but he cuts you off. “I promise it’ll only take a few hours. I need some intel and no one else seems to be able to find it.”

“What intel?” you inquire.

“String of robberies in the nicest neighborhoods of Los Angeles. The thieves seem to be targeting houses with expensive safes.”

“Marketed as impregnable?”

“Some, but not all. Most of these safes run upwards of $10,000, and they’re opening them like pocket doors. Current estimated losses from the insurance companies is around $2 million.”

“Homes have security systems?”

“They do. I’ve got a list of addresses, safe makes and models, security system information, and how much time the crew spent in each home.”

“How big is the crew? And how much time are they averaging?”

“Five people, from what we can tell, spending less than 9 minutes inside.”

You hum, somewhat impressed by the criminal crew's efficiency. “Email me the information and I’ll see what I can find.”

“You’re the best!”

“I’m not coming back,” you reply with a smile.

“It was worth a shot.”

Back at your desk, you organize Melon’s quickly-typed reports into a spreadsheet. Then, you pull up property records to look for any connection between the homeowners. You don't hear anyone enter the bullpen as you compare and analyze the information about the different security systems and safes.

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jerk away from the unexpected touch. Morgan lifts her hand when you move and sends you a close-lipped smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she offers.

“It’s fine,” you reply, smiling as you shake your head. “I just didn’t hear you come in, lost in the work. Sorry.”

“What work?” she inquires, setting her bag on Karadec’s desk. “I thought we closed the last case yesterday.”

“The last case for now,” Oz corrects as he walks to his desk.

“I’m assisting Melon with a string of safe robberies.”

“He does remember that you’re not his gopher, right?” Daphne inquires.

“Do you guys carpool?” you wonder aloud.

“No, we just get to work on time,” Karadec answers, looking between you and Morgan. “You should try it sometime.”

“If you’re not early, you’re late.”

“And you’ll sleep when you’re dead?” Karadec challenges. “Thin line between dedication, obsession, and avoidance.”

“Are we taking a break from murder and mayhem for philosophy?” Soto interjects.

“Something like that,” Daphne replies. “Have anything for us?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then we can help with the safe cracking!” Morgan announces.

“I think I found the connection,” you say. “Every one of these safes was manufactured in California, and the homeowners purchased them from West Coast Safes. The safes are installed by a five-man team.”

“You think the installation team is robbing the safes,” Karadec clarifies.

“I do.”

He nods, and Daphne calls Morgan to her desk for her opinion. Karadec moves to stand beside you, and his gaze drops to your tense shoulders, your muscles tightened from holding your shoulders back and up as if you’re guarding yourself against something.

“What are they stealing?” he asks.

“Guns, jewelry, silver, the standard safe contents.”

“Are the safes specific to those contents?”

You hum, pulling up the specs once more. “All but one. The most recent robbery was a tactical safe, but the insurance claim lists precious metals as stolen.”

“They could be looking for something specific, then.”

“I’ll pass that along to Melon,” you offer. “Thank you.”

Karadec nods, watches you email your spreadsheet and findings, and then steps toward the door with you.

“I’ll be right back,” you remind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You purse your lips, then nod. As you walk away, feeling Karadec’s eyes on you, you’re reminded of Morgan’s unexpected touch this morning. Karadec sees you past your professionalism and analytic abilities and sees the loneliness and touch deprivation you hide behind your smile. A few hugs from Karadec will help, but the emotions beneath longing for a caring touch won’t disappear if he stays close.

When you return from lunch – which you ate alone in your car because your friends are investigating an attempted assassination – there’s something in your chair. You pull it away from your desk and smile when you realize what it is. Last week, you investigated a stabbing in a neighborhood grocery store and saw a police officer Squishmallow. You couldn’t justify buying a stuffed animal for yourself, especially at a bloody scene. As you pull the soft koala into your arms, you smile. You suspect you know who may have noticed your infatuation with Detective Kirk. But there are no real clues as to which of your new friends gifted you the perfectly huggable detective. With him safe in your bag, you open a report and return to work, your heart feeling lighter with the knowledge that someone cares.

Running your finger along your opposite forearm, you attempt to soothe yourself and go to sleep. Your blankets are arranged comfortably, your new Squishmallow is cuddled against your side, and the mellifluous melody of white noise fills your room. Still, you can’t fall asleep because you feel as if you are drowning in your loneliness and sorrow. Your mind races with the idea that you’ll never be in a meaningful relationship, held just for the sake of it, or kissed breathless because someone can’t help but show you they love you.

Fighting the urge to reach for your phone, you close your eyes and try to imagine you’re somewhere else, living a different life. Your doorbell ringing interrupts that attempt to induce slumber. You ignore it, but the knocks that follow make you groan. Rather than looking at the doorbell camera, you remove yourself from your comfortable imitation of a nest, pull your robe on, and walk to the front door.

“Karadec,” you greet, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, but you pulled back. I know I told you that you decide how far this goes, but if you don’t get some help, this is going to get worse.”

“I know,” you murmur. You open the door wider, tip your head inside, and close the door behind Karadec.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“I don’t want to pull away when someone I care about reaches toward me, but I can’t stop it,” you admit. “Morgan laid her hand on me this morning, and it hurt so much. I didn’t even think about it before I moved.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“Why are you being so nice to me about this?” you inquire.

“Because I’ve been there,” he offers. “My old partner and I were friends, we hung out, slapped each other on the back, and then he left. I was alone, and before I even realized that I hadn’t been hugged in months, I was recoiling from every little thing.”

“How’d you make it better?”

Karadec shrugs. “I don’t think I did. I’ve always had a problem with touch-“

“The hand sanitizer,” you interject.

