Not In The Rook Book.

Not in the Rook Book.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!Reader [PLATONIC] — ONGOING SERIES: Like Father, Like Rookie.

Summary: When you spot a crying toddler wandering the streets alone on patrol with Tim, the both of you quickly realise that babysitting a child was not in the manual.

The streets of L.A were unusually quiet this time around whilst you and Tim strolled around on patrol. The two of you had already dealt a few minor arrests, nothing too life altering as the summer’s heat blended into the abnormality of the shift’s peaceful atmosphere.

“Look, if push comes to shove, then we’ll go for the kill,” Tim insisted with furrowed brows, keeping his eyes peeled as he parked up the shop onto the side of the road, “I’ll be damned if we take the fall. For what? For Lopez and West to gain all the glory? Hell no.” He muttered, frustration lacing his tone.

You hit the bottom of your fist onto the palm of your hand in spirit filled determination, “Roger that, sir!” You exclaimed with a killer expression to go with it, “The next monopoly game, they’re going down.”

At this point of you and Tim’s rookie to T.O relationship, it wasn’t surprising to have a rookie like you who was just as determined to rid of Lopez and West’s winning streak in game night, which began to creep it’s way into the conversations that you’d have in the shop. In which, you and Tim would strategise ways to take them down, whether it be within the rules or not.

“Uh—I can’t tell if this heat is getting to me, or if that baby is actually on the road,” you muttered, unbuckling your seatbelt and hopping out of the shop.

Tim’s attention quickly shifted away from the upcoming game night and towards the busy street ahead of him filled with cars that came to a halt, causing traffic to slowly build up. In front of them, a crying toddler had wandered into the middle of traffic, too overwhelmed to even move.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, quickly hopping out and following after you.

The two of you made haste in between two lanes of cars, some beeping with drivers peeking their head out of the window to see what the hold up was.

“Hey, little guy,” you cooed, scooping the toddler up into your arms, “You’re safe now.” You said as you waved a thank you to the cars who had stopped in the midst of traffic before you and Tim returned to the sidewalk.

The kid thrashed in your arms, still screaming with tears as you slightly stumbled in response, regaining footing almost immediately as you looked at Tim with a desperate ‘help me’ look.

Tim sighed, grabbing his radio off of his holster, “7-Adam-19, show us Code 6 on a found child, Wilson Street. Toddler, male, approximately 3 years old, no guardian in sight. Requesting additional unit and supervisor. Start a 415P broadcast for a possible missing child report.” he spoke into his radio before putting it away again.

“Alright,” Tim mumbled as he evaluated the situation, his gaze rested on the crying child in your arms, “What do you do when there’s a random kid on the streets?” He asked, knowing that whatever answer didn’t replicate his, was wrong.

You hummed in response, placing the child down to his feet while you crouched in front of him, “Check for injuries, their current condition, and anything that could help ID the kid.” you answered, your gaze skimming the boy’s body for wounds or anything alarming. Only to be met with nothing useful.

“Attempt communication,” you continued, your hands gently grabbing hold of the boy’s hands, “Hey, buddy, where’s daddy or mommy?” you asked with a soft tone and smile.

The boy, who had only now just stopped crying, looked at you with tears in his eyes. He was silent, so was you and Tim as you waited for an answer.

Slap!

“What the fuck—“ You groaned, holding your palm to your cheek as you watched the little boy turn on his heel and run the other way.

Tim snorted, making no effort to hide his laughter, “He’s on the run, kid!” he laughed, amusement plastered clear as day on his face.

You rolled your eyes, making chase after him, “Think I can arrest him for assault?” you joked, knowing damn well you meant it.

However, the little boy’s legs could only take him so far, so it didn’t take long for you and Tim to catch up and grab him.

“You’re a little runner, aren’t you?” You mumbled with a frown as you held the boy in your arms, who had only responded by blowing a raspberry.

“Sir, what’s the minimum age limit for juvenile detention?” You mumbled, only for Tim to chuckle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid. It’s a long time from three years old.” He said, “Now that we got the kid back, what’s the next thing to do?”

You shifted the boy higher up in your arms, ignoring the fact that he was now fascinated with tugging on your badge. “Well, since he’s non-verbal or just doesn’t trust cops—” you shot the kid a look as he stuck his tongue out at you, “—we check if anyone nearby recognizes him, then start canvassing the area for a parent or guardian.”

Tim nodded, pulling out his phone to start a quick log of the call. “Good. But we’re also keeping an eye out for any signs of neglect or foul play. If this kid wasn’t just wandering, but was left out here, we’re dealing with something else.”

You scanned the sidewalk, spotting a few bystanders watching the commotion. A woman in gym clothes, an older man with a dog, and a guy sipping a coffee outside a corner store. “I’ll start asking around.”

Before Tim could even respond, the toddler, apparently done with being in your arms, reached for him instead. Without thinking, Tim took him, freezing for half a second as the kid clung to his vest like he was a jungle gym. You bit back a laugh as Tim adjusted his hold, his expression unreadable.

You grinned as you watched Tim shift uncomfortably, holding the toddler like he was a ticking time bomb. One hand awkwardly under the kid’s legs, the other hovering near his back like he was debating whether full support was necessary.

“Damn, sir,” you teased, crossing your arms. “You’re holding him like he’s got an explosive vest on. You’ve never looked after a kid before?”

Tim gave you a dry look, adjusting his grip as the toddler started tugging on his radio strap. “Oh, I have,” he shot back, glancing at you. “Just ones that are your size, attitude, and energy level.”

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “So you admit I’m a handful.”

“I’ve admitted that since day one, kid.”

The toddler giggled, smacking a tiny hand against Tim’s cheek, and you nearly doubled over laughing. “Guess he agrees.”

Ignoring you, Tim turned back to his radio. “7-Adam-19, negative on immediate guardian identification. Starting canvass now.” He sighed, looking down at the kid, who was now playing with one of the straps on his vest. Tim just sighed, shifting the boy to his other arm. “Let’s just find his damn parents before you start recruiting him for game night.”

You smirked as you led the way, making a mental note to never let Tim live this down.

With no immediate leads on his parents, you and Tim had no choice but to hunker down and wait for backup. The problem? The kid, who had blabbered his name along the way, now identified as Benny, had the energy of a caffeinated raccoon.

“Okay, buddy,” you said, setting him down on the sidewalk. “You like games? Let’s play a game called sit still.”

Benny immediately took off running.

Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, saw that one coming.”

You scrambled after the toddler, catching him just before he faceplanted into a newspaper stand. Lifting him back up, you groaned. “This is not in the Rook Book.”

Tim huffed. “Nope. But I did warn you about dealing with kids.”

You shot him a look. “What part of this is training me to be a cop? Huh? What do I put in my notes? T.O. Bradford made me babysit a rogue toddler who slapped me and then tried to flee the scene?”

Tim smirked. “Sounds like a solid report.”

Before you could respond, Benny grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked.

“Ow! Dude!”

Tim didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “Yeah, welcome to law enforcement, kid. Unpredictable perps, constant chaos, and at least one person crying. Usually you.”

You scowled, bouncing Benny slightly to distract him from turning you into his personal stress toy. “Great. Love that for me.”

Benny, of course, took that as his cue to stick his fingers in his mouth, then wipe them on your uniform.

Tim chuckled, shaking his head. “Should’ve worn the rain-resistant vest.”

“I hate you,” you grumbled, wiping off the toddler slobber.

Just then, Benny started reaching toward Tim. The man who had mocked your struggles for the past ten minutes suddenly went stiff. “Oh no. No, no, no—”

But it was too late. Benny was full-on grabbing for him.

Biting back a laugh, you handed him over. “Your turn, sir.”

Tim held the kid awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure which part to support. Benny, meanwhile, was having a great time, kicking his little legs and babbling nonsense.

You smirked. “You’re holding him like he’s gonna explode.”

Tim shot you a glare. “I told you—I’ve babysat your level of chaos before, not actual toddlers.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but then—miraculously—Benny started to settle. He clung onto Tim’s vest, his tiny fingers gripping the straps. His big, tear-filled eyes blinked up at Tim before he rested his head against his chest.

You gawked. “No way.”

Tim looked equally horrified. “What just happened?”

“You soothed him,” you said, completely in shock. “Bradford, I think you’re his comfort person now.”

Tim stared down at the now very content Benny. “That’s unfortunate.”

Before you could tease him further, you spotted a man outside the corner store, frozen in shock.

“Oh my God—Benny?!”

The toddler perked up. “Dada!”

Tim exhaled, “Well. That was easy.” He pulled out his radio, “7-Adam-19, we have a possible guardian on scene, verifying ID now.”

You smirked. “Almost too easy. Suspiciously easy.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, or maybe not everything in life has to be a full-blown homicide case, kid.”

After verifying the man’s ID and handing Benny back, you couldn’t resist one last dig as you clapped Tim on the shoulder.

“Well, look at that. We saved the day and you got some practice for fatherhood.”

Tim gave you a blank stare. “I will leave you on the side of the road.” He muttered, giving Benny one last glance before calling it in, “7-Adam-19, show us Code 4 on the found child. Guardian verified, child reunited. Cancel additional unit and 415P broadcast.”

Cackling, you walked back toward the shop. “Come on, Dadford, let’s get back to work.”

As the two of you headed back to the shop, you couldn’t help but glance over at Tim, who was still adjusting his vest like he was trying to shake off the feeling of tiny toddler hands gripping it.

“You know,” you mused, smirking, “for someone who claims he doesn’t do kids, you sure handled that like a natural.”

Tim scoffed. “Yeah? Well, let’s add ‘temporary babysitting’ to the list of things they should put in the manual but don’t.”

You snorted. “Right under ‘how to survive game night’ and ‘rookie hazing 101’?”

“Exactly.”

The radio crackled to life, dispatch calling in another unit for backup, and just like that, it was back to business as usual. But as you settled into your seat, you made a mental note to bring this up at game night—because if nothing else, you had just witnessed the impossible.

Tim Bradford, LAPD’s toughest T.O., had been chosen by a toddler.

And that was going in the unofficial rookie handbook.

Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Female Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Male Reader - Someone nice, somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

.<Warnings/Promises: Angel Dust x Virgin Female!Reader, smut, fingering, lubed to the gods, Angel uses four arms, Valentino is a blind bag of smashed assholes, creampie, oral, the gentlest sex I’ve ever written (probably), an alarming towel>

listen here virgins, if I could craft a perfect first time for you, this is it. Minus the lack of condoms because—it’s hell? Sex workers are tested bi-weekly?? This is still a fantasy??? Just if anything, please take from this the importance of a safe and trusting environment at all times 🙏

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when you said you’d never actually orgasmed before, everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.

Continuing with the evening’s theme of surprise, you hadn’t expected Angel to catch up to you when everyone was filing off to bed. His hand gently reached for your wrist, “Hey ya got a sec?”

For Angel, the epitome of smiling through the pain, you’d give him the remainder of your time in hell if he just asked. Every second, his.“Always!”

“So uh”, he rubbed the back of his neck, “about bein’ a virgin and all that.” Your stomach dropped, was the famous porn star about to embarrass you into a second death?“I think it’s real important that like— knowin’ yourself, and what makes you feel good is like super healthy. I dunno if you are interested in that kinda stuff but,” he was wildly moving his hands round, nervously stumbling over his words, “I’d be happy to help ya out.”

All of the blood rushed to your face.

“Oh fuck!” Angel grabbed your head and tipped it forward, “I would have accepted a simple no, jesus!” With one hand pinching your nose, he led you into his room just down the hall.

What— what was happening, exactly? At all? In general? With your entire existence?

He kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed a handful of tissues, “Keep your head forward. Everyone who says tilt it back is an idiot.”

His hand was red when he drew it from your face, using his other hand to now hold tissues between his fingers as he pinched your nose shut.

“Is- is my nose bleeding??” Your voice cracked.

“Does that happen often?”

“Never.”

“Well I got to help you with at least one first, right?” Angel laughed, moving his hands away as you took over the task.

Oh, right. The offer. You glanced around the room, small but lived-in. Everything was pink and purple and soft.

“Angel, do you think because you’re a sex worker, you have to help me?” The room fell silent. Angel completely still beside you. You would love someone you could trust to take your virginity, but you would never want to use Angel like so many other people did on a daily basis.

“Ya know— a lot of people get real confused about this.” He sighed, chest heavy with the many misconceptions others had, “What I do for work, what I gotta do to get through the day, has nothin’ to do with who I am as a person.” You turned to look at him, “Why should I limit my experiences because of what other people have done to me?” The words hit you like a truck. You had unintentionally boxed him into his job, in turn into his trauma, summing him up as a warm body and incapable of any depth past that. Just a sex worker.

“No, no I didn’t mean anything like that. I just, I don’t want to ever,” you grabbed two of his hands, “ever take advantage of your kindness.” You squeezed, “or any part of you.”

His frown turned up, “We’re dead, yea, but you still exist. If you want to, you should enjoy every part of your afterlife. And I’d hate you to meet some asshole who’s too rough or doesn’t get ya warmed up first. A bad first time can be really traumatizin’.”

You nodded without actually thinking. Your brain wasn’t really processing meaning, his words were just soft and kind and your nose still stuffed full of tissue.

“Do you wanna?”

You nodded more vigorously, “Did my nose start bleeding again?”

Angel took the tissue away, giving a second to see, “Nope.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay. Yeah, I want that. Someone nice, somewhere safe.”

“It ain’t quite nice but-,” Angel looked around his room.

“It’s perfect, Angel.”

“Aw fuck, I should clean up,” he hurriedly carried trash from his nightstand, flattening out the comforter and adjusting his pillows. He placed fat nuggets on the floor with a little pat on the head.

Finally, he stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, two gesturing to you.

“Alright baby! Let’s pop some cherries! Undress~” he elongated the word, shimmying his hips a little, “-to your comfort level.” He began to unbutton his blazer, “Bare minimum, take off your pants and underwear, please and thank you. Though I have fucked through underwear…” He was momentarily lost in a memory.

