Happy Scary Halloween

Chemistry Partners

Requested by anonymous but I lost the full request

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!PO!reader

Summary: Tim and Lucy assist you in locating a parolee in violation of his conditions. Lucy notices the undeniable chemistry between you and Tim, but doesn't expect Tim's response when she points it out.

Warnings: fluff, mention of prostitution, threat against r

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

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“CDCR, probation. How may I help you?” you say to answer the phone.

With the receiver tucked between your ear and shoulder, you look at your current list of parolees. The spreadsheet shows three red lines, and you frown as you read the names.

“Hi, I’m calling about Dexter Wheeler,” the woman on the phone says. “I believe he’s one of your parolees.”

Sitting up straighter, you reply, “Yes, ma’am, he is.”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you and I’m sure it’s nothing, but he hasn’t been to work in three days. His conditions for employment allow him sick time and personal time, but he hasn’t notified us, and he isn’t answering the phone.”

“Okay, I am supposed to have a check-in with him tomorrow,” you read from your screen. “I’ll look into this and let you know. Thank you for the call.”

“Of course. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Nothing specific, no. Is there-  Did you notice any unusual behavior before his absence?”

“He had been a bit distant,” she answers. “Unwilling to answer questions, easily agitated.”

“Did he make any threats or become overly belligerent?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I just figured he was tired or maybe he wanted another job.”

“I’ll certainly find out what has been going on with him.”

“Thank you. Would you mind calling me back after you speak to him? I want to be sure he’s okay.”

“Of course. I’ll keep you updated. Thank you.”

You return the receiver to the phone cradle and navigate to Mr. Wheeler’s parole file. He hasn’t checked in with you recently, and he hasn’t filed any change of employment or violated any conditions of his parole in the past. He’s never been overly kind, but he was trying to stay on the straight and narrow when you first met him. You think your parolees deserve a second chance, but they must be willing to do the work and prove that their second chance won’t be wasted.

With your phone on speaker, you call Mr. Wheeler. It rings repeatedly until an automated message alerts you that Dexter’s voicemail is full. That’s not a good sign.

You log out of your computer, gather your things, and tell your supervisor you’re doing a surprise visit. She encourages you to alert the police, and you nod before you leave the office. There’s no reason to think Mr. Wheeler will do anything rash, but it is still a good idea to have the police on standby.

“My favorite podcast buddy!” Nell exclaims when she answers your call. “What can I do for you?”

“Hey, Nell,” you reply, hitting your blinker. “I’m going to a parolee’s house; he hasn’t been at work for three days and he isn’t answering my calls. Any chance you could put some officers on standby for me?”

“Of course. What’s the address?”

You recite it from memory, then thank Nell. With the promise of another true crime party, you end the call and approach Mr. Wheeler’s apartment complex. It’s neither the safest nor the most dangerous in Los Angeles. You survey your immediate surroundings and exit the car to walk up the cracking concrete walkway.

The buzzer echoes in the dim hallway before you exit and look toward Mr. Wheeler’s balcony. One of his neighbors comes down the stairs and says your name.

“Mrs. Ritter,” you reply with a smile. “How are you? How are the kids?”

She sighs and clicks her tongue. “Still wilder than Tarzan.”

You laugh at her unusual analogy. She was one of your first parolees, and you’re proud of her progress in her personal and professional life.

“You here for Mr. Wheeler?” she inquires after hearing you’re doing well. “He has been holed up in that little pigsty since Friday night.”

“Really?” you ask. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“Still makin’ noise and it don’t smell no worse, if that’s what you’re askin’. Come on in, honey.”

She opens the gate for you, wishes you luck, and walks to a freshly detailed but clearly used BMW. You wave to her, then walk up the steps to Mr. Wheeler’s apartment.

“Mr. Wheeler!” you call after your knocks go unanswered. You say your name before you add, “I need to talk to you about your job.”

“I quit!” he yells from inside.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works, Dexter. Open the door and we can talk.”

“I open this door, and we won’t be talking!”

At that, you step away from the door and move back down the stucco hallway.

“Last chance to work with me,” you call.

He throws something against the door, which rattles on its hinges, and you pull your phone from your pocket. With a quick text to Nell, you have backup on the way. Hopefully, you can talk to Mr. Wheeler after the situation is de-escalated.

Less than five minutes later, a police car parks behind your sedan and two officers exit it. You meet them at the bottom of the stairs and open the gate to let them into the apartment complex.

“Thank you so much for coming so quickly,” you say as you lead them up the stairs.

“No problem,” Officer Bradford replies.

“I’m Lucy Chen,” Lucy introduces. “And this is Sergeant Tim Bradford.”

“Nice to meet you,” you respond. “So, my parolee, Dexter Wheeler, lives in apartment 34R. His employer called me earlier because he violated his agreement with them and stopped showing up three days ago. He wasn’t answering my calls, so I came over and knocked on his door. He told me that if he opened the door, we wouldn’t speak, and then threw something at the door.”

Tim nods, then looks around the small hallway. “Any of the neighbors say anything?”

“One of the women who lives downstairs implied that his apartment is – for lack of a better word – disgusting, and that he’s been locked in it since he returned home from work four or so days ago.”

Tim’s eyes remain locked on yours as you speak, and he mirrors your movements as you turn slightly to face Mr. Wheeler’s apartment.

“You want us to take him into custody or just assist in getting inside?” Tim asks.

You sigh, then ask, “What do you recommend?”

“We lock him up,” he answers. “He threw something at you and threatened you.”

“But not in that order,” you remind him with a small smile.

“That’s worse, that’s practically carrying out a threat against a government official.”

“You know this guy,” Lucy points out. “What do you think would benefit him the most?”

“If you’d be willing, I think one more chance might nudge him toward the right decision. If he decides to go the hard way, do whatever you need to do.”

Tim nods while Lucy agrees. He steps to the side and gestures for you to pass him, moving you farther from the door. While your back is turned, Lucy raises her brows and looks between you and Tim. He shakes his head once sternly, then leads Lucy to the door.

Tim knocks with the side of his closed fist and calls, “LAPD! Open the door, we’ve got a few questions for you.”

Dexter doesn’t answer, so Lucy tries, “We just need to see that you’re okay, Mr. Wheeler.”

He still doesn’t answer, so Tim wraps his fingers around the door handle. It turns about halfway, then stops.

“Mr. Wheeler, we know you’re in there. Because you’re on parole, we can come inside without a warrant,” Tim explains. “Last chance to comply.”

“I’m not on parole!” he finally replies.

Tim raises his hands and drops them back to his sides as you deadpan, “Oh, I must’ve been mistaken.”

“We’re coming in, Mr. Wheeler,” Lucy says.

Something else hits the door with a thud, and Tim steps back before bringing his foot up. He kicks the door beside the lock and rushes inside when it splinters and swings open. Lucy lays her hand on her taser and follows Tim while you wait in the hall. A door opens farther down, and someone leans out to see the cause of the commotion.

“Everything’s under control,” you assure them. “Stay inside.”

Lucy returns to the door and steps out before taking a deep breath. “Tim’s bringing him out.”

“Is it bad?” you ask.

Lucy’s eyes widen as she nods. You message your supervisor that Wheeler’s living conditions are unsuitable, and he’s being taken into police custody.

“What?” Dexter asks as Tim shoves him out of the door.

As he closes the door, you catch a whiff of the interior and fight the urge to cover your nose. Tim clears his throat as he looks at you.

“Mr. Wheeler, why haven’t you attended work this week?” you ask.

“I quit,” he tells you.

“Well, you have to tell me that. It’s a violation of your parole.”

“You don’t need to know my every move. I’m not a child.”

“Is that why your home is so dirty?”

“None of your business.”

“Actually, it is. You also failed to answer my calls earlier or open the door for me. Two more violations.”

“I was busy!” he defends.

He attempts to step toward you, but Tim keeps a tight grip on his handcuffs and yanks him back. Wheeler falls, grunting when he hits the concrete landing.

“He was indeed busy,” Lucy tells you.

Your brows raise, and Tim rubs his jaw before he says, “There’s a prostitute in there.”

“He took a prostitute in there?!” you exclaim.