“Yeah… so when I started dreading people touching me, I kind of accepted it. You can’t do that.”

“You did.”

“You aren’t me. This is hurting you. It’s not just the pain of unexpected touch; there’s anxiety, stress, loneliness, and based on the fact that you opened the door, I’m betting you’re having trouble sleeping.”

“You Googled touch starvation, didn’t you?” you ask, lifting your brows.

“No,” Karadec answers, incredulous. “I asked Morgan.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you step closer to Karadec.

“Do you want to talk to someone?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to become a cat person and have them to cuddle?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want any help?”

“I… I don’t know. The only time I can remember enjoying being touched was with you.”

Karadec doesn’t reply, and you close your eyes, realizing how it sounded.

“Sorry,” you offer. “I just mean- I don’t have many people in my life, and that was new. But it was different.”

Karadec nods, but your eyes are still closed. He reaches toward you, stops an inch short, and lets his warmth linger. With his eyes on your face, he doesn’t notice you lean forward until your hand bumps into his.

“Why me?” you ask, blinking your eyes open but not moving your hand.

“Why not you?” Karadec challenges.

“That’s not an answer.”

You turn your hand, pressing your palm to Karadec’s larger one. He swipes his thumb across your knuckles, and you shiver at the feeling. Your shoulders drop at his touch, your tension loosening at the physical statement that you are not alone, that someone cares about you.

“Detective Kirk,” you say.

“Who?” Karadec asks, his brows lifting.

“The Squishmallow,” you explain. “Was that from you?”

“Cuddling something can help.”

“Thank you.”

“The less touch-starved you are, the easier it will be to encounter unfamiliar touch.”

“So, you’re saying that if I want to stop overreacting to being touched, I need to be touched more. That sounds like a solid plan,” you deadpan.

“I’m saying that this isn’t 0 to 60, you’re going to have to warm up to being touched. Hold someone’s hand sometime, shake a stranger’s hand, and then ask for a hug. Little things to adjust.”

“I can’t just do that, Karadec.”

He looks pointedly at your interlaced fingers, then back up at your face. Settled on the back of your couch, he’s shorter than you, and you look over his head as you smile.

“You know what I mean.”

“Then do it with me, but don’t let yourself spiral in this.”

“We’ll have to invest in bulk hand sanitizer,” you muse.

Karadec’s gaze wanders around your home, and when he sees your fridge - and the to-do list on it - he tilts his head in thought. “You’re task-driven, analytic, right?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you murmur.

“Here’s your first task-“

“Are you my therapist now?”

“First task,” Karadec repeats sternly. “This week, find an opportunity to comfort someone with touch. A hand on their shoulder, tap the back of their hand during a shake, whatever it may be. It can be 2 seconds or 20 minutes, but you initiate it.”

“I… okay, I can do that.”

“Good.” Karadec lifts his free hand to your waist, and you step into his touch. “Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now,” you whisper.

Karadec smiles, then jokes, “First two visits are free of charge.”

“… doesn’t get me.”

Karadec hears Ava but hasn’t seen Morgan all morning. He walks toward the office where he thinks she is and stops when he hears another voice.

“Do you get her?”

Aware that he’s intruding, Karadec turns away, but he sees you through the blinds. Your hand rubs comforting circles on Ava’s back, and Karadec returns to the bullpen with a smile.

“Where is she?” Karadec demands as he enters the emergency room. “Now.”

“3rd door,” the nurse answers quickly, pointing down the hall.

“What was he thinking?” Karadec asks Daphne. “She’s an analyst.”

“She’s really good at more than analyzing, you know that,” Daphne reminds him. “It was an audible, and she could have said no.”

“He shouldn’t have asked!”

“Hey, you need to calm down before we go in there.”

Karadec slows, taking a deep breath as he heeds Daphne’s advice. The call that you were injured came as a surprise. You were going to look at a safe, accompanied by three police officers, yet you’re in the emergency room, and they’re unharmed back at the station.

“Hey,” Daphne greets, smiling at you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you answer. “They’re overreacting.”

“Melon said someone tried to put a drill bit through your head,” Karadec says, stepping inside the curtain. “They’re allowed to overreact.”

“He didn’t,” you reply. “I’m fine.”

Karadec looks at your face and then down your arms. You sport a few scrapes and a forming bruise or two, but otherwise, you look the same as you had at the station.

“Daph, give us a minute?” you request.

“Of course. Need anything?”

You shake your head, and she winks at you before she leaves. Morgan, Daphne, and Oz have known about your feelings for Karadec since you walked into the Major Crimes bullpen a few months ago to answer questions about a suspect you’d investigated before.

“Karadec, I’m okay,” you assure him.

“You shouldn’t have been put in a position to be injured,” he argues.

“Come here?” you ask, beckoning him closer.

He walks to the side of the hospital bed, and you push yourself to sit up before you drape your legs over the side. Karadec holds his hands toward you, ready to assist you.

“Can I please have a hug?” you request.

“Are you sure?” he checks.

You smile and nod, so Karadec leans forward, wrapping his arms lightly around your waist as you circle your arms over his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you say against his shoulder.

Karadec feels you relax, and he tightens his grip on you. You’re adjusting to touch – slowly, but it’s happening – and now you’re asking for it. He knew things were improving when he saw you comforting Ava earlier. Still, he didn’t expect you to initiate a hug this quickly.

“Only for you,” you say.

“Hmm?” he hums in question.

“You’re the only person I can touch without panicking,” you repeat. “For now, at least.”

Karadec pulls back to look at your face and brushes his finger over a scrape on your temple. “Then take whatever you want,” he offers.

