BEING UN-DENNIS-ABLE
Plss write abt dennis and younger reader when they are in a relationship
BEING UN-DENNIS-ABLE
Dennis Reynolds x Younger Reader
Always Sunny Masterlist
Authors Note: There’s so much I have planned for Dennis and Readers rollercoaster of a relationship I figured I’d start with a bit about their first date and first little romantic interactions. I hope you like it !!!
Also that photo of shirtless Glenn makes me want to bark
Warnings/Tags: Usual behaviour from the gang, Dennis being a bastard man, misogyny, narcissism, sexism, plus surprise appearances from Mac’s mom and Artemis hehe
Word Count: 4.4k
Dennis Reynolds does not do relationships.
They’re messy. They’re draining. They’re restrictive and quite frankly, Dennis didn’t want to deny himself of all the potential hotties out there that he hadn’t met yet. So, he was always in the dating pool and open to the next manipulation opportunity.
He was a difficult man to tie down simply because he didn’t want to be. Yeah, some of the perks that came with having a girlfriend were attractive to Dennis, but the overall concept of being in a relationship was enough of a deterrent to happily sacrifice those benefits. He’d convinced himself he was better off single anyways.
Dating you was different because unlike the rest of his sexual conquests, he found it impossible to complete the D.E.N.N.I.S System. He couldn’t separate entirely. You were basically a part of the gang now, especially after you’d struck up a deal with Frank to become an ‘employee’ of Paddy’s Pub.
"Hey Frank, can I ask you something kinda private?" You asked after knocking quietly on the open office door to get his attention.
Frank screws his face up and looks at you from behind the desk. "Woah, hey kid… I ain’t into chicks your age alright?”
“What?” You exclaimed in disgust. “No! I need advice from you. Jesus, Frank..."
"Advice? Ohhhh... Like fatherly advice? Cos I totally get your Dad skipped town and left you all alone but I’m not the role model you should be looking up to. I ain’t a good person.”
"My dad didn’t leave me Frank, he died when I was three. I barely even remember him.” You shrugged casually. “Besides, you being a shitty role model is exactly why I came to you. Someone who's financially corrupt and has successfully gotten away with tricking the government.”
“Say no more.” Franks grins, kicking his legs up on the desk and pulling out a cigar case from the top drawer. “What are we talking?”
“Tax evasion.”
Before he could cut the tip of the cigar he burst into laughter at your response. “Why?”
You explained to Frank about how your family trust fund worked and the conditions that were set around accessing the millions of dollars in their estate. As long as you and your cousins had a ‘proper’ job and received some sort of legitimate government-taxable income, you could access the trust.
One of your cousins insisted on becoming a filmmaker instead of going to college and wanted to access the trust fund to pay for the production. Your aunt was firm that until his little project actually turned a profit, he’d have to get a job and work in the meantime. Now, he’s a thirty two year old aspiring filmmaker without a single completed project and working at a fucking vape store in Los Angeles.
His sister wasn’t much better. She had zero ambition or drive to make a life for herself. Her financial plan was to meet someone richer so she didn’t have to worry about it. She was a fucking moron, the whole family knew it. Her parents paid for a building just to get her into Stanford her grades were so bad. Credit where credit is due though, that’s where she met her equally as dumb yet uber-rich husband.
“How much do you need to earn for them to count it as a job?” Frank asks out of curiosity.
You shrug, “Anything with a payslip I guess. It doesn’t matter so much about what the job is, it’s more so they know we’re doing something productive with our lives each day instead of blowing all the cash and doing nothing.”
“Tell you what. I’ll put you down in the books Paddy’s and say you work here.“
“Really? That… Was easy...” You were a skeptic. “What do you want in return, huh?”
Frank was a businessman at his core, he knew never to enter a negotiation unless there was some sort of benefit to him. For the average Joe in this situation, they’d demand money but Frank has more money than he possibly needs — as do you.
“What do I want? How am I s’posed to know? You’re putting me on the goddamn spot here, kid!” Frank defended. “Just- You owe me one… I’ll cash in the favour whenever an opportunity comes up.”
That was how you (kind of) ended up working at Paddy’s with the gang.
The first four years of knowing you were tricky for Dennis because you were under 21 and the gang had enforced a rule amongst themselves to be better influencers around you to not taint your young, impressionable mind. Plus you weren’t legally allowed in the bar so you didn’t seen them as often as you did now.
Dennis assumed that once you were 21, it was open season and he could manipulate you at his full potential. You were basically in an incubator period from 18 to now, so Dennis had strategically been making ‘deposits’ until you had reached full maturity. And now that you had, he was ready to make a hefty withdrawal.
Except you knew that he just wanted sex. You weren’t dumb. You still flirted with him for those 4 years sure, but you knew exactly what he wanted from you in the end and wanted to see him work for it. You knew how his usual tactics worked because he’d always boast about his sexual conquests at the bar.
Much to his chagrin, you weren’t all over him or begging to bang the second you turned 21 which drove the man crazy. His usual tactics worked with women who didn’t know him, but he had to work a lot harder to win you over because you knew what he was like. He had to create a new strategy.
A new system.
After about 6 more months of sexual tension, you finally agreed to go on a date with him. It was one of the rare moments that Dennis was thrown off his rhythm when it came to women, which only intrigued him more about you. After he’d pulled his classic ‘oh no the restaurant is closed’ ruse, he suggested that you both go back to his apartment for takeout and a movie instead. He’d started the date off strong by getting you back to his place this easily, so he was confident the rest of his process would unfold as planned.
Cool, calm and collected.
You hadn’t been inside Mac and Dennis’ apartment since the drunken one night stand you had with Dennis. It was weird to be back inside because as much as it seemed sort of familiar, it still so foreign because you hadn’t really remembered that night and rushed out the next morning.
“Mac and I rented a bunch of DVD’s yesterday so it’s kinda perfect timing to have a movie night.”
The term ‘movie night’ was thrown around so often amongst the gang that sometimes Dennis found it hard to keep up with which movie night was which. It meant different things depending on who said it, and in what context. You know, like how words work? Whatever, it was Dennis’ problem not yours.
For example, when Frank ever referred to movie night, it meant one of two things:
1. The gang had invited him (on the rare occasion) to their existing group movie night arrangement.
2. He and Charlie were having a ‘Gruesome Twosome Tuesday’.
You see, it’s the way you say it that suggests innuendo. Saying movie night plain and simple doesn’t hint toward there being any other meaning. Movie night however, gave the impression that it’s not to be taken by its standard definition. That is was in fact, not the usual movie night.
Look at Sweet Dee next. If she said movie night, it meant that she had somehow weaselled her way into the boys movie night. More often than not, it was by eavesdropping on their conversation and assuming she was invited when she wasn’t. When she said movie night, it meant she was using it as an excuse to bang some guy on a first date without having to leave her apartment. A low effort win-win for her.
When Mac or Charlie said movie night, it meant it was one of the regular guys nights where Charlie went to Dennis and Mac’s apartment with a case or two of beers and hung out as they always did. Those happened multiple times a month. If either of them were talking about movie night though, it meant that Dennis had granted them access to one of his sex tapes to watch as a special treat.
Dennis had planted the idea of finding Bigfoot in Frank, Mac and Charlie’s heads earlier that day. All he had to do was look at his phone and say ‘holy shit there was a Bigfoot sighting in the Poconos’ and they were off on an impromptu camping trip. Mac wasn’t home which meant Dennis had the apartment to himself and now, he had a lovely lady to share it with.
“Let me guess…” Dennis said narrowing his eyes at you and pressing a finger to his lips as he pretended to read your mind. “Romantic comedy?”
“A rom-com on a date… How original,” you laughed with a playful eye roll, leaning against the back of the sofa and sipping your drink.
“Okay, how ‘bout a horror then?” He asked, resting his arm along the back of the couch, subtly bridging the distance between the two of you and chuckling. “Unless you’re too scared…”
Scary movies were the back up option for Dennis, but that was only the first detour. It was fine, he was smart enough to know the best manipulators accounted for deviations from the plan like this. Besides, watching a horror film meant that he could play the protective masculine stereotype instead of the in-touch-with-his-feelings guy. Both stereotypes worked with women so again, the plan was still on the right track.
He thought that at the inevitable jump scares, you’d curl into his side and cover your eyes. He’d then suggest turning it off, not wanting to cause any nightmares for you of course. You’d insist you wanted to keep watching and he’d say how cute you were when you were being brave — a comment laced with patronising undertone but he’d say it before leaning in for the kiss so you’d be focused elsewhere. Then? Well, then the second step of the D.E.N.N.I.S System would be nicely progressing.
Except you didn’t get scared, you laughed.
Fuck. Dennis had to pivot his strategy again. Shifting his approach to make fun of the movie with you instead, both of you made snarky comments throughout the film. He usually did that sort of thing with Mac, so naturally he was throwing out quips with ease. Each of them just as funny as the last.
And you know what? You were pretty fucking funny too. It surprised him, which it shouldn’t have because he knew your sarcastic sense of humour was predominantly witty, but he was just pleasantly elated that you could keep up with him. He was so just used to Mac’s dumb Austin Powers references and out of context Borat jokes said at the worst moments that it was nice to not have to deal with that for once.
After the movie ended, you were both pretty intoxicated and Dennis had made you laugh for hours on end. He was sure you’d be begging for his cock by now — he played a great game. He had you like putty in his hands. Add in the fact that you couldn’t drive home mixed with living 45 minutes away, and he had the perfect recipe to have you to stay over for the night.
Unfortunately for him, you politely declined. “I have an early morning tomorrow so I’ll get a cab home, it’s okay. Thank you for tonight though, I had fun.” You said slinging your bag over your shoulder and heading out to the hall.
“You’ll text me when you get home, yeah? I want to make sure you’re safe.” Dennis said with a charming grin, resting his arm up against the door frame to physically stand over you. Power move. He’d have loved to try to convince you to stay but that would have come across as pathetic. Only little bitch boys begged a woman for sex, real men convinced women that they wanted it.
