Opportune Growth

It's Always The Nice Ones

Kinktober Fic: Clark discovers his girlfriend's tumblr.

Warnings/Kinks: Warnings/Kinks: Stomach Bulge, Spanking, Size Difference, Non consensual Recording (is this a bit self indulgent? yes, yes it is. thank you for noticing!)

Word Count: 1.5k

Y/N kicked off her shoes as she entered her and her boyfriend's shared loft. It was a little expensive but the two of them made it work. That was Clark. Sweet, wonderful, and understanding Clark. Y/N loved him with all her heart. There wasn't a thing she would change about him. Well, maybe one thing. Don't get her wrong, he would always leave her satisfied but sometimes Y/N would still want more than what he gave her.

"So the Jamaican place was out of what you usually get so I got you what I get. Kinda works out anyway since you love to steal my jerk chicken," She called out to him as she walked into the kitchen. She was expecting to find him lounging on the couch while watching his favorite fall movie. She was pleasantly surprised to see him leaning against the kitchen counter with his glasses sitting on top of his head.

"What's this?" Clark asked, gesturing to Y/N's laptop. Her laptop was open and the current screen was the homepage of Y/N's Tumblr.

"My laptop? Clark, why do you have my laptop?" Y/N was a little scared. Her Tumblr was her sacred place. It's where her thoughts went to live and she didn't have to be as tame as a real person.

"Mine was dead so I thought I'd borrow yours. Could you imagine my surprise when I found out that my sweet girlfriend writes the most obscene 'smut' on the internet," He said smut in quotation marks. His blue eyes were trained on Y/N. Clark was normally a gentle giant with her but as he approached her, his energy was different. For the first time in their relationship, Y/N felt small. Now Clark being a 6'5 alien was a constant reminder in their relationship but he had never done anything that made her feel small and delicate.

"Clark, I can explain. There like fantasies," She said looking up at her boyfriend and placing her bags on the counter. She could feel the heat rise to her brown cheeks and warmth pooled into the bottom of her stomach. This wasn't fear, but rather horniness. 

"I had been gentle with you because I was afraid I might hurt you. Turns out you want to be hurt," Clark leaned down to whisper this in her ear. Y/N's insides practically melted. 

"Baby, I-" Y/N was going to explain herself but Clark interrupted her by placing a finger to her lips.

"Hush now. I want you to go upstairs and strip. You'll have to be punished for deceiving me. Don't worry, I'll go gentle on you the first time," Y/N's heart was racing and Clark could hear it.

"Clark," Y/N tried to justify herself once more. She couldn't find the exact words that she wanted to say. 

"Upstairs," Clark said sternly and he had dropped his smile. He looked serious.

"Okay," Y/N said stepping away from her giant boyfriend. She quickly found their bedroom and stripped out of her clothing for the day. She sat on the bed anxiously. At first, she was scared but then she found herself to be excited at the sound of the heavy footsteps of Clark as he walked up the stairs. Unbeknownst to her, Clark had placed a small camera he had borrowed from Bruce in the bedroom and it was almost impossible for the untrained eye to spot.

"Imagine my surprise when I found out that my sweet girlfriend wants to be fucked like a desperate whore and writing about it online. To think that I've been holding back. Get on your hands and knees," Y/N did as she was told, not wanting to make the situation worse. 

"Let's see. You've deceived me and then tried to cover it up. I think that's worth ten spankings," Clark spoke as he took in the stalk of his girlfriend's body. He looked at every curve, stretchmark, and scar lovingly but once again, Y/N felt small. Clark's cool hands rubbed her ass almost tenderly. 

"Spankings?" Y/N repeated, almost tripping over the word. When she had written it, she had never thought that it was going to happen to her. The idea that it was going to happen to her awoke something in her deeply.

"That's what you wrote about, isn't it? You dreamt of a moment like this," Clark said knowingly. He could always read her like a book to the point that she used to think one of his powers was telepathy. 

"If at any point it's too much, you can tell me and I'll stop okay?" There was a glimpse of the sweet Clark that she knew. 

"Okay," She nodded as she spoke. 

"Great, now count," Once again, his features darkened and it was like a different man was speaking to her. This didn't look like the man who made love but rather a man who fucks. 

"One!" She said after his hand collided with her ass. Clark grinned at the sight of the recoil of her ass. He wasn't using his superstrength, of course, but a small part of him enjoyed these actions. Y/N continued to count, her ass stinging with every spank. She almost gave out from the pain but she stayed strong even as tears began to run down her face. Clark was just hoping that the camera caught this angle. 

"See there's my pretty girl. You feeling okay?" Clark said tilting her jaw up after he had finished. He wiped her tears away with his thumb.

"Mhm," She said as her eyes stopped welling with tears. 

"Look at you. You're dripping just from a spanking. Roll over," Clark began to toy with the folds of her pussy while she was now laying on her back. Y/N spread her legs on instinct and Clark enjoyed the sight.

"So good at taking orders," He remarked as he kneeled between her legs. He pulled her waist to the edge of the bed and used his hands to pin her down. Her size didn't matter because he knew he had the strength to hold her down.

Now, eating Y/N out was one of Clark's favorite pastimes. He could do it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He loved to have her wetness smeared all over his face like it was now. Hearing her moans did something to him but he preferred to listen to her heart rate as she got closer and closer to her peak. His tongue toyed with her clit while his fingers took long strokes in and out of her. 