A week after your unfortunate encounter with the safe crackers, you accompany Melon to arrest them and accidentally abandon your team in a time of need. Repentant, you get Karadec’s address from Soto and approach his apartment a few minutes before 11 p.m.

You hesitate before you knock on Karadec’s door. His late-night visits to check in on you seemed very out of character for him and still do, despite his explanation that he has been through what you’re struggling with and wants to help. You know he’s awake, but you won’t press him to talk or knock again, you decide. A minute passes, then two, and you shift on his doorstep as you prepare to leave.

“Hey,” Karadec says, pulling his door open.

“Hi,” you greet, wringing your fingers together. “I’m sorry for just showing up, but I heard about what happened with Oz. I should’ve been there.”

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to your shoes. “None of us should have been there.”

“You got everyone home safe, though, Adam. That’s what matters.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Daphne told me you saved his life. He’s still here, focus on that.”

Karadec shakes his head again, and you step into his door, raise your hands, and cup his face. “Don’t think about what could have happened. It’s a slippery slope.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you inside before he pushes the door closed behind you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“You told me to comfort someone. I told you that I didn’t mind when you touched me.”

You move your right hand to his neck, tipping his face toward yours.

“Stay here with me,” you plead. “You’ve been helping me since we met. Let me return the favor.”

“It wasn’t a favor,” he argues, shaking his head in your hold. “You don’t have to repay it.”

“Then let me stay, just because.”

“Why?”

Your hand slides off his jaw, surprised by his question, but he catches your wrist and uses it to pull you closer.

“Why do we pretend we can’t do this? You feel it, I know you do. But we circle around each other, terrified that we’ll bring out the worst in each other.”

“Maybe the worst is all we can see in ourselves.”

Karadec presses his lips together, and you don’t hesitate this time. No more pretending, giving yourself excuses, or finding reasons it won’t work. That you won’t work together.

You press your chest to his, angle your chin toward his face, and kiss him. He freezes, flexing his hands at your sides before he holds you like he never wants to let go. Karadec is the one source of touch you can never be scared of, grow tired of, get enough of, and as you move together, you begin to see the good. You can’t regrow the trauma from before now, even if you left, because Karadec is one of a kind. You’re where you belong.

“Still think I’m your therapist?” he mumbles when you pull back for a breath.

“My place?” Morgan asks the following morning.

You hug Morgan rather than answering. She pats your back awkwardly, then returns the affection.

“Thank you,” you say against her shoulder.

“Not necessary,” she replies.

“Why don’t we all go out to dinner?” Oz suggests.

“I’m in,” you agree, pulling away from Morgan. “We’re a family, right?”

“Well, that answers that question,” Daphne muses.

“What question?” Karadec asks, pulling his eyes from you.

“The will they portion of what I told you to avoid.”

“It took my nearly dying to get you two there?” Oz deadpans.

“Don’t say it like that,” Karadec chides.

“What are we talking about?” Soto inquires.

“Family dinner,” Morgan answers, laying her hand on your shoulder.

Charlie Gets Over the Waitress (charlie kelly x afab reader oneshot)(SMUT!)

*it’s always sunny intro music plays*

pairing: charlie kelly x afab! reader (gender neutral up until the cut i’m pretty sure)

tags: smut!, age difference mentioned but vague (mostly just for a bit with dennis lmao i couldn’t resist), slight size difference, very cliche and weak plot, charlie has soft dom vibes, praise, slight possessiveness, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, some dirty talk, some fluff

i tried to make the intro kinda read like a typical iasip episode. the nsfw starts after the cut! this story is very self-indulgent lmao but thanks for reading!

charlie comes into the bar one day where dennis and mac, who were bored out of their minds, turn their heads to greet him. dennis was behind the bar while mac sat in front of him nursing a beer.

“nice of you to show up for work, charlie,” dennis says dryly. but as charlie sits down on a stool with a small pout, dennis knows exactly why he’s been gone all day so far. “been catching up with the waitress again, huh?” dennis guesses, putting charlie’s stalking problem lightly. charlie huffs and rolls his eyes dramatically, confirming his suspicions.

“man, you’ve got to get over that girl.” mac chimes in.

“yeah, she’s crazy.” dennis scoffs.

“and not even that hot..” mac adds.

“ugh, shut up.” charlie interrupts them and buries his head in his arms on the counter. after a pause, he speaks again, his voice muffled and soft. “i know.. i know i have to get over her.” charlie agrees, taking his friends by surprise. not that they cared that much..

“you know, maybe you could try finding someone else? someone who actually likes you back. or at least, like, get laid.” mac suggests and dennis nods, neither of them really thinking much of the comment or expecting charlie to change his ways. but mac’s words make charlie pause.

“maybe.. you’re right.” charlie lifts his head up, a gleam in his eyes all of a sudden as he looks between dennis and mac. as if they’re reading his mind, they instantly try to backtrack, talking over each other and saying no. charlie interrupts them again.

“no, no guys! you’ve got to help me. set me up on a date!” charlie stands up now and approaches mac and dennis enthusiastically, giving a desperate look to both of them.

“bro..” mac sighs, hanging his head in his hand in exasperation.

“no way, charlie. it was just a suggestion.” dennis shakes his head. the two men are clearly not interested. they share a look, both of them thinking it would be nearly impossible to get any sane person to date charlie.

“oh, come on!” charlie yells, gesturing wildly with his arms. “i.. i’ll..” he stammers, trying to think of something he could do to reward them. “i’ll give you guys the week off. i’ll do all the work, including charlie work.” he finally promises, looking between them hopefully.

mac gives another dramatic sigh while dennis looks annoyed, but thoughtful.

“fine. i’m in.” mac says, standing from his seat.

