Finally Safe

Not my kid!

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

Summary: When Angela and Lucy are wholeheartedly convinced that you and Tim have the most ‘I don’t get paid enough for this shit’ father to ‘I love making Tim’s life harder!’ child-like dynamic in the precinct, Tim is stuck with the fact that they won’t shut up about it.

Tim Bradford had been through a lot in his years as a cop. He’d survived war zones, worked under some of the worst training officers the LAPD had to offer, and somehow managed not to strangle Aaron Thorsen on a daily basis. He’d seen it all.

And yet, nothing in his career had prepared him for you.

“Kid, I swear to God—”

You guided the criminal into the backseat of the shop with a grin, entirely unfazed by the exhaustion in his voice as you shut the door. “I got the guy, didn’t I?”

Tim exhaled through his nose, standing on the curb and leaning against the shop. “You got the guy by jumping off a dumpster, nearly breaking your neck, and landing on top of him like some kind of rabid squirrel.”

“Worked, though.”

“You are going to give me a stroke.”

“Eh, you’re too tough for that.”

Tim turned his head just enough to shoot you a look—one of those deadpan, barely-contained irritation looks that had made rookies before you crumble under the weight of his judgment.

But you? You just smiled, perfectly comfortable in the way you leaned back against the shop like this was just another normal day.

Meanwhile, Lucy and Angela were having the time of their lives eavesdropping into you and Tim’s conversation as they walked towards youse.

“I mean,” Lucy mused, arms draped over the front seats like she was settling in for a show, “it’s kind of impressive. You have to admit, Tim—”

“I do not.”

“—that it was a solid takedown.”

Angela, arms crossed but clearly holding back a smirk, nodded. “If a little reckless.”

You lifted a hand, like a lawyer presenting evidence in court. “A calculated risk.”

“Bullshit,” Tim and Angela said at the same time.

Lucy snorted. “You’re getting soft, Tim. Back in the day, you would’ve—”

Tim’s glare cut through the air like a warning shot. “You wanna ride with me for the rest of the month, Chen?”

Lucy grinned but lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” you asked, head tilting in curiosity.

Angela smirked. “The way you two act like a single dad with a hyperactive kid.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

Tim groaned. “No.”

Lucy’s eyes lit up, her smile downright smug. “Absolutely. He’s all rules and structure, and you’re just out here doing parkour, making his life miserable.” Her expression practically screamed, ‘Did I lie, though?’

Angela tilted her head, considering. “And yet, if anyone else tried to parent them, they’d end up in a ditch.”

You turned to Tim, expectant, eyes bright. “Sir?”

Tim exhaled sharply, staring dead ahead like if he ignored the conversation long enough, it would cease to exist. His jaw tensed, hands gripping his vest as he muttered under his breath—

“I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Lucy let out a delighted laugh. “Oh my God, that was the most dad thing he could’ve said.” She exclaimed to Angela, the two of them borderline snorting of laughter as if you and Tim weren’t there.

Tim made a mental note to start requesting solo patrols.

Meanwhile, you were still grinning like you’d just won the precinct lottery, leaning into your seat with the kind of self-satisfied energy that made Tim’s eye twitch. “So does that make Lucy the fun aunt?”

Angela snorted. “She wishes. If anything, I’m the cool aunt, and Lucy’s the big sister who has to keep you alive while Dad’s at work.”

Lucy gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just been hit. “That’s… painfully accurate.”

Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away the conversation. “You’re all insufferable.”

You, unfazed as ever, nudged his arm with your shoulder, practically radiating warmth and mischief. “C’mon, sir. You know you love us.”

Tim had been a cop for a long time. He knew how to lie. Knew how to keep a straight face. Knew how to bluff his way through situations that should’ve killed him.

And yet, when you said it like that, with all the unshakable confidence of someone who had already decided he was stuck with you, Tim didn’t have it in him to argue.

He sighed instead, looking into the shop windows as if there was something more important to focus on besides this conversation, and muttered under his breath.

“Not my kid.”

Angela leaned against the shop, arms crossed, the smirk on her face downright smug. “Oh, please. You act like it’s just us seeing it, but literally everyone knows.” She said, holding a hand up as if to say ‘Oh, you don’t get to talk just yet.’ when Tim opened his mouth to protest.

“Grey watches you suffer on purpose. Nolan says you remind him of when he first became a dad,”

“Lopez, shut the hell—“

Angela only continued, “West told me he once saw you instinctively put an arm out to stop them from stepping into traffic—mid-lecture—like a stressed-out parent.” Her voice laced with a knowing tone as she crossed her arms, “And me? I’ve personally witnessed you yank them back by the collar when they tried to chase a suspect barefoot because, and I quote, ‘I had to know if I could.’”

A small ‘Ohhh, I remember that.’ left your lips, huffing a laugh at the memory that was personally hilarious to you, but excruciating to Tim.

“Not to mention, just last week, you scolded them for getting blood on their uniform like it was grass stains on a kid’s soccer jersey.” Angela raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “So tell me again how they’re ‘not your kid.’”

Lucy whistled, “Damn, Wesley been teaching you a thing or two.” she smirked.

The sidewalk fell into a momentary silence, save for the hum of the engine and the distant chatter of dispatch over the radio.

You, still grinning like you’d just won some unspoken battle, hopped into the shop and settled into the passenger seat, clearly pleased with yourself.

Lucy exchanged a knowing look with Angela, both of them reveling in Tim’s suffering as they walked back to their own shops.

And Tim? He just exhaled slowly, staring at the road like it held the answers to all of life’s problems—like if he focused hard enough, he could pretend he wasn’t stuck in a moving circus.

But deep down, buried beneath the exasperation and the ever-present headache that came with being responsible for you, he knew the truth.

He’d never admit it out loud, but he was stuck with you. And worse? He didn’t actually mind.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

You sat at the table, doing your best to appear interested as your date droned on about his latest work achievements. Something about managing accounts, sealing big deals, and being “essential” to the success of his company. You’d lost track of the details five minutes in, your polite smile starting to feel like a workout for your face.

“…but you wouldn’t get that,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, like you were a child. “Teaching kids and all. It’s like... coloring books and snack time, right?”

Your smile faltered, and you tightened your grip on the stem of your wine glass, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “Not quite. It’s actually pretty challenging—teaching is about shaping young minds, not just... crayons.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding like he wasn’t really listening. “But you have to admit, it’s not exactly high stakes.” He leaned back in his chair, a smug grin stretching across his face. “I mean, no offense.”

“None taken,” you replied tightly, though the bile creeping up your neck said otherwise. You took a slow sip of your wine, hoping the glass might serve as a buffer between his words and your patience. Spoiler: it wasn’t working.

Inwardly, you cursed yourself for agreeing to this. What had Ava said when she pitched the idea? “Girl, you’re way too cute to be single and wasting away in that apartment of yours. You need to get out there. Shake things up. And this guy? Total catch—tall, successful, and probably rich. You’re welcome.”

At the time, it had seemed like a good idea. Ava’s relentless confidence had rubbed off on you, and the idea of putting yourself out there sounded... productive, if not promising. After all, your secret crush on your cute neighbor wasn’t going anywhere.

Carmy.

You couldn’t help but think about him as Ben prattled on about his “huge network.” Carmy was quiet, focused, and sweet in a way you didn’t think he realized. But he was also impossible to read. Sure, you’d had a few conversations here and there, shared a laugh or two, but he’d never made a move. You hadn’t either—paralyzed by the thought of misinterpreting things and embarrassing yourself.

Which is how you’d ended up here, with Ben. Wonderful, condescending Ben, who clearly thought your life’s work was a joke.

“And this place,” Ben said, gesturing around the restaurant with a smug grin. “Pretty great, right? Super exclusive. I know a guy who knows the chef here. Heard he’s like, a genius or something. Figured we’d go all out.”

You glanced around the dimly lit space, suddenly more aware of the upscale decor—the polished wood tables, the soft amber glow of the overhead lights, and the quiet hum of conversation that seemed to fill the air like music. It was... fancier than you’d expected.

The Bear.

You’d heard of it, of course—who hadn’t? It was one of those places people raved about, where getting a reservation was an accomplishment in itself. The kind of place where you know the food would be incredible, but the bill would make you question your life choices. Nice, but you were pretty sure you could only afford, like, a cup of water here.

Ben leaned in closer, grinning smugly. “This chef guy? Supposedly some kind of prodigy. I don’t know the details, but people say he’s a big deal. Good thing I’ve got connections, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, noncommittal, as you glanced toward the bustling kitchen. A wave of heat and light spilled out from behind the pass, where you could just make out the shadowed figures of chefs moving in synchronized chaos.

As you sipped from your wine glass, trying to find something redeemable about Ben’s endless self-promotion, you wondered if maybe Ava had oversold this whole “dating adventure” thing.

Carmy spotted you the second you walked in.

He’d been at the pass, focused on plating an intricate dish—a delicate arrangement of seared scallops and edible flowers—when his gaze drifted toward the dining room. His hands paused mid-motion, a faint crease forming between his brows as he recognized you.

You were hard to miss, sitting near the window in a corner booth, your posture poised but just slightly tense. Dressed in something a little sleeker than usual, you looked... different. Not in a bad way—never in a bad way— Not that you ever looked anything less than beautiful, but tonight, something about you seemed… striking, enough that he found himself staring longer than he should’ve.

His eyes flicked to the guy sitting across from you. The guy who was laughing too loud, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, gesturing with wild hands as he talked. You, on the other hand, wore a polite smile that didn’t quite light up the room as it usually did.

Carmy’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure why the sight of you with someone else tugged at his chest the way it did, but it lingered, heavy and unwelcome.

It’s none of your business, he told himself, forcing his focus back to the dish in front of him. You weren’t his to worry about.

You weren’t his at all.

Still, his gaze flicked back toward your table, almost involuntarily, catching the way your date seemed oblivious to your discomfort. Carmy’s stomach twisted at the thought. He didn’t know what he expected—maybe for the guy to notice the way you played with your napkin or to tone down his boisterous tone—but it wasn’t this.

“Chef?” Sydney’s voice broke his focus, sharp but professional.

“Yeah,” he muttered, snapping back to reality. His eyes returned to the plate in front of him, the arrangement now slightly skewed from his distraction. He adjusted it quickly, his movements precise but tighter than usual. “Thanks, Chef.”

As Sydney moved on, Carmy risked one last glance at you. The corner booth, the dim lighting, the guy who couldn’t seem to shut up—it all felt wrong. But he pushed it down, buried it under the quiet rhythm of the kitchen, telling himself it wasn’t his place to care.

And yet, he did.

He cared enough to, like some kind of creep, step out of the kitchen and hover near the hallway that led to the restrooms. It wasn’t a plan—not really. He told himself he just needed a breather, a moment to clear his head and shake off the knot in his chest. But he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself.

The low hum of the restaurant buzzed in his ears as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He didn’t even know what he’d say if you saw him. Maybe he’d play it off, and act like he just happened to be there. But then, what were the odds you’d even notice him? You were here with someone else, after all.

It was ridiculous, he knew that—irrational even— he should go back, really what the fuck was he thinking--

But the sound of heels clicking softly against the floor pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. His breath hitched as you turned the corner, and your expression turned to one of shock when you spotted him.

“Carmy?” you said, stopping mid-step. Your voice carried a note of surprise, but there was something else there too—curiosity, maybe, or even relief at seeing a familiar face in such an unfamiliar situation.

“Hey,” he said, standing a little straighter, as if he hadn’t just been loitering near the hallway like a guilty teenager. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You blinked, your eyes flicking over his clothes—the crisp white uniform. The realization dawned on you, and your brows lifted in surprise.

“You work here?”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “I, uh... I own it.”

Your eyes widened, and you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you. “You own it?”

“Yeah,” he said again, a bit softer this time. His lips twitched into a faint, almost sheepish smile. “I started it a while back. Kind of… a long story.”

You took a moment to process this revelation, glancing around the restaurant as if seeing it in a new light. The warm lighting, the carefully plated dishes you’d glimpsed on their way to other tables—it all made sense now. Of course, this was Carmy’s place. It was thoughtful, deliberate, but somehow unpretentious.

“Wow,” you said, meeting his gaze again. “That’s... impressive.”

Carmy shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. “It’s just work. Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy?” you repeated, a small laugh escaping as you gestured toward the elegant decor. “Carmy, this place is gorgeous. You’re way too modest.”

"Thanks," His lips twitched into a faint smile, but his eyes lingered on you, searching before he added, “You didn’t look like you were having a great time out there.”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic, your surprise melting into something closer to embarrassment.

“Oh,” you said, glancing toward the dining room before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, it’s... it’s a date.”

Carmy’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, though his expression didn’t waver.

“Figured,” he muttered, his voice steady but low.

“Not a great one,” you admitted, your lips quirking into a dry smile. “Blind date, courtesy of Ava. It’s... fine, I guess. He’s just... not my type.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What’s your type, then?”

