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

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

*it’s always sunny intro music plays*

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yeah, she’s crazy.” dennis scoffs.

“and not even that hot..” mac adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“charlie, right? i’m (y/n).”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you’re cute.” he says.

“i am?”

“mhm.”

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

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

“i want to kiss you.”

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

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

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

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

____________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

“can i?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“absolutely.”

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

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

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

“are you comfortable?” he asks randomly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y-yeah..”

“go on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m more than okay.” you tell him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Picture of Happiness

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When your robbery investigation and Karadec's missing persons case intersect, Morgan notices that there's more between you than professional collaboration.

Warnings: fluff, soft Karadec, Melon alert, case involving abduction and drug trafficking

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

A/N: The final scene is inspired by an idea posted by @venommie but I'm also planning a fic based more heavily on it!

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Oh, no,” Daphne murmurs. She leans back, turning slightly to look into Lieutenant Soto’s office. “Our vic was robbed last weekend.”

Selena sighs, then raises her phone toward her ear. “I’ll bring in Melon.”

“Oz, what’s the latest on the car?” Karadec inquires as he returns to the bullpen with Morgan.

“Still waiting to hear back from the DMV,” Oz answers.

“Daph?”

“The victim was robbed just over a week ago,” Daphne explains. “Part of a string of B&E thefts slowly progressing from simple wallet snatching to larceny. Lieutenant is alerting Melon.”

“Fantastic,” Karadec grumbles. “Are we thinking that the B&E went south? Homeowner was there, they can’t graduate to murder yet, so they snatch him?”

“From that house?” Morgan clarifies, her brows raised. “Not a chance.”

“Even the most prepared people can get caught off guard,” Oz points out.

“He had a Glock in his nightstand, he wouldn’t have let someone get that far into his house, or that close to him, without fighting back. Was there any sign of that?”

“No, there wasn’t,” Daphne says. “CSU isn’t done cataloging the weapons, so we’re not sure if any are missing.”

“I don’t see this guy getting caught off guard,” Morgan muses. “Not by some stranger sneaking in through a loose window.”

“The neighbor who wouldn’t talk to us this morning is in interview 2,” Karadec adds. “Lawyered up, but I think he’s just covering his own-“

“I heard a cry for help,” Lieutenant Melon interrupts, smiling as he enters the bullpen.

“Yeah,” Oz deadpans. “That’s what this is.”

“Quite the robbery spree you’ve stumbled upon. Estimated $2 million in property losses, even higher insurance payouts if we don’t start recovering things soon.”

“What’s the MO?” Morgan asks, flipping through the missing persons' case file.

“Initially, broken window, a few little, moderate risk items stolen.”

Morgan looks up, surprised to hear a voice she doesn’t recognize. She looks at you, then at Melon, then Karadec, and back at you.

“Yesterday morning, reported robbery used a crowbar to pry open a sliding glass door and cleaned out the safe,” you continue. “No sign of forced entry into the safe, just the door.”

“Strange,” Daphne murmurs.

“So, what can the missus and I do for you?” Melon asks. “Solve your case?”

“Missus?” Morgan repeats. She notices how Karadec shifts, pushing his jaw out as he rubs his jaw. It’s evident that he wants to speak but stops himself.

“We’ve been undercover,” you explain. “Trying to get this guy to rob a new, naïve rich couple.”

“Translation: she’d never settle for Melon,” Selena interjects.

“Hey, I’m a catch,” Melon argues.

“More like someone would catch something from you,” Oz adds.

You smile, and when you lock eyes with Karadec, you both shake your heads.

“Yesterday’s robbery wasn’t the same thief,” Morgan interrupts. “The approach pattern was completely different.”

“Approach pattern,” Melon repeats softly.

You look over Karadec’s shoulder to their case board. Tapping the simple black band on your left ring finger, you mentally review the facts of the case. Adding a missing person to a robbery case means the criminal is progressing. If more than one criminal is working here, your job becomes harder.

“Bottom to top,” Morgan says. “Your average thief works from the bottom up. Makes it easier to rifle through drawers because you don’t have to close one to get to the next. That’s where we get the whole ripped apart scene cliché. Yesterday’s case – and our missing person – produced scenes that were relatively neat. Because… any guesses?”

“The perp worked top down,” you and Karadec answer together.

“Right!” Morgan snaps, turning toward the case board. “So, if we remove these two cases… That gives us one planner, someone unafraid to go straight from- what’d he take?”

“From which scene?” Melon inquires.

“Yesterday.”

“Uh…” Melon opens the case file and skims it quickly before he answers, “A pair of diamond earrings, a Degas copy, and a thumb drive. Total estimated value: $14,000.”

“The earrings are most of that,” you add. “Apparently the thumb drive was empty, because the report didn’t value it in any way.”

“No intellectual property,” Daphne agrees. “Then why steal it? Not like they’re expensive or hard to come by.”

“There is something on it,” you realize. “Something he didn’t want the police to know about.”

“Maybe something worth kidnapping someone for,” Karadec adds.

“Whoa,” Melon interjects, raising his hands. “That’s a bit of a jump. It’s a thumb drive owned by someone who is not your victim.”

“Interior,” you say.

Morgan nods excitedly while Melon turns toward you with a sigh.

“The Degas copy was ‘Interior,’ which depicts a meeting between a man and a woman. It’s tense, dangerous, also called ‘The Rape.’”

“Make the connection, dear wife,” Melon pleads.

Karadec tips his head to the side, holding Morgan’s attention with his reactions to how Melon speaks to you.

“Follow me,” you invite.

Karadec moves first, falling into line behind you. You walk into Melon’s office without asking permission, and he scoffs when Morgan and Karadec join you.

“Get over it, Walter,” you encourage, uncapping a marker to alter his board.

“Is this even in English?” Morgan inquires, squinting to read a sticky note.

“Ha, ha,” Melon mutters. “What are we doing here?”

“This,” you answer, circling an address on the board. “The robbery from yesterday. Compare this address to the one of your missing person.”

Karadec’s eyes bounce around the board as he thinks. “454,” he realizes. “They’re a number apart, and the street names are just a few letters off.”

“As if someone had part of an address and was looking for something specific,” Daphne adds.

“And covering their tracks by taking something worth missing,” Oz says.

“He was looking for the thumb drive,” you deduce.

“Why?” Morgan asks. “None of our suspects – none of yours, either – have a clear connection to the victim.”

“Where was the Degas purchased?” Selena asks.

“Art dealer in downtown LA,” Daphne answers.

“Maybe someone should go look for another,” she suggests.

“Like a well-to-do married couple?” you ask, smiling.

“Precisely what I was thinking.”

“Well done,” Karadec says.

“Thank you,” you reply. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I need to feign an interest in impressionist art with my husband.”

Morgan’s eyes widen as she watches Karadec. He doesn’t react as before; instead, he lets you take his hand and lead you out of the office. There’s no sense that he doesn’t want you to touch him, no second-guessing of your intentions, or startled expression. He’s used to that, she realizes.

“So, what’s the deal with Karadec?” Morgan asks, back in the Major Crimes bullpen.

“What do you mean?” Daphne replies.

“He was ready to knock Melon’s teeth out. Followed a certain officer out of here like a lovestruck puppy.”

“Notice that, did you?” Oz interjects.

“What am I missing here?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Daphne teases.

“Karadec just texted,” Selena calls. “They found something.”

“Need backup?” Oz asks.

Selena chuckles rather than answering, and Morgan slaps her legs.

“Seriously, what am I missing? Are they some kind of dream team or something?”

“What did you see?” Selena asks.

“Karadec longing for her, but- wait. Seriously?”

“Can neither confirm nor deny,” Oz answers. “But the first part wasn’t that hard to notice.”

“What do you see?” Karadec asks softly.

“Some of these frames are hollowed out,” you whisper. “There’s more than paintings in here, but before we start talking, we need to know what it is they’re moving.”

“Drugs or money.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Cover me,” you request.

Karadec nods, straightens his shoulders, and buttons his blazer as he walks toward the man at the desk. You walk toward the back of the store, pretending to look at the paintings as you locate the cameras overhead. Directly beneath one of the lenses, you bend your knees to lower, then run your fingers along a delicately beaded frame. Slipping your fingers over the corner, you examine the narrow slotting in the wood. When you run into a small plastic pouch, you pull your hand back and look at your fingers. The white powder on them could be wood or printing materials, but it’s not likely.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you apologize as you return to Karadec’s side. “There’s just so much to see… to do.”

“Your husband was telling me that you’re a fan of Degas,” the man whose nametag reads Antonio states with a smile. “We’ve got no shortage of quality prints.”

“I saw my favorite at the back,” you reply. “They’re beautiful, very well done. We were actually referred here. One of our friends who shares our appreciation for arts, and its many influences, mentioned that his friend Leonard loved your service and the purchases he’s made.”

“Leonard is one of our best customers,” Antonio responds. “Any friend of Leonard’s is a friend of ours. Perhaps I could walk you through a bit of the influences we’re passionate about here.”

“We’d love that,” Karadec agrees, smiling at you as he traces his finger down your finger beneath your wedding ring.

“Two cases closed in one afternoon,” you muse as you fall into your seat. “Drug running secrets stolen, people abducted to procure more product, the American dream. You’re welcome.”