You’re not surprised that he engaged in a criminal offense but by the prostitute’s willingness to go into such a residence. Lucy takes a deep breath before she knocks and reenters the apartment. Almost immediately, she exits again with a scantily-clad woman in handcuffs, closes the door, and exhales.

“Well, Mr. Wheeler,” you begin. “The good news is, I’m not your parole officer anymore.”

He smiles up at you, and Tim ‘accidentally’ knocks his boot against Dexter’s side.

“Bad news,” Tim continues. “You’re going back to jail for numerous parole violations and engaging in prostitution.”

“You’re on parole?” the woman asks.

“That is what’s bothering you?” you and Tim ask simultaneously.

While she attempts to justify her actions, Tim radios for another unit to meet them at the apartment complex and transport the two arrested individuals before you.

As you end a call with your supervisor, Tim and Lucy talk to the officers escorting Mr. Wheeler and his female companion to lock up. You slide your phone into your pocket and wait for them to finish what they’re doing.

After the door closes and the other officers drive toward the main road, Lucy turns to Tim with a wide smile.

“What?” he asks, waving you over.

“Hello?” she exclaims. “Chemistry what? You and the parole officer are like a perfect match!”

“Chemistry?” Tim repeats just as you reach them. “With my wife?”

“Chemistry?” you say, just as Tim had. “Tim Bradford, do you have a crush on me?”

Tim sighs as Lucy looks rapidly between you and Tim.

“Careful,” you warn, while Tim snaps, “You’re going to get whiplash, and I don’t want to hear you complaining about it.”

“I have to get back to work,” you sigh. “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” Lucy replies. “I- you’re married?!”

Tim rolls his eyes, pats your shoulder, and follows you to your car. Lucy watches as he opens your door for you and leans forward to tell you something that makes you smile.

“Tell me everything,” Lucy requests as they return to the shop.

Tim doesn’t reply while he follows your car out of the apartment parking lot. Of course, he knows you are perfect for him, but something about hearing it from someone else makes him love you even more.

“Why don’t we get attached to all of her calls?” Lucy asks instead.

“Why are you still talking?” Tim counters.

Lucy purses her lips, then decides, “The sarcastic comments are more enjoyable when your wife is around.”

Most things are, Tim thinks. He’s glad to know you’re safe, and as Lucy continues asking questions he won’t answer, he thinks about you and what you should do this weekend. It will probably be easier to create a plan after he gets the smell of Dexter Wheeler’s apartment off him and his shop and his wedding ring back on his finger.

𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗱 - 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: peter and you argue because he loves to spend all of his money on you.

𝘄/𝗰: 0.5k

𝗮/𝗻: sorry for disappearing for a few months… again 😭 i am slowly getting back into writing so please bear with me! i saw my last fic reached over 9000 notes so that really motivated me to write something else for you guys ♡ i’m not so sure how i feel about this but i really do see peter as the type of boyfriend to blow all of his paycheck on you so i just had to write this LOL anyways i hope you all enjoy this!!

“put it on my card” you suddenly hear peter say as he pulled your earphones out, causing you to jump.

you were trying to keep yourself awake while waiting for peter to come through your window after patrolling for the night. to keep yourself occupied, you decided to listen to music and do some online shopping (which consisted of you just putting things in your cart but never actually buying anything). with your back facing your window and your earphones in, you didn’t see or hear peter come inside.

“jesus christ peter, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“yeah yeah whatever” he says not really caring that he nearly scared the life out of you. “as i was saying before you rudely snapped at me, put your order on my card”

“i literally have over $400 worth of clothes in my cart”

“and?”

“what do you mean and? that’s expensive”

“your point?”

“that’s more than half of your paycheck”

“doesn’t matter. the whole reason why i have a job is to spoil you” he says while taking off his suit and getting comfortable in your bed.

“aww pete, you’re too sweet. but still, no. i don’t want you spending that much money on me”

he hummed an okay which led you to believe he was gonna just drop the conversation.

you were so wrong.

before you know it, he’s shooting a web at your laptop and dragging it over to him.

“NOOOO!” you scream dramatically and tackle him on your bed before he can type in his card information.

“LET ME BUY YOU CLOTHES!” he screams back while trying to push you off of him so he can grab your laptop again.

you quickly snatched your laptop from the bed and ran out of your room as fast as you could.

“GET BACK HERE!” peter shouted while chasing after you to which you just ignored and kept running away.

“you know what, you leave me no choice” he abruptly stops chasing you which causes you to stop in confusion.

suddenly, he jumped and stuck to your roof with his webs, and webbed your laptop over to him. you literally had no way of getting to him now.

“that’s no fair, you’re cheating!” you whined.

he laughed at you standing helplessly below him and finally placed your $450 order on his card.

“here you go” he smiled and jumped down from the roof, handing your laptop back over to you.

before you were about to scold him for spending so much money on you, you heard a knock at your door.

you and peter both looked at each other confused because you weren’t expecting anybody for the night. he walked to the door and opened, revealing the people you were least expecting.

the police.

“hello, we were called over here for a noise complaint. your neighbors reported screaming being heard from your apartment room and they were concerned. is everything alright?”

you did not expect to end your night by explaining to the police that you and your boyfriend were screaming over buying clothes.

Who Trained Who?

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!reader

Summary: You take Kojo to visit your boyfriend Tim at the station and learn that Tim doesn't like how much time you spend with Kojo.

Warnings: just fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

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“There’s my handsome boy!” you exclaim softly as the door opens.

“Good morning to you, too,” Tim greets smugly.

You ignore him as you drop to your knees to greet Kojo. Since you started dating Tim, you’ve become his unofficial dog walker, dog sitter, and Kojo’s best friend. Tim tried to tell you that you don’t have to spend all of your free time with Kojo, but rather than answering, you buried your warm cheeks against Kojo’s neck and stopped talking to Tim. He hasn’t tried to bring it up again but has done everything to make you shy.

“I’m working a double shift today,” Tim tells you as he pulls you to your feet.

You nod, looking at his neck as he leans back to check your knees. The first time you met Kojo, you skinned your knees during your excitement, and Tim has promised himself not to let that happen again, regardless of how close you and Kojo are.

“If you can’t stay with him, just let him out and make sure he has water?” Tim requests.

“Yeah, of course,” you answer. “I can stay, though.”

“You don’t have to.”

You shrug, and Tim gently directs your chin to look into your eyes. He smiles and repeats himself, and you nod numbly, failing to hide how your shoulders rise toward your ears with his undivided attention. You and Tim thought your shyness would wear off after more time with him, but it’s getting worse if anything.

“Have you fed him yet today?” you ask, desperate to get attention off of yourself.

“Not yet. Call if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” you promise as Tim gathers his things. “Be safe today.”

“Always,” he replies. He cups the back of your head and presses a kiss to your forehead before he adds, “You too. Have a good day, but don’t let Kojo get away with so much this time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Tim nods once, a firm promise that he’ll do everything to get home to you and Kojo. You haven’t told Tim you love him yet, which you know you do, so this exchange of good wishes and promises to see one another again is the placeholder until one of you finds the right words to express what your relationship means.

“C’mon, Kojo,” you call, walking toward Tim’s kitchen as he closes the door behind him. “Ready for breakfast?”

Kojo bounces his front paws in excitement before he sits and watches you prepare his bowl. As you set it on the floor, he tilts his snout up, and you kiss him just above his nose.

“Loslaten,” you command, using the Dutch command Tim trained Kojo with.

Kojo releases as instructed, stands, and walks to his bowl to eat. When Tim initially introduced you to Kojo, he did everything you instructed and surprised Tim. With one of the K-9 handlers, Tim taught Kojo Dutch and German commands, but there seemed to be no language barrier when you arrived. Tim quickly determined that Kojo simply listened better to you and later decided it was because you’re shy and quiet… a dog whisperer.

After Kojo finishes eating, you get his harness and leash from Tim’s cabinet and get him ready for a walk. Being with Kojo is similar to being with Tim, though he fails to make you as shy as Tim manages to. Kojo leads the way on the walk; he protects you from squirrels and intersections, and thoroughly enjoys sniffing around the neighborhood. Upon returning to Tim’s house, you open the backdoor and let Kojo run off the rest of his morning energy – Tim hates it when you call them zoomies, but that’s what they are. You sit on Tim’s patio and wait for Kojo to return to you, panting and ready to rest at your side.