And so, you finished the night of your first date in the backseat of a taxi, smiling ear to ear at the fact you’d successfully manipulated Dennis as much as he had attempted (and failed) to manipulate you. You knew what kind of guy Dennis was, you knew he’d be playing the role of a perfect man. You even picked up on his little scheme before it started when you’d googled the restaurant to see the menu. You were far too intrigued to see how his plan would play out to question him on the restaurants opening hours.
You’d also steered clear of cliche rom-com movies and let him suggest a horror film. You, a relative fan of the genre had heard terrible things about the latest M. Night Shyamalan movie but deliberately told him the complete opposite. Apparently it’s terrifying you said, acting as though you were nervous to watch it because of the raving reviews. Dennis loved a damsel in distress, a weak, vulnerable woman down on her luck or desperate enough to believe his empty promises.
As a woman of high intelligence and even higher standards, you knew from the get-go that you wouldn’t sleep with him that night. With neither of you remembering the one time you’d had sex four years prior, and the palpable sexual tension you’d both built up since, you knew Dennis was dying to fuck you again. You might be younger than him but you weren’t naive. Nor blind.You didn’t want to see how long you could make him wait for sex. No, no, no. That wasn’t enough long-term satisfaction. A rookie’s game. And you were no rookie. In terms of sex and experience comparative to Dennis yes, but you weren’t a rookie at manipulating people psychologically. Dennis thought he was winning his little manipulation game, and he was, but the poor guy didn’t realise he was the only one playing.
You and Dennis were manipulators at your very cores. You enjoyed playing the game as much as he did. The only difference was that he played to win and you played for your own amusement. You knew that he used the D.E.N.N.I.S system with every woman he pursued, and he wouldn’t stop until it was complete. That then became your motivation. He couldn’t win if he couldn’t complete all the steps and you wouldn’t go anywhere unless you grew bored of him.
Whether you or Dennis liked to admit it, you were pretty fucking similar — just in different ways. On the surface you both looked like polar opposites. And for the most part you were, but on the same deranged and twisted spectrum. You both denied you had feelings but you both had big emotions.
Dennis showed his anger outwardly by yelling and shamelessly causing a scene, commanding the power and authority over people by being the most dominant figure. Whereas your anger presented in a chillingly calm manner that made people far more unsettled than an explosive argument. You were the type of person to feel a tear roll down your face whilst laughing with how angry you were.
Charlie was always really scared when you got angry. More so than with Dennis.
Mac found Dennis scarier of course because he was emotionally attached to the man and never wanted to disappoint him, but with you he assumed he’d put you in a headlock or overpower you with some sick karate moves if you were to ever fight. You weren’t a physical fighter though, never was and never will be. Especially not against grown men.
One time you’d gotten in an argument with Mac about who knew Dennis better. You were in your mid twenties at this stage and Mac had overheard you talking about ‘the true Dennis’ to Charlie. He interrupted you and without any context, scrutinised you (and Charlie) for your ‘stupidity’ thinking you knew his own roommate and best friend better than he did. You had started to explain how you were speaking in terms of clinical psychology, he thought yelling the loudest and not listening to anyone would help drive home his point. You didn’t even disagree with him all, you were simply just talking about different things.
The next day you stopped by Mrs. Mac’s house and sent him a photo of the two of you sitting on the front porch having a cigarette together — a moment of maternal bonding Mac had craved his whole life. He furrowed his brows when he received the text and once Dennis noticed his confusion and saw the photo for himself, he grinned like the god damn Cheshire Cat.
“Is that your Mom? Fuck, that’s a good move… That’s really good…” Dennis trailed, impressed by your psychological warfare against Mac. Triggering his severe parental issues? Genius idea on your part.
That was the first moment Dennis truly respected you as a fellow manipulative elite. You were ruthless just like him which made you all the more challenging to conquer. It was his biggest project yet, four years and counting.
Mac runs his hand through his hair dramatically and paces back and forth across the living room. “She is such a bitch, dude! Why is she still trying to be a part of the gang? Like, first she tries to steal you away from me- us, and then fights me saying she knows you better than anyone else? Like hello? I literally live with you Dennis.” Mac scoffs, frowning over at Dennis who was too busy zooming into the picture.
“Wait, is your Mom smiling?! Wow… I didn’t know she knew how to do that.”
Mac snatches the phone back, “No! She’s squinting from the sun! Obviously. But Dennis, trust me she was such a psycho yesterday fighting me over you.”
Dennis had already zoomed in on your chest in the photo and was far too preoccupied staring at your tits to care about the conversation anymore. “You might live with me sure, but I haven’t been inside you.”
“You-”
“And I’m never going to.” Dennis finishes bluntly, not wanting to entertain the ludicrous conversation whatsoever.
Turned out you went over to Mac’s mom’s house to she had any of Mac’s old high school yearbooks. You weren’t up to anything particularly diabolical, you just wanted to see if you could get any dirt on Dennis because you weren’t convinced any of them were popular in school. You partly knew that taking the photo was with Mac’s mom would trigger him so you sent it just as an amusing little power play.
“Hey Mrs. Mac. Brought you these.” You said tossing a fresh cigarette deck at her. After she had already coughed a puff of smoke in your face as she answered the door mind you.
She grunted at you and stepped outside onto the patio, sitting down in her usual chair and opening the pack you’d given her. She was already smoking inside before you got there but here she was lighting a new one now. The half-smoked and still lit cigarette was burning a small hole in the sofa inside but not enough to cause a fire.
That wouldn’t be for a few more years.
Mrs. Mac held the cigarette between her wrinkled lips and scowled up at you, “Sit down.”
“Oh. Yeah, yeah okay. Thanks.” You said quickly sitting in the other chair. You’d only met the woman once or twice before and had barely heard her speak more than a few sentences.
She held the open pack towards you and grunted, which you interpreted as ‘do you want one’ and thanked her before lighting it.
“Sorry for showing up unannounced, I needed to get away from the guys.”
She nods, “Mmph.”
“I was wanting to look at some of Mac’s old school stuff? They were talking about it the other day is all, I’m a little curious.”
Silence.
“Is his room uh, just upstairs? Or…”
Mrs. Mac nods and takes a long drag of her cigarette, saying nothing but turning towards you this time.
“Cool… Yeah I’ll just go look after I finish this.”
She looks away from you again and closes her eyes, leaning back in her chair and letting the sunlight hit her face. “Do you ever shut the hell up? Just sit and smoke kid. The sun is out. Life is good.”
You recall Mac saying she thrived in sunlight once, which you were intrigued by because she was the human embodiment of a brick wall. But this was pretty optimistic of her. After a few minutes of more weirdly uncomfortable silence, she suddenly coughed and spluttered, spitting out a sizeable amount of phlegm into a nearby empty beer can before resuming her sunbaking.
That’s when you pulled out your phone and took a photo of the two of you to send to Mac — when his Mom was ‘thriving’ with you and not him. From that moment on, Mac had a grudge against you. For stealing Dennis and stealing his Mom.
Your on and off again nature with Dennis became a normal part of the gang’s dynamic. Sometimes you were both friendly and on good terms, sometimes you were at each other’s throats or dating other people to make the other jealous. Sometimes you would agree to part ways and not keep doing this toxic cycle, but a month or two later you’d be hooking up in the back office again.
Nobody could keep up with how to define yours and Dennis’ relationship because the two of you never wanted a definition or a label in the first place. It was just a never ending game of cat and mouse that most people would find infuriating and draining — but it worked for both of you and your twisted conniving selves.
There were little things that the two of you would do that subtly showed you meant more to each other than just casual sex. Tiny details that showed you both had cracks in your meticulously crafted armour against catching feelings. For example, whenever the gang had a particularly dangerous or life-threatening scheme, you were always the first person Dennis would look for or check was okay. It just became a natural instinct for him to protect you.
Without being asked to or having any knowledge of his dislike for the skins, you peeled Dennis’ apples for him. It was strangely comforting knowing he didn’t have to explain to you how the skins were riddled with toxins because he assumed that was what you believed too. They weren’t, and you knew that. You just peeled them sometimes, which almost felt like fate the first time he saw.
Dennis was too much of a realist to believe in fate, but if he did he might have thought the apple thing was a sign that you were a keeper. Maybe.
“What’re you eating?” He said with a slight scrunch of his nose.
“Apple slices with cinnamon sugar. It’s like Apple pie but without the pie. And cold.”
Dennis smiles gently, “You peel your apples?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a fucking baby. I know.” You sighed, not in the mood for another joke about your age. The guys always teased you about that and it was getting old.
“No, no… I don’t eat the skins either. I’m not fucking with you I swear,” he assured.
He liked that you remembered to peel his apples from that point on. It made him feel seen and heard, which was something he didn’t encounter very often. He liked knowing that you cared about his wants and needs, like you actually gave a fuck. You even asked him for his advice when you went shopping by texting him different outfit options. He liked that too, being able to dictate your wardrobe to his tastes. His favourite thing though, was when you would ask his opinion on what nail polish colour you should get each time you visited the salon.
“Hey Dee, c’mere for a sec.” Dennis said ushering her over to him and showing her your most recent text. “Do different nail polish colours mean different things for women?”
“Red means she’s a whore.” Artemis calls out from where she was sitting in the bar. She’s several margaritas in but she’s still as quick as a whip.
“Oh! Yeah, that one’s true actually. Classy women like myself, get elegant neutral colours.” Dee said smugly holding the backs of her hands up to show her pale pink nails.
“So I’ll say get pink then?”
“No, don’t just say pink,” Dee says mocking his stupid boy ignorance. “It’s called ‘Bubble Bath’ and it’s a classic.”
Artemis then joins them at the other end of the bar. “It’s all about tone. Hot pink? Spring break. Baby pink? Eh, it’s pretty safe all-round. If she gets anything neon or super long, she’s trashy. And if she gets only a clear top coat she’s probably a prude.” She shrugs.
Dennis can’t help but imagine about what your hand would look like around his cock with different coloured nails. Neutral colours weren’t a bad image. Better than something gaudy like electric blue or something he thought.
