Good Luck Charm

tasm who got sprayed with an aphrodisiac, so he goes to his roommate and fucks her well into the morning 🤭🤭🤭

A/N this deviated a bit but i needed to spread the munch agenda…hope you can forgive me friend…..

peter enters the apartment like a hurricane, his shaking body and heaving breaths impossible to ignore.

“peter?” you ask, eyes wide with concern. “what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t answer at first as he looks at you. of course you’d be wearing tiny pajama shorts right now, when he has no control of where his eyes land. he’s trying hard to catch his breath, his hands clenching into fists. he brushes the hair curled with sweat off his forehead and forces himself to look you in the eyes, raising his head higher. he anchors himself on your kitchen counter behind him. “aphrodisiac.” he breathed. “came home for my research.” he gulped, pushing himself to his bedroom, still evidently woozy. “gotta be an antidote.” he started to sway to the side, and you moved on instinct for him to fall in your arms.

“easy.” you drawled, arms shaking with his weight. you’ve never seen him in this state before. “where’s the antidote? do we have it?” you try to keep your voice level, but the urgency escapes your tongue in droves.

he shakes his head, looking up at you. his brown eyes have been blown even darker, the pupil completely swallowing his irises. “lab. somewhere. gotta go.” he pushes off of you, but you grab his shaking hand.

“there is no way in hell i’m letting you leave here like this.” you took a deep breath, knowing the ethics of this are dubious at best, since you’ve been attracted to him since the day he moved in and he is technically drugged. he’s obviously in pain, and you can’t let him go out alone all the way to the lab to get the antidote. you don’t even know if he’d survive. “look. it’s an aphrodisiac. i….” you closed your eyes before you continued. “if it will take the pain away, you could….take it out on me.” you swallowed, trying to put it gently.

peter looks at you in shock, managing to push himself off the ground all the way. “you mean it?” he asks, looking straight at your lips. “because it would…” his voice trails off, cracking.

“yes.” you grab his shoulders. “i mean it”

peter immediately grabs your face with his large hands and pulls you into him, his lips sliding against yours in an anxious release. you didn’t imagine your first kiss going like this, but it doesn’t count, right? as soon as he gets a bit of control of himself, though, he slows down a little, capturing you in a breath-sucking kiss, both of you breaking away for air twice. “are you sure?” he asks again, his voice a low rasp this time. you nod and he urges you to jump, carrying you with a kiss into his bedroom.

he lays you on the bed as gently as he can, and you immediately make work of sliding off your shorts and underwear. he’s so obvious with his staring, it’s adorable. “can i?” his eyes wander down and he asks again in that low rasp. “please?”

the way he said please sent a shiver down your spine. “yeah.” you answered breathlessly. “what do you want?”

“my face buried in your thighs.” he responds instantly, with the cadence of a casual conversation for something so brazen. you stifle a gasp and nod. he wastes no time gripping your thighs and hooking them on his shoulders. “you’re fucking dripping, baby.” he remarks as he starts to explore with his fingers. “this for me? you like seeing me worked up?” he almost whispers.

“i think so.” you manage to get out in between gasps from his fingers brushing against your clit. “do…do that more.”

“this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb in circles. “you like that, baby?” you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back with a stifled moan as your answer, and he grins. he takes this opportunity to start putting his mouth to work, his tongue lapping crudely as his thumb resumes pressing all of your nerves. the way he’s sucking and licking is filthy, the wet noises, his hums of delight and your cries of pleasure create a cacophony of pornography. you buck your hips against his face, pulling him closer lightly by his hair and when he groans you feel it inside of you. you whine, arching your back and he has to pin your hips down with a hand. he pulls his face away for a second, his mouth glistening with a smirk. “now who can’t control themselves?”

“shut up.” you whined in embarrassment, grabbing his hair and pulling him back down. he breathed a laugh against your clit, and you squirmed as much as you could in his hold. you’re not gonna last. he hummed and spoke into you, “yes ma’am.” and you knew you were done for.

“peter?” you whimper in between heavy breaths. “gonna cum.”

“yeah, baby?” he pulls his face away a bit, still keeping his thumb in position, only switching it to take your clit between his lips. “go on. cum for me.”

that’s all it took for you to release all over his chin with a weak little cry, your voice hoarse and breathless. you try to catch your breath, laying your head back on his pillow. “alright…” you breathed. “just give me a second…and you could…we could-“

“-about that.” he interrupted you. “i….i already did?” he says in a question, almost like he’s embarrassed, stark contrast to what his tone was minutes ago. “the effects wore off. let’s just leave it at that…” he trailed off, coughing. you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“did…did you…” you look down. “cum in your suit just from eating me out?”

he takes a deep breath, looking at you up and down. “maybe.”

you fall back with a giggle, and he immediately gets defensive. “what?”