You hadn’t anticipated getting naked in front of a friend tonight. But Angel so effortlessly shed his clothes, peeling off his gloves. Pulling off your pants, you paused.

“Is it weird if I keep my shirt on? Like— do you know who Winnie the Pooh is?”

“Nothin’ weird about bein’ comfortable, pookie.” He pinched your cheek, “I’d offer a modesty blanket but I kinda need to see what I’m doing.” His eyes flitted to the left, “No, wanna. I wanna see.” Angel’s laugh relaxed you, the idea of anyone wanting to see you made you feel a little less—-naked. Still, your hands seemed frozen on your underwear’s edge.

With a hum, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “Go on, lie down. I’ll help ya relax. This is already feeling too medical-like.”

Were you going to need a towel? Were you going to need a towel?? Were you going to need a towel!?

You sat back on his bed, and when he crawled up to meet you, all legs and arms and Angel Dust, you buried your face in your hands.

“Oh hey—,” his voice was so soft, lacking its usual sass, “Wanna just, cuddle and watch stupid shit on my phone?” You groaned, face sinking further down. This would be easier if he wasn’t so sweet. You could at least take a backseat, then.

You shook your head, and felt his hand on your ankle. It snaked up your calf, slipped down your knee and thigh, finding the waistband of your underwear. When you looked up from your hiding place, Angel was a foot from your face. His features lit only by the purple neon signs hanging beside his bed and near the door. He lifted his brows, a question he didn’t need to vocalize. You sank back into the purple and pink pillows, different sizes, different textures, gently enveloping you.

With two hands now, he slide off your underwear. You might die, again. Your heart would give out any second, incapable of handling the moment. You were manually breathing.

He lifted your hips with two hands, a third sliding the towel beneath you before setting you back down.

“Do ya-,” he was rummaging now inside the nightstand drawer, “not play with yourself? Ever?”

“Not really. Not like, there.”

“Whaddya do with all your free time?” His short but enthusiastic laughter forced a smile to your cheeks. Angel slid the drawer shut and came to rest in front of your tightly shut thighs and knees. You heard a cap pop, and found the courage to sit up and see what he was doing.

“What?” He squeezed a clear, thick lubricant onto his right hand, “Nerves can make holes dry like nothin’ else. No fun for no one, trust me. Could start a fuckin’ fire—- and spit ain’t lube!” Angel said it like he spoke from a personal experience.

Ah, the towel. That made sense now.

“Should I do something?”

“Just lie back, baby~,” he opened your knees and followed your face as you settled back down, “Do you like kissin’?”

You’d kiss a trashcan if Angel said it got him hot, so, “Yeah.”

“Good,” One hand touched your cheek, sliding to your chin as he brought your lips to his. You thought you’d melt, his hands so soft on you, lips confident and sure. He used his thumb on your chin to pull down your bottom lip and ask you for entrance. When you opened up to him, his tongue slid into yours as his sticky wet hand finally came into contact between your legs. Two fingers rubbing the lube up and a down your pussy.

You nearly inhaled him with your shock, he giggled into it, “You’re so cute.” You twitched under his hand, “Ooh, and reactive! Daddy likes.”

Stop. Stop talking. I’m going to black out.

His mouth returned to yours, tongue over your tongue, as his fingers just massaged your entrance. No attempt at entering, no prodding, just gentle up and down motions. Slowly, your felt your skin heating beneath his hand, the lubricant somewhat melting with your warmth.

At work, Angel was never the lead. Never the top, and never afforded time to ease anyone open. He had no issues with sleeping with women, it was just usually for money or a shoot. Not his preferred flavor, but he could still get it up. Watching you sigh and twitch under him felt like a treat. Such a sweet response to what so many people made unnecessarily dirty at work. He wasn’t shocked to find his cock twitching, swelling as your breathing hitched with every stroke of his hand. When was the last time he could just… slow down? Be the one in control? Not control like Val, control like—- can I get you a pillow? Is the pacing good? Let’s soften these lights. Hold my hand, sweetheart.

His head felt a little dizzy. His middle finger pressed now, and with a slow but constant motion entered you. ‘Uncomfortable’ was the best word. Your body tensed around him, but he gently pressed passed your virgin walls. He hummed, “First one down! Atleast,” he paused, “two more to go.”

“Atleast??” You shook your head.

“It’s sex math, trust the professional in the room.” He withdrew the finger and slid it back in, starting a slow pace of long drags from knuckle to fingertip.

It didn’t hurt, to his credit. The excitement of having Angel touching you so intimately made the finger easier to relax into. Angel must have noticed, his finger leaving you. He popped the top again of his lube and pressed in two fingers. This was harder. You whined, his fingertips pushing past the tight entrance of your cunt and settling into the wet warmth behind.

Lying on your back, you stared at the now upside-down photos behind his bed. He looked so happy. Could you join that wall? Was this wall worthy?

“You still good?” He leaned over you, fingers moving.

You nodded, “Can I have another kiss?”

Ah, you might as well have punched him in the chest. “Of course, darlin’~ Ask and you shall receive.” You liked kissing, genuinely, but were always scared you’d kiss someone too long and end up in an awkward situation having to explain you weren’t wanting sex. But that fear was all gone, you’d broken the code. Get naked first, then kiss.

You smiled into his mouth, and he smiled back, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I like kissing you.” You leaned up, pressing your lips to his chin. His fingers quickened, and you moaned without warning. You felt your self grip his finger, nervousness slinking away and finally letting you feel aroused.

“Ooh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he leaned back, repeating the same steps and trying to press a third finger into you. His abundance of hands were a blessing, one at your entrance, one on your knee to keep your shaking legs open, and two roaming down the sides of your body. When three fingers finally entered, you could feel the burning stretch of your skin around them. He pushed in, and the skin followed. He pulled out, your sensitive hole pulling too. The hand on your knee came to your crotch, his palm pressing lightly down on your clit. You glanced up to him, his eyes focused as he watched his fingers slowly drag in and out of you. It burned still, but just past that burning was a slippery sensation that made your lap warm with the rush of blood.

He let his fingers sink in entirely, before bending and feeling inside you. Your knee jumped when he hit something.

“Bingo! Say hello to your g-spot.” He beamed down at you, gold tooth shining, “Not everyone needs it to cum but oooh boooy does it maximize pleasure,” it sounded so pornographic when he said it.

You weakly copied, “B-bingo.”

“Three fingers means I can do this now~” he replaced his palm with his fingers, sticky with lube. His long digits were fast and practiced as he rubbed your clit. “Sex math. Dont need your virgin pussy locking up on me.” He said quietly to himself, fingers in and out of you picking up speed. Your head was pressing into the pillows as your neck strained, you’d never masturbated while someone, something, penetrated you. Every stroke of his fingers made your body spasm, the feeling of something hard and unforgiving pushing back against your quivering walls made a pleasure you couldn’t describe.

“Feelin’ good yet?” The way he said it, he knew damn well how you were feeling.

You whimpered into one of the pillows, “Yeah, it’s starting to feel good.” A weak nod.

Angel’s grin bordered on wicked, hand slowing. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your clit. Then another. His tongue flattened against his bottom lip as he dragged it over your sensitive bud of nerves.

You moaned, a half spoken-half cried, “Oh fuck, Angel-.” Hips bucking up, his fingers kept their place and followed. You humped up against his tongue, ground down into his fingers; up, down. Soft tongue, rigid fingers.

“Like that? Watch this,” He cupped his mouth over your clit and began strumming it with his tongue. Fat and flat, then thin and sharp. His fingers slowed, now just bending to hit your soft g-spot again and again.

One hand held tightly to the pillow, the other coming to Angel’s hair. Your body kept jumping away from overstimulation but you fought against it every time and tried to grind against his face.

He lifted his mouth off you with a deliberate pop, “Feelin’ good?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Ready for the real thing?”

“Yeah. I want to feel more, Angel.” It came out as more of a whine than you meant.

His hand came to his erection, red and leaking. Stroking himself, he returned to massaging at your entrance, fingers dipping in then out.

“You comfortable with getting on your knees? This position ain’t so conducive for what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Somehow, ass up sounded better than face to face, “You’re the expert.” You rolled onto your stomach, hips up, face resting into the sea of pillows. You paused, lifted off your now sweaty shirt, and got back into position.

“Sexpert, but thank you!” The lid popped open again, cold and viscous lube being dripped directly onto pussy, “Finally some recognition around here.” He coated himself with what was still on his hands, and raised your hips to line himself up.

“Deep breaths, okay?” He leaned over your back, kisses falling down your skin. Two hands held your hips, one guided himself into you. You tensed when his head began to push in, “Relaaax, just like the fingers.”

A muffled, “okay” from your place in the pile. Your heart was suddenly racing, the tight coil of pleasure his mouth summoned now gone. He wiped his dick up and down your folds, swiping past your entrance. Lining up, he pushed in, getting his head firmly sunk into you.

“Breath, baby,” he moaned into your shoulder. You took a deep breath in, your body tight still. But, it didn’t hurt like you’d thought. It burned, but there was no sting, no tearing. Angel’s hands ran up and down your sides, along you ass and thighs. He gently touched everywhere he could reach, until he felt you soften, “Ready to keep going?”

“Yes please”, you turned your head to look at him.

He pulled out slightly to collect more lube on his shaft, before slowly sinking into you until he bottomed out.

You were gasping, your brain misfiring. You couldn’t feel anything but him, your body just a formless thought with Angel’s warm, solid cock reaching deeper into than you thought possible. One roaming hand reached for your shoulder, “Can I move?”

“Slow,” your hand searched for a loose fold of comforter to grip, but it was soon encased and intertwined by one of his.

He pulled out, and slowly thrust back in. A saccharine moan fell from his mouth, and it made you whimper.

You were so soft around him, yet gripping him so snuggly he felt like he was melting into your walls. His breath was unsteady, “You feel so good on my cock, baby.” A burning blush took over your face, a rush of pleasure electrifying your clit.

“How ya doin’?” Angel sounded nervous, timid.

You had to collect saliva to get any words out, mouth running dry from panting, “S’good.” You tried again, “So good.” Your fingers tightened around his.

He adjusted his hips, watching you closely. When your eyes closed and your hand nearly broke his, he grinned down, “Bingo~,” his speed began to pick up.

“Right there,” you whimpered, “please don’t stop, right there Angel.” You dragged out the last syllable of his name. You could feel a pressure building in your lower stomach.

Angel took languid thrusts out to the tip and pushing back past your still resisting entrance. Every time he pulled out and slipped in felt better than before. The sensations of him opening you around his cock again and again had your stomach and thighs tensing. You brought your hand up to press at your clit, finger frantically moving. You felt something building, you were desperate to reach its climax.

Angel’s hand came down and pushed yours aside, his fingers strong and not shaking with your impending orgasm.

“Almost- Angel pleeeease! Don’t stop- keep—” You squeezed his hand tighter, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. His repeated pressing of your g-spot pushed you over the edge, hand slowing only slightly.

"You can do it, baby. Come on. Almost there~" His words fell apart in his mouth, his own moans getting louder, your cunt tightening in spasms as your first orgasm tore through you. Your body was so inviting, warm walls sucking his head deeper. He rarely got to feel this sensation, barely ever chosen as the one doing the fucking, let alone fucking a woman. His head rested against your back, hands running along the curve of your hips as he melted into your sweet heat.

He picked up speed, only drawing out an inch or so now with each thrust. The lube made a pop and squelch every time his skin pulled from yours, the sound making his legs weak.

“Where can I cum?” His breath was raspy, messy with the pleasure of your soft insides rubbing along his shaft. You gripped the blanket, orgasm still rolling from the feeling of Angel chasing his release with your body. You could hear the strain in his voice, “Gonna need an answer real fast, babe.” You hid your face in the pillow mountain again, embarrassed to answer.

“Inside,” you tried to say it loudly enough for him to hear.

He whimpered a, “Fuuuuck” down your spine, “Such a dirty little virgin.” His hips stuttered before he sunk into you with such force your legs gave out. Your body came down flush onto the bed. Angel was pressed into you, chest against your back as his breathing calmed. You could feel his heart through your ribs, his chest fluff silky on your skin. Your body was warm, his hot cum filling you.

Small, lazy kisses on your back, then up your neck, he leaned to kiss your cheek. He slid out of you delicately, but you didn’t move. His weight left the bed, then returned as a warm, wet cloth wiped you clean. After a couple of minutes of gentle cleaning, you felt the throw blanket cover your back. Angel plopped down on his back beside you, pulling the blanket over his legs and unlocking his phone, “Wanna see this fuckin’ hilarious video of my boss runnin’ into a glass wall?”

You chuckled, “More than anything.” He side eyed you, “Well, not anything.”

“Right answer, toots,” One of his hands came down and settled on your hair, he leaned in to your head and as you watched Valentino collide head first into a wall, he said softly, “Let me know if you need anything. I got a bitchin’ tub in there.”

You hummed, reaching a shakey hand up and pressing ‘replay’ on his phone. Angel’s laughter echoed off the walls, and you decided you had no plans on leaving bed anytime soon.

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Tim Bradford x fem!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: While you visit Tim at the station, you are too nice to a teenager he just arrested. To your boyfriend's exasperation, you pay the bail for the kid and cook him a warm dinner.

Warnings: don't think so, pure fluff, not proofread yet

Fluff Requested: Yes Words: 2.5k

GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

"So," Lucy began tentatively, stealing a glance at the sergeant. "I saw you the other day. Looking at those rings."

"Chen." Tim warned his aide.

"Are you proposing to Y/N?" she pressed, her excitement bubbling over.

"That's not your business."

But Lucy wasn't about to let it go. "Look," she said eagerly, "If you need help picking the ring, I can help. I can – I don't know, have a little talk, find out what kind of ring she wants."

"I've got this, thanks," his voice was tinged with a hint of annoyance.

"We both know you don't." Lucy leaned back, "An engagement ring is not just any jewelry she can hide in a closet if she doesn't like it."