The question caught you off guard, your breath hitching slightly as his words hung in the air. You laughed softly, deflecting. “I don’t know. Someone who doesn’t treat teaching like it’s a hobby or call it a job anyone can do.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk, and he shook his head in disbelief. “He did not say that.”

You groaned dramatically, closing your eyes as if the memory physically pained you. “Oh, but he did. Word for word, and I quote: ‘Teaching is important, I guess. But it’s gotta be, like… easy, right? Summers off, finger painting, all that?’ And then—then!—he laughed. Like he’d just unlocked the secret to stand-up comedy.”

Carmy blinked, his smirk fading into something closer to incredulity. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were,” you said, sighing dramatically. “You’d think he was trying out his Type Five for open mic night. And the pièce de résistance? He throws in the classic ‘no offense.’ Like that’s a verbal Ctrl+Z or something.”

That earned a real laugh from Carmy this time, his shoulders shaking slightly as he shook his head. “What the hell? So, this is what you’re dealing with?”

“Oh, but I’m thriving,” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm waving your hand dismissively. “Peak romantic energy. Nothing like being told my career is a glorified arts-and-crafts workshop to really get the sparks flying.”

Carmy leaned slightly against the wall, crossing his arms as he listened. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—irritation, maybe, or quiet disbelief. “And you’re still out there?”

“Excellent question, Chef Carmy,” you said, pointing at him with mock gravity. “I think it’s a mix of morbid curiosity, sheer stubbornness, and maybe a touch of guilt. I mean, he did spring for the wine. Even if he did refer to it as a ‘top-shelf pour.’”

That made Carmy snort, his head dropping slightly as he tried to compose himself. “Top-shelf pour, huh? Sounds like a real charmer.”

You laughed softly, though there was a bite of bitterness in it. “Oh, totally. It’s been a real dream date. Honestly, if he makes one more crack about teaching being ‘easy,’ I might just—” You mimed strangling someone, your hands curling dramatically as you added a mock growl for effect.

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I’d pay to see that.”

“Don’t tempt me,” you shot back, your grin sharpening. “It might get me out of this date, but I’m pretty sure assault charges aren’t a great look for me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.”

Your playful energy dimmed slightly as you glanced toward the dining room. “Anyway, I should probably get back out there before he starts mansplaining the wine list to the waitress. Again.”

Carmy’s lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh, but instead, he straightened up quickly, the weight of his role as head chef settling back onto his shoulders. “Yeah, I should... head back to the kitchen too. Got a lot to wrap up tonight.”

You turned back to him, your expression softening. “Thanks, by the way,” you said, holding his gaze. “For... checking in, I guess. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugged a gesture that looked casual but felt like it carried more weight. His voice dropped slightly as he replied, “Yeah, I did.”

The words hung there for a beat, his meaning lingering just beneath the surface as the two of you locked eyes. The air between you felt heavy, almost tangible, like a thread being pulled taut. You wanted to say something—anything. Maybe a joke to break the tension, or maybe the truth: that you liked him, that you wished it was him sitting across from you tonight, making you laugh instead of testing your patience.

Unbeknownst to you, Carmy’s thoughts ran dangerously close to yours. He’d been replaying every interaction with you since the day you moved in next door, every laugh, every casual smile. The thought of you with someone else—someone who didn’t seem to notice the little things about you the way he did—made his chest tighten in ways he couldn’t explain.

But before either of you could give voice to the thoughts swirling in your heads, the faint sound of your date’s voice carried through the hallway, breaking the moment like a needle scratching across a record. You winced slightly, the weight of reality pulling you back.

“Ugh. That’s my cue,” you said, shooting Carmy an exaggerated grimace. “Duty calls.”

Carmy nodded, his expression carefully neutral, though the flicker in his eyes betrayed the emotions he was trying to keep in check. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks,” you said with a wry grin. “I’ll need it.”

Despite his words, his gaze lingered on yours, as if searching for something unspoken. For a moment, you thought maybe—maybe—he’d say something more, but instead, he stepped back, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“See you around,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, your heart squeezing as you turned to head back toward the dining room. “See you around.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were leaving something unfinished behind. And Carmy, watching you go, felt much the same, his hands flexing at his sides as he fought the urge to call after you.

When he finally turned back toward the kitchen, his jaw tightened, the moment still playing over in his mind. He rubbed the back of his neck, willing himself to focus as he pushed open the swinging door. The familiar clatter and hum of the kitchen greeted him, but it did little to drown out the thoughts circling his head.

He barely made it three steps before Richie appeared, leaning casually against the counter with his signature smirk firmly in place.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Richie drawled, crossing his arms. “What’s the matter, Cousin? Lose track of time out there? Or were you too busy making googly eyes at the customer? Can't blame you thought, she's gorgeous.”

Carmy’s jaw ticked, his shoulders stiffening. “Shut up, Richie.”

--------

Your date’s voice droned on, a monotonous background noise to your growing sense of regret. Why had you agreed to this? Why hadn’t you just stayed home with a glass of wine and a good book?

Just as you were contemplating an excuse to leave—feigning a sudden headache, maybe, or an urgent call from a friend—a waiter approached your table. It wasn’t the same one who had been serving you throughout the evening, but an older guy with an easy smile and a glimmering of mischief in his eyes carrying a small plate in hand. The plate held an assortment of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicate and intricate, like a tiny work of art.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said, your brow furrowing as you looked up at him.

“It’s from the chef,” the waiter replied, his tone polite but with a glimmer of something knowing in his eyes.

Your eyes widened slightly, your breath catching as you glanced instinctively toward the kitchen pass. Sure enough, Carmy was there, leaning slightly against the counter, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his gaze was fixed squarely on you.

Your heart gave a little jolt, heat creeping up your neck as you turned back to the table.

Your date, meanwhile, was entirely oblivious to the silent exchange. He grinned widely, puffing out his chest a little as he gestured to the plate. “See? Told you this place was top-notch. They must’ve recognized me. Perks of being a regular.”

It took everything in you not to burst out laughing. Instead, you bit back your amusement, your lips twitching into a barely restrained smile as you reached for one of the pastries.

“Right,” you said lightly, turning the pastry over in your hand. “Must be your VIP status.”

As you took a bite, the pastry practically melted in your mouth, a perfect blend of buttery richness and delicate sweetness. It was so good it almost made you forget the company you were keeping—almost.

“You know, this kind of attention doesn’t happen just anywhere. It’s all about knowing the right people.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, taking a bite of one of the delicate confections. It melted in your mouth, rich and buttery, with just the right amount of sweetness.

When you glanced back toward the pass, Carmy was already gone, disappearing back into the kitchen as seamlessly as he’d appeared. But his gesture lingered, wrapping around you like a quiet reassurance, a small thread of comfort in an otherwise unbearable evening.

And for the first time that night, your smile wasn’t forced.

A/N: Heyyy I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you to all those people who comment, like and reblog. Like fr you all make my week. Always looking for some ideas so please feel free to ask.

Also, please tell me if you want to be tagged. Be safe out there, please the world is too crazy at the moment. <3

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe

@akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1

@darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake

Hello! I don't know if you're still taking requests, but if you do, could I please request an imagine where the reader and eddie are best friends and the reader gets really injured when Venom is in a fight, bonus points if eddie has to do cpr to revive her. Thank you so so much!

~Hazard of Our Friendship~

Pairing: Eddie Brock x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: drowning mention, knives, graphic depictions of violence

Genre: fluffy angst

Summary: Your best friend has a symbiotic alien sharing his body which means sometimes he gets attacked while you're just trying to discuss a movie.

A/N: Oh darling my asks are always open~! xo hope you like it!

***

You scoff as you listen to Eddie talk. You can't believe what he's saying.

"You're crazy! You seriously think that was better than the second one?" You ask incredulously.

"I think each movie gets better than the last." Eddie says.

"What're you smoking and how do I get some because you are clearly on something." You snort.

"I liked it I don't see the problem." He shrugs.

"That's not the question though! I liked it too but it's NOT better than the second one was!" You shake your head.

"You do this every time we see one of these movies." Eddie chuckles.

"Because the second was the best! It's in a league of its own they're never gonna do better than that." You say.

"Okay fine ye of little faith and quick judgment- what could they do to make the next movie better than the second movie?" Eddie rolls his eyes playfully.

"The second movie was just iconic! When they realize and manage to replicate the intensity with which that movie hit emotionally, they'll have another masterpiece. It's not about duplicating though, they shouldn't repeat the plot, they just need to figure out how to create a similar pull. That's what I'm looking for I need a pull and the newer movies just haven't been pulling me."

"You're insane you know that?"

"I think you need to rewatch the second movie. Clearly you aren't properly remembering the absolute magic of the second movie dude." You shake your head.

"Clearly." He snorts. A moment passes and notice something change abruptly in your friend's demeanor.

"What?" You frown at him.

"What?" He snaps his head towards you.

"Your energy shifted, something changed. Why? What's going on?"

"Nothing." He says quickly.

"You're on edge. I can see it so don't lie to me. Especially because you're starting to stress me out." You tell him.

"Venom's a little- freaked. He thinks we've got company." Eddie admits.

"Not the good kind I'm guessing. Based on your... disposition."

"Just- stay close, it'll be fine." Eddie says gently resting his hand on your arm. He's clearly on high alert, eyes scanning every darkened alley you walk by. You catch movement off to one side and grab Eddie's attention.

"E- could those be our visitors?" You ask. Eddie follows your eye.

"Fuck me- it's fine, just stay behind me." Eddie steps forward and uses his arm to nudge you behind him.

"Come on Eddie, they're just some guys. This should be easy." You say.

"Unfortunately if they've come for me it's never just some guys." Eddie sighs. "Look guys- I'm sure you don't want any trouble, whatever you think you're gonna gain from this, you'll lose a lot more- trust me." Eddie tells the group. There's maybe 5 of them it seems, but you can't be sure others aren't lurking nearby.

"Yeah- that's the bastard." One of the guys grumbles and Eddie's eyebrow furrows.

"Wait sorry- do you know me or something?" Eddie asks, tilting his head.

"You fucking jackass-" The guy is clearly appalled by Eddie's perceived audacity and starts towards you and Eddie.

"Venom." Eddie calls.

"COPY." Venom replies before overtaking Eddie. You step back a bit to accommodate the size change. Also to give him room, Venom's fighting style is- messy from what you know.

You've never actually seen them fight, although Eddie didn't try to hide Venom from you, he was very intentional about limiting your exposure to him. You're not totally sure why, but it doesn't stop you from making nice with him. Eddie swears the relationship between them is mostly symbiotically beneficial, which means he'll probably be around for a while. Which means he'll be around you for a while, and you want that to be a net positive. So you always ask about him and include him in your relationship with Eddie, and bring him chocolate any time you hang out with them. Eddie swears you spoil him so you hope that means he likes you.

Venom seems to be handling the fight pretty well, I mean he can grow appendages at will, no matter how many of them there are, they can't outmatch him.

"You're coming with me." A gruff voice says wrapping a hand around your wrist.

You snap your head around quickly.

"Fuck off. Don't touch me." You take your index and middle finger and jam them into the inner corners of his eyes.

He screams as you dig your digits in deeper.

"You're ruining movie night." You drag him forward by his eye sockets and bash his head into your knee knocking him out. "Asshole." You huff.

"Eulgch gross now my hand is covered in eye juice." You frown. You bend over and wipe your hand on his shirt.

"That's better I guess." You say stepping over the guy to wear Venom has dragged the fight, near the pier.

"Not so fast." A voice grits out behind you as arms encircle your body, trapping you.

"Hey let go of me you bastard." You grunt squirming against his hold.

Your movements stop abruptly with a sharp gasp when you feel cool metal against your throat. A knife.

"Really? An 8 foot monster is stomping out your little pals and you go for the one who isn't doing shit? Coward." You scoff.

"Shut up." He spits through clenched teeth.

"Eddie!" You call out. "No rush but when you get a second some help would be nice! VENOM!" You shout, the blade digging ever so slightly into your skin.

Venom snaps his head towards you and immediately changes his focus, heading towards you and the person holding you hostage.

Your captor walks you backwards as Venom closes in but as he reaches an appendage towards you one of the others pulls out a flamethrower. Where did he get a fucking flamethrower?!

"Venom look out!" You shout but you're not quick enough.

The fire hits him. He lets out a roar of a sound. And then retreats into Eddie, who falls to his knees.

"Eddie?!" You call frantically.

"I'm fine! Just- gotta give Venom time to recover." Eddie grunts.

"If you're fine get up and turn around you dumbass!" You shout. The guy with the flamethrower is closing in on Eddie, luckily he's dropped the thing. Not really a smart move in your opinion but it makes Eddie's chances of beating him without Venom higher.

Eddie spins on his heel just in time to dodge a wild swing from mister flamethrower.

"Woah. Shit." Eddie says. He punches the guy directly in the face and the two start a proper fist fight.

"Hang on y/n I'll be right there!" He tells you between throwing and dodging punches.

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on going anywhere!" You say.

"Could do without the sass at this moment dude!" He says.

"I've got a knife to my throat I'll do whatever I want to cope with it!" You shoot back.