“nothing.” you shake your head, the blood rushing to your face. “just so fucking hot.”

Coffee Routine.

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

A/N: Thank you so much for the support! I honestly didn’t expect so many of you guys to love this series. Definitely gave me more motivation to write! 🥹

Summary: Your everyday routine consisted of many things—one of them being bringing Tim coffee right before roll call without fail. However, one morning, Tim notices something awfully wrong. You didn’t bring him coffee today.

The first time it happened, Tim barely even looked at you.

You strolled into roll call, dropped a coffee onto his desk without ceremony, and took your seat like it was nothing. Like you hadn’t just handed him a large black coffee from his usual spot, perfectly made.

Tim blinked at it. Then at you.

You didn’t even glance up, already flipping through your notes.

Alright. Maybe it was a coincidence.

But then it happened again. And again. And again.

Every morning, like clockwork. Before his first cup of the day, before he even had a chance to be irritated at something stupid, you were there, sliding the cup over without so much as a greeting.

Like it was routine. Like you just knew.

And Tim—being Tim—did what he always did when confronted with something odd. He ignored it.

For weeks.

But then, one morning, he got to work a little later than usual, and when he walked into the briefing room—no coffee in hand—he felt it immediately.

Something was missing.

He glanced around. You were at your desk, looking half dead, chin resting on your palm as you aimlessly scrolled through a report.

And on the table that he sits at every morning?

Nothing.

No cup waiting for him. No routine exchange. Just an empty desk and a sluggish-looking rookie who was barely upright in her chair.

Tim frowned. “Where’s my coffee, kid?”

You blinked up at him, eyes unfocused, like it took you a second to register the question. “Huh?”

“My coffee,” he repeated, slower this time. “The one you hand me every morning like some kind of overgrown intern.”

“Oh.” You yawned, rubbing a hand over your face, expression hazy. “Didn’t get one.”

Tim squinted, like it was a riddle that he (for once) didn’t have the brains to decipher. “You didn’t get one?”

You shrugged, barely lifting your shoulders. “Forgot.”

Forgot.

That was new.

You had managed to grab coffee every single shift for the past three weeks, unprompted, like some weird unspoken pact. You weren’t exactly a creature of habit—more impulsive, more instinct-driven—but somehow, this had become routine. Reliable. And now, suddenly, you just… forgot?

Tim crossed his arms, taking in the mess of you. Your uniform was a little more wrinkled than usual, your posture slumped. Dark circles weighed under your eyes, and you had that glassy, half-there look of someone running on fumes.

It clicked.

“You overslept.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto your folded arms. “Why do you say that like it’s a crime?”

Tim huffed, unimpressed. “Because for you, it kind of is. What happened? Alarm not go off?”

“Woke up an hour late,” you mumbled, voice muffled against your sleeve. “Didn’t have time to stop.”

Tim stared at you for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked right back out of the briefing room.

You barely even noticed. Probably too half-asleep to care.

Five minutes later, when he returned, he dropped a cup onto your desk—your usual order, still warm.

Your head lifted slowly. You stared at it. Then up at him.

Tim just arched a brow. “What?”

You squinted. “Did you… just get me coffee?”

He scoffed. “Yeah. It’s called returning the favour.” He muttered, before clearing his throat to restore his imagine, “—and I can’t have a rookie who’s sloppy just because they didn’t have their morning coffee. Don’t overthink it.”

You blinked again, as if trying to make sure this was real. Then, with an exaggerated sniffle, you clutched the cup to your chest. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about you.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Drink your damn coffee, kid.”

And just like that, the routine was set back into place.

Tim Bradford's Princess

Part 3 of Bradford's Princess

Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader

Summary: Being Tim's princess is the best position you've ever held, and the last one you'll ever want. Every little thing he does proves it, even if it means tearing himself apart.

Warnings: the briefest of brief angst, fluff, domestically dominant Tim, makeout sesh, hickeys, Tim offers to ignore a Dodgers game for you

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Do you like my ring?” Lucy asks.

Tim looks away from the road just long enough to see the simple rose-colored ring on her index finger. He lifts his brows rather than replying.

