Always Time For You
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.
More Posts from Myfictionalbfs and Others
Party Favors, Bribes, and Sharks
Requested Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!(goth!)fem!reader
Summary: When Tim finally invites you to meet his friends, it takes more than party favors and promises to convince you to go.
Warnings: fluff, brief depiction of anxiety/nervousness, teasing
Word Count: 2.0k+ words
Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info
“What are you wearing?” Tim asks, frozen in the open doorway.
“A shark,” you answer softly. “It’s a hammerhead.”
Tim presses his tongue against his cheek and nods. He’s seen you in nearly every outfit imaginable over the last year, except for bright colors… or, as it seems, sharks.
“I didn’t know your fascination had extended to clothing,” he mumbles as he finally closes the door.
“It’s a hooded blanket,” you explain. “And it was on sale.”
Tim nods again, unable to take you seriously with the plush hammerhead pulled over your hair or the patterned sleeves your arms are in. He drops his bag and sighs as he sits beside you. It’s been nearly a week since you saw him. As you offer him one side of your shark blanket, he smiles.
“We solved the case,” he says, laying your blanket over one of his legs.
“I knew you would,” you murmur, looking at his neck rather than his face.
“And we decided to have a little get-together to celebrate.”
You hum, straightening the edge of the blanket along Tim’s thigh.
“You should come,” he adds, placing his hand atop yours.
Frozen, you pinch your brows and consider what he said. You’ve been dating for about a year but haven’t met any of his friends or coworkers yet. For good reason, you think.
“Funny,” you whisper, looking away from Tim.
“I’m serious,” Tim assures. “I’m inviting you to the… Lucy’s calling it a party. You can meet everyone.”
You look at the television screen, the rainy night ambiance video threatening to weaken your resolve. “Tim,” you begin. “I’d rather eat my own eyes."
Tim tips his head back and laughs, not at you or your shyness, but at your graphic response. You’re all things darkness, but Tim knows the softness and shyness lying underneath.
“C’mon, you have to come with me.”
“No, I don’t.”
Tim sighs before he turns toward you and places his hands on your sides. “If you come with me, I’ll get you fresh strawberries from that farmer’s market in Santa Monica you love so much.”
Your eyes widen at the idea. Those strawberries are the best things you’ve ever had. Unconsciously, your hand raises to your neck, and you toy with the strawberry charm tucked beneath your other jewelry.
“We can go this weekend and buy as many as you want,” Tim continues. “Maybe even eat some on the beach.”
“I… Tim, I can’t just go,” you argue softly.
“Yes, you can. Listen, I promise that everything will be completely fine. This isn’t a huge thing, it’s casual, you can be yourself.”
You scoff and look down at Tim’s arms.
“I’m serious,” he says firmly. “They’re going to love you. So, if you’re just nervous about them not liking you, that’s not enough of a reason to say no.”
You purse your lips to think. It’s not fair that Tim knows you so well or is willing to use your love of strawberries against you.
“Fine,” you whisper. “But if it doesn’t go well, I stand by my eye-eating comment.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
The day of Mid-Wilshire’s celebratory party, you’re a mess. From the moment you wake up, you’re stressing about every little thing and growing more nervous. You peruse your closet, then turn to Pinterest for outfit ideas, but you keep questioning what Tim meant when he said casual. His casual and your casual are very different, and you don’t want to wear the wrong thing and make the night even more nerve-wracking or awkward than you’re sure it will already be.
“Breathe,” you remind yourself.
You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and exit your room. After a break in which you have a snack, watch a short shark documentary, and wave to your neighbor’s cat out the window, you return to your closet. This time, the outfit seems to jump out at you.
As you lay a pair of baggy jeans on your bed, the rest of the look falls together effortlessly. You choose a black sweater with a skeleton made of stars, black Converse with colorful jewels on the laces, and your daily rings and necklaces. The strawberry charm Tim got you on one of your first dates gets lost among the dark, gothic jewelry, but you know it’s there.
With an outfit picked, your heart rate slows, and your nervousness eases slightly. There’s plenty you could be concerned about, but your question will be answered soon enough.
“Worst case scenario,” you murmur as you straighten your outfit in the mirror. “They hate me, and Tim leaves me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Tim says, suddenly behind you. You turn quickly, and he pulls you into a hug. “You’re perfect, and everything is going to be fine.”
“You can’t know that,” you complain against his arm.
“I brought you something to help convince you.” Tim steps back and pulls his backpack off the floor. “I’ve been holding onto this for a special occasion, and this seems like a good time.”
You watch as Tim pulls a stuffed animal out of his bag. You want to make a joke, but then you see what it is. The shark plushy is colored like a strawberry; it combines your two favorite things in the world. Things that Tim knows make you melt. Your shyness and worry are forgotten as you hug the strawberry shark to your chest.
“This is like Halloween!” you cheer.
“You mean Christmas?” Tim counters.
“I mean my favorite day of the year.”
Tim nods, kisses your forehead, then steps around you to get ready. As you wait with your shark, you allow yourself to be distracted. When Tim returns a few minutes later, you reluctantly set the stuffed animal on your bed and pat its back.
“Thank you,” you tell Tim. “I love him.”
“Is that why he’s in my spot?” Tim inquires with a knowing smile.
You smile and look down, clasping your hands together behind your back. Until you get to the party, you won’t know what to expect. You’ve heard Tim talk about everyone in attendance, but that’s different than meeting them, seeing them face-to-face, and allowing them to judge you. These people mean something to Tim; they’re his family, and if they don’t like you, there might be a risk of losing him.
“Are you ready to go?” Tim asks, offering his hand.
“Is it down to that or eating my eyes?” you question.
“Yes, and I happen to like your eyes.”
You grumble under your breath and take Tim’s hand. He leads you to his truck and whispers that everything will be fine. You try to believe him.
Halfway through the drive, your leg bounces so hard that the entire seat shakes. Tim turns, then places his hand on your knee, brushing his thumb over your leg. He has seen you nervous, but never like this.
“You’re fine,” he promises.
“What if they-“
“They’re going to love you.”
“But I don’t want to-“
“We’re here.”
You look up from Tim’s hand and sink in your seat. He squeezes your knee gently, opens his door, and rounds the truck to help you get out.
“Tim,” you whisper.
“I got you,” he promises, smiling despite your obvious concern. “Trust me, and then we’ll go get strawberries.”
“I like my rocks better than you,” you complain quietly, sliding out of the truck.
“Remind me who found your favourite rock.”
You huff, unwilling to acknowledge that the rock that looks like it’s covered in raindrops is your favourite or that Tim found it in your backyard. He takes your hand and leads you to the door. When you step behind him, Tim allows you to pull his hand with you, reaching behind his back to comfort you. Although, he knows you won’t need a buffer.
“Tim! You made it!” a woman cheers as the door opens. She gasps and drops her voice to add, “And you finally brought her!”
Tim lifts the hand not trapped in yours toward her, and you assume he motions for her to take it easy on you. Your eyes are on his back muscles, visible through his shirt, rather than anything or anyone around you.
“I was beginning to question if I’d see a night off,” another voice says.
“Tell me about it! Especially when Oscar called.”
Everyone groans, and you look up, still hidden behind Tim but able to see some people in the room. They’re dressed casually, you notice, and one of them is wearing an outfit similar to yours, minus the skeleton design.
“What?” Tim asks.
“Nothing, nothing,” the woman who opened the door answers.
You step to the left and raise your chin, accidentally locking eyes with her. She smiles but doesn’t move toward you or speak. You appreciate it and return her smile.
“Thanks for letting me come,” you say before introducing yourself.
After you say thanks, she moves to your side and pulls you away from Tim. Away from him and the others, she directs you to sit with her.
“I’m Angela, and I’ve been waiting so long to meet you. When Tim slipped and told me he had a girlfriend, I, well, I didn’t believe him at first, but I’ve never seen him like this,” she explains. “He’s been so happy with you! He refused to show me pictures, but you’re even prettier than I expected.”
“Thank you,” you reply softly. “Sorry, I’m not great at, uh, anything interpersonal.”
“Then you’re perfect for Tim.”
You laugh at her friendly teasing and are surprised when you fall into a short but easy conversation with her about how you met Tim.
“Give her some room, Lopez,” Tim calls from the doorway.
“It’s okay,” you tell him.
“Yeah, Timothy,” Angela replies. “It’s okay. It won’t be once she meets Nolan and Lucy, but I’m her new best friend, so you need to watch your back, Bradford.”
Tim rolls his eyes as he nods. He waves for you and Angela to join the others when you’re ready, then retreats around the corner again.
“I’m still nervous,” you admit to Angela.
“Well, now you have me. Just remember these two things: one, Nolan never shuts up, but he doesn’t actually say much.” She pauses as you chuckle, then raises another finger to add, “And we all tease each other, but there’s nothing except respect and care between us. You’re going to fit right in, I promise.”
“As my best friend?”
Angela loops her arm through yours after you stand and replies, “You understand already.”
You sit between Tim and Angela at the table, and less than ten seconds after she joins you, Tim's friends begin asking questions.
“Guys,” Angela interrupts. “Okay, this is Lucy, Nolan, Wade, Nyla, her husband James, and my fantastic husband, Wesley.”
“Why did he get a fantastic husband?” James challenges.
“You heard me.”
“Okay, how did you meet Tim?” Lucy inquires.
“We just ran into each other,” you answer nervously.
“Did he ask you out?” Nolan adds.
You nod, and they continue taking turns to better understand your relationship with Tim. A few minutes into the conversation, your answers are louder and contain more words.
“What’s your favorite animal?” Wade asks in the first lapse of silence.
“Sharks,” you and Tim answer together.
“Tim!” Lucy exclaims, clapping her hands together.
You laugh and realize at that moment that Tim was right. His friends are chill, open, and seem to like you.
“I don’t get why you’re with Tim,” Nyla tells you on the way out, “but I’m glad you came tonight.”
“Me too,” you answer. “I’ll see you around.”
“Count on it!” James calls.
Tim helps you into the truck and then reaches into the backseat. He passes you the new strawberry shark, and you clutch it tightly.
“Your friends are great,” you tell him.
“I tried to tell you,” he responds lightly. “And they’re your friends now, too.”
“I like that.”
Tim nods and murmurs, “You didn’t like it before I agreed to get you strawberries and watch Halloween movies.”
“We’re watching Halloween movies, too?!”
Hook, Line, and NOPE!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader
Summary: Tim Bradford gets hooked on loving you, but you play hard to get. After you finally admit that you feel the same, everybody says he's sleeping with the enemy.
Warnings: angst, arguments, emotional vulnerabity, fear of intimacy?, brief violence, fluff and comfort!
Word Count: 4.4k+ words
Song List: NOPE! by New Rules & Hooked by Why Don't We
For @newobessionweekly! Sorry it took me so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy it, I'm glad you're back, and I wish you the best in all of your endeavors!!
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
“Surely you can see how this entire project is ludicrous.”
You tap your eraser against your notebook, looking at the lawyers sitting across from you, representing the Los Angeles Police Department. The meeting was supposed to be held after a public forum. Because the court of public opinion is rarely on the department’s side, you were called into an impromptu – and early – one-on-one with the police commissioner’s legal representation.
“How is attempting to mitigate the impact on public citizens and the local economy ludicrous, Mr. Evers?” you inquire. “As someone who lives in Los Angeles, I consider this decision quite sensible. Avoiding more construction, road closures, and drawn-out costs that will ultimately impact businesses and taxpayers is hardly a laughable matter.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Wesley defends. “Do you make it a point to disagree with the LAPD whenever possible?”
You smile then, leaning forward over a printed report. “Not all of its officers,” you confide. “Now, if you have no reasonable objections to our proposal, I suggest we reconvene at the planned time to discuss this in light of public opinion, rather than my apparently overly convoluted view.”
“You are not making friends in the department,” he says as he closes his leather-bound legal pad and stands. “There will come a time when you need their support.”
“And there will come a time when they’ll see that I am in fact on their side. Thank you for your time.”
As soon as the door closes behind Wesley Evers and the rest of the commissioner’s hand-picked team, you slouch in your chair and sigh.
“He’s going to tell his girlfriend everything you said,” the paralegal taking notes beside you murmurs.
“Well, as the heads of my fan club, I’d expect no less,” you reply lightly. “Thanks for your help preparing for this.”
“Any time. Sorry the LAPD doesn’t like you.”
“I’m not here to be liked, I’m here to do my job and do it well. Speaking of which, I’ve got a lunch meeting.”
“With whom?”
You tap your fingers to your lips like you’re keeping a secret. If you’re making enemies with local law enforcement, the least you can do is devote some of your free time to making it better.
“You look beautiful,” your lunch date says as he pulls your chair out for you.
You roll your eyes but feel your cheeks heat at his flattery. The man sitting across from you is undoubtedly on your string, and you pull it, even if you know this relationship will never be anything more than it is now. He says nice things to you, and sometimes, when you’re home alone after a long week of being told all of the reasons people don’t like you, it’s nice to think that he might like you – though, if he does, it’s different.
“Are you going to tell me why you wanted to meet today or should I guess?” he asks, sitting across from you.
“Well, you’ve never been one to give up before,” you muse.
“You had a meeting with Wesley.”
“I did.”
“How’d that go?”
“Imagine sitting at a table with twelve former arrests that hate you – some of them just on principle,” you begin. “But you have to be civil because it’s a work thing. That’s about how it went.”
“Well, you did slash the law enforcement budget.”
“Not by myself. And it wasn’t my first recommendation, but it’s what we had to do to ensure everything was able to get done for the year. I understand that I seem like the bad guy here. I’m on their side- your side, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”
He hums, then reminds you, “We don’t all hate you.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the exception.”
“Does that mean you’ve reconsidered my offer?”
You glance at him over the top of your menu. “I thought you were still mad about the flowers.”
“I got you flowers, you left them outside, they died. Flowers die, I got over it.”
“I just don’t get it,” you admit, setting the menu aside.
“I can explain it again. Unless you’re stalling, like I think you are.”
“You’re brave enough to chase what you want: promotions, people, possessions. I’m not.”
“Is that why you keep stopping this before we even start?” he challenges. “Why we’ll talk for hours one day, and the next you’re a ghost? Why you invite me over just to not be home?”
You raise your hand, silently begging him to stop. When he explains your actions this way, they sound much crueler than your intentions. Being surrounded by hostility at work has led you to build tall, nearly impenetrable walls around yourself. Sitting across from the one man you can see yourself having a future with threatens those walls. He’s been chipping away at them for months, finding the weak spots and being patient with you each time you suddenly pull back when you notice he’s gotten too close.
“I just…”
“You change your mind,” he finishes for you. “You change it like the clothes you’re in, but… I’m not giving up.”
You chew the inside of your lower lip as someone passes by your table. “Why?” you ask softly.
“Because I’ve got a suspicion that you feel it too. I know what you’re doing.”
Nodding, you remind him, “It’s not just me I’m protecting.”
At the end of your lunch, you walk back onto the streets of LA and wait awkwardly on the sidewalk.
“Think about it,” he encourages.
“I will.”
“Oh, one more thing.”
“Bye, Officer Bradford,” you say, turning to walk away from him.
“Hello!” Tim calls after you, trying to get your attention again.
“See you later!”
Four Months Later
“… T, U, V,” Lucy continues. She stops and shifts in the seat to ask, “Are you lying?”
“I didn’t say anything,” Tim replies.
“There is no way your girlfriend’s name starts with X, Y, or Z. Is there?”
“Can we go back to when my personal life was off limits?”
“No. Now, tell me what your girlfriend’s name is.”
“Never said I had one.”
Lucy groans. She’s seen all the evidence that Tim has someone special in his life. He hasn’t eased up on the Tim tests or given her a break from his usual grumpy demeanor, but the little things are evident because she knows where to look.
“Bradford, Chen,” Wade radios. “Divert to the station. I’m putting you on detail at the rally this afternoon.”
“Copy that,” Tim replies.
“Is rally detail boring?” Lucy inquires.
“Depends on what exactly your post is,” Tim answers honestly. “Being a rookie, probably. It’s crowd babysitting more than anything.”
“Fantastic,” she deadpans.
“I’m about to cash in my pension,” Angela complains.
“Tell me about it,” Bishop agrees. “Does the mayor’s office care that crimes are still happening outside of his bubble?”
“He’s laughing at us. Making us guard his precious little troublemaker because he knows we don’t like her.”
“Why is that?” Nolan asks.
“She doesn’t like to help cops,” Jackson answers. “Will fund just about anything else, then gives us the leftovers. When it comes to budgeting and resources, we’re her last thought after her last thought.”
“So, she treats police needs like an afterthought?” Lucy clarifies. “And everyone on the force has a problem with her for that?”
“Not everyone,” Tim answers. “Form your own opinion, boot, don’t just listen to the jaded and the one repeating his father’s complaints.”
“It’s my opinion, too,” Jackson interjects.
“Wait,” Angela says, turning toward Tim. “Don’t tell me you buy into her I’m doing what I can, and I don’t like it either spiel.”
“I’m just saying that we have no way in knowing that she isn’t doing all she can. The police budget wasn’t good before she got the job, either. Useless to blame one person for the government’s fallacies.”
“What?” Bishop asks.
“You like her!” Angela accuses.
“Oh my gosh,” Lucy mumbles, her eyes widening. “It’s her isn’t it?!”
“She’s who?” Bishop demands.
“Focus on your assignment,” Tim barks.
“No,” Angela says. “Tim, do not tell me you have feelings for this girl.”
“And what if I did?” Tim challenges.
“Then I’d tell you it would never work.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Tim, I’m serious, don’t let this girl pull you in somehow. She’s the enemy.”
“The enemy? Lopez, she’s doing her job. People don’t like us for the same reason, does that make us the enemy?”
“That’s not what-“
“What about Evers? He the enemy?”