“Bright red is for cheap whores but dark red is for those real expensive whores. Y’know the ones that don’t suck cock for less than a benjamin.” Artemis continues.
“Wait- Are you kidding? I can charge a hundred bucks for a quick lil trip down south? Huh…” Dee ponders, briefly considering the quick source of income.
Frank, who was eavesdropping from one of the booths in the bar laughs, “Don’t kid yourself Deandra. Gangly women like you could probably only get fifty bucks max.”
“You have good feet though. Men pay big bucks for flippers like those.” Artemis added.
“Dark red it is.” Dennis smirks, responding to your text and telling you to send a photo when you were done.
When your photo came through? Fuck, yeah Dennis knew he made the right decision. It looked hot on you. And they’d look even hotter roaming his body later that night he thought.
Which they did.
More Posts from Myfictionalbfs and Others
FRANK LIES TO YOUR COLLEGE PROFESSORS
Dark!Dennis x Younger!Reader Series
Always Sunny Masterlist
Summary: After being mistaken for your father by a college professor, Frank plays along as he boasts that all three of his kids attended Penn. Only two of them graduated though. One was institutionalised. Oh! And two of them are fucking.
Warnings: Typical Sunny canon mayhem, mentions of incest???
Word Count: 1.0k
You were chatting with two of your psychology professors, talking about the possibility of continuing study. You’d never thought of doing your masters or getting a doctorate but they were both so adamant in telling you how bright and capable you were you started considering the idea. A brilliant mind, they’d said. A one of a kind student with incredible perspectives, they’d said.
Needless to say your stroked ego was massively inflated from all their compliments. Especially after they told you how much of a shoe-in you’d be for various awards, research grants and guest speaker slots. So, you told them you’d be open to discussing it.
Your professor furrowed his brows and looked behind you, smiling gently out of politeness as he looked back at you whilst you spoke. But then you noticed the Dean looking behind you as well.
Turning around to see what they were looking at, you nearly jumped out of your skin to see Frank chewing on a cold sausage. He had silently joined the conversation and stood eerily close to you, right in your blind spot. Wait, where the fuck did Frank even get that from? You were honestly just surprised you hadn’t realised he was there sooner. Normally you would have heard him loudly chewing with his mouth open, or smelt his usual musty egg aroma wafting over.
Your professor outstretched his hand to shake Frank’s. “My apologies, this must be your father.”
Before you could correct him and assure them both that this goblin of a man was not your father, Frank had already introduced himself so.
“Oh you bet your ass I am! And a proud father to three Penn students too…” He said smugly, sticking 3 of his fingers out and holding the half eaten sausage between his thumb and pointer finger. “Well, one got expelled but you know what they say about the first pancake of the batch…”
You laughed with Frank at his terrible joke to try and ease the obviously uncomfortable situation. Frank pointed over to the rest of the gang standing a few yards away.
“The one that looks like Larry Bird? She’s the one who got expelled for arson but the other one managed to graduate.” He pointed out.
“I’m sorry, did you say arson?”
You quickly interrupted to try and change the subject away from Dee. “Dennis studied psychology here too!”
“Oh yeah, he’s a bonafide psychopath. You’ll probably see one of his manifestos on the news one day.” Frank nodded, almost sounding proud of the fact.
He started to explain the long winded story behind Dennis ripping the heads off snapping the necks of several crows as a child. Dennis claims it was only to test the tensile strength of their necks though. Finally you interjected, trying to salvage the reputation of your ‘brother’ before Frank brought up the second crow. Or the third or fourth.
“Wow! That’s a story for another day…”
Your professor chuckled at Frank’s absurdity, still believing that this 4’10” man who claimed to be your father just had a severely dark sense of humour. “Well regardless of your other children, this one’s destined for great things in the world.”
Just when things couldn’t get worse, Frank ups the ante. He let out a deep belch and took another swig from the soda can he was holding — which was mostly just vodka at this point.
“Jesus fucking Christ…” You muttered under your breath, looking down at your feet and shaking your head in defeat.
Was it too late to admit this man wasn’t really your father? Could you pretend you didn’t know him at all? God, that would make you look even worse by showing that you associate yourself with him by choice. Quickly you pulled out your shiny new iPhone 3G and texted Dennis:
SOS!!
Dennis pulled out his BlackBerry, smirked at the message on the screen and looked over to you with a playfully raised eyebrow. You tilted your head down towards Frank subtly, looking at Dennis with a pleading look to rescue you from the conversation. Finally he cottoned onto what you were implying and started to weave through the crowd towards the group. You felt yourself sigh in relief knowing he was coming to save you from this hellish nightmare.
“There’s my little brainiac!” Dennis called out, putting his arm around your shoulders and giving you a playful squeeze. “Wait- Professor Szymancjek?! Holy shit, I thought you’d be dead by now. Damn… Good for you, man.”
The professor sighed and looked at her ex-student with an unappreciative look. “Hello again, Dennis.”
“And this is Dr. Morrissey, our newest Dean of Psychological Science.” You said, watching the two men shake hands politely.
Dennis apologised to the group, telling them that he had to whisk you away for a reservation at Guigino’s. Nice lie, you thought. Guigino’s was one of the best restaurants in town but it was a perfectly plausible reason to dine there. They’d totally believe that two siblings would enjoy a nice meal to celebrate one graduating college. It was a fool-proof lie.
Until Dennis went and ruined it by kissing you.
“Only the best place in town for my girl,” he had said proudly for turning your head towards him and kissing you at the very worse possible time.
Your poor horrified scholars looked on with disgust and disbelief because unlike Dennis (who was pretending to be your boyfriend in this scenario), they thought he was your brother. Frank swatted Dennis’ arm and told him to take it inside to the stadium bathrooms for a quickie, then laughed towards the dean and professor.
“Nothing like a good graduation bone, eh?” He chuckled, nudging one of the scholars with his elbow.
The cherry on top of what was already a heavily confronting and disturbing display of incest for the two scholars, was your ‘father’ now encouraging his son to go fuck his ‘daughter’ in the stadium bathrooms.
Great.
Just when you thought it really couldn’t get worse, Frank came in and proved you wrong. What a superb reputation to leave behind — the incestuous psychology grad genius who kissed both her brother, and her life away in front of their very eyes.
Besties get Banged
Angel Dust x FemReader Smut
➽─❥Angel Dust x MaleReader Smut version
You didn’t think Angel liked you the way you did him, how could you? While sharing a profession, he was nothing like you. He was the star in every room he entered. After being booked on a shoot together, you find maybe Angel wasn’t so ignorant to your existence.
Warning/Promises: Angel x Reader do not fuck but they do get banged, Val is going to ruin shit but I ain’t writing that part, Foursome but no one cares, handjob, cum countdown 💦, masturbation, making out, porno, vaguely threatening ending from Val
minors dni (👁️👄👁️🔪)
When Angel Dust slipped into the dressing room of Val’s ‘sex dungeon’, you struggled to keep your smile down. You’d never actually worked together. The two of you had attended the same awards shows, frequented the same clubs, danced the same stages. But never graced the same screen. Every encounter left you more and more enthralled. Always the life of the party, but when the crowds would die down Angel would become so sweet, talking with an emotional intelligence many sinners seemed to have lacked or intentionally abandoned at death.
Angel threw himself at many people, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. But you’d be lying to say it didn’t sting he’d never propositioned you.
“Mornin’,” he plopped into the make-up chair beside you, hand lazily combing through his bedhead.
Angel hoped you hadn’t seen him pause when he saw you. He didn’t get butterflies often, but you always managed to make his stomach flutter. He felt so silly, a kid with a crush.
You knew Val wasn’t going to let it be just the two of you. He enjoyed watching you both get fucked too much. ‘Besties get Banged’ was written on the clapperboard. Angel gave you a wink, “Ooh besties! Is this work or just another Friday night?” His elbow hit a soft spot in your ribs, making you laugh.
“Stop— st-stop that. Get on the bed.” Val used all four arms to separate you, “Bitch number 1 on the left side, Bitch number 2 on the right.” He sat in his chair, arm angrily motioning for the large demons to enter the set already.
It was a standard enough shoot, until you and Angel found yourselves both on your knees, eye to eye from across the pink heart shaped bed. One yellow and one black eye looking back at you, hazy with pleasure as he was fucked dumb by some piece of muscle with a dick attached.
He looked so beautiful when he felt good. You reached out your hand to him, then the other. Fingers laced together, you both moaned into the space between yourselves. Angel’s eyebrows rose up, tongue coming out. His face was so flushed, cheeks pink. You weren’t sure it was an invitation, but you pulled yourself to him and ran your tongue over his. The demon behind you followed your body, trying to maintain contact.
Angel’s eyes rolled closed, tongue pushing into your mouth. The kiss interrupted again and again as the repeated pounding into your holes pulled your lips apart, your entire bodies moving in rhythm.
“Hey!,” Val yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Angel smiled at you, “Whats the matter Val?” He strained forward, capturing your mouth again.
“Stop kissing! You’re ruining it!”
“You never kissed a bestie? Awww,” Angel kept his lips near yours. “Val’s never had a real good friend before.”
Val’s antennae bristled, “Pull em apart, they’re making googly eyes at each other. Killing my fucking hard on. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
Your bodies were slid away, fingertips still reaching out to each other. You were flipped onto your back, pacing brutal as if making up for lost time.
Angel watched you, mouth lonely. His cock leaking from just a kiss. Reaching down, he began to stroke himself while enjoying his own personal show. Your body bouncing with the thrusts, eyes watery. He arched his back, looking across to where your body connected with the other demon. You looked so wet, so inviting.
“Angel!” Val seethed.
Angel’s closed his eyes, imagining you around his cock and not his fingers. His eyes shot open when he felt hands on his face. His fear dissolved into relief as he saw you had scooted back towards him, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. Breath hot, he moaned into your mouth.
“Uh Boss, should we stop em again? It’s kinda hot.” The shark demon behind Angel slowed.