“You buy any new jewelry recently?” she inquires.

“What are you doing?” he counters.

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, stop.”

“Tim,” she sighs. “We’re in a shop together all day. Give me something.”

“I did. A request for you to stop.”

“Did you propose on Valentine’s Day?”

“No,” Tim answers, more out of surprise at the sudden question than a genuine interest in discussing his personal life. “Not that it’s your business.”

“But you’re going to propose soon, right?” Lucy continues.

“Chen,” Tim says sternly. “Drop it.”

Lucy nods, murmurs something about popping a question, and turns her attention to the radio as dispatch alerts of a nearby carjacking. Tim hits the lights and sirens, attempting to rid his mind of the image of you wearing a ring he put on your finger.

“How’s whipped life treating you?” Aaron inquires as Tim exits the locker room.

Tim stops and turns toward Aaron. He sees Lucy, Nyla, Angela, and Nolan approaching. Sighing, he spreads his arms.

“What is it that you’re all so interested in knowing?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Nyla answers. “Just curious about how everything is going.”

“And that involves using quite possible the least subtle hints about engagement rings?”

“Lucy,” Angela chides.

“How’d you know it was me?” she exclaims. “Nolan could have said something!”

“I’m actually the only one here with a healthy respect for Bradford,” he interjects.

“Well?” Nyla asks, turning back toward Tim. “Are you proposing any time soon? You’re not getting any younger and clearly you’re obsessed with this girl.”

“Which I can’t blame you for,” Angela adds. “It’s nice to see you happy, and if a woman as sweet and beautiful as her wants to be with you despite the age difference, you should do everything you can to keep her close.”

“Whoa,” Aaron says while Nyla grips Angela’s arm, and Lucy’s eyes widen comically.

“You’ve met her?” Nolan questions.

“I ran into them while they were on a date, remember?” Angela replies.

“You didn’t say you met her!” Nyla argues. “Just that you bumped into Tim.”

“I want to see her!” Lucy says.

“Me too,” Aaron agrees. “Tim? You got a picture?”

“Or a free night where we could all get dinner?” Nolan suggests.

“No,” Tim responds.

“You have to give us something,” Nyla says.

“Something about what?” Wade inquires, approaching Tim’s side.

“He won’t show them a picture of the girl who has him wrapped around his finger,” Angela explains, ignoring Tim as he shoots daggers with his gaze.

“I wouldn’t show Aaron, either,” Wade murmurs.

“You’ve seen her too?” Lucy asks.

“Get out of here while you still can,” Wade whispers to Tim. “The rest of you, I’ve got a question about the call in Hancock Park.”

The quiet murmur of the television and soft, glowing candles greet Tim as he walks into his home. He smiles when he sees you on the couch. You look up when the door closes and smile brightly. Tossing your Kindle beside you, you stand on the cushion.

“I missed you,” you say, reaching for Tim’s shoulders.

“You’re going to fall one of these days,” he replies, setting a bag on the floor before he lifts his arms to hold your waist and steady you.

“You won’t let that happen.”

Tim shakes his head in silent admiration of your trust in him.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he promises.

“How was your day?”

Tim answers you, giving a brief overview of his day. His shoe bumps against the bag, and he stops talking. You always seem more excited to see him than anything he may have with him. He’s come to you with flowers, expensive makeup, concert tickets, and a dress you’d been eyeing for weeks, but you’ve always seen him. That won’t make him stop getting you gifts, though, because every little thing Tim can do for you saves a piece of him, healing from the inside out.

“I have a question,” Tim says, sliding his hands down to your hips.

“I have an answer,” you reply.

Tim waits until you lower onto the back of the couch, sitting with your arms around his shoulders. He pulls the bag up and offers it to you.

The bouquet inside has white roses and baby’s breath, and a blue ribbon circles the trimmed stems. An envelope attached to it bears your name and the Los Angeles Dodgers logo.

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

“I’ve been going to opening day at Dodgers Stadium for years,” Tim explains. His hands run along your sides and down your thighs as he speaks. “I bought tickets: two seats in my usual section. If you wanted to sit somewhere else though, we could. It’s a tradition, and I want you to come with me.”

You remain quiet, watching Tim’s face as you admire his excitement. After dating Tim for as long as you have, it’s no surprise that a moment in the baseball season could mean so much to him, but seeing the joy and anticipation in his eyes makes you happy. Tim has dealt with things you can’t imagine, yet this tradition holds a special place in his life. Now, he’s inviting you into it.