“Okay,” Bishop interrupts. “You’re getting defensive, stand down.”
Tim rolls his eyes and leads Lucy toward the stage. Angela and Bishop watch him go, convinced there is more to Tim’s response than simply respecting that you’re doing your job and not singling them out.
“We need to talk,” Bishop says, waiting outside the locker room.
“I don’t need an intervention,” Tim deadpans.
“But you need to hear this,” Angela replies. “We don’t like her. 90% of cops minimum don’t like the mayor’s golden girl.”
“Well, I’m in the percentage that doesn’t need your help.”
“Tim, she is younger than you, she works day in and day out to make our jobs harder. You are incredibly different people.”
“And you need to bring this back into the proper perspective,” Bishop adds. “Reality is, Bradford, that even if you do like this girl in a purely professional sense, she will betray that somehow.”
Tim clenches his jaw. “Reality is, Talia, that my life is absolutely none of your concern.”
“Not what you said last time you needed a favor.”
“The low blows make you feel better? Remind you that your family-“
“Stop,” Angela demands, stepping between Tim and Talia. “This isn’t about that. Tim, we’re just saying not to start something with this girl because it won’t end well.”
“I haven’t started anything,” Tim replies. “But if I wanted to, if I wanted to see where it would go, I would.”
Angela watches him, ignorant of their rookies listening in on the conversation.
“You did start something, didn’t you?” Nolan asks from around the corner.
“What do you want the hear?” Tim snaps, looking between the veteran and rookie officers surrounding him.
“The truth!” Lucy answers.
“Fine! Yes, I am dating her. It took me months to get her to the point where she wasn’t scared to let me in, and I’m not walking away from it – or her – because you all have chips on your shoulders.”
Angela shakes her head as she says, “You’re sleeping with the enemy here, Tim.”
“Yeah, because she has such a bad reputation. All of you, back off.”
“Or what?” Bishop challenges.
“You don’t want to fight me on this,” Tim explains lowly. “Now move.”
Bishop tilts her head to the side, then steps back. Tim exits the station with his shoulders drawn back and his hands curled into fists. You may be public enemy number one as far as officers from Mid-Wilshire are concerned, but that won’t change anything for Tim. To Tim, you’re the sweetest temptation, and the one he wouldn’t walk away from, even if he wasn’t completely and utterly hooked on you.
“Your girlfriend’s on TV,” Angela grumbles a few days after their unpropitious meeting.
Tim glances up at the television screen. You’re standing beside the mayor and the budgeting committee. Last week, the city planner's office introduced a petition to build a new and improved police facility near the station Tim is now standing in. It would provide room for additional personnel, new state-of-the-art security, and a training course specifically for tactical responses, including riot control and high-risk breaches.
As the mayor speaks and officers from across the city watch, Tim keeps his eyes on you. You look good in the dark blue blazer he helped you pick. Though he knows you’ll probably deliver a speech that will intensify the feelings of disdain local law enforcement holds for you, Tim has wildly differing thoughts about you.
“After many discussions with the board beside me and the experts in my own office,” the mayor says, “we have decided to delay the planning and construction of the new police station indefinitely.”
A collective groan of disappointment fills the bullpen around Tim. The mayor continues speaking, but Tim can’t hear him over the chatter echoing in the crowded room.
“What does this mean for us?” Lucy asks beside him.
“Nothing,” he answers.
“Just that we’ll still be stretched too thin and underprepared for tactical emergencies,” Jackson adds, his voice laced with loathing.
“Which is no different than now,” Tim reiterates. “Metro has operated with the current standard operating procedures for several years and it works. We have new shift rotations every other week. The brass will work around this, just like they always do.”
“They shouldn’t have to.”
“Tell Tim’s girlfriend that,” Angela interrupts.
Tim looks back to the screen, unsurprised to see that you’re now at the microphone, smiling even as you prepare to deliver the displeasing details of the proposal refusal.
“Good afternoon,” you greet. “On behalf of the mayor’s office, I would first like to thank the employees who worked on this project proposal and the officers who will someday benefit from it.”
“She’s so full of it,” someone yells as others boo.
“This is really who you want to be with?” Angela challenges Tim.
“You should try listening sometime, Lopez. It can be enlightening,” Tim replies. “Let’s go, boot. We’ve actually got work to do.”
“It is a question of money, yes,” you continue as Tim leaves. “But there is also a concern of bias and competency in planning and construction because of current contracts. Of course, the mayor agrees that the facility is needed, and he’s not denying that it will be provided to the LAPD, he has simply determined – with his advisors – that now is not the proper time to begin the undertaking of such a project.”
“There’s still time to dump her before this starts,” Bishop whispers.
“And there’s still a chance for you to remember who you’re talking to,” Tim replies.
“She’s going to get crucified,” Angela says. “You really want to be the officer she drags down with her?”
Tim shakes his head just before the door opens. You follow the mayor inside and sit at one of two tables on the stage. They’re arranged in a wide V-shape, with six chairs and six microphones at each. The rest of the room is filled with police and press, all heavily vetted and here for a specific reason. After the press conference yesterday, the law enforcement community voiced a public outcry, which led the police commissioner and numerous reporters to call for a town hall meeting with an audience of people who will be directly affected by the decision. And those who will paint you in the worst light possible to inform the public of the decision.
The first speaker in the line, an officer Tim recognizes but doesn’t know, directly addresses you. Tim notices your shoulders straighten as you nod.
“You’re the one that cut the police budget. Now that we’re down one more asset and assist, how does it feel to have less protection at your fingertips as a city employee?” he asks.
Several officers cheer, but Tim crosses his arms across his chest and rolls his eyes. He and Lucy arrived early and are seated in the front row. You lock eyes with Tim briefly before you answer.
“As I explained yesterday, the budget does play a role in the city’s delay of building this facility,” you explain. “But there are other concerns.”
“Like what?” the officer asks.
“The city of Los Angeles is currently under contracts with specific architects and engineers. These craftsmen are undoubtedly talented, yet there have been questions of their focus and dedication in their trades.”
“Speak English!” someone yells.
You smile at that and continue, “The engineers we would have to hire to build something of this size are solely interested in the paycheck they would receive. The mayor is unwilling to compromise the integrity of the building, so he decided to wait. If we move forward now, the final result would not be the better building and better system you need.”
“And you know what we need,” a reporter jeers.
“More space and additional resources, amongst many other things. I’m not arguing that you have clear needs, I am simply stating that this isn’t the way to do it. Not if you want it done rightly.”
You watch the officer turn away from the mic stand. He slows by the second row of chairs, and your brows pinch as you watch him.
“How did you determine there’s bias?”
Tim turns when the question is asked, shaking his head when he sees Bishop standing at the microphone. She glares at you, but one of the mayor’s corporate lawyers leans forward to answer the question. As he discusses the audit his team completed, you look past Tim. He meets your eyes and lifts his hands from his lap in question.
Without responding to Tim, you turn and speak to a member of the mayor’s security detail. The man nods, looks past Tim, then steps behind the stage before disappearing from Tim’s view.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the mayor interrupts. “Today’s meeting is to discuss the postponement of this project. There is no room for blaming members of this committee or seeking answers to personal questions. Next speaker, please.”
Bishop rolls her eyes as she passes Tim, and he silently hopes that this doesn’t make you pull away from him again. If Tim is sleeping with the enemy, he won’t let the people on his side push you away, even if it means going against everything he’s supposed to believe in. You’ve got a habit of saying nope just because you are more comfortable hiding your feelings and saving yourself from being vulnerable with the wrong person. Tim knows he is the man you can be yourself with. Maybe the only one.
“That has no bearing on the need for more space,” you say, drawing Tim’s attention again. “Simply put, you’re getting the new station when it is fiscally and morally wise. And not a moment before, regardless of how much you need it, or think you need it.”
The crowd roars, booing and voicing baseless insults against you. You stand and walk off the stage while the mediator attempts to regain control of the room. There will be another meeting at the end of the week, and Tim wonders how many of these officers will be in attendance and how many will still be angry.
It’s Friday afternoon when a similar group convenes in the mayor’s office. There’s less press, and many of the officers in the room are high-ranking. Grey brought Tim, Angela, Bishop, and their rookies, stating that the rookies need exposure to the politics of policing and that the TOs are among his best officers. You smile at Tim when he enters but look away when you see the officers with him. Sergeant Grey has never been anything but civil with you, yet the complaints of his officers may have swayed him.
“Excuse me,” you whisper to a security guard behind you. “Is the man in the blue jacket an officer?”
He glances over the table and shrugs, then says, “Everyone was screened coming in, ma’am.”
“Thanks,” you reply, nodding as you face the crowd.
As the conversation – a polite term for the personal attacks and invasive questions – begins, you remain quiet. You look forward, unresponsive to the different officers raising concerns or voicing their opinions.
“Finally found her off switch, I see,” Bishop murmurs.
“She’s much more tolerable this way,” Jackson agrees.
“I don’t think she’s even listening,” Nolan points out.
“Neither are you,” Tim replies gruffly.
He doesn’t take his eyes off you, distracted by your rigid posture and silence. Something is wrong. Whether someone in your office told you to stand down or you’re troubled by another instance, you’re not acting like yourself, and Tim hates it.
“Good afternoon,” a man says into the microphone.
Tim glances at him, wonders why he’s not in uniform, and then refocuses on you.
“The architect and engineer contracts are time-based, correct?” he inquires.
“Yes, sir,” the mayor replies.
“Then what makes you think the next crew to sign a two-year contract won’t have the same bias? The same obsession with being paid quickly rather than doing good work?”
“It’s not so much the contract as the ethics of the companies themselves. We’ve already begun the search for new firms and have found promising and talented teams we’re eager to begin working with.”
The man nods and returns to the back corner of the room, standing away from the rest of the crowd. After excusing yourself softly, you walk to the back of the room, heading toward the door. You’re on the same side of the room as Tim, but he can’t see you behind him.
While you approach the man in blue, he walks along the wall, nearing the front row. He’s getting too close to the mayor and too close to Tim, you think. You slow when he stops.
“Is your office prepared to provide additional resources to the stations in need while we wait for this building development to begin, Mr. Mayor?” Sergeant Grey asks.
The officers applaud his question, sharing their support of the idea. You don’t listen for the mayor’s reply as the man slips his hand beneath the back of his jacket and wraps his fingers around something.
“Quiet, please,” the mayor calls. “Thank you. And that’s an excellent question.”
“Officer Bradford,” the man says.
As Tim begins to turn, the man pulls his arm forward, and you don’t hesitate to surge forward. You tackle him to the floor, knocking his gun out of his hand and toward the stage. Officer Chen stands first, rushing to your side as she takes your position and handcuffs the armed man. The mayor is escorted off the stage by security, and you’re distantly aware of cameras flashing.
“Are you okay?” Tim asks, pulling you up to stand as his eyes search your face.
“I’m fine,” you reply. “Are you?”
Tim shakes his head, and you smile.
“I don’t even care if you’re gonna be the death of me,” Tim murmurs.
He leans toward you, holding your face between his hands, and kisses your forehead. You’re both ignorant of the people watching you until Lucy shoves the man against the wall, and someone clears their throat.
“I, uh,” Angela begins. “I think we owe you an apology.”
“Me or her?” Tim asks, squaring his shoulders as he steps to your side.
“Both.”
“She’s the one for you,” Bishop realizes aloud. “I couldn’t see that past my own feelings.”
“I’m sorry about the decision,” you offer. “I fought for you, but I couldn’t make it work.”
“Didn’t fight very hard then,” Jackson grumbles.
“Watch it, boot,” Tim warns.
“No, it’s okay,” you interject. “I could have done more; I won’t deny that. But I’m confident that the plans we’re working on now will be far better than what you could have gotten had I succeeded this time.”
“What do you see in Tim?” Lucy asks as two other officers escort the apprehended gunman out of the room.
You look at Tim, and your smile grows when you answer, “Someone who saw me, and didn’t give up when I thought I wasn’t worthy of being seen or loved.”
“Do you want me to call a paramedic or anything?” Nolan inquires.
“I’m fine,” you assure him. “Not every day the desk jockey gets to save her cop boyfriend.”
“Yeah,” Angela begins, “what was that about, Timothy?”
Tim shrugs, bumping his arm against yours.
“I’m pretty sure that was Garrison Peters,” you say. “He works for one of the firms whose contract is about to expire and won’t see the station payday.”
“Which he’s mad about,” Bishop agrees. “But why Tim?”
“You said Garrison Peters?” Tim repeats. “Relation to Andrea?”
“Married, I think,” you answer.
“I arrested her for a RICO warrant. Lawyer argued she was obsessed with money and the jury indicted.”
“Hence why we didn’t want to use their firm!” you exclaim. “They’re corrupt!”
The five officers around you have different reactions to that revelation. Lucy says, “Oh,” and then grimaces. Angela and Bishop press their lips together and nod slowly. Jackson purses his lips but still looks like he’d rather hear it from someone who isn’t you. And Nolan mumbles something about contractors that you can’t decipher.
“Sorry,” Angela says first.
“I am too,” Bishop adds.
“Me, three,” Lucy offers.
“Sorry, and sorry again on behalf of… everybody,” Nolan says.
Jackson doesn’t apologize, but you smile at him regardless. “Thank you,” you reply.
“Thank you,” Tim whispers.
You rub his shoulder kindly before you drop your hand.
“I was supposed to have dinner with the mayor, but he’ll probably be in lockdown, if you’d like to join me,” you suggest.
“Absolutely not,” Tim interrupts. “You can all go home and plan better apologies. We’re going to dinner.”
“Tim,” Bishop says before he can leave. “You’re really good together.”
“I know.”
Tim leads you out of the room and interlaces his fingers with yours as he leads you to your office. He suggests a few restaurants worthy of his savior, but you don’t reply. In the privacy of your office, you sit against the corner of your desk and beckon him closer. You spread your hands over his chest when his legs hit your knees.
“That was terrifying,” you admit.
Tim sobers, lifting his hands to run his fingers along your forearms. “I’m sorry. I know that what you did was for me, but it was risky and reckless... I’m sorry it scared you.”
“What I did didn’t scare me. The idea of losing you did.”
Nodding, Tim drops his chin toward his chest and looks at you. “You saved my life. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“You saved mine first,” you whisper. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
“What can I say? I’m hooked,” Tim replies, smiling brightly.
You scrunch your nose at his response, then murmur, “Nope.”
He scoffs, preparing to remind you that you’re together and you can’t push him away that easily. Before he can, you grip his shirt and pull him toward you, kissing him without a single thing between you. Tim Bradford is on your string, but you’re done pulling it because you’re hooked, too.
Overcoming Fantasies
Pairing: Brian Cole (Fantasy Island 2021) x fem!reader
Summary: After Brian leaves you because he loves being a survivalist more, he finds himself on Fantasy Island. While he learns that there is more to life than surviving, you chase a pipe dream involving a second chance you'll never get.
Warnings: angst, injury (broken leg), spoilers for 1x07 of Fantasy Island, very brief soulmate connection thing, fluff and reconciliation
Word Count: 2.3k+ words
A/N: I finally wrote Brian. His smile has been in my head for months and this idea forced its way out tonight.
Brian inhales deeply, taking in the serenity and beauty of the island.
“Welcome,” someone calls, “to Fantasy Island.”
“Hi,” he greets awkwardly, turning from the plane to face the beautiful woman welcoming him. “I’m-“
“Brian Cole. Did you come alone?”
“Yes. Was I not supposed to?”
The woman laughs, then explains, “It’s an island, Mr. Cole, there is often more than one visitor.”
“Oh, yeah, of course. No, it's just me.”
“I’m Elena Roarke,” she introduces, offering her hand and a warm smile. “You can leave your backpack.”
He drops her hand and then sets his backpack in the sand before he follows her. A white beach house sits between palm trees, and the curtains on the large windows flutter in the salt air breeze.
“Tell me, Mr. Cole, what is your fantasy?” Elena asks, gesturing for Brian to sit.
He lowers onto a light-colored sofa and fans his shirt gently. It’s humid but not uncomfortable. Despite his history as a survivalist and the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on the island, Brian is nervous face-to-face with Elena. Suddenly, he wonders if the people who said his fantasy would kill him were correct. If you were right. The last time you spoke to Brian, you had tears running down your face as you begged him to tell you why his obsession with surviving was more important than you. Why he would rather die than come home to you.
“I want the ultimate physical and mental challenge there is,” he answers, looking out at the waves to forget about you. “I want to know if I can overcome it.”
“Why?” Elena inquires. She gestures to the other side of the house, where a large sliding glass door reveals a grassy clearing surrounded by tropical foliage. “What about the outdoors and the dangers it holds makes it a fantasy for you?”
“I’m a survivalist,” he explains. “It’s part of you I am, and the uncertainty makes me feel alive. My… my ex called it an obsession, accused me of having a death wish and loving it more than her.”
“And you’re here to prove her wrong?”
“I’m here to be tested in ways I haven’t before. I want you to put me through the worst so I can show myself I can do it.”
“The island knows your fantasy,” Elena says. “When you exit this door, you’ll be where you want to be.”
“Don’t- don’t send any help. I have to do this alone. There can’t be rescue,” Brian says quietly.
“Of course, Mr. Cole.”
Brian nods and wipes his hands on his pants as he prepares to exit the beach house. Without his backpack, he’s more unprepared than usual. It’s the ultimate challenge, the survivalist fight he’s dreamed of for years. So, without thinking of you or the life he’s leaving behind should anything happen, Brian steps into the grass and the world changes.
“Hey, my friend wants to go on a hike this weekend,” your favorite coworker says. “Do you think Brian could recommend a trail?”
“He’s not into hiking,” you explain. “Dangerous survivalism is more his thing.”