"Sorry about all this!"

"Hazard of our friendship! I know how this goes!" You say.

Eddie finally takes down his opponent and turns to you. He runs in your direction, Venom at some point taking over and freaking out your captor. For a guy holding a knife to your throat he's moving incredibly reckless, stumbling backwards and dragging you with him. Right over the edge of the pier. You scream as you fall back, at least you've been released it seems. Your assailant, in trying to save himself has freed you from his grasp.

The water is a bit chilly, it's not as bad as it could be, but it is only August so it'd be weird if it was ice cold. Water fills your mouth as you sink below the surface. You try to swim up, but the other guy wraps his hand around your leg. You can't swim super well as is, the extra weight hindering your movement pretty much renders your attempt to save yourself futile. Still you flail and desperately kick at your attacker's hand, hoping that you can get him to let you go before your lungs give out. They're already starting to seriously burn.

You hate open water. Besides the fact that you're nowhere near a strong enough swimmer based on the dangers of open water like this, you can't see anything and not knowing what lurks nearby stresses you out even more.

You're starting to panic. The longer you're down here, the more undersea monsters you seem to be able to imagine. You're going to die down here and some random swimming creatures will start eating your decaying flesh and your family won't even have a body to bury when they have your funeral. Or if they manage to find you, you'll be so destroyed by critters they'll have to keep the casket closed. Honestly at this point you hope they cremate you.

The panicking isn't helping. You know it's not, and yet it's all you can do as your vision is starting to blacken around the edges. You still can't get this guy to let go of your fucking leg, and dammit you're getting too weak to keep fighting him. How is he still holding on? You feel your body go limp as you lose consciousness.

Eddie's heart drops as he watches you go over the edge of the pier. You can barely swim, you hate the open water, he has to get you out of there and fast. The only problem is it feels like these goons keep multiplying and if they have to keep fighting he'll never reach you in time.

"We have to get to y/n." Eddie says.

"WE WILL." Venom says ready to fight the next guy.

"No, now V! Fuck the fighting I don't care eat them if you have to. Just get to her!"

"GREAT PLAN." Venom's smile is enough to freak out the person standing between them and where you're currently drowning.

Eddie's counting the seconds as Venom traipses towards the water, biting off heads on the way. There's not even enough movement near the surface for Eddie to tell if you're still alive down there. It's taking you two long to come up.

"YOUR STRESS IS MAKING THIS MORE DIFFICULT EDDIE."

"I'll stop stressing when we get y/n out of the fucking water!" Eddie snaps.

"FINE!" Venom dives into the water and manages to find you surprisingly quickly, dragging your lifeless body out of the water.

"Put her down we have to do something." Eddie says.

"WHAT DO WE DO?" Venom asks.

"You watch my back while I try to remember my high school CPR class." Eddie tells him, kneeling beside you.

Pressure.

There's a pressure against your chest.

It's rhythmic, consistent, and just a couple of pascals short of risking a broken rib.

Your nose is pinched and something touches your lips. Air flows into your mouth in bursts and then again with the pressure.

Suddenly you feel water coming up and you lurch forward to expell it, coughing painfully as your body tries to get rid of the water forced into your lungs when you nearly drowned.

"God drowning sucks." You choke out, your voice coming out very raspy and it honestly hurts to say even that short sentence.

"Thank fuck." Eddie sighs, his shoulders dropping in relief.

"YOU'RE ALIVE! EDDIE WE SAVED HER." Venom pokes his head around over Eddie's shoulder.

"I thought I was going to lose you." Eddie whispers, cupping your cheek gently.

"I'm almost offended you thought I'd go out that easily." You joke, coughing again.

"Stop talking! You'll hurt yourself." Eddie says.

"Oh would you relax. I'm not dead, talking won't do me in." You roll your eyes.

"YOU SOUND LIKE YOU ARE IN PAIN." Venom says.

"Thanks V." You snort.

"Venom she just almost drowned dude." Eddie shakes his head.

"I AM TRYING TO CHECK ON HER. WHAT IS THE PROBLEM!?"

"Nothing's wrong. Don't you two start. Just- can you take me home?" You groan forcing yourself up. Eddie scrambles to his feet, helping you up until eventually Venom simply takes over and lifts you into his arms.

"Venom I'm pretty sure I can still walk ya know." You say, admittedly a bit nervous in his hold. Not that you think he'll drop you, you've just never interacted with him so directly.

"YOU SHOULDN'T STRAIN YOURSELF. AND WE ARE TAKING YOU TO OUR APARTMENT."

"What? Why?"

"SO WE CAN TAKE CARE OF YOU WHILE YOU GET BETTER."

"Get better? All I need to do is shower and go to sleep, I'll be fine." You scoff.

"EDDIE WANTS TO SEE THAT FOR HIMSELF."

"You're very lucky I don't have any more energy to argue about all this." You mutter.

Eddie counts his blessings when he hears that. Of course it would take you nearly drowning to finally allow him to look after you. Little victories he supposes. Granted saving your life is definitely way more than a little victory. You are the single most important person in his life. If he wasn't sure of that before this he's absolutely sure of it now.

***

Shoulder to Cry On

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (w/ 3 y.o. daughter)

Summary: When your daughter Mia is taken hostage, Tim Bradford holds you together and offers a strong shoulder to cry on.

Warnings: child abduction, discussion of past criminal activity, r has a daughter from a previous relationship, angst to fluff

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

Your phone rings, and you reluctantly pull your hand from Tim’s to check it. The caller ID displays ‘Unknown,’ and you send the person to voicemail.

“Everything okay?” Tim inquires. “Was that the babysitter?”

“No, everything’s fine. Where were we?”

“We were talking about your dream date.”

“I don’t remember that,” you reply with a smile. “But I think I might already be on it.”

Your phone rings again, and Tim gestures for you to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Four… hundred… thousand,” the distorted voice says slowly.

“I think you have the wrong number,” you reply.

The voice says your name, then asks, “Mother of Mia? I’ll take that sharp inhale as a yes. The price is 400 grand.”

“Price for what?”

Tim watches you with pinched brows, and you avoid meeting his eyes.

“Say hi,” the voice demands.

“Mommy,” your daughter Mia cries.

“400 grand by tomorrow night.”

Realizing that this unknown person has your daughter, you raise your wide eyes to meet Tim’s.

“What?” he asks.

“Ooh, is that the cop? Put him on,” the man on the other end of the phone demands.

You pass the phone to Tim without a word, then grip the napkin in your lap tightly. Tim doesn’t speak, but his jaw tightens with each passing second. He ends the call and then stands.

“Tim,” you whisper.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he promises, offering his hand. “Let’s go.”

You allow Tim to lead you out of the restaurant. Once outside, your chest grows heavy as an uncomfortable pressure builds behind your eyes.

“Tim, I can’t breathe,” you tell him, gripping his hand as you panic.

He turns toward you, releases your hand, and holds your eye contact. “Listen, hey, eyes on me.” When your eyes meet his, he lifts your hand to his chest and presses your palm over his heart. “Breathe with me. In… and out. Good, again. In… out through your mouth. I have no idea what you are feeling right now, but I need you to trust me. I called it in, and I’m going to the station now. We’re going to get Mia back.”

You nod quickly, keeping your hand against Tim’s steady heart as he speaks. “What am I supposed to do?” you whisper.

“Stay strong for Mia. Can you think of anyone who would do this?”

“No. I don’t… no.”

“Okay, well I know people who can find that out. Do you want to go home or come with me to the station?”

You grip Tim’s shirt as you plead, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Tim pulls you against him and promises, “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to bring Mia home.”

“Tim, what do you know about the father?” Angela asks. Tim doesn’t acknowledge her, staring out into the bullpen at you, where Luna Grey is consoling you. “Tim?”

“Hmm?” he hums without turning.

“Mia’s dad,” Angela says. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much. He hasn’t been in the picture, ever.”

“She hasn’t told you anything?” Nyla inquires. “No name, no complaints, just that he’s gone?”

“It’s not something I’m overly interested in, Harper.”

“You stand from your seat and rush toward Tim. He extends his arms toward you, but you press your ringing phone into his hand.

“He’s calling again,” he tells Angela.

“Answer it,” she tells you. “We’ll try to trace it.”

“Hello?” you greet.

“I’m not seeing any money,” the voice chides.

You hear Mia crying in the background and bite your lip harshly. “Where is my daughter?” you ask.

“She’s fine. Won’t stop crying, but she needs you to get me my money, understand?”

Angela shakes her head and moves her finger in a circle so you’ll keep talking.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” you explain. “Why me?”

“Because he stole it.”

You glance at Tim as you ask, “He who?”

“Mia’s father! I lost half a million because of him. I knocked a hundred grand off but if I don’t see my investment returned, I’ll make a new one.”

“I can’t get that kind of money,” you say through your teeth. “What else can I do?”

“Find a way. You have twenty hours, so find it quickly.”

The line clicks before you drop your hand away from your face. A tear tracks over your cheek, and you don’t do anything to stop it.

“No location on the trace, but I have the internet number’s information,” Angela explains. “Tech might be able to do something with it.”

“Excuse me,” you mumble.

Tim watches you walk into the restroom. He rubs his hand across his face before Lucy pushes him toward you.

“Go,” Angela encourages him. “We’ll find Mia’s dad and go from there. She needs you, Timothy.”

Tim knocks on the bathroom door as he opens it. He says your name as he steps in, but he’s only met with muted crying and sniffles.

“I can’t do this,” you whimper.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says, stopping outside your stall. “I can’t take it away, but I’ll do everything I can to get her back.”

“It was… I know it sounds bad, but I don’t know anything. He was working with someone or something, and they lost the money, and then- then he lost everything else. I don’t even know what the money was for or where he went after the fallout. He may not have realized that what they were doing was wrong.”

“It’s not your job to know all of this,” Tim reminds you. “He did something wrong, and he lost the best people I’ve ever met.”

You sniff before you begin crying again, and Tim nudges the door open. He pulls you from your slouched position against the partial wall and into his arms. Running his hand over your hair, Tim grounds you and reminds you that you’re not alone, you’re cared about and loved.

“Wait,” you say against his chest. “Did he say half a million?”

“Yeah, but he dropped it to 400.”

“I remember hearing something about the biggest ‘donor’ and they called him… it was something about a shark, like great white or… maybe it was hammerhead?”

“Mako?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, that was it.”

“He's wanted for dozens of crimes. I need to go tell Angela, but…” Tim hesitates and pulls you into a tight hug.

You carry the duffel bag filled with seized money in both hands as you approach the darkened warehouse at the Port of Los Angeles. Tim, Angela, Nyla, Nolan, and Lucy are somewhere behind you, and a Metro team is waiting for their command. After you knock four times, the door slides open, and a man dressed in black steps out.

“Where’s Mia?” you ask.

“She’s close, ready to go with you,” he answers cryptically.

“Stall him,” Angela says in your earpiece. “We’ll find her.”

“Can you- can you tell me what he did?” you ask the man.

“You really don’t know, do you? You have no idea about how many people he robbed, how many lives he destroyed.”

“No, I don’t. All I know is that he left me and my daughter, and now you’re trying to ruin our lives.”

“Fool me once.”

“But I didn’t. I had nothing to do with losing your money.”

The man barks a laugh and tries to snatch the duffel bag from you, but you step back quickly.

“Not until I know my daughter is okay,” you snap.

“She’s waiting in a Corolla on the other side of the building, ready for you to drive her home,” he says. “Money, now.”

“I’ve got Mia,” Tim says in your ear. “Metro, move in.”

You sigh in relief just before a swarm of armed officers surround you and your daughter’s abductor. They pull him away from you just as Tim rounds the corner, your daughter safe in his arms.

“Mia!” you call, running toward them.

You crash into them, wrapping one arm around Mia and the other around Tim’s waist. Mia wraps her arm around your neck and shifts her weight toward you as Tim holds you close. She rambles against you until you wipe the tears from her face.

“Are you okay, baby?” you ask.

She nods, then reaches toward Tim. He takes her hand, and Mia lowers her head to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whisper to Tim, standing against his side. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies. “You too, Mia, and I meant what I said.”

You look at Tim with your brows raised, and he whispers, “I promised a trip to the toy store and her favorite diner for milkshakes.”

Mia nods against you as you ask, “Am I invited?”

“What do you think, Mia?” Tim asks. “Can Mom come?”

“Yeah,” she answers against you. “Love you.”

“I love you so much,” you tell her.

She mumbles something, then says, “Love you, Daddy.”

You look at Tim and smile as you raise your hand to his cheek. He looks like he might cry, but he has a much better story about how Mia made him cry today.

Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Female Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Male Reader - Someone nice, somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed 

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

.<Warnings/Promises: Angel Dust x Virgin Female!Reader, smut, fingering, lubed to the gods, Angel uses four arms, Valentino is a blind bag of smashed assholes, creampie, oral, the gentlest sex I’ve ever written (probably), an alarming towel>

listen here virgins, if I could craft a perfect first time for you, this is it. Minus the lack of condoms because—it’s hell? Sex workers are tested bi-weekly?? This is still a fantasy??? Just if anything, please take from this the importance of a safe and trusting environment at all times 🙏  

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when you said you’d never actually orgasmed before, everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.