“We helped solve your case too,” Daphne points out.

You crack one eye open before you argue, “I had to pretend to be Mrs. Walter Melon for no reason.”

“You deserve a medal,” Oz says, shuddering for emphasis.

“You also pretended to be married to Karadec, no?” Morgan asks.

You turn toward her, then look at Oz and Daphne. “She doesn’t know?”

“We’re not legally or morally permitted to tell anyone,” Daphne replies.

“Under threat of bodily harm,” Oz adds.

“Promise of bodily harm,” Karadec corrects. “And, no, Morgan, we weren’t pretending for that part.”

Morgan’s jaw drops, and she turns quickly to look between you and Karadec. She’s observant and brilliant, so you fully anticipated that she would have figured out your relationship status already.

“Breathe a word of it to anyone,” Karadec warns.

“Yeah, yeah, bodily harm, I caught that.” She leans toward you and whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“No.”

“Wasn’t talking to you Karadec.”

He hums, repeats, “No,” and tosses you his keys.

You wave over your shoulder, and Morgan’s excited chattering seems to follow you through the station.

Karadec watches you, spinning his ring on his finger. You feel his eyes on you but don’t say anything as you prepare dinner. When the food is in the oven, you wash and dry your hands, then walk toward Karadec. He looks up at you from his seat, and you smile.

“You’re brooding,” you point out.

“I don’t brood,” he argues.

You hum and move between his knees and the coffee table. Karadec leans back, spreading his knees apart so you can stand comfortably between his legs.

“Want to talk about it?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting to all day.”

“Save the sarcasm, Adam.”

He lifts his brows, barely containing his smile as he lifts his hands to your thighs.

“Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I know he does it just to get under my skin.”

“Then don’t let him,” you encourage, rubbing your hands down your husband’s forearms.

“Not that easy,” he argues.

“Yes, it is. He’s Melon, and I come home with you. Whatever he says or does, just ignore him.”

Karadec nods, and you scratch your fingernails gently over his wrists.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you.”

“I also threatened to punch Melon today.”

“Should’ve carried through,” Karadec muses. “Sorry for letting him in my head. It’s been a weird few days.”

“I get it. No hard feelings. As long as you’re not grumps.”

“Did you just say ‘grumps'?”

You smile, and Karadec shakes his head as he tugs your hips forward. Before you can catch yourself, he pulls your knee to his side so you drop into his lap.

“Ah,” you murmur. “You don’t like that Melon acts all soft and loving when we’re undercover and you think you have to do it in private.”

“I thought you were a good detective.”

You inhale, playing up your offense at his taunting. Before you can reply, Karadec slips his hand beneath your shirt and rests it against your waist. Lifting your hand, you cup his jaw and lean toward your husband.

“Have anything else you need to talk about?” you inquire softly. “A case? Personal stuff?”

“No,” Karadec answers. “Not right now.”

“Right. No talking.”

Karadec nods, pulling you closer. “That sounds like a good idea.”

You smile, then kiss your husband. He holds your waist in one hand and cups the back of your head in the other while you hold his face, brushing your thumb over his beard and up to his cheekbone. Moments like these are your favorite, and make you remember why you love Karadec so much.

Although your relationship may not be common knowledge, you’re happy, content, and secure. The quiet nights after the long, hectic days make it all worth it. No one notices or questions why you carry around hand sanitizer and keep an eye on Karadec during joint operations. You appreciate the privacy, but they’re missing out on a picture of happiness, love, and pure joy.

Hot or Cold

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: You work in a coffee shop, and when you are trapped in the fridge during a robbery, you can only hope that your boyfriend Deacon will find you.

Warnings: armed robbery, violence against reader, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“How’s the handsome boyfriend?” your coworker asks as you wipe down the front counter. “Still dreamy and treating you right?”

You chuckle at the thought of Deacon not being dreamy or treating you right, an impossibility. “Yes, he is.”

The bell over the door of the coffee shop rings, and you abandon the conversation about Deacon to do your job.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask… does Deacon have any single cop friends?”

Reading the name on the latte you just prepared, you shake your head. If you were in her place, and she had a boyfriend like Deacon, you’d want to know where to find one.

“Thanks,” the man says as he takes the cup.

“Have a nice day!” You turn toward your coworker to answer, “Honestly, I don’t know. Street’s still in his ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing with Chris, Tan is, well he’s Tan… the new guy might be single.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are.”

“You shouldn’t. I can check for you though; if I’m right, you’d be cute together.”

“Is he as easy on the eyes as Deacon?”

“Nope,” you answer with a smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Man, I would kill for an espresso after that,” Rocker groans.

Luca waves his hands in a ‘stop talking’ motion before Deacon hears any reference to coffee. Luca loves you, but Deacon has difficulty stopping once you’re mentioned.

“Too bad you don’t have time,” Deacon answers instead. “We got another call. Up, buddy.”

Rocker rolls his eyes before standing.

“What now?”

“Another bank robbery. You should’ve gotten a coffee when you had the chance; it’s going to be a long day,” Hondo answers.

Deacon nods at the idea of coffee, a picture of you making him feel a little more awake.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is going on today?” someone asks, sitting back after a mad rush.

“Are you referring to the caffeine addiction of Los Angeles or the continuous sirens? Because I have no answer for either,” you answer, leaning on the counter.

“All these sirens and no single cops or firefighters to accept my number,” another voice sighs, joining your small huddle.

“Why don’t you guys head out early? I can close up, I know it’s been a long day,” you offer.

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. You can just cover for me when I don’t want the early shift next weekend.”

They weigh their options before you get a group hug and overlapping expressions of gratitude.

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” you mutter, shoving them toward the small locker room-like area at the back.

“You’re the best!”

“I know.”

As the door closes, their voices fading into the alley, you take a deep breath. You feel like you’ve been on the move all day, with people in and out without a break. Your phone shows no messages or calls from Deacon, but you hope to see him tonight.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, pushing off the counter as you prepare to close.

You lay your phone on the counter and turn on some quiet music, focusing on getting finished and home to Deacon’s house as soon as possible. The counters are cleaned, and the dirty dishes are loaded into the industrial-sized dishwasher, so you're nearly done. As you begin sweeping the floor, someone opens the door.

“Sorry, we’re closing,” you say, moving toward the door to lock it. “The Starbucks down the street is open all night.”

“They have better security,” the man replies, keeping his foot pressed against the door so you can’t close it.

You drop the broom and step back, reaching for your cell phone on the counter to call for help. The man barges in, locking the door behind him as he points a gun at you.

“Don’t move,” he demands.

Deacon is in your favorites list, so it would only take two taps on the screen to call him. You raise your hands before stepping toward the counter. You don’t get to your phone before the man hits the back of your head, knocking you into a nearby table. Holding your ribs, you try to stand but kick a chair on accident and fall to the floor.

“Are you going to keep being a problem or can you sit there and be quiet?” the man asks with his gun at his side.

“I’ll be quiet,” you answer lowly.

He cocks his head, looking around. Stepping back, he slides your phone behind the counter so you can’t reach it easily.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he says, pushing you back on the floor.

“No,” you mumble, trying to fight him off of you.

“And you said you wouldn’t be trouble,” he almost growls, bringing the butt of his gun and the hard side of his hand down on your temple.

The impact disorients you; all you can do is grab his hand as he hauls you toward the walk-in fridge. When he pushes you inside and winks before closing the door, the severity of the situation finally reaches you. 

“Don’t do this! Take whatever you want but let me out,” you scream, banging on the large metal door.

Your head pounds with each movement, and when you graze your hairline with your fingers, you hiss when you reach the broken skin. Stepping further into the fridge, you shiver under the vent and sink to the floor, fighting dizziness and nausea as your head aches. With no way to call for help, you should try to stay warm, but the pain in your head and fear that no one will find you until morning influence you to close your eyes.

Outside the fridge, the thief sings along to the song playing from your phone as he empties the cash register into his small bag. Nodding at his earnings, he steps toward the door before taking the last muffin out of the display case.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon glances down at his watch. You have a habit of offering to close after long days, but even if you stayed, you should be getting home about now. Deacon smiles at the thought of you doing what you usually do: passing your driveway to pull into his own. You’ve been neighbors almost as long as you’ve been dating, though his house seems to be a landing place for both of you.

“20-David to command,” Hondo radios from inside the bank. “We’re Code 4.”

Deacon sighs, lowering his weapon and standing from his hidden position. He pulls his phone from his pocket, surprised to see no notifications from you. Maybe you had a day like he did.

Rushing home to hold you after a long day, Deacon slows beside your driveway, nodding when he sees it empty. But, when he sees your car isn’t in his driveway either, his brows furrow as he wavers between surprise and concern.

Shifting his car into park, he presses your contact, waiting until he gets your voicemail. He texts you to call him ASAP, and after a minute with no acknowledgment, he calls you again. Taking a deep breath in his attempt to stay calm, he dials the number for the coffee shop and prays to hear your voice. The line beeps before your recorded voice greets him.

“Answer,” Deacon begs as the dial tone begins again. “Hey, Luca, I need your help with something. You got a minute?”

“Yeah, of course, anything for you, man,” Luca replies.