“Oh, wow. That’s intense. It doesn’t concern you?”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and when she tuts and moves closer to rub your back, you admit, “I think my concern is what made him leave.”
Brian moves through the forest, gathering items he can use as supplies. The multi-purpose tool and knife he keeps on his person serve useful, and by the time the sun dips behind the trees and sends long shadows across his path, he’s prepared to make camp for the night. In a clear space against a rock, Brian builds a small bed of leaves and stacks several dry branches to build a fire. He isn’t hungry, so he decides to find food later.
Something moves in the trees nearby, and Brian calls out, “Hello?” No one answers, so he tries, “Elena?”
The forest silences; only the wind in the branches answers him. He chalks the noise up to an animal and returns to work, determined to make a safe camp for the night.
When you get home, you try to forget the reminder of Brian and his obsession. Losing him hurts, and you think it always will. With a warm drink and a new book, you hope to move forward with your life, starting tonight. By the end of the second chapter, you can’t focus because you’re still thinking of Brian. You don’t know where he is, if he’s okay, or if he thinks about you. The first tear falls onto the page, and you slam the book closed. Brian loves to save himself, and you owe it to yourself to do the same.
The following morning, after a small breakfast of double-checked and properly identified berries and a cooked fish, Brian climbs a tree to get a better understanding of the forest around him.
“Does it feel better up here?” a small voice asks.
Brian looks down quickly. He barely catches himself on a nearby branch when he sees the young boy sitting beneath him.
“Who are you?” Brian demands.
“If you’re not going to use the knife, can I have it?” the boy inquires.
“No, it’s mine,” Brian argues.
“Then it’s mine too.”
“You’re saying that you’re me, what? 20 years ago.”
“Gosh, you’re old.”
“Watch it, kid.”
Brian looks away, convinced that he’s imagining his younger self.
“Are you married?” young Brian asks.
“No.”
“Have a girlfriend?”
“I did.”
“But you messed up? Why?”
“Shut up. I can’t answer your questions and get out of this jungle.”
“Apparently that’s not all you can’t do.”
“Okay, fine, I messed up!” Brian snaps. “I lost her, is that what you want to hear?”
His younger self watches him, then says, “I’d like the hear what you’re going to do about it.”
Brian doesn’t have an answer, but that realization doesn’t bother him as much when his foot slips from the branch, and the rock that gave him shelter last night seems to rush up toward him.
You wake a few hours later with a sharp pain shooting through your leg. Standing quickly, you wait for it to pass, then notice that the sun is rising, so you open your back door and sit on the porch to watch the day begin, entranced by its beauty.
Brian groans, clutching the top of his thigh before he cries out in pain. He looks down hesitantly and immediately knows he won’t walk away from this.
“Now the hallucinated company disappears,” he groans as he uses the rock to pull himself into a seated position. “Okay,” he grunts. “Compound fracture.”
After he looks around, he calculates how much time he has. He estimates six hours before sepsis sets in, and doesn’t doubt it will progress rapidly in the heat and humidity.
Brian closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time passes before something rests against his shoulder, and a featherlight touch trails up his arm. He mumbles your name, and a fleeting memory of a sigh answers. The touch and the weight disappear on a gust of wind, and Brian opens his eyes. Elena stands before him, frowning at the sight of his broken leg.
“Have you changed your mind about being rescued?” she asks.
“No,” he answers immediately. “You sound like my ex.”
“She was concerned about your death wish. Why are you really here?”
“Being trapped is the purest state of being,” Brian states. “This is how life is supposed to be.”
“Dying alone because you refuse to let people close?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Sounds like I’m not the only one. Good luck, Mr. Cole.”
Brian blinks, and Elena is gone. His younger self returns, carrying fruit and boiled water.
“I wasn’t this resourceful at your age,” Brian says.
“Why do you put yourself in dangerous situations over and over, then?”
“When I was a little older than you are now, I was abandoned in the woods with nothing. It was cold, and I couldn’t do anything but walk. A hiker found me; that’s the only reason I survived. I thought I got over it, and refused to feel that weak or lost again. Maybe I just buried that humiliation. My need to be out here, to survive, is what drove the only woman I’ve ever loved away.”
“The same girl I like?” young Brian asks hopefully.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Brian closes his eyes and expects a sarcastic reply that doesn't come.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he assures. “I’m sorry I was harsh earlier.”
“The secret’s safe with me,” young Brian says softly, wiping tears with the back of his hand. “I’ll be fine. You will too.”
Brian nods, and the sun shines brightly above him when he opens his eyes. Only there are no trees to block the light. He sits up quickly, shocked to find himself on a cliff with no broken bones. Brian stands and follows the sunset through the forest and toward the beach. He smiles and runs faster when the air smells like the ocean again.
The plane descends as you near the destination of the one-day trip your friend insisted you take. Waves lap onto the sand as the sun glints beautifully off the water.
“What is this place?” you ask the pilot.
“Anything you want it to be. That’s why people love the island, I hear,” he replies.
You nod and sit back. After the plane lands, you pull your bag onto your shoulder and open the door.
“Welcome to Fantasy Island,” a woman greets as you drop into the sand. “I’m Elena Roarke.”
You say your first name, wondering who the woman is.
“Your friend tells me that you have a wish no one can grant,” she continues. “This island has a way of doing things like that.”
“I doubt it can do what I want,” you argue.
“You never know. Follow me.”
You walk through the sand as she leads you to a beach house. Inside, you run your fingers across the linen curtains.
“Has the island ever given someone a second chance with a person who doesn’t want one?” you ask. When in Rome - or on Fantasy Island, you think as you hint at your deepest desire.
Elena looks down the beach and then asks you to excuse her. You nod, and she walks out. Alone, you stare out at the ocean. Maybe you should have tried to be more adventurous instead of asking Brian to be less so.
“Welcome back,” Elena says, smiling as Brian emerges from the jungle. “And ahead of schedule.”
“Thank you,” Brian responds. “Thank you for showing me.”
“It’s the island. What now, Mr. Cole?”
“I’m going home. I’ve got… I have to apologize to someone.”
“Good luck.”
Brian hugs Elena as he thanks her again, and he feels complete now that he remembers why he started living like this and realizes that life isn't the same as it was back then.
“Before you leave,” Elena says, “stop in the house. There’s one more thing I think you should see before you leave.”
Brian nods and makes his way toward the coastal building, smiling as he takes his time, enjoying the beauty without thinking about how to use his surroundings for survival.
You hear footsteps, so you turn away from the photos displayed on the shelves beside the couch. When the approaching person steps through the door, you freeze.
“Hey,” Brian says, his smile dropping as his eyes widen in surprise.
You swallow and look at his muddy pants before you say, “Hi.”
Brian watches you as you pull your hands behind your back. He has so much to say that he doesn’t know where to start.
“I should… go. I don’t even know why I’m here,” you murmur.
You step toward the door, toward Brian, but he moves forward to stop you. Looking into his eyes, you wonder why he’s suddenly acting like he doesn’t want you to leave.
“You asked if I loved it,” he begins. “That night you asked if I loved going out on these adventures more than I loved you.”
“And you didn’t answer,” you remind him.
“I was running,” Brian interrupts. “I’ve been running since I was a kid, but keeping that from you, letting it get between us, was the worst mistake of my life.”
“What are you saying?” you whisper.
“I do love it,” Brian says. “Because it makes me feel in control. But I don’t love it more than you... And you shouldn’t believe me.”
You watch Brian, but his eyes are steady on you. He seems genuine. Yet the reminder of how much he hurt you eats at you.
“I messed up, too,” you confess. “I should have accepted it as part of you.”
“No,” Brian argues, shaking his head as he lays his hands on your forearms. “You are part of me. I’ve never told anyone this but the survivalism was a response, a way to feel strong and in control after a terrible experience and abandonment. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason.”
“I didn’t want to lose you,” you whisper. “I lived in constant fear that you would die and never come back to me.”
“I’m back,” he insists. “It took me too long, but I’m here now. As long as you want me, I’m here, and if you don’t want me, I understand.”
You raise your hand to Brian’s face and wipe a streak of dirt from his cheek. He leans into your touch, and you move closer to him. Tipping your chin up, you kiss Brian.
He pulls back when he feels a tear hit his thumb. Wiping your cheeks, he matches your smile. You can see it, feel it, and you wholly believe Brian when he says he loves you. This island deals in fantasies, you realize, but not always in the way you expect.
“I keep making you cry,” he murmurs.
“Do you want to go to the beach with me?” you ask.
“I’ll go anywhere with you.”
Elena watches Brian help you into the plane. He seems like a different man when he turns and waves at her before he joins your side.
“I’ll teach you to spearfish when we get there,” Brian says.
“Oh, no,” you reply, laughing before Brian cups the back of your head and kisses you.
“Another satisfied visitor,” she muses.
Plss write abt dennis and younger reader when they are in a relationship
BEING UN-DENNIS-ABLE
Dennis Reynolds x Younger Reader
Always Sunny Masterlist
Authors Note: There’s so much I have planned for Dennis and Readers rollercoaster of a relationship I figured I’d start with a bit about their first date and first little romantic interactions. I hope you like it !!!
Also that photo of shirtless Glenn makes me want to bark
Warnings/Tags: Usual behaviour from the gang, Dennis being a bastard man, misogyny, narcissism, sexism, plus surprise appearances from Mac’s mom and Artemis hehe
Word Count: 4.4k
Dennis Reynolds does not do relationships.
They’re messy. They’re draining. They’re restrictive and quite frankly, Dennis didn’t want to deny himself of all the potential hotties out there that he hadn’t met yet. So, he was always in the dating pool and open to the next manipulation opportunity.
He was a difficult man to tie down simply because he didn’t want to be. Yeah, some of the perks that came with having a girlfriend were attractive to Dennis, but the overall concept of being in a relationship was enough of a deterrent to happily sacrifice those benefits. He’d convinced himself he was better off single anyways.
Dating you was different because unlike the rest of his sexual conquests, he found it impossible to complete the D.E.N.N.I.S System. He couldn’t separate entirely. You were basically a part of the gang now, especially after you’d struck up a deal with Frank to become an ‘employee’ of Paddy’s Pub.
"Hey Frank, can I ask you something kinda private?" You asked after knocking quietly on the open office door to get his attention.
Frank screws his face up and looks at you from behind the desk. "Woah, hey kid… I ain’t into chicks your age alright?”
“What?” You exclaimed in disgust. “No! I need advice from you. Jesus, Frank..."
"Advice? Ohhhh... Like fatherly advice? Cos I totally get your Dad skipped town and left you all alone but I’m not the role model you should be looking up to. I ain’t a good person.”
"My dad didn’t leave me Frank, he died when I was three. I barely even remember him.” You shrugged casually. “Besides, you being a shitty role model is exactly why I came to you. Someone who's financially corrupt and has successfully gotten away with tricking the government.”
“Say no more.” Franks grins, kicking his legs up on the desk and pulling out a cigar case from the top drawer. “What are we talking?”
“Tax evasion.”
Before he could cut the tip of the cigar he burst into laughter at your response. “Why?”
You explained to Frank about how your family trust fund worked and the conditions that were set around accessing the millions of dollars in their estate. As long as you and your cousins had a ‘proper’ job and received some sort of legitimate government-taxable income, you could access the trust.
One of your cousins insisted on becoming a filmmaker instead of going to college and wanted to access the trust fund to pay for the production. Your aunt was firm that until his little project actually turned a profit, he’d have to get a job and work in the meantime. Now, he’s a thirty two year old aspiring filmmaker without a single completed project and working at a fucking vape store in Los Angeles.
His sister wasn’t much better. She had zero ambition or drive to make a life for herself. Her financial plan was to meet someone richer so she didn’t have to worry about it. She was a fucking moron, the whole family knew it. Her parents paid for a building just to get her into Stanford her grades were so bad. Credit where credit is due though, that’s where she met her equally as dumb yet uber-rich husband.
“How much do you need to earn for them to count it as a job?” Frank asks out of curiosity.
You shrug, “Anything with a payslip I guess. It doesn’t matter so much about what the job is, it’s more so they know we’re doing something productive with our lives each day instead of blowing all the cash and doing nothing.”
“Tell you what. I’ll put you down in the books Paddy’s and say you work here.“
“Really? That… Was easy...” You were a skeptic. “What do you want in return, huh?”
Frank was a businessman at his core, he knew never to enter a negotiation unless there was some sort of benefit to him. For the average Joe in this situation, they’d demand money but Frank has more money than he possibly needs — as do you.
“What do I want? How am I s’posed to know? You’re putting me on the goddamn spot here, kid!” Frank defended. “Just- You owe me one… I’ll cash in the favour whenever an opportunity comes up.”
That was how you (kind of) ended up working at Paddy’s with the gang.
The first four years of knowing you were tricky for Dennis because you were under 21 and the gang had enforced a rule amongst themselves to be better influencers around you to not taint your young, impressionable mind. Plus you weren’t legally allowed in the bar so you didn’t seen them as often as you did now.
Dennis assumed that once you were 21, it was open season and he could manipulate you at his full potential. You were basically in an incubator period from 18 to now, so Dennis had strategically been making ‘deposits’ until you had reached full maturity. And now that you had, he was ready to make a hefty withdrawal.
Except you knew that he just wanted sex. You weren’t dumb. You still flirted with him for those 4 years sure, but you knew exactly what he wanted from you in the end and wanted to see him work for it. You knew how his usual tactics worked because he’d always boast about his sexual conquests at the bar.
Much to his chagrin, you weren’t all over him or begging to bang the second you turned 21 which drove the man crazy. His usual tactics worked with women who didn’t know him, but he had to work a lot harder to win you over because you knew what he was like. He had to create a new strategy.
A new system.
After about 6 more months of sexual tension, you finally agreed to go on a date with him. It was one of the rare moments that Dennis was thrown off his rhythm when it came to women, which only intrigued him more about you. After he’d pulled his classic ‘oh no the restaurant is closed’ ruse, he suggested that you both go back to his apartment for takeout and a movie instead. He’d started the date off strong by getting you back to his place this easily, so he was confident the rest of his process would unfold as planned.
Cool, calm and collected.
You hadn’t been inside Mac and Dennis’ apartment since the drunken one night stand you had with Dennis. It was weird to be back inside because as much as it seemed sort of familiar, it still so foreign because you hadn’t really remembered that night and rushed out the next morning.
“Mac and I rented a bunch of DVD’s yesterday so it’s kinda perfect timing to have a movie night.”
The term ‘movie night’ was thrown around so often amongst the gang that sometimes Dennis found it hard to keep up with which movie night was which. It meant different things depending on who said it, and in what context. You know, like how words work? Whatever, it was Dennis’ problem not yours.
For example, when Frank ever referred to movie night, it meant one of two things:
1. The gang had invited him (on the rare occasion) to their existing group movie night arrangement.
2. He and Charlie were having a ‘Gruesome Twosome Tuesday’.
You see, it’s the way you say it that suggests innuendo. Saying movie night plain and simple doesn’t hint toward there being any other meaning. Movie night however, gave the impression that it’s not to be taken by its standard definition. That is was in fact, not the usual movie night.
Look at Sweet Dee next. If she said movie night, it meant that she had somehow weaselled her way into the boys movie night. More often than not, it was by eavesdropping on their conversation and assuming she was invited when she wasn’t. When she said movie night, it meant she was using it as an excuse to bang some guy on a first date without having to leave her apartment. A low effort win-win for her.
When Mac or Charlie said movie night, it meant it was one of the regular guys nights where Charlie went to Dennis and Mac’s apartment with a case or two of beers and hung out as they always did. Those happened multiple times a month. If either of them were talking about movie night though, it meant that Dennis had granted them access to one of his sex tapes to watch as a special treat.
Dennis had planted the idea of finding Bigfoot in Frank, Mac and Charlie’s heads earlier that day. All he had to do was look at his phone and say ‘holy shit there was a Bigfoot sighting in the Poconos’ and they were off on an impromptu camping trip. Mac wasn’t home which meant Dennis had the apartment to himself and now, he had a lovely lady to share it with.
“Let me guess…” Dennis said narrowing his eyes at you and pressing a finger to his lips as he pretended to read your mind. “Romantic comedy?”
“A rom-com on a date… How original,” you laughed with a playful eye roll, leaning against the back of the sofa and sipping your drink.
“Okay, how ‘bout a horror then?” He asked, resting his arm along the back of the couch, subtly bridging the distance between the two of you and chuckling. “Unless you’re too scared…”
Scary movies were the back up option for Dennis, but that was only the first detour. It was fine, he was smart enough to know the best manipulators accounted for deviations from the plan like this. Besides, watching a horror film meant that he could play the protective masculine stereotype instead of the in-touch-with-his-feelings guy. Both stereotypes worked with women so again, the plan was still on the right track.
He thought that at the inevitable jump scares, you’d curl into his side and cover your eyes. He’d then suggest turning it off, not wanting to cause any nightmares for you of course. You’d insist you wanted to keep watching and he’d say how cute you were when you were being brave — a comment laced with patronising undertone but he’d say it before leaning in for the kiss so you’d be focused elsewhere. Then? Well, then the second step of the D.E.N.N.I.S System would be nicely progressing.
Except you didn’t get scared, you laughed.
Fuck. Dennis had to pivot his strategy again. Shifting his approach to make fun of the movie with you instead, both of you made snarky comments throughout the film. He usually did that sort of thing with Mac, so naturally he was throwing out quips with ease. Each of them just as funny as the last.
And you know what? You were pretty fucking funny too. It surprised him, which it shouldn’t have because he knew your sarcastic sense of humour was predominantly witty, but he was just pleasantly elated that you could keep up with him. He was so just used to Mac’s dumb Austin Powers references and out of context Borat jokes said at the worst moments that it was nice to not have to deal with that for once.