Continuing with the evening’s theme of surprise, you hadn’t expected Angel to catch up to you when everyone was filing off to bed. His hand gently reached for your wrist, “Hey ya got a sec?”

 For Angel, the epitome of smiling through the pain, you’d give him the remainder of your time in hell if he just asked. Every second, his.“Always!”

“So uh”, he rubbed the back of his neck, “about bein’ a virgin and all that.” Your stomach dropped, was the famous porn star about to embarrass you into a second death?“I think it’s real important that like— knowin’ yourself, and what makes you feel good is like super healthy. I dunno if you are interested in that kinda stuff but,” he was wildly moving his hands round, nervously stumbling over his words, “I’d be happy to help ya out.”

All of the blood rushed to your face.

“Oh fuck!” Angel grabbed your head and tipped it forward, “I would have accepted a simple no, jesus!” With one hand pinching your nose, he led you into his room just down the hall. 

What— what was happening, exactly? At all? In general? With your entire existence?

He kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed a handful of tissues, “Keep your head forward. Everyone who says tilt it back is an idiot.”

His hand was red when he drew it from your face, using his other hand to now hold tissues between his fingers as he pinched your nose shut.

“Is- is my nose bleeding??” Your voice cracked.

“Does that happen often?”

“Never.”

“Well I got to help you with at least one first, right?” Angel laughed, moving his hands away as you took over the task.

Oh, right. The offer. You glanced around the room, small but lived-in. Everything was pink and purple and soft.

“Angel, do you think because you’re a sex worker, you have to help me?” The room fell silent. Angel completely still beside you. You would love someone you could trust to take your virginity, but you would never want to use Angel like so many other people did on a daily basis.

“Ya know— a lot of people get real confused about this.” He sighed, chest heavy with the many misconceptions others had, “What I do for work, what I gotta do to get through the day, has nothin’ to do with who I am as a person.” You turned to look at him, “Why should I limit my experiences because of what other people have done to me?” The words hit you like a truck. You had unintentionally boxed him into his job, in turn into his trauma, summing him up as a warm body and incapable of any depth past that. Just a sex worker.

“No, no I didn’t mean anything like that. I just, I don’t want to ever,” you grabbed two of his hands, “ever take advantage of your kindness.” You squeezed, “or any part of you.”

His frown turned up, “We’re dead, yea, but you still exist. If you want to, you should enjoy every part of your afterlife. And I’d hate you to meet some asshole who’s too rough or doesn’t get ya warmed up first. A bad first time can be really traumatizin’.”

You nodded without actually thinking. Your brain wasn’t really processing meaning, his words were just soft and kind and your nose still stuffed full of tissue.

“Do you wanna?”

You nodded more vigorously, “Did my nose start bleeding again?”

Angel took the tissue away, giving a second to see, “Nope.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay. Yeah, I want that. Someone nice, somewhere safe.”

“It ain’t quite nice but-,” Angel looked around his room.

“It’s perfect, Angel.”

“Aw fuck, I should clean up,” he hurriedly carried trash from his nightstand, flattening out the comforter and adjusting his pillows. He placed fat nuggets on the floor with a little pat on the head.

Finally, he stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, two gesturing to you.

“Alright baby! Let’s pop some cherries! Undress~” he elongated the word, shimmying his hips a little, “-to your comfort level.” He began to unbutton his blazer, “Bare minimum, take off your pants and underwear, please and thank you. Though I have fucked through underwear…” He was momentarily lost in a memory.

You hadn’t anticipated getting naked in front of a friend tonight. But Angel so effortlessly shed his clothes, peeling off his gloves. Pulling off your pants, you paused.

“Is it weird if I keep my shirt on? Like— do you know who Winnie the Pooh is?”

“Nothin’ weird about bein’ comfortable, pookie.” He pinched your cheek, “I’d offer a modesty blanket but I kinda need to see what I’m doing.” His eyes flitted to the left, “No, wanna. I wanna see.” Angel’s laugh relaxed you, the idea of anyone wanting to see you made you feel a little less—-naked. Still, your hands seemed frozen on your underwear’s edge.

With a hum, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “Go on, lie down. I’ll help ya relax. This is already feeling too medical-like.”

Were you going to need a towel? Were you going to need a towel?? Were you going to need a towel!?

You sat back on his bed, and when he crawled up to meet you, all legs and arms and Angel Dust, you buried your face in your hands.

“Oh hey—,” his voice was so soft, lacking its usual sass, “Wanna just, cuddle and watch stupid shit on my phone?” You groaned, face sinking further down. This would be easier if he wasn’t so sweet. You could at least take a backseat, then.

You shook your head, and felt his hand on your ankle. It snaked up your calf, slipped down your knee and thigh, finding the waistband of your underwear. When you looked up from your hiding place, Angel was a foot from your face. His features lit only by the purple neon signs hanging beside his bed and near the door. He lifted his brows, a question he didn’t need to vocalize. You sank back into the purple and pink pillows, different sizes, different textures, gently enveloping you.

With two hands now, he slide off your underwear. You might die, again. Your heart would give out any second, incapable of handling the moment. You were manually breathing.

He lifted your hips with two hands, a third sliding the towel beneath you before setting you back down.

“Do ya-,” he was rummaging now inside the nightstand drawer, “not play with yourself? Ever?”

“Not really. Not like, there.”

“Whaddya do with all your free time?” His short but enthusiastic laughter forced a smile to your cheeks. Angel slid the drawer shut and came to rest in front of your tightly shut thighs and knees. You heard a cap pop, and found the courage to sit up and see what he was doing.

“What?” He squeezed a clear, thick lubricant onto his right hand, “Nerves can make holes dry like nothin’ else. No fun for no one, trust me. Could start a fuckin’ fire—- and spit ain’t lube!” Angel said it like he spoke from a personal experience.

Ah, the towel. That made sense now.

“Should I do something?”

“Just lie back, baby~,” he opened your knees and followed your face as you settled back down, “Do you like kissin’?”

You’d kiss a trashcan if Angel said it got him hot, so, “Yeah.”

“Good,” One hand touched your cheek, sliding to your chin as he brought your lips to his. You thought you’d melt, his hands so soft on you, lips confident and sure. He used his thumb on your chin to pull down your bottom lip and ask you for entrance. When you opened up to him, his tongue slid into yours as his sticky wet hand finally came into contact between your legs. Two fingers rubbing the lube up and a down your pussy.

You nearly inhaled him with your shock, he giggled into it, “You’re so cute.” You twitched under his hand, “Ooh, and reactive! Daddy likes.”

Stop. Stop talking. I’m going to black out.

His mouth returned to yours, tongue over your tongue, as his fingers just massaged your entrance. No attempt at entering, no prodding, just gentle up and down motions. Slowly, your felt your skin heating beneath his hand, the lubricant somewhat melting with your warmth.

At work, Angel was never the lead. Never the top, and never afforded time to ease anyone open. He had no issues with sleeping with women, it was just usually for money or a shoot. Not his preferred flavor, but he could still get it up. Watching you sigh and twitch under him felt like a treat. Such a sweet response to what so many people made unnecessarily dirty at work. He wasn’t shocked to find his cock twitching, swelling as your breathing hitched with every stroke of his hand. When was the last time he could just… slow down? Be the one in control? Not control like Val, control like—- can I get you a pillow? Is the pacing good? Let’s soften these lights.  Hold my hand, sweetheart.

His head felt a little dizzy. His middle finger pressed now, and with a slow but constant motion entered you. ‘Uncomfortable’ was the best word. Your body tensed around him, but he gently pressed passed your virgin walls. He hummed, “First one down! Atleast,” he paused, “two more to go.”

“Atleast??” You shook your head.

“It’s sex math, trust the professional in the room.” He withdrew the finger and slid it back in, starting a slow pace of long drags from knuckle to fingertip.

It didn’t hurt, to his credit. The excitement of having Angel touching you so intimately made the finger easier to relax into. Angel must have noticed, his finger leaving you. He popped the top again of his lube and pressed in two fingers. This was harder. You whined, his fingertips pushing past the tight entrance of your cunt and settling into the wet warmth behind.

Lying on your back, you stared at the now upside-down photos behind his bed. He looked so happy. Could you join that wall? Was this wall worthy?

“You still good?” He leaned over you, fingers  moving.

You nodded, “Can I have another kiss?”

Ah, you might as well have punched him in the chest. “Of course, darlin’~ Ask and you shall receive.” You liked kissing, genuinely, but were always scared you’d kiss someone too long and end up in an awkward situation having to explain you weren’t wanting sex. But that fear was all gone, you’d broken the code. Get naked first, then kiss.

You smiled into his mouth, and he smiled back, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I like kissing you.” You leaned up, pressing your lips to his chin. His fingers quickened, and you moaned without warning. You felt your self grip his finger, nervousness slinking away and finally letting you feel aroused.

“Ooh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he leaned back, repeating the same steps and trying to press a third finger into you. His abundance of hands were a blessing, one at your entrance, one on your knee to keep your shaking legs open, and two roaming down the sides of your body. When three fingers finally entered, you could feel the burning stretch of your skin around them. He pushed in, and the skin followed. He pulled out, your sensitive hole pulling too. The hand on your knee came to your crotch, his palm pressing lightly down on your clit. You glanced up to him, his eyes focused as he watched his fingers slowly drag in and out of you. It burned still, but just past that burning was a slippery sensation that made your lap warm with the rush of blood.

He let his fingers sink in entirely, before bending and feeling inside you. Your knee jumped when he hit something.

“Bingo! Say hello to your g-spot.” He beamed down at you, gold tooth shining, “Not everyone needs it to cum but oooh boooy does it maximize pleasure,” it sounded so pornographic when he said it.

You weakly copied, “B-bingo.” 

“Three fingers means I can do this now~” he replaced his palm with his fingers,  sticky with lube. His long digits were fast and practiced as he rubbed your clit. “Sex math. Dont need your virgin pussy locking up on me.” He said quietly to himself, fingers in and out of you picking up speed. Your head was pressing into the pillows as your neck strained, you’d never masturbated while someone, something, penetrated you. Every stroke of his fingers made your body spasm, the feeling of something hard and unforgiving pushing back against your quivering walls made a pleasure you couldn’t describe.

“Feelin’ good yet?” The way he said it, he knew damn well how you were feeling.

You whimpered into one of the pillows, “Yeah, it’s starting to feel good.” A weak nod.

Angel’s grin bordered on wicked, hand slowing. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your clit. Then another. His tongue flattened against his bottom lip as he dragged it over your sensitive bud of nerves.

You moaned, a half spoken-half cried, “Oh fuck, Angel-.” Hips bucking up, his fingers kept their place and followed. You humped up against his tongue, ground down into his fingers; up, down. Soft tongue, rigid fingers.

“Like that? Watch this,” He cupped his mouth over your clit and began strumming it with his tongue. Fat and flat, then thin and sharp. His fingers slowed, now just bending to hit your soft g-spot again and again. 

One hand held tightly to the pillow, the other coming to Angel’s hair. Your body kept jumping away from overstimulation but you fought against it every time and tried to grind against his face.

He lifted his mouth off you with a deliberate pop, “Feelin’ good?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Ready for the real thing?”

“Yeah. I want to feel more, Angel.” It came out as more of a whine than you meant.

His hand came to his erection, red and leaking. Stroking himself, he returned to massaging at your entrance, fingers dipping in then out.

“You comfortable with getting on your knees? This position ain’t so conducive for what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Somehow, ass up sounded better than face to face, “You’re the expert.” You rolled onto your stomach, hips up, face resting into the sea of pillows. You paused, lifted off your now sweaty shirt, and got back into position. 

“Sexpert, but thank you!” The lid popped open again, cold and viscous lube being dripped directly onto pussy, “Finally some recognition around here.” He coated himself with what was still on his hands, and raised your hips to line himself up.

“Deep breaths, okay?” He leaned over your back, kisses falling down your skin. Two hands held your hips, one guided himself into you. You tensed when his head began to push in, “Relaaax, just like the fingers.”

A muffled, “okay” from your place in the pile. Your heart was suddenly racing, the tight coil of pleasure his mouth summoned now gone. He wiped his dick up and down your folds, swiping past your entrance. Lining up, he pushed in, getting his head firmly sunk into you.

“Breath, baby,” he moaned into your shoulder. You took a deep breath in, your body tight still. But, it didn’t hurt like you’d thought. It burned, but there was no sting, no tearing. Angel’s hands ran up and down your sides, along you ass and thighs. He gently touched everywhere he could reach, until he felt you soften, “Ready to keep going?”

“Yes please”, you turned your head to look at him.

He pulled out slightly to collect more lube on his shaft, before slowly sinking into you until he bottomed out.

You were gasping, your brain misfiring. You couldn’t feel anything but him, your body just a formless thought with Angel’s warm, solid cock reaching deeper into than you thought possible. One roaming hand reached for your shoulder, “Can I move?”