“fine. but this better work,” dennis huffs, coming around the bar to point sternly at charlie. “you have to promise us that this is worth our time, that you’re actually going to try and get over that waitress.”

“i promise!” charlie celebrates as soon as they accept, pumping his fists in the air as his two friends head toward the front door of the pub. “oh yeah! just come find me whenever you got the goooods. i’ll be here.” he smiles and does finger guns at them, trying and failing to act cool. dennis grimaces, the weight of their task starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

“right, just.. take a shower or something, charlie.” he grumbles on the way out, slamming the door. but charlie doesn’t care at all about how irritated his friends are with him. all he’s thinking about is possibly getting lucky tonight. it wouldn’t be the waitress.. but for once a distraction, at least, is welcome.

“where the hell are we going to find someone crazy enough to go on a date with charlie? he’s a freak!” mac yells as he and dennis get in the range rover. “seriously, i love the dude. but anybody could spot that a mile away.”

“i don’t know, man. just forget about the ‘charlie’ of it all for now. we’ll go on the prowl, find ourselves a candidate and butter ‘em up. then we can throw them at charlie and just hope things work out somehow.” dennis suggests with a shrug. “sure, we’ll do our best. but we’re not miracle workers. we just gotta look for someone desperate. or stupid. or both, preferably.” he sighs. being able to find a serious companion for charlie didn’t even cross his mind as a possibility. “if all else fails, i’ll get frank to buy him a hooker or something.”

with that, they head to the mall and decide to pop into the first trendy clothing store they see. dennis scans the area for potential options while mac follows. “just leave it to me, buddy. i know exactly how to find the person we’re looking for.” he says with his typical air of superiority, both of them trying to act casual as they pass through the clothing. they wander around for a bit, but then, dennis spots one person in particular.

“ah, ah, ah. i think we might have a candidate,” he stops mac and leans in close for only him to hear, pointing at someone who was minding their own business looking through the t-shirts. “not bad, a little on the plain side. but i think that’s exactly what we want, way higher chance of being desperate. plus, they’re here all alone, probably lonely.” dennis analyzes them as if he was a genius, but really he was just being creepy and making assumptions. but mac, of course, goes along with it without question, looking impressed.

“man, you are good! they look a little young, though..”

“even better,” dennis comments, almost forgetting he wasn’t the one looking for a date. mac gives him a look. dennis clears his throat and quickly clarifies. “naive.” mac’s stern expression softens and he nods thoughtfully in understanding. with that, they approach.

“hi there,” dennis gives a charming grin. “i’m dennis. this is my buddy, mac.” he introduces him and mac and you look at them, a little confused.

“um, hello. i’m (y/n),” you reply, waiting for them to say what they’re approaching you for. dennis breaks the silence.

“ah, nice to meet you, (y/n). beautiful name. well, me and my friend here just wanted to say hi. we were both saying how good-looking you are, right mac?”

“right! you’re super hot-” dennis elbows his side. “i mean, uh, attractive!” mac gives a big smile, both of them pausing to see how you react. this is the real test. if you fall for this, you might just give charlie a chance.

“r-really?” not used to this kind of attention, your lips curl into a bashful smile, looking a little like a schoolgirl. the boys’ eyes light up. this is what they want to see.

“oh, yeah. most beautiful in the mall, hands down,” dennis winks, turning up the charm. “but hey.. listen, we’ve got a good friend named charlie. he’s been having a real rough time trying to get over this one girl. he’s a real sweetheart, and it hurts seeing him so down, you know?”

falling for the sympathy card, you frown. “oh, that’s horrible..” you reply.

“right? it sucks.. but we were thinking it might be nice to set him up with a date, get his mind off things. show him that there’s other fish in the sea, so to speak,” mac continues, easing you into their true purpose here. “would you be willing to meet him?”

your eyes widen, not expecting the request. a date for yourself was long overdue, not to mention whoever this mystery man was that they spoke of. and it’s not like you had anything better to do. and hey, if you didn’t like him you could back out, right? after considering for a moment, you slowly nod. “yeah, i guess so. why not?”

with that, the three of you leave the mall, going to a hole-in-the-wall bar they apparently own in south philly called paddy’s pub. you all walk in, and when you don’t immediately see charlie the two men instruct you to sit in a booth while they go find him.

but when dennis walks into the office, he finds charlie sitting behind the desk flipping through photos on a camera. dennis already has a feeling he knows what he’s doing, but charlie’s suspicious jump when he comes into the room says all he needs to know.

“what are you looking at there, charlie?” dennis asks pointedly, putting his hands on his hips.

mac comes in behind him. “what, what’s he got?”

“nothing!” charlie says quickly. “it’s nothing, man, just some random pictures. nothing special-“ he tries to brush it off before dennis snatches the camera away and quickly flips through the photos to see blurry, far-away photos of what looked to be the waitress. not even bothering to give charlie the benefit of the doubt, too annoyed after trying to find a date for him, he storms out of the room completely giving up.

“well, i’m sorry, but this man is a lost cause!” dennis rages while charlie gets up in a panic and follows him into the bar, not even processing yet that dennis was talking to someone else. mac rolls his eyes and goes to pour himself another beer.

“hey, hey, wait man! it’s not what it looks like!” charlie yells after him, lying poorly as he tries to get the camera back. that’s when his eyes catch you sitting in the booth. he stops and stares, forgetting all about the pictures for a moment, taking immediate interest.

“listen here, this man stalks the girls he likes. and that position is already filled. sorry to waste your time.” dennis announces to you, his anger pointed at charlie.

you just sit there, completely confused and unable to do anything but watch the chaos unfold.