Your fingers slipped through his hair, bringing him deeper into your kiss. There was nothing else in the room anymore but you and Angel. Tongue rolling over tongue, breathy moans exhaled and inhaled.
Val shook his head, “Let the little sluts kiss. If they wanna ruin my shoot so badly, be my guests.” His eyes aglow, Valentino exhaled his toxic smoke throughout the studio, sinister grin spreading across his face.
The demons continued as directed, you and Angel not having noticed the interruption you had caused. Angel’s mouth left yours, head resting on the mattress.
“Val’s going to kill us,” you tried to remember the name of the wolf demon pounding into you, knowing you had some sort of lines.
Angel’s teeth nipped your ear lobe, “He’s gonna do that anyway.”
You moaned, “Feels good when you do that.”
“Yeah?” The wolf asked. You wanted to kick him in the neck.
“Uuh, yeah. You… fuck me so good, Daniel.”
“Donny.” He corrected.
Angel got back on his elbows, “Literally no one cares, David.” Whispering now, “Roll over and come ‘ere.”
Douglas didn’t seem bothered, you using your feet to stop him and twisting around his cock to get back on your knees. The demons whose names neither of you cared to learn followed you again. Angel was pressed into you, two arms holding you against his body, one arm on your cheek, a fourth finding its way to your clit.
You gasped, Angel licking up your neck and chin as his hand expertly rubbed you. Regaining some bit of your brain, you reached down a hand to his cock. It was slapping against this stomach in time with the thrusts. Your hand only need to grip him, the other actor basically fucking him into your grasp.
Angel’s head craned down, sucking bruises into your collar bone, “I wanna fuck you so bad, it hurts.” Another whisper into your skin.
“I thought you didn’t like me,” your words faded in and out, volume jumping as your pussy took hit after hit. Angel’s hand electrifying every part of your body.
Angel pulled you as close as he could, bringing your hand from his cock to hold in his. Now him and his pre-cum were rubbing along your stomachs, pressed together tightly. “Wrong. So wro-uh.” Eyes rolling back, Angel’s words fell apart.
“You close?”
He nodded.
“Want me to count you down?”
A more frantic nod.
“Five”
You leaned in to kiss at his neck.
“Four”
A long drag of your tongue up to his ear.
“Three”
A kiss to his cheek.
“Two”
You bit at his lip, pulling it with you before letting it go.
“One”
Angel clenched his eyes, grip on you tightening as he came across your stomach, thick and hot. You heard the other actor moan, Angel’s ass tightening with his release.
You took the chance to kiss Angel again, lips soft and swollen from the long shoot. His cum dripped down your stomach and found its way to his hand, adding more lubrication to your wet pussy. Angel’s fingers eagerly used his seed to slip and slide over your clit.
The feeling pushed you into your orgasm, legs shaking as you tried to stay up. “For fuck’s sake,” Val could be heard shouting just past the studio lights.
Drawing him in for another kiss, less deeply now, lips sometimes on lips, and sometimes the chin and the cheek.
You stayed, holding each other, through the shoot. The other actors finishing their parts, cumming and making some puns about bosom buddies. When everyone else left the scene, and you two broke apart your hungry mouths to consider getting cleaned up and dressed, the air grew thick around you. Heads swimming now, a horny haze fell on set.
“Bravo, bitches. You ruined my shoot, only fair I get to ruin something now.” You both turned to see the lights gleaming off Val’s glasses. “Where should I start?”
༻Masterlist༺
My general tag list is called the Horny Little Deer Cult! To be tagged, you are more than welcome to ask to join
Meet My Family
Requested Here!
Pairing: Jim Street x fem!baker!reader
Summary: Street is ready to introduce you to his family. You become fast friends with his SWAT team, but meeting his mother is a difficult challenge. After she tries to scare you away from Street, he faces a tough decision about who he considers family.
Warnings: Karen is Karen, Jim Street is a flirt™️, brief angst, fluff, not proofread
Word Count: 2.1k+ words
Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List
“Hey, handsome,” you greet before kissing Jim’s cheek.
“Hi,” he responds slowly, his eyes narrowed as he watches you. “What’d you do?”
“Why do you think I did something?” you ask, blinking innocently.
“Because you met me at the door with a kiss and it smells like cookies in here.”
“I am a baker.”
“And I’m a cop. I can read you, babe.”
“Babe?” you repeat with a smile. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Not until you tell me what you want,” Street stipulates, failing to hide his smile.
“You said you were ready to introduce me to your team. And I accidentally tripled a few trial recipes, so I have a ton of cookies right now.”
“You want to bribe them,” he concludes, nodding.
“Not exactly what I meant, but… yeah.”
“Are you sure? They can be a lot. They’re going to like you, probably more than they like me, but I didn’t say I wanted to introduce you to rush you into anything.”
“You’re not rushing me. I’m ready to meet them. They’re important to you, and I love you.”
“Enough to save some cookies for me?”
“Of course.”
Less than half an hour after arriving at the station, Chris inhales deeply and says, “I love you.”
You smile as Street asks, “Because of the cookies?”
“Really?” Hondo asks you. “Street?”
“I see why he hid you,” Tan says, reaching for another cookie. “We’re going to need the address of your bakery.”
“The cookies aren’t the only reason we like you,” Luca explains. “You’re great for Street.”
“He’s great for me,” you reply. “But I’m glad you like the cookies, too.”
“How’d you meet?” Deacon inquires.
“He stole a cake.”
“I did not steal it,” Street corrects, looking at you as if you just accused him of murder. “I accidentally knocked it out of her window.”
“How do you accidentally knock a cake out of a window?” Hondo asks.
“I’ve asked the same thing almost daily since we started dating and I’ve never gotten a clear answer,” you say.
“Did you start dating after that?” Chris wonders.
“The same day,” Street brags. “I apologized for ruining the cake, and when I saw her, I had to ask her out.”
Hondo looks at you for confirmation, and you shrug. It’s close enough to the truth. Street tried to salvage the cake, offering apology after apology until you laughed. He looked up at you, with cake and frosting up to his elbows, and couldn’t find any more words to say. He finally blurted out a proposal to buy you dinner, and you haven’t looked back since.
“You should come to dinner with us on Friday,” Hondo tells you. “We’re going to a diner that just opened on Wilshire.”
“I’d love to,” you reply. “I’m sorry if I overstepped by just showing up today with no notice.”
“Family can drop by anytime,” Luca assures you.
After you say your farewells and gather the now empty cookie trays, you exchange numbers with Chris and talk to her about some of your shared favorite recipes. Meanwhile, the guys tell Street you’re perfect for him and welcome anytime, whether you’re bearing baked goods or not.
“How long have you been together?” Deacon asks him.
“About a month,” Street answers.
“What does your mom think about the new relationship?” Hondo inquires.
Street looks at you, where you’re laughing with Chris, then admits, “She doesn’t know. I wanted to introduce her to my actual family first.”
Deacon pats Street’s shoulder and encourages him to do what he thinks is best.
“We are your family, kid,” Hondo promises. “And we’re here for you – both of you.”
Street stops outside his door. He begins speaking but doesn’t get past your name before trailing off.
“I know,” you whisper comfortingly. “I’m here for you, Jim. Not your mom. And if she doesn’t like me, that’s okay. At the end of the day, it’s your decision about who you love, not hers. You know that, right?”
“I do. Okay, let’s get this over with.”
Street takes your hand and leads you into his apartment. His mom is living with him temporarily while she gets on her feet again and figures out what exactly she’s going to do for the remainder of her parole – or so she says.
“Jimmy!” she greets warmly. When she sees you, her smile drops.
“Mom, this is my girlfriend,” he introduces. “And this is my mom, Karen Street.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Street,” you greet with a smile, offering your hand.
“You too,” she answers. She then turns to Street, wiping the hand she used to shake yours on her pants, and says, “I couldn’t remember how to use the coffee maker. Could you show me again?”
“I’ll just make you some right now,” he offers before asking if you want anything.
“No, thanks,” you answer softly. Sitting with Karen, you ask how her day is going so far.
“Let’s just skip all the niceties since Jimmy isn’t here,” she interrupts. “You know as well as I do it will never work out. My Jimmy is a cop, he’s handsome, and you’re… a baker? Do you honestly see that working?”
Your smile droops, but you’re unwilling to let Karen Street deter you or scare you away from dating the man who makes you happy.
“We can make it work,” you answer. “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”
“It would be in your best interest to leave,” she snaps.
“Here you go, Mom,” Street says, placing a steaming mug of coffee beside her.
Karen looks between you and Street, then asks, “Could I speak to you alone, Jimmy?”
“Mom,” he begins, shaking his head.
“I actually need to use the restroom,” you offer, standing.
Street nods, points you in the right direction, then takes your previous seat. He brushes his fingers against yours as you pass him and prepares for his mother to be back to her usual antics.
“That girl is not good for you, Jimmy,” she warns. “She’s rude, uncaring, and she told me that I was a bad mother! Can you believe that? She practically admitted to using you for your law enforcement ties and for money.”
“That doesn’t sound like her,” Street replies, knowing perfectly well that you didn’t say anything rude or about using him.
Karen gets desperate then, unwilling to lose Street because he’s her access to everything. Jim can get her everything she needs and wants, and she will not let you win him over and take him from her.
“I’m sure it doesn’t, not to you,” Karen continues. “She mentioned another man, so I’d bet she’s not loyal. And you, Jimmy, are the most loyal and caring person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to see her hurt you.”
You linger by the door and scroll on your phone in the bathroom. You’re going to give Street and his mom five minutes to talk, you decide. Smiling as you reply to a message from Chris, you don’t concern yourself with hypothesizing what Karen is saying about you. When you do return, Street stands and rises from his seat.
“Did Chris text you too?” he asks. “About coming over to help with the paint?”
“She did,” you reply, following his lead. Chris texted about helping her paint; that wasn't a lie, but she doesn't need help until next weekend. If Street’s taking it as an out, you’ll go with him. You’d go anywhere with him, you think. “It was a pleasure,” you tell Karen. “I made blueberry scones earlier and thought you might like them. They're on the counter.”