“Slow,” your hand searched for a loose fold of comforter to grip, but it was soon encased and intertwined by one of his.

He pulled out, and slowly thrust back in. A saccharine moan fell from his mouth, and it made you whimper. 

You were so soft around him, yet gripping him so snuggly he felt like he was melting into your walls. His breath was unsteady, “You feel so good on my cock, baby.” A burning blush took over your face, a rush of pleasure electrifying your clit.

“How ya doin’?” Angel sounded nervous, timid.

You had to collect saliva to get any words out, mouth running dry from panting, “S’good.” You tried again, “So good.” Your fingers tightened around his.

He adjusted his hips, watching you closely. When your eyes closed and your hand nearly broke his, he grinned down, “Bingo~,” his speed began to pick up. 

“Right there,” you whimpered, “please don’t stop, right there Angel.” You dragged out the last syllable of his name. You could feel a pressure building in your lower stomach. 

Angel took languid thrusts out to the tip and pushing back past your still resisting entrance. Every time he pulled out and slipped in felt better than before. The sensations of him opening you around his cock again and again had your stomach and thighs tensing. You brought your hand up to press at your clit, finger frantically moving. You felt something building, you were desperate to reach its climax.

Angel’s hand came down and pushed yours aside, his fingers strong and not shaking with your impending orgasm. 

“Almost- Angel pleeeease! Don’t stop- keep—” You squeezed his hand tighter, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. His repeated pressing of your g-spot pushed you over the edge, hand slowing only slightly.

"You can do it, baby. Come on. Almost there~" His words fell apart in his mouth, his own moans getting louder, your cunt tightening in spasms as your first orgasm tore through you. Your body was so inviting, warm walls sucking his head deeper. He rarely got to feel this sensation, barely ever chosen as the one doing the fucking, let alone fucking a woman. His head rested against your back, hands running along the curve of your hips as he melted into your sweet heat.

He picked up speed, only drawing out an inch or so now with each thrust. The lube made a pop and squelch every time his skin pulled from yours, the sound making his legs weak.

“Where can I cum?” His breath was raspy, messy with the pleasure of your soft insides rubbing along his shaft. You gripped the blanket, orgasm still rolling from the feeling of Angel chasing his release with your body. You could hear the strain in his voice, “Gonna need an answer real fast, babe.” You hid your face in the pillow mountain again, embarrassed to answer.

“Inside,” you tried to say it loudly enough for him to hear.

He whimpered a, “Fuuuuck” down your spine, “Such a dirty little virgin.” His hips stuttered before he sunk into you with such force your legs gave out. Your body came down flush onto the bed. Angel was pressed into you, chest against your back as his breathing calmed. You could feel his heart through your ribs, his chest fluff silky on your skin. Your body was warm, his hot cum filling you.

Small, lazy kisses on your back, then up your neck, he leaned to kiss your cheek. He slid out of you delicately, but you didn’t move.  His weight left the bed, then returned as a warm, wet cloth wiped you clean. After a couple of minutes of gentle cleaning, you felt the throw blanket cover your back. Angel plopped down on his back beside you, pulling the blanket over his legs and unlocking his phone, “Wanna see this fuckin’ hilarious video of my boss runnin’ into a glass wall?”

You chuckled, “More than anything.” He side eyed you, “Well, not anything.”

“Right answer, toots,”  One of his hands came down and settled on your hair, he leaned in to your head and as you watched Valentino collide head first into a wall, he said softly, “Let me know if you need anything. I got a bitchin’ tub in there.”

You hummed, reaching a shakey hand up and pressing ‘replay’ on his phone. Angel’s laughter echoed off the walls, and you decided you had no plans on leaving bed anytime soon.

༻Masterlist༺

Creepy, But Special

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x goth!fem!ME!reader

Summary: Tim sees a woman in a cemetery after dark and can't stop thinking about you. When he calls for the M.E. and you arrive, he gets a chance to find out more about you.

Warnings: spoilers for 5x22, r is an ME and performs an autopsy, mentions of past judgement and insults, fluff, Tim gets kinda flirty even while there's a dead body between them?

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: The request said shy reader, but she's pretty open with Tim so I didn't include it in the pairing dynamic. R is very professional with the other characters, though, so that could be considered shy, I think. And, as always, ignore the Chenford gif🤭

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Kojo, c’mon,” Tim urges as Kojo tugs the leash away from Tim.

Kojo has been taking his time on this walk, more of a stroll to sniff everything than a walk, but Tim is ready to get home. When Kojo returns to Tim’s side and begins trotting again, Tim rewards him with a whispered compliment: “There’s the best boy.”

As they near a cemetery, however, a cat meows inside the open gate, causing Kojo to stop again. Tim shakes his head but watches Kojo as his ears perk, and he looks into the narrow gate opening.

“No, Bazinga,” someone says from inside the fence. The cat meows again, and this time the voice - pretty voice, Tim’s mind corrects – laughs. “How are you going to do a séance if you can’t talk, Bazinga?”

Tim and Kojo step to the inside edge of the sidewalk for a better view. Tim should know better than to let his guard down here, but when he realized that the creepy cemetery cat had supervision, he needed to know more. Standing at the fence, he can see a gray blanket spread across a small clearing. You’re sitting on the blanket with a large book open across your lap. A black cat, Bazinga, presumably, roams around you before jumping onto your shoulder.

Tim can’t help but be intrigued by you. He can tell you're young in the dim light of a nearby streetlight. While he’s simultaneously drawn to you and put off by your odd choice about where you relax, Tim lets his logic win and snaps for Kojo to heel beside him. With one final glance at you, Tim leaves you in the dark but remembers your voice long after you ask your cat, “What do you think about the black cat stereotype and how well you fit into it?”

When Tim wakes the following morning, his first thought is you. Part of him wonders if he imagined you, a young woman dressed in black reading in a cemetery in the middle of the night, yet he can’t get you off his mind even as he rises and gets ready for work. Now that overtime has been approved, he has to focus on catching the masked individuals who attacked Aaron and Celina just hours after he saw you.

Once he hears Aaron and Celina’s statuses, it’s easier to forget you and your cat. When they find Roy Gracco and prepare to enter his house, Tim doesn’t even remember his previous cemetery-side walk.

Tim leads the alpha team into Gracco’s home, prepared for anything, but is surprised to find the house clear and cold.

“Drop the gun! Drop it!” he demands as he rounds a corner.

“I think he’s dead,” Nolan calls.

Tim approaches him slowly and confirms that Gracco is dead, 10-5-5.

“It’s a trap,” Nolan realizes aloud.

“Abort! Abort! Abort!” Tim yells. As he exits Gracco’s house, he radios, “Control, I need the bomb squad to the target house for a full sweep. Send the M.E. and TID out here, standing by for a priority search once the house is clear.”

“Yep, got it,” you reply to the police dispatcher.

Your work phone buzzes with a message containing the address where you’re needed. The van is prepped and ready to go, so you only grab your phone, keys, and seal-wrapped black coveralls. When you arrive at the house, dozens of police officers, crime scene investigators, and city officials are waiting.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask as you approach him. “Has the house been cleared?”

“Almost. Bomb squad’s doing a final walk-through,” he answers. “The officers who found the body are inside and ready to assist you.”

“Dispatch said the air had been cranked down to delay decomp. Do you know if anyone touched the thermostat?”

“No. Sergeant Bradford made sure the house stayed in the same condition as how they found it.”

“Perfect.”

“All clear,” one of the bomb squad members calls as he exits. “Your people are free to enter.”

“Hold up,” Grey calls to TID. “Let the M.E. get what she needs first.”

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door.

“Hi, I’m Officer Chen,” an officer greets you as you enter. “Bradford, M.E.’s here.”

“Sergeant Bradford, I hear you preserved the scene and the body. Thanks,” you tell him as you set your bag down.

Tim doesn’t reply, too intrigued that you, a woman who hangs out in cemeteries with her black cat, is the M.E. That and your age, to be more precise.

“What’s the temperature in here?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Fifty-eight,” he answers quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts and reminding himself not to stare.

“Fifty-eight,” you murmur as you scribble something on your paper. “Then I’m putting time of death between 1 and 2 a.m.”

“Before Aaron and Celina were ambushed,” Lucy says.

“How can you limit it to an hour?” Tim asks. Not because he’s overly interested in your method but because everything you say and do interests him. He wants to hear you talk again. To him, preferably.

“The air temperature and confinement slowed decomp but also affected the blood coagulation. Because of that, and knowing the average maintained temperature since death, I can calculate it with a bit more accuracy,” you explain.

Tim nods and looks at Lucy, who seems to know why he took a sudden interest in forensic science. He has a dozen more questions he’d like to ask you, very few of which are about the case, but you frighten Tim Bradford just enough that he falls silent to let you work.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say suddenly.

“Is everything okay?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, just this little guy.” You straighten and extend your hand to show Tim a moderately large spider. “There’s a web in that windowsill, he must have been confused by the temperature drop.”

You cup your hand as you walk toward the window and gently place the spider back on its web. Tim watches every little move you make, trying not to be convinced that you were in a cemetery and are still dressed in black merely because you’re creepy.

“So, based on positioning, lividity, and blood coagulation around the wound in his hand, I’m confident that my estimate of 1 to 2 a.m. today is accurate. More, I’d say that he was unconscious when both the bullets and the knife entered his body. There’s no sign of jerking or resisting, and the stiffness in his spine suggests that he’s been positioned like this for closer to a day.”

“A day?” Tim repeats. “How could he be in one position for nearly ten hours before being shot and stabbed?”

“Was he alive when he was stabbed?” Lucy inquires.

“Yes,” you answer her. “He didn’t react in any way to that pain and the lack of naturally dried blood around the wound, so he was likely already in a state of statis. His heart rate was likely low, the temperature was impeding the healing process, and, as I’m sure you know, bullet wounds don’t close on their own.”

“Then why lead us here?” Tim wonders.

“This is related to the cops that were attacked this morning?” you ask. “I heard about the riddle.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Tim asks.

“I don’t think you’ll find much in this house other than him.”

“I agree.”

“If Gracco is a patsy,” Lucy interjects, “then we should be asking why him?”

“He’s a felon with a history at Mid-Wilshire,” Grey answers as he walks in.

“Sure, but there are hundreds of guys like that. So, why Gracco? Did they pull his name out of a database or is there some kind of connection?”

“You think it’s personal?” Tim asks.

“Look, if I was gonna go to the extreme of targeting police officers, why not take out some of my enemies along the way?”

“That’s gotta count as a goth point,” you murmur.

“Costs us nothing to run with that,” Grey points out. “Get back to the station, check Gracco’s known associates, family, coworkers, anyone he did time with that might hold a grudge. Run them against people that we arrested. And say a prayer while you’re at it.”

“Actually, Grey, can I escort the M.E.?” Tim asks.

You look up from your spot on the floor, and Tim looks away quickly because he suddenly thinks that in that position, you look like a cat.

“Do that,” Grey agrees. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Chen, Nolan and Harper are at the station and ready to assist you.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy replies as she exits.

“Why do I need an escort?” you ask once you’re alone with Tim.

“Because we don’t know what we’re up against and I don’t want to find out the hard way that we’re closer than we think,” he answers.

You nod as you stand, then remind Tim that you have to prepare the body to take back to the morgue. He nods and steps aside, hands clasped, happy to watch you.

“Got it,” Tim says into his phone. “Pine’s got Metro mobilized; do you need me to come back?”

You pull your gloves on as Tim ends his call. He steps toward you and says, “I’m clear to stay with you.”

“Why?” you ask.

“All of our bases are covered. So, if you find something, we need to know.”

You shrug as you concede. It’s not that you don’t want Tim with you; you are confused about why a decorated Metro Sergeant would want to keep you company while you perform an autopsy.

“If you want a mask or anything, they’re in the black case behind you,” you tell him.

“Of course it’s black,” Tim muses.

“Meaning?” you inquire as you mark your incision points.

When you look toward him, Tim gestures to your outfit. You certainly don’t dress like other medical examiners. Or act like them, for that matter.

“What do you have against black?” you tease. “Or are you just jealous of the Converse?”

Tim smiles as he tips his head and replies, “I would rock some studded black Converse, right?”

“Totally. I’ll hook you up with my shoe guy. He might want to see you in the heeled version first, though.”

“So, why’d you become a medical examiner?” Tim asks as you begin the first cut in Gracco’s chest.

“What do you think?”

“Love for science?” Tim guesses.

You lift the scalpel and narrow your eyes at Tim. “Most people just assume I’d like to dig around in dead people.”

“Why? Because you wear black and pick up spiders?”

“Amongst other things.”

“What other things?”

You shake your head and argue, “You have to tell me something about you first.”

“I like the Dodgers.”

“Wow,” you drawl. “Mark me as shocked and surprised.”

“I’m a cop, there isn’t much time to do things worth telling.”

“Fine, I’ll go first but you better have something when I’m done.”