“You don’t have to go,” Tim murmurs. “I don’t even have to go. We can do something else if you want.”

You shake your head adamantly, pressing your hands against Tim’s chest. “You do have to go,” you reply. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t quiet because I don’t want to, you’re just really cute when you’re excited.”

Tim narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t let him speak.

“I’d love to go with you,” you answer. “I really appreciate you inviting me to part of your tradition.”

Tim brushes his right hand over the ends of your hair before he cups the back of your head. “You’re part of a lot more than that,” he whispers.

After he parks, Tim hurries around the front of his truck to open your door. His gentlemanly actions and princess treatment of you are nothing new, but you still smile and thank him softly. Tim’s fingers slot comfortably between yours as he leads you into the stadium and to your seats. His preferred section has a great view, and as you sit beside Tim, you briefly wonder how you got so lucky.

“C’mere,” Tim says, tapping your shoulder where his hand rests.

You shift in your seat, and Tim carefully removes your Dodgers hat. Your hair falls onto your neck, and you frown when you realize your hair tie has broken. Tim runs his fingers on the underside of your hair as he pulls it back where it was. You feel another band tighten around it before he carefully pulls your restyled hair through the back of your hat.

“There you go,” he says.

You raise one hand to check it, then smile and take Tim’s hand. “Thank you.”

Tim shakes his head as if it’s no big deal that he just fixed your hair in a stadium full of people. Then, you realize that the black band he wears on his left wrist is gone. He’s offered you hair ties, bobby pins, and lip gloss, but it usually comes from his truck. The fact that Tim carries things you may need is just another in the long list of reasons you love him, and can clearly see he feels the same.

When the game begins, you flip your joined hands so that Tim can stand and cheer as he desires. He pulls your hand off the stadium seat and into his lap, and you realize within a few minutes that you stand with him more often than not. Although Tim treats tonight like a date, it’s his tradition, and you want him to enjoy the night and the game.

“You need anything?” Tim asks after cheering for a good pitch.

Shaking your head, you answer, “We’re here for the World Champs, remember?”

“I think they’d understand,” he replies.

Tim kisses your forehead and takes your hand in his again.

You look up at the blue and white fireworks in awe. Tim wraps his arm around your shoulders, and you lean against him as the night continues.

“You want a picture?” he asks.

You turn toward him, and he gestures to the field, where a large photo of the team is projected as they celebrate their win. Nodding, you open the camera app on your phone and try to get a good angle. Tim removes his arm from your shoulders, bends slightly to circle your hips, and lifts you onto his shoulder. He holds your outfit in place with his free hand as you take the perfect photo. When you’re back on the ground, you put your phone away and smile at Tim.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Any time,” he promises.

When you’re back home, changed out of your jerseys, and preparing to go to bed, Tim traces his finger along your collarbone and then spreads his fingers gently over your throat.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmurs. “For being part of my life.”

“Thank you for letting me,” you reply. “There’s nothing in this world I want more.”

Tim uses his hand, still on your neck, to turn your jaw toward him before he kisses you. As the city continues to celebrate the opening night win, you have much more to celebrate and be thankful for.

The day after opening night, the Dodgers are playing again. This game is different, however, because it’s also the night of the World Series Ring Ceremony. You run your finger along a page while Tim watches the television, pursing your lips as you attempt to understand what you’re reading.

“Do you want help?” Tim asks.

You look up, smile, and shake your head. He nods, then looks back to the TV as he pets Kojo.

“Which color should I use?” you ask.

“Do you have white?” he inquires, leaning to the side to look at the supplies you’ve spread across the table.

“Yes,” you answer. “This one: Marshmallow.”

“I like it.”

The game comes back on, and you thank Tim for his input as you prepare to do the next step. Tim ordered you a nail art kit after you mentioned one in passing, but he found one that was bigger and better. Now, as you spend time together while enjoying different things, you wonder why you didn’t start doing your nails yourself months ago. When Tim’s hands wander to your shoulders, and his warm palms run along your exposed upper back, you decide that no salon will ever compete with this.

“It’s too much,” you say, pouting.

“It’s not,” Tim replies. “You’re the one that said it was the best flavor.”

You stare at the family-sized cheesecake. It is the best flavor the bakery has, but you expected Tim to buy one slice for you to share, two if he thought it looked really good. Not an entire cheesecake.

“How much does that weigh?” you ask.

“Fourteen pounds.”

“Tim!”