"I think I know what she wants."

"Remember her birthday present?" she reminded him, earning an accusing glance from Tim. "Just saying. Please, at least consider it, for Y/N."

Lucy opened her mouth to say more, but Tim's eyes caught something up ahead. His expression shifted to one of relief, a welcome distraction from Lucy's insistence.

"Hold that thought."

She followed his gaze and saw a young boy attempting to break into a parked car. The kid couldn't have been more than fifteen, his hands fumbling nervously with the lock. Tim pulled the shop to a stop and got out, Lucy following closely behind.

"Dispatch, this is Sergeant Bradford. We've got a possible 459 in progress at the corner of 4th and Main."

"Hey! Step away from the car!" Tim called out, his voice authoritative.

The boy froze, his eyes wide with fear. He turned to run, but Lucy was already moving, cutting off his escape route. "It's okay," she said gently, her demeanor softening. "We're not here to hurt you."

Tim approached, his expression softening just a bit."What do you think you're doing?"

The boy stammered, "I—I wasn't going to steal it, I swear. I just... I need some money. My mom's sick, and we can't afford the meds."

The boy looked down at his feet and Lucy sighed, recognising the familiar signs of desperation. "Look, we can help you. But breaking into cars isn't the way to go."

"You need to come with us and tell us everything. We'll figure something out."

The shop was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the sound of Lucy's fingers tapping on her phone. Tim glanced over at her, his focus shifting between the road and his aide's ever-present curiosity.

"TouristPlanet says that Hawaii is number one for proposals," Lucy broke the silence, her eyes never leaving the phone.

"Chen, I don't need help. I've done it before, I know how it works," Tim replied, exasperated but with a hint of amusement.

Lucy ignored his brush-off. "Oh, but I love Y/N! I just want everything to be perfect for her. I mean, it's huge."

Tim sighed, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "And you don't think I love her enough to make this special?"

"I didn't say that," Lucy replied quickly. "You've done it before, it's not a big deal for you. But it's her first proposal and she loves you."

"It is a big deal," Tim admitted, his voice softer now. "I think I love her even more than I loved Isabel back then. So it's more complicated now."

Lucy’s eyes widened in surprise, a soft smile spreading across her face. "You have a heart after all."

"Chen. Shut up." he shot her a warning sideways glance, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, sir."

As you step into the bustling station, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sugary donuts fills the air, mingling with the sound of urgent radio chatter and shuffling footsteps. You clutch the cardboard tray tighter, a smile playing on your lips as you navigate through the familiar chaos, scanning the faces for Tim's unmistakable handsomeness.

Not finding him among the desks, you make your way to Grey's office, offering a cheery wave before stepping inside.

"Morning, Sarge."

Grey glances up from his paperwork, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Y/N. Always a pleasure to have you around," he responds welcoming.

With a graceful motion, you offer him a cup of steaming coffee and gesture towards the assortment of donuts nestled in the box. The sergeant chuckles softly, accepting the offering with a nod of appreciation.

"Please do come more often," he jests, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply playfully but your attention is elsewhere, your gaze still searching the room for that familiar figure. "You know where I can find Tim?"

With a knowing nod, Grey gestures for you to follow him as he leads the way towards the processing room. As you step inside, the atmosphere shifts from bustling activity to a more subdued intensity.

"Bradford. You have a visitor," Grey announces, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Tim looks up from his paperwork, his gaze meeting yours, and a soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips. His gaze lifts, his expression softening at the sight of you standing there, a welcome interruption to the monotony of his day.

"Hey," he greets you, a flicker of surprise in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

You set the tray of treats down on a nearby table and close the distance between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. "Hey handsome," you reply, your voice muffled against his chest. "You left early and I thought you could use some coffee."

Tim’s strong arms pulled you closer, the familiar scent of his cologne mingles with the coffee and donuts, grounding you in the moment. You feel his strong, warm body melting in your arms and the steady beat of his heart, a gentle reminders of how much you love him.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into his eyes, which are now filled with a gentle warmth that belies his grumpiness.Tim’s hand finds yours, giving it a gentle squeeze before he releases you.

"You’re a lifesaver."

Lucy wander into the room, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the treats. "Y/N, you spoil us," she teases, reaching for a donut.

Your eyes drift across the room, settling on a teenage boy obediently following an officer's commands, his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. Concern wells up inside you.

"Tim," you ask softly, nodding towards the boy, "what's with the kid? What's he doing here?"

He glances over at the kid, his expression hardening. "Kid tried to break into a car. Said he needed the money to pay for his mom's meds."

Your heart aches at the sight of the innocent boy, his face etched with fear and worry. "What's going to happen to him?" you ask, your voice soft with concern.

Tim sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "He'll probably get away with bail. First offense, and the circumstances are... mitigating."

Moved by the boy’s plight, you make a decision. “Tim, can I have your card?” you ask, reaching out your hand.

Your boyfriend eyes you warily, his brow furrowing. "Why?"

"Just trust me."

He frowns but doesn't question your request further. He fishes a card from his pocket and hands it to you. As you reach for the box of donuts, his frown deepens.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" he asks, his voice rising with annoyance.

You stop to meet his gaze, "Trust me, please."

Tim watches you walk over to the boy and kneel down, his jaw tightening. "This is ridiculous," he mutters under his breath, his grumpiness evident as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Can I have a minute with him?" you ask Lucy, who is in the midst of processing the boy.

Lucy looks over at Tim, seeking his approval. His eyes narrow, but he gives a curt nod, though his frustration is palpable. Lucy steps aside, joining your boyfriend as they watch you with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Hi, there." you say softly, your voice kind and shooting, "I'm Y/N. What's your name?"

"Charlie."

"Well, Charlie, Sergeant Bradford told me you're in some kind of trouble." you say gently, your heart breaking at his situation.

The boy looks up at you, tears welling in his eyes. "I didn't mean to do anything wrong. I– I just want to help mom."

"I know, sweetheart. You hungry?" you ask, offering him a comforting smile.

Charlie nods, and you hand him the box full of donuts. His eyes widen in surprise and gratitude as he takes it.

You write your name and number on Tim's card and hand it to him. "It's gonna be okay for now. But if you have any other problems, please give us a call. If you don't want to talk to Bradford, you can call me, okay?"

"Thanks. I– I will," Charlie says, clutching the card like a lifeline.

"Where's your mom?" you ask, wanting to understand more about his situation.

"In hospital. She– uh, she has cancer and treatment is expensive."

"You stay with her at the hospital?" you ask gently, your mind already made up to help him.

Charlie nods, tears brimming in his eyes. Determined to do more, you know you'll pay his bail and offer any support you can.

Tim strides over, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern. His grumpiness, which had momentarily melted away, returns in full force. "Alright, that's enough," he says, his voice firm and edged with frustration. "We need to get things moving."

You stand up, giving Charlie one last reassuring smile. "Remember, call me if you need anything," you say before turning to Tim.

He looks at you, his irritation clear. "Y/N, you can't save everyone," he mutters, shaking his head. "This isn't your job."

You meet his gaze, "I know. But I can try to help one," you reply softly.

"You really shouldn't get involved like that," he says, his voice softer now, filled with concern.

"I know."

He sighs, reaching to take your hand into his. "But I love that about you. Just...promise me you'll be careful. For my sake."

You squeeze his hand, smiling warmly. "I promise."

The end of the shift greets Tim and Lucy walking towards their cars, the sky darkening with the onset of evening. The station is quieter now, the earlier hustle and bustle giving way to the calm of a winding-down day. He's itching to get home, to feel the warmth and comfort of your presence, to escape the relentless grind of the day.

"Hey, Tim," Lucy starts, glancing at him curiously. "Did you pay the bail for that Charlie boy we arrested this morning?"

Tim raises an eyebrow, surprised. "No, why?"

"Because someone did," Lucy explains, frowning. "I checked, and he doesn’t have any other family besides his mom. I can't figure out who would have done it."

His eyes narrow, and then it hits him. "I think I know who."

The drive home is a blur as he processes the day's events. When he finally steps through the front door, he’s greeted by the comforting aroma of dinner cooking and the sound of upbeat song playing in the background.

"Sweetheart, I'm home," he calls out, his voice echoing through the house.

You turn around, a bright smile on your face. "Hey, babe. Come, come. Dinner's almost ready."

Tim steps into the kitchen, and his eyes widen in pure shock as he spots Charlie sitting at the island, a plate of snacks in front of him.

"Y/N, a word," Tim says, his voice tight.

"Make yourself at home, Charlie. We'll be right back."

You give the kid a big smile while Tim forces a very strained one, then you follow him to the bedroom. He closes the door behind you with more force than necessary, his frustration evident.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Tim demands, his voice rising in anger.

"I know, I'm sorry. I should've talked to you. But I couldn't let him stay in jail. He's been sleeping in a hospital chair, Babe. God knows when it was the last time he had a proper, warm meal. There's no one to look after him."

Tim runs a hand through his hair, his anger barely contained. "I can't believe you did that. You’ve got ourselves a puppy," he mutters, his tone sharp.

"What?" you ask, confused.

"Nothing."

You place a gentle hand on his arm, your eyes pleading. "Tim, listen to me. This kid needs help. He's scared and alone. I couldn't just walk away."

You step even closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the tension in his muscles.

"You can't just bring home a stray. This is serious, Y/N. We're not a shelter."

"Charlie is not a stray, he needs help. His mom is in the hospital with cancer, and he's been trying to fend for himself," you explain, "We have the means to help him, at least for one night."

"This isn't just about money or means, Y/N. It's about safety and boundaries. We can't take in every kid with a sob story."

"I get that, but this isn't just any kid. You saw him today, baby. He's not a criminal; he's just a boy trying to help his mom," you argue, stepping closer to him. "We can't turn our backs on him."

Tim's frustration is simmering beneath the surface. "Damn it, Y/N. This is exactly why I worry about you. You have a big heart, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

You rested your head on his chest. "I know. But I can't just turn my back when someone needs help. I get involved because I care," you say softly, meeting his eyes, "And you care too, whether you want to admit it or not."

"I can't say no to you, can I?" he mutters, his voice a mix of exasperation and affection.

You smile up at him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Tim looks at you, his grumpiness warring with his love for you. "I can't believe I'm agreeing to this," he sighs again, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you even closer, "Just one night," he says, "And then we figure out what to do next."

You nod, relief flooding through you. "I promise. Just one night."

Pressing a kiss to your forehead, his grumpiness is melting away, "You're impossible, you know that?" a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"I know," you reply, smiling back at him. "But you love me anyway."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I do," he admits, his voice tender. "Now let's go see how our guest is doing."

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myfictionalbfs

5 months ago

Next Year

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (w/ retinoblastoma + a prosthetic eye)

Summary: Tim accompanies you to your yearly ophthalmologist appointment for the first time.

Warnings: depictions of anxiety about dr visit, fluff, comfort

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Are you going to Lucy’s party?” Angela asks as she walks into the station beside Tim.

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Did you get invited yet? Because you can’t say no before she asks you.”

“Tim!” Lucy calls.

“When’s the party?” he asks.

“A week from today.”

“Can’t. Maybe next time.”

Angela shrugs, conceding defeat, but Lucy wants to know why Tim refuses to attend. Usually, he’ll say he doesn’t want to, but his short answer - can’t - intrigues her.

“Why not?” she inquires, walking quickly to keep up with Tim’s long strides through the station.

“I’m going out of town that day,” Tim says.

“Why?”

“Chen,” Tim sighs, stopping to face her. “I can’t go to your party, I’m sorry.”

“Okay. But, where are you going?”

“Is no not sufficient?”

“Tim, c’mon, give me something so I don’t just assume you hate me and never want to see me outside of work.”

Tim raises his brows, and Lucy shakes her head quickly. He knows he can’t get out of this easily or quickly, so he blows out a breath and explains, “I’m going to San Francisco with my girlfriend.”

Lucy’s eyes widen as she gasps. “Are you proposing?” she whispers.

“What? No.”

“Why else would you be taking her up there, then? You can tell me if you’re proposing, I’m really good at keeping secrets.”

“Not something to brag about in a police station, Chen.”

“I’ll ask Angela to interrogate you.”

“It’s a doctor’s appointment,” Tim admits. “And truly none of your business.”

“A doctor’s- Is everything okay?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out, so we can’t come to your party, but if you keep this between us, I will make sure I come to the next one.”

“Keep what between you?” Wade asks.

Lucy presses her forefinger to her lips and nods once, but Tim rolls his eyes and answers, “Next week.”

“Ah,” Wade murmurs. “Tell her we’re keeping her in our thoughts and let us know if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Tim sees the look of hurt that flashes across Lucy’s face at not being included in whatever it is you’re dealing with. Yet, she knows that medical issues can be stressful enough without a bunch of cops asking you questions or treating you differently.

“I’ll see you at the next party then,” Chen says. “And bring me some Ghirardelli!”

“No.”

“Are you ready?” Tim asks as he turns his truck off in the parking garage.

You look at him from your place in the passenger seat and shake your head. “I’m nervous.”

Tim takes your hand over the console and smiles as he promises, “Everything’s going to be fine. Even if it’s not, we’ll deal with it. Okay? And just think about the cheesecake you get later.”

You take a shaky breath and smile as you nod. Tim squeezes your hand before he exits the truck, walks to your door, and takes your hand as you walk to your doctor’s office. The waiting room is tiny, and you cross your fingers as Tim opens the door that it’s not busy. You’re anxious enough without having to stand or step around other people while you wait.

“Good morning,” the receptionist greets.

She’s new, you realize, and you offer a small smile as you tell her your name and birthday.

“Alright,” she says after typing for a moment. “I’ve got you checked in and they’ll call you back shortly.”

“Thank you,” Tim tells her, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you to a chair.

You clasp your hands together in your lap to hide your shakiness from Tim, but when your leg starts bouncing beside him, you realize it’s pointless. He’ll see your anxiety even without the outward responses.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to him.

