Should I Stay Or Should I Go? (Part One)

Whatever happens Part 2 (Tim Bradford x F!Wife!Reader)

Summary: part 2 of whatever happens . after the events you are in a coma and tim is desperate for you to wake up

Part 2 was originally requested by @fyodorssimp1 . i'm sorry it took so long and that is not that great...

Warnings: : hospitals, coma, reference to torture, kidnap, ptsd.

Notes:

Sorry for the grammatical errors. I’m new at writing so feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading. do not translate or appropriate my work

Comments and kudos are highly appreciated :)

words: 2400

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Part 1

Tim had not left your side since you had got out of the ICU. It did not matter how much Angela and Lucy had pleaded him to go shower or take a bit of fresh hair. He would not leave your hand for one minute.

You were in a coma but the doctors were positive you would wake up as soon as your body had recovered a bit. He just had to wait.

After much persuasion from Lucy and Angela Tim had asked the hospital to have you two moved to a double room, so that at least he could stay on a hospital bed considering he too was full or burns and bruises and with a broken leg. The room had a bathroom too so it was easier as tim could go without worrying someone would get to you to harm you while he was away

Tim could not sleep, when exhaustion took him over while he was holding your hand, flashbacks of you being tortured and shot while he could do nothing to help you continue playing in his mind waking him up.

After two weeks he was exhausted and you still had not woken up.

Your office, the national defence, had sent officers to guard your door and to question Tim on what had happened.

He had lied, he told them you had said nothing, and that is why you had ended up like that. He was thankful that the computer with the list of agents they had written down had been shot during the recovery mission with no hardisk to recover. All the agents were safe, after what you had endured, speaking only to save him, not yourself, he could not have you loose your job or worse go to martial law.

Angela, Lucy, Jackson, Harper, Nolan and the Gray had come visit him daily. Angela and Lucy staying for hours to keep him company or bring him some food.

Tim felt useless. Less than when they had attacked you as he could not protect himself and you and now he could do nothing to help you as you fought to recover. 

Tim talked to you. They told him it could help you wake up and so he does, he talks about anything and everything, he reads you your  favorite books and puts on your favorite music. Anything that could get you to wake up.

-.-.-

The weeks pass and he starts to lose hope. Doctor after doctor says he just needs to wait that eventually you will wake up, but he is losing his mind. After one month the doctors change opinion, that the situation is more critical than they thought, that by now you should have woken up.

Tim’s word collapses, he cries, he had not cried much ever before but in these weeks he did more often that he would like to admit. The funny thing is that you would be proud of him, as you always said he should allow himself to feel his emotions more. 

Tim Bradford never begs, but for you he does, he would do anything for you. He asks you everyday to please wake up, that he can’t do it without you, he makes promises after promise.

And on a late night he is at it again, on a chair next to your bed holding your hand as he begs you to open your eyes.

‘sweetheart you need to wake up please. It’s been a month, i’m losing my mind baby.’ He asks you eyes lucid kissing your hand as he looks at your broken form in the hospital bed

‘you are my world and my sanity. I know I failed you, I did not protect you, I did not protect our home, but please I beg you. Don’t leave me. I need you. I need you to make fun of me, to compliment my cooking, to scold me when I’m too harsh with lucy, to kiss me when I had a hard day. to watch trash tv with me as I hold you pretending I hate the latest show you  got obsessed with. To knock me down when we are sparring, to leave your heels in the middle of the living room to have me trip over them. To making me feel love and complete when everyone else just sees my tough side and as you call it grumpy side. I need to hear your voice, your laugh again, to look at you as you do anything and everything. Please baby. You need to wake up, I beg you. Please for me’

He kisses you hand again, his lips lingering on it as he tries not to sob, you are so fragile and broken in that bed, a far different form of what he used to see you as. The bruises healed but the casts for your broken bones are still there.

‘I don’t think I ever told you, but when you got taken all those years ago when we were both serving in the military, I was so scared, that we were never going to find you in time, that you would die not knowing how much I loved you.  Because as we sneaked around I had been a coward and not told you how much I loved you. And when I found you, all scared and bruised in that hut, I have never been so relieved. It didn’t matter what they did to you because you were alive. I had never been so scared in my life as in those days while you were gone. then I had never been so relieved as when back then you jokingly scolded me asking me why it took me so long to tell you I loved you once I found you. I have never been so scared again until now. Baby I’m so scared for you to not wake up, to lose you, to never hear your voice again. and as back then you ended my fears by showing me you were alright I need you to give me that relief again by waking up.’ he says wiping silent tears

‘you are the strongest person I know. That time you held up, you recovered physically and mentally in a way I had never seen before. I wish I had half your strength. you proved time after time how strong you are. and you did again when you held up saying those names. What you did, resisting so long, was something I did not think any human was capable to. but I need you to be strong again now to and to wake up. I’m begging you y/n. I will do whatever you want, I will even resign and spend the rest of my life soley taking care of you, I will transfer anywhere you want, the only thing I need is for you to wake up, we will figure out the rest from there. Please baby, please wake up’ he pleads you crying as sobs run freely now

‘I swear I will never ask for anything again. if you come back to me again I will never ask for anything else, please’

It's fileable but tim feels it, your hand trying to squeeze his. He shots his head up to look at you your Eyes are still closed with no strength to open them.

‘y/n?’ he asks voice heavy and full of hope

 you manage to press his hand again. only slightly but that is enough for him

he gives a laugh that is kind of weird and ecstatic as he runs to the button next to your bed shouting for help as the nurses run in. they push him out as angela arrives for her visit of the day seeing the commotion

‘what is happening?’ she asks in worry  running to tim and placing her hand on his arm

‘she touched my hand’ he says in a mix of excitement and worry and angela hugs him never having seen him so happy

-.-.-

after a few hours when the doctors had finished run their checks, they let tim enter your room, he had never left the corridor as he and angela waited for the doctors to allow him in. You were awake and the doctors confirmed that you would have a total recovery even if it would take a few months, angela smiled at him and gently tapped his shoulders as the doctors told him he could enter the room

you were finally without tubes and awake, your voice was almost none existent as strained by the weeks with the machine helping you breath and by not having used it , you were still very weak but you were alive

‘hi’ you manage to rasp looking at him but your eyes are heavy struggling to be kept open

Tim let out a breath of relief as he rushed to your side, broken leg permitting, kissing your forehead a single tear running down his cheek. he is afraid to touch you being you still heavy injured

‘thank god you are awake baby, you scared me there’, he looks at you afraid if he tears his eyes away you would be in a coma again , he sits next to you taking your hand ‘I love you so much’ he tells you kissing your hand again

‘I …too’ you manage to say, eyes still heavy and voice almost unherdable

‘its okay rest, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere baby’ he reassures you squeezing your hand as you sleep for a bit, he stays there silently happily crying

.-.-.-.-.

You sleep for another couple of days, tim never leaving your side as the doctors reassure him that you are out of the coma and just resting. when you wake up again you are much better

‘hey baby’ tim tells you as you open and blink your eyes, he scoops nearer carefully caressing your head afraid to hurt you

‘tim’ you say, voice still hoarse but better

‘I’m here sweetheart, what do you need?’ he asks you as you start to tear up

‘the agents…’ you manage to cry out

‘they are okay. The list never made I out our living room. They are safe thanks to you’ he reassures you

‘thank god’ you say closing your eyes in relief ‘I will resign tomorrow’ 

‘no need to, no one knows that the name got out, I lied. They will question you, so stick to my version and all will be fine’ he reassures you, whispering and turning around to check that the guards outside your door cannot hear you

‘I don’t deserve to keep my job’ you say shaking your head

‘yes you do, the way you held up baby, no one would have been able as you did. you are so strong. You are a hero y/n’ he tells you meaning every word, you just nod

‘I should have protected you’ he adds guilt eroding him ‘no tim, I should have protected you’ you reply shaking your head ‘its all my fault’ you add tearing up again at the memory of what they did to him of how they almost killed him to make you talk

‘hey, hey sweetheart. No. none of this was your fault, you hold up and you saved me okay?’ he tells you voice firm, you nod again. ‘but you need to promise me something, never and I mean never again try to trade your life for mine again, okay? I cannot live without you’ he tells you now more serious as he tears up too at the memory of you asking the intruders to take you or kill you instead of him

‘I could not let them kill you, not for my life or this country, all loses importance if you are in danger tim’ you tell him shaking your head, the way they tortured him and almost shot him if the police had arrived a minute later, would hunt you for life, the image of the gun to his head as you were helpless to save him

‘you matter more, to me. More than my life and more than everything. Okay? Now don’t think about it, we are okay. Rest. You need to recover, I will be here every step of the way, no matter how long it takes, okay?’ he reassures you caressing your head as you nod and settle back In the hospital bed.  He presses a kiss to your head as he then sits back in his chair, he draws cirlces on your hand with his fingertips trying to suit you, considering most of the rest of you is still with a cast because of the may bones you broke

‘even new York?’ you ask him after a bit of silence

‘what?’ 

‘I heard you. Everything you said, every day I heard you. It felt like a dream but I heard you, you helped me come back tim’ you explain, eyes heavy again

He is silent taken back from your admission ‘ I meant every word, anywhere you want sweetheart, I love you. So much, you are all that matter to me. You want to move? Good for me’ he tells you giving you a sad smile before kissing your forehead 

‘I love you too tim. And you love los angeles you always say there is nothing quite like it, you have been here your whole life’ you reply as he pecks your lips and he wipes away your tears with his thumb

‘yes but I love you more. now rest. I’ll be here when you wake and then we will do watherver you want. Okay?’ he reassures you. You nod

‘love you’ you say as you close your eyes easing back to sleep finally feeling safe

‘I love you too sweetheart’ tim says as he too now sleeps on the chair holding your hand, for the first time in a month finally fully resting knowing you are okay

Tim Bradford master list in ‘Other Characters’ master list’

for who enquired for part 2: @starsmoonn @fyodorssimp1 @xi1dius @fuckingsimp4azriel

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

A/N: I cannot help it, I love the teeth. I love this gif.

You woke to the dark, in an unfamiliar bed, soft silk rustling beneath you as you shifted, struggling to open your eyes. When you finally managed, you realised you were not in your own room, but in Walt’s. He was sprawled on his back next to you, breathing evenly, his chest moving quietly. Memory of the earlier evening came rushing back and you touched the sore patch of skin on your neck, hissing softly as you felt two perfect tiny holes, almost healed over already.

Keep reading

Stood Too Close to a Devil

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!UC!reader

Summary: While investigating a human trafficking ring, you get in too deep. You're abducted and meet a group of women you can't leave behind. After months of fighting, you find your way home to the one safety they couldn't take from you.

Warnings: recommended 16+, human trafficking, child abduction and trafficking, allusions to SA, physical/emotional abuse, imprisonment, r is harmed numerous times, drugging, discussion of scars, depiction of corrupt politicians, comfort and early healing at the end

Word Count: 7.3k+ words

A/N: I used one of @nevereclipse 's fantastic ideas for this! The length clearly got away from me, but I love the idea of Tim being home and providing safety for someone that really needs it. Hopefully this is along of the lines of the original post and please feel free to let me know what you think!🫶🏼

You walk up the metal stairs of the cheap motel, feeling your shirt rise up on your waist with each step. The bag in your hands prevents you from pulling the worn fabric down, but it’s okay. Anything that draws attention is appreciated right now. You knock on the door with one hip pushed out to hold the bag.

“Hey, handsome,” you greet when the door opens. “I got everything you asked for.”

Stepping into the room, you set the overfilled bag on the bed and wait for the door to close. Your shoulders droop as you exhale heavily and pull your shirt down to your hips. “Twenty.”

Nyla’s eyes widen as she repeats, “Twenty? Two-zero?”

Nodding, you push your forefinger and your thumb against your eyebrows. “I know. This is way bigger than I thought.”

“It’s bigger than any of us thought,” the chief of Major Crimes agrees. “How’s your cover?”

Tim interrupts your answer and asks, “How are you?”

Licking your lips, you consider lying. “It’s rough,” you admit. “But I can do it. My cover is intact, no one suspects anything, and I’ve gotten more attention the last three nights.”

“What kind of attention?” Nyla inquires.

“Rich has been watching me while I’m working, and the guy at the front desk of the motel asks me about work every day.”

“They’re prying,” Major Crimes Chief Rodriguez says. “Trying to decide if you’re in a position to be asked.”

“Am I?”

“Not yet,” Nyla answers. “People with steady jobs and the income to stay in a long-term motel aren’t usually desperate enough to traffic.”

“Which we aren’t doing,” Tim reminds you. “We need proof, not for you to get sucked in.”

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Doesn’t make it easier to watch the twenty women they do choose get trafficked.”

“We’re doing everything we can to recover them,” Rodriguez promises. “Keep your eyes open, head down, get information, and we’ll go from there.”

“Rich got violent last night,” you tell them. “I didn’t see the knife but I heard he had one. Got up in a girl’s face because she asked if he was paying.”

“For?” Nyla asks.

“A dance.”

Tim crosses his arms tightly against his chest. He’d been against the idea of your cover job being in a sleazy bar, but there was no better option. You’re close enough to see what you need to see, yet separated just enough to not be easily pulled into it.

“Any idea when they’re planning to act next?” Rodriguez asks as he jots notes on a small black pad.

“I heard someone say something about ‘payday Friday,’ but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re pulling someone new in,” you reply.

“And it’s still too early for a hotel sting,” Tim complains.

“I’ll ask around with some of the girls, see what I can find out,” you offer. “Anything else?”

“Do you think you could get someone to take you to ‘payday Friday’?” Nyla asks. “I know it’s dangerous, but it they trust you enough, it could help.”

You nod and agree to try, though you know Tim is concerned about it. Tim wraps his hand around your arm as you pick up the emptied bag and prepare to leave. His touch is gentle and warm, and you wish you could melt into it and leave this undercover operation in the past. But you need to infiltrate this organization before they traffic even more innocent women.