“Thank you,” she replies flatly. “Be safe, Jimmy.”
“I’ll be back later, Mom,” he assures her.
As the door closes behind you, Street sighs and wraps his arm around your shoulder.
“C’mon, homewrecker,” he murmurs.
With a laugh, you ask, “What?”
“I’ll tell you later. I need ice cream.”
“And cookies?”
“So many cookies.”
After arriving at your home, you share a plate of fresh cookies and homemade ice cream with Street. He stays close to you, stealing kisses between cookies, and makes you feel incredibly loved. As always.
“Now that you’ve met the family, what do you think?” he inquires.
“If you and Tan ever get tired of SWAT, you should do standup comedy,” you begin.
As you continue raving about 20-David squad and envisioning yourself staying friends with them for years to come, Street smiles. He knew his team would like you, but he’s glad you’re joining the group as seamlessly as he hoped you would.
“Oh, Deacon texted me yesterday,” you remember. “I’m making Sam a birthday cake.”
“Charge him double,” Street jokes.
“I said Deacon not Hondo.”
“You talk to my friends more than I do.”
“They’re great.”
“But my mom is insane.”
Your eyes widen and you sit up straight. Pulling your leg beneath you, you promise, “I was not going to say that.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t a question,” Street assures you, tugging you closer. “You’re not going to see her again unless you really want to.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. My mom… My mom isn’t good for me, I’ve known that for a long time. Today, she showed me that she isn’t good for you either, and, if she can’t be supportive of us, I’m done. She’s pulled me in too deep before and I’m not going to let her do it again.”
“She’s your mother, Street.”
“And I’m not risking what I have with you for her manipulative schemes. I think I have to cut that tie before I give her something I can’t get back.”
You nod, frowning sympathetically. You feel uncomfortable giving input on the situation because it’s Street’s decision. As you hug him, he knows exactly what he has to do. His mom was scared of losing him, but she was going to be the one to drive him away.
“Is that why you called me a homewrecker earlier?” you ask against Street’s shoulder.
“Oh, yeah, she thinks you’re seeing other men. Just using me for my loyalty, good looks, and SWAT money.”
“Please,” you scoff. “That order is way off.”
Street gently pries your arms off of him and shakes his head. “Apparently you also called her a bad mother and if she were a fraction less manipulative and self-serving I’d think she was finally engaging in some reflection.”
“I’m sorry that your relationship is the way it is,” you offer. “But I’m here for you, no matter what you need.”
Street looks at the last cookie, and you smile as you nudge him toward it. Someone knocks on your door, and you leave Street’s side to answer it.
“Uh, I think it’s for you,” you murmur as you open the door wider.
Deacon, Hondo, Tan, Chris, and Luca walk into your home and look expectantly at Street.
“She didn’t like her,” he answers with a shrug. “Hondo was right.”
“Say that one more time?” Hondo requests, raising his phone to record it.
“No.”
“It smells good in here,” Luca whispers to you.
“There’s cookies and a cake in the kitchen,” you tell them. “I still can’t get that cake right. The one time I made a passable version, someone knocked it out of my window.”
Street prepares to defend himself, but you whisper, “Luckily for me, I fell in love with him.”
“So,” Hondo begins as he returns from the kitchen. “How’d it go with your mom?”
“As expected,” Street says quickly. He turns to you and says, “I love you, too.”
A few weeks later, you wait at your open door for Street to arrive. His mom is going back to jail for a parole violation, and his entire team came by your bakery today after a stressful day of saving lives and arresting domestic terrorists. Now, you want to provide Street with the comfort he gives you daily.
“I love you,” Street says as he hugs you.
“I love you,” you reply, brushing your hand over his hair. “Come on in, I have something I want to show you.”
Street nods, catches your falling hand, and follows you inside. Sitting on the counter is a cake that looks nearly identical to the one that brought you together.
“I didn’t get to taste the first one, so I need you to let me know if this is a redemption cake.”
Street forces you to take several pictures with the cake before he takes a small bite. His eyes widen, and he nods rapidly.
“It tastes similar, but even better,” he says. “Can we have this at our wedding?”
“Sure,” you answer with a smile.
Street offers you his fork, and you admit it’s a good cake.
“Speaking of our wedding,” you say after taking another bite, “your future groomsmen invited us to dinner at Deacon and Annie’s tomorrow.”
“I don’t know if I should introduce you to Annie.”
“We’ve already been texting.”
Street shakes his head and kisses you before reminding you that he loves you. "And the cake," he adds as he pulls back and steals another piece.
Could you do fic for David 'Deacon' Kay with wife reader where she's a ballet dancer? Maybe he brought the team to see her and he's proud of her. I don't know if it make sense. Add something you'd like though. Thanks!!!
Of course! I know next to nothing about ballet, so hopefully what I found online is accurate lol. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to let me know what you think!! Proud, obsessed with his wife (and showing her off) Deacon is the best, so thanks for the great req!🤍
Warnings: just fluff! 1.1k+ words
Picture from Pinterest
Your Biggest Fan
People always say opposites attract. Most people don’t really believe it, though; you, for one, expected to find something compatible, comfortable, or, in other words, similar. That was until you met David “Deacon” Kay. He is your polar opposite. You’re a ballerina, and he’s a cop. You’re soft pastels, and he’s dark blues and blacks. But you love each other more than anything else and are proud of each other in everything you do.
✯✯✯✯✯
Since marrying Deacon and moving into his house, he has developed a ‘dance day ritual.’ He makes your favorite light breakfast and serves it with a single red rose. After he wakes you, he kisses you in the bedroom doorway, promising to be on time to watch you.
“You’re my biggest fan,” you murmur against his lips.
He nods, pulling you tighter against him as he wishes to spend the whole day with you. When you finally manage to direct him to the porch, you have to practically force him off you, laughing as he fights to stay in your arms.
“I will see you tonight,” you argue.
“Too long,” he says with a pout.
He steps backward off the porch, waving as he closes the door, and you begin preparing for your performance. From morning stretches to rehearsals, you have a full day leading up to the dance at the end of it. Deacon never leaves your mind as you prepare, cheering you on from miles away.
✯✯✯✯✯
“Dance day!” Luca cheers as soon as he sees Deacon.
Hondo, Hicks, and Luca always know when you have a recital because Deacon is in a better mood than any other day.
“You have our tickets?” Hicks asks.
Deacon nods, and Street inquires, “Tickets for what?”
“The ballet,” Luca answers.
Street’s brow furrows, looking back and forth between the men standing before him. He can’t tell if they’re serious but doesn’t know how to ask.
“Deac’s wife is a ballerina,” Hondo explains, filling in the gaps.
“Oh!” Street exclaims. “Cool. Have an extra ticket?”
Hicks laughs, gripping Deacon’s shoulder as he says, “Deacon would buy out the entire theater just to show off his wife if he could.”
Deacon shrugs but doesn’t argue. He knows what he’d do for you.
✯✯✯✯✯
Waiting backstage, you take a few deep breaths and smooth your hands over your stomach. Peeking out of a gap in the curtain, you easily find Deacon sitting in the center of the theater. It looks like he brought his entire squad, plus Hicks, Molly, Rocker, and his wife Val. You smile when you see him and step away from the curtain as you tap your wedding ring six times for good luck.
While you were dating and then engaged, Deacon didn't make it to six dances. In his wedding vows, Deacon promised never to miss another one, and so far, he has kept that promise. Once or twice, he’s come in a few minutes late dressed in full SWAT gear but has never missed an entire dance since becoming your husband. He's your good luck.
Approaching your backpack, you pull a small ring safe from the bottom, slide your ring in, and lock it. You hug your friends as you take your place, closing your eyes and focusing on the moves.
The curtain rises, and your eyes lock on Deacon as the music begins while you lift into a relevé. When you dance in front of Deacon, simply knowing he is in the audience takes all the stress away. Everything melts away except you, Deacon, and the dance you know. It begins to feel like a private show until you pause in the fifth position as the ballerinas before you glissade across the stage. Counting the beats, you find Deacon again as you move to the side, spinning into a fouetté before performing a grand gete. As you land, you hear clapping and are reminded that your husband and friends will always be in the audience cheering you on. Even if they don’t understand ballet etiquette.
✯✯✯✯✯
The moment the curtain touches the stage, you rush from your spot, finding your bag in the staging area and exiting in search of Deacon. You compliment your friends as you hurry past, promising to see them at the next practice.
As you rise onto your tiptoes to search the crowd for your husband, Deacon finds you, pulling you into his arms and spinning you around. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you raise your feet and laugh against his neck. You feel cellophane pressed against your back and smile as Deacon sets you back on the floor.
“Wow, they’re beautiful! Thank you” you exclaim as Deacon hands you eleven red roses. After you dance, Deacon always completes the dozen he began at breakfast.
Turning toward his team, you thank them for coming before you are showered with more praise and flowers than you think you deserve.
“Beautiful as always,” Luca says, pulling you into a hug as he passes you a bouquet that matches your costume.
“You always know just what to get,” you reply, thanking him.
“You were amazing! I understand why Deac gets everyone tickets,” Street says, smiling.
“What are you doing here?” you exclaim, pulling him into a hug. “I thought you would be against anything that happens in a theater.”
“I can give things a try,” he argues playfully.
“Okay, okay, my turn,” Deacon interjects, pulling you into another hug.
After a few minutes of talking to his team, you and Deacon say goodbye and he leads you to his car, setting your bag in the backseat before retrieving your ring and sliding it back on your finger. He stows your flowers safely in the back before returning all his attention to you. Deacon kisses your hand before pulling you closer by your waist.
“You were amazing, as always,” Deacon whispers.
“You’re amazing,” you reply, looping your arms over his shoulders to kiss him.
As you pull back, Deacon’s eyes narrow as he asks, “What?”
You tap his shoulder, leaning against him to say, “I have a chance to dance at Lincoln Center in New York City. But… I don’t want to do it unless you can be there.”