"Clark, I'm close, please," Clark simply chuckled as Y/N spoke those words. He pulled his mouth away from her and removed his fingers.

"Wait, why'd you stop?" Y/N said a little upset from her ruined orgasm. She was quickly satiated when Clark replaced his fingers with his dick. She didn't even hear him unbuckle his pants. Clark normally liked to take his time with Y/N and allow her to adjust to his length. Hell, he had spent months just training her to be able to take all of it but now all of that was gone at the window as he pounded into her with fullness. 

Y/N thought she was seeing stars as she moaned out from the deep strokes she was receiving. The stinging of her ass couldn't be felt from the pleasure Clark was giving her. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall was the only thing grounding Y/N to reality. She was sure there were dents in the wall but that would be tomorrow's problem. Well, if she could walk, it would be. 

Clark was having the time of his life. He could see the faint outline of his cock from Y/N's stomach and began to move harder. Once the outline was much more prominent and pressed his hand to her stomach. Both of them cried out from the new sensation. Clark's cheeks had turned a bright red and his glasses managed to get across the room. He had regretted not doing this earlier.  

Y/N's pussy began to spasm with Clark's dick still inside and soon after he finished inside of her. His strokes slowed until he fully pulled out of her. Y/N's legs were tingly and her breaths were deep. Clark kissed her cheek and congratulated her for doing so well before disappearing into the bathroom. Y/N almost felt like she had just cosplayed a Twinkie. 

"I'm gonna clean you up and then put this cream on your bum," He said with a warm damp towel in one hand and some sort of numbing cream in the other. 

"Clark, sweetheart, you just fucked the living daylights out of me, you can say ass," She said while he cleaned between her thighs. Her hands found his hair and he simply had a dopey grin on his face. After he was finished, he discretely grabbed the hidden camera and put it somewhere safe for now. Just because he knew Y/N's kinks, didn't mean she needed to know his, not yet, at least. 

Clark gave Y/N one of his T-shirts and brought up the food from earlier. She leaned on his shoulder as the two ate in bed. She wondered what other boundaries she could push Clark to now that he knew her darkest fantasies. 

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. 

Lock and Key

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!shy!pregnant!CSIphotographer!reader

Summary: When Angela and Nyla need someone to go undercover in a women's prison, you seem like the perfect candidate. Inside with Lucy, Tim, and Angela nearby, you find more than a killer.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, murder case, very quick allusion to past sexual assualt

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Can you do another establishing shot of the bedroom?” your crime scene unit supervisor requests.

You nod, feel your baby kick, and tread carefully through the home-turned-crime scene to take more photographs. It’s no secret that CSIs can never take too many photos, but now that you’re pregnant, you wonder if there’s a way to collect them faster. You love your job; being a police photographer is wholly rewarding and enjoyable for you, but some scenes and some days are more trying than others. Being near Tim Bradford at work similarly has its pros and cons.

“Hey, mama,” Angela greets as she enters the bedroom. “Is this the primary scene?”

“We think so,” you answer softly, removing the sync cord from your camera to photograph the scene without the light.

“How are you feeling?” Angela asks, looking around the room without altering anything before your photos are complete.

“Pretty good,” you reply.

“Tim still… well, Tim?”

You nod as you move toward the corner, focusing the camera on a bloody screwdriver. Whatever happened here wasn’t quick and was undoubtedly painful. Your supervisor walks through the hall and tells you to pack up, and you nod at Angela with a smile. She hugs you before you leave, and you ready your nerves to see Tim when you return to the station.

“Wait, go back,” Lucy requests as you’re shepherded into the roll call room. “Tim, I’m going to say this slowly and I want you to listen very carefully, okay?”

“Chen,” Tim snaps.

She doesn’t heed his warning tone and begins, “You want to send the mother of your child into a prison to get intel on a murder case. Where in that sentence do you hear a good idea?”

“What?” you inquire with your hands clasped tightly beneath your growing bump.

Lucy turns, her expression guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.”

“We were just brainstorming,” Tim explains, walking toward you. “The woman who was murdered this morning was released from CIW last week.”

“CIW, however, is out of our jurisdiction,” Nyla adds. “So, we reached out to San Bernadino PD and they’ve agreed to let us send in a UC.”

“The problem is that the woman we need to talk to is notoriously picky about who she takes up company with,” Tim adds. “Rumor is, she has a thing for strays, she likes being around people she can protect.”

“Which, to me, sounds like she would be ready to turn on them in an instant,” Lucy interjects. “Hence my reluctance.”

“So, because I’m pregnant, you think she’d watch out for me, let me close?” you clarify.

“More or less,” Nyla answers.

Lucy scoffs and shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Would I be alone?” you whisper, looking at Tim.

“Of course not. We’d send in two officers, acting as doctors, who can pull you out any time.”

“Would it do it if Tim and Angela went in with you?” Nyla asks.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider everything. You’d be putting yourself and your baby in danger. If Tim and Angela were a call away, the risk would decrease dramatically. Before you can decide, Lucy holds your arms and hugs you.

“Don’t do it,” she says. “There’s too much at risk.”

“We can’t just leave a killer on the street,” you whisper against her.

Lucy sighs as she pulls back, and she nods. “Then I’m going in too. Get San Bernadino on the phone; I want to be closer than a doctor.”