“Be careful,” Tim urges you quietly. “This is way bigger than anyone knew, so if you need to get out, pull the ripcord.”

“I will,” you assure. “Thank you. You’ll be close?”

“Always.”

You leave the motel room with the promise that Tim is with you, and though it doesn’t make what you’re about to see any better, it makes your practiced confidence come a bit easier.

The black SUV waiting one block away is probably your backup. Tim’s metro team can’t be far, but as you walk deeper into an alley, following three armed men and their dates, your chest tightens. One of these women may be the target, or they could be compliant witnesses to the cruelty these men get pleasure and monetary gain from daily.

“You’ve met, right?” Rich, a regular at your cover job, asks as he gestures between you and his date.

“I don’t think so,” you answer with a smile. “I’m Jewel.”

“Do you speak Spanish, Jewel?” Rich inquires.

“A little bit.”

“Renata here doesn’t speak any English, but she’s very nice.”

You smile and introduce yourself in Spanish.

“No conozco a estos hombres,” Renata says. Her voice is strained, but her smile remains as she confides in you that she doesn’t know these men.

“What’d she say?” Rich's best friend Kol demands.

With an airy laugh, you answer, “She said she doesn’t know where to meet friends here.” Turning to her, you promise, “Te ayudaré. I told her I’d help her.”

Rich and Kol look at one another, then smile.

“I’m sure she’ll really appreciate your help,” Kol says.

His date snickers as she takes the other woman’s hand. So, they do know, you realize. And I just promised to help a woman who’s probably going to be trafficked while I stand here and watch.

“Hey, is Jewel your real name or just, you know, something you go by?” Rich wonders.

“It’s my real name,” you say, staying close to Renata.

“Sounds like a stripper,” one of the women whispers.

“Do you mind if I ask Renata for her phone number? I’d like to introduce her to some of my friends if she’s free sometime.”

Rich nods before he turns to converse privately with Kol and their dates. You raise your phone and text ‘Landlord,’ who is Tim, that something is about to go down and a woman is in immediate danger. You delete the text from your phone after it says it was delivered.

“¿Tienes un número de teléfono?” you ask Renata.

“Me dijo que la diera a la gente siete números. Me dará un teléfono antes de ayudarme a contactar a mi familia en Venezuela,” she answers quickly.

That’s not good. Rich told her to give seven random numbers and promised to get her a phone after she starts working for him to support her family in Venezuela. You know, like most cops, that if a trafficker thinks someone is willing to work to help their family in another country, they are prime targets.

Given that Rich and Kol are proven traffickers – in addition to committing other crimes – you know that you have to get Renata out of here before it is too late. She’s clearly scared, and if they catch onto her fear or realize that you’re not talking to her about meeting friends, this will go bad quickly. Tim hasn’t answered, and no police have descended on the alley, so you have to think fast. A truck approaches from the southern end of the alley, less than a quarter mile from the freeway. The men are still talking, and you take a deep breath.

“Huir,” you demand under your breath. Run away.

Renata looks at you, then takes off. Kol moves to chase her, but you step out to block his path. You’re too deep, and it will be too late to get out if Tim doesn’t bring Metro in now. But you had to help Renata. Her blood would have been on your hands if you hadn’t. Now, you’re risking your life to let her run to safety.

Rich steps forward and smiles as Kol asks what to do.

“Way I see it?” Rich answers. “We came down here to get another girl. I’m looking at one.”

“I’m not going with you,” you say, stepping back.

Kol pulls a gun from his waistband and replies, “Yeah, you are.”

You prepare to run, hoping that Tim will come around the corner. You’re still undercover, you remind yourself, and whatever happens now could save another life. Your arms are pulled tightly behind you, and you’re pushed into the back of a large white truck.

After the door closes and the truck lurches into motion, someone lights a match, and you see three women huddled in the corner, shaking and scared.

“¿Hablas ingles?” you ask.

“Yes,” one of them answers.

“I’m a police officer, okay? I’m going to do everything I can to help you and get you out of here. Are you hurt?”

“Ilsa is,” the woman with the match says. “They hit her with a metal belt.”

You move deeper into the truck and introduce yourself.

“I’m Maria, and this is my cousin Becca.”

You glance at Becca as you lift the back of Ilsa’s shirt. “How old is Becca?” you whisper.

“Fifteen, she just had her quinceañera," Maria answers.

Exhaling sharply, you examine the swollen red strip spanning Ilsa’s back. As you pull a miniature first aid kit from inside your boot, you say, “We’re going to have to work together, especially to keep Becca safe.”

“Of course,” Maria answers.

“They’re monsters,” Ilsa says. You notice immediately that her accent sounds Russian. “I’ll do anything I can to protect her. She’s only a child.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

Looking away from Ilsa’s back, you face Maria, who says, “The man with the belt was trying to keep Becca from crying.”

“Least I could do,” Ilsa murmurs before hissing in pain when you swipe an antibiotic wipe across her wound.

“It’s more than that,” you say. “I won’t lie, I’m not supposed to be here, so this is going to get worse before it gets better. Do either of you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Tijuana,” they answer together.

Your eyes widen at the information that they’re moving you across state lines, country borders, and right out of your jurisdiction. The tracker sewn into the seam of your underwear only works for a few miles, so you’re completely disconnected from your station and the people who could help. Worse, you realize as you fall back, is that you have been trafficked. You’re no longer an investigator. You’re a victim.

As the truck shakes while you head south, you remove the jacket tied around your waist and hold it to your chest as you think. It still smells like Tim’s cologne, and you breathe it in as if it will disappear at any moment. Racking your brain for an idea of what to do, you try to think like Tim and Nyla. Every thought you have of trying to stop these men ends with you dead and the women beside you living in fear in a place where they’ll likely never be found.

“Do you need anything?” you ask them.

They shake their heads, and Ilsa’s chin drops as if she’s asleep.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Maria whispers. “You’re the angel we prayed for.”

She closes her eyes as the match burns out, and you tip your head back to look at the dark ceiling above you. I’m not an angel. I just stood too close to the devil.

The truck door rolls open loudly before a blindingly bright light greets you.

“Bienvenidos a Mexico,” Rich greets. “Send the little one, we’ve got someone here who wants to meet our newest helper.”

“Take me instead,” you reply, moving toward your abductors. “I’m new, too.”

“Not exactly what I meant.”

You jump from the truck and move to stand mere inches from Rich. “You just shoved that girl in the back of a truck and drove her to another country, you’re going to have to take it easier with her. She doesn’t know what you’ve done yet.”

“She’ll have to learn,” he seethes. “And we don’t have much time for teaching.”

Leveling your gaze on his, you wait for him to give. Kol mumbles something behind him, and Rich says, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Hours later, your face feels tight from all the dried tears on it when you are shoved into a damp room lined with cots. Ilsa recites a story to Becca while Maria braids her hair, but they look up at you when the door slams and locks.

“Have you seen any other women?” you ask.

“Two more. They came in for a few minutes, then the ugly man came and took them back out,” Ilsa answers.

“They didn’t speak,” Maria adds quietly. “Do you think their spirits are gone?”

You tug the roots of your hair and answer, “For their sakes, I’m beginning to hope so.”

“Are you okay?” Becca whispers.

It’s the first time she’s spoken to you, the first you’ve heard of her voice, and you smile at her. “I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay, too.”

“What is this place?”

“It’s a bad place, and they’re going to try to let bad people do bad things to us, but I’m not going to let them,” you promise.

“You can’t,” Ilsa argues.

“I took an oath to serve and protect, and that didn’t end at the border. They’re not going to do anything to you as long as I can help it.”

“Did…” Maria begins.

“No,” you answer. “He.. No, I’m okay.”

“Knock, knock,” Kol calls obnoxiously. He sets food on the nearest cot and asks, “How’s the little princess?”

Ilsa says something in Russian as Maria moves to sit in front of Becca.

“What do you want, Kol?” you demand.

“It’s a question,” he snaps. “I want an answer.”

“You want to know how she is? She’d be better if you weren’t around.”

Kol looks over his shoulder, then demands, “Come with me.”

“No.”

“Come. With. Me. Or I’ll come in there and get you.”

You clench your jaw as you stand and follow him. The moment the soundproof door is closed, he shoves you against the concrete wall and presses his weight against your back.

“I don’t like people that talk back to me,” he seethes in your ear.

“And I don’t like people who traffic humans,” you argue, pushing back against him.

Kol raises one hand to your head, pulling it back enough to slam your nose into the wall. You can feel it break, but you’re out of tears, and he doesn’t deserve them anyway.

“Beat me, sell me all day everyday, do whatever you want, but I’m not letting you put one more finger on that little girl,” you say though the blood running over your lips.

“Sounds like a challenge!” Rich exclaims. He comes to your side and adds, “I love challenges.”

“Who are you working for?” you ask. “You two morons are barely smart enough to drive, so there’s no way you’re the masterminds.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“When someone smarter than you comes along and gets free, I want to make sure she knows who the police should be looking for.”

“They’ll never find the Vaquero.”

“Doubtful you could find him either,” you reply, attempting to kick free of Kol.

He slams his foot against the back of your ankle, and you buckle forward at the pain.

“You want to work more? I’ll get right on it,” he says before pushing you back into your prison.

In a heap on the floor, you barely manage to tell Maria to back away from you before you puke. Sitting up, you see that Becca is asleep. Ilsa watches you lean against the concrete wall, and you point to the bucket of clothes beside her. There isn’t much in it, but a bra at the bottom catches your attention. It’s wireless, of course, because these people are smart enough to avoid giving scared women anything that could be used as a weapon. You fold it so the cups are together, making it thicker, then place it between your teeth. It holds your tongue down and catches your scream as you use the sides of your palms to straighten your broken nose.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Maria chides as she looks for something to stop your bleeding.

“Hand me the jacket?” you ask.

She passes you Tim’s jacket, and you watch a tear fall onto it before you hold it against your face. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into it.

“Will he come for you?” Ilsa inquires, walking toward you.

“I don’t think I left him enough clues,” you admit, though it’s muffled.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you did.”

Looking at Maria, you say, “If I get killed, don’t let it be for nothing.”

“We’ll protect each other,” she counters.

“No matter what,” Ilsa adds.

The following day, no one enters the room. There’s water in the corner and Becca snacks on the food from the night before, but nothing changes. Tim’s jacket still holds the scent of his cologne on the end of the sleeves, and you keep it beside you as you attempt to rest. It dries your tears and holds your blood, but it’s nothing like being near Tim. It’s a reminder that you can get home, and that’s all you need it to be.

“There’s a first aid kit,” Becca says, standing from the corner. “It looks new.”

You extend your hands, and she places the metal box in your hold. Opening it, you sigh at the sight.

“It is new,” you announce. “Ilsa, let me see your back again?”

She lifts her shirt, and you begin treating the stripe. “It looks better. Hopefully this will help more.”

“I can’t feel it,” she says.

“That’s not good,” you reply immediately.

“I should say, I choose not to. We have more important things.”

“Your health is important.”

“And yours isn’t?”

After a month of preventing Ilsa, Maria, and Becca from being removed from the room, you are exhausted. Rich has taken pleasure in coming to retrieve you every time, and when he opens the door for the eighth time in five days, you stumble as you stand.

“If you’re too tired,” he taunts.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “Get out.”

“We have guests coming tomorrow,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to have to get along with me, or they’ll show you a different kind of punishment.”

“It can’t get much worse.”

Rich walks toward you, and you notice a rope in his hand. “Trust me, it can. Now, let’s go.”

“What are you doing?” Ilsa demands.

“Leashing the dog,” he answers darkly. He steps behind you, his breath warm and too close to your skin. “Walk.”

You exit the room and decide not to fight back as he secures your wrists and up to your elbows with the rope. It’s uncomfortable and pulls your shoulders into a dangerous position, but talking too much will only feed his ego and endanger every woman in this bunker.

“Open your mouth,” he says as he walks before you. “Now.”

After you lick your lips, he pries your mouth open and pours something inside. He taps your neck, forcing you to swallow, and you feel your muscles weaken as he leads you toward the exit. You urge yourself to remember the route to reach the door where the sunlight shines beneath it, but each step is heavier than the last and requires concentration.

Rich uses your restraints to pull you to a stop. You tip back and can’t catch yourself with your hands, so you fall to your butt and groan. To stay upright, you cross your legs and wait.

“I said I wanted someone who could look the part of a cop,” someone with a familiar voice complains. “She can barely stand.”

“When the drug wears off, she’ll be fine,” Rich explains. “Did you bring it?”

“You induced myopathy to walk her to the door? What is she, a fighter?”

“She’s an annoyance. Remind her that we’re here alone with her friends. She’ll do whatever you want.”

You can hear the man's smile as he repeats, “Whatever I want.”

However, he doesn’t have to remind you of anything because you do what he asks. There’s a feeling in the air like something big is happening, and you want to be out of your cell for it. You can only hope that Ilsa, Becca, and Maria are safe while you’re gone, but believing they are makes it even more important to obey and keep them safe.

“Put this on,” the man – tall, older, and clearly not Mexican – demands as he tosses a small costume package to you.

You catch it, fully recovered from the drug’s effects, and look at the skimpy black fabric within. As you remove it from the package, you realize who the man is and why he sounded familiar in the bunker. Councilman Brek has been demanding in every interview he’s done, and it’s been rumored he has the city and government employees in Los Angeles in his wallet to stay in office so long.

“You’re Vaquero?” you guess.

“Maybe I am, which means you do precisely what I say. I don’t trust you, so you’re going to have to change here and now,” he instructs slowly.

Nodding, you begin to change as quickly as possible. The so-called police uniform is little more than a too-small vest and a tube-style skirt with a light badge hanging from it.

“Perfect,” the man applauds, blatantly looking at your body rather than your face. “Let me introduce you to the girls. Ladies!”

You follow him into another room where seven women are dressed in similar outfits, in different colors, and bearing agency badges.

“Tonight, you will be known as your badges. So, we’ve got DEA, NSA, CIA, FBI, LAPD, NYPD, ICE, and CSI, how needs some glasses.”