“hey! i’m not a stalker, and l-let’s not jump to conclusions, man!” charlie tries his best to backtrack what dennis has unveiled, caring about your impression of him despite not even knowing you. stalking tendencies he may have had, but now that he’s looking at you it could be that that ‘position’ dennis spoke of just opened up.

as this strange interaction goes on before your eyes, you study the shorter man. he’s really handsome. definitely weird, a little disheveled. but funny, animated. cute. you probably should be running away, but the seriousness of their conversation starts to go right over your (possibly sick) head.

“you can stalk me if you want. i don’t mind,” you blurt out in a flirty, joking sort of way, looking right at charlie with a smile. this makes everyone in the room take pause. dennis eyes you incredulously as if he’s realizing you’re crazy. mac just raises his eyebrows and takes a swig of his drink. but charlie, he looks strangely flattered.

“really? i mean! i-i.. you got it all wrong. i’m not a stalker,” charlie says, raising his hands up at his sides.

“he is.” mac and dennis say in unison, making charlie grit his teeth.

“would you get out of here?!” he snaps. mac and dennis actually listen and head towards the door, not knowing what to think but happy that their job is over.

“see you in a week, bud.” mac says before the door to the bar slams. you just watch, not thinking much of it before turning your attention back to charlie.

“charlie, right? i’m (y/n).”

“uh..yeah, hi (y/n).” he replies, scratching the back of his neck in an awkward sort of way. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to..” he mumbles, not expecting you to want to be anywhere near him after hearing about his problems. he glances in your direction, wanting to kick himself for ruining another potential relationship. for some reason the waitress falls off of his mind when he looks at you.

“i’d like to stay. i think you’re cute.” you reply, making his ears turn rosy. “is that okay?”

“u-uh, um..” his eyes widen and it takes him a second to recover, not expecting this response at all. “y-yeah! that’s fine.. great, actually. would you, uh, would you like a drink? on me.” he smiles, remembering his manners and getting a sudden burst of joy now that his plan is actually coming to fruition. maybe he’ll be able to get over the waitress after all. and if not, maybe he’ll have a good night this with new person anyway.

you tell him your drink of choice and he makes it for you, taking a beer himself. he sits down across from you at the booth and you get to talking, the conversation flowing easily between you, an instant chemistry blooming. you both just met, but right off the bat there is a lot he really likes about you, and you can say the same for him. you like his scruffy beard and his smile. you like his quirky demeanor. the way his eyes brighten when he laughs and the expressiveness he has when he talks. his fluffy hair. and his hands. they’re soft yet manly. you start to imagine what they would feel like on you. this leads to wondering what he’s like in bed. he is a goofy sort of guy, but something tells you that he knows what he’s doing.

and as the alcohol blooms in your systems, these kinds of thoughts start to dominate both of your minds. you’re both starting to slur your words and giggle at everything. someway or another, you start comparing your heights.

“well, you know, i’m shorter than dennis and mac.. they always call me a little guy.” he says, shrugging. neither of you know how you got to this topic.

“how tall are you? i wanna see,” you say, suddenly getting out of your seat and motioning him to follow. you make him stand right in front of you, putting your hand on top of your head and moving it towards him to see where it lands.

“you’re taller than me.” you say with a small smile, your face inches away from his. oh, he likes that. he just nods. then you reach for his arm and start to compare your hand to his. hand to hand, your fingertips barely reach the first knuckles of his fingers. he swallows hard.

“you’re a little pipsqueak, aren’t you?” he smirks, teasing you. you pout slightly but he continues before you can reply. “don’t deny it. i’m one of the smallest guys i know. and you, my friend, don’t even compare.” he chuckles, enjoying the soft blush that colors your cheeks.

“yeah, yeah. whatever..” you roll your eyes, looking away.

“you’re cute.” he says.

“i am?”

“mhm.”

your hands still connected, he slowly interlocks your fingers. when you look at him he’s looking right into your eyes. his mind is running wild with all the thoughts of what he wants to do with you. to do to you. and by the look in your eyes, you feel the same. but he wants to hear you admit it first.

“whatcha thinking about?” he asks in a nonchalant way, a teasing look in his eye as he watches your face.

“i want to kiss you.”

“oh?” he raises his eyebrows playfully, pretending to be shocked. “how much have you had to drink?” he jokes as if you weren’t both knee deep in liquor.

“just- just a couple..” you pout again, the buzz making you easily embarrassed.

“you’re so cute.” he repeats with a laugh. this time, he brings his free hand up to your cheek as if he couldn’t resist.

“please?” you murmur when he doesn’t immediately kiss you. he smirks at this, before giving you a nod.

____________________________________________

he leans in, connecting your lips with his. it’s gentle, soft, and warm. your linked hands disconnect, his going to your waist while yours go around his shoulders, the action bringing your bodies closer together. feeling your curves underneath his hands and pressing against his body, he growls lightly and kisses you deeper.

things heat up fast, he’s walking you backwards until your butt meets the booth table, and he’s helping you to hop up and sit on it. one hand plants itself on your thigh, encouraging you to spread your legs so he can step between them and be all that much closer to you.

you break the kiss only to catch your breath. his free hand goes up to tangle in your hair while his mouth purposefully moves from your lips to your jawline and down your neck, angling you to give him better access. you’re beginning to think that your earlier suspicions about him are dead-on.

you let out a gasp as he sucks the sensitive skin beneath your ear into his mouth, nibbling there and leaving a small mark. he does the same around your pulse point, copying the action at multiple areas until you’re breathless and practically grinding against him.

“pretty,” he murmurs as he pulls away and admires his work, his voice taking on a husky quality that makes your stomach flip. he pulls away from your neck and his fingertips tease just beneath the hem of your shirt as he looks down at your flushed face.