“Tell me when and I’ll be by your side the whole way,” Deacon promises. “Stuck to your side, actually. Like a leech.”
“Gross!” you exclaim with a laugh.
“I love you, twinkle toes,” Deacon teases.
You groan, pressing your forehead against his shoulder until he whispers an apology and helps you into the passenger seat.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Anywhere with you,” you reply.
He leans across the console, kissing you quickly before his big brown eyes meet yours. “I meant: do you want to get food on the way home?”
“Nope. Just get me home so I can shower you in affection.”
“That’s my job; you’ve been dancing all day.”
“You have no idea what I do on dance days, do you?”
“Stay on my mind,” Deacon replies, sighing as he takes your hand.
“You are my biggest fan.”
“That was never in question.”
Creepy, But Special
Requested Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x goth!fem!ME!reader
Summary: Tim sees a woman in a cemetery after dark and can't stop thinking about you. When he calls for the M.E. and you arrive, he gets a chance to find out more about you.
Warnings: spoilers for 5x22, r is an ME and performs an autopsy, mentions of past judgement and insults, fluff, Tim gets kinda flirty even while there's a dead body between them?
Word Count: 2.5k+ words
A/N: The request said shy reader, but she's pretty open with Tim so I didn't include it in the pairing dynamic. R is very professional with the other characters, though, so that could be considered shy, I think. And, as always, ignore the Chenford gif🤭
Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
“Kojo, c’mon,” Tim urges as Kojo tugs the leash away from Tim.
Kojo has been taking his time on this walk, more of a stroll to sniff everything than a walk, but Tim is ready to get home. When Kojo returns to Tim’s side and begins trotting again, Tim rewards him with a whispered compliment: “There’s the best boy.”
As they near a cemetery, however, a cat meows inside the open gate, causing Kojo to stop again. Tim shakes his head but watches Kojo as his ears perk, and he looks into the narrow gate opening.
“No, Bazinga,” someone says from inside the fence. The cat meows again, and this time the voice - pretty voice, Tim’s mind corrects – laughs. “How are you going to do a séance if you can’t talk, Bazinga?”
Tim and Kojo step to the inside edge of the sidewalk for a better view. Tim should know better than to let his guard down here, but when he realized that the creepy cemetery cat had supervision, he needed to know more. Standing at the fence, he can see a gray blanket spread across a small clearing. You’re sitting on the blanket with a large book open across your lap. A black cat, Bazinga, presumably, roams around you before jumping onto your shoulder.
Tim can’t help but be intrigued by you. He can tell you're young in the dim light of a nearby streetlight. While he’s simultaneously drawn to you and put off by your odd choice about where you relax, Tim lets his logic win and snaps for Kojo to heel beside him. With one final glance at you, Tim leaves you in the dark but remembers your voice long after you ask your cat, “What do you think about the black cat stereotype and how well you fit into it?”
When Tim wakes the following morning, his first thought is you. Part of him wonders if he imagined you, a young woman dressed in black reading in a cemetery in the middle of the night, yet he can’t get you off his mind even as he rises and gets ready for work. Now that overtime has been approved, he has to focus on catching the masked individuals who attacked Aaron and Celina just hours after he saw you.
Once he hears Aaron and Celina’s statuses, it’s easier to forget you and your cat. When they find Roy Gracco and prepare to enter his house, Tim doesn’t even remember his previous cemetery-side walk.
Tim leads the alpha team into Gracco’s home, prepared for anything, but is surprised to find the house clear and cold.
“Drop the gun! Drop it!” he demands as he rounds a corner.
“I think he’s dead,” Nolan calls.
Tim approaches him slowly and confirms that Gracco is dead, 10-5-5.
“It’s a trap,” Nolan realizes aloud.
“Abort! Abort! Abort!” Tim yells. As he exits Gracco’s house, he radios, “Control, I need the bomb squad to the target house for a full sweep. Send the M.E. and TID out here, standing by for a priority search once the house is clear.”
“Yep, got it,” you reply to the police dispatcher.
Your work phone buzzes with a message containing the address where you’re needed. The van is prepped and ready to go, so you only grab your phone, keys, and seal-wrapped black coveralls. When you arrive at the house, dozens of police officers, crime scene investigators, and city officials are waiting.
“Sergeant Grey?” you ask as you approach him. “Has the house been cleared?”
“Almost. Bomb squad’s doing a final walk-through,” he answers. “The officers who found the body are inside and ready to assist you.”
“Dispatch said the air had been cranked down to delay decomp. Do you know if anyone touched the thermostat?”
“No. Sergeant Bradford made sure the house stayed in the same condition as how they found it.”
“Perfect.”
“All clear,” one of the bomb squad members calls as he exits. “Your people are free to enter.”
“Hold up,” Grey calls to TID. “Let the M.E. get what she needs first.”
“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door.
“Hi, I’m Officer Chen,” an officer greets you as you enter. “Bradford, M.E.’s here.”
“Sergeant Bradford, I hear you preserved the scene and the body. Thanks,” you tell him as you set your bag down.
Tim doesn’t reply, too intrigued that you, a woman who hangs out in cemeteries with her black cat, is the M.E. That and your age, to be more precise.
“What’s the temperature in here?” you ask, looking up at him.
“Fifty-eight,” he answers quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts and reminding himself not to stare.
“Fifty-eight,” you murmur as you scribble something on your paper. “Then I’m putting time of death between 1 and 2 a.m.”
“Before Aaron and Celina were ambushed,” Lucy says.
“How can you limit it to an hour?” Tim asks. Not because he’s overly interested in your method but because everything you say and do interests him. He wants to hear you talk again. To him, preferably.
“The air temperature and confinement slowed decomp but also affected the blood coagulation. Because of that, and knowing the average maintained temperature since death, I can calculate it with a bit more accuracy,” you explain.
Tim nods and looks at Lucy, who seems to know why he took a sudden interest in forensic science. He has a dozen more questions he’d like to ask you, very few of which are about the case, but you frighten Tim Bradford just enough that he falls silent to let you work.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say suddenly.
“Is everything okay?” Tim asks.
“Yeah, just this little guy.” You straighten and extend your hand to show Tim a moderately large spider. “There’s a web in that windowsill, he must have been confused by the temperature drop.”
You cup your hand as you walk toward the window and gently place the spider back on its web. Tim watches every little move you make, trying not to be convinced that you were in a cemetery and are still dressed in black merely because you’re creepy.
“So, based on positioning, lividity, and blood coagulation around the wound in his hand, I’m confident that my estimate of 1 to 2 a.m. today is accurate. More, I’d say that he was unconscious when both the bullets and the knife entered his body. There’s no sign of jerking or resisting, and the stiffness in his spine suggests that he’s been positioned like this for closer to a day.”
“A day?” Tim repeats. “How could he be in one position for nearly ten hours before being shot and stabbed?”
“Was he alive when he was stabbed?” Lucy inquires.
“Yes,” you answer her. “He didn’t react in any way to that pain and the lack of naturally dried blood around the wound, so he was likely already in a state of statis. His heart rate was likely low, the temperature was impeding the healing process, and, as I’m sure you know, bullet wounds don’t close on their own.”
“Then why lead us here?” Tim wonders.
“This is related to the cops that were attacked this morning?” you ask. “I heard about the riddle.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Tim asks.
“I don’t think you’ll find much in this house other than him.”
“I agree.”
“If Gracco is a patsy,” Lucy interjects, “then we should be asking why him?”
“He’s a felon with a history at Mid-Wilshire,” Grey answers as he walks in.
“Sure, but there are hundreds of guys like that. So, why Gracco? Did they pull his name out of a database or is there some kind of connection?”
“You think it’s personal?” Tim asks.
“Look, if I was gonna go to the extreme of targeting police officers, why not take out some of my enemies along the way?”
“That’s gotta count as a goth point,” you murmur.
“Costs us nothing to run with that,” Grey points out. “Get back to the station, check Gracco’s known associates, family, coworkers, anyone he did time with that might hold a grudge. Run them against people that we arrested. And say a prayer while you’re at it.”
“Actually, Grey, can I escort the M.E.?” Tim asks.
You look up from your spot on the floor, and Tim looks away quickly because he suddenly thinks that in that position, you look like a cat.
“Do that,” Grey agrees. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Chen, Nolan and Harper are at the station and ready to assist you.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucy replies as she exits.
“Why do I need an escort?” you ask once you’re alone with Tim.
“Because we don’t know what we’re up against and I don’t want to find out the hard way that we’re closer than we think,” he answers.
You nod as you stand, then remind Tim that you have to prepare the body to take back to the morgue. He nods and steps aside, hands clasped, happy to watch you.
“Got it,” Tim says into his phone. “Pine’s got Metro mobilized; do you need me to come back?”
You pull your gloves on as Tim ends his call. He steps toward you and says, “I’m clear to stay with you.”
“Why?” you ask.
“All of our bases are covered. So, if you find something, we need to know.”
You shrug as you concede. It’s not that you don’t want Tim with you; you are confused about why a decorated Metro Sergeant would want to keep you company while you perform an autopsy.
“If you want a mask or anything, they’re in the black case behind you,” you tell him.
“Of course it’s black,” Tim muses.
“Meaning?” you inquire as you mark your incision points.
When you look toward him, Tim gestures to your outfit. You certainly don’t dress like other medical examiners. Or act like them, for that matter.
“What do you have against black?” you tease. “Or are you just jealous of the Converse?”
Tim smiles as he tips his head and replies, “I would rock some studded black Converse, right?”
“Totally. I’ll hook you up with my shoe guy. He might want to see you in the heeled version first, though.”
“So, why’d you become a medical examiner?” Tim asks as you begin the first cut in Gracco’s chest.
“What do you think?”
“Love for science?” Tim guesses.
You lift the scalpel and narrow your eyes at Tim. “Most people just assume I’d like to dig around in dead people.”
“Why? Because you wear black and pick up spiders?”
“Amongst other things.”
“What other things?”
You shake your head and argue, “You have to tell me something about you first.”