You look at each woman as he speaks and wonder where they’re from. You can't guess if they’re working for him legitimately or if they’re all like you. For all anyone knows, they could be undercover, too, though the pleased smile on CSI’s face after she receives glasses makes you think otherwise.

“Finish your shift without incident and we’ll talk. Anything happens, tell my assistant Mark and he’ll handle it. The rules are simple: You work, they pay. If someone tries to do anything without paying, Mark is your first contact. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply with the other women.

The clock on the wall says four a.m. when you consider calling for Brek's assistant Mark, but remember Rodriguez’s advice: keep your head down. If you can get through tonight without causing any problems, maybe Rich and Kol will trust you enough to give you more freedom. It’s unlikely, but lives are at stake, including your own.

“Come to papa, LAPD!”

You turn and smile at the short Latino man beckoning you closer. Extending your hand, you wait for him to pay you with one hand on your hip.

“I said come here,” he repeats.

Rubbing your fingers together, you remind him, “I’m supposed to receive payment first.”

He twists his head to crack his neck and then extends his arms. His hands grip your barely covered hips before he pulls you into his lap.

“Let go,” you demand under your breath, looking around for Mark and wishing it was Tim coming to help you.

If you were undercover in LA, Tim would have already had this guy off of you, and tears prick your eyes when you remember how long it has been since you saw him and worked with him.

“Stop fighting,” the man says.

His demand is punctuated by the telltale sound of a switchblade. NYPD slows as she walks behind you, and when the man shifts his hand to squeeze your thigh instead, she screams Mark’s name.

Before he reaches you, you press your hands against the man’s shoulders and shove yourself away from him. You realize then that the knife was closer than you thought. Mark hauls the man out of his chair and disappears. NYPD and DEA escort you back to the room where you got dressed and encourage you to sit.

“Is this yours?” DEA asks, raising Tim’s jacket.

“Yeah,” you answer.

She presses it against your bleeding inner thigh, and you dig your fingers into the chair beneath you.

“This needs stitches,” NYPD says. She looks around before whispering, “Are you working here?”

You shake your head in a small motion, and she chews her bottom lip.

“We have a sewing kit,” DEA whispers. “But I don’t know if that would work.”

“I do,” you interject. “Bring it to me?”

She hesitates but does as you ask. NYPD threads the needle after DEA sterilizes it over a nearby burning candle. You remove Tim’s jacket and put the end of the sleeve in your mouth to bite down on. Each stitch burns worse than the last, and your fight to stay conscious makes your hands shake.

NYPD takes the needle, tugs the jacket sleeve free, and says, “Breathe, LAPD.”

You mumble your name, and she smiles as she says, “I’m Jessica. I’ve been watching, so I can try to finish them if you want.”

“Please.”

“You’ll scar her!” DEA argues.

“It’s going to scar no matter what,” you say. “I’m not that good. Please just help me.”

NYPD nods as you let your eyes close momentarily.

Tim could have kept it from scarring you think just before Mark enters the room to escort you back to work.

Kol doesn’t see the wound when he arrives to take you back to the bunker. Not that you think he’d care, but you covered it just in case he’d make you stop taking the “jobs” intended for Becca, Maria, and Ilsa.

Lowering carefully onto your cot, you let the pain in again and acknowledge it with a groan.

“What happened?” Ilsa asks, rushing to your side.

“I need the first aid kit, please.”

Maria turns away to distract Becca when she sees your patched-together stitches, but Ilsa kneels beside you to help.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” she murmurs.

“It’s been a long month,” you correct her.

She chuckles wetly, and you smile as she wraps bandages around your thigh. The bloody jacket is clutched to your chest, and you once again wish that it was Tim holding you, and not you desperately gripping the idea of him.

“It’s been months without a word, Tim,” Nyla says. “Rodriguez has other cases, but that doesn’t mean he’s giving up on her.”

“He closed the case!” Tim yells. “It has been weeks since he looked at anything related to the traffickers, and suddenly it’s time? She’s still out there, Nyla!”

“I understand, Bradford, I do, but until we can pick up their trail again, there is nothing we can do.”

“So, you expect me to just go back to work while one of our own is being trafficked?”

“I expect you to do what you need to do to make Rodriguez think you’re not undermining him,” Nyla says quietly. “I’ve been looking too. We’re not going to let her disappear.”

“And if she’s already gone?”

“We find the people who took her and make them pay with everything they have left.”

“Everybody pack up and drink up,” Rich demands as he kicks the door open.

“Drink what?” Maria asks, leaning up to look at the clear glasses on his tray.

“You’re going home.”

“What?” you, Ilsa, and Maria exclaim together.

“The Vaquero bailed you out. The drink is a celebration.”

“We’re going home?” Becca asks Maria, gripping her hand tightly.

“Three of you.” Rich looks at you, and you nod. They're freedom is your hush money, and it will work... for now. You'll stay quiet about Councilman Brek being Vaquero if it gets these women home.

“No,” Ilsa says. “I’m not drinking that if she’s not going with us.”

“Yes, you are,” you tell her. “You’re going home because that was always the goal.”

“What about the other women?!” she exclaims.

“I’ll work to free them next.”

“You’d die before you did that,” Rich says. “It took you over five months to free these three. You think we don’t have replacements for them already on the way?”

“You got what you wanted, Rich,” you say. “Ladies, pack and drink. I’ll cheers with you.”

You wrap Tim’s jacket around your waist, tap your glass against theirs, drink, set the glass down, and fall into darkness.

“Where are the tracking records?” Angela asks.

“From the underwear tracker?” Nyla clarifies as she leans over Tim’s table.

“That’s where her tracker was?” Tim asks, furrowing his brows.

“I guess Rodriguez didn’t put them in the file,” Nyla says, frowning. “Or they’re digital and he couldn’t figure out control-P. Let me check.”

Tim looks at surveillance pictures of you as Nyla clicks through the laptop before her.

“Printer is full if you need to use it,” he murmurs.

“Thanks.”

Angela stands to retrieve the papers as Nyla lifts your undercover phone from the charger.

“Tim,” Angela calls, looking at the top page. “Did you get a text from her the day she was abducted?”

“No,” he answers, raising his head.

“She deleted it, but the metadata is still there.”

Nyla extends her hand and reads the information on the page before looking up at Tim. “It says it delivered.”

Tim takes his phone from his pocket and checks, but there are no messages from you. Angela checks the other undercover phone, but there are no messages there either.

“Where did it deliver, then?” Nyla wonders. “It says she sent it to ‘Landlord.’”

“Landlord?” Tim asks. “On the last day she was here?”

“Right.”

“Rodriguez changed our covers the morning before. He told me he let her know. Landlord texts went to Rodriguez.”

Nyla purses her lips before she asks, “Which city council member endorsed Rodriguez for chief?”

“Brek,” Angela answers. “It fueled the pay-off rumors.”

“There’s something else going on here,” Nyla says. “And Rodriguez knows about it.”

“I’ll call-“ Tim begins.

“We don’t know who we can trust,” Angela interrupts.

“Wade,” he finishes. He pauses and looks up rather than making the call.

“Call him,” Angela and Nyla say together.

You blink your eyes open, realize you don't recognize the room around you, and sit up quickly.

“I gave you a very thorough description,” Councilman Brek complains. “She looks nothing like what I asked for. If I’m paying for you to bring them up to LA, I expect to get what I pay for.”

“Sir, we don’t have anyone fitting that description,” Rich explains. “And you liked her before.”

“But this isn’t before, is it? She's cost me enough money without this screw up.”

“Excuse me?” you interrupt. “I- I’m from LA, and I know a lot of women willing to do anything for money. Maybe I can help you get what you want.”

You bite your tongue after you speak to keep your stomach from flipping. You’re offering to traffic someone else, and even though it’s a cover to get these men in custody, it still feels wrong.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable divulging that information to you,” Councilman Brek replies.

“Who is she gonna tell?” Kol points out. "She's been quiet about everything else."

Brek sighs, then says, “I want a dark woman with natural hair, shorter than me, relatively small, and mouthy.”

You manage to keep your eyes from widening at his precise desire and somewhat racist description. “Yeah, I know someone like that.”

“You do?” Brek and Kol ask together.

“I only know her first name,” you reply. “It’s Crystal. I know where she lives, like geographically, not the address.”

“I want Crystal,” Brek decides, turning toward Rich. “Take LAPD here to fetch Crystal and bring them both back.”

“Yes, sir,” Rich and Kol answer together.

You walk out to the car with them and slide into the passenger seat. They brought your clothes with you during the overnight transport back to LA. Now, Tim’s jacket hangs off one shoulder as you give Rich directions to an undercover residence. He parks, and you’re surprised when he and Kol unbuckle their seatbelts. Your hand moves to release yours, and Rich backhands you. His ring draws blood on your cheek.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you waltz up there, did you?” Rich asks.

“Just surprised you wear seatbelts,” you answer meekly.

He locks the doors behind him, trapping you in the car, and you watch as they walk to the door you pointed out and ask for Crystal. A nearby Metro team that was likely on standby ambushes them nearly immediately after hearing Detective Harper's previous undercover name. Without time to react, they’re cuffed and placed in patrol cars before they even realize what’s happening.

When more officers arrive to keep up appearances, you know you must get out of here. With Tim’s jacket protecting your skin, you break the passenger side window, climb out, and run through the night.

When you finally reach the door you’ve dreamed of walking through for nearly half a year, it is dark, and the city is as asleep as it gets. You haven’t had a home in too long, and thinking of going to the station to answer questions about every little thing you saw and did makes you nauseous. So, you linger outside the one place you can think to go. Raising your hand, you grip the sleeve in your fist and knock.

The door opens harshly as if the person is grumpy from being woken or unimpressed by such a late visit. You forget to breathe when you see the man at the door and the first breath you force yourself to take causes a tear to roll over your cheek. Tim steps toward you, his shoulders dropping as his eyes widen and his gaze softens. He sees the blood on your cheek but doesn’t try to touch you.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit quietly.

Tim nods and pushes the door open wider for you. With the sleeves of his old jacket grasped between your hands, you step into his home and wait.

“I… What do you need?” he asks.

You look down, unsure about where to start answering that question. “A shower would be nice,” you reply.

Tim leads you through his house and into his bedroom. He tells you where all of his clothes are, where the fresh towels are under the sink, and invites you to use whatever you want.

“I’ll be close, if you need anything,” he says before closing the door behind him. “You can lock the door,” he adds through the wood.

You lay your hand on the doorknob, then let your fingers slip off without locking it. Navigating carefully and quietly through Tim's room, you take a few pieces of his clothing into the bathroom. The warm shower feels good, but you hate that you can’t hear well over the falling water, so you cut your time in the cleansing stream short. Dressed in Tim’s clothes, you walk through his bedroom and open the door. Tim stands from his position on the floor, where he’d been waiting down the hall in case you called for him.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” he says. “Do you know what you want to do?”

“Can I just…” You trail off and gesture weakly in an around motion.

“Yeah, of course,” Tim answers. “I’ll be on the couch.”

He listens as you pace through his hallway and into his bedroom. You’re not the woman he knew before, and he understands that, but his worry about you and concerns about what you’ve been through threaten to overwhelm him.

Ten minutes later, you enter the living room and sit on the other end of the couch. You pinch Tim’s sweatpants between your fingers and avoid looking at him, but you’ve never been happier to be in his presence, to be sitting beside him.

“I’m here,” Tim says. “I don’t want to push anything on you, but whatever you need, whatever I can do – or not do – to help you, I am here.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking up to see him. “I missed you.”

“You had my jacket.” Tim’s eyes drop momentarily like he’s trying to place what else is different about you.

“I couldn’t look in the mirror,” you confide. “Is my nose crooked? Or crookeder than before?”

Tim hesitates before he answers. Not because your nose is crooked and he’s preparing to lie, but because he’s wondering what happened to your nose and who caused it.

“It looks perfect,” he says. “Like before.”

You place your hand gently over your nose and say, “Kol broke it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers.

You drop your hand and nod at him. Moving closer, you close some of the distance between you. “I want to feel like me again.”

“You will,” he promises. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I might’ve used all that strength.”

“Then you’ll use ours. Everyone around you is ready to help you.”

“Until they find out what I did and have to hear my word against his,” you murmur.

Tim wants to know more about what that means, but your head drops against his shoulder, and suddenly, you are the only thing in the world that matters.

“How’d it go?” Tim asks as you exit the locker room a week later.

“Okay,” you answer carefully. “I don’t think the DA completely believed me about Councilman Brek, but everyone else in the room did. Hopefully Rich and Kol are cowardly enough to take a plea deal and testify against him.”

Someone calls your name as you enter the station’s lobby with Tim.

“Ilsa?!” you exclaim, rushing to hug her. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“My father hired a PI after my return, and the man found more women. We are here to talk to the detective.”

“Which detective?” you inquire, hoping it isn’t Rodriguez.

“That would be me,” Nyla says. “Major crimes was stretched a little thin, and when I saw your name in Ms. Alekseev’s report, Lopez and I jumped on it.”

“Thank you. Ilsa, here’s my number,” you say, handing her a card.

She hugs you again and turns around just before she reaches the door. “Thank you for saving our lives. Maria and Becca went to the embassy when we returned. They’re with their family.”

Nyla mouths safehouse and you nod in understanding.

“You’re brave, Ilsa. Thanks for keeping me safe.”

“I don’t think one bandage makes us even.”

“We’re survivors, that makes us even.”

She waves and follows Nyla into the station as you and Tim exit. He leads you to his truck and opens the passenger door for you, repeating one bandage over and over in his mind. Realistically, he knew you had to have received injuries, but other than the broken nose, he doesn’t know exactly what you went through. Only that Councilman Brek was involved.

“Want me to order dinner?” you ask as Tim backs out of the parking space.

“Whatever you want,” he answers, meaning it in more ways than dinner.

An hour after you wish Tim goodnight and retreat to his extra bedroom, you knock on his partially open door. He invites you in, and you don’t hesitate to enter and tuck one leg under you as you sit on his bed.