Tim nods once and watches you walk to the bathroom before he looks at the small table beside his seat. There’s a pamphlet about retinoblastoma, and he picks it up to read the back as he waits for you.

With your hand on the doorknob, preparing to exit the restroom, you realize that you’ll probably have to come straight back. It’s one of the more annoying responses to anxiety, the constant bathroom breaks. When you remember that Tim is waiting outside for you, you feel better.

“What are you reading?” you ask as you sit beside him, leaning toward him.

Tim flips the pamphlet closed, and you smile as you furrow your brows.

“It is my first time,” he points out. “You’ve told me a lot, but I’m not going to pretend like I know exactly what you’ve dealt with or have to go through every year.”

You wrap your fingers around Tim’s forearm as your leg begins bobbing up and down again. He extends his arm over your torso to rest his hand on your leg. Almost immediately, a nurse opens the door and calls your name.

“I’ll be right here,” Tim promises.

You follow the nurse into a small exam room and try to listen to her instructions on reading the charts to test your vision. You’ve done this every year for as long as you remember, so you know how to do it. Still, you haven’t cracked the code to eliminate the anxiety that comes with the yearly doctor visits.

“Read these letters,” she prompts.

Resisting the urge to squint, you read, “A, K, L, M.”

“Good, and these?”

“Y… uh, P? E, R.”

“Okay,” the nurse mumbles before showing you more letters. “Good, done with that. Now we’ll check your eye pressure and dilute your eyes for the doctor’s examination. Do you have any questions about that?” You shake your head, and she smiles as she prepares the numbing drops. “Tip your chin up toward me slightly?” she requests. “Good. Open nice and wide.”

You blink after the drops hit your right eye, and she quickly moves to do the other side. A moment later, she instructs you to sit closer to the machine that checks your eye pressure. After the pressure is checked and your retina is imaged by the retinal camera, she instructs you to turn toward her.

“Time for the worst part,” she announces. “Tip your chin up again? Thank you.”

As the dilation drops begin working, you swallow to get the taste out of your throat. You can feel the drops draining down the back of your throat as your vision shifts, growing farsighted. Luckily, you return to the waiting room before it gets too bad. Tim appears blurry as you sit beside him and wordlessly pull his arm against your chest to hold his hand. He turns to lay his other hand on your knee and brushes his thumb against your inner thigh.

“Feel okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you answer against his arm. “Just don’t like the dilation.”

“Nobody does,” Tim whispers, as if it’s a secret. “What happens next?”

You appreciate Tim’s presence beside you more than he’ll ever know, but the fact that he’s concerned about you and wants to know exactly what you’re dealing with and thinking makes you love him even more.

“I’ll talk to the doctor about changes, but there aren’t many this year. Then he’ll check my retina, and every other year he does imaging and ultrasounds to look at the tumor. I got them last year, so I shouldn’t need them unless he sees something.”

Tim nods and carefully pulls his arm away.

“How’d you know?” you ask as you stand.

“Do you need help?” he says rather than answering.

You shake your head and walk carefully to the bathroom. Before you sit back in your seat, you’re called back again and wave to Tim. He’ll be there when you finish, and that’s a good comfort as you follow the tech to the exam room across the small hall.

“Good morning,” the doctor says as he walks in, glancing your way before he sits and looks over through your oversized chart and the results of today’s vision test. “Any changes to vision or pain?”

“No pain,” you answer. “My vision is a little blurrier than last year, mostly when I’m looking at things far away.”

The doctor nods and sets the large folder aside as he moves his chair toward you. “Anything else?”

You shake your head and follow his light as he moves it from left to right. He raises his retinoscope and direct ophthalmoscope to further examine your retina.

“Good reflectivity,” he tells the technician behind him. “Minimal changes.”

“So, I’m cured?” you joke, pressing your hands against your thighs.

Your doctor smiles, a rare expression, at your comment and murmurs, “If only it were that easy.”

He moves closer to examine your eye through the ophthalmoscope and hums as he moves upward. When he lowers it and pushes back to look at his notes from last year, you bite the inside of your bottom lip and prepare yourself for bad news.

“You’re fine,” he announces, causing you to release your breath. “There has been a minimal change to your vision, but it’s not even worthy of updating any preexisting prescriptions. Your retina looks as good as it can, there’s no new damage, no swelling, and the tumor obviously hasn’t changed. The nerves are intact and healthy also.” He presses a few buttons on the computer and three images of your retina load, and he points to the one on the far left to say, “This was six years ago, and there’s been very little change since then. These nerves and vessels are maintained, the fovea centralis is healthy, and that’s what I wanted to see.”

“Thank you.”

“And the other eye still matches,” he adds.

“Was that a joke, doctor?”

He shrugs, reminds you of eye safety rules, and tells you to schedule your next appointment with the receptionist before you leave. You thank him again and then follow the tech slowly to return to the waiting room.

“Ready?” Tim asks, offering his arm as he walks to your side.

“I need to make my appointment,” you answer as you wrap your arms around one of his.

“Already on it,” the receptionist tells you. “Does the same day next year at 10 a.m. work for you?”

“Yes,” you and Tim answer simultaneously.

“Perfect. You’ll get some email reminders, and I’ll get you an appointment card now. See you both next year, then.”

You doubt it; you rarely see the same receptionist twice, but you enjoy hearing that Tim will undoubtedly be at your side again next year.

“And?” Tim prompts as he leads you out of the office.

“Everything’s fine. My retina’s okay, the nerves are functioning and healthy, so I’m as good as I can be.”

“That’s great!”

You nod and remind him, “Now I need cheesecake.”

“Of course. Hold on tight.”

You do just that, trusting Tim to get you safely where you need to be. After he gets you into the truck, he drives to Union Square. Then, Tim leads you into Macy’s to go to the top floor and enjoy lunch and cheesecake at the Cheesecake Factory for a reward. You and Tim talk about work, Kojo, and enjoy the time together, even if you are in San Francisco for an unexciting reason.

“Left?” Tim clarifies as he leads you out onto the street.

“Yes,” you answer. “You have to figure it out once we get closer though.”

Tim smiles and pulls you closer to his side as he leads you down the street to your next appointment. It’s much faster, just answering a few questions and waiting for your eye maker to polish, clean, and check the size of your prosthetic eye before you’re ready to go. As you leave, the effects of your dilation begin to wear off.

“At least I don’t have to ride back to LA with dilated eyes,” you tell Tim after he asks what your relieved sigh was about.

“I wouldn’t have made you do that,” he counters. “We could have gotten a hotel.”

“Maybe next year.”

Tim smiles and turns you to face him on a sidewalk in Union Square. He brushes his thumbs gently across your cheekbones before he kisses you. It was his first time accompanying you to an appointment. If every visit is like this, you may actually look forward to next year’s visit.

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myfictionalbfs

3 weeks ago

2000 Leagues

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!Coast Guard!reader

Summary: Karadec is searching for a stolen yacht and a missing person. You assist him and his team in finding the ship, but you land yourself in the middle of a dangerous case.

Warnings: angst, yearning, character death, drowning, murder, fluff and a happy ending!!

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

A/N: 2000.

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Karadec.”

Daphne and Oz lock eyes when Karadec answers the phone, sharing a silent hope that it’s a quick case and they can leave on time today.

“Why assign it to us?” Karadec questions. “Wouldn’t that fall to Robbery/Homicide?”

“One can hope,” Daphne mumbles.

“Yes,” Karadec says. “I understand. My team and I will be there. Thanks.”

He sighs as he turns toward his team.

“We working a robbery or a homicide?” Oz asks.

Shaking his head, Karadec answers, “A stolen yacht.”

“That is not in our purview,” Oz argues after blinking several times.

“It is when the owner was reported missing three days before the yacht was removed from its spot at the marina.”

“Who’s the owner?” Daphne inquires.

“Local millionaire named Ashton Weatherford.”

“Of Weatherford Water Sports?” Morgan interjects.

Karadec doesn’t look surprised but sounds utterly exasperated as he asks, “How did you get here so fast? I just texted you.”

“I was nearby.”

“Of course you were,” Karadec sighs.

“And, yes,” Oz replies. “Ashton is the CEO of Weatherford Water Sports, but his brother Simon is the owner. Has been since their father’s death three years ago.”

“If he wanted the company to himself,” Daphne muses. “That’s good motive.”

“But we’re not sure Ashton’s disappearance has anything to do with the stolen yacht,” Karadec points out.

“How would one steal a yacht?” Morgan asks. “It’s not exactly the most inconspicuous of the vehicles.”

“That’s a good question,” Daphne agrees. “How do we go about looking for it, Karadec?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his chin as he thinks. They’ve worked robberies, homicides, missing persons, and every combination of major crimes; the stolen item has never been as grand as a yacht.

“The federal government has jurisdiction in territorial seas,” Morgan begins. “Within 12 nautical miles. The US Exclusive Economic Zone, however, has 200 nautical miles. The state has certain authorities in the EEZ, but that usually has to do with resources and marine life. If that yacht went out to sea…”

“We don’t have time to jump through hoops with the feds or the EEZ,” Daphne says.

“Not with our missing person coming up on six days,” Oz adds. “He’s already not likely to be recovered alive.”

“Especially if he’s on the yacht,” Morgan whispers.

“I can call in a favor,” Karadec interjects. He takes a deep breath and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Let me see if I can get an assist a little faster. Oz, start pulling warrants for the yacht’s GPS, and somebody find me footage from the marina the day before the yacht was reported stolen.

“On it,” Daphne replies.

“Who are you calling?” Morgan inquires, perching on the corner of Karadec’s desk. “Ronnie? Another FBI agent who likes you a little more?”

“Hello,” Karadec greets, ignoring Morgan. “I’m Detective Adam Karadec, LAPD. I’d like to speak to CMC- Thank you.”

“You know a Command Master Chief Petty Officer of the United States Coast Guard?” Morgan asks.

“Hopefully it’s enough,” Karadec murmurs.

You stretch your hands above your head and look out of your office window. The Pacific is calm today, with 3-foot waves rolling in every 18 seconds and a steady temperature of 54 degrees. You aren’t supposed to be at work today, but you were called in to complete some paperwork from a recent expedition. Now that you’re finished, you have to decide if you want to get ahead on next week’s work or go home and enjoy the rest of the day.

“Ma’am, there’s a detective from the LAPD calling for you on line three,” an officer alerts, standing at attention in your doorway.

“Thank you,” you reply. After he steps away, you lift the phone and pull it to your ear. “Good morning,” you greet.

“Good morning,” Detective Karadec responds.

You smile, leaning back in your chair. “What can I do for you today, Detective?”

“I’m investigating a missing person’s case,” he explains. “It seems that the man’s yacht was reported stolen a few days after his disappearance, and we’ve been tasked with finding it.”

“So, you want my team and me to assist you in locating the yacht, which you believe is at sea.”

“Right. We’re trying to recover the GPS data from the ship, but we have reason to believe it hasn’t gone far.”

“Where was it taken from?” you ask, reaching for a map on the side of your desk.

“Long-term dockage contract listed Marina Del Ray,” he answers. “The LA DBH was less than helpful, but they’re looking for video.”

“If the slip was rented long-term, there’s likely bills for electricity, water, and Internet,” you explain. “I’d get a warrant for those to try to nail down the time those services were discontinued.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

“The yacht was reported stolen, what, two days ago?” Karadec hums affirmatively, and you look at the list of ocean conditions for the past week. “Assuming that it was taken some time the night before… conditions have been mild. Waves were higher last night and some patchy fog, but they could still be 200 nautical miles from the coast by now.”

“Ask if she thinks the ship could be docked at a different slip,” someone whispers.

“Have a new lady friend, Karadec?” you tease. “Is she at your desk for business or pleasure?”

“She’s a consultant,” Karadec says flatly. “Could the yacht be taken to a different slip?”

“If someone already had it rented or had a private slip, then possibly. They couldn’t rent out a new one without providing owner documentation and identification,” you explain. “If you think someone close to the victim took the vessel, then absolutely.”

“We’ll see if Simon has a slip,” Karadec murmurs. “And the other thing?”

“I’ll have a boat and a crew ready to sail from Marina del Rey,” you offer. “Give me an hour.”

“Thank you,” Karadec says.

“Of course. I owe you a lot more than this. See you soon.”

“You have a contact in the Coast Guard?” Morgan explains after Karadec ends the call. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I have told you that, Morgan?” he questions. “It’s my contact, and believe it or not, we don’t have to call in military favors often.”

“Are we going out to sea?”

“We are not. Daph, Oz, and I are,” Karadec corrects.

“You need my help,” Morgan argues. “This guy isn’t just floating over the continental shelf thinking about the best route to get two thousand leagues away.”

“That’s six thousand miles, Morgan,” Karadec says. “He isn’t going to Russia.”

Morgan stops, pinching her brows as she considers Karadec’s statement. “You know leagues?” she asks.

“Yes. We’re not completely incompetent.”

“We’ve got the GPS records,” Oz announces.

“Great,” Karadec says, pushing out of his chair. “Find Daphne and meet me outside. We’re going to Marina del Rey.”

“Shotgun!” Morgan calls.

“Good…” you hesitate and look at your watch before finishing, “morning, detectives.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” the blonde woman in the iridescent leopard print skirt murmurs.

“This is Morgan Gillory,” Karadec introduces. “She’s a consultant.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, offering your hand as you introduce yourself. “And a pleasure as always, Daphne, Oz.”

“Same to you,” Daphne says, pulling you into a quick hug.

“How do you all know each other?” Morgan asks.

“Lot of water under the bridge,” you answer, smiling. “If you’ll excuse my lack of uniform, today was supposed to be my day off. So, no titles or ma’ams or anything like that required.”

“As long as you show us the same courtesy,” Oz replies.

“Deal. Anyone need anything before we board? Dramamine? Sunscreen?”

“Depends on how you helm the boat,” Karadec murmurs.

“What happened to no secrets, partner?” Morgan asks.

You walk down the dock beside Karadec, and smile as you look at him and whisper, “Partner?”

“Something like that,” he answers. “Thanks for your help.”