“I like the Dodgers.”
“Wow,” you drawl. “Mark me as shocked and surprised.”
“I’m a cop, there isn’t much time to do things worth telling.”
“Fine, I’ll go first but you better have something when I’m done.”
“Yeah, of course. Just, one more thing. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven. Don’t you dare say oh, you look older, or wow, you must be smart, I really can’t take hearing that again.”
“I didn’t think you must be smart. You clearly are,” Tim replies.
“Good answer. You still want to know about me?”
Tim nods, and you tip your chin down to continue the autopsy as you speak.
“So, you can tell that I like black and spiders… I feel most alive in the fall, Halloween is my favorite day of the year. And cats! They’re much better than spiders because you can watch horror movies and Beetlejuice with them, and birds bring out their violent sides. But cats will also read witch books with you and listen to music, hang out in cemeteries. All the stuff that gets you labeled a ‘creepy weirdo’ is more fun with a cat.”
“Has someone called you a creepy weirdo?” Tim questions.
“More times than I can count. But I have another list that’s longer.”
“A list of what?”
“The coolest tattoos I’ve ever seen.”
Tim hesitates before he asks, “On dead people?”
“Some,” you admit honestly. “Most of them are on live people, though. They’re not as cool when the skin underneath isn’t moving or filled with blood.”
“Interesting.”
“Is this where you call me a creepy weirdo?” Tim shakes his head, and you add, “I guess I’ve just always felt drawn to stuff like that, and it makes me happy, so why should I care what people say about that?”
Tim leans against a table across the morgue from you as you continue to work. He asks a few questions as you work, but the autopsy is as simple as expected. Gracco was killed. There’s no additional evidence about who killed him or why, and his body is relatively clean and well-preserved.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” you tell Tim as you discard your gloves. “If it was a full moon I may have been more help.”
“Because you like full moons, I assume.”
“It was actually a weak werewolf joke, but yes, I do.”
“Does Bazinga?”
You freeze beside Tim before you look up at him to ask, “How do you know my cat’s name?”
“You said it,” Tim answers.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Not today, uh… I saw you in a cemetery a few nights ago.”
“I knew there was someone out there! Bazinga thought it was a ghost.”
Tim nods, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. You both want to keep talking, but there’s something Tim can’t ask, and you aren’t sure you can answer. So, you trace the shape of a crescent moon on your wrist to encourage yourself.
“Will you go out with me?” you ask quickly.
Tim opens his mouth to answer, but you add, “You don’t have to! If I’m misreading this or you’re just being nice and really do think I’m crazy, I understand.”
“I’d love to,” Tim answers when you fall quiet. “Maybe Kojo and I could join your next cemetery picnic.”
“You don’t think that’s creepy?”
“Really creepy,” Tim answers dramatically. “But you like it, so I’d like to see why.”
“What’s your shoe size? I’ll bring you some black Converse.”
“With studs?”
“Wouldn’t you be the stud?”
Tim laughs as he follows you into your office, but his phone rings with an update from Sergeant Grey and he quickly exchanges numbers with you before he leaves. Later, you remember that you never asked who Kojo was, and the picture Tim texts in return to your question makes you smile in your lonely office.
“How nervous are you?” you ask as Tim and Kojo meet you outside the cemetery.
“Probably not as much as I should be,” Tim answers with a smile. “Just don’t tell me we’re eating with someone, uh, someone in there.”
“No, of course not.” You open the gate and joke, “We’ll ease into that.”
“Where’s Bazinga?”
“Bazinga is a cat. In the picnic basket.”
You help Tim spread your favorite blanket on the grass and join him and Kojo as you set the food out. Tim watches you and realizes you’ve never been creepy, scary, or a weirdo. You’re special and if this spot beside you has been left open for him by people underestimating or judging you, he’ll make sure you know how special you are.
Break My Rules
Requested Here!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Smitty!reader
Summary: You have a rule not to date men who work with your dad - who just happens to be Quigley Smitty. After becoming friends with Lucy Chen, you meet Tim Bradford and realize that some rules hurt you more than they help you.
Warnings: slight angst, discussion of Tim's past, stress and anxiety (Tim and r), fluff, comfort, very slightly suggestive at the end, softie!Tim, Lucy is a wingwoman
Word Count: 3.8k+ words
Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info
“Sorry I’m late,” you say, hanging your bag off the back of the chair. Your dad waves off your apology as he stands and pulls you into a hug. “One of my choir students asked for help with her homework after practice and I lost track of time.”
“I remember when you used to ask for homework help,” he muses. “I was pretty good at it, wasn’t I?”
“Sure, you were,” you answer, rolling your eyes playfully. “That’s why Mom told me to stop asking you.”
“She was just jealous.”
“That must be it. How was work?”
“It was normal. Bad guys got arrested.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, right?”
“That’s why it was normal. No high-speed helicopter chases or unexpected promotions make Smitty a dull boy.”
You nod, opting to peruse the café’s menu rather than commenting. Your relationship with your dad is great, and you enjoy the time you spend together, but he can be a bit… dim. He doesn’t seem to do it on purpose, but you know that he’s aware of how he comes across, and he doesn’t seem to care that he makes himself the punch line. If he’s okay with his reputation, who are you to pick him apart for it?
“Good evening,” the waiter greets, approaching your table. “What can I get started for you tonight?”
You order, then pass your menu to him after your dad finishes. The waiter smiles at you, and you thank him as he walks away.
“He was flirting with you,” your dad points out.
“You think he was flirting with me, but you can’t tell when I’m being serious about picking up the bill?” you challenge. “He’s a waiter, his job relies on his people skills.”
“If you’re not interested in him, let me set you up with a cop. The money isn’t great, and we’re always stressed, but there are one or two who have promising potential.”
“Dad,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I’m not dating cops. I’ve had the rule for years.”
“No dating cops,” he says with you.
“What if I set you up with someone who isn’t from my station?” he offers.
“No. If you know them, I don’t want to date them. That’s like inviting a devastating breakup or lackluster romance.”
“Just because I know them doesn’t mean they’re like me.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just… it’s easier this way. And there’s something to be said for serendipity.”
“Seren-what-ity?”
You sigh and shake your head. “What song should we perform for the state choir show this year?”
“The Real Slim Shady.”
“Why did I ask?” you mumble.
“Oh, sorry,” you say, stepping back from the metal bin before you. “Completely my fault, go ahead.”
“No, no, I wasn’t looking,” the woman beside you replies. “You’re good.”
She has two records tucked in her folded arm, and you nod to communicate your approval of her choices.
“Good taste,” you compliment.
“I got a record player for my birthday, and I’ve been looking for some of the stuff I listened to as a kid and trying to branch out a bit. Try some new things,” she explains. “Based on your outfit alone, I’m guessing that you have good taste too and could offer a few good recommendations? If you have time or want to, of course.”
“Well,” you begin, glancing toward the alphabetized bins. “I’m a sucker for classic rock, but you’ve got to try something from this decade on vinyl. Most of the production is really good, depending on the label. You said you like older?” She hums, and you flip through the A-C bin before you murmur, “This one.”
“A-ha? Like ‘Take on Me’?” she questions, reaching out for the record.
“One of the best songs ever written, I think, and hearing it like this is like being in the front row of an angel concert.”
“I’ll buy it,” she begins slowly. “On one condition. You get coffee with me and become my best friend, because I feel like we’re halfway there.”
“Was that a Bon Jovi reference?”
“You do know your classic rock.”
“Well, I am a choir teacher.”
“Please agree to coffee. I’ll pay.”
You smile and pull your phone from your pocket. “Here, give me your name and number. We’ll set it up, bestie.”
“I’m Lucy, by the way,” she offers, moving the records against her chest to put her contact information in your phone.
You tell her your first name as you send her a text with your favorite coffee shop and a link to your current favorite playlist. As you walk to the checkout together, you feel lighter. Maybe you can find a life outside of school separate from your dad.
“Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,” you sing softly, flipping through your choir binder.
“Have you made a decision?” Lucy asks, pulling the chair from the opposite side of the table to sit closer to you.
“I’ve got it narrowed down to three. Well, the kids narrowed it down to three and now I can’t pick.”
“Which songs?”
“Take Me to Church, Hallelujah, and Frozen Heart.”
“Those… those seem very different. What’s Frozen Heart?”
“The ice workers’ song at the beginning of Frozen. I don’t know who picked it originally, but it got a lot of votes.”
“If you were performing, what would you vote for?”
“Honestly, as a teenager, I probably would’ve said Frozen Heart. And they’ve got the skills and the range to do it.”
“There’s your answer,” Lucy says, smiling.
“Thank you,” you reply, closing the binder. “Now, how was your day, Officer Chen?”
“Long, but I did hear a new song on the radio with a melody I think you might like.”
“No, you don’t get to change the topic back to me like that. How are you, Lucy?”
“I’m okay. I guess I just feel kind of bored. Like, I go to work, I hang out with you, and I love my routine, but I want to do something new.”
“Well, you’re invited to the choir show, of course. But, in the meantime, we could always do something together when you have some time off. We live in the heart of shows and sports; there’s plenty of things to pick from and I have someone who can get tickets at a price high school choir teachers and cops can swing.”
Lucy’s eyes brighten, and she smiles.
“What are you thinking?” you ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.
“Would you like to go to a Dodgers game?”
“Always.”
You stay at school late on the day of the Dodgers game. Choir practice ended on time, but Lucy is bringing another cop friend to the game, and it will be easier for them to pick you up here rather than at your apartment. As you tidy your classroom, you play music and sing along.
Losing track of time as your playlist continues, you don’t hear someone open your door. As a song ends, you turn and freeze.
“Hi,” you greet, lifting your hand in an awkward greeting. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” the man watching you replies, his eyes following you as you rush to pause your music. “Sorry to intrude.”
“No, I lost track of time, sorry to make you come in.”
“You’ve got a beautiful voice.”
You slow, smiling shyly as you murmur, “Thank you.”
“Oh, there you are,” Lucy sighs, rounding the corner to reach your classroom. “This is Tim, who I asked to wait for me.”