“Can we talk?” you ask.

“Of course,” he answers, turning to focus completely on you.

“First, thank you for letting me stay here. I’m working on finding a new place, but I really didn’t want to be alone.” Tim nods, so you continue, “The day they took me, I texted who I thought was you, as you know, but when they put me in the truck, there were three women inside.”

“Ilsa?” Tim guesses.

“Yeah, and she had just been injured. And then Becca and Maria. Becca- She’s 15, Tim. I couldn’t leave them in there, defenseless.”

“Wait,” Tim murmurs, laying his hand over yours. “No one blames you for getting trapped. You were abducted, that’s not something anyone is going to be mad about.”

“I probably could’ve fought and gotten out. I couldn’t leave them.” Tim nods, so you tell him about your first few nights in Mexico, about the bunker and Rich and Kol, and about how you kept Becca as far from everything as possible.

“And Brek bought their freedom to keep me quiet about him being Vaquero,” you finish, leaving out the worst of your experiences. “I think about it a lot, but the worst memories come when I’m trying to sleep.”

“I get it,” Tim assures you. “I’ve got a past that plagues me too. It gets better, and you’re not alone.”

“I feel safe with you,” you admit, dropping your eyes to where Tim’s hand rests on yours. “When I convinced them to let me lead them to Crystal, I was scared I’d never find who I was before.”

“And now?”

“I know I can,” you say. “With you.”

“Can I ask something?” Tim requests. “You can say no, and you don’t have to answer.”

“Of course.”

“There was dried blood on your clothes when you showed up. Was it all yours?”

You nod and unconsciously shift closer to Tim.

“Some of it was from the broken nose. Tim, your jacket kept me alive. It held a lot of blood and tears, but it reminded me of home, of you, and it helped me fight when I thought I had nothing left.”

Tim swallows, and his eyes drop. You follow his gaze, then lay your hands over the jagged scar on your thigh.

“You’re safe,” you repeat. “I can be me again with you. And I can never thank you enough for that.”

Tim slowly raises his hand to your face to catch the escaping tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, and Tim promises to stay close.

“Brek has some illegal strip club or bar, I don’t know exactly what it is, down there,” you begin. “I was there for a night, dressed – which is a generous term for the uniform – like a cop, and some guy didn’t like the order of how things happened.”

“You’re okay,” Tim promises.

You lean into him, resting against his chest as he shifts his arms to hold you. With your shoulder tucked beneath his, your face on his chest, and your legs pulled over his, Tim holds you like he never wants to let you go. You’re a cop and are far from naïve about the dangers and the evil of the world, but right here, you feel completely safe and more at home than anywhere else. Tim’s finger drags lightly over the scar as he kisses your forehead.

“We’re going to get him, and get all of those women home,” you say. “Nyla told me that you didn’t give up on me, even when Rodriguez tried to sweep everything.”

“Of course not. I knew you’d be fighting even harder to get home.”

After a moment, Tim asks, “Did you get a tetanus shot?”

You laugh. For the first time since returning home, you truly, joyfully laugh. “Yes, I did,” you answer with a smile. “Thank you for seeing me through the scars.”

Tim smiles, gently tracing your cheekbone and jaw, and silently promises to make every single person involved pay for what they did. He'll start with the man who assaulted you with a knife and work down the list.

“Tim,” you say. It draws his attention back to this moment. “Do things have to go back to exactly how they were before?”

Tim looks down your body, then raises his brows. Clearly, your position says no, but you want confirmation from Tim that you’re more than you were before.

“Can I show you?” he asks.

“I’d love that.”

Tim flattens his palm against your cheek and drops his chin to kiss you. It’s slow, and though his hands are on you, it’s different than before. You’re not scared of touch, you realize, leaning into his hands. Tim Bradford is home, he’s safe, and you love him. Despite the scars, the trauma, and the unforgettable horrors you’ve seen and experienced, he loves you too.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispers against your lips.

His hand drops to your leg once more, and when he doesn’t hesitate to brush it over your scar, you smile and say, “Maybe repeat it? Make sure I got everything?”

Smiling, Tim says, “If anything ever feels wrong, or brings up something you don’t like, promise to tell me?”

You offer your pinky to promise, and Tim takes your wrist gently in his hand. The scars circling your wrists and forearms have lightened, but the deep rope burn carved into them will never disappear entirely. After Tim kisses a darker scar, he hooks his pinky in yours.

A Manly Guard Dog

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: You've been asking your husband for a dachshund, but he tells you that you need a manly dog. When the K9 unit gets a new recruit, Tim reevaluates his view of dachshunds.

Warnings: teasing/banter, pure fluff

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Tim?” you whisper over your dimmed phone screen. “Are you asleep?”

“That depends,” your husband Tim answers. “Why?”

“Look at this.”

“I’m asleep.”

You roll your eyes at his poor attempt to avoid talking to you, even though it is the middle of the night and he has to be at the station in the morning. Despite feeling bad for waking him up, you know he’s awake and need to ask him something important.

“Tim, it hurts,” you add.

“What hurts?” he asks as he sits up quickly. After he pushes up onto his hands, Tim leans toward you and reaches over you to turn on the lamp on your nightstand.

“Look,” you repeat, extending your phone toward Tim so he can see the dog on the screen. “It hurts because I don’t have one of my own.”

“A dachshund? We’re back to this again?” Tim asks incredulously.

“Tim, I want a dog.” Your words are emphasized by your pout, but Tim only grunts as he turns the light off and lies down again.

“If we ever get a dog - big if,” Tim murmurs, “it has to be a manly dog. One that can protect you when I’m not here.”

“We can train a dachshund to be a guard dog,” you argue. “They’re vigilant, loyal, vocal, and easy to train. Tim, it would be perfect and so cute!”

Tim tosses an arm over your waist and kisses your temple before he responds, “Go to sleep.”

As you move closer to him to do just that, he whispers, “I love you, but we’re not getting a wiener dog.”

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Lucy calls as Tim exits the locker room the following morning. “Oh, you’re not going to believe this.”

“Then don’t tell me,” Tim deadpans.

“So, there’s a new K9, right?” Lucy begins as they walk toward the bullpen.

“And you’re telling me.”

“The trainer brought Officer Fuzz over. Cutest name ever, I know. But when we heard that they were working with a new breed we thought it would be a husky or something. It’s not. It’s so much better. Guess what it is, Tim!”

Tim stops in the middle of the bullpen. A crowd of officers surrounds the K9 trainer, and between two cops, Tim can barely make out the shape of…

“A dachshund?” Tim asks loudly.

“Yes!” Lucy cheers. “Isn’t it awesome?!”

“I can’t believe this.”

“C’mon,” Lucy urges, pulling Tim along by his arm. “Meet Officer Fuzz.”

Tim squats to pet the friendly dog and shakes his head at the tiny K9 vest he’s wearing.

“Nice to meet you, Fuzz,” Tim mumbles. “My wife’s never going to let me hear the end of this, pal.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls from the other side of the circle. “How would you like to take them out for a ride along?”

Tim stands as the trainer adds, “I’d love to join one of the best officers in the field to test Officer Fuzz’s progress.”

“Sure,” Tim answers through gritted teeth. “But are dachshunds really worth anything in a job like this?”

The trainer and Officer Fuzz follow Tim toward his shop, and Tim can’t help but watch the small dog walk happily through the station on his first day.

“If they’re trained right, they certainly can. They’re bred to hunt badgers by tracking scents and entering their burrows. A lot of those skills translate to police dog responsibilities. Basically, because of their intimidating bark, alertness, devotion, braveness and stubbornness - courtesy of their hunting instincts - they’re perfect. Fuzz here can scare a suspect or locate bombs, drugs, you name it.”

“Scare suspects until they see him, you mean,” Tim points out.

“Well, Bradford. Let’s test your theory.”

“LAPD!” Tim yells. “On the ground!”

Behind him, Officer Fuzz barks.

“Is that a dog?” the suspect attempting to steal a sports car asks. “Your car doesn’t say K9.”

“Show me your hands and drop to your knees!” Tim repeats. “Or I can call my K9 partner over here.”

The man seems to weigh his options, then drops his tool and raises his hands over his head.

“Scared of dogs?” Tim asks.

“Police dogs are crazy dangerous, man. Scared is smart, that’s what my-“

“I don’t care who said it,” Tim interjects before he begins reciting the Miranda rights.

When Tim opens the back door of his car, Officer Fuzz growls lowly before barking once.

“Whoa! I’m not sitting by that thing!”

“See the barrier? That’s for your safety, not ours,” Tim says. “Now get in.”

At lunch, Tim pulls his phone from his pocket and begins to type. He hesitates, however, and looks away before he can finish the search.

“Chen!” he calls, waving for Lucy to join him. “Where can I adopt a dachshund?”

Lucy’s eyes widen in excitement before she asks, “You’re getting a dog?!”

“I’m getting my wife a dog.”

“Because of Officer Fuzz,” Lucy states (not asks).

“No,” Tim defends. “No, I just… Dachshunds are a good option for family pets and protection.”

“Which you know because of Officer-“

“Fine, yes,” Tim admits quickly. “Do you know where I can adopt one or not?”

“Maybe you should ask the K9 trainers,” Lucy suggests. “They’ll know where to get a good one.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”

“Sure thing.” Lucy stands to return to her partner, but not before she says, “And I’m glad you’re finally listening to your wife.”

“No, quiet,” Tim commands. “Good. Now, sit.”

“Tim?” you call from the front door.

“Uh, one second!” Tim calls.

He sounds frazzled, and you walk toward his voice before you stop. Tim is whispering to someone, but you can’t make out what he’s saying before the bedroom door opens.

“Hi,” you greet. “Are you okay?”

“You’re home early,” he replies, gripping the doorknob tightly.

You glance at the time on your phone and say, “No, I’m not.”

Tim’s brows furrow as he looks at his watch. He nods, then laughs and locks eyes with you.

“Am I interrupting something?” you ask.

“No, well, yes, but no.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Tim sighs and reaches toward you. You don’t hesitate to step forward and lay your hand on his. With his hand wrapped around yours, Tim leads you into the bedroom, and inside, a brown blur races toward you.

“Tim!” you exclaim as the long-haired dachshund puts its front paws on your leg and wags its tail happily. “A dachshund!”

“Canis lupus familiarias. The K9 trainer that helped me out told me all about them,” he explains.

“Is he…” You trail off, unprepared to hear a negative answer.

“He’s ours,” Tim answers happily. “He’s already been obedience trained and I’m going to work with him to create the smallest but mightiest guard dog you’ve ever seen.”

You pull the dog into your arms and hug him kindly before you lean against Tim’s chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into Tim’s eyes.

“Sorry I said no for so long.”

“What changed your mind?”

Tim doesn’t answer, and you turn your attention to your new pet, or guard dog as Tim introduced him to you.

“Was it Lucy? I bet it was Lucy,” you whisper to the dog.

“It was Officer Fuzz,” Tim grumbles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Officer who?”

“New K9 who I’m sure you’ll meet next time you visit the station.”

“I love you.”

Tim kisses your head before he asks, “Wait, me or the dog?”

Arrest Me, Cop Cutie

Part 1 -> Part 2 -> Part 3

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After another failed attempt at a date, Tim goes undercover. You have no choice but to arrest him, and he's unhappy with the decisions you make trying to do so.

Warnings: brief angst, minor injuries, fluff, Tim gets flirty when he's undercover, mention of drug trafficking, typical show warnings

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

she puts the short in shorty, and he looks like he wants to chase me. cop cuties, cute and on duty, navy blue booties, go ahead and lock me up.

“So,” you begin.

“Don’t,” Tim interrupts, raising one hand from the steering wheel to point at you. “Just don’t.”

“Big, bad Bradford believes in jinxing?” you ask sarcastically. “And here I thought you were just keeping up appearances to hide the softie within.”

Tim sighs, slowing as he hits his blinker. You’ve been trying to get dinner together for weeks. Something comes up whenever you attempt to go somewhere together or meet at a restaurant. The first time, Tim got called in for a last-minute Metro assignment. Most recently, you were both alerted of a nearby officer-involved shooting. So far, tonight seems quiet, but you understand Tim’s hesitance to admit it. Though you’re still confused about why Tim agreed to get dinner with you after you handcuffed him to a guardrail in a warehouse-turned-drug-house, you want the date to go well. Is it a date? you ask yourself. Tim never clarified if this was for both of you or just for the apology you offered to give.

Tim parks outside a restaurant Lucy recommended and waits for a moment. Everything remains calm, and you smile because you can finally have dinner with Tim Bradford.

And then your phone rings, so the moment is shattered.

“Hello?” you greet, closing your eyes. You listen to Angela’s quick recount of the last half hour, then say, “Yeah, I can be there in a few minutes… Mmhmm, no problem.”

Ending the call, you drop your phone to your lap and shake your head. “I’m so sorry, Tim. Lopez needs-“

Tim’s phone ringing cuts you off, and he shows you Angela’s name on the caller ID before he answers. A moment later, he shifts into reverse and backs out of the parking space.

“Jake Butler,” Tim says. “I thought we threw him in jail after the Vegas incident.”

“We did,” you answer flatly. “Guess he got out. If I find him, he’s going to pay for ruining everything.”

“Did Angela tell you anything else?”

“Just that he was back on their radar, and they saw an opening to figure out the operation.”

“Fantastic,” Tim deadpans.

“Hey, bro!” Jake exclaims as you and Tim enter the interview room with Angela. “Whoa, you clean up nice, man? You on a date or something?”

“Something,” Tim replies, crossing his arms over his chest. “Get to the point, Butler.”

“Must’ve been a good something,” Jake murmurs. He looks at you and smiles before explaining the deal going down tonight.

“What is your boss expecting you to bring?” you inquire.

“Good work ethic,” he says, shrugging. “And product, obviously.”

“How much product?” Tim presses.

“The exact amount that is in my car.”