Deacon says your name before running a hand across his mouth. “She’s not home and she’s not answering her cell phone or the coffee shop line.”

“Anywhere else she’d be?” Luca asks, shuffling on the other side of the line.

“Not this late. I’m going to drive over to the coffee shop,” Deacon adds.

“We’ll meet you there. Street and I are only a couple blocks away. We’ll find her, Deac.”

Deacon thanks him as he backs out of his driveway. The coffee shop is a ten-minute drive that feels like an eternity.

✯✯✯✯✯

Street and Luca are coming out of the alley when Deacon rushes onto the sidewalk.

“Hey,” Street greets. “The lights were off when we got here. Back door is locked, and her car is still here.”

“Did you try the door?” Deacon asks. 

“Not this one; we just got here,” Luca replies.

“Thank you for coming so late.”

“Of course. We’re here for you and her, Deacon.”

Deacon nods, taking a deep breath as he pushes the door open. He glances at Luca, who tilts his head in concern. Luca and Street enter behind Deacon, their hands at their sides and ready to pull their weapons if needed. There’s quiet music playing from somewhere in the building, and Street nods to Luca as he breaks off to find the source.

“Deacon,” Street calls quietly. He stands from behind the counter and holds up your phone.

Deacon swallows harshly, looking toward the back.

“Let’s clear the building and we’ll go from there,” Deacon instructs quietly.

Street and Luca nod, moving slowly and silently until they’re sure the building is empty. Deacon turns on a light in the back, frowning when he sees your bag in its regular storage spot.

“The cash register is empty,” Luca calls, his voice raised after concluding there is no immediate threat.

✯✯✯✯✯

You hear a voice outside and blink rapidly, forcing yourself to focus. With your arms wrapped tightly around you, your shivers are growing in strength as you grow weak and disoriented.

“Where- go- night?” someone asks, their voice breaking as you strain to listen through the thick metal of the fridge.

The voice sounds familiar, and you summon what little strength you have left to bang on the door. It’s quiet, and as your hand slides down the cold metal, your blinks slow.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Wait,” Deacon demands, raising a hand to quiet Luca and Street. “Did you hear that? Something made a knocking noise.”

He walks toward the fridge, the only place they didn’t check during their initial sweep. Luca nods, standing behind Deacon as Street unlocks and opens the door. Deacon sees you slumped on the floor and rushes in. 

“Dea- David?” you mumble, your eyes lidded as you look up at him.

“Hey, yeah, I’m here. I got you, sweetheart,” he soothes, laying his hands on your shoulders.

“I’ll call it in,” Street says before reporting the robbery and requesting an ambulance.

“We need to get you out of here,” Deacon says quietly, pulling you against his chest.

He stands slowly, cradling your shivering form to his chest. Once Luca closes the fridge, Deacon sits on the floor, taking his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders. He moves you gently to make sure all of your clothes are dry. Sliding his fingers onto your pulse point, he calculates your heart rate with a frown.

“Hypothermia?” Luca asks quietly, passing Deacon a nearby jacket.

Deacon nods, laying it over your hips as he lets you lean against him.

“Ambulance is here, Deac,” Street alerts. “Is she okay?”

“She has to be,” Deacon and Luca answer together.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon and Luca follow the ambulance in Deacon’s car while Street returns home, telling the team what happened. They sit together in the waiting room, sharing their concern and sympathies without speaking.

A nurse exits and says your name, smiling as Deacon and Luca rush to her side.

“The doctor wants to talk to you. Relatives?” she asks.

“He is,” Luca answers. “I’m just a friend.”

“Then I’m going to ask you to wait here.”

“No problem. We’re here for you, Deac.”

Deacon nods, whispering, “Thank you,” as he follows the nurse into the hospital.

“You found her in plenty of time, sir,” the doctor says with a kind smile. “She’s suffering from hypothermia and some surface-level injuries. Despite that nasty bump on her head, we don’t see any indications of a concussion.”

“Thanks, doc. How bad is the hypothermia?” Deacon asks.

“We caught it very early. She’s warming up; temperature was right around 94, so it isn't too severe.”

“Can I see her?”

“Of course. Let me know if you have any other questions, and I’ll be back by soon.”

Deacon steps into your room quietly, looking at you with a sad smile. Dressed in the thin hospital gown with heated blankets and heat packs on your chest and neck.

“’S not as warm as you,” you mumble with your eyes closed.

Deacon smiles, pulling a chair up beside your bed. “Working better though,” he says quietly.

You turn your head toward him and smile as you open your eyes. “Thanks for finding me. It wouldn’t be as much fun to get in trouble without you around to save me.”

“Well no more trouble for a while, okay? Because that was terrifying.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Robbery is working on catching the guy.”

“He stole my muffin.”

Deacon chuckles before offering, “I’ll make you a whole batch to make up.”

“You should’ve been a baker, not a cop.”

“I’m not sure I’m the house-husband type.”

“Trophy husband for sure,” you correct with a nod. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you get discharged, Deacon takes you back to his house, and you notice that someone has moved your car back to your driveway. After getting you comfortable on the couch, Deacon begins rushing back and forth, doing everything the doctor recommended and then some.

“Deac,” you call when he rushes by again.

He stops and backpedals into the living room. “Do you need something?”

“Yes. I need you to sit with me. You’ve done more than enough, and I just need your company right now.”

Deacon smiles and whispers an apology as he sits beside you, holding you close. You cuddle into his side, focusing on your favorite movie. When you kick the blankets off, barely moving as you struggle, Deacon stops himself from acting again.

“Need help?” he asks, running a hand down your spine.

You nod slowly against his chest, and he reaches across you to remove the blanket.

“Want to you want for dinner?”

“Not hungry.”

Deacon looks at his watch, furrowing his brows when he notices it’s been nearly twelve hours since you ate at the hospital, and who knows how long before that.

“You really need to eat something,” he urges kindly.

Your weight increases on him as you shake your head and close your eyes. When your forehead hits Deacon’s arm, he’s surprised to feel how warm you are. He retrieves a thermometer from the small care kit he assembled in his concern-filled frenzy.

“You have a fever,” Deacon tells you. “It’s pretty high, so I’m going to call the doctor.”

“Stay here,” you mumble, grasping at Deacon’s shirt.

He wraps his arm around you, tugging you closer as he raises his phone to his ear.

“Hello, this is Deacon Kay… Yes, ma’am… She has a fever of 103.2, she’s not wanting to eat, and she’s very weak... I will. Thank you.”

“What’d they say?” you ask as he sets his phone down.

“They think it’s probably just the stress of what you went through, or maybe an upper respiratory infection from the cold. I’m supposed to keep you hydrated, medicated, and happy, and call if anything changes.”

You nod, nuzzling closer to him as he chuckles. It doesn’t take much coaxing from him to convince you to take some medicine, drink lots of water, and take a few bites of your favorite food, especially when he promises to hold your hand through it all.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up the following morning, wrapped in Deacon’s arms, the fever is lower but not gone. 

“More water,” Deacon demands.

“You’re bossy.”

“Trophy boyfriends are allowed to be.”

“Trophy husband,” you correct.

“Are you proposing?” he teases.

You take a minute to consider before asking, “Would you say yes?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Then you just wait until I feel better, Kay.”

He smiles, pulling a lightweight blanket over you as your fever finally breaks.

“You’re still worried,” you accuse, sitting up to look at him.

“Of course, I am. I came home and you weren’t here, and then weren’t answering your phone. It’s only because of Luca and Street that I was able to find you without panicking.”

“Then we should have them over for dinner to thank them. Although, I know you would’ve found me without them.”

“I’ll always find you,” he promises.

“Even when I can’t decide whether to be hot or cold?”

“I love you either way,” Deacon replies, matching your tone as he kisses your forehead.

Anniversaries

The Bradfords Series Masterlist (6/?)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!cop!reader

Summary: As a difficult anniversary approaches, Tim struggles to deal with his past. Torn between giving into his desire for you and remaining strong, he puts everyone on edge before he finds the perfect place to heal.

Warnings: angst, nightmares, PTSD, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: Catch the song reference and I’ll give you a cookie.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Tim,” you call, taking quick steps to catch up with him. When he stops and turns toward you, you tip your head toward a nearby door. “Do you have a second?”

Tim nods once, then tells Lucy to get the war bags and ready the shop. He spreads his hand across your back and leads you into the empty office.

“Are you okay?” Tim asks, his arms stiff by his sides.

You don’t answer. Raising your arms, you move closer to Tim. As you wrap him in a hug and press your chest to his, you can feel him tense beneath you. Then, nearly as quickly, he relaxes, seeming to melt into your touch.

“Breathe,” you encourage, measuring your own breaths. “You’re here, Tim. Everything’s okay.”

Tim nods, but when he wraps his arms around your waist and clings to you, you know he needs more. In the time you’ve known Tim, you’ve learned his cues. Since you got married, you’ve developed a system for doing what you can to help him in moments like this. Though it seemed harder than learning to decipher his needs, you have also discovered what you should avoid. Some days, Tim can’t handle touch, but right now, the trauma his mind is cruelly reminding him of makes him need you, even if he’s too proud to ask.