You make yourself comfortable on Tim’s couch, and when Kojo joins you, you don’t have the heart to tell him he isn’t allowed on the couch. Yet you know that if you let Kojo get away with it, Tim will let you get away with it. As you begin working, you wonder if you should visit Tim during his short break between shifts.

The sun is setting as you lead Kojo into the police station. A K-9 officer saw Kojo and yelled in excitement before he greeted you and led you inside to find Tim. The people who work closest to Tim are always excited to see Kojo, so you do not doubt your surprise visit will be welcomed. Kojo also serves as a good buffer between you and the officers, who seem to be in some unspoken contest to see who can make you shy away first.

“Kojo!” Lucy yells, standing quickly from her desk.

You smile and pass the leash to her as Tim exits an office and smiles at you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he reaches you.

“Kojo missed you,” you answer softly. “And Lucy, of course.”

“Mostly me, right?” Lucy asks Kojo.

“I brought more company,” Angela announces. “The K-9 unit saw Kojo walk through and was waiting for an invitation.”

“Sounds like they’re the ones getting trained,” Tim jokes.

“Don’t start, Bradford,” one of the officers replies before shaking Tim’s hand. “Is he still responding well to the commands?”

“Better when they come from her,” Tim answers, gesturing toward you, where you’re kneeling beside Kojo and Lucy.

“Smart man. You teach him that?”

“What a great question,” Angela interjects. “Did you teach Kojo to listen to your girlfriend? Or was it just by example?”

“Bradford?” another officer calls.

Tim looks up, and when he sees the officer holding up a bag of treats, he nods and gestures for him to go ahead.

“Kojo,” the man calls, offering the treat.

Kojo looks to you, and you murmur, “Geh Voraus,” to tell him to go ahead.

Kojo hesitates yet again, and you kiss his nose quickly. Then, he pushes to his feet and happily takes the treat. Lucy’s jaw drops as she looks between Kojo and Tim.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” she exclaims.

“Timothy taught him that,” Angela murmurs to the officer beside her.

Tim presses his lips together and nods, pressing his hands against his belt. Lucy immediately realizes what he’s doing and can’t resist the opportunity to mess with Tim.

“You want a turn, Tim?” she inquires.

All eyes turn to Tim, and he rolls his eyes before he answers, “Funny, Chen. Maybe you should get back to work.”

“Can you get back to work, or do you need a command and a kiss first, too?”

Lucy smiles as she asks. She thinks your relationship with Kojo and Tim is adorable, but she won’t outright admit that to him. When Tim doesn’t answer, she shrugs and scratches Kojo’s back as another officer passes him a treat.

Your eyes haven’t raised from Kojo since you kissed his snout in front of so many people, but when he nuzzles his face against your arm, sensing your discomfort, Tim’s façade slips. His face relaxes, and Angela can see the longing behind his eyes. Being a cop is hard work and long hours, and Tim wants nothing more than to be with you like Kojo is right now.

“Kojo, staan,” you command when someone asks to see a trick.

Kojo steps back from you and raises to stand on his back legs. As he waits for you to tell him he’s a good boy before walking to the officer with the treats, Tim decides he’s done.

“Yep,” he announces suddenly. “That’s enough, let’s go.”

“You’re working,” you point out as he picks Kojo’s leash off the floor.

“I can take you home, my break’s coming up,” he answers.

You take Tim’s offered hand, and your eyes widen in shock when he tucks you against his side after pulling you to stand. Your suspicions are proven right. Tim was getting jealous of the attention (and kisses) you gave Kojo.

“Thanks,” you murmur against his side.

“I’m going to need a bit more than that,” Tim whispers.

“Nose kisses and treats?” you joke under your breath.

“Sounds like a start. And no more bringing Kojo around Lucy. I don’t need her looking at me like that.”

You want to comment, but Tim exits the station and pulls you into a kiss, effectively silencing you. Watching Kojo is always fun, but maybe you should drop by the station unannounced more often.

With You, Even When I'm Not

Requested Here by the amazing @newobsessionweekly!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When one of Tim Bradford's enemies is released from prison, he sets out to hurt Tim by hurting you. You trust that Tim will save you, but time is not on your side.

Warnings: angst, car accident, torture (injuries to r), based on 2x11 but this isn't a rewrite (for once lol), crying, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 5.5k+ words

A/N: I didn't include a scene with Tim threatening someone like he does in 2x11 and I kinda regret it because it was hot, but I also really like how this turned out...

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“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead.”

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Less than eight hours ago, you sat beside Tim in roll call. You force yourself to remember that rather than consider what Ferguson plans to do to you.

- 8 Hours Ago - 

Your day starts like any other: you wake up, get ready, go to the station, and take your seat beside Tim for roll call. The sun is bright, the sky clear, and Los Angeles is event-free for once. So, it has the makings for a good day.

“What is up with you?” Tim asks quietly.

“What do you mean?” you counter.

“You’re all smiley and happy. Someone puked in my shop yesterday and you’re acting like this is the best job in the world.”

“It is!” You chuckle at his look before explaining, “It’s going to be a good day. Just let me enjoy this one for every hundred bad ones I’ve dealt with.”

“Sure.”

Wade enters, and you give him your full attention, though you never forget about Tim. He’s a constant in your life, and you wish you could have him by your side every moment, not just during roll call.

“Nolan, Harper is back so you can return to your TO,” Wade says.

“That’s why you’re so happy,” Tim muses. “You got rid of Nolan.”

You shake your head and smile before you stand. You’re patrolling in one of the nicest Los Angeles neighborhoods today, so you probably won’t see or hear Tim much today.

“Have a good one,” you tell him.

“Be careful,” he replies.

You exit the room, and Tim watches you go. Lucy walks to his side and stops, aware of what he’s looking at and longing for.

“Let’s go, boot, don’t just stand there,” Tim demands.

“Bradford,” Wade calls. “A word? Chen can stay.”

Tim nods and follows Lucy to the front of the room.

“Ferguson was released on parole this morning,” Wade says. “Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know.”

“He had fifteen years left; how did this happen?” Tim asks.

“Who’s Ferguson?” Lucy inquires.

“Someone I arrested,” Tim answers. “He threatened to kill me when he got out.”

“Oh. Uh, should we-“

“That is up to Officer Bradford,” Wade interjects. “If you want to sit today out, I’ll understand.”

“No. I’m not letting him ruin my life, too. We can handle Ferguson if he’s stupid enough to show his face.”

“The parole board seems convinced he’s reformed, but we both know he’s a good liar and a better manipulator. Keep your eyes open, Tim, and don’t hesitate to call in anything you think is a threat.”

“Yes, sir. Let’s go, boot.”

Tim leads Lucy to the shop, and he's quieter than usual. Lucy hasn’t been a cop as long as him, but she knows what it’s like to have a criminal blame you for the consequences of their actions. She won’t push Tim, not about this, but she has questions about everything she heard.

“Pull up Roscoe Ferguson,” Tim says as he turns onto the road. “Get familiar with his face. If you see him, I want you to know it’s him.”

“You really think he’ll do something?” Lucy asks as she turns the dashboard computer toward her.

“I’m counting on it.”

“Dispatch, this is 7-Adam-9, are there any alerts in my area?” you ask into the radio.

“Negative, 7-Adam-9.”

You nod to yourself and place the radio back in the console. The morning has been quiet and slow. You know you shouldn’t complain; a sunny drive in the hills is rarely a bad thing, but you’re a cop, and you’re getting bored.

“7-Adam-9, switch to channel 4 for Sergeant Grey,” dispatch instructs.

You turn the channel dial and let Wade know you’re there. He doesn’t answer, and you slow at a stop sign as you bounce the radio against your thigh.

“You’re in the hills, right?” Wade asks suddenly.

He doesn't use your name or call number, only asks a rushed question. It concerns you, but you remain professional.

“Yes, sir,” you answer. “Do you need me to come back?”

“No, stay up there. Just wanted to double-check.”

“What’s going on?”

Wade goes silent again, and you repeat the question.

“Nothing, I hope. Just trying to keep everyone connected to Bradford out of the heart of LA today.”

“Why?”

“Ferguson was released.”

“He has 15 years left on his sentence!” you exclaim into your empty car.