“We’ll be confiscating all of that after the operation,” Angela reminds him. Turning to you, she says, “He’s offering his car as part of the deal with the DA. This guy has only spoken to Jake here on the phone, so there’s not much of a chance of anyone close to him noticing any difference when Tim walks in.”

“Yeah,” Jake drawls. “Y’all see the tats, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer. “We see the tats.”

“How long do we have?” Tim asks.

“Drop is at 6,” Jake says. “I park in the underground lot, go up to his penthouse, and we work from there.”

“Specific,” you mumble, drawing a grunt from Tim.

“Thanks, Mr. Butler,” Angela says. “And if anything you told us was wrong, we’re throwing your deal in the gutter with your future. Okay?”

“Yeah, shawty.”

Tim rolls his eyes and follows Angela out of the room. You linger until the door is closed and ask, “Is there anything else you think you should tell us?”

“There’s a panic room,” Jake admits. “Code was 1016 last I was there.”

You nod, then exit the room and wonder what you’d be doing right now if your night had gone according to plan.

“UC parked in 238, underground lot,” someone radios.

You watch the cameras in the surveillance van, tracking Tim’s movements toward the penthouse. While Tim was being transformed to look like Jake, you insisted on staying with Metro for the duration of the operation. You must be close enough to bail Tim out if things go south, you explained. Your captain then brought up the defiance of direct orders during your last Metro op. You were only allowed to join the team with Angela’s vote of confidence and your promise to do anything and everything they say to keep Bradford safe.

Tim knocks on the door and greets the large, armed man who opens it. He sounds like Jake, but you know it’s Tim, and your heart rate speeds up with each step he takes inside. Once he’s in the penthouse, you can’t see him. You can hear him through a long-distance microphone attached to the sniper’s rifle across the street. His tracker blinks on one of the screens, and you clench your jaw as you listen and watch.

“Where’s my stuff, Butler?” someone yells.

“Whoa, man, I wasn’t gonna cart that kind of purchase past the doorman,” Tim argues with a chuckle.

“Whose decision is that? Whose paying for all of it? Who got you out of jail?!”

That answers one question.

“Last we talked, you told me to park, come up here, and we’d work from there,” Tim reminds him. “If you changed the plan without telling me, I guess that’s on me.”

“That was never the plan. Are you trying to screw me, Butler?”

“Nah, man, just a miscommunication. Tell me what you want me to do to fix it.”

The man hesitates, then repeats, “Fix it?”

You stand as the officer sitting across from you prepares to open the door. The van is painted to look like an internet service vehicle, so you could park close to the apartments where Tim is.

“Yeah, I’ll do whatever it takes,” Tim replies.

The unmistakable sound of guns racking fills the van, and the Metro commander radios for everyone to move in now. Running through the parking lot and into the building, you don’t notice the stares you receive, only the intel communicated through your earpiece.

“UC held at gunpoint,” the sniper alerts. “I don’t have a clear shot. Three armed men, plus two at the door.”

“Suspect has cameras on his floor,” another voice says. “Approach from the southern elevators and utilize limited penetration entry through the front door.”

You race up the steps, your heart pounding like it will break through your ribs. Tim is in danger, his life is being threatened, and you’re terrified that you’re too far away to save him. When you reach the landing on the penthouse floor, you struggle to focus on your job. With a deep breath, you remind yourself to obey for Tim. If you rush in, you’ll just get yourself killed, too.

“Hold!” the commander instructs. “We’ve lost visual. UC is moving west.”

“There’s nothing to the west,” Angela replies. “It’s blocked off. Probably utilities.”

“The panic room!” you remember.

“Butler didn’t tell you where it was,” she argues. “We can’t tell on thermal.”

“It’s probably lined, but you’re right.”

“We don’t have time to wait,” Angela decides. “Assume our UC is in the panic room but keep your eyes open and stay alert. Breach.”

You’re fourth in line as you enter the penthouse. Seven Metro officers against five armed criminals is as close to a fair fight as you can expect in your line of work. When you step inside, the man who was guarding the door runs toward you. Dropping your gun, you brace yourself against his hit. His hands shove into your shoulders, and you grip his wrists as he pushes you against the wall. Everyone around you is fighting, so you hold your own against a man who outweighs you and towers over you. Tim is nowhere in sight, nor is Jake’s employer, so you’ll have to fight through this chaos to find him.

Tim watches as the man leading him through a lead-lined hallway types 1-0-1-6 into a keypad. It opens a door into what is clearly a doomsday-style panic room, and he raises his hands as he’s shepherded into it. The heavy doors silence the fight outside, so Tim doesn’t know whether his backup is on the way or if they can locate this well-hidden last resort.

“Where’d the cops come from, Butler? You workin’ with them now?” the man demands, brandishing a curved knife.

“What cops, man?” Tim asks, his voice rising in imitation of Jake.

“The doorman saw a whole team of uniformed tactical guys rush into the place! That’s not what I signed up for.”

“Me neither! Do I look like I’d be making a deal with cops? I’m low-time, I’d go to jail either way and you know better than some attorney that I don’t do cells.”

“Then tell me how they found us right after you did!”

Tim steps back, creating room between himself and the knife. Without any weapons, he would prefer to de-escalate the situation verbally if possible. As the man looks at him, he sees a crazy look in his eyes and assumes the verbal response is no longer an option.

The Metro officers who entered the penthouse with you zip-tie the wrists of the five armed men while you look for an entrance to the panic room. A small latch on the side of a bookshelf catches your attention, and you tug it. The shelf pops away from the door, and a hiss sounds as you pull it open farther.

“I’ll get the UC,” you offer.

“We’ll keep these guys quiet,” an officer replies. “Radio if you need help.”

You nod once, then jog into the hallway. There’s a keypad halfway down the hall, and you hold your tongue between your teeth as you type in the code Jake gave you. Another door hisses as its seal is broken.

“Knock knock!” you call, raising your gun to your shoulder as you move toward the lead door. “LAPD Metro, come out with your hands up!”

You’re met with silence, and you work to steady your breath as you near the door. Before you nudge it open, someone hits it with a quick downward slap. Off-balance, you let the gun fall as you stumble inside.

The man you recognize as Jake’s employer manages to get you on the ground, and you twist to elbow him in the throat. He swings his fist down, and you don’t see the blade tucked between his fingers. He hits your jaw, and your cheekbone stings as the tip of the knife scrapes across it. Pulling your knee up, you aim between his legs. He buckles forward, and you wrap your arms around his upper body. Swinging your leg, you flip to be on top of him.

Panting, you demand, “Roll over. You’re under arrest.”

He groans and doesn’t move. After you knock the knife away from him, you pull his arm to flip him onto his stomach. With your knee pressing between his kidneys, you pull a zip-toe closed around his wrists, then sit back on your heels.

Tim smirks at your position, and you shake your head as you move into a half-kneel position. Wiping blood from your cheek, you push yourself to your feet.

“Jake Butler, you’re under arrest,” you say. “Put your hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

Tim looks at your cut cheek, then at the man zip-tied and squirming in pain beneath you.

“Yeah, I’ll comply,” Tim drawls. “Since I’m making it easy, could you try to make the whole arrest me thing a little sexy? I’ve always had a thing for cop cuties, with their navy blue booties.”

“Shut up,” you demand as you pull his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, go ahead and lock me up,” he continues as you secure the handcuffs around his wrists.

“I’m 10-4 in the panic room. Butler and his employer are in custody,” you radio.

An officer appears in the doorway to help you escort both men to the patrol cars waiting outside the lobby. He hauls Jake’s boss to his feet and leads him out of the panic room. You follow, leading Tim through the penthouse and into the hall.

After the elevator closes and all the arrested men have been escorted out, you remove his cuffs. He turns toward you quickly, his jaw clenched tightly. You recognize the look and know he’s about to yell at you.

“I know, I know, you never put the cuffs on me,” you say before he can begin. “Sorry, but there were too many people who could see.”

“You really think that’s what I’m mad about?” Tim questions. “I don’t care what you do to UCs.”

“Then what are you mad about?” you ask softly.

Tim raises his hand to your face but stops before he touches you. His hand falls, and he says, “You got hurt. Medics will be ready at the station.”

As Tim turns away from you, you wish he had touched you.

At the end of the day, you exit the station and sigh. You received treatment for your minor injuries, completed the reports, and patrolled before your end of shift. Walking through the parking lot, you keep your eyes down and think about last night.

“A cut cheek isn’t getting you out of dinner,” Tim calls.

You look up at the sound of his voice and see him leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

“If you’re still up for it,” he adds.

“You’re just saying that because I’m a cop cutie,” you reply, smiling.

Tim groans at the reminder of what he said while he was undercover. He raises his hand again, but this time, he places his palm on your jaw and gently traces the bottom of your bandage. His movement and his touch say more than he ever has.

“If we finally go on a date, do you think we could stop arresting each other?” you inquire.

“Maybe,” he answers, opening the passenger door for you.

“That sounded too hopeful.”

Not in the Rook Book.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!Reader [PLATONIC] — ONGOING SERIES: Like Father, Like Rookie.

Summary: When you spot a crying toddler wandering the streets alone on patrol with Tim, the both of you quickly realise that babysitting a child was not in the manual.

The streets of L.A were unusually quiet this time around whilst you and Tim strolled around on patrol. The two of you had already dealt a few minor arrests, nothing too life altering as the summer’s heat blended into the abnormality of the shift’s peaceful atmosphere.

“Look, if push comes to shove, then we’ll go for the kill,” Tim insisted with furrowed brows, keeping his eyes peeled as he parked up the shop onto the side of the road, “I’ll be damned if we take the fall. For what? For Lopez and West to gain all the glory? Hell no.” He muttered, frustration lacing his tone.

You hit the bottom of your fist onto the palm of your hand in spirit filled determination, “Roger that, sir!” You exclaimed with a killer expression to go with it, “The next monopoly game, they’re going down.”

At this point of you and Tim’s rookie to T.O relationship, it wasn’t surprising to have a rookie like you who was just as determined to rid of Lopez and West’s winning streak in game night, which began to creep it’s way into the conversations that you’d have in the shop. In which, you and Tim would strategise ways to take them down, whether it be within the rules or not.

“Uh—I can’t tell if this heat is getting to me, or if that baby is actually on the road,” you muttered, unbuckling your seatbelt and hopping out of the shop.

Tim’s attention quickly shifted away from the upcoming game night and towards the busy street ahead of him filled with cars that came to a halt, causing traffic to slowly build up. In front of them, a crying toddler had wandered into the middle of traffic, too overwhelmed to even move.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, quickly hopping out and following after you.

The two of you made haste in between two lanes of cars, some beeping with drivers peeking their head out of the window to see what the hold up was.

“Hey, little guy,” you cooed, scooping the toddler up into your arms, “You’re safe now.” You said as you waved a thank you to the cars who had stopped in the midst of traffic before you and Tim returned to the sidewalk.

The kid thrashed in your arms, still screaming with tears as you slightly stumbled in response, regaining footing almost immediately as you looked at Tim with a desperate ‘help me’ look.

Tim sighed, grabbing his radio off of his holster, “7-Adam-19, show us Code 6 on a found child, Wilson Street. Toddler, male, approximately 3 years old, no guardian in sight. Requesting additional unit and supervisor. Start a 415P broadcast for a possible missing child report.” he spoke into his radio before putting it away again.

“Alright,” Tim mumbled as he evaluated the situation, his gaze rested on the crying child in your arms, “What do you do when there’s a random kid on the streets?” He asked, knowing that whatever answer didn’t replicate his, was wrong.

You hummed in response, placing the child down to his feet while you crouched in front of him, “Check for injuries, their current condition, and anything that could help ID the kid.” you answered, your gaze skimming the boy’s body for wounds or anything alarming. Only to be met with nothing useful.

“Attempt communication,” you continued, your hands gently grabbing hold of the boy’s hands, “Hey, buddy, where’s daddy or mommy?” you asked with a soft tone and smile.

The boy, who had only now just stopped crying, looked at you with tears in his eyes. He was silent, so was you and Tim as you waited for an answer.

Slap!

“What the fuck—“ You groaned, holding your palm to your cheek as you watched the little boy turn on his heel and run the other way.

Tim snorted, making no effort to hide his laughter, “He’s on the run, kid!” he laughed, amusement plastered clear as day on his face.

You rolled your eyes, making chase after him, “Think I can arrest him for assault?” you joked, knowing damn well you meant it.

However, the little boy’s legs could only take him so far, so it didn’t take long for you and Tim to catch up and grab him.

“You’re a little runner, aren’t you?” You mumbled with a frown as you held the boy in your arms, who had only responded by blowing a raspberry.

“Sir, what’s the minimum age limit for juvenile detention?” You mumbled, only for Tim to chuckle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid. It’s a long time from three years old.” He said, “Now that we got the kid back, what’s the next thing to do?”

You shifted the boy higher up in your arms, ignoring the fact that he was now fascinated with tugging on your badge. “Well, since he’s non-verbal or just doesn’t trust cops—” you shot the kid a look as he stuck his tongue out at you, “—we check if anyone nearby recognizes him, then start canvassing the area for a parent or guardian.”

Tim nodded, pulling out his phone to start a quick log of the call. “Good. But we’re also keeping an eye out for any signs of neglect or foul play. If this kid wasn’t just wandering, but was left out here, we’re dealing with something else.”

You scanned the sidewalk, spotting a few bystanders watching the commotion. A woman in gym clothes, an older man with a dog, and a guy sipping a coffee outside a corner store. “I’ll start asking around.”

Before Tim could even respond, the toddler, apparently done with being in your arms, reached for him instead. Without thinking, Tim took him, freezing for half a second as the kid clung to his vest like he was a jungle gym. You bit back a laugh as Tim adjusted his hold, his expression unreadable.

You grinned as you watched Tim shift uncomfortably, holding the toddler like he was a ticking time bomb. One hand awkwardly under the kid’s legs, the other hovering near his back like he was debating whether full support was necessary.

“Damn, sir,” you teased, crossing your arms. “You’re holding him like he’s got an explosive vest on. You’ve never looked after a kid before?”