You remove one hand from Tim, bring it to your collar, and unbutton the top three buttons on your uniform. Carefully, you pull one of Tim’s hands off your side and guide it beneath your shirt. His palm spreads across your chest, warm and steady against your skin.

“You’re home, Tim,” you whisper.

“I… Thank you,” Tim replies.

You nod. Tim stays in place for several breaths, then brushes his thumb over your collarbone before he steps back.

“You know where to find me,” you remind him. “Don’t bury it.”

“I’ll try.”

Tim leads you out of the office, and you straighten your shirt as you walk toward the garage. Lucy smiles when she sees you, and you wave to her. Watching Tim get in the driver’s seat, you wish you could do more.

“Do you think your future kid will want to be a cop?” Lucy inquires.

Tim doesn’t reply. His eyes are steady on the road ahead, his shoulders are tense and drawn up, and his eyes are puffy.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asks softly. “Trouble sleeping?”

“Not important,” Tim murmurs in reply.

“Okay. Just let me know if I can do anything to help.”

Tim clenches his jaw but nods. He couldn’t help himself then, so why would he ask for help now?

You wake just after 2 a.m., rubbing your eyes as you yawn. The bed shifts, and for a fleeting moment, you think it’s an earthquake.

“S’a trap,” Tim mumbles.

He flips onto his back, pulling the sheets around his legs. You shift, sitting up as you wait. Some nights, his nightmares pass without a problem. He never talks about them, and you don’t press him too. But, on the other nights – the bad nights – you have to pull Tim back from the battlefield in his mind.

“Tim,” you whisper.

He shakes his head against his pillow.

“Tim,” you repeat louder.

“Too late,” he says in his restless sleep.

“Sergeant Bradford.”

Tim grumbles as his eyes blink open slowly. He sees you, and the tension in his shoulders lessens.

“I’m sorry,” you offer.

“Sorry I woke you,” Tim replies.

“Do you need anything?”

Shaking his head, Tim declines. His hand moves toward yours, and the soft smile you send him acts as a promise that you won’t lead his side. Tim has trauma, and he understands that it will continue to affect him for the rest of his life. You understand just as well because you know what it’s like. Being together, you have a support system – even if it relies on someone who isn’t always emotionally available and gives more terse nods than verbal affirmations. But it works. You work.

Since you got married, you’ve learned that nights are worse for Tim. When he deals with nightmares, you hold him when you can and give him space when he needs it.

“Friday will be twenty years,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence around you.

You don’t respond, giving him the space to think and talk as he needs to. Anniversaries are stressful, especially when it comes to milestones. Twenty years is a long time to be stuck in a vicious cycle, damned to relive your nightmares forever.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” Tim admits, leaning against the headboard.

“It’s a Sisyphean task,” you remind him. “But you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“It’s… it’s heavier now.”

“Don’t let it drag you down.”

Tim nods, then raises his arm. You move closer to him, leaning toward him. With your head on his chest and your hand against his stomach, you find comfort in your husband’s presence as you attempt to ground him and bring him back to this moment.

“Get some sleep,” Tim urges.

“Only if you do, too,” you stipulate.

You can feel your blinks slowing, and Tim’s heartbeat in your ear and warmth beneath you threaten to pull you under.

“I’m right behind you,” Tim whispers.

He feels your breaths even out, then drops his chin to press a kiss against the top of your head. When Tim first met you, he saw your potential. Then, he saw your heart and someone he could love. After you married, Tim realized that you’re his salvation. This life is an anchor holding him down, but you keep him above the water when his inner critic tells him to give up and sink to the bottom. You saved Tim Bradford, yet he hesitates to share his past with you because if it’s too heavy for him to bear, why would he weigh down the one good thing he has left?

Your trauma and the long-term effects manifest uniquely. As do Tim’s. On the day of the twentieth anniversary, the morning after you fell asleep on Tim’s chest, giving him a moment of clarity and peace, Tim feels all of it. He hasn’t been sleeping well, he is under a tremendous amount of stress, and his past has gone from weighing him down to eating away at him. Everything is at risk, but Tim can’t show how much he’s affected. Sighing, he exits the locker room and encourages himself to keep everything inside for one more day. One more shift, and then he can decide to face this head-on or hide in the privacy of his shared home with you.

“Can I give him a warning?” Lucy asks during a traffic stop. “He’s trying to get to his favorite restaurant to catch up with his friends; he’s been out of town for a few months.”

“Then the ten minutes added by going the speed limit shouldn’t make a difference,” Tim snaps. “Ticket.”

“But Tim-“

“Ticket,” Tim repeats sternly. “Stop buying their sob stories, Officer Chen.”

Lucy inhales but nods and says, “Yes, sir,” before she returns to the car.

Lucy deals with Tim in the best and worst moods, but this differs. She takes his aggressive comments in stride, but after an hour of being so close to Tim’s bad mood, she feels as burdened as he does. She’s watching her steps rather than where she’s going, and if Tim were present enough to notice, he’d have something worth reprimanding.

“Shut up,” Tim demands, glancing at the suspect in the back of the shop.

“Lawyer!” the woman replies.

“You’ll get one when we get to the station.”

“I know my rights!”

“Then please invoke the one to remain silent, before I-“

“Officer Bradford,” Lucy interrupts. “Stop.”

Tim looks at Lucy as he slows to turn. His glare causes her to apologize, but he doesn’t say anything else to the perp behind him.

While Tim books the woman, Lucy watches the bullpen. You arrive as Tim fights to get her fingerprints, and Lucy rushes to meet you.

“Officer Bradford!” she calls.

“Hey, Lucy,” you greet, looking up from a folder. “How are you?”

“Uh, I’m fine. I wanted to ask how Tim is, though. He seems… off. Is he okay?”

You close the folder and see Tim through the clear glass pane separating you. His shoulders are so tense you can see the muscles through his uniform. Shaking your head, you wonder what he’s done or said today to make Lucy so concerned.

“He will be,” you answer. “I’m sorry for whatever he’s done.”

“Oh, it’s fine.”

“I’d do something if I could, but he’s- you know. He’s working through some stuff on his own, and I can’t make that go faster.”

“I get it,” Lucy assures you. “Thanks.”

“Chen!” Tim yells from the doorway. “Let’s go!”

He sees you, and when you smile, his eyes soften. But as Lucy passes him and his mind returns to work, his gaze shifts again. You pull your radio from your belt and ask dispatch to alert you of any calls Tim accepts.

“7-Adam-19 responding to a 242 call on Wilshire,” dispatch alerts.

“Code 1,” you reply. “Responding Code 2.”

You pull in behind Tim’s shop and exit your vehicle. Then, you hear yelling. Keeping close to Tim’s vehicle, you anticipate seeing an active battery, with your husband and his rookie in the middle. Yet, the silhouette of someone in the backseat of the shop tells a different story.

At the front bumper, Tim and Lucy are face-to-face.

“Because that is not your job!” Tim yells.

“You’d be just as mad if I didn’t!” Lucy counters.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask, moving toward Tim.

“You’re going to get yourself or someone else killed, Chen! You do not want that on your conscience!” Tim continues.

“I will worry about my conscience.”

“Did you think that maybe I don’t want your blood on my hands?!”

“Whoa,” you say, pushing between Tim and Lucy. You place a hand on Tim’s chest and push him until he steps back. “Stop.”

“I’m not sure my boot knows the meaning of that word,” Tim exclaims.

“Officer Bradford,” you interject. “Stand down.”

He looks at your face, then down to your hand on his chest. He nods once and steps back, letting your hand fall.

“Lucy, take this guy to booking,” you instruct. “I’ll alert Grey that you’re returning without your TO. You may get desk duty, but I can’t change that, I’m sorry.”

“Thanks,” Lucy murmurs, walking around the shop to avoid going past Tim.

After she pulls away, you turn off your body camera and call Sergeant Grey. You explain that you’re bringing your equipment back to the station but need some personal time this afternoon. As does Tim. With his permission, you end the call and rub your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Tim offers.

You show him your hands, then pull his body cam off his chest. As you climb into the driver’s seat, he collapses into the passenger seat and stares at the floorboard. You knew Tim would explode if he bottled everything up. You didn’t expect him to do it on Lucy, the boot he cares for, even if he’s terrified of admitting it.

The drive back to the station is silent, and when you lead Tim into your home, you find your place in the kitchen and give Tim all the space he needs. It is his decision whether to leave or be alone for the rest of the day, and you allow him every opportunity to make it.

Tim returns from the bedroom dressed in an old Dodgers t-shirt. He stops by the door, and you look up from the cookie dough on the counter. You'd be touching if you both extended your arms, but it feels like miles between you. You assume there will be miles soon.

But, as you prepare to tell Tim to be careful wherever he’s planning to go, he steps forward. Tim closes the distance, waiting at your side. You wipe your hands on a nearby towel before you turn toward your husband. When you look up at him, he moves forward another inch. His eyes are red and glassy, and the tension you noticed in his muscles earlier today is gone. Tim looks deflated as if he’s moments from giving up and letting the pain consume him.

So, you do what you know he’s inviting you to do. You wrap your arms around him, holding him up. Slowly, you lead him to the couch, and he sits beside you, content in your arms.

“I came by here to get lunch yesterday,” you say softly, brushing your fingers along Tim’s back. “Kojo was asleep in his bed when I came in, so I tried to stay quiet and not disturb him.”