“Yeah, of course. Just, one more thing. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Don’t you dare say oh, you look older, or wow, you must be smart, I really can’t take hearing that again.”

“I didn’t think you must be smart. You clearly are,” Tim replies.

“Good answer. You still want to know about me?”

Tim nods, and you tip your chin down to continue the autopsy as you speak.

“So, you can tell that I like black and spiders… I feel most alive in the fall, Halloween is my favorite day of the year. And cats! They’re much better than spiders because you can watch horror movies and Beetlejuice with them, and birds bring out their violent sides. But cats will also read witch books with you and listen to music, hang out in cemeteries. All the stuff that gets you labeled a ‘creepy weirdo’ is more fun with a cat.”

“Has someone called you a creepy weirdo?” Tim questions.

“More times than I can count. But I have another list that’s longer.”

“A list of what?”

“The coolest tattoos I’ve ever seen.”

Tim hesitates before he asks, “On dead people?”

“Some,” you admit honestly. “Most of them are on live people, though. They’re not as cool when the skin underneath isn’t moving or filled with blood.”

“Interesting.”

“Is this where you call me a creepy weirdo?” Tim shakes his head, and you add, “I guess I’ve just always felt drawn to stuff like that, and it makes me happy, so why should I care what people say about that?”

Tim leans against a table across the morgue from you as you continue to work. He asks a few questions as you work, but the autopsy is as simple as expected. Gracco was killed. There’s no additional evidence about who killed him or why, and his body is relatively clean and well-preserved.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” you tell Tim as you discard your gloves. “If it was a full moon I may have been more help.”

“Because you like full moons, I assume.”

“It was actually a weak werewolf joke, but yes, I do.”

“Does Bazinga?”

You freeze beside Tim before you look up at him to ask, “How do you know my cat’s name?”

“You said it,” Tim answers.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Not today, uh… I saw you in a cemetery a few nights ago.”

“I knew there was someone out there! Bazinga thought it was a ghost.”

Tim nods, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. You both want to keep talking, but there’s something Tim can’t ask, and you aren’t sure you can answer. So, you trace the shape of a crescent moon on your wrist to encourage yourself.

“Will you go out with me?” you ask quickly.

Tim opens his mouth to answer, but you add, “You don’t have to! If I’m misreading this or you’re just being nice and really do think I’m crazy, I understand.”

“I’d love to,” Tim answers when you fall quiet. “Maybe Kojo and I could join your next cemetery picnic.”

“You don’t think that’s creepy?”

“Really creepy,” Tim answers dramatically. “But you like it, so I’d like to see why.”

“What’s your shoe size? I’ll bring you some black Converse.”

“With studs?”

“Wouldn’t you be the stud?”

Tim laughs as he follows you into your office, but his phone rings with an update from Sergeant Grey and he quickly exchanges numbers with you before he leaves. Later, you remember that you never asked who Kojo was, and the picture Tim texts in return to your question makes you smile in your lonely office.

“How nervous are you?” you ask as Tim and Kojo meet you outside the cemetery.

“Probably not as much as I should be,” Tim answers with a smile. “Just don’t tell me we’re eating with someone, uh, someone in there.”

“No, of course not.” You open the gate and joke, “We’ll ease into that.”

“Where’s Bazinga?”

“Bazinga is a cat. In the picnic basket.”

You help Tim spread your favorite blanket on the grass and join him and Kojo as you set the food out. Tim watches you and realizes you’ve never been creepy, scary, or a weirdo. You’re special and if this spot beside you has been left open for him by people underestimating or judging you, he’ll make sure you know how special you are.

Tour of Dreams

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!teacher!reader

Summary: Your class takes a special field trip to SWAT HQ and your husband Deacon makes the tour especially memorable.

Warnings: Hondo, fluff

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

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

In the early morning peace of your classroom, you erase the large purple 2 on your whiteboard and replace it with a 1. Your class has been learning about the government recently. Because of the shared success in naming the three branches on the most recent quiz, you reward them with a small field trip. LAPD SWAT was more than happy to host your class and give them a tour of their headquarters.

You smile as you sort through your notes for the day. The kids will undoubtedly be excited about tomorrow’s trip, but there are a few things you need to get done today. Your phone buzzes with an incoming message, and your smile brightens when you see who it’s from. Rather than answering, you press your husband’s contact to call him.

“Good morning,” Deacon greets when he answers. “Were you going to tell me about tomorrow’s field trip?”

“I was going to, but you’ve been really busy. I talked to Hicks and he said it was okay,” you reply softly.

“Oh, of course it is,” Deacon insists. “I was just calling to ask if you need a tour guide.”

“Really?” you ask, thrilled by the idea. “You would do that?”

“Absolutely. They’re good kids, and… well, to tell you the truth, I’m in love with their teacher.”

“I- we would love to have you with us,” you answer. “And their teacher loves you too.”

Deacon sighs and murmurs, “That’s a relief.”

You laugh at his response, then ask, “Do I need to change anything? I made the plans with Hicks and don’t want to put you out.”

“He went over it with me, everything’s good. We’ll see you tomorrow, same time, same place.”

“Okay, awesome. Thank you, David.”

“Of course. I thought you were doing a pizza party for them.”

“I let them pick between a local field trip to visit one of the government branches or a pizza party. They chose the executive branch.”

“You’re a good teacher.”

“You’re a good sergeant.”

“Hey, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“Thank you. Be safe today.”

“Always. I love you.”

“I love you.”

You end the call and return to the board. After surrounding the trip countdown with hand-drawn confetti, you begin readying the classroom for your students.

“Alright, what are we going to be?” you ask your students in SWAT’s parking lot.

“Respectful,” they answer together.

You smile and nod, then ensure everyone stands with their assigned buddy.

“Good morning!” Deacon calls as he exits the station.

“Good morning!” your students reply.

“I am SWAT Sergeant Kay, but you can call me Deacon,” he introduces himself. “I heard you’re here to see the executive branch in action?”

Your students nod excitedly, and Deacon sends you a smile. The gate behind you lifts, and a grey Charger pulls in.

“Mrs. Kay!” Hondo yells as he exits the driver’s side. “And Mrs. Kay’s class!”

“This is my team leader, Sergeant Harrelson,” Deacon tells the kids. “We work together with a few other officers to go into dangerous places and help people.”

“Hicks didn’t tell us it was your class,” Hondo whispers as he stops beside you.

“I don’t know how Deacon found out,” you reply quietly. “I was trying not to bother you guys.”

Hondo drops his smile and raises a brow. “I know you did not just say that.”

“It’s Friday,” you remind him, tapping him with your elbow. “Leading a field trip probably isn’t the ideal way to end the week.”

“As opposed to what? Getting shot at?”

“Mrs. Kay?” one of the students closest to you calls.

“Yes, Remy?” you reply, stepping toward her.

“Why doesn’t SWAT use regular police cars?”

“That is a great question,” you say. “Let’s ask Sergeant Kay.”

Deacon smiles as Remy raises her hand, then asks, “Yes?”

“Hi,” Remy begins softly. “I just wanted to ask why you don’t use regular police cars.”

“Excellent question,” Deacon responds. “Because we go into dangerous situations, we have to use cars and trucks that can help protect us. And, sometimes, we don’t want people to know that we are the police because it might make them scared or angry. We have to protect the people around us.”

“Thank you,” Remy says.

“Of course. Are there any other questions before we go inside?”

Hondo raises his hand, and Deacon looks straight past him. He drops his hand and turns to you with a pout.

“Yes?” you inquire as you follow your class into the building.

“Are you coming to family dinner tomorrow?”

“Have I ever missed?”

“Yes.”

“The first week after we met doesn’t count.”

“Ask Luca if it counts.”

“This is our training area,” Deacon says as you shake your head. “SWAT officers have to be ready to run, lift things, and help people at any moment. So, we work out and help each other prepare for our job.”

“How much weight can you lift?” a student asks.

“Yeah, Mrs. Kay, how much weight can he lift?” someone repeats beside you.

You smile as you look at Street. “More than you.”

“Ow.”

“We’re not going to warn you again, kid,” Hondo tells him. “Don’t start with her.”

“Hey!” Luca greets you, wrapping you in a quick hug. “I heard you were bringing the class by today.”

“Next,” Deacon continues. “We’re going to see the situation room. That’s where we find out what we’re doing, who we’re looking for, and it gives us a chance to talk about the day.”

Kelsie, one of your quieter students, raises her hands. Deacon points at her and offers a kind smile, so she asks, “Is it like our bell work?”

Your husband looks at you, and you say, “Yeah, Kelsie! That’s a really cool connection. During bell time, we talk about what we're doing that day and make sure everyone has what they need for the day.”

“Exactly what we do in the situation room,” Hondo adds.

Hondo, Street, and Luca excuse themselves, and you join the front of your group. The parent chaperones keep everyone in order as you join Deacon’s side to answer a few more questions. The tour is better than expected, and you have your husband to thank.

As you return to the training area and Deacon finishes the tour, you prepare to lead your students back to the bus.

“There’s one more thing that is important and necessary in SWAT operations,” Deacon says. “Would you like to see it?”

Your class cheers before they remember your instructions to respect the people working and quiets quickly. They nod, excited, as Deacon leads them toward the door.

“What’s up, everybody?” Luca calls. “You’re about to see something that is very special to me. I’m Officer Luca, 20-David’s resident driver.”

“What do you drive?” several kids ask simultaneously.

Luca leads them around the corner and reveals, “This is Black Betty. She’s a type of APC, or armored personnel carrier. That means we can put our team in the back and drive into very dangerous places, but still be protected.”

“We take Black Betty almost everywhere we go,” Deacon adds.

“Whoa!” the kids exclaim as the lights come on.

Street exits the driver’s seat and opens the rear double doors.

“Who wants to stand inside and see what she looks like?” Luca asks.

All your students raise their hands, and you walk to Deacon’s side as they follow Luca in a single file line to take turns.

“Thank you,” you say.

“It was just a tour,” Deacon replies.

“No, it wasn’t. You made their year. I have no doubt a few of them will be telling me about their dream careers of being SWAT officers next week.”

“You’ve got a couple promising recruits.”

You smile and watch Street and Luca play with your students as they climb in and out of Black Betty.

“So, how much can you lift?” you tease.

“Enough,” Deacon replies.

“That’s exactly what she said,” Hondo interjects. “You know, I’ve always heard opposites attract, so if you ever-“

“I know where to find you, yes,” you interrupt. “Keep this up and I’ll tell Luca you uninvited me from family dinner.”

“Ooh!” Street yells. “Sorry, that was so loud. But, you deserved it, Hondo.”

“Can we turn on the sirens?” Remy asks Deacon.

He looks at Luca, who smiles and nods. You watch Deacon lift her into the driver’s seat and show her the switch to turn the sirens on with a smile.

“You made dinner,” Deacon says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You turn in his hold and smile. “Well, after all the hard work you did today, it’s the least I could do.”

Deacon shakes his head before he kisses you. Being a tour guide has never been a duty he’s enjoyed, but with you and your class, he thinks he could do it daily and not get tired.

“Thank you again,” you say.

“Any time,” Deacon promises before pulling you closer.

All The Reasons We Can

Part 2 of All The Reasons We Can't

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (Lucy's roommate)

Summary: After you move in with Lucy Chen, you show Tim Bradford that some things are worth fighting for, especially when there are plenty of reasons it will work.

Warnings: unspecified age gap (r is younger than Lucy), angst, fluff, banter, spoilers for s6

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim looks miserable. He seems to think for far too long before he speaks, and you hate that he isn’t enjoying himself. It took weeks to actually go on your first date. Now that you’re here, you can’t decide if he’s regretting agreeing to go out with you, his ex-girlfriend’s best friend and roommate, or if he’s simply worrying about all the reasons he thinks your relationship won’t work.

“Will you be ordering dessert tonight?” the waiter asks.

“Could you give us one moment?” you reply with a smile.

Alone, you look at Tim.

“Do you want dessert?” he murmurs.

“This isn’t working, Tim,” you decide. “Let’s just go.”

Tim nods but doesn’t speak. Internally, he’s convincing himself that you have realized what he originally said – that a relationship between you will never work because too many things are working against you. The age difference, Lucy, and so much that he hasn’t even voiced are all direct threats to what you’re trying to make.

You lead Tim to your car and gesture for him to get in. The drive to your favorite ice cream parlor is silent but not completely awkward, somehow. After you arrive, you order and sit at a quiet booth in the back of the hole-in-the-wall, family-owned restaurant to wait for your desserts.

“You are incredible, Tim,” you begin. “You care about people, and you do what’s best for them even if it hurts you. You’re a great hugger, but that’s not where I’m going with this.”

“Where are you going with this?” he interrupts. “I thought you said this wasn’t working.”

You smile and take Tim’s hand across the table. “The date wasn’t working, Tim. Look, if you’re scared that this won’t happen – that we won’t happen – then it won’t, because your fear and your feelings are going to keep getting in the way. If you’ve decided that you just don’t want to try, we don’t have to.”

“I want to try,” he assures you. “I just… I don’t want to ruin this like I ruined everything else.”