“Oh, blessing my eyes with those sunglasses is all the thanks I need. Now put on your lifejacket and keep an eye out for a ten-meter yacht with a red jet ski decal on the port side, correct?”

“That’s the one,” Daphne answers, pulling a yellow life jacket over her head.

“Seaman Quinn and Seaman Jefferson will be able to assist you in boarding the vessel should we find it,” you say, introducing the two other members of your team.

“Why isn’t every case like this?” Morgan asks, sitting back in the seat as you accelerate out into the Pacific.

“We’re looking for Ashton Weatherford, not tanning,” Karadec snaps. “Show a little respect.”

You catch a glimpse of something about a mile ahead. The sun reflects off a red strip, then glints a bright white before the light dims.

“A- Karadec,” you call.

He stands from the seats lining the side of the boat and walks carefully to your side. You point over the boat screen.

“That look familiar?” you ask. “Big white ship, bright red accent?”

“You found it,” Karadec applauds, standing up straighter. “How far out is it?”

“Just under a mile, I’d guess. We can reach it in two minutes if you’re ready.”

“Daph, Oz,” he says over his shoulder. “Get ready.”

You nod to your subordinates, and they prepare the rope and grappling devices needed to go from your boat to the yacht’s deck. As you approach the yacht, you slow the speedboat. The yacht isn’t moving and doesn’t appear to be anchored; it’s simply floating in the sea. While you instruct your team, Karadec, Daphne, and Oz prepare to board the stolen yacht.

“I’m going first,” you say, connecting the carabiner on your belt to the rope.

“This is LAPD’s case,” Karadec argues. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“And you brought the case to the Coast Guard,” you remind him. “I’m not going in alone.”

You plant your feet on the side of the yacht before you begin the ascent. The rope shifts slightly as Karadec follows you. Having him behind you gives you more comfort and a stronger sense of security than you get from your own team. At the top of the front deck, you carefully climb over and land soundlessly on the teak floorboards. Pulling your weapon from your holster, you cover the detectives behind you as they imitate your movements.

“I don’t hear anything,” you whisper.

“Why steal a ship like this to abandon it?” Oz wonders.

You signal to Karadec before you go in different directions, each approaching a door on either side of the deck. As soon as you push the door open, you step back.

“I know why they left the ship,” you murmur.

Karadec nods, motions to Daphne and Oz to wait, then follows you down the stairs. In the galley, you round a corner with your weapon raised. Immediately, you see coagulated blood on the floor, the source of the unmistakable smell you encountered at the door. While Karadec covers you, you walk through the galley and clear the rest of the cabin.

“We found your missing person,” you say when you return to Karadec’s side.

“Rest of the ship is clear,” Oz calls down the stairs. "What's unlocked, at least."

You follow Karadec back to the main deck, take a deep breath, and attempt to calm your stomach. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time you’ve been so near a dead body, but the sights and smells of death will never become easier to deal with.

“Ashton Weatherford was murdered,” Karadec says. He glances toward you, but you’ve recovered before he can ask if you’re alright. This isn’t your first time encountering the evil of the world, he knows, but he cares about you.

“So,” Morgan begins, leaning against the rail. “How do we solve a murder at sea? Which, by the way, is more Agatha Christie-esque than I anticipated.”

“LAPD still has jurisdiction,” you begin. “But if you need any more assistance, please let me know. My team can extract data from the ship’s computer, examine it’s body, anything you may need.”

“We’ll head back to the station and get the proper warrants. Oz, call it in?”

Oz nods and turns away to call Lieutenant Soto. You also make a call, and with the guarantee that a tug ship is on its way out to recover the murder scene, you relax. The case is far from over, but the answers Karadec seeks now have a physical representation. He’s a good detective, so you have no doubt he will solve the case. It may be too late to save the yacht's owner, but he’ll get justice. That you know.

“Is there fuel in this?” you ask suddenly.

“I didn’t think to look,” Daphne answers.

Karadec nods, so you travel to the bridge and turn the key enough to see the gauges without starting the engine. You snap a picture before returning the key to the OFF position. As you walk through the ship, you look at the picture and try to make sense of the mismatched information displayed.

“Help!” someone yells.

You stop, looking around as you slide your phone into your pocket and retrieve your gun. The sound was muffled, but the intended word was hard to misunderstand. You push into a closet, but it’s empty. Turning, you look for any other place where someone might be hiding or stuck.

“US Coast Guard!” you call. “Where are you?”

“In here!” the muffled voice answers. “The bag! Help!”

There’s no bag in sight, so you prepare to call Karadec. Before you can, a metallic screeching causes you to jerk to the right. The lifeboat extended over the edge of the boat drops rapidly. Leaning over the rail, you see the large black duffel bag in the lifeboat. The deflated lifeboat, you realize.

“Karadec!” you scream, pointing your gun up as you twist to look at the balcony deck above you. It’s clear, so you holster your weapon and watch the raft crash into the ocean.

You push yourself onto the rail, keeping one foot on it as you watch the person in the bag flail wildly.

“What are you doing?” Karadec demands, running around the corner.

“There was somebody else on board!” you answer. “I’m going in.”

Karadec moves faster than you, wrapping his hand around your arm and pulling you back onto the deck.

“Let me go,” you plead, pushing against his chest.

“That dive could kill you!” he exclaims.

You stop, your hands spread against his shirt. “And whoever is in the bag could die. Please, let me go. Tell my team which side of the ship we’re on. And find whoever put that person in there to die; they’re probably still on board.”

“Daph!” Karadec calls. “There’s someone else on board. Find him.”

Daphne nods, then leads Oz away. Karadec’s grip on you loosens, so you pull away from him and return to the rail.

“You owe me dinner if I survive this,” you say, smiling before you jump off the rail. As you near the water, you tense your muscles, point your toes, and enter the water in one tight line. It hurts, and your limbs feel heavy as you’re submerged in the cool water. Opening your eyes, you ignore the burn of the salt water as you search for the sinking black bag. Your head feels like it’s shrinking, and your vision begins to narrow, blackening around the edges as your fingers wrap around the end of the bag.

“Go!” Karadec yells. “Now!”

Morgan holds on to the back of her seat, looking out into the ocean as the speedboat accelerates quickly around the bow to the starboard side of the yacht. The deflated life raft is still rising and falling with the waves, but there’s no sign of you or the person in the bag you claimed to have seen. Karadec leans over the stern, looking for you, but the water is too dark to see anything.

“Karadec!” Oz calls from the main deck of the yacht. “We’ve got Simon in custody!”

“She’s been under too long,” Karadec decides, shedding his blazer. “I’m going in.”

“We can’t let you do that, sir,” Seaman Quinn argues.

“And I can’t sit here and let her drown!”

“You can’t stop both of us,” Morgan adds, standing beside Karadec.

“She is my CMC,” Jefferson says. “You think this isn’t killing me?”

“Clearly it isn’t, or you would’ve jumped in already!” Morgan argues. She steps between the officers and Karadec, and he takes the opportunity to jump over the edge and into the water.

“Man overboard,” Jefferson says. “We have to pull him back in.”

“Actually, you need to help Detectives Forrester and Ozdil secure the prisoner, no?” Morgan challenges.

“Come on,” Karadec pleads. He inhales deeply, then flips to go under the waves. Without any thought for his safety, he stays under until he sees the black bag. After resurfacing for one more breath, he grips the strap with both hands and pulls as hard as possible while kicking himself back up toward the surface.

Karadec coughs, sputtering water as he breaks through the waves. As he attempts to regain control of his breaths, the officers who refused to let him enter the water assist him in pulling the bag into the speed boat.

“Start compressions, Morgan,” he instructs.

Karadec lowers back into the water, treading for a single breath before he goes under again. This time, he realizes that a long black thread-like trail extends from the bag, now above him, into the darkness beneath the boat. He uses his arms and legs to dive deeper into the water, ignorant of the lowering temperature and increasing pressure as he follows the line.

He feels you before he sees you. The line is attached to your belt, and Karadec hooks his fingers under it to pull you up against his chest. Then, he wraps his left arm under your arms and holds you tightly as he pulls with his right arm and kicks his legs to save your life.

When his own vision begins dimming, and his lungs burn for oxygen, Karadec swims harder, tightening his grip on you as he reaches for the light above you. He remembers gasping, pushing himself onto his back to get your head above the water, and then everything goes black.

“… still no pulse,” Daphne says, but it’s strained, full of terror and heartbreak.

Karadec realizes she’s crying as his senses return one at a time. When he remembers that there were three people in the water, he sits up quickly. He coughs, heaving water from his lungs before he can look around.

The wind whips harshly around him as Seaman Quinn pushes the boat as hard and fast as it will go. Karadec feels the bite of the breeze on his wet skin but forgets about his pounding head as he reaches for you.

“Hey, hey, there you are,” Morgan soothes someone over their retches.

But it’s not you, Karadec knows. He crawls to you on his hands and knees. On your other side, Daphne is kneeling as she counts chest compressions through her tears.

“Come on,” Daphne begs, slowing as she drops her head to your chest to listen for your heartbeat.

“You’re okay,” Morgan says.

Karadec pulls his eyes from your lifeless body just long enough to see that the unknown victim in Morgan’s arms is a child. He can’t be more than 10 or 11, and he clings to Morgan out of relief, terror, and likely confusion.

“It’s been too long,” Karadec mumbles.

“No, it hasn’t,” Daphne argues, her face tear-streaked as she looks up at him.

“Daph,” Oz says softly, pulling her back. “Let me take over.”

Oz begins more compressions and blows air into your lungs. Karadec owes you dinner, but as he holds your cold hand and stares out at the passing waves, he feels like he’ll never eat again. You wanted to save someone, and exchanging your own blood and fury to do so took you to depths Karadec couldn’t pull you back from.

When Oz tips your head back to breathe into your mouth again, you twitch. It’s not enough to be promising, but Karadec pulls his attention back to you, holding your hand as you near the Coast Guard port at Marina del Rey. Emergency services are waiting by, but if Oz can get a sign of life now, Karadec might be able to breathe again. He wishes the water in your lungs could be transferred to his. He’d breathe past it for eternity if it meant another minute with you.

“Got a pulse!” Oz exclaims as he renews chest compressions.

You gag, so Karadec shifts to keep your head straight and avoid worsening your condition. As Oz finishes the round of compressions and Jefferson announces that he’s docking, you cough harshly and sit up. Before you can choke on the water in your airways, Karadec pats your back firmly. You cough again, spitting water onto the deck as you heave.

“Breathe, breathe,” Karadec mutters, holding you tightly.

You look up at him, take a shaky breath, then look around the boat. When you see the boy in Morgan’s arms, you collapse against Karadec’s chest. You begin shaking, and Karadec pushes you away, fearing that something else has happened. He sees the tears trailing down your face and pulls you into his lap to hold you.

You’re both wet and injured, but the feeling of your heart beating against Karadec’s is more than proof you were revived. As the paramedics pull you apart, you let yourself lose consciousness once more. What was supposed to be an easy day helping Karadec find a stolen yacht has taken a turn, and the last thing you hear is Karadec’s demand to be taken to the same hospital as you.

“It’s not good,” the doctor says under her breath. “The physical injuries are the most promising part of this.”

“Where is she?” Karadec asks. His voice is rough and it hurts to talk. The lights above him hurt his head even though his eyes are closed.

“Who?” you question.

Karadec turns his head toward your voice. He opens his eyes slowly. You send him a close-lipped smile from your hospital bed – which has been moved to be directly beside his. Your lips are chapped, you’re wearing an oxygen mask, and an IV is taped to your hand to deliver medication and liquids. Karadec realizes then that he’s wearing a mask as well.

“Who is the doctor talking about?” he rasps.

“The boy: Kevin Weatherford,” you answer. “Simon was worried Ashton was raising him to take over when he turned 18. Decided to get both of them out of the way.”

“Kevin?”

“He’ll be alright, eventually. The water damaged his lungs, but there’s hope that it can be surgically repaired. From what I understood, the doc’s biggest concern is his mental health.” You cough, folding in on yourself to mitigate the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Karadec offers, brushing his fingers against yours.

“For what? You saved my life, Adam.”

“I shouldn’t have let you jump.”

“Then Kevin might not be here. I made a choice, and I would do it again.”

“You’re awake!” Daphne says softly, stepping into the room. “It’s good to see you both again.”

“Thank you,” you and Karadec say together. Your sternum is fractured because of the CPR you received from Daphne and Oz, but you’re breathing because of it, and, over time, you’ll heal. The thanks you can offer will never be enough.

“How are you?” you ask.

“I’m not answering that,” Daphne replies. “You… we thought we lost you.”

“Does Kevin have anyone?” Karadec inquires.

“His mom and grandmother are here,” she answers. “Morgan’s been at his side the entire time, too.”

“Good.”

Karadec looks at you again, and you move your fingers over his. This morning, you told Karadec you owed him more than one favor, but now you owe him and his team your entire life.

“Room for one more?” Lieutenant Soto asks, knocking lightly on the open door.

“Always,” Karadec answers.

She enters and closes the door, then pulls the cord on the blinds to block the light and the eyes in the hallway.

“Are you really going to fire me while I’m still in the hospital?” Karadec grumbles.

“Quite the opposite. Although there is some internal discussion about why the LAPD and the Coast Guard were out in the Pacific without notification, we’re too happy you’re both alive, so we’re not going to deal with that right now.”

“We radioed,” you reply.

“Several times,” Daphne adds.

“You did?” Soto asks. “To LAPD or Marina del Rey?”

“Both,” you, Karadec, and Daphne answer together.

“He had a jammer on the yacht,” you realize, remembering the odd readings on the gauges.

“That’s why the GPS pinged randomly, and we didn’t get confirmation from a medic until we were a mile out,” Daphne adds.

“That yacht will be ripped apart,” Soto assures you. “And Simon is lawyered up, but there’s more than enough evidence to charge him with murder, grand larceny, several counts of attempted murder, and much more.”