Tim gave you a dry look, adjusting his grip as the toddler started tugging on his radio strap. “Oh, I have,” he shot back, glancing at you. “Just ones that are your size, attitude, and energy level.”

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “So you admit I’m a handful.”

“I’ve admitted that since day one, kid.”

The toddler giggled, smacking a tiny hand against Tim’s cheek, and you nearly doubled over laughing. “Guess he agrees.”

Ignoring you, Tim turned back to his radio. “7-Adam-19, negative on immediate guardian identification. Starting canvass now.” He sighed, looking down at the kid, who was now playing with one of the straps on his vest. Tim just sighed, shifting the boy to his other arm. “Let’s just find his damn parents before you start recruiting him for game night.”

You smirked as you led the way, making a mental note to never let Tim live this down.

With no immediate leads on his parents, you and Tim had no choice but to hunker down and wait for backup. The problem? The kid, who had blabbered his name along the way, now identified as Benny, had the energy of a caffeinated raccoon.

“Okay, buddy,” you said, setting him down on the sidewalk. “You like games? Let’s play a game called sit still.”

Benny immediately took off running.

Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, saw that one coming.”

You scrambled after the toddler, catching him just before he faceplanted into a newspaper stand. Lifting him back up, you groaned. “This is not in the Rook Book.”

Tim huffed. “Nope. But I did warn you about dealing with kids.”

You shot him a look. “What part of this is training me to be a cop? Huh? What do I put in my notes? T.O. Bradford made me babysit a rogue toddler who slapped me and then tried to flee the scene?”

Tim smirked. “Sounds like a solid report.”

Before you could respond, Benny grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked.

“Ow! Dude!”

Tim didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Yeah, welcome to law enforcement, kid. Unpredictable perps, constant chaos, and at least one person crying. Usually you.”

You scowled, bouncing Benny slightly to distract him from turning you into his personal stress toy. “Great. Love that for me.”

Benny, of course, took that as his cue to stick his fingers in his mouth, then wipe them on your uniform.

Tim chuckled, shaking his head. “Should’ve worn the rain-resistant vest.”

“I hate you,” you grumbled, wiping off the toddler slobber.

Just then, Benny started reaching toward Tim. The man who had mocked your struggles for the past ten minutes suddenly went stiff. “Oh no. No, no, no—”

But it was too late. Benny was full-on grabbing for him.

Biting back a laugh, you handed him over. “Your turn, sir.”

Tim held the kid awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure which part to support. Benny, meanwhile, was having a great time, kicking his little legs and babbling nonsense.

You smirked. “You’re holding him like he’s gonna explode.”

Tim shot you a glare. “I told you—I’ve babysat your level of chaos before, not actual toddlers.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but then—miraculously—Benny started to settle. He clung onto Tim’s vest, his tiny fingers gripping the straps. His big, tear-filled eyes blinked up at Tim before he rested his head against his chest.

You gawked. “No way.”

Tim looked equally horrified. “What just happened?”

“You soothed him,” you said, completely in shock. “Bradford, I think you’re his comfort person now.”

Tim stared down at the now very content Benny. “That’s unfortunate.”

Before you could tease him further, you spotted a man outside the corner store, frozen in shock.

“Oh my God—Benny?!”

The toddler perked up. “Dada!”

Tim exhaled, “Well. That was easy.” He pulled out his radio, “7-Adam-19, we have a possible guardian on scene, verifying ID now.”

You smirked. “Almost too easy. Suspiciously easy.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, or maybe not everything in life has to be a full-blown homicide case, kid.”

After verifying the man’s ID and handing Benny back, you couldn’t resist one last dig as you clapped Tim on the shoulder.

“Well, look at that. We saved the day and you got some practice for fatherhood.”

Tim gave you a blank stare. “I will leave you on the side of the road.” He muttered, giving Benny one last glance before calling it in, “7-Adam-19, show us Code 4 on the found child. Guardian verified, child reunited. Cancel additional unit and 415P broadcast.”

Cackling, you walked back toward the shop. “Come on, Dadford, let’s get back to work.”

As the two of you headed back to the shop, you couldn’t help but glance over at Tim, who was still adjusting his vest like he was trying to shake off the feeling of tiny toddler hands gripping it.

“You know,” you mused, smirking, “for someone who claims he doesn’t do kids, you sure handled that like a natural.”

Tim scoffed. “Yeah? Well, let’s add ‘temporary babysitting’ to the list of things they should put in the manual but don’t.”

You snorted. “Right under ‘how to survive game night’ and ‘rookie hazing 101’?”

“Exactly.”

The radio crackled to life, dispatch calling in another unit for backup, and just like that, it was back to business as usual. But as you settled into your seat, you made a mental note to bring this up at game night—because if nothing else, you had just witnessed the impossible.

Tim Bradford, LAPD’s toughest T.O., had been chosen by a toddler.

And that was going in the unofficial rookie handbook.

Always Time for You

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

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

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

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

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

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

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

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

1 Year Later

“Excuse me,” someone says behind you.

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you answer softly.

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

“Sure,” you agree. “If I can.”

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

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

“What made you notice it?” Street asks.

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for your help.”

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

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

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

“And we’ll find him today.”

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

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

You sigh and whisper your gratitude.

“And… I came to ask you out.”

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

1 Year Later

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

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

“I’m better now.”

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

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

“Everything okay?” Deacon asks.

“Yes,” you lie. “Everything is fine.”

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

“You, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He needs to know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” Deacon replies.

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

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

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

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

“Well, look who it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

“I love you. I miss you.”

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

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

Little Star

18+

A high school reunion, a sexually frustrated lawyer, and a secret pornstar. This should be fun.

My submission to Aphrodite’s Manor Challenge <3 (and my first ever challenge submission 🥺)

@geminixevans-stan @fineanddandy @jamalflanagan @cocobutterqwueen @syntheticavenger @sunshinexsin @boxofbonesfic

Content Warning: Andy Barber x Pornstar!Reader, mature themes, flirting, sexual language, cheating, smut (dom!andy x sub!reader, multiple orgasms, public sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, spanking, facial)

“I cannot believe you made me come back to this place,” You grumble, running your finger around the rim of your martini glass. “Nothing but bad memories.”

“Oh, come on,” Yanic coos, squeezing your shoulder as he leans in closer. “High school wasn’t that bad.”

“Maybe not for you,” You say with a glare. “You were in with the popular kids. You were practically a jock!”

“Being kept on the bench every single game hardly made me a jock,” He chuckles. “You had some fun here, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but smirk. “I guess senior prom was pretty fun.”

“Didn’t you fuck Andy Barber under the bleachers that night?” He asks with wide eyes. “Now, that was unexpected.”

Keep reading

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings. 

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles. 

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms. 

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

That’s Not What I See

Pairing: Elliot Stabler x Plus Size!Reader

Summary: You're a crime analyst on the Manhattan SVU squad. You've been attracted to Elliot Stabler since you first met him, but you knew there was no way he'd be into you. Men who looked like him never were...at least that's what you thought.

Warnings: Use of pet names. Cursing. Mentions of self-esteem issues. SMUT, praise kink, oral (F receiving), multiple orgasm, unprotected sex (P in V)

You walked into the office gym at 5am, thinking there wouldn't be anyone else there. You hated working out, especially in front of other people. Normally, you used the gym in your apartment building, but it was under construction, so you decided to sneak into the office early.

You'd thrown on leggings and a slightly too small t-shirt, and you were tugging on the shirt uncomfortably as you walked into the gym. You just wanted to get on the treadmill for an hour, but your plans were interrupted when you heard soft grunts coming from across the room.

You froze, hoping whoever it was wouldn't notice you. You moved towards the treadmill quietly, using it as a shield so you could see who was in the room without them seeing you.

From your angle, all you could see was a man's legs on the weight bench across the room. He was laying down and preparing for another rep. When his arms came into view, you let out an involuntary gasp. The Marine Corps tattoo on his right arm was a dead giveaway...it was Elliot Stabler.

He racked the weight bar and sat up, eyes looking in your direction. You knew he couldn't see you, but he must have heard your gasp. Shit, you thought to yourself.

"Hello?" he called.

You decided it would be weird if you didn't respond, so you stepped out from behind the treadmill and gave him a little awkward wave. "Good morning."

He smiled warmly when you came into view. "Morning, (Y/N)."

You could feel his eyes on you, boring holes into your skin, and you tugged on your shirt again. You suddenly wished you'd worn something a little looser, but you hadn't expected to see anyone, least of all him.

"Since when do you come to the gym before dawn?" he asked as he stood up and started walking towards you.

"I--uh--I...normally I don't--umm, I use the gym at home. It's being renovated."

"I see." He stopped right in front of you, giving you an up close and personal view of his beautiful body. Every inch of him was toned, muscles flexing under his skin. "I kinda like having the company."

You let out an awkward chuckle. "I was just gonna...umm--use the treadmill?"

He smiled again and your heart nearly stopped in your chest. "Go for it, doll. You don't need my permission."

You grabbed onto the arm of the treadmill to keep you upright--the term of endearment making your knees buckle. "Yeah," you mumbled.

"Let me know if you need anything." With that, he walked back over to the weight rack to finish his reps.

You were about 5 minutes away from having a full blown heart attack, but it would be super awkward if you left the gym now. So you climbed onto the treadmill and started walking at a steady pace. You did your best to keep your eyes forward, but you could feel Elliot looking at you every time he sat up.

After several minutes, he stood up and came across the room towards you. "Mind if I--?" he asked, gesturing to the machine beside you.

"Oh--uhh, sure," you stammered.

He smiled and got onto the elliptical.

You'd been sucking in your stomach as much as possible since the moment he noticed you...it was restricting your ability to breathe properly, but you didn't care. Standing next to a man who looked that good made you feel incredibly uncomfortable, frumpy even.

"How you liking SVU so far?"

Fuck, now he's gonna ask me questions? I already can't breathe. "I like it, but it's not easy work."

He nodded. "No it's not, but it's rewarding."

"Mhmm," you hummed.

"You're the first crime analyst we've ever had on the squad."

"I know," you said quickly. "I hope I'm adding value."

"You add a lot of value, both to the work we do and to the general morale of the squad."

"Oh," you said in surprise. "I, uhh, I appreciate that."

He chuckled lightly. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," you said tentatively.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"What?" you asked in genuine surprise. "Why would you think that?"

"Well...you don't make eye contact with me very often and you stutter a lot when you talk to me--like you're flustered."

"I promise, it's not because you make me uncomfortable." It's because every time I see you, I want you to rip my clothes off and bend me over your desk.

You could feel his eyes on you, almost like he was scanning you--trying to decide if you were being honest. You didn't dare turn your head, you'd either fall on your face or reveal the thoughts in your head.

"Okay, good. I just wanted to make sure," he said with a smile. "I like you, (Y/N)...I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

That tiny naive voice in the back of your mind squealed he likes me! but the more logical part of your brain ignored it. A man that looked like that was not interested in a woman who looked like you.

"I appreciate that," you mumbled. You'd only been on the treadmill for 40 minutes, but you decided that was more than enough. You wanted to get the hell outta there. You hit 'stop' on the machine and hopped off. "I'm gonna hit the shower. See you in the squad room."

"Okay. See you there."

20 minutes later, you were seated comfortably at your desk, going over some reports you needed to write.

You felt Elliot's presence before you saw him, and you did your best to act nonchalant. He walked up to the desk across from yours and leaned against it. He'd clearly showered and was now dressed in his usual slacks and a button down, sleeves rolled up to reveal his toned forearms and his tattoo.

"You smell really good," he commented. "Body wash or perfume?"

"Oh, uhh--maybe both?" It better be that damn perfume. It was expensive.

He smiled. "Well if it's the perfume, I'd recommend wearing it more often. It smells delicious." He shot you a wink before walking over to his own desk and sitting down.

You couldn't help but wonder if this man knew the effect he had on you and if that was why he was flirting with you. Was he even flirting? Hell, you had no idea. The hotter the man, the more awkward you became. You had a hell of a time reading them and it had messed you up in the past.

It's not that you had low self-esteem necessarily, it's just that you'd put on a fair amount of weight in the last couple years and it definitely affected your self-confidence. Hence why you'd started going to the gym every day...you wanted to get that young, happy, thinner version of you back.

As the day progressed, you forgot all about your encounter with Elliot that morning. It was a busy day and it flew by. Before you knew it, it was after 7pm and you were still curled up at your desk, typing away on your computer.

You heard a throat clear to your left and you turned to glare at whomever it was that dared to interrupt you. "Oh, Elliot!" you exclaimed in surprise. "I figured you'd gone home by now."

"I thought you would have too," he said with a shrug. "I'm actually just heading out now, but I wanted to see if you were hungry."

At that exact moment, your stomach let out a little grumble. You realized you'd worked straight through lunch and you were starving. "I could eat."

He raised an eyebrow. "You didn't eat lunch, so I'm betting you're starving."

He was paying that much attention? "Yeah, you're right. It's probably time to get the hell outta here anyway."

"My thoughts exactly. Come on, I'll take you home. We can get dinner on the way--my treat."

You normally took the subway, but it was after dark and the squad didn't like you walking home or riding the subway alone. "Oh, you don't have to do that."

"It's not a chore, (Y/N). We can stop anywhere you'd like."

You bit your lip as you thought about it. You really should turn him down, but if you'd learned anything in your time with SVU, it was that being a woman in New York was dangerous enough without walking alone at night.

"There's a little pizza shop by my apartment," you conceded.

He grinned. "How'd you know I was thinking pizza?"

You laughed. "You eat it all the time...you must think pizza is a vegetable."

He laughed. "It's delicious. Grab your coat."

You hurried to pack up, then you threw on your coat and followed him out to his car. It was a chilly night, but the sky was clear and the air was crisp.

Elliot made small talk on the way to the pizza place. You were thankful that he carried the majority of the conversation and you couldn't wait to have food to occupy your mouth with so you wouldn't sound like such an idiot.