Nyla nods, then looks at you.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” you state.

“We’re right beside you,” Tim promises, kissing your hairline.

“Technically, I am right beside her, you’ll be in the infirmary,” Lucy corrects. “I better get to be this baby’s godmother.”

Nyla laughs before she says, “In your dreams, single-income, apartment-sharing option.”

“What, just because you’re married and have a house, you’re a better fit?” Lucy questions. Her smile drops as she murmurs, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Alright,” Tim calls, shaking his head. “Let’s go to Chino and get some answers out of convicts.”

“They call her Pitbull,” Angela had explained before you went in. At your wide-eyed expression, she adds, “She’s essentially a guard dog. She chooses who she’ll protect and sics anyone who comes near. If you can get on the right side of Pitbull, she’ll tell you what she knows about Ringer – our victim.”

You sit on your bunk and look around, wondering if you look like a pumpkin in an oversized orange jumpsuit. When you hear footsteps outside, you drop your head and let your shyness run rampant. If it makes you seem weak, this is a better time than ever to embrace it.

Lucy unlocks the cell door, and Pitbull enters. She looks at you, running her eyes up and down your face before noticing the protruding baby bump beneath your new and temporary outfit.

“What are you in for?” Pitbull asks, her voice raspy and low.

“Stabbed my baby daddy,” you admit, rubbing a hand over your stomach. “He wouldn’t stop,” you add, letting her fill in the blanks.

As you speak, your baby kicks. The farther along you get, the more your voice seems to excite him or her.

“You don’t fit in here, Mommy,” Pitbull sneers.

You nod with your head down, telling the truth when you agree with her.

“People around here don’t like different, don’t like chicas who aren’t the same,” she adds. “What are you going to do about that?”

When you shrug, she surges forward. Her hands land on your shoulders, and you inhale when she pushes you up to make you look at her. She stops, smiles, and brushes her hand against your neck.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispers. “Understand?”

“Why?” you inquire.

“Because…” she drops her hand to your bump before she confesses, “I’ve got reasons you won’t understand, and you’ve got a reason to accept the protection.”

“I can’t- I don’t have anything to give you.”

Pitbull laughs as she returns to her cot. “This isn’t a tv-style arrangement; I’m giving you a gift, and I ask for nada in return. Just focus on yourself, and the baby.”

“Thank you.”

As you lay awake in bed the first night, you hear Pitbull whisper a prayer in Spanish. You wonder what she knows when she asks for the eternal protection of Ringer’s soul.

“Dr. Benson is here,” Lucy says, dressed as a corrections officer. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Pitbull interrupts, moving to block the cell door. “Dr. Benson male or female?”

“None of your concern.” Lucy barks your fake last name and repeats, “Let’s go.”

“She was traumatized by her ex; she probably doesn’t want a male doctor. Right?”

She turns to face you, and you nod sheepishly.

“So, now it is my concern,” Pitbull continues, cracking her neck to the side. “I go with her, or you get another doctor.”

Lucy sighs as she checks her watch. Pulling a radio from her hip, she asks if you can have another inmate accompany you. You recognize Angela’s voice as she begrudgingly allows it just this one time.

“Boy or girl?” Pitbull asks, glaring at the women in the cells you pass.

“I don’t know yet,” you answer honestly. “Doesn’t matter, though, does it?”

“Still your kid. Last chica I shared a cell with, she had a kid on the inside, reached out when he turned 18, and got cartas desagradables from the parents even though he was old enough.”

“Cruel world,” you murmur.

“Crueler people.”

You glance at Pitbull, wondering what she did to get her locked up for nearly half of her life. She’ll come up for parole in a few years. Part of you wants her to get out, but you know better.

“Ringer – that’s what we called her because she rung a guy’s neck for assaulting her niece…”

You know that’s not true. Ringer's niece was assaulted, but Ringer broke a lot of necks looking for the right guy. She was practically a serial attempted murderer.

“Ringer said she was going to find the kid when she got out, just long enough to apologize and let him know she wouldn’t have given him up if she’d had a chance.”

“Noble,” you muse.

“Crueler people,” she repeats as you near the prison infirmary.

Pitbull stands beside Lucy as you move to the examination table. Tim enters a moment later, looking like an angel in a white lab coat. He’s wearing glasses, and his hair is styled differently. His hands on you feel the same, even if he isn’t smiling and keeps his speaking clipped and serious (though you suppose that part isn’t much different than the version of him you see at work).

“How far along are you?” he asks.

“Four months or so,” you answer.

Tim nods, then lays his hands on either side of your bump.

“Have you had a thorough exam by an OBGYN?” he inquires.

You shake your head, and he slides the rolling chair back as his hands fall away.

“She’ll need one now,” he tells Lucy. “I can call in a female colleague if that would be more comfortable.”

“Do that,” Pitbull demands.

Tim stands, nods at Lucy, and exits the room. He returns to hand Lucy a paper robe, then disappears. Lucy takes Pitbull out of the exam room while you change, and you know she will keep her out for the entire 'examination’ so you can tell Tim and Angela what you found. Angela comes in first, her brows rising at the sight of you in a jumpsuit with tight braids framing your face, courtesy of Pitbull.