You feel your blinks grow heavy and squeeze Karadec’s hand. “Can we have one minute before you give us the good news?” you request.

“Of course,” Soto answers. “In fact, I’ll come back tomorrow. Get some rest and feel better.”

“Thank you,” Karadec calls after her.

When you’re alone, with the door closed and the room darkened, you pull your oxygen mask off your face and look at the man beside you.

“I should’ve told you before,” you say. “Before I jumped, before I hung up the phone this morning. Every chance I had.”

“Don’t think about what you didn’t do,” Karadec encourages. “Not after the heroics you displayed today.”

You wipe the first tear off your face harshly, startled by the feeling of water on your face.

“I should have said it, too,” he replies. “But, what’s stopping us from saying it now?”

“The life-saving equipment between us, mostly.”

Karadec smiles, and you hear it, even if you don’t say it. You’ve missed opportunities to say it, but have seized every opportunity to show it.

Three Months Later

“Front page,” you muse, looking over Karadec’s shoulder. “Not bad.”

“Soto’s going to frame this,” he complains.

You bend at the waist and kiss his jaw, laughing as you stand before he can turn and return the affection. Karadec catches your wrist, pulling you back toward him. Your hands land on his shoulders, and you smile down at him. The front-page picture of you, both in uniform with your newly awarded medals of valor, is forgotten as you lean against Karadec’s desk and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

His hand ghosts over a scar on your abdomen from the wire that saved your life, and you use your pointer finger to lift his chin. When your eyes meet, his smile grows to match yours. Karadec stands, pulling you against him and into a hug that warms you from the inside out. You’ve both been required to attend therapy following your accident. Though some moments are worse than others, you think you can do anything together. This is the place where you feel most capable: in Karadec's strong, loving arms.

“Kevin is coming by the station today,” Karadec says against your shoulder. “If you want to come.”

“I’ll be there,” you promise, tightening your grip on him as your cheek squishes against his shoulder and distorts your voice.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” you promise.

Karadec sways gently, then releases you, dragging his hands down your arms as you prepare to spend time together before he returns to work. His phone buzzes during breakfast, and he shakes his head before he shows you the message.

“‘Name your first kid Morgan, it’s unisex,’” you read. You hum, then say, “Not the name I was thinking.”

Karadec drops his phone at your admission of thinking about it, and your breakfast grows cold as he holds you in his arms, the place that has become home.

64 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

8 months ago

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Description: Y/N Wayne brings a very special guest to dinner.

Word Count: 0.8k

Warnings: Cursing

It was rare that all of the bat children were summoned for a reason outside of their nightly duties. It was a sign that shenanigans were about to ensue and Bruce normally took this as a sign to drink heavily. Usually, it was because of Y/N but these little gatherings always left strong memories on each sibling.

"Do we need to be here for this?" Jason asked feeling a bit stuffy in his white button-up shirt. He already rolled up the sleeves and undid the first two buttons.

"Yeah, Y/N gets a new boyfriend like every week," Duke said looking through his comic book. He didn't have anything else to do but this was not how he wanted to spend his day off.

"This is different apparently. She said and I quote 'It's serious this time. I would have his kids,'" Tim used air quotations when explaining why all of them are waiting for Y/N to show up for dinner.

"Hell, maybe I will stick around," Jason said intrigued by the idea of his sister wanting to have someone's kids.

"Whoever sticks around the longest doesn't have to patrol for the next three days." Bruce walked into the parlor where all the children were currently relaxing. No one knows how Bruce does the things that he does but Tim's working theory is that there are secret passages throughout the manor.

"Oh, you're on," Cass said appearing behind Bruce. She was on a new mission to make Bruce flinch. She hadn't been successful yet but she could feel herself getting close.

"Everyone please meet in the dining room. Y/N and her guest have arrived," Alfred said with a smile playing on his lips because he knew that shitstorm that was about to occur.

"I wonder who we're meeting now," Tim thought aloud.

"Probably another model or actor," Damian said holding Pennyworth the Cat. He was only excited to threaten someone else for dating his sister. It had been one of the few times deemed acceptable to threaten people outside of patrol.

"You think I'll be able to get an autograph?" Duke asked. Unfortunately, no one was able to answer because they saw who Y/N's guest was.

"Slade? How the hell did you get here?" Dick asked, noticing how Slade Wilson's arm was wrapped around his sister's waist.

"Y/N get away from him. Is he holding you captive?" Bruce asked. If there's one thing that Bruce was going to be, it would be a concerned father, especially when it came to Y/N.

"What? No, he's my boyfriend," Y/N exclaimed so her family wouldn't start pulling out the weapons that were hidden all over the manor.

"I always knew one of you would give me a heart attack, I always thought it would be Damian or Tim," Bruce

"We're dating," Y/N said happily while looking up at Slade. He placed a kiss on her lips and all of her siblings immediately gagged.

"You're dating my nemesis," Dick accused Y/N with a nagging finger.

"Yeah, he was like thirsting after me real bad so I made him promise not to do dumb stuff," Y/N explained while adjusting her long box braids that were in a ponytail.

"It's true. I haven't plotted against you or anyone close to you in almost one hundred and fifty days," Slade said it was like some kind of accomplishment. He was captivated by Y/N, there was something about her that made him do whatever she wanted without hesitation.

"Thank you, I think," Dick's confusion was written all over his face.

"You're welcome," Slade responded before pulling out a chair for Y/N to sit in.

"Bruce, you're not going to say anything?" Tim asked. Bruce was indeed a man of few words but this was odd even for him.

"I mean I could but then I'd be a hypocrite because I did some stuff with Talia last week and I'm trying to be better. Alfred, please get our finest bourbon, make that three bottles," Bruce may not trust Slade but he still wanted to eat the dinner that Alfred painstakingly prepared.

"Y/N, can I speak to you before we start dinner?" DIck asked in his best big brother voice.

"Sure," Y/N followed him to a nearby hallway.

"He tried to kill me," Dick whispered a little loudly.

"But he's hot," Y/N admitted without shame.

"He's old," Dick was willing to try anything to deter Y/N from dating Slade Wilson, Deathstroke. A mercenary who had tried to kill him multiple times.

"He's a silver fox," Y/N argued back.

"Why are you with him?" Dick asked looking for a genuine answer from his sister.

"I like him and he's kinda funny. Plus he's got a real big-" Y/N's eyes widened as her arms widened to show the size of what she was talking about.

"Eww. I don't need to know that," Dick said covering his ears.

"I was going to say, heart," Y/N tried to be convincing.

"No, you weren't," Dick deadpanned.

"Okay, probably not,"

606 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

1 month ago

Not my kid!

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

Summary: When Angela and Lucy are wholeheartedly convinced that you and Tim have the most ‘I don’t get paid enough for this shit’ father to ‘I love making Tim’s life harder!’ child-like dynamic in the precinct, Tim is stuck with the fact that they won’t shut up about it.

Tim Bradford had been through a lot in his years as a cop. He’d survived war zones, worked under some of the worst training officers the LAPD had to offer, and somehow managed not to strangle Aaron Thorsen on a daily basis. He’d seen it all.

And yet, nothing in his career had prepared him for you.

“Kid, I swear to God—”

You guided the criminal into the backseat of the shop with a grin, entirely unfazed by the exhaustion in his voice as you shut the door. “I got the guy, didn’t I?”

Tim exhaled through his nose, standing on the curb and leaning against the shop. “You got the guy by jumping off a dumpster, nearly breaking your neck, and landing on top of him like some kind of rabid squirrel.”

“Worked, though.”

“You are going to give me a stroke.”

“Eh, you’re too tough for that.”

Tim turned his head just enough to shoot you a look—one of those deadpan, barely-contained irritation looks that had made rookies before you crumble under the weight of his judgment.

But you? You just smiled, perfectly comfortable in the way you leaned back against the shop like this was just another normal day.

Meanwhile, Lucy and Angela were having the time of their lives eavesdropping into you and Tim’s conversation as they walked towards youse.

“I mean,” Lucy mused, arms draped over the front seats like she was settling in for a show, “it’s kind of impressive. You have to admit, Tim—”

“I do not.”

“—that it was a solid takedown.”

Angela, arms crossed but clearly holding back a smirk, nodded. “If a little reckless.”

You lifted a hand, like a lawyer presenting evidence in court. “A calculated risk.”

“Bullshit,” Tim and Angela said at the same time.

Lucy snorted. “You’re getting soft, Tim. Back in the day, you would’ve—”

Tim’s glare cut through the air like a warning shot. “You wanna ride with me for the rest of the month, Chen?”

Lucy grinned but lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” you asked, head tilting in curiosity.

Angela smirked. “The way you two act like a single dad with a hyperactive kid.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

Tim groaned. “No.”

Lucy’s eyes lit up, her smile downright smug. “Absolutely. He’s all rules and structure, and you’re just out here doing parkour, making his life miserable.” Her expression practically screamed, ‘Did I lie, though?’

Angela tilted her head, considering. “And yet, if anyone else tried to parent them, they’d end up in a ditch.”

You turned to Tim, expectant, eyes bright. “Sir?”

Tim exhaled sharply, staring dead ahead like if he ignored the conversation long enough, it would cease to exist. His jaw tensed, hands gripping his vest as he muttered under his breath—

“I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Lucy let out a delighted laugh. “Oh my God, that was the most dad thing he could’ve said.” She exclaimed to Angela, the two of them borderline snorting of laughter as if you and Tim weren’t there.

Tim made a mental note to start requesting solo patrols.

Meanwhile, you were still grinning like you’d just won the precinct lottery, leaning into your seat with the kind of self-satisfied energy that made Tim’s eye twitch. “So does that make Lucy the fun aunt?”

Angela snorted. “She wishes. If anything, I’m the cool aunt, and Lucy’s the big sister who has to keep you alive while Dad’s at work.”

Lucy gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just been hit. “That’s… painfully accurate.”

Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away the conversation. “You’re all insufferable.”

You, unfazed as ever, nudged his arm with your shoulder, practically radiating warmth and mischief. “C’mon, sir. You know you love us.”

Tim had been a cop for a long time. He knew how to lie. Knew how to keep a straight face. Knew how to bluff his way through situations that should’ve killed him.

And yet, when you said it like that, with all the unshakable confidence of someone who had already decided he was stuck with you, Tim didn’t have it in him to argue.

He sighed instead, looking into the shop windows as if there was something more important to focus on besides this conversation, and muttered under his breath.

“Not my kid.”

Angela leaned against the shop, arms crossed, the smirk on her face downright smug. “Oh, please. You act like it’s just us seeing it, but literally everyone knows.” She said, holding a hand up as if to say ‘Oh, you don’t get to talk just yet.’ when Tim opened his mouth to protest.

“Grey watches you suffer on purpose. Nolan says you remind him of when he first became a dad,”

“Lopez, shut the hell—“

Angela only continued, “West told me he once saw you instinctively put an arm out to stop them from stepping into traffic—mid-lecture—like a stressed-out parent.” Her voice laced with a knowing tone as she crossed her arms, “And me? I’ve personally witnessed you yank them back by the collar when they tried to chase a suspect barefoot because, and I quote, ‘I had to know if I could.’”

A small ‘Ohhh, I remember that.’ left your lips, huffing a laugh at the memory that was personally hilarious to you, but excruciating to Tim.

“Not to mention, just last week, you scolded them for getting blood on their uniform like it was grass stains on a kid’s soccer jersey.” Angela raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “So tell me again how they’re ‘not your kid.’”

Lucy whistled, “Damn, Wesley been teaching you a thing or two.” she smirked.

The sidewalk fell into a momentary silence, save for the hum of the engine and the distant chatter of dispatch over the radio.

You, still grinning like you’d just won some unspoken battle, hopped into the shop and settled into the passenger seat, clearly pleased with yourself.

Lucy exchanged a knowing look with Angela, both of them reveling in Tim’s suffering as they walked back to their own shops.

And Tim? He just exhaled slowly, staring at the road like it held the answers to all of life’s problems—like if he focused hard enough, he could pretend he wasn’t stuck in a moving circus.

But deep down, buried beneath the exasperation and the ever-present headache that came with being responsible for you, he knew the truth.

He’d never admit it out loud, but he was stuck with you. And worse? He didn’t actually mind.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty

267 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

1 year ago

Welcome in Barber's Production! Beforehand the stories are connected but only by characters meaning that you can read them as standalone.

Every star has their own masterlist which will be added after their first fic is posted! (the first fic will be Lloyd and dropped 28th August 2022).

dividers by @firefly-graphics / other actors will be mentioned and in the future added! all readers are female!!!

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐑

CEO; founded the production, his friends were his firsr stars

Kinks: daddy, praise, breeding, cream pie, house wife, degrading, spanking, general authority kink — DOM

Acting: since founding

pairing: pornstar!ceo!andy barber × darling!publisher!reader

𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍

Kinks: choking/gagging, degrading, bdsm, spanking, knife/gun, anal, pain, bondage — DOM (can be switch)

Acting: since the beginning

pairing: pornstar!lloyd hansen × sunshine!pornstar!reader

𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

Kinks: size, manhandling, innocence, dumbification, anal, spitting, possesive, brat taming, daddy, corruption — DOM

Acting: since the beginning

Pairing: pornstar!ari levinson × jellybean!pornstar!reader

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄

Kinks: mommy, overstimulation, squirting, nipple play, creampie, thigh riding — SWITCH (mostly dom)

Acting: two years after founding

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐏

Kinks: biting, chasing, face riding, face fucking, slapping/spanking, pain kink humiliation, pussy worship, bondage — DOM

Acting: one year after founding

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐑

Kinks: bondage, orgasm denial/edging, spanking, dumbification, pain kink, degrading, slapping — DOM

Acting: three years after founding

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒

Kinks: pussy eating, pussy/body worship, degrading, praise, daddy, breeding, spanking, overstimulation, cream pie, choking, possesive, dry humping everything, fingering, mommy — DOM

Acting: one year after founding

729 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

5 months ago

Keep Living with Me

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Andersen!cop!reader (r's mom is Captain Zoe Andersen)

Summary: You fell in love with Tim Bradford quickly, and he receives your mother's blessing to propose. After you watch your mother's murder, his plans are thrown off and he gives you a place to heal.