Tim chuckles as he lifts the lid. “We don’t have to eat it all tonight. Want your own piece?”

You shake your head vehemently, ignoring Tim’s continued laughter. When you accept a fork and taste the cheesecake, your protests are forgotten.

“Maybe you should’ve gotten two,” you say after offering Tim the last bite.

“Wesley mentioned a dessert tour a while back,” Tim replies. “Would you want to do that sometime?”

“Yeah, that sounds fun.”

You watch Tim’s back as he puts the rest of the cheesecake in the fridge. He dressed up for your date tonight, and you’re convinced he gets more attractive every day. When he turns back to you with his brows raised, you blink to refocus.

“Did you ask me something?” you inquire.

“If you’re free Friday,” Tim answers, looking as if he’s hiding a smile and aware that you are staring at him rather than listening.

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” you muse with a sigh.

Tim returns to your side and agrees, “Of course. Have your people let me know.”

Smiling, you tug the bottom of Tim’s shirt. “You are my people.”

“Oh. Should be a short phone call then.”

Tim takes your hand and pulls you toward the couch. Kojo is asleep in his bed, and you laugh as you collapse onto the cushions.

“You look beautiful,” Tim compliments.

“You look handsome,” you reply.

Tim kisses you quickly, then immediately leans in for another longer kiss. He holds your jaw carefully, sliding his fingers into your hair.

“Stunning,” he says, moving to kiss your jaw.

“That’s all you,” you breathe.

“Perfect,” he continues, kissing toward your ear.

“Tim,” you whisper, holding his shoulders.

He pulls back enough to look into your eyes, and you smile. As you shift to place your leg over his, you kiss Tim again. He lowers his hands from your face to your waist. When your hands slide down his chest and dip under the hem of his shirt, Tim pulls you closer. His left hand returns to your jaw, his thumb running reverently beneath your cheekbone. You push your hands up his torso until you reach his bare chest. Tim deepens the kiss as you roam, attempting to memorize Tim’s skin through touch alone.

Every kiss with you is memorable, but moments like this, makeout sessions that simply happen and don’t have to lead to anything more, hold a power that Tim will never be able to describe. Your hands on him, your acceptance of his scars – both seen and invisible, and the way you want to be as close as physically possible make Tim fall even deeper in love with you. Tim is your everything, and when you lose yourself in moments like this, being held by the man you love as if he never wants to let you go, everything else fades. You’d spend an eternity in this moment, and that’s part of how you know that Tim Bradford is the one. He’s your forever.

It's unusual for Tim to be home before the sun sets. Today, his shift was changed at the last minute. He was called to the station before 3 a.m. and now has the entire afternoon to spend with you. The early start was worth it, he thinks. Your homemade dinner bakes in the oven as Tim enjoys quality time with you.

“So,” you begin, sitting on the counter. “Last time we made out in here was after your friends called you whipped.”

“Yeah,” he replies, not taking his attention away from his current task.

“Have they said anymore about your treatment of me?”

Tim’s hands tighten around your waist as he stops what he’s doing long enough to say, “My relationships are none of their business.”

You hum, running your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “But you have relationships with them too… If you’re ashamed of me, just say so,” you joke.

Tim hums against your collarbone. He’d pulled you into a kiss the moment he came through the door, but after you prepared dinner, Tim opted to let you relax while he did the heavy lifting. Hence, the new hickeys. And the work in progress, which Tim reminds you of by running his teeth over the sensitive skin just beneath your collarbone.

“I don’t need to match the bruises you get at work, you know.”

Tim separates himself from your skin and replies, “And you don’t need to meet the people who think I treat you better than them.”

You move your hands to Tim’s shoulders, encouraging him to meet your eyes. He sighs as he straightens to look into your eyes.

“I understand the separation,” you begin. “But don’t split yourself into two sides to the point that it hurts. If there’s not room for me and everyone else you care about-”

“Stop,” Tim interrupts softly. “I’ll introduce you when the time is right. I promise.”

You nod, accepting his promise and trusting that he’ll do what’s right. He drops his chin and kisses your jaw. When his second kiss lands open-mouthed, you laugh and pull him up for an actual kiss. He runs his fingers over the darkening mark on your collarbone as his hands rise slowly toward your hair, and you decide that being Bradford’s princess is the best position you could ever hold and the only one you want for the rest of your life.

Always Time for You

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

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

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

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

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

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

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

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

1 Year Later

“Excuse me,” someone says behind you.

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

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

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

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

“I do,” you answer softly.