“I know. I’m trying to get everything figured out and petition for it to be reversed, but for now, just keep working.”

“Yes, sir.”

You turn the channel back and set the radio down. Roscoe Ferguson hates Tim and would do anything to get to him. Tim knows you're here for him, so you focus on your assignment. The Hollywood hills are quiet this morning, but you know better than to let your guard down.

As you turn onto Tahoe Drive, you notice a black truck in your rearview. He gets close to the tail of your shop but slows suddenly and turns onto Tahoe Place. You roll your eyes; the people who live in the Hills drive like they own the hills. They probably do, but it doesn’t excuse unsafe vehicle operation.

You round the bend where Tahoe Drive turns into Lake Hollywood Drive, and the Hollywood Reservoir comes into view. When you glance up, you see the black truck speeding toward you again. You hit the lights and leave them on for a few seconds as a warning, but the driver doesn’t slow. If they pass you, you’ll stop them and issue a ticket, you decide.

There’s a point on Lake Hollywood Drive where there’s less than 200 feet of terrain between the road and the reservoir. It’s covered in sparse foliage, but it would be easy enough to get to the water or hide in the trees. You realize too late that the truck isn’t slowing down or moving to pass you as you near that point. It rams into you from behind, and you lurch forward before the seatbelt catches and snatches you backward. Steering is pointless as the shop slides into a small patch of dirt. The truck is still driving, pushing your car forward. The driver stops just before you collide with a tree, and you reach for the radio.

It's fallen from the console, and the seatbelt holds you uncomfortably tight to your seat. As you wrestle to free yourself and get the radio, you don’t see the man exit the truck or approach your window. He hits it with an illegal tool used for breaking into cars, and you turn your face away as glass showers over you.

“Hi,” he greets. “7-Adam-9, right?”

“And you’re Roscoe Ferguson,” you answer.

“Bradford, get back to the station,” Wade radios, “Now.”

“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he makes a U-turn.

“Ferguson stole a truck. We don’t know where he went after or what he’s planning to do.”

“We should find him,” Lucy says.

“And don’t say you should go look for him,” Wade adds. “You’re too close to this.”

“He’s not going to kill me, Grey,” Tim argues. “Let me help. I caught him once; I can do it again.”

“Get back to the station. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim sighs as he continues driving toward the station. The last time he worried about Roscoe Ferguson, you were sitting beside him. Though you’ll never take the credit, Tim thinks you’re the main reason he finally got Ferguson in cuffs. 

“What now?” Lucy asks.

“We find a way to help find Ferguson,” Tim replies.

“Get out,” Ferguson demands. 

He pushes the gun closer to your face, and you raise your hands slowly. Your left shoulder aches from the impact of the seatbelt, and as you reach through the broken window to open your door, you feel the tiny scratches littering your face and neck sting. Ferguson pulls you away from the shop and pushes you toward the reservoir.

“What’s your plan here, Roscoe?” you ask.

He taps the gun against your back to make you keep walking. With your back to him, you slide your hand into your pocket and remove the laminated piece of paper you keep in it. It falls to the ground, and you hope it’s enough to help Tim find you and Roscoe. 

“Kill me to get to Tim? Hurt him without touching him because you know he won’t let you get the chance?”

“Shut up!” Ferguson yells. “Walk!”

Taunting him may not be your brightest decision, but making him mad will make him careless. When you reach the water, he grabs your belt and pulls you backward. Your breath rushes out as your back hits the ground, but you smile through the pain.

“You will never beat him,” you say.

“Tim Bradford took everything from me. Let’s see how he likes the feeling,” Ferguson responds.

He raises the gun to your face and pushes the barrel against your forehead. You keep your eyes on him, unwilling to flinch in the face of death. He changes his mind, however, and brings the butt of the handle down against your temple instead, and everything goes dark as the water blows in the wind.

Tim and Lucy have been relegated to desk duty. With Ferguson on the run and numerous threats against Tim’s life, Wade decided it would be best for him to stay here. Wade watches them from his office and shakes his head when Lucy begins twirling her handcuffs around her finger. His phone rings and Wade steps away from the glass door to answer it.

“Sergeant Grey,” he answers.

He listens silently before lowering the receiver and stepping out into the station. Tim looks up, and his expression drops immediately.

“What happened?” Tim asks as he stands.

“They found the stolen truck. It was involved in an accident near the reservoir. He, uh… Ferguson ran a cop off the road, and they’re both missing.”

“Who?” Tim asks, urgency and panic lacing the syllable.

Before Wade can answer, dispatch reads your badge number in a missing officer alert, and Tim’s blood runs cold. He freezes, staring at Wade as he realizes what has happened and that it’s his fault. Tim never anticipated Ferguson going for the people Tim cares about – loves – and he should have.

“Let me go out there,” Tim demands lowly. “I can find her.”

“I shouldn’t,” Wade answers. He looks to Lucy and adds, “But I will. Don’t try to do this alone, Bradford. Take help where you can get it.”

“I don’t want the credit; I want her back,” Tim snaps.

“Then get to the reservoir and do what you do best, Tim.”

Lucy nods at Wade, an unspoken promise that she’ll do her best to help him and keep him from spiraling. They both know that it’s easier said than done.

“Tim,” you call out when you wake.

“Nope, just me,” Ferguson says.

He’s sitting across from you as he carves a piece of wood into a chipmunk. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, and one of your ankles is secured to a metal pole with your handcuffs. Whatever he’s planning to do to you will hurt you, but it will hurt Tim much worse.

“I hope you’re asking for a lot of ransom,” you mumble.

“You and I both know this isn’t about money. It’s about that little partner of yours and what he did to me.”

“Making you pay for your crimes? Yeah, he’s a terrible person.”

Ferguson moves forward quickly. The half-finished wood carving falls to the floor as he presses the knife under your jaw.

“These whittling knives are small, but I can cut an artery before you can call out to him again,” he threatens.

You swallow, causing the knife to bob in his hand. He presses harder and turns to the left before standing. Warm blood trickles down your neck, and you wonder what he plans to do to you before he kills you. If you didn’t have so much faith in Tim, you’d be tempted to anger Ferguson and trick him into killing you early. It’s a terrible thing to think, but at the end of the day, you’re a cop, and you know when your chances aren’t good enough. Right now, they are.

“When he gets here, he will put a bullet in you this time,” you tell Ferguson.

“You stopped him last time,” he answers.

He’s planning to use you as a human shield; let Tim be the one to finish you off in the darkness. Perhaps that’s why you’re underground. The only light you see is from a small lamp; when it goes off, you will be plunged into complete darkness.

“Stop talking,” Ferguson demands as he retrieves his chipmunk. “We don’t have much air in here.”

You try not to let your shock show, but as you look around and fail to see a single air vent, you worry that Tim won’t make it in time. Forcing yourself to take a steady breath, you close your eyes.

“No, no, no,” Ferguson chides. “No napping. We have to stay awake for the pre-game, and the final score.”

He tips your head back, and your eyes open instinctually. When he sees that, he tightens his grip on your jaw and circles you. Looking at him upside-down, you tug against your restraints. He raises a foot and places it on your bound hands before stepping down hard and fast. Your shoulders pull backward at a painful angle with no room that makes you yell in pain. Ferguson’s laugh drowns out your scream, and he keeps his hand on your jaw as he lays a rope over the back of your neck to hang over your shoulders.

“He’s going to kill you,” you say between pants when Ferguson releases your face.

He hinges at his hip, invading your personal space as he smiles and says, “You too.”

“Bradford, there’s blood,” an officer alerts.

Tim steps to your open shop door and sees a few small, oblong blood drops on your seat. Based on the shape, you were in motion when they fell, and it wasn’t enough blood to kill you.

“Probably from the glass,” he decides. “Let’s move toward the reservoir. We can’t tell footprints apart but watch where you’re stepping!”

“Tim!” Lucy yells from just past the tree line.

He jogs to her side and looks down. She found a small, laminated piece of paper, and Tim recognizes it immediately. Your self-proclaimed “perfect fortune” from one of your first dinners together as P2s rather than rookies. He picks it up and looks toward the water. He’s looking in the right place, you made sure to tell him that, but he feels like he’s missing something else.

“Please,” you whimper, even though you know he can’t hear you.