Warnings: spoilers for ep 1x16 "Greenlight," parental death (Captain Zoe Andersen), grief, panic attacks, nightmares. comfort at the end! not proofread

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“Good mornin’,” Wade greets as he enters roll call. “Before we get started let’s give a warm welcome to our newest Andersen. Welcome, all the way from Chicago! I know your mom is here so we’re all too scared to give you any grief, but I hope LA treats you well.”

“Thank you, sir,” you reply, nodding to the officers beside you.

“Andersen?” Tim whispers.

“Captain Andersen’s daughter,” Bishop answers. “She was working her way toward detective in Chicago but transferred a few weeks ago. Wanted to be closer to her mom, from what I’ve heard.”

“Meaning that if you want to lay some Bradford charm on her, you’d have to answer to your boss,” Angela adds.

“Cute,” Tim replies, giving Angela a fake smile.

“You said it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Officer Bradford,” you call, jogging to catch up to him. “I just wanted to say thanks for the assist back there. I don’t know how that second guy got past me, but I’m sorry for not paying attention.”

“It happens,” Tim offers with a shrug. “And it’s my job to have your back.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve some thanks every once in a while. I’ll let you get back to your rookie, but, seriously, thank you.”

“No problem.”

Tim doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but at some point, after you arrived in Los Angeles, he got attached to you. Now, he keeps an eye out for you and shows you a side of himself that very few people are lucky enough to meet.

Calling your name, Tim beckons you back to his side. “Let me buy you dinner? As a thanks?” he asks, squeezing his hands together nervously.

“Why would you be thanking me? You saved me,” you remind him.

“Just-“

“I’d love to. But I’m paying,” you answer, smiling before walking away again.

“Doubtful,” he murmurs to himself before returning to his shop.

✯✯✯✯✯

Two weeks after your first date with Tim, you smile at him over your shoulder in roll call. You haven’t told anyone about your feelings, and Tim is just as happy to keep your relationship private for now – that’s something he made clear from the beginning, private not secret.

“Bradford, Andersen, the captain wants to see you,” Wade says as he enters the room. Neither you nor Tim move until he adds, “I think that means now.”

Once the door is closed behind you, you promise, “I didn’t tell her.”

“Relax,” Tim demands. “It’s probably not about us.”

He opens the door to your mother’s office, and she points for both of you to sit. Pulling your hands into your lap, you fiddle as she looks at a paper on the desk before her.

“Care to explain?” she asks.

“Explain what, ma’am?” you reply.

“You’re in here as my daughter, though I’m not thrilled to learn you and another officer are dating without my prior knowledge.”

You look at Tim, but he seems content observing this confrontation.

“Mom, I-“

“It better be a good reason,” she interrupts. “Because it’s been weeks since Tim asked me if it was allowed.”

Looking over at Tim, your mouth gapes before you accuse, “You told her!”

“I had to,” he answers. “I wasn’t dealing with her wrath, as captain or your mother.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be?” your mom asks. “You chose the best of them.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Tim says happily.

“Don’t think that makes you infallible,” your mother threatens. “I have a gun and I can fire you, and what I choose to do depends entirely on you.”

Tim nods severely, and they both chuckle when you release a relieved sigh.

“Congratulations,” your mom tells you. “I’m glad you’re happy, and I’ll see you both at dinner on Friday?”

Tim leads you out of the office, and you ask, “What’s Friday?”

“Probably a chance for everyone who loves you to threaten me.”

“Sounds fun.”

Tim reaches out for you, but you turn away quickly.

“You told my mother without telling me. No hugs for you until Friday.”

Smirking, Tim replies, “Yeah, you try holding out that long.”

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯ 1 Year Later ✯✯

“I’ll be back in a few,” Tim tells you, kissing your forehead.

“Where are you going?” you ask, looking up at him from your spot on his couch.

“To get your favorite breakfast,” he answers. “Because I love you.”

“Be careful. I love you.”

After a year of dating, you and Tim easily acknowledge the depth of your feelings for one another. He makes you feel important, loved, and like the center of his world. It was easy to fall in love with Tim, yet every moment spent with him makes you happier.

While you wait on his couch, Tim heads to your favorite café. Fiddling with the box in his pocket, he smiles as he thinks of you. You’ve gotten to know him so well you have become practically impossible to surprise. (At least since he first told you he loved you, holding you close under a starry sky in the California desert.) This, though, should be the best surprise yet.

The bell over the door chimes as Tim enters, and he quickly finds the woman he’s here to meet.

“Good morning, Captain Andersen,” he greets, sitting across from her. She looks at him until he amends, “Sorry, Zoe.”

“It’s been a year, Tim, you’re going to have to get used to it at some point,” she teases.

“I will. I actually asked you to meet me here because I have a question about my future with your daughter.”

Zoe’s smile grows, sure that she knows where this is going. Tim removes the velvet box from his pocket and slides it across the table.

“I want to propose, ask your daughter to spend the rest of her life with me, but I refuse to do that without your permission. So, Zoe, my question is, will you allow me to marry your daughter? I can’t bring her half as much happiness as she brings me, but I will love her until my dying breath.”

“Tim,” Zoe begins, pressing the ring box back into his hand. “I would love to have you as a son-in-law; of course, you can marry my daughter. And if your proposal is anything like that, I can’t imagine her saying anything other than yes.”

“Is she going to cry?”

“Most likely,” Zoe answers with a laugh. “But you should get going before she gets suspicious.”

Tim stands with Zoe, pulling her into a hug as he thanks her. She reminds him that the family is having dinner together on Friday, and his standing invitation still stands.

“We’ll be there,” Tim promises. “And I’ll let you know when I pick a date.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knocks on Zoe’s door a week later, entering her office and closing the door behind him.

“I’m proposing this weekend,” he tells her, smiling as he thinks of you.

“Take it easy this week, then. You want everything to be perfect,” Zoe reminds him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Are you okay?” you ask Tim. “You’ve been… different.”

“I’m great,” he promises. “Just ready for the weekend.”

You nod, unconvinced by his brush-off answer. Trusting Tim is easy, so you know he will tell you when he’s ready. As the day progresses, with IA reversals, celebrities, and an attempt on Nolan’s life, you’re not sure you and Tim will be able to talk about whatever bothers him.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you hear about the shots fired and the greenlight on Nolan, you don’t hesitate to meet your mother at the scene. Not telling Tim yourself wasn’t a conscious decision, simply the result of your adrenaline surging and concern for your fellow officers. Lucy is talking to Nolan as you approach, walking behind your mother, and you notice Tim standing to the side, sending him a concerned look.

“According to intelligence, you’ve bee greenlit by Southern Front,” Captain Andersen – no longer acting like your mother – announces.

“How’s a rookie get greenlit before me? I gotta step up my game,” Tim adds.

“It’s not a badge of honor, Bradford,” you reply, giving him a stern look.

“I was kidding,” he promises, his full attention on you.

Listening to the facts and learning why Nolan is being targeted, you know that finding the gang in a city as big as LA will be next to impossible. As your mom and Nolan leave, you rush to catch up with them.

“I’m coming with,” you announce.

“Officer Andersen, no,” your mom argues.

“I have more gang experience, I assisted in countless cases in Chicago. You need to let me help.”

Shaking her head, your mother gestures for you to join them. You know you’ll get yelled at, lectured, and, if you’re lucky, encounter the wrath of a concerned mother rather than an undermined captain when you get home later.

✯✯✯✯✯

“K-9 unit already swept the property,” Zoe says as she leads you and Nolan into his place.

“Uh, no, Ben left for New York yesterday. So, what’s happening here?” he replies.

“The DA approved a VARDA alarm. It bypasses 911, sends a red alert to all the cops in the area.”

“So, what’s next?”

“That’s up to you.”

“I mean, I can’t just go to work, right? I’d be endangering everyone who came within five feet of me.”

“Being a cop is being at risk.”

“You’re saying I should just report for duty, act like nothing happened?”

“I think we tell the criminals what to do, not the other way around.”

“No matter the consequences?”

“No matter the consequences. But, look, it’s up to you. No one is gonna judge you either way.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Nolan, this isn’t about bravery. You have a family. Any cop who’s ever worn a badge understands that. It seems the system is up and armed. We have a unit parked out front. Try to get some sleep.”

“I’ll stay,” you offer. “And I’m sure West and Chen are on their way.”

“You call me if anything happens,” your mom demands. “And make sure West and Chen know that, too.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The next day, when you and Nolan enter the station, Tim gives Nolan a nod of approval. The rest of the officers break into a round of applause, and Tim’s eyes move to yours.

“You need to be careful,” Tim mouths.

“I promise,” you reply silently. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Riding in the backseat of the shop, you listen to your mom and Nolan while thinking about Tim. Being careful has always been a priority, but knowing that you risk not going home to the man you love puts everything into perspective.

The radio comes on as dispatch announces, “7-Adam-15, possible 459 in progress, 1936 Kristol Lane.”

“7-Adam-15, show us responding,” Nolan responds. “I hate this. Feels like everyone’s fighting my battle for me.”

“City still needs policing,” your mom points out.

An engine revs behind you, and you glance out of the back window, quickly noticing the nondescript van behind you. “Uh, mom?”

She nods once, removing her gun from its holster as the van moves into the lane beside the shop. You and Nolan similarly prepare to defend yourselves. The van sits beside the shop momentarily before turning onto another road.

“Uh, that was…” Nolan begins.

“Exilirating,” your mom finishes.

“I was gonna say ‘terrifying.’”

“What if we meet in the middle and say ‘dangerous,’” you recommend.

“That’s a good choice too.”

“7-Adam-15, go to channel 2 for Sergeant Grey.”

“Andersen,” Zoe calls after switching to the proper channel.

“It worked,” Wade says. “Midas forced Cole to lift the greenlight.”

“I guess you are back to being just another rookie,” Zoe tells Nolan as he takes a deep breath.

“But maybe keep your guard up for a few more days,” you suggest. “Just because there’s no greenlight doesn’t mean you’re safe.”

“Does this mean this little partnership is over?” Nolan asks.

“We got a burglary call to take,” Zoe answers with a smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

Following your mom and Nolan into the open door of the burglary location, you take the left side as your mother goes straight, and Nolan goes right. Nolan turns off a radio before a flashbang is thrown into the room. You cover your ears and move toward an assailant before he throws you onto the floor, taking advantage of your disorientation as another man sticks a cattle prod to Nolan’s chest. You’re unsure where your mother is, but as your eyes close, you hope she proves she’s always been the best cop in your family.

✯✯✯✯✯

You regain consciousness first, but the men don’t seem to care about you as they watch Nolan. Handcuffed to wooden chairs with your backs to the pool, you don’t have many options to break free, so you can only hope that your fellow officers have noticed how much time has passed since you radioed a code 6 upon arrival.

Nolan groans as he wakes, and you can’t warn him to stay quiet before he’s noticed.

“Look who’s awake,” Cole says as he turns toward Nolan, holding up the electrical prod. “Packs quite a kick, doesn’t it? It’s got four times the voltage as LAPD uses. Could probably cook the eyeball right out of your skull.”

Leaning back, Nolan replies, “Look, look, I did not intend to disrespect Astrid, okay? Or you, okay? And I would be happy to apologize.”

“Too late for that now. Only way this ends is with you dead.”

Your mom chuckles, and your head snaps toward her as she continues, “Yeah, I, uh, I’d heard that you were dumb, but it is shocking to see it in person.”

“Dumb?” Cole repeats.

“Dumb,” you say with your mother.

“Who lured you into an ambush with a false surrender?”

“Does your father know that it was false? Huh, junior? I can’t imagine that revelation’s gonna go too well, huh?”

“I think it’ll go fine.”

“Oh, he’s dumber that I thought. What’s my rank?”

“What?”

“Her rank, idiot,” you interject. “You should be able to tell by her uniform.”

“Who cares?”

“I have a feeling you will.”

“You put a hit out on a rookie,” your mom adds. “But two bars and a badge that says ‘Captain’? You’ve just crossed a line that anybody with half a brain would run screaming from. A line that even your father might whack you for crossing. Understood? So, let me tell you how this is gonna go. You and your little goonies are gonna-“

Cole lunges forward, pressing the prod against her. You pull against your restraints as she yells in pain.

“Hey! Cole! No!” Nolan yells. “Hurt me! Right? I’m the one you want hurt, right? Killing me, that’s trouble you can handle, okay? But not her. You need to let her go.”

“Do you think I’m dumb, too?”

“No.”

Cole looks back and forth between Nolan and your mother. When he moves toward her, you and Nolan yell, “No!” but can’t stop him from kicking her chair into the pool.

“No! No! No!” Nolan chants, fighting the handcuffs.

While you pull as hard as you can, attempting to break free, you begin tipping your chair back toward the water.

“If the line’s already been crossed, then there’s no going back. Which means non of you are walking out of here. As long as your bodies never turn up, the murder can’t be pinned on me,” Cole says.

Twisting in your chair, moving onto two chair legs, you watch your mother struggle underwater through blurry eyes, your vision affected by your tears.

“No, you’re wrong,” Nolan answers before offering to make a video apologizing to Astrid. “Just get her out first. Right now,” he adds after Cole agrees.

“No, you got to make the video first. Come one!”

“Nolan!” you grunt, hoping he makes this quick.

Turning back to look at the pool, you think your mother’s arm is free, and as she swims to the surface, pulling one of Cole’s “goonies” into the water, Nolan tips his chair to tackle Cole to the ground. You move toward the other man, unconcerned, when he points a gun at you. Headbutting him once you’re on the ground, you flinch when a gunshot sounds in the pool.

“No, no, no,” you repeat lowly, turning toward the water’s edge.

Your mom raises over the edge, shooting the man standing above you.

“Mom, no!” you warn as Cole reaches for his gun.