After the movie ended, you were both pretty intoxicated and Dennis had made you laugh for hours on end. He was sure you’d be begging for his cock by now — he played a great game. He had you like putty in his hands. Add in the fact that you couldn’t drive home mixed with living 45 minutes away, and he had the perfect recipe to have you to stay over for the night.
Unfortunately for him, you politely declined. “I have an early morning tomorrow so I’ll get a cab home, it’s okay. Thank you for tonight though, I had fun.” You said slinging your bag over your shoulder and heading out to the hall.
“You’ll text me when you get home, yeah? I want to make sure you’re safe.” Dennis said with a charming grin, resting his arm up against the door frame to physically stand over you. Power move. He’d have loved to try to convince you to stay but that would have come across as pathetic. Only little bitch boys begged a woman for sex, real men convinced women that they wanted it.
And so, you finished the night of your first date in the backseat of a taxi, smiling ear to ear at the fact you’d successfully manipulated Dennis as much as he had attempted (and failed) to manipulate you. You knew what kind of guy Dennis was, you knew he’d be playing the role of a perfect man. You even picked up on his little scheme before it started when you’d googled the restaurant to see the menu. You were far too intrigued to see how his plan would play out to question him on the restaurants opening hours.
You’d also steered clear of cliche rom-com movies and let him suggest a horror film. You, a relative fan of the genre had heard terrible things about the latest M. Night Shyamalan movie but deliberately told him the complete opposite. Apparently it’s terrifying you said, acting as though you were nervous to watch it because of the raving reviews. Dennis loved a damsel in distress, a weak, vulnerable woman down on her luck or desperate enough to believe his empty promises.
As a woman of high intelligence and even higher standards, you knew from the get-go that you wouldn’t sleep with him that night. With neither of you remembering the one time you’d had sex four years prior, and the palpable sexual tension you’d both built up since, you knew Dennis was dying to fuck you again. You might be younger than him but you weren’t naive. Nor blind.You didn’t want to see how long you could make him wait for sex. No, no, no. That wasn’t enough long-term satisfaction. A rookie’s game. And you were no rookie. In terms of sex and experience comparative to Dennis yes, but you weren’t a rookie at manipulating people psychologically. Dennis thought he was winning his little manipulation game, and he was, but the poor guy didn’t realise he was the only one playing.
You and Dennis were manipulators at your very cores. You enjoyed playing the game as much as he did. The only difference was that he played to win and you played for your own amusement. You knew that he used the D.E.N.N.I.S system with every woman he pursued, and he wouldn’t stop until it was complete. That then became your motivation. He couldn’t win if he couldn’t complete all the steps and you wouldn’t go anywhere unless you grew bored of him.
Whether you or Dennis liked to admit it, you were pretty fucking similar — just in different ways. On the surface you both looked like polar opposites. And for the most part you were, but on the same deranged and twisted spectrum. You both denied you had feelings but you both had big emotions.
Dennis showed his anger outwardly by yelling and shamelessly causing a scene, commanding the power and authority over people by being the most dominant figure. Whereas your anger presented in a chillingly calm manner that made people far more unsettled than an explosive argument. You were the type of person to feel a tear roll down your face whilst laughing with how angry you were.
Charlie was always really scared when you got angry. More so than with Dennis.
Mac found Dennis scarier of course because he was emotionally attached to the man and never wanted to disappoint him, but with you he assumed he’d put you in a headlock or overpower you with some sick karate moves if you were to ever fight. You weren’t a physical fighter though, never was and never will be. Especially not against grown men.
One time you’d gotten in an argument with Mac about who knew Dennis better. You were in your mid twenties at this stage and Mac had overheard you talking about ‘the true Dennis’ to Charlie. He interrupted you and without any context, scrutinised you (and Charlie) for your ‘stupidity’ thinking you knew his own roommate and best friend better than he did. You had started to explain how you were speaking in terms of clinical psychology, he thought yelling the loudest and not listening to anyone would help drive home his point. You didn’t even disagree with him all, you were simply just talking about different things.
The next day you stopped by Mrs. Mac’s house and sent him a photo of the two of you sitting on the front porch having a cigarette together — a moment of maternal bonding Mac had craved his whole life. He furrowed his brows when he received the text and once Dennis noticed his confusion and saw the photo for himself, he grinned like the god damn Cheshire Cat.
“Is that your Mom? Fuck, that’s a good move… That’s really good…” Dennis trailed, impressed by your psychological warfare against Mac. Triggering his severe parental issues? Genius idea on your part.
That was the first moment Dennis truly respected you as a fellow manipulative elite. You were ruthless just like him which made you all the more challenging to conquer. It was his biggest project yet, four years and counting.
Mac runs his hand through his hair dramatically and paces back and forth across the living room. “She is such a bitch, dude! Why is she still trying to be a part of the gang? Like, first she tries to steal you away from me- us, and then fights me saying she knows you better than anyone else? Like hello? I literally live with you Dennis.” Mac scoffs, frowning over at Dennis who was too busy zooming into the picture.
“Wait, is your Mom smiling?! Wow… I didn’t know she knew how to do that.”
Mac snatches the phone back, “No! She’s squinting from the sun! Obviously. But Dennis, trust me she was such a psycho yesterday fighting me over you.”
Dennis had already zoomed in on your chest in the photo and was far too preoccupied staring at your tits to care about the conversation anymore. “You might live with me sure, but I haven’t been inside you.”
“You-”
“And I’m never going to.” Dennis finishes bluntly, not wanting to entertain the ludicrous conversation whatsoever.
Turned out you went over to Mac’s mom’s house to she had any of Mac’s old high school yearbooks. You weren’t up to anything particularly diabolical, you just wanted to see if you could get any dirt on Dennis because you weren’t convinced any of them were popular in school. You partly knew that taking the photo was with Mac’s mom would trigger him so you sent it just as an amusing little power play.
“Hey Mrs. Mac. Brought you these.” You said tossing a fresh cigarette deck at her. After she had already coughed a puff of smoke in your face as she answered the door mind you.
She grunted at you and stepped outside onto the patio, sitting down in her usual chair and opening the pack you’d given her. She was already smoking inside before you got there but here she was lighting a new one now. The half-smoked and still lit cigarette was burning a small hole in the sofa inside but not enough to cause a fire.
That wouldn’t be for a few more years.
Mrs. Mac held the cigarette between her wrinkled lips and scowled up at you, “Sit down.”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah okay. Thanks.” You said quickly sitting in the other chair. You’d only met the woman once or twice before and had barely heard her speak more than a few sentences.
She held the open pack towards you and grunted, which you interpreted as ‘do you want one’ and thanked her before lighting it.
“Sorry for showing up unannounced, I needed to get away from the guys.”
She nods, “Mmph.”
“I was wanting to look at some of Mac’s old school stuff? They were talking about it the other day is all, I’m a little curious.”
Silence.
“Is his room uh, just upstairs? Or…”
Mrs. Mac nods and takes a long drag of her cigarette, saying nothing but turning towards you this time.
“Cool… Yeah I’ll just go look after I finish this.”
She looks away from you again and closes her eyes, leaning back in her chair and letting the sunlight hit her face. “Do you ever shut the hell up? Just sit and smoke kid. The sun is out. Life is good.”
You recall Mac saying she thrived in sunlight once, which you were intrigued by because she was the human embodiment of a brick wall. But this was pretty optimistic of her. After a few minutes of more weirdly uncomfortable silence, she suddenly coughed and spluttered, spitting out a sizeable amount of phlegm into a nearby empty beer can before resuming her sunbaking.
That’s when you pulled out your phone and took a photo of the two of you to send to Mac — when his Mom was ‘thriving’ with you and not him. From that moment on, Mac had a grudge against you. For stealing Dennis and stealing his Mom.
Your on and off again nature with Dennis became a normal part of the gang’s dynamic. Sometimes you were both friendly and on good terms, sometimes you were at each other’s throats or dating other people to make the other jealous. Sometimes you would agree to part ways and not keep doing this toxic cycle, but a month or two later you’d be hooking up in the back office again.
Nobody could keep up with how to define yours and Dennis’ relationship because the two of you never wanted a definition or a label in the first place. It was just a never ending game of cat and mouse that most people would find infuriating and draining — but it worked for both of you and your twisted conniving selves.
There were little things that the two of you would do that subtly showed you meant more to each other than just casual sex. Tiny details that showed you both had cracks in your meticulously crafted armour against catching feelings. For example, whenever the gang had a particularly dangerous or life-threatening scheme, you were always the first person Dennis would look for or check was okay. It just became a natural instinct for him to protect you.
Without being asked to or having any knowledge of his dislike for the skins, you peeled Dennis’ apples for him. It was strangely comforting knowing he didn’t have to explain to you how the skins were riddled with toxins because he assumed that was what you believed too. They weren’t, and you knew that. You just peeled them sometimes, which almost felt like fate the first time he saw.
Dennis was too much of a realist to believe in fate, but if he did he might have thought the apple thing was a sign that you were a keeper. Maybe.
“What’re you eating?” He said with a slight scrunch of his nose.
“Apple slices with cinnamon sugar. It’s like Apple pie but without the pie. And cold.”
Dennis smiles gently, “You peel your apples?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a fucking baby. I know.” You sighed, not in the mood for another joke about your age. The guys always teased you about that and it was getting old.
“No, no… I don’t eat the skins either. I’m not fucking with you I swear,” he assured.
He liked that you remembered to peel his apples from that point on. It made him feel seen and heard, which was something he didn’t encounter very often. He liked knowing that you cared about his wants and needs, like you actually gave a fuck. You even asked him for his advice when you went shopping by texting him different outfit options. He liked that too, being able to dictate your wardrobe to his tastes. His favourite thing though, was when you would ask his opinion on what nail polish colour you should get each time you visited the salon.
“Hey Dee, c’mere for a sec.” Dennis said ushering her over to him and showing her your most recent text. “Do different nail polish colours mean different things for women?”
“Red means she’s a whore.” Artemis calls out from where she was sitting in the bar. She’s several margaritas in but she’s still as quick as a whip.
“Oh! Yeah, that one’s true actually. Classy women like myself, get elegant neutral colours.” Dee said smugly holding the backs of her hands up to show her pale pink nails.
“So I’ll say get pink then?”
“No, don’t just say pink,” Dee says mocking his stupid boy ignorance. “It’s called ‘Bubble Bath’ and it’s a classic.”
Artemis then joins them at the other end of the bar. “It’s all about tone. Hot pink? Spring break. Baby pink? Eh, it’s pretty safe all-round. If she gets anything neon or super long, she’s trashy. And if she gets only a clear top coat she’s probably a prude.” She shrugs.
Dennis can’t help but imagine about what your hand would look like around his cock with different coloured nails. Neutral colours weren’t a bad image. Better than something gaudy like electric blue or something he thought.
“Bright red is for cheap whores but dark red is for those real expensive whores. Y’know the ones that don’t suck cock for less than a benjamin.” Artemis continues.
“Wait- Are you kidding? I can charge a hundred bucks for a quick lil trip down south? Huh…” Dee ponders, briefly considering the quick source of income.
Frank, who was eavesdropping from one of the booths in the bar laughs, “Don’t kid yourself Deandra. Gangly women like you could probably only get fifty bucks max.”
“You have good feet though. Men pay big bucks for flippers like those.” Artemis added.
“Dark red it is.” Dennis smirks, responding to your text and telling you to send a photo when you were done.
When your photo came through? Fuck, yeah Dennis knew he made the right decision. It looked hot on you. And they’d look even hotter roaming his body later that night he thought.
Which they did.
You Must Be Stuffed
Kinktober Day 2 Zoro Roronoa x Fem!Reader
Word count:878
Tags:NSFW, Modern AU, Unprotected sex(Don’t be silly wrap your Willy guys), drunk sex, breeding kink, slight manhandling
Synopsis:After one to many drinks you and Zoro try something he wanted to try for a while
Kinktober Masterlist | One piece Masterlist
You and Zoro’s night started off with the two of you drinking at a local bar before you two decided to take the drinks home with you when things became a little too loud.
You both are about 15 drinks in your words slur as you both speak about two different things, you speak about a show you just watched and Zoro speaks about how you're so pretty and gorgeous. Then he says something that causes you to stop talking and look at him, “Y/N I was thinking that we should try fucking raw, and me finishing inside of you.” he slurs most of his words but you understood him, you choke on your drink a bit of it coming out of your mouth.
“What did you say!?” wiping your mouth you look at him like he has three heads, but your thighs self consciously rub together, “I think that we should fuck raw and that you should let me finish inside of you multiple times. So want to do it right now?” He has a dopey smirk on his face he takes another sip of his drink, as he is drinking you sit there staring at him wondering if he is being for real or faking it, but then drunk words are sober words and you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about how he would feel raw and what drunk sex would be like.
“Yea I wanna do it right now” you blurt out watching as he gets up from his seat walking towards you, he grabs your arms and pulls you up to your feet; he then brings his hands to the side of your face and pulling you into a messy wet sloppy kiss, his tongue darts into your mouth tasting the drink you just had, pulling away a string of saliva connecting you both. “Come one, sweetheart” Zoro pushes towards your shared bedroom, closing the door behind you.
You sit on the bed watching as Zoro undresses in front of you, you grab your own shirt and tug it off throwing it next to the pile of his clothes, Zoro stands in front of you naked and hard; his thick veiny cock standing proudly against his stomach, pre cum dripping from his flushed tip. Zoro leans forward grabbing your waistband and pulling both your sweatpants and panties off in one swift motion.
The cold air hits your wet pussy causing you to shiver and whimper, “Shit your so wet” Zoro rubs his thumb up and down your cunt slowly pushing it in and out of your hole, “I don’t even need to prep you baby” he smirks down at you grabbing his hard cock, slipping the tip into your sopping hole, “Oh god you feel even better like this” he slurs from pleasure and drunkenness (?) “Shit. Zoro you feel so good.”
You can feel every ridge and vein on his cock, your cunt pulsing around him. Zoro starts to move his hips in a sloppy and rough way, the sound of his balls and hips making contact with you and the sound of you and Zoro’s loud slutty moans fills the room. The way Zoro thrusted into you had you feeling even more drunk than before, Zoro watches as your face scrunches up in pleasure, the way your eyes fill with tears each hard sloppy thrust he gives you.
“Oh god I’m so close, baby.” Zoro groans his orgasm approaching rather closely, “I’m close to Zo’ don’t stop please don’t stop.” You rub your clit in a fast motion as Zoro fucks you into the bed, within seconds your body is shaking as you cum all over his cock, “F-fuck Zoro” moaning as he fucks you even faster than before catching his own high, “O-oh fuck.” Zoro finishes deep inside your pussy, your hole becoming so full as his load fills you up.
“Shit. We’re not done yet Y/N.” Zoro pulls out of your cunt watching as his and your orgasm drips out your hole landing on the bed, “Turn around for me and put your ass up baby,” he helps you move to your knees, his cum starts to run down your thigh causing you to shiver. Zoro moves behind you roughly pushing your head down in the pillows beneath you thrusting his dick into your hole as soon as it comes into view. His thrusts are so hard that the slapping of his hips against yours causes you to jolt every time you make contact, “Zo’ you feel so good,” you slur drool seeping out your mouth and getting on the pillow.
Your cunt is so sensitive from your first orgasm that your second one comes quicker than before, “Zoro I’m coming” you squirt and cream on his cock your cunt tightening around his cock has him, your moans and cries are the only thing Zoro focuses on has he comes inside you again for the second time of the night, “Y/N” he moans leaning down to kiss and suck on your shoulder.
All movements come to a stop, you and Zoro’s heavy breathing the only thing that can be heard, Zoro kisses your neck before leaning back up; “One more time baby.”
©Bella2023
A Daughter Who's a Boot
The Bradfords Series Masterlist (3/?)
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!cop!reader
Summary: Tim interrupts your dinner date with Lucy with a cryptic call that leaves you concerned. Lucy stays beside you and you remind Tim that she's important to both of you (and that he cares about her, even if he won't admit it).
Warnings: mention/depiction of domestic terrorism, banter, fluff!
Word Count: 1.6k+ words
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Your phone buzzes with a text from Tim while you watch for Lucy. Tonight’s dinner date with Lucy has been planned for weeks, but Tim seemed reluctant to let you go. Whether his sudden borderline clinginess was because you’re spending time with Lucy instead of him or something more, you’re unsure. Regardless of the reason he’s texting, you promise to let him know when you’re on your way home and encourage him to enjoy his time alone. Since you married Tim, he’s grown used to you being around, but you thought he would enjoy a night to himself. It seems you were wrong.
The restaurant door opens again while you place your phone back in your bag. You look up quickly and wave to Lucy, whose smile grows as she rushes to your table.
“I ordered your favorite drink,” you say as she sits across the table.
“Thanks, Mom!” she replies, still smiling.
“Someone is going to think you’re serious and have some intense judgements about me,” you scold playfully.
“How was your day?” Lucy asks, ignoring your faux protest.
“It was pretty good. I’m more interested in how yours was.”
“Busy, but fine. I’ve been counting down the seconds to this dinner, though.”
“We should do it more often.”
“Like your husband would allow that,” Lucy scoffs. “He’s so jealous of me and how much time we spend together.”
You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Tim cares about Lucy just as much as you do, but he has a very different way of showing it. Lucy knows that, but she enjoys teasing him and trying to get under his skin. After the waiter approaches and takes your order, he turns to Lucy. Your phone lights up in your bag, and you politely excuse yourself before you look down to check it. There’s a missed call from Tim that went to voicemail less than a minute ago.
“Tim?” Lucy guesses as the waiter leaves.
“Yeah,” you say, furrowing your brows. “He knows we’re busy.”
Your phone rings again, and this time you answer it immediately.
“Tim?” you ask as the call connects.
“I need you to come home. Now,” Tim says before your phone beeps.
You pull the phone away from your ear, and when a text comes through from Angela, you know Tim is serious.