“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Ferguson asks. “He’s not here.”

The only thing on your mind is Tim because if you stop thinking about him you’ll only know the unbearable pain and the man inflicting it. Ferguson places his foot between your legs, pushing against the chair slowly. It tips back, and you close your eyes and imagine Tim catching you. It doesn’t stop the initial pain of your leg being held in one place by the handcuffs as the rest of your body moves back or the scream you release as you hit the floor, but it does give you a reason to keep fighting. Ferguson pulls you up nearly as fast as he tipped you over, and the rope digs in against the side of your neck.

“This is the best workout I’ve ever had,” he says.

He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead, and you notice how hot and thick the air seems. Ferguson admitted that the air supply was limited, so if you start wasting it, maybe he will leave.

“If you call him…” you begin slowly. “Let me hear Tim Bradford’s voice one more time, and I will lure him here for you.”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” Ferguson asks.

You nod and immediately regret it when he pulls the rope and forces your head down toward your chest.

“I’m not letting you take control. This is my plan, and it ends beautifully.”

“I can’t do this!” Tim yells.

He runs his hands over the back of his head and down his face as he squats by the reservoir. There are no other hints about where Ferguson took you, nothing to guide Tim toward saving you, only dirt and broken promises. He told you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you; Tim whispered the promise in the dead of night when you were asleep during an overnight patrol, yet he’s holding himself to keeping it like it will kill him if he doesn’t. Because it will.

“Tim don’t give up yet,” Lucy encourages. She lowers beside him and lays a hand on his back. “We can do this, but we have to work together. The paper means something right? Could it be more than an indication she was here?”

Tim wipes under his eye, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she realizes tears are streaming down his cheeks. He stops them quickly, but she pats his back to remind him he’s not fighting alone. You’re fighting, too, and Tim needs to remember that.

“Lucy, I lo-“ Tim stops suddenly, though Lucy is confident she knows where he was going. “I know what it means.”

He stands quickly, and Lucy follows him to the place where they found the fortune. The little strip of paper from a fortune cookie has been in your pocket since you read it, but not only for the encouraging message on the front.

“34831,” Tim says.

“Your badge number?” Lucy asks, tilting her head to the side. “What about it?”

“It was on the back of my fortune that night. Hers, though, didn’t have a number. So, we wrote one on it.”

“What’s the number?”

“2 25 12 9. I didn’t think she’d know what it meant.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s an alphabet cypher, but backward.”

“B, Y, L, I,” Tim rattles off. “If she had this, she may have left more clues at those points: 2, 25, 12, and 9.”

“This would have been about 2,” Lucy says, gesturing to the ground. “That’s what, 2 meters from the car?”

Tim furrows his brows at Lucy’s use of meters but nods anyway.

“We can’t walk 25 meters forward, we’d be in the water,” Lucy points out.

“Then we need to spread out in every direction we can go 25 meters… Unless I’m wrong.”

“Don’t question it.”

“No, she would’ve fought. He wouldn’t have been able to make her go anywhere if she wasn’t willing to. We should assume that she couldn’t leave a trail after this point.”

“Then we’re back where we started?”

“Exactly.”

“Tim, what does that even mean?”

“She’s still here. They both are.”

Tim turns and yells for someone to get satellite imaging of the area and the camera footage from your car. Your body cam and police uniform shirt were discarded by the water but the cameras could tell them what happened before and during the initial attack.

“We’ll find her, Tim,” Lucy promises again.

“Thank you,” Tim whispers.

Running footsteps echo over the top of the tin deathtrap you’re in. Someone yells, and Ferguson ducks his head as he moves out of your sight.

“Tim!” you yell.

Your voice cracks, and as you prepare to yell again, Ferguson pulls the rope around your neck. It digs into your skin and compresses your windpipe. Tears begin leaking from your eyes, and after the day you’ve had, you don’t care to stop them.

“Tim, please,” you whisper.

“Welcome to the final round,” Ferguson says into your ear. 

He loosens the rope and pushes your chair forward. His foot pulls down against your hands again, pulling your shoulder muscles cruelly as they stretch to accommodate the impossible movement. You scream in agony as Ferguson pushes you past the point he stopped at previously.

“Did you stop to ask yourself what he’s thinking? Wouldn’t he have found you sooner if he cared? I’ve been out long enough that he knew, yet he let you out by yourself,” Ferguson taunts.

“You won’t win,” you say between ragged breaths.

Ferguson pulls your head to the side to hold the whittling knife against your windpipe, and the cut he made earlier pulls open. Your white shirt is stained with blood and tears, and even as your blinks slow and breathing begins to feel impossible, you trust Tim.

“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead,” Ferguson says.

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Throwing your head backward, you ignore the sting of his knife sliding across the tender skin of your neck. Your skull hits Ferguson’s nose, and he staggers backward with a hand holding his face. Suddenly, you can’t pull a full breath into your lungs. Time has run out, and Tim isn’t here yet. You hold your breath as Ferguson stumbles behind you. He drops, and you see his hand and face are covered in blood. His chest rises and falls slowly, but you’re safe until the rest of the oxygen is used up.

“Tim,” you whisper toward the metal sheet above you.

“Wait!” Lucy calls. “The ground is hollow here.”

Tim returns to Lucy’s side and hears his footsteps echo. It sounds like there’s a metal sheeting under the dirt beneath his boots. He raises a hand to call a few officers over before someone screams. It’s muffled by the metal and earth, but it’s a clear sign of pain. Better than that, it means someone is still alive.

“Find a way in,” Tim demands quietly.

As he searches the area around the hollow spot, he wishes to hear your voice again. Not another scream, but an acknowledgement that you survived whatever caused you such agony.

"Bradford!” Janssen calls.

He waves Tim over and points to a small opening. Together, they lift the heavy steel cover away from the round hole. Another barrier of cloth and metal sheets blocks the entrance, and as Tim digs through, he wonders how much air is getting through, if any. The moment he can see inside the fortified bunker, he pulls his weapon and drops silently into the metal housing.

What was likely meant to be a storm shelter has been converted into a survivalist’s nightmare. A small corridor leads to a wider opening, and a dim light is the only sign that anyone is inside. Tim raises his guns and stays ready to shoot as he nears the opening.

“Tim,” you whisper.

Tim hears your voice and doesn’t hesitate to step into the open room and swing his gun as he clears the small, square area. Ferguson lies unconscious in the corner, and Tim can only see your back, the restraints keeping you in place, and the rope loosely wrapped around your neck and shoulders.

Your shoulders shake as you exhale slowly. When you notice that you can breathe again, you take a deep breath before letting your head fall forward.

“Tim,” you repeat, trying not to think of anything else.

Tim says your name as he holsters his gun. You sit up straight and try to turn your head to the side but are stopped by the pull of the rope and the pain in your shoulders. You hiss in pain before returning to your previous position.

“You can’t trick me, Roscoe,” you mumble.

Tim steps toward Ferguson and handcuffs him. He repeats your name as he moves into your line of sight. His hands are raised to his shoulders, though his expression is pure concern. When he sees the blood, sweat, and dirt covering you and your clothes, he has to fight not to rush to your side.

“Tim,” you say again. Your voice is louder than before but still has an untrusting quality. “Tim.”

When you start crying and lean toward Tim, he kneels before you. He reaches down carefully to use his key and remove the handcuff from your ankle. Your head rests on his shoulder as he moves, and when he sees the damage done to your ankle, the swelling, deep bruising, and handcuff-induced gash, he looks back at Ferguson.

Tim sits up slowly and raises a hand toward your face. He pushes your hair back softly and waits until your eyes meet to speak.

“I need to go get backup,” he says.

“No, no! Please don’t leave me, Tim,” you plead through your slowing tears.

You lean forward and wince when your shoulder meets its new range of motion.

“I need to get Ferguson out of here,” Tim explains. “There’s a lot of people above us waiting for me to signal.”

“Tim, please.”

“Can I yell?”

You swallow as Tim moves closer to you. He stops an inch away from you, with your knees almost touching his ribs.

“I’m not going to yell unless you say I can,” he adds.

Tim waits for your nod, then leans away from you slightly to yell for Janssen and Lucy to come in.

“Help me,” you whisper when Tim’s eyes return to you.