You and Nolan struggle against the cuffs, and when a bullet hits your mom’s neck, time seems to slow down. She presses a hand to the wound before she lowers back into the water.

“No!” you scream, your voice cracking with emotion. “No, no, stay up!”

“No, Cap-“ Nolan calls.

“Mom!”

Nolan breaks his chair and dives into the pool as you watch helplessly.

“Come on,” Nolan repeats, beginning chest compressions.

“Nolan,” you whisper, sobbing against the wet concrete beneath you. “It’s too late.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Nolan tells you to stay still while he breaks your chair, but with your attention on your mom, that should be the least of his concerns. He frees you, pulling one end of the handcuffs away from the chair so you can move.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“It- it isn’t your fault.”

You begin crying again, looking at the bloody water as you kick the pieces of the chair away from you. Releasing a pained yell, you move to your knees, sitting beside your mom as sirens approach.

Nolan is beside you, unmoving, until Wade places a hand on his shoulder. Tim rushes to your side, kneeling beside you as he pulls you up.

“It was Cole,” Nolan says.

Tim leads you away from the pool as the coroner moves your mom into a flag-covered coffin. As you follow the procession through the line of officers, you stop beside Tim, waiting for his nod before you continue.

After the coroner leaves and Wade dismisses everyone with instructions to find Cade, you avoid looking at Tim. You can’t fall apart until you catch her killer.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you walk into roll call the following morning, Bishop offers you her seat, and you gladly take the place beside Tim. He slides the black strap over your badge before taking your hand under the table. You stay behind the roadblock, letting Nolan and Tim approach Cole to make the arrest. Once he is in cuffs and in the back of a shop, you holster your weapon and keep your eyes on Tim.

He rushes to you, pulling you into his arms, holding you close as you cling to him.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says against your hair. “Do you want to go with them?”

Shaking your head, you move toward Tim’s shop, and Lucy nods as she finds another ride back to the station.

“I- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without her, Tim,” you say when you’re alone.

“The hurt never goes away, but it lessens,” Tim promises. “And I’m right here.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Somehow, you manage to get through the funeral without falling apart. The moment you prepare to go home, to begin a life without her, that changes. You freeze on the sidewalk, looking back to the headstone.

“C’mon,” Tim murmurs as he approaches you. “You’re not staying alone tonight.”

“I can’t do this, Tim.”

“Yes, you can. Look at me. She loved you, and she wanted you to live and love, and do what you wanted to do. Do not let that monster take your life, too.”

Tim cups your cheeks, kissing your forehead as you nod.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. It- I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but you’re not alone, okay?”

“I know,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim holds you against his chest until you fall asleep, but you don’t get much rest before a nightmare wakes you. Slipping out of Tim’s arms, you walk into his backyard and close the door behind you. Sitting on his deck, you feel like you’re back in Cole’s yard, frozen and unable to do anything more than scream. Why didn’t you take action like Nolan? Get the gun somehow before Cole got away from Nolan? … Why didn’t you save your mother?

Pressing your hand against your mouth, you attempt to silence your cries, but you should have realized that Tim would notice the moment you left his side. He closes the patio door softly, sitting beside you.

“Can I come closer?” he asks softly.

You shake your head quickly, and your thoughts spiral. So many things could have been done differently, and maybe this is a sign that you should have never come to Los Angeles, never have become a cop and that you are the reason she is dead.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tim calls, demanding your attention as he grabs your hand. “Breathe. Breathe with me.”

As Tim grounds you, you crawl toward him, letting him hold you as you fall apart in his arms. Crying into his chest, you eventually fall asleep again, and Tim whispers a promise that he will always be here for you.

✯✯✯✯✯

The first few weeks are the hardest as reality sets in, and you relive the moment. Tim never leaves your side, though, offering a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, or a reminder that you are not to blame. As the time between tears grows longer and you can look at pictures of her and smile, you decide you’re ready to return to work.

“Are you sure? If you need more time, that is completely understandable,” Tim replies.

“I’m sure. You told me not to let Cole take my life, and I’m ready to start living again.”

“Still room for me?” Tim asks with a smile.

“Loads of room for you,” you promise, leaning against him.

“Then I’ll be by your side the whole time.”

So, when you walk into work three months later, you assume that Tim is responsible for the round of applause and the “Welcome Back” banner hanging in the bullpen. You and Tim are both surprised by how easily you return to the station, smiling as you greet your friends and able to walk past your mom’s office with nothing more than a sad smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

After practically moving into Tim’s house after the funeral, you know where everything is. So, when he spills a drink while watching the game, unable to draw his eyes from the screen, he asks you to get him some dry clothes.

“Sure thing,” you reply, smiling at him.

Tim yells when his team scores, and you shake your head in loving amusement as you enter his closet. Moving a small basket to get a shirt from behind it, you accidentally knock something onto the floor. When you stand after picking it up, you realize that it’s a jewelry box. Opening it, you see the one thing you didn’t expect.

In the other room, one of the teams calls a time-out, and commercials begin playing. Tim realizes that you’ve been in the bedroom for a while, so he stands, stretching as he sets out to check on you.

“Did you fall into a-“ he begins, freezing when he sees you staring at the engagement ring.

“Sorry,” you say, snapping out of your shocked stupor as you close the box and put the ring back. “I knocked it off and didn’t think, uh, here’s a clean shirt.”

Tim grabs your hands rather than the shirt, stopping you before you can walk around him.

“I’ve had it for a while,” Tim explains. “I just- I could never find the right time to ask.”

Wiping a tear from your cheek, you press the shirt against Tim’s chest and ask, “Can you get dressed, please?”

“For what?”

“I need a hug, but you’re really wet.”

Tim laughs, changing right beside you before pulling you toward the bed. He rolls onto his side, looking at your face as you reach for him.

“What about the game?” you whisper.

“Who needs a game when I have you?”

“Well, if you’re not using the tv,” you begin, trailing off.

Tim sighs, kissing your cheek as he reaches over you for the remote. He turns on your favorite movie, inviting you to lay against his chest as you cuddle against him.

“Yes,” you say a few minutes later.

“Yes what?” Tim asks, looking down at you.

You pause the movie, rolling toward Tim to look up at him as you lay your chin against his chest. “If you proposed, I would say yes. No matter when or where.”

Tim smiles, and you decide to watch him rather than the movie.

Considering what his proposal may be like, you whisper, “I wish my mom was here.”

“A few months ago, I left to get breakfast, and then I was acting different the rest of the week. Do you remember that?” Tim asks. You nod, and he continues, “I went to see your mom that day. I showed her the ring and asked for her permission to propose. She told me that I had her blessing and she’d love to have me as a son-in-law.”

Tim smiles as he remembers Zoe's excitement after learning about his plans.

“I was going to propose the weekend that – that she died.”

“She loved you,” you remind him as he brushes his thumbs over your cheeks.

“And I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Get dressed,” Tim whispers in your ear as the movie ends.

“What?”

“Put clothes on. Unless you want to go to dinner wearing that,” Tim replies, gesturing to your well-loved pajamas. “Not that you don’t look beautiful, of course.”

“Move,” you mumble, pushing past him to reach the dresser he emptied for you after the funeral.

As he drives you to dinner, you watch Tim’s profile, feeling like the luckiest, most loved woman ever. He stops at a park, exiting beside a tree covered in fairy lights. Walking to the passenger door, he takes your hand and helps you out of the truck.

“Tim, what is this?” you ask.

“Something I should’ve done before,” he begins, kneeling. He looks into your eyes, reflecting the lights above you as he speaks. When you say yes, crying just as Zoe said you would, Tim stands, pulling you into his arms before sliding the ring onto your finger.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hi,” you greet, lowering to sit in the grass. You look at the sparkling ring on your finger and smile. “Tim proposed. I- I wouldn’t have seen it coming if I hadn’t found it in the closet.”

The wind blows, wrapping around you like a comforting hug.

“He told me that he went to see you and you gave him your blessing. I know you loved him, and you knew how much I loved him, but… sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve him. He singlehandedly held me together after that day with Cole. And I don’t want to receive more than I give.” Leaning toward the headstone, you read your mother’s name and ask, “What do I do to show him I love him?”

“He knows,” Tim answers, approaching with flowers. “May I join?”

You smile, inviting Tim to sit with you at your mother’s grave. He lays the flowers against her headstone before wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

“What are we talking about?” he asks.

“Us.”

“That’s my favorite topic.”

As you fall back into conversation with your mom, and Tim joins you, you feel like your mom is sitting across from you. With her love and Tim’s, plus all the love you have to give, you know you will be okay. Great even, you think as you lean against Tim, and the sun glints off the ring on your left hand.

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myfictionalbfs

1 year ago

Freedom - Walt Deville Imagine (The Invitation)

Title: Freedom

Pairing: Walt Deville X Reader

Word Count: 1,145 words

Warning(s): mention of violence/potential violence

Summary: A hunter meets a vampire. The unstoppable force meets the unbreakable object, allowing for the ultimate battle between logic and desire.

Author's Note: Here's that longer plotline I mentioned on my last imagine.

Part of this was inspired by a gorgeous monologue written by Ross McGregor and performed by Christopher Tester. You can find it here! It was truly the last thing that I needed to help me tie this whole plotline together, so go check it out. It's fucking beautiful work.

PART TWO HERE

PART THREE HERE

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"I know what you are."

I froze on the landing of the stairs, looking up at the top of the other staircase.

Walt stood on the top step; one eyebrow slightly raised. He tilted his head at me. Like he expected me to spill every secret to him just because he looked at me.

I knew in my heart what he was referring to. If someone gets a job on your estate with some ulterior motive, you will probably notice at some point.

I was a hunter.

I had been for a long time.

My hunting partner had sent me on this job, insisting that I was the best choice to go undercover and figure out the truth about what was happening in the manor.

I was meant to run under the radar, take care of the vamp, and run for the hills.

I had been there for weeks.

I was convinced I knew who it was. I believed it was Mr. Fields. He was constantly tense and seemed to be always overly cautious. I can admit when I'm wrong, but I didn't think I was at the time.

All I had to do after that was find the time to take care of him.

Which was proving ridiculously difficult.

That's the only reason that I had been there as long as I had.

I never meant for Walt to even notice me.

But once he had, I couldn't just avoid him. It would've given away that there was something about me to focus on.

We talked. A lot.

I had confessed more to him than I ever meant to. I had managed to tell him so much about myself without saying I was a hunter. I shouldn't have said as much as I did, but he seemed so interested and so... kind.

And now he was standing at the top of the stairs, staring down at me like he was daring me to do something. Run, fight, anything at all.

"What do you mean," I finally asked. I needed confirmation.

"A hunter."

There it was.

Nevertheless, I scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about, Walt."

"You don't?"

"Not at all."

"I don't believe you," he started walking down the steps. "Hunters... they always get just a little too confident."

When he made it down most of the stairs, I took off, going to run down the rest of the staircase. The one night I didn't have a weapon. I had no intention of fighting. He was right behind me, dragging me away from the steps and shoving me to the wall, pinning my wrists with his hands. I flinched a bit, having narrowly avoided hitting the things on and by the wall.

Walt offered a sickeningly sweet smile.

I caught sight of the fangs in the dim light around us. I had been so convinced that it was Mr. Fields. I was such an idiot.

"You hide it well," Walt said quietly. He was so calm that it made me entirely uneasy. "Many hunters have shown up on my doorstep... you've been the most impressive."

I tried to kick him, or just move my leg some way. It didn't work.

"Shh, shh, shh," he chuckled a bit. I felt his claws dig into my skin slightly. "Stop moving."

I calmed down, realizing the risk right now.

"I could kill you now," he muttered, his lips finding my neck. "Hunters were always the most satisfying... but I have no interest in that now."

He pulled away again. I don't know what he was looking for as his eyes scanned every part of my face.

"You are... something very, very different... so clever and so brave and so... tempting..."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I froze. His lips were slow, attempting to guide mine to move with them. I almost did. My eyes started to flutter close, longing starting to stop my logical thought.

He pulled away as he moved from holding my wrists to gently holding my hands. Vulnerable. Open for me to take action. Shove, fight, hit.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

He lifted one of my hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm before turning it over to kiss the back. He held it there for a while. It was like he wanted to stop time and hold onto this moment.

"Leave him," Walt said softly. I blinked at him, suddenly snapping back into focus. "Stay here... with me."

I didn't answer. I wanted to quickly decline. To kill him and go home to my normal life. Achieve what my partner wanted of me.

Walt's eyes were closed as another kiss was pressed to my hand.

"He craves your usefulness," he continued. "Your obedience. I... I just want you. You've captured my mind and my heart. I long for you. Stay with me. Please."

"I...," still speechless. How long had it been since I was last speechless? Had that ever happened?

"Imagine it," Walt moved back, guiding me away from the wall.

He stepped behind me when we reached the middle of the landing. His arms wrapped around me, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"All of this... ours," he muttered. "You would have your own room for your research and your weapons. Every decision would be yours. At last, your choice. You would be loved, taken care of. Nothing earned, everything offered. And then, when the time is right, you will be joined to me forever. We'll dance through midnights and love for centuries. Unstoppable."

I felt like his words were circling my mind, burrowing into whatever part they could find until they had overwhelmed me. I had never heard something like that before. Not directed at me anyway.

"Let me provide everything that man could never," Walt gently kissed my neck, humming against the skin. "Let me adore you."

I took a deep breath. "My life... my work... all my own?"

"All I ask is your love and commitment."

It wasn't the only factor that I was considering, but I needed to know. Locking myself in this house would have driven me mad. Being able to work... to continue my purpose in this world... that's what I needed. I couldn't prove his love false, but I could do just that with his actions.

I turned around in his arms.

He grinned at me.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. His hold on my sides tightened and he pulled me closer. I touched the sides of his face, grinning into the kiss. I had never had a moment feel more complete. I felt at peace. Free.

I leaned back, resting my forehead against his. "Yes... I'll stay."

His grin grew into a wide smile.

Thus was the beginning of my eternity. And what a brilliant eternity it would be.

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