“I have to go, Lucy. I’m so sorry,” you explain as you gather your things.
“I’m coming with you,” Lucy offers.
“No, Luce-“
“You’re rattled, and now I’m worried too. So, I’m coming with you.”
“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”
You leave some cash on the table for your waiter and tell the hostess there’s an emergency as you rush past the greeting stand. Your mind races with what could be this urgent, but you resolve to remain calm and composed as you race to get home.
Lucy walks into your home behind you and nearly runs into you when you stop suddenly. She peeks over your shoulder and sees a map covering your dining table. Tim and Angela are leaning over it, marking seemingly random locations with bright red dots.
Tim looks up, and when he sees Lucy, he tells you, “I told you to come home, not Lucy.”
Lucy opens her mouth to apologize, but you speak before she can.
“Tim, you said to get home and then hung up on me. You should know that she wouldn’t let me leave alone after that. She’s worried, too, so either we both stay, or we both go,” you respond.
Angela gives Tim a that’s your wife look before he sighs and steps toward you. When Tim lifts his arms, you willingly move toward him and let him wrap you in a hug. He apologizes against your shoulder as he rubs a warm hand along your spine.
“So,” you begin as you step out of the hug. “What was the cryptic call about?”
“Interesting question,” Angela muses. “We have enough reason to believe someone is planning a huge attack on downtown LA. Like, they want to level it huge. But we don’t actually have enough evidence to get the FBI involved or do anything about it.”
“Not yet,” Tim adds, glancing at you.
“Of course,” you agree without being asked. “Tell me what to do.”
“Us,” Lucy corrects, stepping to your side. “Tell us what to do.”
“The locations marked in red have the most foot traffic, we think those would be easy targets because no one would be able to see anything,” Tim explains.
“But that doesn’t take into account rooftops, abandoned buildings, flight paths, anything that wouldn’t rely on a diversion,” you deduce.
“Right,” Angela agrees. “But we have a notebook in evidence with some details. Techs are trying to piece it together but they’re not making any progress.”
“Do you have pictures of the notes?” Lucy asks.
“Of course we do, boot. We’re not incompetent, just behind,” Tim answers as he passes a tablet to Lucy.
“Thanks, Dad,” she replies as she scrolls through the pictures.
“Hey, Angela,” you call, ignoring Lucy and Tim bickering behind you. “Can you pass me that stool?”
She nods and brings a stool from your kitchen island to your side. You position it beside the table before you climb to stand atop it.
“Don’t-“ Tim begins, but you’re already up. He sighs as he walks past Lucy and places a hand on the back of your thigh to keep you steady.
You rise to your tiptoes, aware of Tim’s hand pressing against your leg to reassure himself just as much as you, and snap a picture of the map from above. Tim takes your hand as you jump down and examine the angle you photographed.
“Am I seeing things or do the red marks spell something?” you ask, passing your phone to Angela.
You squeeze Tim’s hand, which is still wrapped around yours.
“I can see two letters,” Angela cheers. “D, something, T.”
“A dot,” Lucy fills in, zooming in on a scanned page from the notebook. “It’s marked on a map, looks like 100 Main Street… is that a real address?”
“It’s not a dot, it’s DOT!” you exclaim. “Department of Transportation, D-O-T. Caltrans has a headquarters on South Main, downtown.”
“It wasn’t going to start multi-target,” Tim realizes.
“If they can hit Caltrans, they can take out more than downtown, they can take out all of Los Angeles,” Angela adds.
“I thought traffic was bad now,” you murmur as you join Lucy’s side to view the mastermind’s notes.
“I’m going to alert Caltrans, LADOT, DHS, and anyone else I can get in touch with,” Angela says as she picks up her phone. “Thank you so much for your help. Sorry, I ruined dinner.”
“Tim ruined dinner,” Lucy corrects.
“I’m okay with shifting the blame to him. I’ll see all of you at work.”
“Bye, Ange,” you call after her. You tilt your head to look at Tim while Lucy continues scrolling through evidence pictures.
“What?” Tim asks.
“Seriously?!” you ask incredulously. “You scared me. Calling twice in a row, telling me to get home, and then hanging up on me is not okay.”
Tim nods, seeing just how upset you still are. All because he worried you. The last time you were stressed because of someone close to you was when Lucy accidentally lured a former convict to her apartment. Now, it’s completely Tim’s fault that you feel this way, and he knows he could have gone about it differently. Tim pulls you into his arms and apologizes again before promising never to worry you like that again. It’s not necessarily a promise he can keep, but you know he’ll try. You nod against his chest and wrap your arms tighter around his waist.
“Hey, maybe I’m worried about you too, Dad,” Lucy interrupts. “Can I get in on the hug?”
“No,” Tim answers shortly. “But thank you for coming.”
“No problem.” Lucy smiles at you and says, “Goodnight, Mom. Call if you need a break from him.”
“Goodnight, Lucy. Thanks for everything,” you reply. You release Tim to hug Lucy before she leaves.
When she returns the hug, Lucy whispers, “Is Tim a good hugger?”
“No,” you lie quietly. “He’s the worst.”
“I knew it.”
Lucy leaves, and when your front door closes behind her, you turn to Tim, but he shakes his head and steps back.
“If I’m such a bad hugger, you can live without another one,” he says.
“We may fight all the time, but you need me, Bradford,” you reply.
Tim stares into your eyes before he pulls you roughly into his arms and kisses your forehead.
“Hey, since you interrupted my dinner with Lucy, I’m crashing your breakfast with her next week,” you threaten lightly.
“I’m ditching her,” Tim replies. “Breakfast with you sounds a whole lot better.”
“She’s our daughter, Tim, you’re gonna have to learn to get along with her eventually.”
Tim pulls back and cups your face before he explains, “She’s a boot, not a daughter. Keep that straight.”
“Sure,” you agree. “Just remember that next time she’s in danger and you call me panicking.”
Tim releases you and steps back dramatically as he accuses, “Traitor. Kojo, let’s go somewhere we’re appreciated.”
Hearing his name, Kojo trots into the room with you and sits beside your feet. He looks up at you and wiggles happily as you reach down to pet him.
“You’re outnumbered, Bradford,” you remind Tim. “And you love us.”
Tim returns to your side and distracts you from Kojo as he kisses you. “I do love you,” he says against your lips. “Remember that.”
2000 Leagues
Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!Coast Guard!reader
Summary: Karadec is searching for a stolen yacht and a missing person. You assist him and his team in finding the ship, but you land yourself in the middle of a dangerous case.
Warnings: angst, yearning, character death, drowning, murder, fluff and a happy ending!!
Word Count: 4.6k+ words
A/N: 2000.
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“Karadec.”
Daphne and Oz lock eyes when Karadec answers the phone, sharing a silent hope that it’s a quick case and they can leave on time today.
“Why assign it to us?” Karadec questions. “Wouldn’t that fall to Robbery/Homicide?”
“One can hope,” Daphne mumbles.
“Yes,” Karadec says. “I understand. My team and I will be there. Thanks.”
He sighs as he turns toward his team.
“We working a robbery or a homicide?” Oz asks.
Shaking his head, Karadec answers, “A stolen yacht.”
“That is not in our purview,” Oz argues after blinking several times.
“It is when the owner was reported missing three days before the yacht was removed from its spot at the marina.”
“Who’s the owner?” Daphne inquires.
“Local millionaire named Ashton Weatherford.”
“Of Weatherford Water Sports?” Morgan interjects.
Karadec doesn’t look surprised but sounds utterly exasperated as he asks, “How did you get here so fast? I just texted you.”
“I was nearby.”
“Of course you were,” Karadec sighs.
“And, yes,” Oz replies. “Ashton is the CEO of Weatherford Water Sports, but his brother Simon is the owner. Has been since their father’s death three years ago.”
“If he wanted the company to himself,” Daphne muses. “That’s good motive.”
“But we’re not sure Ashton’s disappearance has anything to do with the stolen yacht,” Karadec points out.
“How would one steal a yacht?” Morgan asks. “It’s not exactly the most inconspicuous of the vehicles.”
“That’s a good question,” Daphne agrees. “How do we go about looking for it, Karadec?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his chin as he thinks. They’ve worked robberies, homicides, missing persons, and every combination of major crimes; the stolen item has never been as grand as a yacht.
“The federal government has jurisdiction in territorial seas,” Morgan begins. “Within 12 nautical miles. The US Exclusive Economic Zone, however, has 200 nautical miles. The state has certain authorities in the EEZ, but that usually has to do with resources and marine life. If that yacht went out to sea…”
“We don’t have time to jump through hoops with the feds or the EEZ,” Daphne says.
“Not with our missing person coming up on six days,” Oz adds. “He’s already not likely to be recovered alive.”
“Especially if he’s on the yacht,” Morgan whispers.
“I can call in a favor,” Karadec interjects. He takes a deep breath and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Let me see if I can get an assist a little faster. Oz, start pulling warrants for the yacht’s GPS, and somebody find me footage from the marina the day before the yacht was reported stolen.
“On it,” Daphne replies.
“Who are you calling?” Morgan inquires, perching on the corner of Karadec’s desk. “Ronnie? Another FBI agent who likes you a little more?”
“Hello,” Karadec greets, ignoring Morgan. “I’m Detective Adam Karadec, LAPD. I’d like to speak to CMC- Thank you.”
“You know a Command Master Chief Petty Officer of the United States Coast Guard?” Morgan asks.
“Hopefully it’s enough,” Karadec murmurs.
You stretch your hands above your head and look out of your office window. The Pacific is calm today, with 3-foot waves rolling in every 18 seconds and a steady temperature of 54 degrees. You aren’t supposed to be at work today, but you were called in to complete some paperwork from a recent expedition. Now that you’re finished, you have to decide if you want to get ahead on next week’s work or go home and enjoy the rest of the day.
“Ma’am, there’s a detective from the LAPD calling for you on line three,” an officer alerts, standing at attention in your doorway.
“Thank you,” you reply. After he steps away, you lift the phone and pull it to your ear. “Good morning,” you greet.
“Good morning,” Detective Karadec responds.
You smile, leaning back in your chair. “What can I do for you today, Detective?”
“I’m investigating a missing person’s case,” he explains. “It seems that the man’s yacht was reported stolen a few days after his disappearance, and we’ve been tasked with finding it.”
“So, you want my team and me to assist you in locating the yacht, which you believe is at sea.”
“Right. We’re trying to recover the GPS data from the ship, but we have reason to believe it hasn’t gone far.”
“Where was it taken from?” you ask, reaching for a map on the side of your desk.
“Long-term dockage contract listed Marina Del Ray,” he answers. “The LA DBH was less than helpful, but they’re looking for video.”
“If the slip was rented long-term, there’s likely bills for electricity, water, and Internet,” you explain. “I’d get a warrant for those to try to nail down the time those services were discontinued.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
“The yacht was reported stolen, what, two days ago?” Karadec hums affirmatively, and you look at the list of ocean conditions for the past week. “Assuming that it was taken some time the night before… conditions have been mild. Waves were higher last night and some patchy fog, but they could still be 200 nautical miles from the coast by now.”
“Ask if she thinks the ship could be docked at a different slip,” someone whispers.
“Have a new lady friend, Karadec?” you tease. “Is she at your desk for business or pleasure?”
“She’s a consultant,” Karadec says flatly. “Could the yacht be taken to a different slip?”
“If someone already had it rented or had a private slip, then possibly. They couldn’t rent out a new one without providing owner documentation and identification,” you explain. “If you think someone close to the victim took the vessel, then absolutely.”
“We’ll see if Simon has a slip,” Karadec murmurs. “And the other thing?”
“I’ll have a boat and a crew ready to sail from Marina del Rey,” you offer. “Give me an hour.”
“Thank you,” Karadec says.
“Of course. I owe you a lot more than this. See you soon.”
“You have a contact in the Coast Guard?” Morgan explains after Karadec ends the call. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I have told you that, Morgan?” he questions. “It’s my contact, and believe it or not, we don’t have to call in military favors often.”
“Are we going out to sea?”
“We are not. Daph, Oz, and I are,” Karadec corrects.
“You need my help,” Morgan argues. “This guy isn’t just floating over the continental shelf thinking about the best route to get two thousand leagues away.”
“That’s six thousand miles, Morgan,” Karadec says. “He isn’t going to Russia.”
Morgan stops, pinching her brows as she considers Karadec’s statement. “You know leagues?” she asks.
“Yes. We’re not completely incompetent.”
“We’ve got the GPS records,” Oz announces.
“Great,” Karadec says, pushing out of his chair. “Find Daphne and meet me outside. We’re going to Marina del Rey.”
“Shotgun!” Morgan calls.
“Good…” you hesitate and look at your watch before finishing, “morning, detectives.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that,” the blonde woman in the iridescent leopard print skirt murmurs.
“This is Morgan Gillory,” Karadec introduces. “She’s a consultant.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, offering your hand as you introduce yourself. “And a pleasure as always, Daphne, Oz.”
“Same to you,” Daphne says, pulling you into a quick hug.
“How do you all know each other?” Morgan asks.
“Lot of water under the bridge,” you answer, smiling. “If you’ll excuse my lack of uniform, today was supposed to be my day off. So, no titles or ma’ams or anything like that required.”
“As long as you show us the same courtesy,” Oz replies.
“Deal. Anyone need anything before we board? Dramamine? Sunscreen?”
“Depends on how you helm the boat,” Karadec murmurs.
“What happened to no secrets, partner?” Morgan asks.
You walk down the dock beside Karadec, and smile as you look at him and whisper, “Partner?”
“Something like that,” he answers. “Thanks for your help.”
“Oh, blessing my eyes with those sunglasses is all the thanks I need. Now put on your lifejacket and keep an eye out for a ten-meter yacht with a red jet ski decal on the port side, correct?”
“That’s the one,” Daphne answers, pulling a yellow life jacket over her head.
“Seaman Quinn and Seaman Jefferson will be able to assist you in boarding the vessel should we find it,” you say, introducing the two other members of your team.
“Why isn’t every case like this?” Morgan asks, sitting back in the seat as you accelerate out into the Pacific.
“We’re looking for Ashton Weatherford, not tanning,” Karadec snaps. “Show a little respect.”
You catch a glimpse of something about a mile ahead. The sun reflects off a red strip, then glints a bright white before the light dims.
“A- Karadec,” you call.
He stands from the seats lining the side of the boat and walks carefully to your side. You point over the boat screen.
“That look familiar?” you ask. “Big white ship, bright red accent?”
“You found it,” Karadec applauds, standing up straighter. “How far out is it?”
“Just under a mile, I’d guess. We can reach it in two minutes if you’re ready.”
“Daph, Oz,” he says over his shoulder. “Get ready.”
You nod to your subordinates, and they prepare the rope and grappling devices needed to go from your boat to the yacht’s deck. As you approach the yacht, you slow the speedboat. The yacht isn’t moving and doesn’t appear to be anchored; it’s simply floating in the sea. While you instruct your team, Karadec, Daphne, and Oz prepare to board the stolen yacht.
“I’m going first,” you say, connecting the carabiner on your belt to the rope.
“This is LAPD’s case,” Karadec argues. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”
“And you brought the case to the Coast Guard,” you remind him. “I’m not going in alone.”
You plant your feet on the side of the yacht before you begin the ascent. The rope shifts slightly as Karadec follows you. Having him behind you gives you more comfort and a stronger sense of security than you get from your own team. At the top of the front deck, you carefully climb over and land soundlessly on the teak floorboards. Pulling your weapon from your holster, you cover the detectives behind you as they imitate your movements.
“I don’t hear anything,” you whisper.
“Why steal a ship like this to abandon it?” Oz wonders.
You signal to Karadec before you go in different directions, each approaching a door on either side of the deck. As soon as you push the door open, you step back.
“I know why they left the ship,” you murmur.
Karadec nods, motions to Daphne and Oz to wait, then follows you down the stairs. In the galley, you round a corner with your weapon raised. Immediately, you see coagulated blood on the floor, the source of the unmistakable smell you encountered at the door. While Karadec covers you, you walk through the galley and clear the rest of the cabin.
“We found your missing person,” you say when you return to Karadec’s side.
“Rest of the ship is clear,” Oz calls down the stairs. "What's unlocked, at least."
You follow Karadec back to the main deck, take a deep breath, and attempt to calm your stomach. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time you’ve been so near a dead body, but the sights and smells of death will never become easier to deal with.
“Ashton Weatherford was murdered,” Karadec says. He glances toward you, but you’ve recovered before he can ask if you’re alright. This isn’t your first time encountering the evil of the world, he knows, but he cares about you.
“So,” Morgan begins, leaning against the rail. “How do we solve a murder at sea? Which, by the way, is more Agatha Christie-esque than I anticipated.”
“LAPD still has jurisdiction,” you begin. “But if you need any more assistance, please let me know. My team can extract data from the ship’s computer, examine it’s body, anything you may need.”
“We’ll head back to the station and get the proper warrants. Oz, call it in?”
Oz nods and turns away to call Lieutenant Soto. You also make a call, and with the guarantee that a tug ship is on its way out to recover the murder scene, you relax. The case is far from over, but the answers Karadec seeks now have a physical representation. He’s a good detective, so you have no doubt he will solve the case. It may be too late to save the yacht's owner, but he’ll get justice. That you know.
“Is there fuel in this?” you ask suddenly.
“I didn’t think to look,” Daphne answers.
Karadec nods, so you travel to the bridge and turn the key enough to see the gauges without starting the engine. You snap a picture before returning the key to the OFF position. As you walk through the ship, you look at the picture and try to make sense of the mismatched information displayed.
“Help!” someone yells.
You stop, looking around as you slide your phone into your pocket and retrieve your gun. The sound was muffled, but the intended word was hard to misunderstand. You push into a closet, but it’s empty. Turning, you look for any other place where someone might be hiding or stuck.