He sits back on his heels as he unloops the rope from around you. It’s heavy, and he sees your shoulders drop once it’s away from you. They drop unevenly, though, and he knows you need more help than he can give you.

“I’m staying with you,” Tim promises, “but I have to untie your hands.”

You shake your head quickly, and Tim moves his hands to the sides of your thighs as he agrees not to leave. He asks Lucy to free your hands and keeps his hands on you as Lucy cuts the restraints.

“Thank you,” you say.

Tim doesn’t answer before you pull your arms forward. With them free, you don’t hesitate to raise them and wrap them around his shoulders. It hurts, and you sob as you fall forward and cling to Tim. He welcomes your touch and wraps his arms around your waist, but he doesn’t touch you, too mindful of how injured you are and where those unseen injuries are.

“I knew you’d come,” you say through your tears.

Tim looks over your shoulder as Janssen and a few other officers carry Ferguson to the opening. He should call an EMT to meet you here, but he can’t let you go yet. His grip tightens around your waist without thinking. When your only reaction is relaxing against him, Tim holds you as tightly as he needs to. Your tears are drying, and you turn your face toward Tim’s neck to speak.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t leave more clues,” you begin. “But I knew you didn’t need them.”

“The paper was smart,” Tim replies. “And I will always find you.”

“He wanted to lure you down here and trick you into killing me. Every time I called out for you he reminded me that we would both die.”

Tim exhales deeply, unsure how to tell you he knows you and he’d never make that mistake. He sits back, twisting you so that he’s holding you against his chest rather than letting you support your own weight.

“It hurts,” you say softly.

“Can you get out of here? Go up the ladder?” he asks.

“There’s a ladder?”

Tim’s brows furrow at your question. How did Ferguson get you down here if you weren’t conscious when you came in? He shakes his head; the detectives (and Tim) will look into the details of your abduction later. For now, your safety is the priority.

“Can you climb out?” Tim asks.

“Not without help,” you answer. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Tim looks at your ankle again, and his eyes catch on the fresh blood pooling against your collarbone. He leans closer to you to find the source. When he sees the cut across the front of your neck, he knows you need help sooner rather than later.

“Hold on,” he instructs you.

“I- I can’t move my shoulder.”

Tim lays you against the metal floor and looks at your left shoulder. It’s out of its socket, but Tim can’t risk pushing it back in without knowing if your muscles or ligaments are still intact.

“Please just get me out of here.”

Tim nods and turns around so your hips are beside his shoulders. He leans down and pulls your legs over his shoulder rather than your arms. With one hand pressing your shoulder to your side, Tim stands and pulls you up in a modified fireman’s carry. You stifle the yell that tries to escape, and Tim’s heart breaks when he hears it. He spent so much time fighting, desperate to find you, that he didn’t consider how different things would be when he did.

With the help of Janssen, Nolan, and Lucy, Tim gets you back above ground. He collapses to the ground but makes sure you’re set down with care. You reach out for him immediately, and Tim pulls your chest to his again. The paramedics are close, but until they arrive, Tim will hold you like he never has.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim whispers.

“You found me,” you reply. “You found me.”

Your right hand squeezes Tim’s shirt in your hand as you hold onto him. You didn’t doubt him for a second. Being in his arms gives you the safety and comfort you need to fall apart because you know he’ll hold you together.

“I know what it means,” you say. “Or I think I do. B-Y-L-I; it’s backwards, right?”

Tim nods against you, and you smile through your tears. The paramedics arrive, and you’re carefully removed from Tim’s grasp, though his hand stays in yours. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to let go, but Tim has already made a new promise, and he won’t leave your side until he’s forced to.

“Where’s Kojo?” you ask as Tim leads you into his house.

“He’s staying with Lucy tonight. He gets excited when he sees you and I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Tim answers.

He guides you to the couch and sits beside you after placing your things in his guest bedroom. Tim refused to let you return to your apartment alone after being discharged from the hospital, and you didn’t need much convincing to stay with him while you heal.

You lean your head against Tim’s shoulder, careful not to jostle your shoulder in its sling. He moves his arm to welcome you closer and tilts his head to rest beside yours.

“It’s I love you backward, right?”

Tim looks down at your hand, surprised to see your fortune in it. He takes it from you and flips it to see his handwriting. He nods and sits up straight. When you turn toward Tim, he wipes under your eyes as if he can still see the tears you cried when he saved you. Your skin is littered with scars and reminders of what Ferguson did to you, but Tim still seems to only see you underneath all of it.

“It’s I love you, Bradford,” he answers. “Whether you wanted that to mean ‘from Bradford’ or something else.”

“I begged for you to save me while I was down there with him.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize. I just- I need you to know I trust you that much because I know you love me. I’ve known for a long time. But I also knew that even if you didn’t find me in time, I would die loving you. And life was worth living because you were in it.”

Tim’s hands rise out of his lap before freezing. He looks down at your neck and back to your eyes before smiling. His eyes look misty, but you know yours are, too, so you decide not to tease him about it this one time.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hands to kiss you,” he mumbles.

You hold his shoulder as you lean in and kiss him. His hands raise to your waist without thought, and other than the soreness of using your obliques to search for Tim while tied in place, it’s a painless touch. Tim moves slowly and intentionally as he kisses you, reminding you of everything he said and did, even what you weren’t present for.

“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you say against his lips.

“I love you. I will always love you, and I will never lose you again.”

Tim slides the fortune into your pocket as he kisses you again, and every pain and fear you faced disappears because you know Tim will always find you and make you whole.

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

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

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

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

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

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

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

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

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

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

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

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

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

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

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

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

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

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

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

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

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

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

“Why’d she move to LA?”

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

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

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

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

“How do you know that?”

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you?”

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

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

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

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

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

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

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

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

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

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

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

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!

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“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.

Not So Grumpy

Requested Here!

Edit: Read Part 2 Here >

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

Summary: Tim is grumpier than usual, and when you decide to visit him at the station, the rookies get an idea of why.

Warnings: pregnant reader. fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

A/N: Softie Tim? Softie (and clingy) Tim. This takes place sometime during seasons 1-2.

“Don’t start,” Tim says, sitting beside Angela.

“Whoa, okay,” she replies with a laugh. “Glad to see you’re in such a good mood.”

“That sounds like starting.”

Angela puts her hands up, smiling as she turns away from Tim. “Chen, good luck.”

Tim rolls his eyes, wishing his mornings could go differently. It’s been several weeks of his persistent bad mood, and everyone who has to deal with him is curious about what’s causing it.

“Bradford, can I- could I maybe get you something?” Lucy offers softly.

“No.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You wake up curled against Tim’s side, his arm extended over your waist. His alarm is going off, and he’s smacking the nightstand beside him in a poor attempt to turn it off.

“You have to go to work,” you remind him, kissing his cheek as you move farther up in the bed.

“I’m good,” he replies, sighing as he finds his phone and turns the sound off. “Right here.”

He rolls closer to you, his hand sweeping over your stomach as he looks into your eyes. Tim can be persuasive, but you’ve gotten used to this routine over the last few weeks.

“I’d love for you to stay, I really would, but I don’t think your boss would appreciate it,” you say.

Tim groans, pressing his face against your neck as his arm tightens around you.

“You got clingy,” you tease, running your fingers through his hair and gently scratching his scalp.

“And you won’t let me stay,” Tim mumbles.

“It’s not my fault you wanted to be a cop.”

“You would-“ Tim pauses, sitting up so you can hear him. “You would deprive me of staying at your side during a time like this?”

Chuckling at his dramatics, you push your hand against Tim’s shoulder in a pointless attempt to move him away from you.

“Tim, baby, you see me all the time.”

“Not enough. I’m going to come home one day, and there will be a toddler running around, but I won’t remember any of this.”

You close your eyes and lean back against your pillow. “You have to go to work today so you can come to the doctor with me on Friday, right? Just think about that.”

“I can’t. I can only think of you.”

“You start a family and suddenly you’re the most romantic, clingy guy in the world. Where’d the grump go?”

Tim doesn’t reply as he tries to pull you closer. Rolling away from him, you leave him no choice but to get up and go to work. His disappointed sigh makes you frown; you know he’s being dramatic to cover up how he feels.