Tim shifts in your holds, clinging to you as he presses his face against your chest. He clings to you like you are the only thing holding him together.

“The second I opened the fridge, it was like he teleported,” you continue, smiling. “He was just there, looking up at me and waiting for food.”

Tim exhales, and you can feel the tension in his back release. The cords of his muscles seem to unwind as he relaxes against you. In your embrace, the pain fades, driven away by your kindness and love, as your arms act as shields around him. Rather than the racing memories of heartbreak and devastation, Tim refocuses, and he sees you. He listens to your story of Kojo, which is meant to distract him, and sees his family.

“You,” Tim mumbles against your shoulder.

“Hmm?” you hum, brushing your fingers over his jaw.

Tim pulls back, keeping his hands on your waist, tucked beneath your shirt. “You make the pain go away,” he confesses. “In your arms, my mind quiets. Nothing else is like this feeling.”

You smile, slipping your hand along his shoulder before you trace the top of his pec. Tim sits up, his eyes clearing as he sees you. Gently, he removes his hands from your stomach and holds your face. He leans forward and kisses you, and every touch communicates his gratitude. Tim may not offer endless praise or deliver romantic speeches, but there is no doubt that you are loved and appreciated and that Tim needs you.

The following morning, you meet Tim and Lucy in the bullpen after roll call. His mood has improved, thanks to you and a new morning. Lucy looks between you carefully, and when you smile, she perks up.

“Tim,” she says. “I was going to ask you yesterday, but… Anyway, do you need a hug?”

Tim looks at you, his eyes shouting that he loves you. He glances at Lucy and deadpans, “Not unless you want your arm dislocated.”

“Be nice,” you chide.

“Yeah, Dad, be nice,” Lucy echoes.

“You didn’t call me Dad yesterday,” Tim realizes.

“Well, you probably scared her,” you interject.

“Mom’s right,” Lucy says. “You really should be nicer to me. You’re trying too hard to act like you don’t like me. Which we both know isn’t true, because you really love me, way deep down.”

Tim rolls his eyes. You step past him, brushing your fingers against his hand. Tim nods once when you look over your shoulder to wish them a good day. Another unspoken promise.

“You guys do know I can see all of that, right?” Lucy whispers.

“Fifty pushups,” Tim replies.

“But it’s cute! It’s not a bad thing,” she defends.

“One hundred.”

“Dad-“

“Two hundred.”

The Better, Not So Hidden Half

Part 2 of The Better, Hidden Half

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: After Tim decided he didn't want to keep you hidden any longer, you meet the rest of his friends (colleagues, as he prefers), but not the way he planned.

Warnings: depiction of minor injuries (Tim), fluff, grumpy!Tim, Smitty, mentions of drugging

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

When Tim was infected by an unknown biological weapon, he told you that he wanted to stop keeping you separate from the rest of his life. You’re his better half, and he cares deeply about you and your safety, but that doesn’t mean you should be his hidden half. During his short stay in the hospital, Wade introduced you to Lucy Chen, Tim’s rookie, and John Nolan. Since then, however, Tim hasn’t done proper introductions or made any real changes. He has started wearing his wedding ring to work, though, rather than leaving it on a chain around your neck. Baby steps, maybe, but it’s progress.

Your phone rings while Tim is at work, and your breaths grow shallow when you see Wade’s name on the screen. The last time something happened to Tim, Angela called you; any time you see Wade Grey, Angela Lopez, or Talia Bishop’s names appear on your phone, your heart drops in fear for your husband.

“Hey, Wade,” you answer softly.

“Can you please come talk some sense into your husband?” he asks.

Wade's tone and accompanying sigh are all you need to hear to know he’s tired. Sirens have surrounded you all day, so you’re not surprised that something happened.

“About what?” you reply.

“Sorry for the surprise call,” he adds, “I know those can be concerning, so I’ll go ahead and tell you that Tim was in a minor accident, but he’s refusing to get looked at.”

“Shocking,” you joke. “I’ll be there soon. How is he?”

Wade begins to answer, but you hear Tim yell, “If I need a break, I will take one!” in the background.

“Sounds about the same as usual,” you say and answer your question. “See you in a few.”

“Thank you. You’re the best honorary cop I’ve got.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Sergeant Grey.”

When you walk into the Mid-Wilshire Station, Tim and Wade are nowhere to be seen. You see Angela waiting nearby, and she rushes to hug you after you wave.

“Are you finally here to meet everyone? Since someone decided that he needed to talk to you alone to heal last time?” she asks playfully.

“I’m here because Tim is injured and stubborn,” you answer.

“And he’ll still be injured and stubborn after you meet the boots who can’t stop talking about you.”

“Is he okay?” you whisper.

“He’s fine. Barely injured, I promise.”

You nod and thank her before she leads you toward a small crowd of officers. Talia says hello, and the three in long sleeves stand up straighter when they see you.

“Mrs. Bradford, nice to see you again,” Lucy greets.

“You too, Officer Chen,” you reply.

“Lucy, please.”

“You’ve met Lucy and Nolan – however brief Tim kept it. And this is my rookie, Jackson West,” Angela introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” you offer with your handshake.

“So, you married Bradford?” he asks. “Why?”

You chuckle at the question but can’t answer your cliched answer of because I love him, and he’s really just a big softie under the sarcastic eye rolls and grumpy yelling before Nolan asks another question.

“At the hospital, you said less than five words to Tim, and he listened. No complaining, no hateful looks, just immediately obeyed. How do you do that?” Nolan inquires.

“Wait – how did you meet?” Jackson adds. “Let’s be chronological.”

Nolan nods in agreement, and you prepare to answer.

“Then I want to know your first thought of Tim. Before you met, just saw each other, whatever… what did you see that drew you in?” Lucy asks.

Angela and Bishop smile as your eyes bounce between the rookies and their never-ending questions. You can’t answer one before the next one is asked, and though you don’t feel the same, you can understand why Tim didn’t want you to meet them all at once.

“No!” Lucy exclaims. “Where did Tim propose?”

“The place where they met,” Talia answers.

Nolan turns quickly to yell, “You knew Tim was married! Why didn’t you mention her?”

“She’s not my wife,” Talia replies sarcastically. “Not my story to tell.”

“I would have talked about her because she’s my best friend,” Angela interjects. “But Tim threatened me.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bradford,” Jackson says. “We’re just excited and shocked and have so many questions.”

“Mrs. Bradford?” a passing officer asks. “You’re too young to be Mom Bradford, and you’re not his sister…”

“I’m Tim’s wife,” you finish.

“This is Smitty,” Angela tells you.

She winks quickly, and you nod in understanding. You’ve heard plenty of stories about Smitty, and more than enough complaints when you’re alone with Tim. He seems unique, to put it lightly (and kinder than Tim does).

“You married Tim Bradford? Was he by any chance in possession of narcotics or mind-altering drugs when you met? Because it’s pretty easy to convince a woman to do something these days, just a little powder in an uncovered drink, you know,” Smitty continues.

“Smitty, have you drugged a woman before?” Nolan asks. His suspicion is evident in how he asks and the narrowing of his eyes.

“Well, Officer Smitty,” you begin. You nod at Angela, and her smile grows when she realizes you plan to play along.

Tim stands with a quiet grunt of pain. He stretches to the side to fight the growing stiffness and sees Lucy talking to a group of people. Smitty approaches the side, and Nolan steps back to reveal the focus of all of the attention. Tim doesn’t think twice and races out of Wade’s office to save you from the boots.

You address Smitty but don’t say anything more before Tim wraps his hand around your arm while the other grips your hip and pulls you backward. Tim moves you away from Angela and ignores the protests that follow your sudden departure. You don’t fight him as he leads you into Wade’s office. Wade looks up and mouths a relieved thank you.

“Tim, as much as I love meeting the people you pretend not to care about, would you please stop getting hurt and giving me an excuse to drop by unannounced?” you ask.

“I didn’t get hurt,” Tim argues.

His hands are still on you, so you turn in his hold to look at him. Several scrapes litter his left cheek, and you run a gentle finger under them. You can see that his shoulders are tense but you're grateful that his injuries seem to be limited to some stiffness and scrapes.

“What did Wade tell you?” Tim whispers.

“That you were being stubborn and not listening,” Wade mumbles behind you. “I’m surprised she believed me.”

Tim keeps his eyes on you but doesn’t comment further on his injuries or the rookies you just met. He looks down, and you follow his eyes to his hands. His left hand is wrapped tightly with gauze and bandages as he slides his right hand into his pocket.

“Had to take this off,” he tells you.

You extend your hand to accept his wedding ring and curl your fingers around it. After unhooking your necklace chain, you slide his ring on and keep it safe against your chest. Tim nods once it’s secure with you and pulls you to sit beside him. You lay a hand against his right cheek and smile as he leans against your hand. He leans in and kisses you quickly before glancing at Wade to ensure he isn’t watching.

“He’s seen us kiss before,” you remind Tim.

“And I will never let you forget it,” Wade agrees, focusing on the paperwork before him.

“No mind-altering drugs required,” Tim says with a small smile.

“Now I understand why you didn’t want me to meet Smitty.”