“US Coast Guard!” you call. “Where are you?”
“In here!” the muffled voice answers. “The bag! Help!”
There’s no bag in sight, so you prepare to call Karadec. Before you can, a metallic screeching causes you to jerk to the right. The lifeboat extended over the edge of the boat drops rapidly. Leaning over the rail, you see the large black duffel bag in the lifeboat. The deflated lifeboat, you realize.
“Karadec!” you scream, pointing your gun up as you twist to look at the balcony deck above you. It’s clear, so you holster your weapon and watch the raft crash into the ocean.
You push yourself onto the rail, keeping one foot on it as you watch the person in the bag flail wildly.
“What are you doing?” Karadec demands, running around the corner.
“There was somebody else on board!” you answer. “I’m going in.”
Karadec moves faster than you, wrapping his hand around your arm and pulling you back onto the deck.
“Let me go,” you plead, pushing against his chest.
“That dive could kill you!” he exclaims.
You stop, your hands spread against his shirt. “And whoever is in the bag could die. Please, let me go. Tell my team which side of the ship we’re on. And find whoever put that person in there to die; they’re probably still on board.”
“Daph!” Karadec calls. “There’s someone else on board. Find him.”
Daphne nods, then leads Oz away. Karadec’s grip on you loosens, so you pull away from him and return to the rail.
“You owe me dinner if I survive this,” you say, smiling before you jump off the rail. As you near the water, you tense your muscles, point your toes, and enter the water in one tight line. It hurts, and your limbs feel heavy as you’re submerged in the cool water. Opening your eyes, you ignore the burn of the salt water as you search for the sinking black bag. Your head feels like it’s shrinking, and your vision begins to narrow, blackening around the edges as your fingers wrap around the end of the bag.
“Go!” Karadec yells. “Now!”
Morgan holds on to the back of her seat, looking out into the ocean as the speedboat accelerates quickly around the bow to the starboard side of the yacht. The deflated life raft is still rising and falling with the waves, but there’s no sign of you or the person in the bag you claimed to have seen. Karadec leans over the stern, looking for you, but the water is too dark to see anything.
“Karadec!” Oz calls from the main deck of the yacht. “We’ve got Simon in custody!”
“She’s been under too long,” Karadec decides, shedding his blazer. “I’m going in.”
“We can’t let you do that, sir,” Seaman Quinn argues.
“And I can’t sit here and let her drown!”
“You can’t stop both of us,” Morgan adds, standing beside Karadec.
“She is my CMC,” Jefferson says. “You think this isn’t killing me?”
“Clearly it isn’t, or you would’ve jumped in already!” Morgan argues. She steps between the officers and Karadec, and he takes the opportunity to jump over the edge and into the water.
“Man overboard,” Jefferson says. “We have to pull him back in.”
“Actually, you need to help Detectives Forrester and Ozdil secure the prisoner, no?” Morgan challenges.
“Come on,” Karadec pleads. He inhales deeply, then flips to go under the waves. Without any thought for his safety, he stays under until he sees the black bag. After resurfacing for one more breath, he grips the strap with both hands and pulls as hard as possible while kicking himself back up toward the surface.
Karadec coughs, sputtering water as he breaks through the waves. As he attempts to regain control of his breaths, the officers who refused to let him enter the water assist him in pulling the bag into the speed boat.
“Start compressions, Morgan,” he instructs.
Karadec lowers back into the water, treading for a single breath before he goes under again. This time, he realizes that a long black thread-like trail extends from the bag, now above him, into the darkness beneath the boat. He uses his arms and legs to dive deeper into the water, ignorant of the lowering temperature and increasing pressure as he follows the line.
He feels you before he sees you. The line is attached to your belt, and Karadec hooks his fingers under it to pull you up against his chest. Then, he wraps his left arm under your arms and holds you tightly as he pulls with his right arm and kicks his legs to save your life.
When his own vision begins dimming, and his lungs burn for oxygen, Karadec swims harder, tightening his grip on you as he reaches for the light above you. He remembers gasping, pushing himself onto his back to get your head above the water, and then everything goes black.
“… still no pulse,” Daphne says, but it’s strained, full of terror and heartbreak.
Karadec realizes she’s crying as his senses return one at a time. When he remembers that there were three people in the water, he sits up quickly. He coughs, heaving water from his lungs before he can look around.
The wind whips harshly around him as Seaman Quinn pushes the boat as hard and fast as it will go. Karadec feels the bite of the breeze on his wet skin but forgets about his pounding head as he reaches for you.
“Hey, hey, there you are,” Morgan soothes someone over their retches.
But it’s not you, Karadec knows. He crawls to you on his hands and knees. On your other side, Daphne is kneeling as she counts chest compressions through her tears.
“Come on,” Daphne begs, slowing as she drops her head to your chest to listen for your heartbeat.
“You’re okay,” Morgan says.
Karadec pulls his eyes from your lifeless body just long enough to see that the unknown victim in Morgan’s arms is a child. He can’t be more than 10 or 11, and he clings to Morgan out of relief, terror, and likely confusion.
“It’s been too long,” Karadec mumbles.
“No, it hasn’t,” Daphne argues, her face tear-streaked as she looks up at him.
“Daph,” Oz says softly, pulling her back. “Let me take over.”
Oz begins more compressions and blows air into your lungs. Karadec owes you dinner, but as he holds your cold hand and stares out at the passing waves, he feels like he’ll never eat again. You wanted to save someone, and exchanging your own blood and fury to do so took you to depths Karadec couldn’t pull you back from.
When Oz tips your head back to breathe into your mouth again, you twitch. It’s not enough to be promising, but Karadec pulls his attention back to you, holding your hand as you near the Coast Guard port at Marina del Rey. Emergency services are waiting by, but if Oz can get a sign of life now, Karadec might be able to breathe again. He wishes the water in your lungs could be transferred to his. He’d breathe past it for eternity if it meant another minute with you.
“Got a pulse!” Oz exclaims as he renews chest compressions.
You gag, so Karadec shifts to keep your head straight and avoid worsening your condition. As Oz finishes the round of compressions and Jefferson announces that he’s docking, you cough harshly and sit up. Before you can choke on the water in your airways, Karadec pats your back firmly. You cough again, spitting water onto the deck as you heave.
“Breathe, breathe,” Karadec mutters, holding you tightly.
You look up at him, take a shaky breath, then look around the boat. When you see the boy in Morgan’s arms, you collapse against Karadec’s chest. You begin shaking, and Karadec pushes you away, fearing that something else has happened. He sees the tears trailing down your face and pulls you into his lap to hold you.
You’re both wet and injured, but the feeling of your heart beating against Karadec’s is more than proof you were revived. As the paramedics pull you apart, you let yourself lose consciousness once more. What was supposed to be an easy day helping Karadec find a stolen yacht has taken a turn, and the last thing you hear is Karadec’s demand to be taken to the same hospital as you.
“It’s not good,” the doctor says under her breath. “The physical injuries are the most promising part of this.”
“Where is she?” Karadec asks. His voice is rough and it hurts to talk. The lights above him hurt his head even though his eyes are closed.
“Who?” you question.
Karadec turns his head toward your voice. He opens his eyes slowly. You send him a close-lipped smile from your hospital bed – which has been moved to be directly beside his. Your lips are chapped, you’re wearing an oxygen mask, and an IV is taped to your hand to deliver medication and liquids. Karadec realizes then that he’s wearing a mask as well.
“Who is the doctor talking about?” he rasps.
“The boy: Kevin Weatherford,” you answer. “Simon was worried Ashton was raising him to take over when he turned 18. Decided to get both of them out of the way.”
“Kevin?”
“He’ll be alright, eventually. The water damaged his lungs, but there’s hope that it can be surgically repaired. From what I understood, the doc’s biggest concern is his mental health.” You cough, folding in on yourself to mitigate the pain.
“I’m sorry,” Karadec offers, brushing his fingers against yours.
“For what? You saved my life, Adam.”
“I shouldn’t have let you jump.”
“Then Kevin might not be here. I made a choice, and I would do it again.”
“You’re awake!” Daphne says softly, stepping into the room. “It’s good to see you both again.”
“Thank you,” you and Karadec say together. Your sternum is fractured because of the CPR you received from Daphne and Oz, but you’re breathing because of it, and, over time, you’ll heal. The thanks you can offer will never be enough.
“How are you?” you ask.
“I’m not answering that,” Daphne replies. “You… we thought we lost you.”
“Does Kevin have anyone?” Karadec inquires.
“His mom and grandmother are here,” she answers. “Morgan’s been at his side the entire time, too.”
“Good.”
Karadec looks at you again, and you move your fingers over his. This morning, you told Karadec you owed him more than one favor, but now you owe him and his team your entire life.
“Room for one more?” Lieutenant Soto asks, knocking lightly on the open door.
“Always,” Karadec answers.
She enters and closes the door, then pulls the cord on the blinds to block the light and the eyes in the hallway.
“Are you really going to fire me while I’m still in the hospital?” Karadec grumbles.
“Quite the opposite. Although there is some internal discussion about why the LAPD and the Coast Guard were out in the Pacific without notification, we’re too happy you’re both alive, so we’re not going to deal with that right now.”
“We radioed,” you reply.
“Several times,” Daphne adds.
“You did?” Soto asks. “To LAPD or Marina del Rey?”
“Both,” you, Karadec, and Daphne answer together.
“He had a jammer on the yacht,” you realize, remembering the odd readings on the gauges.
“That’s why the GPS pinged randomly, and we didn’t get confirmation from a medic until we were a mile out,” Daphne adds.
“That yacht will be ripped apart,” Soto assures you. “And Simon is lawyered up, but there’s more than enough evidence to charge him with murder, grand larceny, several counts of attempted murder, and much more.”
You feel your blinks grow heavy and squeeze Karadec’s hand. “Can we have one minute before you give us the good news?” you request.
“Of course,” Soto answers. “In fact, I’ll come back tomorrow. Get some rest and feel better.”
“Thank you,” Karadec calls after her.
When you’re alone, with the door closed and the room darkened, you pull your oxygen mask off your face and look at the man beside you.
“I should’ve told you before,” you say. “Before I jumped, before I hung up the phone this morning. Every chance I had.”
“Don’t think about what you didn’t do,” Karadec encourages. “Not after the heroics you displayed today.”
You wipe the first tear off your face harshly, startled by the feeling of water on your face.
“I should have said it, too,” he replies. “But, what’s stopping us from saying it now?”
“The life-saving equipment between us, mostly.”
Karadec smiles, and you hear it, even if you don’t say it. You’ve missed opportunities to say it, but have seized every opportunity to show it.
Three Months Later
“Front page,” you muse, looking over Karadec’s shoulder. “Not bad.”
“Soto’s going to frame this,” he complains.
You bend at the waist and kiss his jaw, laughing as you stand before he can turn and return the affection. Karadec catches your wrist, pulling you back toward him. Your hands land on his shoulders, and you smile down at him. The front-page picture of you, both in uniform with your newly awarded medals of valor, is forgotten as you lean against Karadec’s desk and wrap your arms around his shoulders.
His hand ghosts over a scar on your abdomen from the wire that saved your life, and you use your pointer finger to lift his chin. When your eyes meet, his smile grows to match yours. Karadec stands, pulling you against him and into a hug that warms you from the inside out. You’ve both been required to attend therapy following your accident. Though some moments are worse than others, you think you can do anything together. This is the place where you feel most capable: in Karadec's strong, loving arms.
“Kevin is coming by the station today,” Karadec says against your shoulder. “If you want to come.”
“I’ll be there,” you promise, tightening your grip on him as your cheek squishes against his shoulder and distorts your voice.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you,” you promise.
Karadec sways gently, then releases you, dragging his hands down your arms as you prepare to spend time together before he returns to work. His phone buzzes during breakfast, and he shakes his head before he shows you the message.
“‘Name your first kid Morgan, it’s unisex,’” you read. You hum, then say, “Not the name I was thinking.”
Karadec drops his phone at your admission of thinking about it, and your breakfast grows cold as he holds you in his arms, the place that has become home.
I read your hc for Andy and i love it! I read it like 5 or 6 times. I have crush on Andy (crush on a fictional character is Silly i know) and Andy in this hc is sooo close to my imaginations. Exept that he got divorce after ten years from his wife (not laurie) which they always had problems an at the end she cheated on him and Andy saw them in bed! So if u accept request i want to ask for a hc Andy and young reader that she give him a BJ. Andy was just with her wife for like ten years and she really wasn't into it so this BJ is after long time and sooo diffrent from what he had in the past :)
notes: first of all, i’m so glad you liked that hc - it’s very near and dear to me and probably one of my favorite things i’ve written for andy! so i appreciate this ask as well :) i won’t lie, though, i did take some liberties with this because i felt more inspired keeping it in the same universe of the original hc! hopefully that’s okay, and you still enjoy this because i had an great time writing it - consider it our second look into fresh start!andy as i’ve started calling him! post break credit to the lovely @evansyhelp!
pairing: andy barber x reader.
warnings: 18+ / minors dni, oral sex (m receiving), face fucking but the tender kind, all in all sweet andy getting back into the swing of dating. you don’t have to read this previous headcanon to get this one, but it does add context for everything reader and andy are worried about!
wc: 1.7k
The first night you spend at Andy’s house is an accident. You’ve only been dating a few weeks at that point; each one more wonderful than the last but moving, at his request, at a snail’s pace.
So, waking up in his bed, head pounding from wine the night before, feels like a foot on the gas that you can only hope hasn’t ruined things. From the looks of it, he didn’t join you – leave it to him to be so selfless — but you can’t decide if that makes this better or worse. And when you finally emerge from his room, face washed and tongue stinging from mouthwash, it’s with a heart braced for the cold shoulder. For Andy, aching from a night on the couch he wasn’t expecting and irked by the crossed boundaries.
Instead, you’re met by his usual warmth; a broad smile when he sees you peek into the kitchen and a hand squeezing your hip when you’re close enough to reach. “Mornin’, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks like it’s nothing - like you’re right where you’re supposed to be - and when he presses a cup of something warm into your hands ( made just the way you like it ), you nod, preening.
Crisis averted.
The second time you spend the night, it’s storming. It’s in the depths of Massachusetts winter, just one month after the first night; so a blizzard isn’t all that shocking. But, it had been unexpected, the skies opening up to dump a few feet of snow in just a couple hours.
Andy had hosted dinner again and you’d taken extra care to pace yourself, not wanting to repeat the mistake from the month before. But after just one glance out the window as you pull on your jacket to go home, Andy himself nips that plan in the bud.
“Absolutely not,” he huffs when you insist you could make it back with your ‘state of the art tires’. “This isn’t stopping any time soon and there’s already a few feet down - just stay here and if it’s still bad in the morning, I can help take you back.”
The invitation isn’t the problem — in fact, your chest warms at his worry, tender spreading through every part of you. But, you worry, still, about imposing after the last slip-up. Even with your wits about you, there’s so much that could go wrong; so much you could do to overstay your welcome the first time you’ve actually earned it.
Caught up in your thoughts, you don’t notice Andy getting closer until he’s upon you, hands moving to guide yours off your coat. His touch draws your eyes to his face where he, again, has that big smile, this one laced with softness as he works your jacket off you. “Not sure what you’re thinking about so hard over here,” he muses, folding the coat over his arm once he’s done. “But, you’re not arguing with me anymore, so I’m going to take that as a win and get some blankets out here to keep us warm.”
His lips come down on the swell of your cheek before he turns and as you watch him pad towards his bedroom, you feel your heart flutter in anticipation.
There’s something about this you could get used to.
The third time you spend the night, Andy can’t stop kissing you.
It isn’t the first time you’ve made out, now four months into your relationship and long past the nerves that made him clam up at anything beyond a peck. But, it is the most intense, the most indulgent it’s ever been.
It’d started with a night out; with dinner at his favorite restaurant and drinks at your favorite bars. Each new spot found you closer, touching more and more until the levee buckles and you’re in his lap, head spinning equal parts from the alcohol and him.
He gets you home without putting much distance between you, fingers skimming any skin he can reach as you wait for a ride and pulling you into him once you’re both in the backseat. But he doesn’t kiss you again until you’re alone; until you’re back in that small apartment that’s started to feel empty when you aren’t there and he can lick into your mouth until your knees knock.
That’s all he really wants that night — to kiss until you’re both sick of it. But, some things have a way of taking a life of their own and it would seem tonight that that’s you. Or rather, the desire between you; this pent up, heavy thing that’s grown steadily for some time, but is at a full rage tonight, inevitably landing you here —-
You, on your knees before him while his chest squeezes with a desperate need.
He can’t remember the last time he’d been touched like this; could count on one hand the number of times Laurie took him into her mouth after those early years together. But, he knows better than to write his excitement – and the throbbing in his jeans – off as simply lust for what’s about to happen.
It’s because it’s you. It’s you who wants it, breathing the ache against his mouth so prettily – “Can we — could I taste you, Andy?” — he couldn’t deny you. It’s you sitting there, mouth moist from his kisses as you fish his cock out. It’s you sucking in that hungry breath, eyes watching the precum at his tip leak down over his veiny underside. And it’s you, his sugar-sweet girl, leaning up to trace it with your tongue until you can wrap your mouth around him.
The heat of it sends a jolt through him, something guttural rising from his chest as his hand finds the back of your head. You feel incredible; tongue slipping around him as if gauging the girth before your cheeks hollow and sets his entire body ablaze. “Jesus Christ,” he grunts, embarrassed by the way he actually has to work to keep his hips from bucking up.
You don’t make it any easier, of course. As if you can read his struggle in the tension at his shoulders, you start to move, head bobbing at a pace that’s slow to start. So much so that he’d think you were baiting him if he didn’t know any better. But, there’s something in your eyes, something in the way you devour his expression as much as you devour him that makes it clear that you just want to learn him - see what he likes, what makes it good.