“She said Ringer was looking for her son – he turned 18 while she was still incarcerated, and she vowed to find him when she got out,” you explain. “His adoptive parents wanted her far away from him.”

“That’s motive,” Angela says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ll get units to the parents’ house now.”

Tim returns to your side, and you pull his hand against your bump. As you tell him everything Pitbull has shared with you, your baby kicks against his hand. Tim smiles as he bends down to kiss you, and you suddenly want to leave this prison. Pitbull’s parole is no longer a thought in your mind.

“We’ll get you out as soon as we can,” Tim promises.

Less than twelve hours later, you’re removed from your shared cell with Pitbull, taken to solitary, and then you walk out of the prison in your own clothes with your hand held tightly in Tim’s. Ringer’s killer, the adoptive father of her son, is behind bars and awaiting trial, and Angela and Nyla have yet another solved case to add to their repertoires.

“Want to grab some dinner?” Lucy asks in the parking lot. “Or breakfast,” she amends, noting the first streaks of sunlight painting the sky.

“We’re going home,” Tim answers for you.

“Thanks for everything, Lucy,” you tell her as Tim opens his passenger door for you.

“I didn’t do much,” she argues. “But anytime.”

In the comfort and safety of your home, you sit beside Tim, brutally aware of his fingers brushing along your bump where his arm is tucked around your waist.

“You did amazing,” he says.

He kisses your forehead and then your lips, and you sigh against him as your baby kicks again.

“We should find out the baby’s gender,” he says. “I know we said we didn’t want to…”

“I agree,” you reply, laying your head on his shoulder. “I’ll make an appointment.”

“You mean you’ll have me make an appointment.”

You turn your face against his shoulder and huff, your ears warming at his teasing. Tim chuckles, holding you like he never wants to let you go, and you feel exactly the same.

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.

Good Luck Charm

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: At a Dodgers game, you meet Tim Bradford, who thinks you're a good luck charm for the Dodgers.

Warnings: pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: @bradleybeachbabe inspired me to write this (as well as Eric Winter posting about the Dodgers)! I hope you enjoy the game you're going to soon, Rachel!!!💙

Today’s date has been circled on your calendar for months. The Dodgers are playing at home in LA, and you got tickets behind home base. Since scoring the tickets, you’ve been counting down the moments, using this game to get you through tough days and long nights. Now that it’s finally here, you can forget about everything else for the evening and enjoy the game, hoping for another exciting evening like the tiebreaking two-run homer you watched on TV last week. Dressed in your favorite Dodgers shirt, you leave for Dodgers Stadium happier than you’ve been in weeks. Something in the Los Angeles air makes you think it will be a great night.

“Lucy, if I had an extra ticket, I’d sell it,” Tim sighs as he parks at Dodgers Stadium. “If you want to be at this game so badly, ask Thorsen. If anyone can get you a last-minute ticket, it’s him.”

“But he’s already at the game,” Lucy laments over the phone.

“So am I!”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How is that-“ Tim stops and shakes his head. “Lucy, I hope you can figure something out. If not, I’ll tell you all about the game at work.”

“Ugh, you’re such a man.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Tim ends the call before Lucy can explain that she did not mean that as a compliment. It’s been a tough week at the Mid-Wilshire station, and Tim wants to watch a good game, cheer for his team, and unwind.

Tim smiles as he makes his way to his seat: an unexpected but highly appreciated upgrade to home base. Coming into Dodgers Stadium feels like coming home, and Tim thinks tonight will be a good game. At least until he sees that the seat beside him, which he expected to be empty, is occupied by a woman scrolling on her phone rather than enjoying the pre-game activities. He ignores his disappointment at being in the section with a disinterested neighbor as he watches warmups.

You look up from the detailed roster file you keep on your phone. Gavin Lux, an infielder who is a left-hand batter and right-hand thrower, is wearing his glove on his right hand for warmups. As you scroll through your newest notes, glancing up at the team every few swipes, someone sits beside you.

“Left, right,” you murmur to yourself.

“Excuse me?” the man asks.

You lift your gaze from your phone, then freeze when you see the attractive man occupying the seat to your right.

“Sorry, I’m talking to myself. Lux is just… never mind, sorry.”

As you turn back toward the field, he asks, “Lux is?”

“He’s warming up with his glove on his throwing hand.”

The man looks out into the field, locates Lux, and nods. “He is. Any idea why?”

You shake your head. “I thought maybe I was remembering his stats wrong, but I double-checked and he’s warming up opposite.”

“Interesting. Think we can win with him off his game?”

Pursing your lips, you shrug. “I don’t think he’s the player that makes or breaks a game. Unless he tries to bat right-handed, we should be okay.”

“I’m Tim,” he introduces, offering his hand.

You shake his hand as you tell him your name, surprised by how he holds your hand in his just a moment longer than is usually acceptable. You don’t mind, especially when he smiles and asks if you’ve noticed anything else.

“Is this your usual seat?” you inquire after a few minutes of discussing the players and their techniques.

“No, my season pass gets me over first base,” Tim answers. “You?”

“One-night only. I’d love to get a season pass someday.”

“If we win tonight, they should give you one on principle.”

You laugh as you ask, “Why?”

“If we win tonight after that tenth inning save last week, with our infielders off their game, and you just happen to be in the crowd? You’d have to be good luck.”

“Maybe it’s just a good day,” you counter softly.

Tim smiles as he agrees, “Maybe.”