“Then work with me, Tim. Not for me, or against everything else. Work with me.”

Tim nods, and you add, “Besides, you didn’t ruin everything. You’re still gorgeous and have a really cute dog.”

Tim smiles and asks, “And I’m a good hugger, right?”

“The best,” you answer with a wink. “So, if you want to take Lucy’s roommate, I’m inviting you to. I meant what I said before: anything you need, I’m here.”

“You asked how I was when we met,” Tim reminds you. “At that moment, I decided that I was missing something, and it was you. But…”

“You still have feelings for Lucy?” you guess softly.

“No. I will always care about her, but it’s not like it was before. I want you. The risk of losing you too terrifies me.”

You nod and tap your fingers against the table. “Your original concerns were that you’re older than me, that you broke my roommate’s heart, that you kept secrets, almost lost your job, and then some, right?”

Tim nods, and his hand in yours seems to tighten.

“I don’t care that you’re older than me. If anyone else does, they’re jealous of me for landing you.”

“I don’t think-“

“Shh,” you demand playfully. “So, don’t care about the age. You dated my roommate, then dumped her. She’s over it and gave me to go ahead because even she could see that we’re good for each other. Besides, she can get anyone she wants, no offense. And then the whole keeping secrets thing seems completely irrelevant because they’re not secrets anymore, and I’ve only known you for a few weeks. If you’re hiding a family of seven, however, that’s a deal-breaking secret.”

“What about a family of five?” he counters.

“Depends. Are the kids as cute as you?”

Tim smiles and says, “My heart is still telling me yes.”

“And you’re still paying, and I’m still here. I care about you, but that has to be enough. I’m not going to start this relationship if it’s just going to be me comforting you until those reasons get to you and you leave me.”

Tim nods. He understands that kind of bond is not a relationship; it’s a dependency, and it will lead to a lot of unnecessary pain and dispute.

“How many scoops of ice cream do you think they serve each day?” you ask.

“Thousands,” Tim answers. “Why?”

“You listed three specific reasons we can’t be together. There are thousands, if not more, that I can think of proving we can work. But that’s only if we’re willing to try.”

“Did you just compare our future relationship to ice cream scoops?”

“Yes, I did. So, are you ready to get your scoop a little dirty, or are we going to just be friends who share hugs sometimes?”

Someone brings your dessert to your table, and Tim thanks them before he holds your hand again.

“Lucy said she wanted you to be with someone else because you deserve someone you can be yourself with,” you say. “I’d love to be that person, but I think I’d benefit from it a lot more if I got to kiss you.”

“Are you always like this?”

“If by this you mean wonderful, attractive, smart, and practically perfect, then yes,” you joke. “Tim, we work. Tell me you can’t see that and I’ll drop it until you’re ready to see it.”

“I see it,” Tim promises. “Should I start listing the reasons I can see?”

“Let’s just raise a spoon to all of the reasons we can.”

You raise your pink plastic spoon and tap it lightly against Tim’s green one. He smiles at you before taking a bite of his dessert, and your date suddenly becomes perfect.

“You know what I need?” you ask as you exit the ice cream shop hand-in-hand with Tim.

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” he replies honestly.

“Another hug.”

Tim smiles as he spins you back toward him. He hugs you as he had in your kitchen the day you met, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as his head drops toward your shoulder. With your lips beside his ear, you whisper, “Thank you.”

“Where have you been all my life?”

“Wasting time until we met mostly,” you answer. “Which you can thank Lucy for, by the way.”

“No chance,” he argues as he pulls back, wrapping his arm over your shoulders. “She’d never let me forget it.”

“You’re different than I expected,” you admit.

“I’m sure you heard about some of my worst moments, so I’d hope so.”

“No, I mean, I heard about the good, too. But… you’re special, Tim Bradford.”

Tim tilts his chin to the side and raises his brows.

“And you know what I’ve just decided?”

Tim shakes his head, and you raise your hands to cup his cheeks. Pulling yourself against his chest, you angle your moth towards his and whisper, “I’m going to show you just how special you are,” before your lips meet.

Bonus:

Tim’s arms tighten around your waist, and he moves you back gently against the side of the car. Sirens whoop behind him, and you hide your face in his jacket as Lucy rolls the window of the police car down.

“You are so welcome,” she calls. “And I better get all of the details.”

“This is weird,” Tim says, “you know that, right?”

“A lot of perfect things, things that work, are,” you reply, looking through your lashes at him.

Tim Through the Years - The Game

Series Masterlist

Summary: You go to a hockey game with Tim and your brothers. 0.6k+ words

To say that Sam was nervous was a HUGE understatement. Dinner with Dean and Tim did not end well, and his twin sister was hurt. He knew y/n wanted the dinner to go well in hopes that Dean would approve of Tim since family means everything to the Winchester siblings. So, with the help of his twin, he got hockey tickets for them up against the glass.

Dean loved hockey ever since he could remember, and it helped him through his teenage years. It was an outlet to get out all his anger at their father. He knew Tim liked hockey because his sister told him they had been to multiple games together. It obviously was not the best night to watch the game because it was the LA Knights vs. The Kansas City Wendigos… and both men were dressed head to toe in their respective teams' jerseys and merchandise. This night was going to end just like dinner. Tim was on your left and Dean on your right, neither of them speaking, and wearing big scowls on their faces.

“Anyone want anything to drink?” you asked nervously.

“Beer,” both Tim and Dean responded.

“Okay…” you replied as you and Sam got up and went to get the drinks.

While you and Sam were gone, Tim and Dean sat crossed-armed, and the tension could be cut with a knife. A man behind them recognized Tim as an officer from a previous encounter.

“Get out of here, pig,” the man slurred.

Tim calmly ignored the guy, but he kept throwing insults at Tim.

Dean stood up and sneered while towering over the man. “Alright, cool it. This man is a respected officer and should be treated with respect. If you don’t leave him alone, you’ll have to deal with me!”

The man mumbled out an apology and quickly turned away from the two of them. Soon silence filled the space once again.

Tim looked at Dean and offered, “Hey, man, I just want to apologize for what happened at dinner. I let my anger get the better of me. I just really like your sister. She’s very important to me and I want to protect her.”

Dean looked at Tim and said, “All good, man. I said some stuff I shouldn’t either. New leaf?”

By the time you and Sam got back, Tim and Dean were standing side-by-side, banging on the glass and cheering together. Maybe the night wouldn't be so bad after all. After the game, as you were heading to the car, Tim and Dean were the best of friends, so it seemed like the plan actually worked!

“Can you believe that fight that broke out right in front of us!? Absolutely ridiculous!” Tim said to Dean between fits of laughter.

“The guy lost his front tooth!” Dean added, laughing loudly.

“What about that save! That was so crazy! I cannot believe they saved that!” Tim explained loudly. “Are you keeping that puck or can I give it to your sister?”

Dean dug around his leather jacket and tossed the puck over to Tim, and Tim caught it in the air. “I’m gonna tell her you fought a small child for this,” Tim told Dean. Dean looked at Tim and laughed while nodding his head. 

“Hey.” Dean grabbed Tim’s shoulder once they reached the car. “You’re an okay guy, just don’t hurt my sister and we won’t have any problems. 'Kay?”

“I’d never hurt her, but you’d have to get in line if you do. All my friends chose her over me already,” Tim said while smiling.

“Good, then we can all hide the body,” Dean joked. “Want to go get beer and burgers sometime?”

Father's Faults

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: Tim is distracted by his memories of his father, so you find an unprecedented way to keep him focused. After he lashes out at you for overstepping, he realizes that you understand and have your own memories to battle. Rather than bonding over that, you accept what's been between you since you first met.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, domestic violence, Tim and r have a lot of childhood and job-related trauma, angst to fluff, confessions and kisses

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

A/N: @nevereclipse inspired this with magnificent ideas about Tim and a traumatized reader. I hope you like it!!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

There’s a scuff in the dashboard of Tim’s shop. It’s been there for as long as you can remember, but there’s something different about it today. Tracing the ragged scrape marks with your eyes, you try to come up with a story about how it got there or an explanation for its appearance. Anything other than acknowledging the tense silence in the car or your partner's tight grip on the steering wheel.

“7-Adam-100,” dispatch radios, “there’s an active home invasion in your area.”

“7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim replies, dropping the radio after he finishes.

You don’t speak, opting to look out the window as Tim drives to the address with the blue lights spinning. Part of you feels like you should know what’s bothering Tim, but he’s not exactly easy to read, nor is he willing to admit that something is going on. So, until - or if - you can deduce what’s making him so distant and easily angered this week, you’ll give him the room and the quiet he clearly desires.

“Side gate is open,” Tim says as he parks beside the neighbor’s house. “We’ll use it for entry, split up and clear the house. I’ll go right.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, opening your door.

As you follow Tim through the gate and duck under windows lining the side of the house, you focus on the job. Tim’s back muscles are tense beneath his uniform, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll think about him and let your guard down. Entering the broken back door, you tap Tim’s shoulder before you turn left into a small dining area. With your gun raised, you move quickly but carefully through the room. A crash sounds down the hall, so you press your back to the wall and move toward the noise, keeping your steps light and breathing quiet.

Tim exits a door behind you, and you drop your gun as soon as you realize it’s him. Moving together, you prepare to enter the room where the intruder is shouting demands.

“On three,” Tim whispers, covering the door so you can enter. “One. Two. Three.”

He pushes the door open, stepping into the doorway as you move inside. 

“LAPD!” you announce. “Put your hands up!”

The large man - whose boot likely matches the shoe print on the back door - bares his teeth at you before he turns to the woman guarding her son. They’re both sporting bruises and a wound at the woman’s hairline drips blood down her cheek.

“Let me see your hands!” you demand, stepping toward the man.

Tim doesn’t move, his eyes bouncing between the suspect and the young boy cowering behind his mother.

“It’s my house,” the man says.

“Not anymore,” the woman interjects. “We have a restraining order.”

With his jaw clenched, Tim lowers his gun and steps forward. “Last chance. You walk out with us or you can keep being a coward and we’ll drag you out.”

The man sneers, turning toward Tim as he prepares to lunge. You holster your weapon quickly, pulling your taser out instead. Pointing it at the larger man’s chest, you shake your head.

“Is that your son?” you ask. “Do you really want him to remember you like this?”

He hesitates, then swings. Tim ducks out of his reach at the last second, and you depress the trigger on the taser, sending 1,500-volt pulses through his body as he folds in on himself and collapses.

Tim steps over the man’s leg to cuff him, and you set your taser down to approach the man’s son and his ex-wife. The boy clings to his mother but looks up at your shield with a small smile.

“We’re Code 4, need an RA at this location,” Tim alerts. “One in custody.”

“This card has my number on it,” you say, offering a large cardstock square to the woman before you. “There’s also a list of numbers on the back that can help support you during this time. The domestic violence hotline can give you information about keeping your address private and hopefully preventing something like this in the future.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “He just showed up out of nowhere.”

You pull a tissue off a nearby table and offer it to her, watching her son as she presses it to her bleeding forehead. The ambulance is only a few minutes away, but you kneel to check on the boy.

“Let’s go,” Tim murmurs, hauling the abusive father to his feet.

“I need an ambulance!” he moans. “She tased me.”

“You will be seen, but you’re trespassing.”

“I can’t walk,” he argues.

“Then I’ll drag you,” Tim snaps.

The man stands then, his head hanging toward his chest as he pulls his feet rather than taking normal steps. You notice that Tim has his hand on the handcuffs rather than the suspect’s arm. Tim's past, you remember. Tim has been in this situation before, he knows precisely what this mother and child are thinking, and that’s why he reacted like he did. There has to be more to it, though.

Tim is thinking about something and he endangers himself every time the thought surfaces.

“Bradford is all yours,” Angela says, shaking her head as she exits Wade’s office. “I know he’s going through some stuff, but how do you deal with him when he’s like this?”

“What’s he going through?” you ask, looking through the glass door.

“It’s almost the anniversary of his dad’s death,” she explains. “I understand being a little touchy, but-”

“We took a domestic call this morning,” you complain, pressing your thumb and forefingers against your eyes. “I didn’t realize the date. I should have told him to let someone else handle it.”

“He’s a cop, he can handle the job,” Angela assures you. She looks at Tim and sighs. “I just… none of us can get through to him. It’s like he’s holding himself hostage in his own memories.”

“I- I’ll see what I can do,” you offer.

“Don’t beat yourself up if he won’t talk. And don’t take anything he says this week personally.”

“You ready?” Tim asks, exiting Wade’s office.

“Yeah,” you answer, nodding to Angela as you follow Tim back to the shop. If he’s thinking about his dad too much, maybe you can give him something else to consider.

The corner store is silent as you walk down the center aisle. At midnight, the building is empty, the radio is off, and the cashier sits silently at the register, earbuds in as she stares at her phone. You should find the silence enjoyable after being yelled at by Tim four times in one night. Instead, it makes you uncomfortable, desperate for something to happen.

“Aha,” you murmur when you find the small selection of cleaning products.