“I warned you.”

“Luckily, Angela introduced me to the rookies first, and I invited them over for dinner on Sunday. Wade, you and Luna are welcome to come, too, if you’d like,” you say.

Tim groans as Wade promises to pass the invitation on to Luna. You sit back carefully as Tim leans against you. He’s grumpy about your new connection with the boots but loves you. Tim meant it when he said he didn’t want to keep you hidden and risk wasting his life by separating from everything else that matters to him.

“Lucy won’t shut up,” he realizes with a dramatic sigh.

“Yeah, because I’m sure you carry half of the conversation as it is,” you tease. “Don’t forget how well I know you, Bradford.”

“As long as you don’t forget that I don’t like these people, Bradford,” Tim counters.

“You let Angela come over all the time. And don’t give me the whole ‘she scares me’ thing; you love her.”

Tim moves closer to you to whisper, “I love you more.”

“Then go get a full physical examination. Make sure all the handsomeness is still put together like it’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Then maybe you don’t love me like you claim to. That’s why you leave your ring with me, right? Easier to bring women in when no one knows you’re married.”

Wade fails to hide a laugh before he covers it with a fake cough. Tim shakes his head but kisses you again before standing. You follow him to the door and thank Wade for the call. Tim waves everyone over, and Lucy beats the rest of them by a solid three seconds.

“Hi again,” she tells you.

“I’ll go see the medic if you rescind the dinner offer,” Tim tells you.

“You’ll go see the medic either way, so no,” you reply.

“We’ve decided a better way to ask questions, and we’ll give you time to breathe in the future,” Jackson says. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, Jackson. I understand the excitement; not the shock because, I mean, look at him," you wave toward Tim and continue, "but it’s not every day that you meet Officer Grumpy’s secret wife.”

“Did you just gesture to me like I’m a game show prize?” Tim murmurs.

“Tim and I will be happy to answer all your questions at dinner. It was very nice to meet all of you, and if Smitty asks again, I was absolutely drugged.”

Tim drags you away once again, and Angela only hears him ask, “Officer Grumpy?” before the door closes behind you both.

You turn and place a hand under Tim’s chin. One touch, a smile, and a kiss turn Tim back into your loving husband. He didn’t realize that keeping you separate from his work life gave you a unique power over him because he’s never had to hide his love for you or the physical affection he’s grown to crave.

“Be careful,” you request softly. “And call me if they find any other injuries.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tim answers.

“Don’t,” you warn.

“You kissed me first.”

“Thanks for letting me be part of your life, Tim.” He nods and kisses you slowly, but you push him away to warn him, “Ask Angela to tell you about Smitty before he says anything about our relationship.”

“You talked to Smitty, too? Maybe I should start leaving you at home again.”

“I love you,” you call over your shoulder.

“I love you,” Tim replies.

He walks back into the station with two things on his mind: learning what Smitty thinks about you and Tim that was worth a warning and getting home to you. Your touch, kiss, and the soft return of his ring will always be the best part of Tim’s day, and even though he wears his ring more often now, you still pull him in because he needs you more than he’s ever needed the ring.

Till Death Do Us Part masterlist

I wanted to use the “flustered Bisexual mess(Faelyn)/absolutely knows and shows no mercy(Walter, Viktoria, Lucy)” trope along with the “shy smol/flirty tall” and also “you won’t like me when I’m angry/oh god they are hot when they go feral”

TEASER

Cast

Prologue

DNA is a Bitch

The butler’s a dick but the Lord can dick me down

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@mrs-fanfiction-2001

@bunnyboo12

@yor72

@weepingwitchofthewest

@stabmemaybe

@frozenhuntress67

THE GANG EXPANDS pt.2

IASIP x Reader

Always Sunny Masterlist

“Nope... I'm putting my foot down you guys. We can't make someone drop acid as a job interview.” Dee slurred, attempting to stomp on the ground and almost losing her balance on the stool.

Part 1 Here

Summary: You agreed to play Chardee Macdennis with the gang as a form of ‘job interview’. The level 3 card you pull poses the question of how far is too far?

Warnings/Tags: 18+ due to the very nature of the show. Canon typical themes including but not limited to misogyny, exploitation, abuse, derogatory language, drugs and alcohol, sexual themes, etc.

You read the level 3 card aloud, "You must do the hardest drug available to you. Players have 1 minute to search and present you with their findings."

Thinking that this game was most likely designed to be played on a weekend when it was more likely for someone to be holding, you sighed in relief. However your brief moment of safety was short lived as you watched everyone dispense and rummage around in their pockets — desperate to find anything that could be considered a hard drug.

Dee dug her contraceptive pill packet from her handbag and placed it on the table. It was a safe option, what would a harmless bit of estrogen do for a fellow fertile woman, huh?

Dennis reluctantly pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a small clear ziplock baggie with a single pill inside of it. "It's a perfectly legal prescription, calm down."

"But what is it though? It could be a fresh dose of date rape for all we know. How do we know it's not a roofie, huh?"

"Jesus Christ Deandra, no... It's an emergency melatonin for me to take if I decide to stay the night with a lovely lady at her house instead of mine."

Dee wasn't buying that crap. She wasn't buying it for one second.

Frank pulled out a penny, $300 in cash, a cracked piece of eggshell and a black jelly bean from his pocket, whilst Charlie pulled many an assortment of treasures; A Phillips head screw, a cashew nut, a crumpled up receipt and ball of lint that on second glances was definitely crawling across the bar table. Last but not least however, you watched him pull out a tab of acid from his jacket pocket.

"Wait, shit… I need that back!" Charlie said worriedly, leaning over Frank's shoulder to take back the receipt of all things. "I bought a dud goldfish from the pet store the other day. It's a rollercoaster of a story. I'll tell you later."

"Nope... I'm putting my foot down you guys. We can't make someone drop acid as a job interview." Dee slurred, attempting to stomp on the ground and almost losing her balance until you swung your arm out to stop her.

"You're right Dee. You're right." Mac hiccupped before raising his eyebrows in surprise of his own inner thoughts. “What if she dropped acid as an employee? Make it a team bonding exercise.”

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

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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

Opportune Growth

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!baker!reader

Summary: While Luca looks for opportunities to expand his food truck business, he doesn't expect growth in his personal life or to meet you, a woman capable of making everything better.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“I’m on it,” Luca says into the phone. “Hopefully by next week.”

Street tilts his head to the side, a silent request to be pulled into the conversation.

“Yeah,” Luca agrees, laughing. “Thanks, Xiomara.”

“What’s funny?” Street asks when Luca ends the call. “I like funny things.”

“You are a funny thing, Streeter.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Luca shakes his head and playfully punches Street’s shoulder. It’s a slow day at SWAT – though none of them will admit that aloud and risk jinxing – and Luca has been spending more time working on the growth and thriving of Guata-Mama’s.

“I’m looking for some opportunities to expand Guata-Mama’s. Ya know, get more jobs, maybe a more permanent spot,” Luca explains, shrugging as he finishes.

“Like a restaurant permanent or a parking spot permanent?” Street clarifies.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. Xiomara doesn’t seem to care, she just wants to cook, and now that we have enough help, she can. Right now, I’m focusing on finding some new venues; farmer’s markets, events, stuff like that.”

“There’s a farmer’s market like a mile from here tomorrow,” Street remembers. “We could go scope it out, see how Guata-Mama’s would fit in.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Luca muses.

“Of course it’s not, it’s my idea,” Street counters, smiling. “Plus, you used all the blueberries this morning.”

“There were three left, Street.”

“Tan’s rolling with 50-squad for a hostage situation,” Hondo says as he exits the situation room. “What are you two doing?”

“Planning a takeover of Los Angeles,” Street answers. “Guata-Mama’s will be the only name that matters.”

Luca smiles as he rolls his eyes. “I’m looking for new opportunities.”

“Well, this is the right city for that, my man,” Hondo encourages.

“I feel underdressed,” Street says through his teeth as they enter the farmer’s market.

Luca taps his elbow against Street, then gestures toward a juice vendor. The man is wearing a light kimono, board shorts, and sandals.

“Never mind,” Street adds. “Just rich, overdressed customers then.”

“I’m gonna go talk to a few of the vendors, get a feel for what it’s like,” Luca explains. “You coming with?”

“I’ll catch up,” Street mumbles, his eyes locked on a booth farther down the transformed parking lot.

“Sure, you will,” Luca agrees facetiously.

He walks between tents and fruit stands, smiling and greeting people as he approaches a strip of food trucks. A breakfast truck offers pancakes on a stick, a smoothie/ice cream hybrid truck appeals to health nuts and sweet tooths, and a sandwich truck is parked between them. Around the corner, tents sell homemade food – everything from customizable organic trail mix to fresh bread.

“Good morning,” Luca greets as he approaches the Juice Cream Dream truck. “I was going to ask if I could speak to the owner, but now I think I need to order two blue line smoothies.”

“You an officer?” the woman in the truck asks.

“I am. How’d you know?”

She shrugs and says, “The owner is picking something up, he’ll be back in five minutes, maybe less. I’ll let him know you want to talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Luca replies, retrieving his wallet.

“It’s on the house,” the woman interjects. “Wendall, my boss, told me never to let an officer pay for a drink he made for them.”