“Stop letting the ball play you!” someone behind you yells. “This is why they should have left you in the minors!”

You stifle a laugh at their enthusiasm but agree with them. Tim sighs beside you and checks the score.

“Just one can of corn, is that too much to ask?” Tim grumbles.

“Wow,” you exclaim. “You really just used that term.”

“You disagree?”

“Not at all, just haven’t heard someone younger than Babe Ruth call it that.”

“Then, what do we do? We’re going to lose at this rate.”

You shrug and offer, “Guess I’m not very good luck, after all.”

Tim wants to disagree but decides that it’s not his place. If the Dodgers win, then he’ll tell you that he’s impressed by you, drawn to you, but otherwise, you’ll go your separate ways, never to see one another again.

“I don’t want to watch this, Tim,” you say with a pout.

The Dodgers are tied in the bottom of the ninth in a concerning parallel to their previous game. You don’t trust them to get the ball where it needs to be to win, not after their lackluster performance in the first few innings.

“Wish them luck,” Tim encourages, standing beside you as the crowd roars. “C’mon, give into the superstition once. What’s the worst that happens?”

“We lose, and my night of relaxation becomes me wondering if you put a curse of the team by saying good luck in these sacred walls.”

“I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but it’s a baseball game. It’s not that serious.”

You try to ignore Tim, but the smile on his face is too hard to look away from. To appease him and partially because you love hearing him say you are good luck, you whisper a wish of good luck, boys through the net separating you from foul balls.

And, somehow, between when you speak and when the stadium silences, Mookie Betts hits a homerun that echoes throughout Los Angeles, and the Dodgers perform another walk-off.

“You did it!” Tim yells as the crowd erupts into cheers.

He pulls you into his arms, completely forgetting his prior hesitance to tell you how much you affected him, and you throw your arms over his shoulders as he spins you. When your feet are on the ground again, you cup Tim’s jaw and smile.

“We won!” you cheer as fireworks boom overhead.

“You really are good luck,” Tim replies.

“Maybe you’re the good luck."

Tim shakes his head and leans closer to you. The stadium around you is completely forgotten, entirely focused on the man before you. His hands are on your waist, yours are framing his face, and you can’t wait to hear what he says next.

“Will you go out with me? I think we could both use some more good luck,” he proposes.

Your smile widens as you nod. “I’d love to.”

Tim pulls you against his side, his arm warm and steady over your shoulders as you cheer for your home team and yourself.

Bonus:

“So, how was the game, Tim?” Lucy asks before roll call.

“It was great, after we caught up, at least,” Tim answers. “Did you watch it?”

“Yeah, Aaron pulled through and got me a ticket. Over the outfield but still better than anything I could’ve gotten on my own.”

Tim nods, but she doesn’t move out of the doorway so he can walk inside.

“What?” he asks.

“I saw something else at the game. Someone made it onto the jumbotron,” Lucy sing-songs. “You’re trending on ClipTok. Everyone’s talking about the mystery couple who celebrated the win.”

Tim narrows his gaze at Lucy, who shrugs and invites him to check for himself before she enters the roll call room. He pulls his phone from his pocket, surprised to see a text from you.

We’re trending. I don’t know if I should be more upset by all the people shamelessly looking for us or that they’re calling you ‘gorgeous’ and I’m ‘that girl hugging him.’

Tim rolls his eyes and answers:

Wait until they find out why we won.

You don’t acknowledge the implication that he’ll tell someone (Lucy, who will undoubtedly put it on ClipTok); instead, you tell him you’re looking forward to dinner tonight. What was supposed to be a relaxing evening at a baseball game for you and Tim turned into something so much more. If that’s not good luck, you don’t know what is.

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

A bit of 18 and up, y’all.

“How do I keep winding up in your bed?”

You felt the mattress shift beneath you and then Walt’s smile pressing into the back of your shoulder, only one of your flimsy nighties in between your skin and his. One of his legs was tucked between yours and his hips were flush against you.

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Who Trained Who?

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!reader

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

Warnings: just fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mostly me, right?” Lucy asks Kojo.

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

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

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

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

“Smart man. You teach him that?”

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

“Bradford?” another officer calls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want a turn, Tim?” she inquires.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” you murmur against his side.

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

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

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

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

A vox machina oneshot

Vax x reader.

The reader has a card that allows them to swap places with the intended target depending on the intention behind it. They use it on vax and take his place as the raven queens champion just as she is about to take him away. They tell vax to go be with keyleth and live a full and happy life with her Unknown to the reader vax was in love with them the whole time. The last thing they say to him is a heart felt confession on their love for him before they dissapear. I know it's an angst one but if you want to make a fluffy ending it's up to you

Enjoy! 😘

They tried. Everyone tried. Every loophole, every possible way to weasel out of this deal with the goddess of death was exploited. All of them failed. They tried and they failed. At least they tried. The only regret Vax has is they wasted plenty of time on this unsolvable problem. He knew his time was running out. Even before he realised it. He knew that time would come where she’d pull his tether and he’d have to leave everyone being. She sent him out with a purpose and that’s now completed. Not even the greatest wish could change that. Especially not now. The deal is done. Vax accepts this. It took him a while but he does. It doesn’t make it any easier though. She gave him time to say goodbye. She didn’t have to. There is yet some mercy left in the cold dead heart of the Raven Queen, some compassion still beyond that broken mask. He got to say goodbye to you. 