“Tim,” you call, sitting up as he walks to you. “I’m sorry. I love you, and I really do want you here as much as possible.”

“I know. It’s just harder than I thought it would be.”

You nod, tilting your chin up in a silent request for a kiss. Tim smiles, shaking his head as he bends to meet you. You pull back before he risks getting distracted.

“The grump is back now,” Tim mumbles.

“Hey! Be nice today,” you call after him.

Tim doesn’t reply, and you know he’ll deny ever hearing you say such a thing.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim slams the door as he exits the shop. Standing with his hands on his hips, he looks at the flat tire before glancing at Lucy.

“I didn’t see it,” she begins, her voice rushed and apologetic.

“Because you weren’t paying attention,” Tim snaps.

“But I-“

“How do you expect to graduate to short sleeves if you can’t even drive, boot?”

“It wasn’t my fault; there was something in the road!”

“Call dispatch,” Tim demands.

“What’s the protocol for this?”

Tim remains silent, leaning against the side of the shop as Lucy racks her brain for the proper procedure. As she radios dispatch and explains the situation, Tim grows grumpier. He’s stranded in a subdivision of Los Angeles with a flat tire that could have been avoided instead of home with you. His conviction about being a cop wanes each moment he’s away from you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Even without seeing the worst of it, you can tell Tim’s attitude has changed lately. His fellow officers and the rookies have been dealing with the grumpiest version of Tim they’ve ever experienced, but you see the clingy, emotional, loving side of whatever is making him act so differently.

After doing a few small chores, which Tim will tell you not to do again, you get ready and decide to pay him a visit at the station. You want to see how he is doing.. mostly, you miss him and want an excuse to see him and hug him.

As you get in your car, you consider calling Tim to ensure he’s at the station and has time for a visitor. He has been protective of you since you met, but it has changed and increased since getting married and throughout the early months of your pregnancy. You shrug, putting your phone away after electing to surprise him instead. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“It would be great if one of you could remember that you’re a police officer!” Tim yells, looking between Nolan, Lucy, and Jackson. “Now you’ve got nothing to say? No excuses? Well maybe you should review those rook books before going out on patrol again.”

He turns quickly, prepared to storm away and find a private place to calm down. When he freezes, the rookies look at one another in confusion. Nolan prepares to speak, and Lucy shakes her head to stop him, unwilling to get yelled at again so soon.

“What are you doing here?” Tim asks.

You step into the bullpen with a smile as Tim rushes to your side.

“Missed you,” you whisper.

“Is that- is she-“ Nolan stutters.

“Pregnant? Yeah. And Tim is… smiling?” Jackson adds.

Lucy gasps, moving in front of Nolan to see better. It’s true: Tim is standing as close as he can, with one hand laid protectively over your stomach while he smiles down at you. His grumpiness, which has made being a rookie nearly unbearable recently, is completely gone, vanished at the sight of you.

“You shouldn’t be up walking around,” Tim frets.

“Then I probably shouldn’t tell you I cleaned the kitchen, huh?” you reply.

Tim shakes his head, his thumb brushing over the swell of your baby bump as he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“Are you feeling okay?” Tim asks softly.

You smile, moving your chin to gesture to your left. Tim’s brows pinch as he turns, glaring at the rookies until they look away, turning to one another in a fake conversation.

“I’m not going to survive this afternoon,” Tim tells you.

“You’ve been grumpy and mean,” you accuse.

“Look, they’re going to annoy me all afternoon. Stay with me? You can do a ride along. Oh! Or you could go into labor so I can stay home with you for a few days.”

“As great as that sounds, I’m going to pass. I’d like to have a healthy baby when the time is right, not on your schedule, grumpy.”

Tim frowns, his hands on either side of your bump.

“But, I promise to be waiting for you the moment you get home,” you add. “And, maybe, if you just tell them the truth, it won’t be so bad.”

“You’ve never dealt with a boot. Or Angela Lopez.”

“Just because you won’t introduce me.”

“For good reason.”

You smile, raising your chin again before Tim kisses you quickly.

“Be careful going home. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Tim watches you leave, waiting until you’re out of sight to turn back toward the rookies. He jerks back slightly when he sees Lucy standing right beside him.

“She’s so cute! You’re so cute together! Why haven’t you mentioned her, Tim?” Lucy gushes. “And where do you hide that guy that was with her? I’ve never met that Tim.”

“And you won’t,” he promises.

“I think he leaves that side of Tim with her,” Nolan adds.

Tim’s jaw clenches. It’s true, he knows, but he doesn’t want details of his personal life to become an accepted topic for the rookies. He raises his hand, and they silence.

“Just- leave it alone for now, and I will introduce you the next time she visits,” he offers. 

As he says it, he makes a mental note to ask you not to visit without warning so he doesn’t have to follow through. The lie is the only way to have peace while in the vicinity of the rookies.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be a dad,” Jackson muses.

“You’re having a kid?” Angela yells, running down the stairs and grabbing Tim’s arm.

Tim grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before saying, “Yes.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“If it’s a girl, Angela is a great name.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got a long list of names that are an absolute no-go,” Tim replies, looking between the rookies and Angela.

“How did you figure this out?” Angela asks Lucy.

“She – who is she?” Lucy begins before realizing that she never heard who you are to Tim.

“My wife,” Tim mutters.

“You’re married?!” Angela and Nolan ask together.

Angela slaps Tim's shoulder, frowning when he looks at her with his eyebrows raised.

“I thought we were friends.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Angela gasps, covering her heart with her hand.

“Uh, Tim?” you ask, standing behind him.

He turns toward you quickly, and Angela’s eyes widen as she looks at you.

“Yeah?” he asks kindly, yet another surprise.

“Can you come with me for a second?” You notice the small crowd behind him, officers who seem more interested in you than anything else. “Hi,” you say, waving at them.

“It is so nice to meet you,” Angela begins, stepping toward you before Tim blocks her way with his arm.

“We’ll do introductions later,” Tim says, putting his arm around you and leading you away.

“I’m holding you to that!” Lucy yells.

Tim leads you into an empty interview room, his eyes searching yours. You take his hand, laying it on your stomach. Something happened when you heard his voice earlier, and you want to share it.

“Say something,” you request. “Anything.”

“I love you,” Tim answers.

His eyes widen as he feels the movement of a kick against his hand. He squats before you, moving his hand under your shirt.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” he asks.

You feel another kick, laughing at how your baby already has Tim wrapped around its finger. 

“You promised to make introductions,” you say, interrupting Tim’s conversation with your stomach.

Tim stands, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you. Breathless, you push against his chest as you break away.

“You were right,” you admit. “It would be nice to have you home more.”

“We did it,” Tim whispers, his eyes dropping to your bump.

“I feel like I’m interrupting something,” you mumble.

Tim chuckles, rubbing your back as he leads you to the door.

“Introductions, and then we’re going home,” Tim explains. “Names and nothing more.”

“I would expect no less, Officer Bradford.”

The Cook and The Teacher!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmy.

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

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

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

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

The Bear.

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

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

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

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

Carmy spotted you the second you walked in.

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

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

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

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

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

You weren’t his at all.

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

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

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

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

And yet, he did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You work here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe

@akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1

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

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!”

Anatomy of a Relationship

Requested Here!

Pairing: (established) Tim Bradford x fem!neurosurgeon!reader

Summary: When your friend comes over in the middle of the night to talk about guy problems, Tim finds out what your relationships really mean to you.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff, a Castle reference, Karah is loosely based on Regine from Living Single

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Rules/Info

“11.25 millimeters,” you read. “That’s not good.”

“What’s not good?” your best friend, Karah, whispers as she lays her hand on your shoulder.

“I just got an MRI with an 11.25-millimeter aneurysm attached to the basilar artery,” you answer. “What’s up?” you murmur, flipping the page.

“Nothing,” she sighs.

“That was convincing.”

“It’s not as important as a brain aneurysm.”

You set your clipboard on your desk and turn toward Karah, shaking your head as you smile at her. “Most things aren’t, but I’m sure I can manage it.”

Before Karah answers, your phone rings. You mouth an apology as you answer and say your name.

“Got it, on my way,” you assure before you end the call. As you gather your things, you tell Karah, “We will talk later. Promise.”

“Go save a life!”

“I have been looking everywhere for you!” you exclaim as you enter a supply closet.