The thought of it makes his body tremble and his fingers tighten some in their grip on the back of your head. It’s only slight, but you notice enough to move faster, the increased pace bringing with it messy sounds that make Andy lose his resolve, if only briefly, and rock his hips to meet your mouth.
Horrified, he’s stuttering out an apology before you notice, even starting to sit up as if to guide you off, but your hand on his hip stops him cold. You pull off of his cock, but only enough to be heard; he can feel your lips against him as you talk, in butterfly kisses that make his legs jump. “‘S okay,” you breath, giving his hip a reassuring squeeze. “‘S okay.”
You smile then, the curve of it plush against his cock, before you’re taking him back into your mouth, this time to the hilt. Andy’s head falls back against the couch, lips parting in a silent groan that starts to rise as you take on the fastest pace so far.
This time, he’s convinced you are baiting him, goading him to let go with the way you watch from under your lashes. And when his hip twitches under your hold, pulling one word from you before you’re back on him – “Please,” – Andy’s an absolute goner.
Eager, but still nervous, he fucks up into your mouth slow at first; cursing at the depth and slick that comes when you’re coming down to meet him too. He’s only a couple, careful pumps in when your fingers dig into his hip and tug; needy, demanding.
You want more.
It bowls him over; how much you want, how much you’ll give. And even with some lingering concern about going too far, he’s finally started to lose his head. Inhibitions lowered, he’s fucking up faster, more intently, as he pants your name into the still of his apartment. And you’re there to meet every stroke, mouth so wide you’re practically drooling just to make it easier for him to press into your throat.
Before long, he’s close, embarrassingly so, and thinks he should at least warn you before he goes over the edge. But, the words don’t come, not in any way that matters, and he’s stuck with stuttered gasps to try and make do. “Baby, s-shit – I’m–”
You catch on, quickly at that; but to Andy’s surprise, you don’t stop. No, you go faster, take him deeper until he’s lost to his climax, hips lifting all the way off the couch as he cums down your throat with an intensity that takes his breath away. And it’s only when you’re absolutely sure that you’ve gotten every drop that you pull off, a pleased sound rolling in your chest.
You barely have a chance to swallow or even wipe your mouth before Andy’s on you, hoisting you into his naked lap to bear down on you with kisses. His tongue fills your mouth like it’s seeking himself out in the edges and every time he tastes it, he grunts; kisses harder.
You’ve unleashed something, you think.
But, you don’t have much time to dwell on it when he’s breaking the kiss, nose knocking yours gently before he gives you a sated smile. It’s different from those big, beaming ones you’re used to – dopey and not as wide, but lovely all the same. It stirs you so much, you plant another kiss for good measure before pulling him forward to catch his breath in the crook of your neck.
Content, Andy settles right where you want him, mouth to your still-stuttering pulse. He decides right then that there’s something about this he never wants to lose.
Think Different, Love the Same
Requested by @keyera-jackson! I changed a few minor details but I hope you enjoy!
Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!activist!reader
Summary: When 20-Squad begins dealing with an activist group, Deacon falls for you, the group's leader.
Warnings: fictional activist group and charter school, mostly fluff, brief mention/depiction of making out
Word Count: 3.9k+ words
Picture from Pinterest
Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
“I’m calling the police!” a man yells in your face.
“Okay,” you answer calmly.
“Who is in charge of this- this collective stupidity?” he demands.
“I am. And our group is called Need to Know; we’re advocating for-“
“You’re advocating for a trip to jail. Get away from my store or I will call the police.”
“All due respect, sir, but this sidewalk is public property, and your store is not endangered by our presence. Civil protests and freedom of speech are not illegal.”
“Yet,” your friend and fellow activist group leader, Luke, mumbles.
“Forget it,” the store manager exclaims as he tosses his arms up. “You morons can’t be reasoned with.”
He storms off, and Luke rolls his eyes. Your group has staged more than six protests this month, and you’ve come to expect threats from people who don’t understand what you’re doing.
“Should we move?” Luke asks. “He may actually call the police.”
You shake your head. “We’re not doing anything wrong, and this library has repeatedly refused people with physical disabilities and cut hours. They make it practically impossible for people to learn anything here.”
“I get it, I do. But if he calls the police and they actually come, what then?”
“You tell me, Luke. The kids who can’t go to a library or find teachers and classes who are willing to create specialized lessons and one-on-one assistance… how do they learn to respond civilly to police officers? If the cops show up, consider it a teaching moment.”
Luke shrugs before yelling to the small crowd of Need to Know protestors to explain that the police may come. You want to demonstrate the importance of common knowledge.
Your group Need to Know is making information available to all, regardless of age, disabilities, learning inefficiencies, or when they have time. Los Angeles is just a hub, a symbol of the growing problem: inaccessibility to information and bias against those who need it most.
“He actually did it,” Luke mumbles when a police car stops by the curb.
“Who’s in charge here?” the first officer asks.
“I am,” you answer. You hand your sign to Luke and approach the officers with a smile. “How can I help you, officers? Is there a problem?”
“We’ve received a complaint that you are trespassing.”
“Aren’t sidewalks public property? We aren’t blocking any foot traffic, only using our voices to advocate.”
“I understand that, ma’am, but… Several store owners have called and are worried that you will move onto their property.”
“I can assure you that we understand the legality and will not trespass onto private property. What can we do to fix this issue?”
“Just-“
“Wait,” the other officer interrupts. “Are your cars parked in that private lot? Because that could be an issue.”
Several Need to Know members nod, and the second cop smiles as he calls for backup.
“I made a purchase at one of the stores this morning, and we have been into the library several times,” you explain. “A library at which we are all members. Can you charge us with trespassing while supporting a city library and local businesses?”
“Pipe down, lady.”
“There’s no reason for that, officer,” Luke interjects, not threatening in any way but firmly defending you.
“What was that?” the officer demands as he steps toward Luke.
“I only ask that you show us the respect we’ve shown you.”
“Need to Know,” the officer reads. “You may want to read just how much we do for this city. Everyone needs to know how to respect police officers, and that it’s our right to defend.”
“Your right?” Luke asks incredulously.
You raise a hand toward Luke to ask him to stop. “Precisely, officer. We’re simply trying to make that access available. Citizens do need to know how to respond to police officers, we agree on that.”
“Thank you for your time,” the first officer interrupts. He gestures for his partner to get back in the cruiser. “Just make sure this protest remains civil. Have a good one.”
“You too, officer. Thank you for all you do.”
Luke rolls his eyes as the police officers drive away. You take your sign back, holding it up and getting comfortable for another few hours of answering questions and accepting donations from generous library-goers.
Less than a few hours later, however, someone sets out to send you home early.
“I thought I told you morons to beat it!” someone yells.
You and Luke turn together, immediately recognizing the store manager who called the police. When he raises a sawed-off shotgun, you are forced to push your group back onto the private property behind you. Several of them run for their cars, but you remain in place as the man raises his phone to his ear.
“Yeah, I called earlier about trespassers. They’re back, and if you don’t deal with them this time, I will,” he says into the receiver.
“Sir,” you begin calmly.
“No! You said you wouldn’t disturb my shop, but nobody wants to come in when there’s a bunch of sickos out front with signs! Panhandle somewhere else!”
You can handle people targeting you personally but get defensive and angry when they bring your cause into their attacks. Luke widens his eyes in a silent warning not to start anything; you think finishing the argument sounds like a better idea anyway.
✯✯✯✯✯
“20-David, we’ve got a trespassing call at a local library,” Hicks calls.
“How do you trespass at a library?” Hondo inquires.
“Apparently there’s a protest going on, and the strip mall on the next lot has some less-than-impressed owners. Manager of a family-owned organic store just called and said he’d deal with them if we don’t.”
“Not exactly a reason for S.W.A.T.”
“No, but the calls from protestors saying that he has a gun and is threatening to kill the people in charge is.”
“Protestors?” Deacon asks. “So, we need riot control and to disarm an outraged citizen?”
“The protest has apparently been civil thus far,” Hicks explains. “But be prepared for everything.”
“Can’t argue with that. Let’s roll!”
✯✯✯✯✯
“How are we sickos for wanting to teach the next generation?” you demand.
“Yeah, well every group like yours thinks they’re doing good, but you’re just making life harder for tax-paying citizens like me!” he yells, waving the gun.
“Man, just put the gun down and we’ll go,” Luke offers.
You see a large police vehicle approaching and are surprised to read ‘L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T.’ on the side. Several uniformed men carrying riot shields exit the back door after it stops by the curb.
“L.A.P.D.! Put down the weapon!” Harrelson yells.
Patches displaying their last names are attached to their vests, and you try to read them all as you see them.
“Everybody put your hands where I can see them!” Luca requests.
You, Luke, and the remaining group members set your signs down and lift your hands.
“This is a load of crap,” the manager complains as he sets his gun on the ground.
Harrelson pushes him onto the concrete and cuffs him while Luca and Kay move toward you with the weapons lowered.
“Need to Know,” Luca reads from a discarded sign. “Are you aware that you are on private property? It’s illegal to stage a protest without prior authorization.”
“We were on public property before this guy threatened us with a gun and pushed us back into his parking lot,” you argue.
Kay nods and asks, “Were you asked to leave while being on private property?”
“No. He told us to leave while we were still on the sidewalk, and he called the police, but once he got us back here, he just accused us of panhandling.”
“He’s not pressing charges,” Harrelson alerts. “Mostly because he can’t, but, you know.”
“Alright,” Kay says. You notice that his eyes are on you; yours are on his, too, so it’s not easy to miss. “You’re free to go.”
“Thank you.”
✯✯✯✯✯
“What now?” you ask Luke. “The petitions for newer, safer libraries is going to legislative this week, we’re starting the first literacy course in a month… We have to keep going, but library protests aren’t cutting it anymore, Luke. We have to actually do something. Human rights issues, political issues, everything that people need to know seems to be blocked by the city. The bureaucracy wants to tell part of the truth and make sure the people who need knowledge most don’t learn.”
“That charter school that, what’s her name, Linda? The one that her kids just got pulled out of?” Luke asks.
“Yeah, Home of Hope or whatever. What about it?”
“She pulled her kids out because they refused to work with her son. He’s dyslexic and has some social issues, and they said he was difficult and simply couldn’t learn.”
“Get there, Luke.”
“Patience, grasshopper. That’s the epitome of what we’re fighting against, and the campus backs up to a public park.”
“You want to stage a protest beside a charter school?” you repeat. “I like that.”
✯✯✯✯✯
“What are you reading, Deac?” Street asks.
“It’s the website for the activist group Need to Know,” Deacon answers.
“The protest that we got called out to today. What’s so special about them?”
Deacon shrugs. “Curiosity got the best of me, I wanted to see what they were about.”
“Let me guess! Uh, need to know that cops should be defunded, or, no, need to know that women should or shouldn’t have rights.”
“Both wrong.”
“Men shouldn’t have rights?”
“They’re advocating for accessibility of information. The motto is 'Information for All,' and their mission is teaching people, young, old, disabled, everyone, how to find information they need.”
“What kind of information?”
“Human rights and political issues, financial literacy, home buying… what they need to live successful lives.”
“Impressive.”
Before Deacon can agree, Hondo yells for 20-David to roll. He looks into the situation room and smiles when he sees what Deacon is reading.
“Deac, we gotta go. Your friend over at Need to Know staged another protest, but this one turned violent. Even better, it’s on private property at a charter school,” Hondo says.
“Maybe not so impressive,” Street mumbles as he rushes toward Black Betty.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Hey!” one of the parents entering the school yells. “Just because you were homeschooled or bullied in private school, doesn’t mean you have to find an issue with every knew school your unpaid taxes help build.”
“Charter schools receive property taxes and state funds from district and state based on enrollment,” Luke explains. “Just like public schools. Those uniforms don’t set your kids apart, and the teachers are still just as lazy and unwilling to ‘deal with’ special needs students.”
“Oh, my bad, I didn’t know I was talking to a charter school expert. Whatever teacher you had a crush on, and she turned you down, just get over it man, there’s better ways to work through your feelings.”
“Luke, don’t,” you whisper.
Luke is just as passionate about your cause as you are, and when he drops his sign, you rush to grab his arm.
“Oh, you want to do this? Let’s go,” the parent says. “But I don’t think you have the knowledge to tell one end from another.”
“Actually, I’m advocating for idiots like you who don’t know what common decency is!” Luke replies.
When the parent runs toward Luke, he rips his arm away from you and throws the first punch.
✯✯✯✯✯
You can feel your heartbeat in your eye when the S.W.A.T. vehicle rolls up. This time, you don't wait for a command to kneel with your hands up as the team rushes toward the growing, fighting crowd with riot shields raised.
“L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T.! Everybody on the ground now!” Harrelson yells.
“Luke!” you call.
Luke’s knuckles are busted open, but he’s winning the fight. A fight that never should have started, but maybe it will at least put Need to Know on the map.
“Are you okay?” Kay asks as he approaches you and the small group of still civil protestors around you.
“I’m fine,” you answer shortly. “Pretty tired of seeing cops at what start as peaceful protests, though.”
He lowers his shield and smiles at your feistiness. When Deacon read your bio on the Need to Know website, he could tell you were a fighter and incredibly passionate; he didn't witness what the passion did to your attitude during the last call.
“Let me guess, you tried to break up the fight and one of them accidentally hit you,” he continues.
“Do I need a lawyer?” you ask.
“We’re taking everybody in until we get a handle on what happened here,” Kay answers.
“Then I’d prefer to answer questions after I’ve received my Miranda rights,” you explain. “Officer…”
“Sergeant Kay.”
“If that’s okay with you, Sergeant Kay.”
He licks his lips, as you suspect, to hide his smile before returning to his team to create a plan for getting everyone to the station.
✯✯✯✯✯
“You signed a Miranda waiver,” Sergeant Kay muses as he enters the interview room. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Lots of unexpected things happen,” you reply. “And most people can’t learn about them, if you can imagine.”
He sighs as he sets a folder on the table. Another officer steps inside, and you recognize him as Luca from the first time you saw them.
“Your written statement matches the story everyone else is telling,” Luca says. “So, either you all stopped fighting to talk and got your story straight before we got there, or you are the unluckiest activist group in the world.”
You lightly tap your bruised cheek and flinch before saying, “I think it is the second one. Two peaceful protests resulting in S.W.A.T. visits feels pretty unlucky.”
“Peaceful protests for what?” Deacon asks.
“Read the website.”
“Told you she was feistier today,” Deacon tells Luca.
“She wasn’t like this the first time,” Luca replies.
“She wasn’t in pain and desperate to see a semblance of change before,” you interject. “Look, if you really want to know what we’re fighting for, I am happy to tell you, but it seems to me that you’re just killing time to do something else. Run background checks on everyone involved, if I had to guess. But unless Luke or the guy who started the fight are pressing charges, you have no reason to hold me as anything other than a witness.”
“I would like to know what is worth all of this,” Luca says, offering a kind smile.
You nod. “I’m sorry for snapping, then. Our mission is basically to make sure that people are informed on basic knowledge. That there’s no bias or endless hoops to jump through just to find an answer or help.”
“How do you plan to do that?” Deacon asks.
Something in Sergeant Kay’s demeanor today makes you think he already knows about your mission… and you. More than that, he seems to agree with or support your cause. Maybe that’s why he smiled earlier.
“Open newer, safer libraries, improve hours for more accessibility, remove enrollment caps from schools, create unique and specialized education for people with disabilities or learning disadvantages. Everyone deserves to learn, especially the people who want to but don’t have the accessibility or opportunity to do so.”
“Then I can see why you’d choose a charter school with nothing to lose by turning people away,” Deacon says.
You lean toward him over the desk and bat your eyelashes as you reply, “I’m glad you see my point. Surely a guy like you can see the good that more education can do.”
Deacon’s eyes widen slightly at your brazen flirtatiousness; he suspects you would be hard to get, even if he wanted to do something. Which he thinks he may.
“Maybe you could tell me more then,” Deacon answers, failing to hide his smile.
“I’ll just, uh, give you two some room then,” Luca interjects.
“Actually, if I’m not being charged, I would like to go home now,” you request. Deacon nods and offers a hand; he helps you stand, and you look into his eyes to add, “Alone.”
Deacon watches you leave, and Luca claps his shoulder.
“Falling for an activist group leader is quite literally the last thing I expected from you,” Luca teases.
“Who says I’m falling?” Deacon replies before leaving and ignoring Luca’s laughter.
✯✯✯✯✯
You are having the first peaceful protest in weeks, and when someone threatens to call the police, you can’t refrain from sarcastically responding, “Ask for S.W.A.T. - 20-David.”
When Black Betty pulls up a few minutes later, you smile as Deacon exits the passenger side. He looks around before raising his eyebrows toward you.
“And you thought you weren’t making an impact. Sixteen calls in a week seem like progress,” Deacon commends. “Maybe not the publicity you want, but who better to change the narrative than an activist group?”
“Sixteen calls,” you exaggerate. “Maybe you should just follow us around then, Sarge.”
“While I wouldn’t be completely opposed to that,” Deacon replies, clearly reciprocating your flirting. “I’m sure you know just how much L.A.P.D. S.W.A.T. does in a day.”
“You’re saying all of that is more important than me?” you ask with a pout.
Deacon smiles as he steps back toward the vehicle. You wave as they leave, and Luke laughs at you.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
“For what?”
“Getting in that fight. You and Sergeant Kay owe your connection to me.”
✯✯✯✯✯
Deacon rolls the window down and looks at you when he gets called to one of your next meetings. He knows you haven't broken any laws, and you'll comply, so he doesn't even bother to exit his car.
“Can I help you, officer?”
“Depends,” Deacon replies. “Are you free tonight?”