This can’t be the end. This is not the way. You refuse to accept this fate. For all the love in your heart, for the bleeding hearts of your friends. They need him. You need him. He cannot just slip into oblivion to serve the goddess of death for eternity because of some cruel mistake. It’s neither just nor fair. This fate is a cruel one. Fate is cruel. You know it all too well. Life deals you a hand of cards when you are born. Some are born lucky. Others are lucky to be born. Some are destined for greatness. Others are doomed from the start. For entities that pretend to be benevolent and kind, they are not far off from the tyrant claiming themself king, or the evil mage enslaving the many. It all comes down to that hand of cards. You got lucky. For all the bullshit in your life you got your hand on one of those cards and you just happen to be good at that ethereal game of sleight of hand. It’s not cheating if there’s no rules. You drew from the deck of fate and you got lucky. That luck came with a curse though because you’d always know what the gravity of that decision would mean. 

You got your hands on a card that could change fate; your fate to be specific. You may have thought about it many times but by using that twist of fate you condemn another to yours. Could you live with yourself knowing that you took something from another for your own gain? Equally, would you sacrifice yourself for anyone down on their luck and willing to take their suffering instead? You know damn well why you didn’t use this cruel trinket. But now, it resurfaces again, it burns in your palm as you walk by Vex trying to hold herself together as she pats her brother on the shoulder with some witty remark. You nearly break when he pulls her into a hug and you see her tears spill. She wipes them away before he pulls back. Vax noticed either way. You notice all of them heartbroken. You’re heartbroken too. You don’t want him to go. He holds part of your heart after all. You’ve never told him so blatantly but it’s true no less. 

You see Keyleth falling apart at the seams. Vax tries to console her but he can’t. She holds his heart. He holds hers and he’ll be taking it with him whether he intends to or not. It hurts him to know he’ll leave his friends, his family, his love so hurt with his departure. You see the effect Vax has had on their lives, all of them, on yours. You know how much he means to them and that card of fate starts to become more and more appealing. You have a chance to save someone you love. You can make a change in order for him to change the world. You can give him a chance of life by throwing away your own to the service of some god and you’d do it without a second thought. You will. You’ve already made up your mind. The only reason why you haven’t yet is because you struggle to find the right words to tell him. You don’t think you can face him with this. What would he think of you to know you could have changed a fate so easily and never did. Are you truly so selfish? Were you truly not ready to until it came down to your own pain? You can’t keep avoiding this anymore and so you slip away.

Vax notices you retreating ever so slowly. How could he not? He might be light on his feet and it takes one to know one but he’d always notice your presence or lack thereof. The air changes and so does that strange coiling feeling within him whenever you’re near. It’s quite pleasant. He’s known it for a while now but with his impending doom, he could not bring himself to give into it, to give into you knowing he’d only break you. He made that choice for you he supposes but equally so for himself. He can’t look you in the eye while he’s torn away from you. He can’t face your tears. The others, it’s already hell on Exandria facing them but were he to face you, he’d be falling apart. You’ve been strong so long. He wishes he could be as strong as you. He doesn’t have the heart for it but he too has begun to see the cracks in your armour. Something’s amiss and when he sees you slowly retreat to the back of the room, away from the conversation, away from the people until you slip outside entirely, he feels that tether pull taut and he cannot but follow. 

Vax finds you out front. There’s something in your palm, a card he realises. Just the one. It’s got a golden sheen to it and you reach out to touch it. He sees your shoulders shaking and tense. You bite your lip. That’s when you let out a muffled sob. You’re not aware he’s there. You squeeze your eyes shut and tears spill. He takes a step closer to you. 

“If you had the power to change this fate, would you?” So you had noticed his approach. He couldn’t care less. You’re hurt. Not physically but you’re hurt either way and it breaks his heart. It’s yours after all, even if you don’t know it. You quickly put that golden card back in your pocket. You wipe away your tears and let out a shaky breath. 

“What do you mean?” He questions but the look you give him implies no humour and comes with a sense of urgency. “I don’t want to go. I’d much rather stay here with you, with them but I can’t. It was a worthy sacrifice and I’d make the choice a thousand times over.

“If-uh-“ You try to find the right words but can’t even look him in the eye. “If another could take that place and you could stay, would you stay?” He thinks for a second and then grows suspicious. 

“At what cost?” You shake your head.

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything. You shouldn’t be spending this valuable time out here with me talking about this stupid-“ 

“Hey, hey- time spent with you is never wasted. I want you here with me, for as long as I have, for as long as you’ll have me.” You feel his palm agains your cheek, raising your gaze to meet his. You see that pained but kind smile. It only solidifies your choice. You know what to do. 

“Okay.” You squeak not able to keep your voice stable and Vax just simply pulls you into his embrace. That’s the last conversation you’d have with him until that fated moment, until the true goodbye. 