“can i?”

you nod. he slides his palms underneath the fabric, feeling your soft skin as he helps you out of your shirt, tossing it aside. he sucks in a breath when he sees you in your lacy bra, before helping you out of that next.

freed from the fabric, your breasts spill out and into view. you shiver slightly, your nipples already hardening in the cool air.

he stares, entranced for a moment, licking his lips. his fingers twitch with the urge to touch but he forces himself to hold off, a mission in mind.

“i wanna see all of you.” his eyes flit back to yours, silently asking your approval, to which you nod eagerly once again.

with that, he moves to undo the button and zipper of your jeans in a flash, helping you lift your hips and wiggle out of them. when he catches sight of your panties, the gusset already damp with arousal, he bites back a groan.

“fuck, (y/n),” he rasps before bringing a hand to tease you through the thin fabric. you let out a whimper when his thumb catches your clit, and he looks like he can barely contain himself from devouring you whole right then and there. his other hand cups one of your tits, tweaking the nipple between his fingertips as your hips start to grind into his hand.

“you’re so responsive,” he chuckles softly, almost in amazement. he can hardly believe that this is all happening. you’re so sexy. you almost make him forget about his own needs, his cock hard and straining against his jeans. “feel good?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, in shambles already. he can tell you want, need more. and oh, he’s going to give it to you.

he leans in and presses a kiss to each breast before kissing down your stomach. to your surprise he kneels, now face-level with your clothed pussy.

“charlie..” you whine, the sight of him so close to where you need him most driving you crazy. you feel shy and desperate all at once.

he just hums in response, spreading your legs wider and beginning to plant soft kisses up your inner thighs, alternating between them. they’re meant to soothe but they just rile you up even more. you can feel his beard lightly scratching your skin on the way and it makes you nearly tremble with need.

this continues until he reaches your center, where he kisses at either side of your panties. you whine again and he grins to himself, satisfied, before finally taking the waistband between his fingers and pulling the last thing that’s covering you down your legs, revealing your soaked slit.

he takes hold of your legs, guiding them to rest over his shoulders and he brings a hand up to your pussy, gently spreading you out with his thumb. you can feel his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh before he gives you what you want.

his lips meet your cunt, his warm tongue sampling your wetness with one broad lick from bottom to top. you shudder at the sudden contact, letting out a gasp. he takes a firm hold of your hips, holding you in place before devouring you with gusto. lewd sounds fill the air along with your moans. he alternates between pressing his tongue inside you and sucking your clit, swirling his tongue around it in a way that makes your hips buck and your hands grip the table for dear life.

fuck, he could eat you out all night. listen to the sounds you make, savor your sweetness, feel you grind against his face. but that wouldn’t help the throbbing happening in his pants. getting a little selfish, he decides to move things along in a way he knows you won’t complain.

at the same time he draws your clit between his lips, he shifts slightly. bringing a hand down, he traces a finger between your folds, wetting the digit in your abundant slick before pushing in slowly but surely. you nearly squeak from the sudden combination of his mouth and fingers, your back arching off the table.

he soon adds another finger and pumps them in and out. when his fingers curl upwards and graze that spongy spot inside of you, you let out a high-pitched cry and begin to tighten. you’re getting close. he lifts his head for a moment, still fingering you steadily.

“(y/n),” he breathes, pupils dilating as he takes in your blissful state, head lolled back and skin flushed with pleasure. “can you cum twice for me?” he asks, eager to push you over the edge.

you look down at him, the hunger in his eyes and the evidence of your arousal on his lips nearly making you finish right there. you nod, mouth dry.

“good.” he hums, eyes flitting down to watch your pussy soak his fingers before looking back up at you. “want you to cum on my fingers and then on my cock. sound good?” he asks, making your head spin.

“yes, please,” you reply breathlessly. his fingers start to fuck you faster and deeper.

“mm,” he just grunts, biting his lip as if in a trance as he savors the sight of you before diving back in.

his lips pull your clit back into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers fuck you open. it doesn’t take you long at all to reach the edge, his name on your lips and your hands in his hair.

“oh fuck, charlie-” you whimper, your thighs quivering on either side of his head. he groans his approval against your pussy, the vibrations making your eyes roll back, and drapes a firm arm over your pelvis to keep you in place.

before you know it you’re moaning uncontrollably and writhing on the table as your orgasm crashes over you. he continues to stroke your fluttering walls and gently lap and suckle at your clit, letting you ride it out, in no rush at all. when you finally settle, he pulls back to see the aftermath.

he gently pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to clean them off before getting to his feet and leaning forward against the table, hovering over you.

“all good?” he asks, confidence clear in his voice as he takes in your dazed expression.

“absolutely.”

he grins. “you taste delicious,” he watches with satisfaction as you blush. “ready for more?”

you’re a bit winded, but still beyond aroused. “yes.”

he starts to undo his pants, but when he’s about to pull them down he pauses, looking down at you.

“are you comfortable?” he asks randomly.

you’re laying on a cheap bar table, so the answer is probably obvious. but you don’t really care about that sort of thing at a time like this.

“i’m okay.” you reply. but he clicks his tongue, not convinced.

“nah, come on. get up.” he instructs, taking you by the waist and guiding you up.

once you’re on your feet again, he sits down in the booth. you watch as he shimmies his pants and boxers down.

“c’mere.” he calls, motioning you over. and god, he looks sexy.

you do as he says, not really knowing what his plan is. but as he helps you to straddle his lap, you understand.

“there you go. perfect.” he murmurs, his encouragement in that soft, raspy voice making you melt. his hands find your hips, kneading lovingly at them before bringing one hand down to position himself underneath you.