She passes Luca the smoothies and tells him to let her know if she can help with anything else.

“Luca!” Street calls as he returns. “There’s an artist over there who painted a picture that looks like- why do you have two smoothies?”

Luca offers one to Street, and his story is forgotten as he takes the first drink.

“That is incredible,” Luca says after taking another sip.

“And it’s got a blue line,” Street muses. “What is the blue line?”

“Blueberry,” a man answers. “Sorry for interrupting, gentleman. My name is Wendall, I was told you wanted to speak with me?”

“I do,” Luca replies, offering his name and hand. “I own a food truck and I was wondering if you’d be willing to share your experience here with me.”

“Of course.”

“I will be at that bakery tent,” Street tells Luca. “Nice to meet you, Wendall.”

“Good morning,” you greet when someone enters your tent. “How are you?”

“Better now,” the man replies. “It smells amazing in here.”

Your smile grows as he begins looking at the labels on your fresh baked goods. Since you opened your bakery, you’ve found immeasurable joy in seeing people enjoy what you make. When you started vending at a farmer’s market, that joy grew. Being face-to-face with customers like this beats being in the back of your shop, you think, even though you love every aspect of your job.

“Looking for anything specific?” you inquire.

“Well, now I’m trying to narrow down what I want because everything looks amazing,” he replies. “Can you recommend anything?”

“Depends on what you like. The raisin scones are my personal favorite, but the butter croissants and maple cookies are well-loved.”

Another man enters your branded tent and sends you a devastatingly beautiful smile.

“Luca,” the first man says, “we need all of it.”

Luca, you repeat to yourself, drawn to him and his name for a reason you’ll probably never know.

“Good morning,” he tells you. “Sorry about my friend.”

“He’s a great customer so far,” you say lightly, smiling at the man before you.

Luca hesitates, desperate to talk to and be near you for as long as possible. He tries to shake the feeling, but it lingers, like a cloud of impenetrable smoke separating the two of you from the rest of the world, blind to reality around you.

“I’m sorry, is your name Luca?” you ask. “You wouldn’t happen to be Dom Luca, of Guata-Mama’s, would you?”

“Dude, she’s heard of you,” Street gushes. “You’ve made it.”

“Yes, I am,” Luca tells you, sending a look to Street. “You’ve heard of it?”

“It’s the best food truck in LA, of course,” you answer. “I’ve been hoping to see the truck at a farmer’s market.”

“That’s actually why I’m here. I think Guata-Mama’s would do well here.”

You nod and pull a folder from beneath your table. “Here is the contact for the director,” you offer, extending a piece of paper. “He’s a great guy, really down to earth and just looking to make local food and businesses accessible.”

“Thank you,” he says, folding the paper carefully to stow it in his pocket. “How long have you been selling here?”

“Not long. I’ve got a brick-and-mortar place, and I thought it was time to get out of the bakery every once in a while. Business is good here, so it worked out.”

“Looking at your product, I’d imagine business is good all the time.”

Luca smiles and ignores Street’s low whistle. You match Luca’s smile as your cheeks warm.

“I know you own Guata-Mama’s but is that your primary job?” you ask.

“No, we’re LAPD SWAT. The truck is more of a passion than a job,” he explains.

“I love that. And thank you for keeping LA safe. A friend of mine was at the flower market shooting a while back, and I heard SWAT was instrumental in keeping those people safe.”

“I made a decision,” Street interrupts.

Luca turns toward him, and his brows raise when he sees Street’s arms full of boxes.

“You do not have to buy everything I mentioned,” you tell him. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not,” Street assures as Luca takes a few boxes. “These are just the things I couldn’t say no to.”

Luca knows the feeling; he can’t imagine saying no to you either.

“If you’re sure,” you say, giving him an out.

“Very sure,” Street answers.

You make more small talk as you ring up the items. After applying a hefty discount, Street pays for the items as you put them in a large canvas bag. You then draw a business card from the stack beside the iPad you use as a register and write your name and cell phone number on the back.

“This is for you,” you tell Luca, sliding it to him.

“It was nice to meet you,” he says after he sees your handwritten note on the back.

“Enjoy the food, and hopefully I’ll see you around.”

You will, Luca mouths as he follows Street out of the tent.

3 Weeks Later

Luca unlocks his phone again, smiling as he taps the screen.

“Okay, what is up with you?” Tan asks. “You’ve been looking at that phone nonstop all week, and you haven’t acknowledge a single one of Rocker’s stupid insults about double date night.”

“Probably because they don’t make sense,” Deacon interjects. “Although, Luca, he’s got a point, you’ve been… in the clouds, lately.”

“Ooh,” Street teases. “Everybody knows something is up with Luca, and I’m the only one who knows what it is.”

“You know?” Tan asks, turning toward Street. “What is it?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because we’re friends and he’s on my team.”

“I brought muffins,” Luca says, changing the subject to one thing he knows his team can’t ignore: food.

Tan follows Street toward the kitchen, pestering him about giving away Luca’s secret. Deacon, however, stays with a knowing look.

“Baked goods, huh?” he asks. “That’s not really your specialty, Luca. Or something you’d go out of your way for, unless someone made them more appealing.”

“Maybe I just got them at the store,” Luca counters.

“You’d never feed us store bakery goods.”

Luca sighs and nods. “She owns a bakery.”

“And it’s been, what, a month since you met?”

“Three weeks.”

“You really care about her.”

“I think I love her, Deac. This is different than anything I’ve experienced before. It’s like she’s a magnet, an addictive drug, I don’t know, but I can’t go long without thinking of her.”

“You’re telling the wrong person,” Deacon points out. “I’m happy for you, Luca. And I’m willing to bet that this woman feels the same, this isn’t like your past relationships.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Let’s go to dinner,” Hondo says as he closes his locker. “I’m in the mood for not having to cook.”

“I’m in,” Tan agrees.

“Me too,” Street adds.

“Annie’s sister is watching the kids while she prepares a deposition, so I’m free,” Deacon says.

Luca checks his watch before he answers. “I have to run by a new store to get some ultra-fine milled whole wheat flour.”

Tan’s eyes widen dramatically. “No way.”

Deacon and Street nod, and Hondo looks between them and Luca several times.

“Is that a special flour, or?” Hondo inquires, lost.

“Don’t focus on the flour itself,” Deacon says. Hondo raises his fingers from his backpack strap in question. “He’s going to a special store to buy a specific ingredient for something he wouldn’t use.”

Hondo considers Deacon’s explanation for several seconds, then asks, “A girl?”

“Not just any girl,” Street replies, “a baker.”

“My man!” Hondo cheers. “When were you going to tell us?”

“He didn’t have to tell us,” Tan teases. “We figured it out without a lesson in romance from Deac.”

“Pipe down,” Deacon interjects.

“Get the flour and then meet us at the restaurant,” Hondo tells Luca. “We need to plan to meet this baker that swept Luca off his feet.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Street says as they exit the locker room, ignorant of Luca’s phone buzzing again.

𝐈𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: author! ransom drysdale x touch starved! girlfriend! reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You have the perfect cure for Ransom's writer's block.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.2k+

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 18+ content! filthy smut, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, thigh riding, dirty talk, swearing, creampie

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐈𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑

“Fuck!” Ransom slammed his fist down on the dining room table. He ran a hand through his hair frustratingly. With a sigh, he slowly closes the lid of his laptop. He had made no progress on his novel despite working for hours on the first draft, all the words he typed out seeming forced and not flowing right, resulting in him deleting everything and starting over.

“Ransom!” Y/N’s voice rang out, drawing his attention as she entered the dining room. His eyes lifted to meet hers, taking in her appearance in the silk nightgown that stopped just above her knees.

For a moment, he contemplates telling her to leave, but he can't bring himself to do so. Instead, he sighs and runs his hand through his tousled hair once more.

She approached Ransom, wrapping her arms around his neck from behind as she stood behind his chair. Her touch sent a shiver down his spine, but he remained steadfast in his determination to meet his deadline.

Her concern and desire were palpable in her tone as she whispered into his ear, "You've been working all night. Come to bed. For my sake, baby?"

He sighed, his lips slightly parting. "No. I've got a deadline. You know how important this book is to me." His stubbornness was clear in his tone, but Y/N wasn't yet done. She knew how much his writing meant to him, yet she was unwilling to give up.

After hearing Ransom's response, her desire to be with him outweighed her concern for his writing deadline. Her hands slid down his chest as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck, inhaling the woodsy scent of his cologne, her lips brushing against his jaw. He still refused to give up writing, but at that moment, all she wanted was for her boyfriend's attention to be directed at her...and her only.

“Ransom, I need you,” she begs, one hand inching closer to his belt buckle. And before she can move another inch, he snatches her wrist, surprising her.

He smirks when he hears her gasp. “You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” Still holding her wrist, he pulls her down onto his lap, his arm snaking around her waist to hold her in place. 

While the other glides down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “You think you can just waltz in here and I’m gonna give you what you want? Hm?”

“Ransom, please—?” He interrupts her, cupping her mouth with his palm. His other arm still holding her against him, his growing bulge pressed against her ass. “You feel that? That’s all me, baby girl.” She clenches her thighs together, a familiar honeyed heat pooling in her lower belly.