The goddess had come to lay claim to her champion, to the life she’s to call hers and the servitude she’s owed. The goodbye is a harrowed one but it’s not his goodbye. You look at Keyleth holding onto Percy who does his best to console her, Vex attempting to stay strong and stoic despite the tears running down her face and noticeable the death grip she has on Pike’s hand. Scanlan’s even struggling and so is Grog. The Raven Queen holds out her hand and beckons. Vax says goodbye to you last. He holds onto your hand, brings it to his chest. There’s no words he speaks but his eyes say it all. You take a step towards him and turn so you’re interposing between himself and the goddess. The others go alert, contemplating the prospects of killing the goddess and freeing the resident rogue form this cruel pact if you make the first move. Vax holds onto your hand still as if to keep you from doing something stupid or reckless against a literal god. Little does he know. 

“I invoke the blessing I have been given. I invoke the fate that was never mine and will share the burden of it. I trade my place for his as it is the right of the hand that was dealt to me. Fate wills it so, and so it shall be.” You remember the words well. Though you have never spoken them out loud. They are like a practiced speech. You’ve played them over in your mind; the script upon that  fated golden card and when it appears in your palm it glows that bright golden like the tethers of fate and memory the Raven Queen holds so dear. It certainly peaks her interest. 

“What are you doing?” Vax asks looking between you and the goddess. You glance back over your shoulder. 

“What I should have done the very moment this curse befell you. I’m sorry I could not do it before. I hope you can forgive me. You’ll be free.” 

“You can’t do this!” Desperation and despair are the ways of the mortal worlds, of those consumed by time and whims of circumstance. They are the ways of you and him and everyone around you. 

“It’s okay, Vax. It’s okay. I’ve made my choice. They need you more than they need me. I wish you a happy life. Even if I can’t be part of it.” 

“I need you.” He sounds so small, so broken and that alone makes you almost regret. Almost. But you wouldn’t reverse it. Even if you could. 

“Your heart belongs here. With Them. With your sister. With Keyleth. My heart belongs with you but you do not need it, not like they need you. It’s a worthy sacrifice.” You take a step closer towards the goddess but Vax does not let go of your hand. He holds on. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. I love them. I love my sister, my friends, Keyleth. I love them. But I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you and I can’t let you do this.” Your heart stops right there in your chest. Your world comes apart. To have those words be spoken… You don’t even know what to do with them. You can’t breathe or speak or think for some moments. He loves you. He’s in love with you. Vax is in love with you and you’re about to leave him behind. You’ve made the right choice either way but it’s become a far more painful one now and you come to realise that’s exactly what he tried to protect you from by not mentioning before. You hate and love him for it. 

“It’s already done.” That stupid card dematerialises in a golden dust. and invisible breeze lets the dust weave into a tether to wrap around your free arm. You feel it burn and pull painfully so. You pull against the strain, toe to toe with Vax and softly place your lips against his. A final parting gift, for whom you’re unsure. “My fate is sealed. May you live a good life, Vax’ildan. May it be a long and merry one filled with love.” And that’s when you step away, in that brief moment where he lowers his guard and is forced to let you go. The golden tether pulls you in and away from him. The Raven Queen beckons you and you follow with one last glance over your shoulder, one last look at him. 

“I love you.” The final words he’ll ever hear from your lips. He’s too late to respond. You’re gone. The goddess of death is gone. His heart is gone and he’s left on Exandria broken and surrounded by his loved ones. He feels empty despite it. He doesn’t know what to do or say or think. It’s a whirlwind. 

Choose a Side

The Bradfords Series Masterlist (4/?)

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

Summary: Lucy asks for your opinion on a date, not expecting you to take sides. You do choose a side, but not the one she thinks.

Warnings: fluff, banter, grumpy!Tim

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

A/N: There are two random references in this (an Eric Winter movie and a previous Tim fic). Which is completely irrelevant. Enjoy.

The station is quiet when you walk through, but you know better than to get comfortable in the calm moment. It’s not superstition for you, just that you know the people you work with, and even if there aren’t many calls, it still won’t stay quiet for long.

“Hey!” Lucy calls behind you.

You smile at her interruption and stop walking so she can catch up to you. As she approaches, you notice that she’s looking over your shoulder.

“Is Tim with you?” she asks.

“No,” you answer, “he’s helping Angela with a case. Do you need him?”

“What I need is a second opinion and I do not want his.”

“Okay,” you drawl. “What’s up?”

“So, I’m going on a date tonight.”

“Please don’t say it’s with a cop,” you murmur.

“With a firefighter.” Lucy stops and tilts her head to ask, “Is it really that bad to be with another cop?”

You raise your hand to her arm and smile. “Lucy, I’m kidding. Tell me more.”

“His name is Alex. He’s been a firefighter for a few years since he got out of the Army. We actually met while playing tug-of-war and he was super flirty, but apparently he actually likes me!”

You ignore the odd way they met and choose to say, “Don’t sound so surprised he’s interested. When’s the date?”

“What date?”

You and Lucy look up together, wide-eyed at the sight of Tim approaching. He furrows his brows and keeps his eyes on you rather than looking at Lucy.

“I’m cheating on you?” you try.

“What date?” Tim repeats, completely ignoring your attempt to remove suspicion from Lucy.

“I have a date,” Lucy admits, “with a former soldier who is now a firefighter.”

“Killer turned arsonist. Way to pick them, Chen.”

“You were a soldier,” you point out.

Tim turns his chin toward you long enough to argue, “And you used to be nice to me.”

“Tim," you warn.

“Didn’t your last boyfriend leave you so heartbroken you bought jewelry from the evidence room?” Tim asks.

“I bought that because I like it,” Lucy defends, crossing her arms across her chest. “This is different.”