It’s probably a bad idea, you think while you fill the small, handheld shopping basket with various items. You tried to get Tim’s mind off his dad, and their strained past, but none of your attempts were successful. He thought about you long enough to yell, accuse you of overstepping, and make vague threats to discourage you from attempting to make small talk with him. But even then, he retreated into his mind as soon as you agreed and fell quiet again.

“Uh,” the cashier mumbles when you place the basket on the counter. “Is this… you good?”

You look at the odd collection of items ranging from candy and a Dodgers sweatshirt to twine and a spray bottle, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Whatever you say.”

Tim glances at your bag as you place it on the floorboard of the shop but doesn’t say anything. You’ll let him reach his own conclusions about its contents for now. After double-checking with Angela this morning, you learned that there are two days until the actual anniversary of Tom Bradford’s death, and you plan to help Tim through the next forty-eight hours, no matter what it takes.

Now that you've been reminded of the date, it’s clear that Tim is thinking about his father. His tight jaw, distant stare, defiant act of threatening an abusive father, and how he stands at least a foot away from everyone, even if it’s someone he knows and trusts, it's all indicative of his trauma response. Thinking back to yesterday, you remember that he stiffened when you touched his back during calls, and it all begins to make sense.

Tim has a tell, you discover. When he’s thinking about his past, his nostrils flare. You will never admit to watching him that closely, especially not to someone like Angela or Nell, who are convinced you’re in love with him. Yet, you observed him enough yesterday afternoon and during roll call to confirm your suspicion. Even as you watch him now, his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his nostrils flare quickly.

“What’s your opinion on stop and frisk?” you inquire.

His hand relaxes as he furrows his brows and asks, “As a policing technique or in general?”

“Policing.”

“So, Terry stops. I think that if there’s reasonable suspicion and no bias it is a useful and protective tactic.”

“Interesting. How can you tell if there’s bias, though? And what makes suspicion reasonable?”

“What are you doing?” Tim asks.

“I’m making conversation, getting opinions, learning,” you list dramatically. “Is that so bad?”

“When we’re in this shop, we’re partners. I’m not your personal podcast.”

“That would actually be really nice,” you reply. “Anyone ever told you your voice is soothing?”

“Stop.”

“It’s just a question!”

“Stop.”

You lift your hands in surrender and turn into your seat properly again. Tim drives through a green light, sees a father walking his son into a playground, and the look returns. You sigh and pull your bag open.

“What was that?!” Tim exclaims, swerving slightly as his right hand raises to his face.

“It’s water,” you answer, shaking the spray bottle. “I need you focused. I can’t worry about you or we’ll both get killed.”

“Focused? I am your superior!” Tim argues as he wipes his hand on his pants.

“Then work with me,” you plead.

“What makes you think I’m unfocused?” he inquires.

“You’re thinking about other things. Just… keep your mind in this shop today, and I won’t spray you again.”

“If you like this job you won’t spray me again,” Tim amends.

“If that’s what you need to hear.”

“She bought Wesley a tie with lobsters on it,” Angela tells Nyla.

“My dad has a tie with fish,” Lucy says. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You called?” you interrupt as you follow Tim to the detectives' desks.

“Yeah, we need you to run down a lead,” Nyla answers. “Unless you’d rather hear about Lucy’s dad’s ugly ties.”

“Hey, I chose some of those ties! Father’s Day is coming up if you want to know where I got them,” she offers.

“Oh, I already bought James a gift,” Nyla answers with faux disappointment.

“What lead?” Tim asks.

Standing behind Tim with one hand behind your back, you spray him without anyone noticing. He turns his head toward you, his eyes warning you to stop. You smile, nodding along with Nyla’s explanation.

“I am not a cat,” Tim whispers as you exit the station.

“Then take the hint,” you reply softly.

Nyla’s lead was indeed helpful, and you deliver a new suspect to the station before you return to patrol. In the shop, you hold the spray bottle in your lap as Tim drives. When you move your fingers toward the top, Tim slams on the brakes and snatches it out of your hand.

“You don’t get to decide what I think about!” he exclaims. “If you’re so worried that I can’t do this job right now, then get out and go back to the station.”

“Tim, that’s not what-”

“It is not your business,” he continues. Loudly. You flinch, but he's too mad to notice. “It is not your place to be my therapist and tell me to only think about good things or to stay in the moment. Whatever it is you think is on my mind is not worth this!”

You take several breaths, watching Tim’s chest heave.

“I know it’s almost the anniversary,” you say, forcing your voice to stay level as you press your palms against your thighs. “Your dad… he clearly got to you, your childhood affects you. And that’s okay. I’m not saying to forget everything or let those experiences become meaningless.”

“Then let it go.”

You look down at your hands as Tim drops the spray bottle beside your feet and begins driving again.

“I’m sorry,” you offer after several minutes. “It was affecting you, and I thought giving you something else to think about would help.”

“Not your call,” Tim grumbles.

Nodding, you locate the scuff on the dashboard, staring at it until your vision blurs. 

“How’d that mark get there?” you whisper.

“What?” Tim asks, glancing toward you. “I don’t know.”

“There were marks on my mom’s dash, too,” you say. “Nobody knew how they got there. Nothing we would admit while my dad was around, anyway.”

Tim’s eyes find you again, his gaze different. But you’re still looking at the scratched plastic.

“It was like a switch was flipped,” you confess. “One day, he was at a recital, cheering on his baby. And the next… there were marks on the dashboards and new scars that- that I didn’t ask for. So, I have an idea of how painful the memories can be, how far and how fast they can drag you under until it feels like you’re drowning. I went about it wrong, and I can see that now, so I’m sorry. But my intentions are still the same. I don’t want to sit by while a memory of being hurt keeps hurting you.”

Tim doesn’t reply as he shifts his eyes back to the road. You don’t watch him during the remainder of your shift to know if his nostrils flare or if his breathing returns to normal after his outburst. What you do know is that if Tim is willing to let himself be controlled by memories, you can’t stay close enough to watch it happen.

Scrolling through your notifications as you exit the station, you let your body run on autopilot as you make your way home. You’re nearly across the parking lot when someone says your name. You stop and look up, surprised to see Tim’s full attention on you.

“Lopez thinks you were flirting with me,” Tim says, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

“When?” you ask. There are several feet between you, and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Well, she says it pretty often, but the spray bottle. She noticed that my back was wet, saw it in the shop, put it together.”

You nod, holding your phone with both hands so you don’t fidget and expose how uncomfortable you are.

“Could we talk?” Tim asks.

“Not if it’s about me flirting with you,” you reply lightly.

Tim’s lips quirk up. “No. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you flirt, and that wasn’t it.”

“Then, what do you want to talk about?”

“What I’m not supposed to think about.” Tim slides his hands into his front pockets and shrugs. “I should talk to someone, not just retreat into who I used to be, dissect what could have been different. I just thought… If I’m going to talk, I need to tell someone I trust. Someone who understands.”

“And that’s me? Last I heard, I was overstepping and needed to let it go.”

Tim nods, stepping back toward his driver’s door.

“But,” you call after him, “if you’ve changed your mind, we can talk.”

Tim’s house is warm, comfortable, manly, and everything you expected. Yet, it’s awkward as you lower onto his couch and watch him move in his kitchen. It’s oddly domestic, but the connection between you and Tim is hanging on by a thread. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says suddenly. With his hands spread on the counter, he watches you. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I… my mind feels like my archenemy some days, and I fight that battle alone. You tried to help, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“No one knows the mess we’re in,” you agree. “The voices in my head say I’m being paranoid, but I know it will pull me under someday if I let it. You don’t have to apologize, Tim. I get it.”

“I don’t know what hurts worse, letting go or remembering,” Tim adds, walking to the couch with two glasses. He sets one in front of you, then sits beside you. There’s not as much distance between you now, but the vulnerability makes it feel like you’re exposed face-to-face.

“You were right,” Tim admits. “I’ve been thinking about what happened when I was a kid, wondering where everything went wrong, trying to identify something I could have done differently. Now that he’s gone, I guess I’ll never know.”

“Tim,” you breathe out, your heart breaking for him. “That was not your fault. None of it was because of you.”

“You’ve never wondered?”

“I didn’t say that.” You lift your glass, holding it between your hands to look down at it. “I used to lay awake at night trying to figure out what part of me was so broken that someone would do that to me. Especially someone I loved and who was supposed to love me.”

“But it’s not our fault,” Tim repeats. “It’s theirs.”

“And we can’t save everyone.”

“We shouldn’t have had to save anyone. Not even ourselves. I think back now, and I don’t remember my dad ever hitting my mom. He was verbally abusive, threatened to go farther, exhausted her emotionally and mentally. I tried to stay between him and Genny.”

“From what I’ve heard, you protected Genny from more than the bruises,” you offer. “You’re an incredible person, Tim.”

Tim smiles, turning his head toward you as his elbows rest on his thighs. “Was that flirting?”

“You’ll know when I’m flirting, Bradford,” you answer with a smile.

“When I was deployed, there were a couple guys whose wives divorced them,” Tim begins. “I found myself wondering why my mom didn’t do that. My dad would disappear for a week or so here and there. She could have left, but she didn’t.”

“I think moms try to fix everything in the only way they know how. If my mom even knew, she never showed it. But, I wondered the same thing. 20/20 hindsight, I guess.”

Tim empties his glass, then says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you inquire, setting your cup beside his.

“The stuff in my locker? No one else would have put it there.”

You duck your chin to hide your smile. “It’s what I wanted when I was stuck in this cycle as a kid. I had panic attacks for a while. Music, something comfortable to wear, something rough to hold and ground myself with, and snacks I wouldn’t get otherwise felt like an escape to a world where I was safe, different.”

“I saw a therapist who told me to find ‘a portal to a better world’ when my PTSD was at its worst,” Tim says, leaning back against the couch, his hand falling toward you. “I was reliving memories that were killing me, and couldn’t figure out how to stop the bloodshed long enough to discover Narnia.”

“Narnia?” you repeat. “I didn’t realize you were a man of taste.”

“Next time, you won’t try to distract me with sports.”

“No. Although, I’d prefer a world where there isn’t a next time.”

“That’s a world we’d have to make.”

You lock eyes with Tim, shifting closer to him as the soft hum of his air conditioner fills the room.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, brushing your fingers against Tim’s.

“Would it sound like I was flirting if I said I am now?” he questions, leaning toward you as he smiles.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But would that be such a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. After all, you trust me and I understand.”

Tim rolls his eyes at your teasing, and when you inhale, preparing to continue, he raises his right hand to your face, holding your jaw. You silence, watching Tim’s eyes.

“I don’t…” he begins. “I don’t want to be crutches.”

“Tim,” you breathe. “We’re not showing each other our scars to learn how to support each other. I’m telling you who I am because you make me better. You help me see who I am now, not who I force myself to see in the mirror. You aren’t my salvation, but I think you could be something.”

“I’ve lived in fear for most of my adult life that I couldn’t love someone, that I could tell them the truth about everything, about me. With you… telling the truth is as easy as breathing.”

“Breathing before, after, or during a panic attack?” you clarify.

“Why are we even having this conversation?” Tim jokes, shrugging. “You’ve been flirting with me for years, you clearly want me.”

“Then I guess it’s up to you,” you reply. “We’re at the edge, Tim. It’s your call. Are we going over the edge or running back to safety?”

“Tell me something about yourself,” Tim requests, pushing your hair over your shoulder.

You hum, dragging your fingers along his forearm. “I thought I was undesirable until I was, like, mid-20s.”

“What changed?” 

You shrug. “Put on the uniform, met a few badge bunnies, I don’t know. I still feel it sometimes.”

“With me?”

“No,” you whisper. “But I think you see more than my face. Your turn.”

Tim licks his lips as he thinks. “You know all my secrets now.”

“Then tell me something that isn’t a secret.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to fall in love after Isabel. Not until a few years ago.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

Tim laughs. “What else changed a few years ago?”

You trace your own life back one year, then two, then… “Oh. Me?”

“Oh. You,” Tim repeats. “I was also called Reaper in the Army.”

“That’s so much cooler than falling in love with me. How’d you get that name?”

Tim’s lips are mere inches from you as he asks, “Is that really what you want to focus on right now?”

“Promise you know we’re not crutches?” you request.

Tim takes your hand and says, “I know. You’re clearly more of a walker.”

You huff, but Tim closes the distance - finally - and kisses you slowly. With his hand on your face, your hands joined, and your knees against his thigh, you forget everything except Tim Bradford and the future you want with him.

He pulls back first, searching your eyes before you drop your chin and kiss a scar on his neck. Tim takes a shaky breath as you sit back on your socked feet. You’d felt so out of place when you first arrived, and now you’re not sure you want to leave the comfort and seclusion of Tim’s home and his arms.

“You know we’re not going to be allowed to ride together anymore, right?” Tim asks.

“Yeah. Now we can do so much more,” you reply.

“Such a flirt,” Tim murmurs.

“I’m here for you,” you remind him. “No matter when, no matter what.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer. “Prove it.”