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

“Sure,” you agree. “If I can.”

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

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

“What made you notice it?” Street asks.

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for your help.”

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

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

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

“And we’ll find him today.”

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

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

You sigh and whisper your gratitude.

“And… I came to ask you out.”

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

1 Year Later

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

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

“I’m better now.”

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

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

“Everything okay?” Deacon asks.

“Yes,” you lie. “Everything is fine.”

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

“You, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He needs to know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” Deacon replies.

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

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

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

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

“Well, look who it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

“I love you. I miss you.”

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

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

literally JUST read your i bet on losing dogs fic and i was wondering if roy ever brings up the fact that black!batsis paid for his rehab? like is he upset with her or just wants answers as to why? i can imagine it leaves him conflicted for a bit…

@flyestvenustrap I finally got to it! part two of this

Roy was having trouble sleeping. Who knows how many hours had passed since he and Y/N laid down to sleep but he just couldn't fall asleep. His mind was only focused on what Oliver said during dinner. Part of him wanted to just dismiss it but the other part wanted to know if it was true. He felt Y/N stir next to him. Her eyes squinted at him as she realized that he was still awake.

"I don't want to fight," He said as he adjusted her slipping bonnet.

"So we won't," She said snuggling closer into his arms. Roy rubbed her baby bump before sighing.

"Oliver said something the other night, and I need you to be honest with me," Roy knew he wanted to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was to get Y/N worked up, and pregnancy anger was no joke.

"Okay," She said, sitting up in the bed.

"Did you pay for my rehab all those times?" He spoke while still lying down. His hands were rested behind his head.

"Oliver paid the first time. He treated like some miracle program, but let's be honest, we both know it's more difficult than that. Every time after that, I paid." She admitted quietly. The only other person who knew she had paid for his rehab was Bruce, or at least that's what she thought.

"But you were what? Nineteen?" The small age gap between them lingered in his mind at times. He had so much baggage that he often wondered why she chose him to be with.

"Yeah," She spoke shyly.

"Why? We weren't even dating back then," He looked at her, realizing what their relationship was like.

"I didn't wanna give up on you." Y/N wouldn't say she loved him back then, but she cared for him as more than a friend. He was there for her when her brothers couldn't be, and she knew that he was a good person. That was enough for her.

"Don't cry, baby. I'm not upset, I promise. How come you never told me?" He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled before continuing.

"I was so happy when you came back and you had Lian. You had to adjust to being sober and being a father. I didn't want you to think you owed me anything. Whether it be a relationship or money," She admitted. She kept her distance for a year until Roy found her after he came back from where he disappeared to.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," He spoke, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you too," She leaned on him and kissed his stubbly cheek.

Roy was having trouble sleeping. Who knows how many hours had passed since he and Y/N laid down to sleep but he just couldn't fall asleep. His mind was only focused on what Oliver said during dinner. Part of him wanted to just dismiss it but the other part wanted to know if it was true. He felt Y/N stir next to him. Her eyes squinted at him as she realized that he was still awake.

"I don't want to fight," He said as he adjusted her slipping bonnet.

"So we won't," She said snuggling closer into his arms. Roy rubbed her baby bump before sighing.

"Oliver said something the other night, and I need you to be honest with me," Roy knew he wanted to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was to get Y/N worked up, and pregnancy anger was no joke.

"Okay," She said, sitting up in the bed.

"Did you pay for my rehab all those times?" He spoke while still lying down. His hands were rested behind his head.

"Oliver paid the first time. He treated like some miracle program, but let's be honest, we both know it's more difficult than that. Every time after that, I paid." She admitted quietly. The only other person who knew she had paid for his rehab was Bruce, or at least that's what she thought.

"But you were what? Nineteen?" The small age gap between them lingered in his mind at times. He had so much baggage that he often wondered why she chose him to be with.

"Yeah," She spoke shyly.

"Why? We weren't even dating back then," He looked at her, realizing what their relationship was like.

"I didn't wanna give up on you." Y/N wouldn't say she loved him back then, but she cared for him as more than a friend. He was there for her when her brothers couldn't be, and she knew that he was a good person. That was enough for her.

"Don't cry, baby. I'm not upset, I promise. How come you never told me?" He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled before continuing.