“CUBO,” you reply.
“CUBO? For what?” he asks with a laugh.
“I’m pretty sure asking someone who you see almost daily to accompany you on a date would be considered conduct unbecoming an officer.”
“You’re not a criminal, though. No criminal record, no CUBO.”
“No dinner.”
“If it’s not because of the CUBO, then why not?”
“It’s not you, it’s me, Sarge. Ask me again after we actually make some progress with making education accessible.”
Deacon smiles and shakes his head before pulling away.
“Why are you making him work so hard?” Luke asks.
“I’m not. He doesn’t actually like me, Luke. Just the idea of someone doing some good; he’s a cop and a good person, so he likes that.”
“You think he’s a good person, yet you won’t get dinner with him,” Luke muses. “That should be illegal.”
✯✯✯✯✯
“Hey, there’s someone here to see you, Deacon,” Hicks says. “Activist group leader or something. You need anything?”
“No thanks,” Deacon answers as he wonders if it’s you and what you are doing visiting him.
If you are here to see Deacon, he thinks maybe you are finally realizing his feelings are genuine. He likes you, and, as Luca puts it, he’s falling for you, but you seem unconvinced every time he tries to ask you out.
“You asked for me?” Deacon asks as he steps into an interview room.
“I did. I wanted to let you know that Need to Know and the L.A.P.D., after many hours of mediation, have found a solution that benefits us both,” you explain.
“Being?”
“I am taking a step back from Need to Know because it is moving completely online. No more Los Angeles protests from us.”
“You’re backing down?”
“No, we’re just trying a new approach.”
“So, what now?”
“What 'what now,' Sarge? This is the end of me and Need to Know; they have my support but no more black eyes for me.”
“I mean, are you staying in LA?”
“For now, at least. Who knows where I’ll go next, there’s lots of activist groups in the world and surely one of them will need a leader at some point.”
“If you’re so insistent on standing up for the little guy, being a voice for the voiceless, why not become a cop or a special ed teacher? Something a bit more…”
“Tangible?”
“I was going to say hands-on, yeah.”
“Some people just aren’t cut out for that, I guess. Maybe I’ll see you around, Sarge.”
“Wait,” Deacon calls. “Moving the cause to a bigger platform has to count as progress. You said I could ask you to dinner after you made progress.”
“You don’t want me, Sergeant Kay. I’ll leave the do-gooding up to you.”
Deacon, once again, watches you leave. He knows that ‘maybe I’ll see you around’ means you will never see him again, so he has to accept that you are going your separate ways. He met you, though, and that was good.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Drinks are on me, who’s coming?” Hondo yells.
“I’m in!” Luca answers.
“Can’t turn down free anything,” Street adds.
“Deac? We need to get your mind off her, so you’re coming too,” Hondo says.
“Fine. But I’m not doing karaoke with Street again,” Deacon agrees.
“Just because I out-sang you,” Street taunts. “Admit defeat and move on, Deac.”
“Trust me, kid, I’m trying.”
Street shrugs at Luca, both aware that Deacon is no longer talking about karaoke.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Luke, please don’t,” you request as he stands.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises before walking to the hostess stand.
“Deacon Kay!” someone yells across the room.
Your eyes raise immediately, and you accidentally lock eyes with the one man you can’t stop thinking about. Seeing him is a surprise, though not unwelcome. You smile, and he mutters something to Luca before setting his glass down and walking toward you.
“You did say I’d see you around,” Deacon tells you.
“I did. And here you are.”
“You, uh, you want to…”
“Go somewhere a little quieter?” you suggest.
Deacon nods, and you take his hand to lead him outside. You lean against the outside wall and wait for Deacon to speak.
“This is awkward,” Deacon mumbles.
“It could be worse,” you point out.
“How?”
You smile as you lean toward him. Deacon meets you halfway and grabs your waist as he kisses you. In all the moments you have spent thinking of him, you convinced yourself that he was the best man you’ve ever met, and now you are sure of it. More importantly, you believe his advances were genuine, his feelings as real as yours.
The door beside you opens, and you pull away from Deacon when someone gasps. Luke is staring at you with his mouth open, and Deacon’s team appears behind him with similar surprised expressions.
“Do you really like me?” you whisper.
Deacon gestures for Luke to close the door before looking at you.
“I really do,” he replies.
“Good.” You run your finger over his tie as you admit, “Because I really like you, too.”
“So, you’ve made progress, without sacrificing your feistiness, I may add,” Deacon responds. “Now what?”
“I think we try this. Surely there can be more to our relationship than protests and S.W.A.T. calls.”
“I agree.”
You smile, but Deacon kisses you again before you say anything more. Deacon moves you backward and presses you against the wall with his hand between your head and the bricks. Making out with Deacon in an alley was not how you expected this to go but Sergeant Kay is the best thing that has ever happened to you, perhaps even better than Need to Know making the national news.
“Wait,” you pant. Deacon pulls back enough to look into your eyes, and you ask, “Is Deacon really your first name?”
“Is that relevant to trying this?” Deacon jokes as he slips his hand into yours.
Whatever happens (Tim Bradford x F!Wife!Reader)
Summary: do to your work as a high ranking national security officer you and Tim get taken hostage in your own house
Warnings: : torture, not descriptive but is listed what happened. Misogyny and sexism (not from tim), hospitals, kidnap, canon violence
Notes:
Sorry for the grammatical errors. I’m new at writing so feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading. do not translate or appropriate my work
Comments and kudos are highly appreciated :)
words: 2500
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
You unlock the door and enter your house. Tim is already out of uniform, and he is cooking dinner in the open space kitchen. You drop your bag on the floor next to the door as you sigh, tired from the long day. As one of the top-ranking officers of the National Defense some days were really exhausting to say the least. At least you now could relax at home with your husband
‘hey. I thought I would get started on dinner’ he says as he puts on the stove, giving you a hint of a smile to greet you, something that is reserved to you and only you
‘did I tell you that you are the best husband in the world?’ you ask him with complete appreciation as you give him a quick kiss
‘from time to time’ he teases you as he smirks
‘you are. I’m starving. And it was my turn to cook’ you tell him seriously as you place your hands around his neck as he places his on your waist. He kisses you again, now more properly
‘well you can always show your appreciation later’ he teases you again as you roll your eyes lovingly at him ‘deal’ you tell him as you peck him again before you throw your heels out of the way
‘long day?’ he asks as he lets you go to stir the rice
‘the longest’ you reply as you start to set up the table ‘we fear there has been a breakthrough of info on undercover agents and they put me as head of operation to make sure they are safe, I need to check each of them’ you sigh
‘well that sounds exhausting’ he replies honestly
‘your day?’ you ask
‘some standard arrests. And lucy passed my Tim test today.’ He replies as he start putting the food on the plates
‘tim tests? Can’t you leave that poor boot alone?’ you playfully make fun of him as you sit down
‘be careful or you are going to be Tim tested too’ he says pointing the spatula at you
‘you wouldn’t’ you tell him faking shock ‘I’m your wife’
‘don’t test me’ he replies hiding a smile ‘come on. the food is ready’ he says as he moves towards the table with the meal in his hand. But before he places it on the table the room gets filled with smoke and he feels something in his neck, a narcotic that makes him faint instantly as you do too while he calls your name.
-.-.-.
You wake up tied to a chair in your home’s office. Two men stand in front of you
‘hello y/n’ they tell you ‘had a good sleep?’ they mock you
‘who are you and what do you want’ you ask. This is not your first kidnap
‘straight to the point I see. We want the real name of the undercover agents’ they tell you playing with a knife
‘I don’t have them. They are classified’ you reply
‘and that is the first lie of the night. Our intel says only one person has all of the names, and that is you’
You maintain your calm wondering how they know it. ‘I don’t’ you reply as you asses the situation. You are chained to the chair. Is impossible to break free
‘okay let’s see if your memory starts to work after we are finished with you’ they tell you before punching you in the face
-.-.-.-.-.
Are the screams that wake Tim up. your screams. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he is still in his living room and that the screams he is hearing are your screams.
‘y/n!’ he shouts ‘leave her alone!’. but is useless. He is not even tied, he is chained to a metal chair. He mentally curses himself and your shared love for design, at least if it were a wooden chair he could have tried to free himself. He assesses the situation. he is a cop, he was a sergeant in the army , he should know how to get out of any situation. he needs to help you. His wife is being tortured and he is without a scratch and unable to help you
He tries for more than two hours to free himself, trying to not think about what they are doing to you as your screams get progressively worse
Tim is kind of scared of how you held up, how you did not say anything as they tortured you. He knew you were strong, but this, this is almost inhumane.
The screams stops and he fears the worst.
The door suddenly opens and the two men bring you in. he has the first glimpse of you since they took you. tim can’t almost recognize you. Your face is too puffy and full of blood. They had beaten you up, for hours. Tim also notices that some of your limbs don’t look right. The two men throw you on the floor. You are still passed out. Your hands tied together behind you.
His hearts start beating again only when he sees a feeble movement of your chest going up and down. You are alive.
Tim’s blood boils in his veins. Flashbacks of the last time he has seen you like this passes through his mind. more than 10 years ago, when you were both in the army and you got taken hostage for days. He still doesn’t know all of what had happened to you during the captivity, you never talked about it apart from some info then and there. He had killed who did that to you, heading the rescue mission. He had a lot of remorse for what he witnessed in the army but never for that. Now he wanted to do the same to these two men who had entered his house and tortured his wife. Damn the consequences
‘son of a bitch what did you do to her’ he says in anger as he tries in vain to move
‘don’t worry big guy. She is alive. I must say this bitch is strong. Broke more than 20 bones in her body one by one and still has not given a name’
Scratch that. Tim doesn’t want to kill them. He wants to break each and every bone of his body and more. He wants to inflict them 10 times what they did to you.
‘I’ll fucking kill you’ he says rage in his eyes
‘what a knight with a shiny armor. A bit difficult considering your situation right now.’ The guy mocks him
The man takes some water and throws it in your face to have you woke up, it works as you stir. He throws more at you before giving you a kick. Tim tries to move from his chair and the man laughs at him
‘tim’ is your first word as you try to find him, your eye focus still blurry from the blood and the puffiness until you see him, just a bruise on his face, his eyes blurry with tears for you and anger against them. You sigh in relief
‘are you okay?’ he asks his voice almost breaking, he knows he sounds stupid as you clearly are not but he needs to have a verbal confirmation
‘yah’ you say as you spit blood. Tim doesn’t believe you
‘sleeping beauty is awake’ the man says taking your face in his hand roughly to throw you on the floor again
Tim flinches
‘as torturing your body did not work we will try with a psychological torturing. let’s see if your so little to nonexistent self-preserving instinct applies also to others’ the man says pointing his head towards tim
Your biggest fear comes true. Tim is going to suffer because of you.
‘tell me the real names of the undercover agents or I make him my own punching ball’ the kidnapper says pointing to tim
Tim stays silent looking in your eyes saying with them ‘don’t’. you spit some blood and stay silent. Your heart breaking as you just basically agreed for the man to torture your husband
‘well then’ the man says as he punches tim. You look away. The other man grabs your face again and forces you to look as He punches tim again and again . tim tries to not react, knowing that if the situation was reversed he would give in immediately at the sight if you suffering. He tries to be strong for you, to not have you give in to the blackmail
‘okay clearly you don’t care enough’ the man says as he pauses his assault on tim. ‘who is this one anyhow’ he asks as tim too spits some blood, his face now too puffy and bruised.
‘no one important. The local supermarket delivery guy. He was just dropping my food delivery’ you lie through your teeth
Tim knows you are saying that to protect him, to not have them use him as leverage more than they are already doing, but it hurts anyhow
‘no one important? Hum. There are quite a few pictures of this delivery guy around here’ the kidnapper says as his partner picks up and passes to him a photo of you and tim where you two are kissing
‘no way, this is your bitch?’ the man asks tim connecting the dots
‘don’t call her that’ tim replies his anger violent
‘tim’ you warn him, knowing his rage will only harm him
‘oh I see. You are her bitch’ the man says pointing at tim ‘this changes everything’ the man says to his partner laughing ‘if torture on her won’t work let’s see how she reacts when her man is the one being tortured’
The second kidnapper picks up the boiling hot knife he had been warming up and passes it to the leader who shows you the knife before going towards tim
‘don’t tell them anything’ tim tells you dead serious ‘I can handle it. I promise’
The kidnapper burns tim and cuts him, when he breaks his leg you scream. Tim still tells you to not speak as you start to cry but remain silent.
‘I see. We have a fellow hero here’ the man mocks tim, now bloody almost as you
‘ I didn’t expect this to be this difficult. I will give you that. Okay now time to stop the games’ he says taking out a gun and pointing it to tim ‘speak or I put a bullet between his eyes’
‘y/n don’t tell him anything, I am just one person’ tim says trying to convince you. He is a cop his job is to protect people. His life counts less than the one of the undercover agents.
‘you choose y/n’ the man mocks you ‘300 agents or the man you love’
‘please-‘ you plead them. The man puts the gun on tim’s forehead
‘last chance’ he says as he charges the gun while tim mouths ‘I love you’ as he closes his eyes waiting for the inevitable end
‘okay okay I will tell you!’ you shout ‘But please let him go.’ You plead them
‘see? It wasn’t that difficult’ the man replies as he drops the gun from tim’s head
‘Let’s make a deal I will voluntary come with you, I will be a valuable hostage, but let him go. Please I beg you’ you continue. You don’t care what happens to you, you just want to save tim and the agents
‘y/n quit the crap don’t-‘ tim says as the man punches him to shut him up before laughing
‘the great y/n y/l/n the youngest director of Internal Security Special Unit and one of the top ranking National Defence officers is begging me? Wow. and all for him? a woman is a woman after all, he must fuck you well’ the guy mocks you, while the other laughs
Tim is boiling in rage at the blunt sexism and insults of the man in front of you. You don’t care anymore, you will do whatever it takes to get Tim out
‘please let him go’ you plead him again
‘nah. This is more fun. Speak now or never’ he tells you
‘don’t tell them’ tim says pleading you with his eyes
‘3 … 2 …’ the man starts counting the gun barrell at tim’s forehead. tim takes in your face for what he thinks will be his last time. He wants to take in every detail of you even if you are so bruised and broken, to him you are still the most beautiful person. As the man reaches two he closes his eyes
‘John Lawrence!’ you scream before he can count to one.
‘perfect. Here we go. See it was easy’ the kidnapper mocks you as tim opens his eyes in defeat, as you can’t bring yourself to look at him
You list all the people taking the longest time possible to hope they will come rescue. You want to buy time, knowing that when the list is done not only the agents will be dead but also you and tim.
Yet Inevitably the list comes to an end
‘thank you very much. Betraying your country and 300 people for one single man’
You keep your head low knowing you just sentenced to death 300 agents.
The man points the gun towards you ‘kill me but spare him please’ you say having given up on your fate but hoping you will still be able to save tim
Tim flinches in his seat at your plead. ‘she told you what you wanted let us go now’ tim says
‘and let you stop our operation? No way’
‘by the time they find us you will already have done it’ tim tries to make him reason
‘you know what? You are right. I will not kill you’ the man says as he turns
He shoots you in the stomach as tim screams your name and you can’t even cling to your stomach as your hands are tied ‘I will let you die of blood loss so that you can stare at his corpse knowing it is your fault’
He then points the gun to tim’s head
‘no! please!’ you shout
‘its okay sweatheart. I love-‘ tim says looking at you
As you hear the gun shot you close your eyes screaming but then you hear tim’s voice calling your name. you open your eyes as you see the SWAT entering the house and killing the two intruders before you pass out
-.-.-
Tim wakes up in a hospital bed, Lucy goes next to him in a second
‘tim! How are you?’ she asks him
‘y/n. where is y/n’ he asks frenetic looking around ‘tim…’ lucy tries
‘where is my wife!’ he shouts at his rookie. ‘next room but tim-‘ she tries, he doesn’t care he gets of the hospital bed falling down as he realizes that is leg is still broken after all
‘tim- you shouldn’t get up-‘ lucy tries to make him reason as she goes to help him
‘help me or leave!’ he says his eyes look like pure fire she nods as she helps him up and to walk next room where you are staying
Angela, who was sitting next to you, stands up seeing him ‘tim-‘
Tim freezes when he sees you. You are in a bed, more casts on your limbs that he can count. Your face is still swollen even if now is clear from the blood, tubes come and go out of you, one is even in your mouth.
‘y/n’ he sighs. Lucy and angela help him to the chair next to your bed. He sits down and takes your only non-casted hand in his
‘how is she?’ he asks them looking at your broken form, eyes lucid
Angela and lucy exchange a look before Angela speaks ‘the doctor said the situation was critical. Both her legs, her arms and one hand are broken. She had a concussion from the beating and lost a lot of blood, but the gun shot did not damage any major organ’
‘is she-‘ he is afraid to ask as the words die in his throat
‘yes she is in a coma. They are positive that she is going to wake up.’ Angela says
‘when‘ he asks as a knot forms in his throat
‘they don’t know‘ lucy replies as tim just nods never taking his eyes off you
‘the intruders?’ he asks now voice plain and cold
‘they were killed in the rescue operation. Any info they might have gotten never made it to their associates’ angela says, careful to not say or insinuate that you indeed told them something or in this case everything
‘they should have suffered more’ tim says as lucy and angela exchange a look
‘tim you should be resting. You have a broken leg and a minor concussion, and bruises and burns everywhere…’ lucy tries to make him reason
‘leave’ he only replies voice flat
‘tim…’ angela tries
‘leave!’ he shouts looking at them and they do leave. He turns again towards you worry and regret consuming him
He places your hand in both his as he kisses it before placing his forehead on it.
And for the first time in years tim bradford cries
PART 2
Tim Bradford master list in ‘Other Characters’ master list’
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