Ransom grins when she doesn’t answer. “Here’s what’s going to happen; you’re going to do what I say, and if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

She nods as he leans back against his chair, arms loosely falling to each side. Leaving Y/N free to move about, but she remains sitting. Eyes pleading for some sign of what she’s meant to do, Ransom takes note, but he says nothing. He hums, his fingers trailing over her shoulders, pushing down the thin strap. “Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to ride my thigh. Show me how much you want me,” he whispered in a seductive tone.

Y/N takes a deep breath and forces herself to move, shifting so she's now straddling Ransom's thigh while he sits in his chair. She can already feel the tension in her own body, as she stares at his handsome face in anticipation. She can also feel the heat building within her as his fingers trail over her shoulders and down the thin straps of her nightgown.

Hands clinging to the fabric of his sweater as she started to move against his leg. Soft whimpers and moans escaped past her glossy lips, and he hummed his approval. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat when his hands trailed up her bare thigh, the cold of his rings grazing the sensitive skin. 

“Mmm. Good girl,” he praised. His hands moved up her sides, dancing under the fabric of her nightgown, slowly teasingly inch by inch. 

With her eyes closed in pure bliss, she threw her head back. He pushed the hem of her gown up, licking his lips as he felt his thigh begin to get damp from her arousal.

“Fuck, you’re doing so great for me, sweetheart,” Ransom groans against her ear, and a moan escapes her lips, rocking back and forth against him faster, losing all composure.

“C’mere,” he drawls as his thumb slides to her front, brushing her swollen lips, collecting her wetness. Ransom smirked devilishly, a hungry gaze overtaking his lust-filled blue eyes when she gazed down at him, finding satisfaction in the neediness her body provided.

She trembled at Ransom's devilish smirk, her breath catching in her throat as his thumb brushed against her swollen folds. As his thumb continued to collect her wetness, she felt herself growing even more aroused, yet she couldn't help but feel vulnerable as she gave in to Ransom and his touch.

She rocked back and forth, her body pressing harder against him as her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, her lips seeking his own. Ransom grunted in appreciation and pleasure as he tightened his grasp on her thighs and leaned in closer to her. His hunger for her was palpable in the way he gazed at her with longing and lust in his eyes.

Ransom smirked, taking his thumb into his mouth. His tongue curled around his thumb with a guttural groan. He loved it—craved the taste of her desire. He gripped her chin, forcing his lips on her.

She melted into the kiss, tongues swirling as their breaths melded into one. Y/N groaned softly when the loss of contact, only to shiver when his icy blue eyes pinned her with their intensity.

"Get up. Bend over, arms spread out on the table," he told her after a moment, his voice still filled with lust. But as she started to move toward the table, Ransom pulled her back, turning her toward him again.

"On second thought," he told her, “I want to see that pretty face as I pound into that tight cunt. Face this way, like that... yes, baby—perfect.” His fingers trailed between her slit, his fingers dangerously close to her entrance.

Y/N whimpered when Ransom pressed his knee between her thighs, spreading her open for him. Leaning forward to capture his lips, her nipples hardened against his chest. “Uh-uh. Hands-on the table,” he snapped. “Spread.”

She did as he ordered. He looked down at her, taking her in, and bit the corner of his bottom lip. His mouth pressed into a smug grin. “Fucking perfect.” Ransom slid his hands back down the softness of her inner thigh, gripping tighter as they made their way to the apex of her sex.

Two digits teased her soaked opening, plunging them both inside of her warmth at a slow pace, dragging in and out. Her hips bucked upward against his hand, and he groaned at her eagerness.

Her hands curled, gripping the edge of the table. Her breath grew heavier and heavier as his fingers moved in and out of her. “Mmmm,” she whimpered.

“You are so wet and hot,” Ransom hissed into her ear. “Do you know what that does to me?” She watched him unbuckle the clasp of his belt, her eyes heavy with lust, watching every movement he made, admiring the muscles that danced underneath his thick white sweater as he slowly dragged it over his head and cast it aside.

He smirked at her, enjoying her wanton eyes, needing him as much as he did her. He stepped close to the table, pulling his cock free, and stroking it in his hand. She felt her mouth salivate.

“This is mine... all mine,” his eyes narrowed on hers. He brought the head of his cock against her slit. It jumped and pulsed against her slick core. The hardness was driving her mad. She pouted up at him.

“That look,” He exhaled harshly. “is why I’m going to give you whatever you want. Tell me what you want...don’t hold back. If you want my dick, then tell me, be the dirty girl I know you can be.”

He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, leaned down, and kissed her deeply. “Let go... give into the pleasure. Release the pent-up desires you’ve kept bottled inside.” Y/N couldn’t handle it; she’d gone far too long without having the weight of him over her body and the touch of him upon her skin.

The words flew from her lips freely. “Ransom, fuck, I need you...” she muttered, followed by a quick hitch, “I need to feel it in me.”

He smirked, pleased. “Yeah, baby?” She nodded; the next thing, his cock plunged deep inside of her with a grunt. “Ransom...” she moaned as he pulled back out slowly, leaving his tip to catch on the edge of her throbbing sex.

 Her fingers gripped the edge of the table for purchase when he pushed his way inside, filling her so completely with himself. There was nothing between them, they were one.

Ransom placed his hands on her hips, his fingertips biting into her flesh as he ground his cock deeper and harder against her. She wrapped her arms around his body and held on as he pumped into her.

“Is this what you wanted, sweetheart? Is my dick what you missed when you touched yourself? Did your own hand bring you pleasure?” She mewled out her approval when his thumb caressed against her lower abdomen, making it press harder on the spot that made her head spin faster until, finally, her cunt pulsed with every wave of electricity that crackled through her body. She felt every nerve within her clamp down and cling to his length as it filled her to her brink.

His palms pressed to her breasts, pinching the perked buds as her pleasure rose. Ransom picked up the pace, pushing into her harder, hitting that delicious spot that had her back arching.

“Tell me. I want to hear you say it, baby.” Her walls clenched tighter around his length, sucking him in and not releasing. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, nibbling on the sensitive spot beneath her jawline, earning more melodic moans from her.

“You. I want you, all of you—God, fuck yes,” she cried out as he slowed the pace of his thrusts, holding her still as his pelvis hit her clit. Each time he drew back, it left her needy and wanting. Ransom placed her ankle atop his shoulders, looking down between them as his cock slid into her, glistening with her slick. 

The sounds of their pleasure mingling echoed off the empty walls of the Drysdale residence. Ransom groaned loudly as his eyes closed, letting the sensations roll over him like a thunderous storm. She rolled her hips to meet his thrusts. His balls slapping against her ass. He grunted, loving the feeling of her pussy, the tight heat, and velvety walls.

“Such a greedy girl, always wanting to be full of my cock—fuck! Just like that baby, cumming already...” He slapped his hands onto her hipbones and rode her harder. She could see stars behind her lids, a telltale sign that she was nearing release. 

His mouth dipped low, suckling at the peaks of her breast and pulling one taut nipple into his mouth, alternating between them. “I fucking love these tits...” he mumbled against her skin. “Just seeing you like this—fuck, baby, you make me feel things I never thought possible.”

“I love you, Ransom,” she whimpered when he drove into her in short, brutal jabs. He slowed and stared down at her. He smiled and caressed her face.

“I know,” he said as he kissed her. Her orgasm slammed into her, shattering her from the inside out, and she trembled from the sensation as she lost control of all faculties.

Her toes curled against his back, and her heels dug in. She shook against him and clawed at the smooth wood as Ransom continued to slide into her, slowing his movements while she rode the high.

His chest rumbled in a feral growl as his seed shot forth and flooded her core. He stilled for a moment and waited until he was spent. Pulling from her, he admired the sight before him. His cum slowly seeped from her slit and dripped from her folds onto the floor. A dark sense of satisfaction settled over him, and he gave a smug smile.

When she recovered, she sat up slowly, wincing slightly. Her sore muscles ached, but she felt sated in all ways. Ransom pulled her up against him, wrapping his arms around her. She breathed him in, sighing happily. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Sorry, I got carried away,” he kissed her neck.

She laughed. “No, but I will be tomorrow, but it will be worth it.”

“What am I going to do with you?” he mused.

“I have a few ideas,” she grinned as she looped her arms around his neck.

Ransom laughed and peppered kisses over her neck. “It seems I created a monster,” he quipped, “but don’t think I haven’t noticed the lack of underwear. You knew what you were doing, you little devil.”

“What can I say? When it comes to you, I can be quite needy. Besides, how else would I get you to stop working?” Ransom scoffed, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her, kissing the top of her head.

“You head up to bed. I’ll be there soon. Okay, baby?” he asked. She nodded.

“Okay, baby, I’ll be waiting for you,” she replied as he helped her to her feet and walked over to grab his discarded clothes. He watched as she left the dining room.

Once she was out of view, Ransom sat back down in his chair. As he tried to resume his work, all he could think about was his girlfriend upstairs in their bed. The sounds of her soft cries, the feel of her under his touch. He licked his lips.

Who knew writer’s block could be such a blessing?

As he saved his document, he smiled and shut the lid of his laptop. Work could wait another day. For now, he had something more important to take care of.

banner credit: @.saradika