"I was so happy when you came back and you had Lian. You had to adjust to being sober and being a father. I didn't want you to think you owed me anything. Whether it be a relationship or money," She admitted. She kept her distance for a year until Roy found her after he came back from where he disappeared to.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," He spoke, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you too," She leaned on him and kissed his stubbly cheek.

taglist: t: @flyestvenustrap @megamindsecretlair @blxckdesire @animegirlfromvietnam  @nupppuff  @prettyvintageafternoon   @lilbanas @certifiedloverwoman @melissa-ashe @hoyoooo

A Manly Guard Dog

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

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

Warnings: teasing/banter, pure fluff

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

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

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

“Look at this.”

“I’m asleep.”

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

“Tim, it hurts,” you add.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then don’t tell me,” Tim deadpans.

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

“And you’re telling me.”

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

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

“A dachshund?” Tim asks loudly.

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

“I can’t believe this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“LAPD!” Tim yells. “On the ground!”

Behind him, Officer Fuzz barks.

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

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

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

“Scared of dogs?” Tim asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m getting my wife a dog.”

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

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

“Which you know because of Officer-“

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

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

“Thanks, Lucy.”

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

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

“Tim?” you call from the front door.

“Uh, one second!” Tim calls.

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

“Hi,” you greet. “Are you okay?”

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

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

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

“Am I interrupting something?” you ask.

“No, well, yes, but no.”

“That’s not an answer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry I said no for so long.”

“What changed your mind?”

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

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

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

“Officer who?”

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

“I love you.”

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

Till Death Do Us Part masterlist

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

TEASER

Cast

Prologue

DNA is a Bitch

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

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

Taglist:

@mrs-fanfiction-2001

@bunnyboo12

@yor72

@weepingwitchofthewest

@stabmemaybe

@frozenhuntress67

Kevin Ball x daughter reader ?

An: YESYESYESYES btw this is not a biological daughter so you can be yourself 💖💖😍😍💋💖😍🤓💖🤧 hope you enjoy my lovers 🤍

The Balls

Kevin ball x daughter! reader (THIS IS PLATONIC WE DONT DO THAT INCEST SHIT HERE but reader is female with she/her pronouns 🤭)

warnings: just cursing and suggestive cause its kev and reader is in a secret relationship with lip (just wanted to add that in) and that’s it hope you enjoy my lovers 🤍 miscellaneous masterlist

Summary: Cute moments with Kev and his daughter

posted: June 18,2023

first time you snuck out for a party:

You were walking downstairs to see your dad and your stepmom V dancing and making out in the kitchen. You make fake gagging noises. They turn around to see you.

“Blah! You guys are disgusting.” You say while laughing and getting something to eat out of the fridge.

“Ohhh but Y/N you are going experience this ‘disgustingness’ sooner or later.” Your dad said while going next to you to steal your bread. “Hey give me my bread back!” V laughs while seeing this cute little moment between you two. While you guys are chasing each other your phone buzzed.

V heard this. “Ooo who’s texting us?” She said with a smile. You check your phone. “Oh it’s just my friend Maddie-.”

“Ughh is that the weird one with all the piercings?” Kev asked while being disgusted.

“No that’s Mandy babe.” V answered for you.

“Hey back to my text. Anyway it’s just her asking to go to a party together but don’t worry I’m not going.”

“Hey what! Why aren’t you going?” Kev asked. You just shrugged. “I don’t like parties. I sneak out every time you guys have one in the bar.”

“With who?”

“Li- Liza…” It was Lip but they don’t have to know that. They both narrowed their eyes at you but didn’t say anything. “I’m going to the Gallaghers for a little bit.” They both nodded and you walked to your neighbors.

_____

You were in Lip’s room just talking and giggling with each other. “You know if my parents ask you anything about me sneaking out of the bar that one night, I snuck out with Liza ok?” He just nodded with a confused look on his face. “Do you wanna go to a party later tonight?” You nodded and realized that you already told your parents that you weren’t going.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing it’s just I told them that I wasn’t going.”

“Just sneak out.”

_____

As you were sneaking in after the party, you see your dad under a light.

“I thought you weren’t going to that party Y/N?”

fuck

“Ok before you get mad Liza convinced me and-.” You cut yourself off when your dad held up his hand. “I’m so proud of my little girl!” He got up and squeezed you in a hug. You are so confused. “You’re not mad?”

“No! Wait did you have sex of any kind?”

“No dad!”

“Then I’m not mad!”

when they find out you have a boyfriend:

You guys were sitting in the living room watching tv. And you get a text. You check to see who it is and it’s Lip saying and showing some dirty stuff. You giggle and put your phone face down. V saw this and nudged Kev.