“ready?” he grins, his eyes sparkling as they meet yours.

“mhm,” you nod, your breath catching a bit when you feel the head of his cock seek out your entrance.

“good girl, just let me in.” he coos as you start to lower yourself onto him. the praise makes your pussy flutter around him briefly and he bites back a growl at the feeling, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

eventually you sink all the way down and he bottoms out deep inside of you. the stretch, the fullness, it’s divine. you can feel every ridge, every vein, every curve molding your insides into his unique shape. you curse softly, savoring the feeling as you melt against him, your hands going to shoulders for support.

charlie feels your cunt pulse around him again and he groans. “god, you’re so sensitive aren’t you?” he teases, though he’s genuinely a bit amazed at how well you’re milking him already.

you nod with a light pout, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. he’s not sure how you look so cute at a time like this. “you feel so good,” you whimper, rolling your hips on his lap. he chuckles at this, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

charlie’s content with letting you grind and cockwarm him like this, enjoying the feeling of himself deep inside of you. but the more selfish side of him wants to push you a bit, see how much you can take. plus, he doesn’t know if he can control himself much longer if you don’t move.

“i know, i know.. but, i believe we had a deal..” his lips curve into a small smirk as his eyes dance with yours. “you want to cum on my cock, don’t you?” he asks bluntly. you didn’t think you could get more turned on but you stood (or sat??) corrected.

“..yes.” you nod shyly. he chuckles lowly again and grabs your hips more purposefully.

“then ride me, baby. c’mon, i’ll help you.” he coaxes sweetly, his hands gently urging you to move. when you do, lifting your hips and sinking back down in one smooth motion, both of you moan. “fuck, that’s it. tight, wet, perfect little pussy..” he mutters between gritted teeth as his head falls back, his composure faltering.

as you build up the pace mewls fall past your lips. he lets you ride him by yourself for a little while, enjoying watching your tits bounce and your hair fall in your face before he can’t resist stepping in, unable to resist the urge to fuck you any longer. and so he starts to help you up and down, meeting your downward motions with his own upward thrusts. you gasp sharply, knowing instantly you won’t last long at this rate.

“that good?” charlie bites out cockily between panting breaths. he knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it.

“god, yes.” you reply quickly, your face scrunching up from the pleasure. when you tighten around him he knows he’s on the right track, a primal, determined gleam in his eye as you start to fall apart. his cock twitches at the thought of you convulsing around him.

“can you rub your clit for me?” he asks.

“y-yeah..”

“go on.”

you reach down to do as he says, and this combined with him fucking up into you makes you see stars. your breath hitches and you let out a series of pornographic noises. you’re climbing rapidly to your peak for the second time of the night.

“mm, you look like heaven..” charlie rasps, his eyes raking over you greedily, so lost in pleasure and taking it so well. there’s no way he’s letting you go after this. “let go for me, baby. you can do it, i know you can.” he encourages, snapping his hips up a bit faster.

your fingers dig into his shoulder as you reach the edge. you cum with a broken cry and a string of curses and his name, riding it out until your head falls forward into the crook of his neck and you’re panting for breath, your arms wrapping around him as your orgasm settles.

“perfect, so perfect,” he grunts, still pulling you up and down on his cock. it was his turn to reach his peak, and he earned it. you whine into his neck, overstimulated and officially brainless, and he gently soothes you, contradicting the way he’s absolutely wrecking you. “shh, sweetness, it’s okay. just a little longer, you can take it.” he whispers, his voice turning to a low, possessive growl as he continues. “so fucking tight around me, jesus.. made for me..”

he fucks you a bit longer, mumbled words of praise and filth slipping out between grunts of pleasure. the veins in his neck pop out and his grip on your hips becomes tight enough to leave bruises. but soon he tenses up, cursing as he buries himself to the hilt one final time and finishes.

“fuck..” he pants as he comes down from his high, his hands immediately softening on your sides. his arms wrap around you and his lips graze your temple. “you okay?”

“mm..” you just hum, completely satisfied and exhausted.

“what’s that?” his lips quirk upwards, pulling back to look at your face. he’s looking for a full answer.

“i’m more than okay.” you tell him.

“good. same here.” there’s a gleam in his eyes as he looks at you, affection in his gaze. he didn’t want to let you go, but you couldn’t exactly stay like this in the middle of paddy’s pub. “let’s get you dressed and home safe, m’kay?”

he taps your hip gently, helping you off of his lap. he tries hard not to stare at the mess of your juices and his cum between your legs, the sight nearly making him hard all over again. he slips his pants back on and stands, finding your articles of clothing scattered on the floor and handing each to you.

once you’re dressed he walks you to your apartment which happened to not be that far away. at your door, both of you pause.

“you, uh.. you have a number or something?” charlie asks you, leaning against your doorframe. you smile and nod, pulling out a scrap of paper from your bag and writing it for him. he takes it and puts it in his pocket.

“alright, cool, well.. goodnight, (y/n)..” he smiles back, but doesn’t immediately move to leave. neither do you move to head inside your apartment. instead, you frown slightly, unwilling to say goodbye.

“would you want to stay the night?” you ask, looking at him hopefully.

“really?” a night away from his crappy futon sounds great, and the idea of sharing a bed with such a lovely companion instead of frank for once sounds heavenly. you nod and he happily accepts with a “hell yeah!”

Lonely Christmas

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army vet!cop!reader

Summary: During a Christmas Eve night shift with Tim Bradford, you glimpse what is behind his tough exterior.