“Which station does he work at?” Tim inquires.

“Does that matter?”

“Yes,” you answer, with Tim. You frown as you add, “Sorry.”

“29,” Lucy says quietly. She raises her voice and glares at Tim to challenge, “Do you want his shoe size and social security number as well?”

“Lucy, some of the stations are known for having firefighters that are terrible people. Trust me, I’ve met more than my fair share on calls,” you explain. “Tim’s just trying to look out for you on that one.”

“Oh, so you’re taking his side. That’s great!”

“Lucy,” you reply with a laugh. “29 is a good station, right down the road, so we would know if it wasn’t. They’re good people.”

“As good as firefighters can be, you mean,” Tim adds. “What’s his last name?”

“Tim,” you chide. “That’s none of your business.”

“There can’t be that many guys named Alex at station 29.”

Tim pulls his phone from his pocket, and you snatch it out of his hand.

“If you call Nell to ask about him, I will take Kojo and Lucy to the station on my lunch break to hang out with firefighters.”

Tim shakes his head before he turns to face Lucy.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working instead of talking about date night outfits?” he asks.

“Oh, outfits!” Lucy exclaims. “We didn’t get that far!”

“Nope,” Tim interrupts. “Get to the shop, we’re going on patrol.”

“But I never got a second opinion.” Lucy pouts as she looks toward you, and you smile.

“Lucy, it sounds like you and Alex get along really well. You should go, have fun, and just see where the relationship may be able to go.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Lucy says, raising her arms to hug you.

“Boot,” Tim barks when the hug lasts for a second too long. “Shop.”

“He’s so grumpy today,” Lucy whispers in your ear as she pulls back.

Tim nods at you before he turns to follow Lucy to the garage. You look down at his phone in your hand and smile. He’ll realize before he leaves and come back for it, and this time, you will let him know that you really did pick a side.

“I need that,” Tim says as he returns.

You tuck his phone behind your back and use your other hand to grip the collar of Tim’s uniform and pull him closer. Face-to-face, you look into his eyes before you speak.

“Don’t look into him,” you demand.

Tim’s brows pinch before he asks, “What do you mean?”

“Tim Bradford, if you start a fire just to meet Lucy’s date, it will look like you care about her. A lot.”

Tim clears his throat softly, then nods once. “Can I go now?”

“Sure,” you agree, smiling as you release his collar and step back. “But she’ll tell me if you interrogate her in the car.”

“Why does it matter who my boot dates or when?” Tim inquires as he straightens his shirt.

“I don’t know, Tim. Why does it?”

Tim grumbles as he takes his phone from your hand.

“I love you,” you call after him.

“Not as much as Alex, apparently.”

“This is by far the most illegal but sweet thing you’ve ever done,” you tell Tim. “Pretzels?”

“It’s not illegal,” Tim argues, extending his hand for a snack. “We’re just enjoying a date night. What’s wrong with that?”

“The fact that we’re not just enjoying a date night. Tim, you’re watching someone else’s date.”

“You can’t say you’re not interested.”

“I can,” you argue, lifting your phone. “I’m watching a cheesy romcom about a widower who owns a restaurant and coaches little league but falls in love with the woman who wants to buy him out.”

“Riveting,” Tim mumbles, turning back toward the restaurant. “Where’d she go?”

The back door behind you opens before Lucy slides into the car. You offer the bag of convenience store snacks over your shoulder, and she accepts it to look for her favorite candy. Which, of course, you bought for her. Uncomfortable with Lucy's presence, Tim shifts as you pause your movie and remove the earbud you’d been using to listen to it.

“How was the date?” Tim asks.

“You tell me, it seems like you saw just as much as I did,” Lucy responds.

“Sorry, Lucy,” you interject.

“It’s okay. I mean, if he was a serial killer or something, I’d be glad you’re here.”

“That’s what I said,” Tim defends.

“But he wasn’t.”

“Told you,” you tell Tim. “She can take care of herself. Besides, Alex is a sweetheart.”

“You’ve met him?!” Tim asks loudly.

You nod and take a bite of your snack before you explain, “On a call this afternoon. Nell attached me to it.”

“Oh, so I can’t call Nell, but you can?”

“I asked her to watch for an opportunity,” Lucy says.

Tim shakes his head and throws his hands up. “I give up. Lucy, do you want a ride home?”

“Your home or mine?”

“You’re not spending the night.”

You chuckle in the passenger seat at their bickering. Tim doesn’t look at you this time, too focused on the road as he pulls out.

“How was it?” you ask Lucy.

“It was really good. We’re going out again.”

“When?” Tim asks.

“Don’t answer that, Lucy,” you suggest. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“Right,” Tim scoffs. “And she was worried about you picking sides.”

“You know, you could just say it,” Lucy tells Tim, leaning toward his seat.

“Say what?”

“I love you. Trust me, you tell me once and you’d feel so free. I love you. That’s all it takes, Dad.”

“The guy in your movie didn’t have to deal with this,” Tim mumbles.

“He actually did have a kid,” you say as he approaches a stop sign.

“Wait, what movie?” Lucy asks excitedly.

As you begin explaining the plot to Lucy, Tim shakes his head. You know he cares, and when you get home and kiss him, maybe he’ll reconsider simply admitting it.

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

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

18 and up, y’all.

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

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

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