“Why are smiling at your phone Y/N? Who’s texting us?” V asked with a smirk on her face.

“Nothing just Liza sent something funny.”

“Well can we see?” Kev asked.

“No it’s an inside joke.” You said while giggling.

They made a face at each other. You can hear them whispering and your dad gets up to the kitchen. “Y/N can you help me in the kitchen?! I need help!”

As you were getting up V got your phone, put in your password and saw ‘L ❤️’

“This picture definitely is not from a girl.” She whispered to herself.

You turn around since it was way too quiet and you see V on your phone. “Hey!” You run over and snatch your phone. “You have a boyfriend!”

“Oh my god my babygirl has a boyfriend!” Kev said while cheering.

Then you got bombarded with questions.

“Do we know him?”

“No he’s from the north side.”

Then the questions got worse.

“Oh my god you have a rich boyfriend!”

“Does he buy you stuff?”

Why did he have to send that?

when they find out the boyfriend is Lip:

Since your parents were out at the bar. You guys were in your room, making out and smiling at each other. “So they know you have a boyfriend now. What did you tell them?”

“Well I said that he’s from north side and my dad calls you you my rich hot daddy boyfriend.” He let out a little laugh. “And he’s right except for the rich part.” You laugh at the face he makes.

“Now let’s stop talking and keep making out with each other.” You lean in and he smiles into the kiss.

“What the fuck.”

You guys jumped off each other.

“Lip is the rich hot daddy boyfriend?!” Your dad yelled. He ran out to tell V.

“V come in Y/N’s room!”

She ran in and gasped. “Lip?!”

This is the worst.

An: HEYEYEYEYEYE guys ik y’all probably are like ‘this bitch said they were gonna be posting then haven’t posted’ SO IM SORRY im rewriting shocked and scared bc it was fucking terrible but until i post again my lovers 🤍 *hint: it’s a surprise* (i have no idea)

Bottom of the River Masterlist

Tim Bradford was known to be many things. Hardass, stickler for rules, vengeful, angry. Words like these had been tossed around tirelessly to describe him. If anyone met him today, they would think he was born stuck in his ways, a man destined to be encompassed by the negatives in life. 

But, contrary to popular belief, he wasn't always like he is now. He wasn't like this when he still had his wife.

Tim Bradford x Reader

Act One - Rebirth

Chapter One - Missing

Chapter Two - Searching

Chapter Three - Preparing

Chapter Four - Discovering

Chapter Five - Shooting

Chapter Six - Questioning

Chapter Seven - Waiting

Chapter Eight - Hurting

Chapter Nine - Bargaining

Chapter Ten - Returning

Chapter Eleven - Remembering

Chapter Twelve - Breaking and Entering

Chapter Thirteen - Risking

Chapter Fourteen - Storing

Chapter Fifteen - Realising

Act Two - Revolutions

Chapter Sixteen - Adjusting

Chapter Seventeen - Talking

Chapter Eighteen - Noticing

Chapter Nineteen - Conversing

Chapter Twenty - Hostage Taking

Chapter Twenty One - Photographing

Chapter Twenty Two - Looking

Chapter Twenty Three - Briefing

Chapter Twenty Four - Conspiring

Chapter Twenty Five - Beginning

Chapter Twenty Six - Listening

Chapter Twenty Seven - Playing

Chapter Twenty Eight - Mirroring

Chapter Twenty Nine - Planning

Act Three - Reaping

Chapter Thirty - Drinking

Chapter Thirty One - Conferring

Chapter Thirty Two - Bartering

Chapter Thirty Three - Skiving

Chapter Thirty Four- Hiding

Chapter Thirty Five - Staging

Chapter Thirty Six - Predicting

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @rookietrek @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4 @starstruckchopshoptyphoon @alessiamargaux @rexit-mo @ladespedidas @wonderland2425 @niktwazny303 @the-dino-geek

tags are open, just message or reply to this post

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

A/N: This is the finale. I hope it meets some expectations, if not all. Sorry it’s taken so long to write.

18 and up, y’all.

There were no servants to be seen in the winding corridors that led toward Walt’s bedroom, and not one of his steps faltered, his arms like pliable steel around you. The long hem of your dress fell almost to the tops of his shined dress shoes, white lace drifting to and fro with the sway of his movement.

You glanced up at Walt’s face, your heart hammering a fast staccato in your chest. He caught your look and winked, a slow unfurling grin revealing the blunt points of freshly returned ready canines.

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