"I don't think I've ever been here," he commented as he found a parking spot near the shop.

"It's the absolute best," you insisted enthusiastically.

He smiled at your animation. "This is the most excited I've ever seen you."

You blushed. "I like food."

"So do I...and I'm starving, so let's go in."

As soon as you walked in the door, you heard a thick Italian accent yell your name. "(Y/N)! Looking beautiful as ever."

You smiled at the older man, embracing him when he came around the counter for a hug. "You're too sweet, Gio."

After he released you from the bear hug, he turned to look at Elliot, clearly sizing him up. "Who is this?"

"This is Elliot. We work together," you said reassuringly. "Elliot, this is Giovanni Romano, owner and chef extraordinaire."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Elliot said as he extended his hand for a shake.

Gio looked him up and down, and apparently decided he liked him because he smiled really wide and said, "No handshakes! We hug here," before wrapping a surprised Elliot into a hug.

You laughed at the look on Elliot's face. Gio finally let him go and Elliot looked relieved, if not a little shocked.

"Maria!" Gio yelled towards the back. "La principessa is here with il innamorato."

You turned red as a tomato and prayed Elliot didn't speak Italian. "Gio!" you hissed.

"My principessa?" Maria yelled as she came out of the kitchen. She bustled over to where you were still standing by the door.

"She's Gio's wife," you whispered to Elliot a millisecond before she grabbed you in a tight hug.

She then turned her attention to Elliot. She nodded approvingly and turned to whisper to you, "Lui è bello."

You blushed again. "Sì," you mumbled back. "Now silenzio, per favore."

She smiled at you and gave your cheek an affectionate tap. "What can we get the two of you, amorino?"

You smiled. "Two of your best pies, Maria." You turned to Elliot, realizing he might not want you to order for him. "If that's okay with you."

He smiled. "I trust you."

"Two pies coming up!" Maria said with a smile. She grabbed Gio and practically dragged him towards the kitchen with her. You could hear her talking about Elliot and you in Italian and it made you laugh.

Elliot followed you to a table near the back of the small building. "So, uh...you come here often?"

You blushed. "Nearly every day when I was in school," you said honestly. "The food is delicious, cheap, and there's free WIFI. Plus, Gio and Maria have become like family to me."

"They seem really sweet."

You smiled fondly. "They're the best. I don't have any family of my own, but they both kinda took me under their wings...like an Aunt and Uncle."

"That's very kind of them."

Gio appeared with two waters, before he disappeared again with a wink in your direction.

"I didn't know you spoke Italian."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Gio and Maria taught me. I ended up minoring in Italian at NYU."

"So, uh...what did they say about me?"

"Hmmm?" you pretended not to know what he was talking about...you really didn't want to answer him.

"Come on, I know they were talking about me."

"Maria said you were handsome, that's all."

He raised his eyebrow. "Why don't I believe you?"

"She did!" you insisted.

"I don't think that's the only thing she said."

You blushed.

"You're blushing."

"It's warm in here."

"No, it's not. Just tell me what she said."

You bit your lip. "Do I have to?"

He laughed. "No, but I'd really like to know."

"Technically that's all Maria said. Gio, on the other hand...well, he called you my um...well in Italian it means 'lover', but you can think of it more like boyfriend, I guess? Or maybe more like sweetheart?" you rambled.

Elliot laughed heartily. He enjoyed watching you fumble for what to say. It was endearing and incredibly cute. "I hope you didn't correct them."

You nearly spit out your water. "What?"

"Well, if you're as close to them as you seem to be...then they would know if you were seeing someone right?"

You nodded.

"And their assumption that I'm your lover means you're not seeing anyone?"

You nodded again, clearly uncomfortable.

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah," he said with a smile. "Good." He picked up his water and took a long drink, eyes never leaving yours.

What the actual fuck is happening? "I'm confused."

He shrugged. "Let me put it this way, I'm honored they would think I'm your lover."

You choked on nothing but air. "Excuse me?"

He smiled again, wider than before. He leaned in closer to make sure no one but you could hear his next words. "I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it."

Your jaw nearly hit the floor. You stared at him in shocked silence for what felt like an eternity.

Like a little Italian savior, Maria appeared beside the table with her famous focaccia.

You grabbed a piece of the delicious bread and took a massive bite, despite the fact that it was fresh from the oven. It burned your mouth, but you didn't care. You needed something to distract you from the words Elliot had just said and the way he was staring at you.

Maria gave you look that said slow down, but she didn't say it out loud. "The rest will be out soon, amorino."

Once Maria was out of ear shot, Elliot asked, "What does amorino mean?"

"Essentially 'little love'. It's a term of endearment," you answered, grateful for the change in topic.

Elliot steered the conversation in other directions for the rest of dinner. He asked you all sorts of questions about your life and answered several of your own. He didn't mention what he'd said earlier, and you were fine pretending it hadn't happened.

After dinner, Elliot insisted on paying the bill, even though Gio tried to comp it. You knew it made Elliot look respectable in Gio's eyes and for some reason, that made you proud.

"I'll pull the car up," Elliot told you before heading outside.

"He's lovely, principessa," Gio said softly.

"I know, but he's just a friend, Gio."

"Ahh, amorino, you are young! You cannot see," he insisted.

"Can't see what?"

"The way he looks at you, (Y/N/N)," Maria said gently as she joined the two of you.

"Like you hung the moon," Gio finished.

"You two are romantics," you said with a laugh.

"Perhaps, but we are old...we've lived. We both know what it means when a man looks at a woman the way Elliot looks at you," Maria assured you.

She wrapped you in a tight hug and Gio followed.

"Now go, principessa," Maria said with a smile. "He's waiting."

You turned to look out the door and sure enough, Elliot was standing on the sidewalk, leaning against the car, waiting for you to come outside.

You said your goodbyes and met Elliot out on the sidewalk. "Fancy meeting you here," you teased.

He smiled. "It's almost like I planned it that way."

You laughed and walked towards the now open passenger side door. Elliot helped you into the car and closed the door before going to his side and getting in.

During the short drive to your apartment, you watched Elliot out of the corner of your eye. You were looking for whatever it was that Gio and Maria insisted they saw. He was relaxed, more so than he ever was at work, and he seemed genuinely comfortable. But comfort and desire were two very different things.

Much sooner than you would have liked, Elliot pulled up in front of your building. This time of night, there wasn't much by way of street parking, but he managed to snag a spot a block away. "I'll walk you in."

"You don't have to," you assured him.

"It's after 9...there are pervs on the street."

You almost laughed, but you knew he was serious. His statement wasn't funny, so much as the way he said it. "Alright, come on."

He followed you to the front door of your building. You punched in the code and the door unlocked. As you pulled it open, you had a sudden burst of confidence.

"Would you like to come up?" you blurted.

You weren't sure who was more surprised, you or Elliot. He certainly recovered faster than you. "I'd love to."

You just nodded awkwardly and held the door for him to follow you in. The two of you took the stairs in silence, a silence that continued all the way to your door. "This is me," you mumbled.

You unlocked the door without looking at him and gestured for him to enter. You were thankful you'd cleaned the apartment the day before, so everything was neat and organized.

"It's a cute place," he commented.

"Thanks," you moved to the kitchen, needing something to do with your hands. "It's all I can afford. Do you--uh, do you want a drink?"

"Sure," he said warmly as he slipped his coat off and draped it over the back of the chair.

You poured him a drink and poured yourself a double. Lord knew you needed a little more liquid courage than he did. You were taking a risk--making a gamble you weren't sure would pay off.

You came into the living room and handed him his drink before sitting on the couch beside him. You left space between you, just in case he wanted there to be some.

You were drinking your beverage a little faster than you should have and he noticed. "You alright?"

"Mhmm," you hummed.

"Is this about what I said at the restaurant?"

"Umm--uhh--"

"Because I didn't mean to offend you or make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't," you said quickly. It had made you uncomfortable, but not in the way he was thinking.

"Okay, good." He took a sip of his drink. "Because I meant it."

You exhaled sharply and he turned to look at you.

He sat his glass down on the coffee table and scooted closer to you. "I think about it all the time, (Y/N). I think about you all the time. It's almost annoying--you occupy my thoughts all day every day and I don't know how to deal with it. You make me feel like a teenager again."

You didn't know what to say. You'd dreamed of this happening, but you never actually thought it would. Now that you were sitting in this position, you had no idea what to do.

"I know I'm older than you--hell, I might be too old for you, but I can't help the way I feel. I'll never bring it up again if that's what you want, but I wanted to tell you the truth."

"You're not too old for me," you said quickly.

"How old are you?"

"30."

"Oh," he seemed almost relieved. "I thought you were younger than that...I actually feel better."

You laughed lightly. "10 years isn't all that much."

He shook his head. "Not at our ages."

You fell silent again, unsure what to say next. You finished your drink, then set it on the coffee table beside his. "Why me?"

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Why would you want me?"

"Because you're incredible?"

You rolled your eyes. "Elliot, come on. Look at us."

"I don't understand."

You sighed, feeling reluctant to answer. "Look at you. Hot, muscular, in incredible shape. Then look at me. I'm none of those things--I'm overweight, frumpy, and average at best."

He stared at you in silence for a long moment, shock evident in his features. "While I appreciate the compliments, doll, that's not what I see when I look at you."

You almost didn't want to ask, but you had to know. "What do you see?" you whispered.

He moved closer to you so he could take your hand in his. "I see a beautiful woman with warm, caring eyes, and a gentle heart. I see a woman who makes me laugh, a woman who's witty and charming and brilliant. I see the kind of woman I can imagine a future with."

You were breathless by the time he'd finished speaking. No man had ever said anything like that to you before, even before you'd put on weight.

"Do you want more details? I can give you more," he said softly as he leaned forward so his body hovered over yours. You were caged in the corner of the couch and for the first time in a long time, you felt tiny.

You couldn't find the words, so you simply nodded.

He smiled down at you and licked his lips. "I see the sexiest woman I've ever met--a woman I've wanted to touch since the moment I laid eyes on her. Every part of her gorgeous body is perfect...and I want to claim it all as mine," he finished with a soft growl.

Every instinct in your body was screaming at you to just do something and you finally gave in. You wanted this as much as he did, so why not indulge?

You leaned forward and crashed your lips against his, moaning softly as he pulled you closer. He deepened the kiss, desperate to feel as much of you as he could.

You shifted beneath him, allowing him to settle between your legs. He wedged his knee against your crotch and brought his hands down to your sides.

You moaned softly as his lips began to trace your jaw line, then down your neck, then to the sweet spot behind your ear.

You felt his hot breath in your ear as he whispered, "You're so beautiful." You shivered involuntarily and your hips bucked forward in search of friction.

He chuckled softly. "Needy, are we?"

"Yes," you admitted, allowing the desperation to creep into your voice. "Need you."

"Oh sweet thing, don't you worry, I'll take care of you."

"Elliot," you whimpered softly.

He groaned. "God I love hearing you say my name like that."

He grabbed you around the waist and pulled you against him. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him and he whispered, "Good girl."

You shuddered, the praise going right to your core. It didn't go unnoticed by him, and he tucked it in the back of his mind for later.

"Where's the bedroom?"

You pointed to the right and he stood up with you still wrapped around him like a baby koala. "Elliot!" you yelped.

He smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "Don't worry, baby, I got you."

He carried you to your room with ease, tossing you onto the bed like you weighed nothing more than a rag doll. You'd never been so turned on in your damn life.

He climbed on the bed, covering you with his large form. His lips sought yours again, latching onto you like you were his lifeline. Your left hand trailed up his back, your fingers gently clutching the hairs at the back of his head.

He continued to kiss you, but your mind began to wander. You thought about seeing him in the gym earlier that morning and your body started to heat up even more. You wanted to see all of him, not just his arm muscles.

You gripped the edge of his shirt and tugged harshly, desperate to get it off him as fast as possible. He chuckled softly as he sat up, just long enough to take off his shirt.

He was back on top of you before you could register the view--and you found yourself annoyed. An idea popped into your head and you smirked against his lips. He might be a hell of a lot stronger than you, but you had the element of surprise.

You wrapped your legs around his waist again, pulling him towards you so you could lock your ankles around him. His groan quickly turned into a gasp of surprise when you flipped him onto his back. You smiled down at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked lightly.

"I wanted to see you better...so I'm in control now."

He didn't often give up control anywhere, let alone the bedroom, but you looked so pleased with yourself that he couldn't help but acquiesce.

Your eyes had drifted from his face to his exposed torso. He watched as your hands followed the curve of his muscles, eyes drinking in every inch of his skin. The way you looked at him was intoxicating--it was like a drug he didn't wanna quit.

Your eyes flicked back up to his and he saw the unbridled lust in them. It took every ounce of self-control he had to not flip you over and fuck you senseless. All he could think about was hearing you screaming his name, but he knew he had to wait. He had a feeling it would be worth it.

"Can I touch you?" he asked softly.

You nodded and he immediately grabbed your hips and tugged you onto his abdomen. He wanted you to be a little bit closer so he could touch every part of you. His hands slowly slid under the hem of your shirt and for a moment, you froze--panic rising in your chest.

Elliot saw it flicker across your face, so he stopped moving, but he didn't remove his hands. He wanted to make sure you knew he was only stopping to make sure you were comfortable, not because he found something he didn't like.

"Can I keep going?" he whispered.

You nodded cautiously, so he slowly moved his hands farther up your belly. He enjoyed the feeling of your soft curves and he had a feeling he was really going to enjoy holding onto you while he fucked you.

He reached the edge of your bra and paused, waiting for you to indicate it was okay for him to continue. You didn't tell him to stop, so he slid his hands up over your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze. You released a soft sigh and he did his best to keep moving at a slow pace, despite wanting to literally rip your clothes off.

You allowed him to pull your shirt up and over your head, and it took all the energy you had not to wrap your arms around yourself and hide. When you saw the look on his face--the hunger in his eyes--you suddenly didn't feel as self-conscious as before. Your body reacted to him in the same way his reacted to you, and you felt the desperation begin to creep in.