Warnings/Word Count: vague depictions of veteran-specific depression, brief angst, Tim yells at r, fluff and comfort. 1.1k+ words

A/N: This is a dynamic (Tim with a partner who was also in the Army) that I've had on my mind for a while. While this is a really fast-paced blurb-like fic specific to Christmas, I'd really love to write more of this pairing if anyone is interested. Sorry for the short length but I really wanted to get it done before Christmas Eve🫶🏼

Working the night shift on Christmas Eve feels like the opposite of a Christmas miracle. The long night is made worse when you’re partnered with Tim Bradford. He’s had something against you since you joined the department after leaving the Army. Though you’ve never spent more than a few hours with Mid-Wilshire’s grumpiest officer, you know he doesn’t like you, so you decide to stay quiet and obedient to make Santa’s job – and your own – a little easier tonight.

“Merry Christmas,” you greet as you enter the passenger seat of Tim’s shop.

Tim huffs, and you set a small treat bag of cookies from a nearby bakery in the console without a word.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Is Christmas Eve usually hectic?” you inquire.

“Depends on the year. Based on the last few weeks, I’d say it’ll keep us busy.”

You nod, then inquire, “Any plans for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Nope. Heads up, grey Challenger.”

“I’ll run the plate,” you offer, secretly wishing you were in a sleigh rather than a shop.

“VA Hospital reported a disturbance,” dispatch radios. “Two armed men forced their way into a room and have barricaded themselves in with equipment.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you inquire softly.

“Try to twist this into some merry Christmas thing. We’re vets, we know there are plenty of people like us spending the holidays alone, grieving for those we’ve lost, and I don’t need you to make this specific slice of reality any harder than it already is,” Tim snaps. “So, let’s deal with this call like it’s not Christmas and move on.”

As your shift comes to an end, with the brutal reminder that lonely people go to extremes even during the holidays and several emotional bruises from Tim snapping at you more than often, you try to remind him that he is not alone. Over the last few years, you’ve learned to take Tim’s attitude and swings from helpful superior to the short-tempered Bradford the station knows him as in stride.

Walking through the station to return to your lonely home, you’re surprised to hear Tim call your name. You turn to face him, and he pulls his backpack strap tighter against his shoulder. It’s nearing midnight, almost Christmas, and you’re expecting one more reprimand to conclude the all-but-perfect night shift.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” he offers. “My sister dropped off a casserole this afternoon.”

“Dinner at midnight?” you clarify with a grin. “I’d love to. Only if you’re sure, I don’t want to impose on you on Christmas.”

“I’m free for the next few hours.”

You follow Tim out of the station and tip your head in thanks after he opens the passenger door of his truck for you. The ride to his house is quiet, only the low humming of instrumental Christmas music filling the space as Tim navigates the quiet (for once) streets of Los Angeles.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask as you enter his home.

“Going to visit my sister and nephews for lunch and gifts,” he replies. “You?”

“I’ve got a few people to see.”

Tim nods and begins preparing the food. You start to speak simultaneously, and your expression of gratitude is cut short when you smile. “Go ahead,” you murmur.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Tim begins. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the vet in the hospital. It just… it reminded me of one of the guys in my last unit. Seeing people like us struggling around the holidays is hard, but you know that, and I had no excuse to yell at you like that. So, I’m sorry.”

“I do know that, but I can also understand that your response is valid. I probably would have overstepped, and honestly I’d rather you yell at me before I can do something that pushes you away rather than letting me do it and suffer the consequences.”

Tim’s brows pinch as he asks, “And what do you think the consequences would be?”

“Let’s just say I would hate to end up on the Bradford Naughty List.”

Tim’s face shifts into a smile as he shakes his head, and you grin at him before offering to get plates for dinner.

Something shifts beneath your cheek, pulling you from a peaceful slumber. You don’t sleep well most nights, and for a moment, you think Christmas magic lulled you to sleep. Then you realize that the fabric under your face looks awfully familiar. Sitting up, you press your lips together as you watch Tim blink and look at you. You remember eating dinner side-by-side and watching a rerun of It’s a Wonderful Life. You had no intention of falling asleep together, or in his house, for that matter.

“You look your cutest like this,” Tim rumbles, his voice thick with sleep and concerningly unfiltered.

“But I just woke up,” you argue.

Tim nods, his full attention on you, and states, “I know what I said.”

“I- I should probably go. You have your family to visit. Merry Christmas, Tim, and thanks again for dinner.”

While you gather your things, Tim watches your movements from the couch.

“Why do you care so much?” he asks.

“About what?” you ask, looking up from your bag.

“Me, people… You tried to make last night feel like Christmas. Why?”

You shrug. “Everyone deserves some magic, and there’s no better time than Christmas. And, as for you… I have an idea of what it’s like. I do know that it’s not easy, and though I can’t imagine what you’ve dealt with specifically, you haven’t let it keep you from seeing the good in people. Even if you don’t let on that you do.”

“I see the bad too.”

“Job hazard. Despite seeing that bad side, you still let people close. That’s why I care about you, because you’re a good person.” Tim opens his mouth again, and you add, “That last point was objective, it’s not up for debate.”

“Do you want to stay?” Tim asks after a moment. “You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas, either.”

“Your family,” you remind him.

“I’m sure they have an extra plate,” Tim teases.

You gesture to your outfit and slept-on hair, but Tim stands and lays his hands on your shoulders.

“I already said you look your cutest like this.”

“Thought you were incoherent and half-asleep.”

“But don’t I see the good in people?”

Your head falls back as you groan. Tim offers to drive you home to let you get ready, and you realize that you wouldn’t mind spending Christmas with him and his family. Even if he yells at you and calls you cute mere hours apart. It’s part of his Tim Bradford charm.