Karah hums but doesn’t speak past the nail polish applicator held between her teeth.

“Pretty color,” you muse as you sit beside her on a gurney.

“Thanks,” she replies as she removes the applicator. “Want some?”

“Surgical board frowns upon painted nails,” you remind her.

“Hence, why I’m doing my toe-sies,” Karah singsongs. “What are you doing with Sergeant Bradford tonight?”

“As little as possible, I hope. What are you doing tonight? Another date with the mystery man?”

“Another date, yes. Mystery man, no.”

“What happened?”

“Have you ever watched a cartoon where the characters kiss and they just kinda…” Karah closes the nail polish and shoves her palms together in demonstration.

“Sure,” you answer, nodding. “The PG version with no emotion and no lips.”

“Yeah, that’s how he kissed.”

“Ugh.” You shiver for emphasis, and Karah nods emphatically.

“And his lips were chapped, too.”

“We can’t have anything in this life.”

Karah scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Right, because you have it so bad with a hot police officer.”

“A hot police officer who cancels dates weekly and has minimal emotional availability.”

“But you love him,” she reminds you.

“That I do. Look, I’ve got a consult call before I leave, but call me later, let me know how your date went, okay?”

“Will do. Enjoy your date, if it happens.”

You shove Karah gently as you slide off the gurney. Opening the door, you call, “Love you!” over your shoulder.

“Smooches!” she replies.

“Stop staring at me,” Tim demands as he locks your door.

“Answer the question!” you reply. “I can’t let you sleep here if you’re lying to me!”

“It’s fine.”

“Why? How do you know?”

Tim sighs and takes your face between his hands. “It’s fine,” he repeats.

You pout, pushing your lower lip out as you blink at him.

“My neighbor is watching Kojo, so it is fine if I stay tonight,” he assures you with a sigh.

Your brows furrow as you ask, “You asked your neighbor to watch Kojo? Presumptuous.”

“I… Never mind,” Tim murmurs, his hands still on your face.

“We should probably have some dessert,” you whisper, leaning into his touch. “Not like that, Tim, get your mind out of the gutter.”

Tim huffs a laugh, then kisses your forehead and drops his hands to your waist.

“Listen,” you request, not moving to get dessert. “Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not asking you to make any big decisions or anything, but if you want to bring Kojo in the future, you can.”

“Thank you.”

“Although, he’d probably never want to leave because I’m nicer than you.”

Tim tightens his grip on your waist slowly, waiting until you grunt to smooth his palms against your shirt. He leans toward you, and you murmur, “Dessert can wait.”

Your front door clicks closed around midnight, and you sit up in bed. Tim shifts beside you but doesn’t wake as he rolls away. Soft footsteps pad down your hall, and you relax, recognizing the gait. Karah steps into your room with her hair pulled back messily and her cheeks red from scrubbing her makeup off.

“C’mon,” you invite her, patting the mattress.

Karah pulls back the comforter and sits beside you with a heavy sigh. You move closer to Tim and lay your hand on his back.

“Is it me?” Karah asks.

“I hope so, considering you’re in my bed,” you reply softly. “What’s going on? And don’t tell me nothing.”

“So, I went on a date with the vet, right? And the next day, he ghosts me. Then mystery man seems to be the one until we kiss and then there’s nothing there, no spark, no more mystery.”

“Tonight?”

“He wanted to move way too fast. Was I wrong for not wanting to? I mean, what if he was the one – or, at the least, the best I can get – and I ruined it because I asked him to slow down?”

“He wasn’t the one,” you assure her, wrapping her in a hug. “If he couldn’t respect that and made you uncomfortable, then he 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was not the one. You’ll know when someone is the one or has a chance of being him.”

Karah looks over your shoulder at Tim’s back and asks, “Are you sure?”

With a smile, you promise, “I’m sure. When the right man comes along, things aren’t always comfortable, but you’re willing to fight to get back to that comfort.”

“Unless there isn’t a right man,” Karah adds, falling back against your pillow. “I try, I get out and date, but maybe it is just me.”

“Maybe.”

Karah’s eyes widen, and you argue, “Exactly. There is no way it’s you. There are nearly 4 million people living in Los Angeles, so what if you can’t find the one perfect person for you quickly?”

“That’s only 2 million men, and half of those are married or not interested. The pool is way down and I’ve been swimming.”

“49 people in every 10,000 have a brain aneurysm each year. Just because it’s a low number doesn’t mean I’m going to quit my job. The 30,000 people who have an aneurysm rupture every year wouldn’t have a neurosurgeon if we all thought like that.”

“I see your point,” Karah grumbles. “But I still hate it.”

“I get it. But maybe a break would clear out some of the wrong men.”

“How do I find what you have?”

“The way I did it? Pure luck. Besides, most of the cops we get in the hospital aren’t like this one.”

“Maybe I should call Rick and see if he’s still single.”

“Rick who let his ex-wife crash at his house and walk around half-naked while you were dating? I’m going to veto that option.”

“He was rich.”

“And a terrible person.”

You scoot back to sit against the headboard as Karah tells you more about what she’s feeling, and as the night goes on, you do your best friend duty and don’t notice that your hand strays to Tim every few minutes.

“Okay,” you interrupt after hours of talking. “We need a pick-me-up.”

“What?” Karah asks.

“Let’s go.”

You lead Karah out of your bed and into the kitchen. After placing your kettle on the stove to heat water, you unlock your phone and scroll through your music library until you find the perfect playlist. The Bluetooth speaker tucked under your upper cabinet plays the opening notes of 2000s pop before Kesha sings, “Hot and dangerous. If you’re one of us then roll with us.”

Karah gasps in excitement, then leans forward to do the handshake you made up during your first year working together. The music plays too loud for the early hour as you dance around the kitchen together, but you don’t care because it’s cheering Karah up, which is the goal. Each word makes you feel better, more upbeat, and ready to do anything and everything.

As the playlist moves forward to a Britney Spears song, you freeze. Tim stops between the end of the hall and the kitchen and looks from you to Karah and then back to you.

“Is this why I was so squished last night?” he asks.

You nod meekly, and he waves his hand at you as he moves toward the kettle and the cabinet where you keep your tea and coffee.

“Breakfast?” he asks.

“Please!” Karah answers.

“Yes,” you say as you dance past him. “Thank you.”

You turn the music down at the end of the song and ask Karah if she feels better.

“Mostly,” she admits. “Now I just need a guy who makes me feel like Hips Don’t Lie does. Sorry, Tim.”

“I’m not even here,” he encourages her. “And if I was, I wouldn’t get involved.”

You shrug and gesture for Karah to continue.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you yet,” she murmurs.

“Well now you have to.”

“I agreed to go on another date with Ryan, the guy from last night.”

“What?!” you exclaim. “Why?”

“He waited. I mean he made me feel awful for asking but he agreed.”

Tim turns and passes Karah a mug of coffee before he sets your favorite drink beside your hand. “Dump him,” he encourages. “He didn’t mean it, he’ll keep pushing and dishonesty of that kind almost always leads to a misdemeanor, minimum.”

You look at Tim with your brows raised, then agree, “He’s right. A guy like that will try to pressure into not waiting. Don’t let him make you do something you’re uncomfortable with for any reason.”

Karah’s phone buzzes, and she groans as she reads the message. “Jill called in sick again, so I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at the hospital?”

“If you’re lucky,” you tell her as you hug her. “And cancel on Ryan, or ghost him, but don’t see him again.”

“I will. Thanks, Tim!” she calls as she opens the door.

When you turn back toward Tim, he lays his palms on the counter and glares at you, but you can tell he’s hiding a smile.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a smile. “She needed to hear it from someone who wasn’t me.”

“Karah has a key. What would you do if one of my friends climbed into bed with us?” Tim inquires.

“Which friend?” you counter. “Because Lucy has a key to get in here too.”

Tim rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the food on the stove. “Make sure Karah leaves him and let me know if you need some help getting the message through to him.”

“Such a softie,” you muse as you raise your mug.

“What was that?” Tim challenges.

“I said will do, sir.”

Tim hums, so you stand and walk behind him. With your arms wrapped around his waist, you say, “I love you.”

“Then you’ll tell me how many people have a key to your door before I replace the lock.”