You shifted your hips, seeking some kind of friction against his body, while your nails raked down his chest. He groaned softly, but his hands didn't leave your body. Instead, they slipped around to your back and quickly unhooked your bra.

The moment your breasts came into full view, his hands began to massage and knead them, fingers pinching and twisting your nipples gently.

You moaned and dug your nails into his sides, gripping them for stability. He looked up at you, at your dark, lust-filled eyes, and he lost control for a moment. He flipped you onto your back so fast you let out a little yelp in surprise.

That yelp quickly turned to deep moans as his mouth attached to your breasts, sending bolts of pleasure through your body. His hands fumbled with the button and zipper of your pants--he was about 3 seconds away from ripping them when he finally got the buttons undone.

"Why are women's dress pants so complicated? There are literally THREE buttons." he mumbled against your skin.

You laughed warmly, knowing he was right. "Try wearing them sometime."

He grinned up at you. "They look better on you, but..." he tugged your pants off and tossed them onto the floor. "...just as I thought, they look much better on the floor."

You chuckled at his joke and rolled your eyes. You were about to comment on the cheesiness of his statement, when he sat up and began removing his own pants. You were so focused on watching him that you forgot what you were about to say.

You eyed his bulge when it came into view and you began to pant with need. Elliot noticed and gave you a little smirk. "Want me to take these off?" he asked, gesturing to his boxers.

You nodded rapidly.

"Sorry, baby, I didn't catch that."

"Yes, please," you said aloud.

"Good girl."

You moaned and rolled your hips involuntarily--the praise going directly to your core.

His words had the desired effect on you and it only made him want you more. He tugged off his underwear and climbed back into the bed, but you stopped him with a gasp.

"Absolutely not," you said with wide eyes.

"What?" he asked in confusion. He followed your line of sight and realized you were staring directly at his dick. "Something wrong?"

"It's not gonna fit."

Elliot nearly collapsed in relief as he started to laugh. "Baby, you had me worried for a minute." He laughed again. "Don't worry, it'll fit."

You shook your head. "I might be a big girl, but my vagina isn't."

He laughed again. "You're perfect, baby, and I promise you, I'll be gentle."

You finally looked back up at him, eyes still filled with doubt. He offered you a warm smile and it helped to put you at ease. "Okay," you murmured. "I trust you."

"That's my girl." He climbed back on top of you and kissed you deeply.

When he broke off the kiss, he began to make his way down your body, lips never more than an inch away from your skin. He was dying to taste you and he was quite certain he'd waited long enough.

When he reached your core, his eyes flicked up to yours to make sure you were watching. He grabbed ahold of the edge of your panties with his teeth and tugged on them--pulling them down your body with nothing but his mouth.

You didn't know why the hell that was so hot, but good god it was. But nothing could have prepared you for the sight of Elliot's large body between your legs, mouth mere centimeters from where you needed him. You'd never imagined he'd look this damn good, nor did you imagine you would feel so comfortable baring yourself to him completely.

Elliot locked eyes with you as he placed soft kisses to your inner thighs and your pussy lips. He breathed in your scent as he did so, and he had to grip the bedsheets to keep from losing his control.

You were panting heavily, the anticipation nearly killing you. "Elliot, please," you whimpered, hips jerking slightly.

He smiled as he placed another kiss to your mound. "Please what, baby?"

"Do something," you begged.

"Something?"

"Anything! Please!"

Normally he would have kept asking until you used your words and told him what you really wanted, but he was having a hard time resisting his own urges right now, so he decided to have mercy on you.

He dove into you with abandon, mouth working you in ways you'd never imagined. It was like having a sex god between your legs--not that you'd ever say that to him, he'd probably find it blasphemous--but in that moment, you couldn't be bothered to care.

Your nails raked against his scalp as you struggled to find purchase somewhere on his body. Your hands finally came to rest on his biceps, nails digging into his skin as you held on for dear life.

Your body jerked beneath him, the pleasure so immense that he had to hold you down to keep you from squirming away from him. He glanced back up at your face to make sure you were enjoying it--and was met with the most beautiful sight.

Your head was thrown back against the pillows, mouth open as you moaned and panted. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly with each heavy breath you took. He wished he could see your face better, but it was more than obvious you were enjoying yourself.

He somehow learned exactly what you liked, and what you needed, without you having to say a single word. You were more than pleased because you were certain you couldn't actually speak. The only sounds coming from your mouth were moans and something that closely resembled his name.

His fingertips were digging into your hips as he held you in place--his grip so tight it was sure to leave bruises. Your legs began to shake around him and your thighs started to close in on his head, but he was more than happy to wear your legs like earmuffs.

Your moans rose in volume and length, signaling you were close. Your nails dug deeper into his biceps, pressing crescent shapes into his skin. It would have been painful in any other setting, but he was more than delighted to bear the pain.

He knew you were close to orgasm, so he sped up his movements, tongue dancing against your clit with expert precision.

You gasped his name, hips jerking against him as you came. He held on tightly as he helped you ride out your high--not stopping even as you began to whimper.

"Too sensitive, Elliot," you gasped.

He lifted his head long enough to say, "I'm not done," before diving in with renewed vigor.

You gasped at the intensity of the sensations and within seconds you could feel a second orgasm building within you.

He lifted his head again. "Unless you want me to stop?"

"No!" you practically yelled. Your hand grabbed the back of his head and pushed him back down and he chuckled warmly at your insistence.

"I didn't think so," he mumbled before licking his way back into your pussy.

Unlike your first orgasm, your second hit you suddenly and quickly--rendering you nearly speechless. You could do nothing but gasp for air as wave after wave of pleasure threatened to drown you in an ocean of passion.

Elliot finally lifted his head, a satisfied smirk resting on his handsome features. You looked down at him, breathless and wide eyed, and he felt his body heat up.

He moved with such speed that it surprised you, nearly pouncing on top of you, mouth mere inches from yours. He seemed to be studying your face and for a moment you felt embarrassed--unaccustomed to such a lustful expression on another person's face.

But the way he looked at you--the desire evident in his eyes--simultaneously put you at ease and made you want him with renewed desire.

He touched your cheek, which was flushed bright red. He could feel the heat radiating from it and he liked being the cause of such a reaction. "You look beautiful like this," he whispered.

Your cheeks turned a darker crimson and he smiled, knowing he'd caused that as well. "I like you like this," he murmured. "Laid out beneath me, pretty eyes wide, lips parted, hair a mess...I've never seen anything so sexy."

"Elliot," you whispered. You didn't know what else to say, so you let your body do the talking for you. You tugged him down to you, lips latching onto his as you kissed him hungrily.

He lowered himself to be closer to you, careful not to put his weight on top of you--he didn't want to hurt you. His hands tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You moaned softly, hips pressing upward against his pelvis. His cock brushed against your core, earning a groan from deep in his chest.

You liked the sound he made and you were desperate to hear more of them, so you did it again, this time more slowly and with more pressure. He pressed against you, his own body seeking friction of its own volition.

You slipped your dominant hand between your bodies and wrapped it around the base of his cock, squeezing gently as you stroked upward. He groaned and his hips bucked against your hand.

Even though he was on top of you, you felt like you were in control...and you were going to use it to your advantage. You slipped the head of his cock between your folds, sliding it upward against your clit. He groaned and bit down into the soft flesh of your neck and you gasped at the mixture of pain and pleasure.

You were about to do it again, but Elliot pulled just out of reach. "Baby if you keep doing that, I'm gonna lose control."

Your eyes widened innocently. "What if that's exactly what I want?"

His eyes widened in surprise. "What?" he croaked.

"What if I want you to lose control? What if I like the idea of you fucking me like a feral wild animal? I want you to fuck me so well I can't walk tomorrow. Make me scream, Elliot. Please."

The seductive tone in your voice morphed into a plea at the end--a plea Elliot could not refuse. Not when you looked so gorgeous and needy beneath him...not when you said his name like that...not when you begged him to fuck you like he'd been dreaming about for months.

He grabbed his cock and began to rub it gently against your entrance, earning soft moans of pleasure from you. He knew you would feel incredible, but he was trying to hang onto whatever sanity he had left.

"Relax for me, baby," he whispered gently. He felt the tension in your body ease a little, but he needed you to be completely relaxed or he was definitely going to hurt you.

He gently rubbed circles into your hips, trying to calm your racing heart. "I've got you, doll. I'll go real slow, okay?"

You nodded, expression still worried.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss you softly. "You tell me to stop, I stop, okay? No matter what."

"I don't want you to stop," you whispered.

He smiled gently. "Just in case, baby." He kissed you again before assuming his previous position. "Just relax, beautiful. It'll feel so good--I know you're ready for me."

You relaxed your body as much as you could, but nothing could have properly prepared you for the stretch you were about to experience.

Elliot began to slowly enter you, eyes never leaving your face. Every time you winced or inhaled sharply, he wanted to stop, but you told him to keep going.

Once he fully bottomed out, your breathing was ragged as your body adjusted to his size. He was using every ounce of will power he'd ever had to just stay still.

"You're doing so well for me, baby," he managed to groan out. "Such a good girl."

Your pussy spasmed around him as the words "good girl" registered in your brain. You suddenly needed him to move...

The moment he felt you clench around him, something inside of him snapped and it was game over for him. Whatever self-control he'd had went out the window and he started to move, setting a fast pace from the start.

Your cries mixed with his groans as he slammed into you with force. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he worried he was hurting you, but one look at your face shut that voice down instantly.

You looked much like you did when he'd been eating you out, only this time he had a view of your face. It was a sight to behold--one he didn't think he'd ever get over.

"You feel so good, baby," he whispered.

"Please, El--" you whimpered.

He wasn't sure what you needed and you didn't appear to be in any position to tell him, so he decided to take matters into his own hands. He shifted his body so your hips were angled up, one leg on either side of head. As he thrust into you, you cried out desperately, hands fisting the sheets beside you.

He felt as the head of his cock hit that soft spot inside you--and he knew he couldn't stop now. He kept up his pace, slamming into your g-spot with each thrust.

The sounds coming from your mouth were incredible--he wanted to hear them every single day for the rest of his life. You were shaking with pleasure, body writhing against him as he struggled to keep you in place.

He needed to feel you cum around his cock at least once before he found his own release...so all of his focus was on getting you to your next orgasm.

He started to murmur dirty things to you, noticing the way your body reacted to his words. "Your pussy feels so good, baby. So tight and warm--I could stay here all night."

You were way too far gone to respond verbally, but your body told him everything he needed to know.

"You're taking me so well--squeezing so tight."

He placed soft, sloppy kisses to your calves, hips never slowing their intense pace.

"This is my pussy, you hear me? Mine. I'm gonna make sure she feels so good, baby."

You moaned loudly--clearly liking the idea of being his.

"You like that, huh? You like knowing you're mine? Like knowing I'm marking you? No one else will ever compare, baby--gonna ruin you."

"Elliot!" you screamed as your orgasm came crashing down on you. Your pussy spasmed around his cock, squeezing him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

The feeling of your orgasm triggered his own, sending him spiraling over the edge with a deep groan and whispers of your name. He filled you with his seed, letting your legs fall to either side of his hips as he stuttered his last few thrusts.

He collapsed on top of you, whispering your name against your skin like a prayer. He kissed your jaw and your neck--the affection warming your heart as you lay beneath him, slowly coming down from your high.

After several moments, Elliot pulled out of you and rolled onto his back. You both lay on the bed, breathless, as you tried to regain control of your heart rates.

Elliot grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours as he lay beside you. He turned to look at you and he smiled, taking in your beautiful post-sex glow.

You turned your head to look at him and smiled warmly. "That was..."

"Fucking incredible."

"I was gonna say decent," you teased.

He laughed and jokingly rolled away from you.

"Come back! I was kidding!" you called after him.

He kept laughing as he looked over his shoulder at you. "Come get me then."

"I can't move," you said simply.

He rolled back towards you, body now facing you. "Oh yeah? And it was just decent?"

"Decent--best sex of my life--same thing."

He grinned wolfishly and leaned in to kiss you. "That's more like it."

You rolled your eyes and affectionately smacked his arm. "Cocky, are we?"

"I know what I'm good at," he said with a shrug.

"Smart ass," you teased.

"But you like my ass," he teased back.

"It does look nice in those jeans you sometimes wear. Makes me wanna bite it."

"Oooo, kinky."

You both laughed.

Elliot looked down and his expression immediately sobered.

"What's wrong?"

"I--I didn't--I was so caught up..."

"What?"

He looked back up at you, a look of regret on his handsome face. "I didn't even think about putting on a condom, (Y/N)...I--God, I'm so sorry."

You shrugged. "No need to worry. I trust that you're clean."

"I am," he assured you. "But what about...pregnancy?"

"Oh," you brushed him off. "We definitely don't need to worry about that. I have a tiny sperm murderer living in my uterus."

"You have a what?"

You laughed. "I have an IUD."

He started laughing too. "Oh! 'Sperm murderer'..." he mumbled as he laughed even harder.

You grinned ear to ear. "I was gonna call it a tiny copper knight defending my honor, but I figured that was too much."

"You're so weird," he teased. "Come here."

You giggled as he grabbed you and dragged you against his chest. He held you tightly as he kissed your skin softly. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"Elliot..."

"You are," he insisted.

For the first time in a long time, you felt truly beautiful, but more importantly, you felt seen. He knew who you were and wanted you anyway. He liked you for you...and he liked your body, which was really just a bonus.

"What are you thinking about?"

"If we should get a shower...or go for round two?"

He groaned softly. "I'm an old man, doll."

You rolled over so you were on top of him. "Well that's just a pity...there's so much I wanna do to you."

His eyes seemed to burn as he looked at you. There was absolutely no way in hell he could say no to you. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"At least you'll die a happy man."

He grinned. "No man has ever been happier."

Before you could respond, he grabbed you and pulled you down to him, slamming his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. Your last coherent thought before Elliot sent you into orgasmic oblivion again was I guess that's a yes for round two.