“Nice to meet you,” you say, offering your hand.
His handshake seems to warm you from the inside out, and when you drop your hand to your side, it feels as if you’re pulling away from the world’s strongest magnet.
“Ready?” Lucy asks. “We got an email earlier that the seats were upgraded, so we’ll have an even better view when we win.”
“She just wants the Dodgers to win because there’s less of a chance of us getting called in for overnight patrol if we do. Bigger loss means more fighting,” Tim explains quietly.
“No, I’m a fan,” Lucy argues, several steps ahead of you.
“Is your station near the stadium?” you inquire.
Lucy holds the school’s door open for you and answers, “We’re in Mid-Wilshire.”
You stop in the parking lot as your brows draw together. “You both work at Mid-Wilshire? How did I not know that?”
“You know the station?” Tim asks, slowing to wait for you.
“And its laughingstock.”
Lucy laughs as she pulls the backdoor of Tim’s truck open. “Our laughingstock is a cop, believe it or not.”
“Yeah,” you reply. “Smitty’s my dad.”
Lucy’s hand slips off the door, and she steps forward quickly to catch herself. Tim’s eyes run over your body before lifting to meet your gaze again. If you weren’t feeling so put off by the realization that you’re breaking your rule in a way, you might be flattered by how easily he seemed to take you in. Maybe even admire you.
I’m not breaking my rule by being their friend, you tell yourself. But can it end there? you wonder, looking at Tim.
“Did you know he had a daughter?” you ask, beginning to walk again.
“No,” Tim and Lucy answer together.
Tim opens the passenger door for you and whispers, “I wish I had.”
Less than a month after meeting Tim, you’ve become close. Now, you have not one but two best friends from your father’s station. You haven’t said anything to him about you, and you assume Tim and Lucy haven’t either because he hasn’t brought it up the numerous times you’ve seen one another.
Shaking your head, you try to stop thinking of Tim and focus on the practice session you’re leading. Five minutes before choir practice ends, your phone rings.
“It’s a distraction,” your choir group calls together, quoting your response when asked why they can’t have their phones out even though school is technically over.
You see Tim’s name on the caller ID and wave for them to quiet before you answer it. As a cop’s daughter, you’re no stranger to the wave of nausea that threatens to pull you under as you answer an unexpected call. Tim could be hurt, or maybe Lucy, even your dad. But you must answer the call to find out, so you swallow your fear and ask, “Hello?”
“Sorry,” Tim says breathlessly. “Sorry to bother you. Are you busy?”
“I’m finishing up practice. What’s wrong?”
“Noth- nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing, Tim.”
“Can you call me when you’re done?”
“Where are you?” you inquire softly, looking over your shoulder at the high school students talking to one another.
“At home.”
“I’ll be right there,” you offer.
Tim releases a sigh before he says, “Thank you,” and ends the call.
“You’re free to go, guys,” you announce. “Great work today. I’ll see you for dress rehearsal tomorrow and then you get a break until the show on Friday.”
The students cheer as they leave the room, but your mood is far more somber as you shove your things into your bag and rush out of the building. Tim’s house isn’t far, but every mile seems to stretch for an hour as you worry about him. After parking behind his truck, you jog to his front door and ring the doorbell.
Tim pulls the door open wearing sweatpants and a look that makes your chest tighten.
“I’m sorry,” he forces out. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“Come here,” you offer raising your arm to him.
Tim doesn’t hesitate to step forward and into your hold. His arms wrap around your waist as you rub your hand along his bare upper back. Without removing his hands from your sides, Tim nudges the door closed and presses his face into the crook of your neck.
“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I got you.”
Tim exhales shakily against you, and you guide him carefully to his couch. Sitting beside him, with his chest pressed to yours, you trace shapes on his back and begin humming.
“Can you keep doing that?” Tim requests.
You’ve become friends with Tim; you know about his past and grumpy disposition, but you’ve also seen glimpses of the man beneath. Right now, you’re with a side of Tim you suspected wanted to break free but had been buried after years of heartbreak, betrayal, and abuse.
“Humming?” you clarify.
Tim nods, and you start a different song, humming the opening notes before singing softly. As you move through the words, Tim relaxes against you.
“Thank you,” he whispers as you finish the song.
He sits up, separating himself from you. His eyes meet yours, soft and open, and you raise your hand to cup his face before you stop yourself. He put distance between you, and you don’t want to scare him away by moving too quickly. You care about Tim more than you should probably care about a friend.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
“I’m better now,” he admits. “Thank you. Today was… there was a little boy who called the police on his dad because he was hitting his mom. It got to me – it shouldn’t have, but it did. Then I got home, and in the quiet, it was too much. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let myself get stressed like that.”
“How do you normally destress?” you inquire, shifting the focus from what he thinks he should or shouldn’t have done.
“Boxing, watching a game,” he lists. “I’ve got a few little things, but everything felt wrong.”
“Well, I’m here for you,” you promise. “Anytime you need me.”
“Your voice is pretty.”
“You’ve told me before,” you murmur. “Thank you.”
“Why don’t you sing?”
Your phone buzzes with an incoming message from your dad, but you flip it face down on Tim’s coffee table.
“Do you need to get that?” Tim asks.
“No, he’s just checking in. I’ll call him later. And to answer your other question, I don’t sing because I like teaching, supporting, more than being the center of attention. I love it, but I don’t think I’d thrive in it as a career.”
“When’s the next choir show?”
“Friday.”
“Can I come?”
You smile at Tim and answer, “Of course.”
As you shift your hand to pick at your fingers, someone walks closely behind you and pulls your wrists apart.
“Don’t do that,” Tim says softly.
You sigh and turn toward him, tucking your hands behind your back. “I’m the teacher and I still get as nervous as I did when I was actually singing,” you confess.
“Everything is going to be fine,” Tim assures you. “They’re talented – you’ve said it yourself – and they have a great teacher.”
“Unless I forgot something or miss a cue or-“
“Stop,” Tim demands, using his cop voice rather than the softer tone he tends to adopt when speaking to you. “Breathe.”
You nod, watching his chest as you match your inhales and exhales to his. After several breaths, you release a sigh and whisper your gratitude.
“I brought you these,” Tim says, reaching for a nearby seat. He lifts a cellophane-wrapped bouquet and passes it to you, watching your eyes as you stare at the beautiful arrangement.
“Thank you,” you say. “They’re beautiful.”
“I don’t know choir etiquette, but, I thought you’d like them. If I knew you were panicking I would’ve gotten you something more useful like a weighted blanket or an inhaler.”
You laugh, pushing Tim’s shoulder slightly. Something about being near him makes you feel different. When Tim is with you when you’re talking or sitting together, even the mere thought of him makes you feel special in a way you have never experienced before. Tim Bradford is special, and though he has quickly become one of your closest friends, you can’t help but feel that there’s something else, something more.
“Hi!” Lucy exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “You look so nice!”
“Thank you,” you reply, smiling as you hold your flowers to your chest. “You do too. Thank you both for coming.”
“Of course,” Lucy answers. “I’m so excited.”
“If your choir team finishes third or higher tonight, you go to regionals, right?” Tim clarifies.
“Yes,” you answer. “But we’re hoping to line up some charity shows after this either way.”
“Well, we know a police station that wouldn’t mind a concert,” Lucy points out. “Right, Tim?”
“Right,” Tim agrees, his focus steady on you.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, my dad just walked in. I’ll see you two after?”
Tim and Lucy nod, wish you luck, and then take their seats as you walk toward the opposite side of the auditorium to say hello to your dad.
“I can’t believe she’s Smitty daughter,” Lucy mumbles. “They’re so different.”
“Yeah,” Tim agrees, his eyes following your every move. “She’s a lot more tolerable.”
Lucy lifts her brow and muses, “Sounds like you’d like to do more than tolerate her.”
Tim turns quickly, a warning look on his face, so Lucy raises her hands in surrender.
“Tell her,” she says. “Not me.”
“You really did not have to do that,” you repeat as you and Tim walk out of the restaurant.
“Least I could do,” Tim replies. “Now stop talking about it.”
“No, I have to pay you back. At least let me buy you coffee or something.”
Tim slows on the sidewalk. He brought you flowers to the show, hugged you after your team was awarded second place and progressed to regionals, and enjoyed a nice dinner with you, which he paid for. Everything felt more like a date than two friends hanging out and supporting one another, he realizes. More, he thinks, he wanted it to be a date, and he would like to do it again.
The Tim Bradford who hesitantly agreed to join Lucy and her new friend at a Dodgers game a few months ago is not the man walking beside you now. Not the man wondering what it would be like to take your hand and kiss you in the warm glow of a streetlight, thinking about the right words to ask you out, picking apart every word you’ve said tonight for a sign that you might want it too.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
Tim looks up at you, realizing his thoughts caused him to stop walking. “Just thinking,” he admits.
“Must take a lot out of you,” you joke lightly. “Everything alright?”
“Would you…”
“Would I?” you press.
“Would you like to go out on a date?” Tim asks quickly.
You let the question hang between you as you process what he’s asking. For Tim, the idea seems to crash between you, shattering on the sidewalk between you as you prepare to reject him.
“Never mind,” he says. “I shouldn’t have-“
“No, Tim,” you interrupt, raising your hand. “It’s not you or the question. Not even that I don’t want to.”
“Then?”
“I have this rule. I came up with it years ago, a decision never to date one of my dad’s coworkers. There’s too much that could go wrong, I guess, and I see the strain being a cop puts on my dad and his relationships. So, it’s not you that I’m saying no to.”
“It’s that I work with your dad. I get it,” Tim offers. “Being a cop is hard. Being with a cop is harder.”
“You’re not mad?” you ask.
“I’m not mad,” he assures you, offering a small smile. “You don’t have a rule against being friends with a cop, right?”
“Well, I did, but I didn’t find out Lucy worked with my dad until it was too late, so I scrapped that rule.”
Tim laughs, but deep down, you both wonder, What if the other rule was scrapped too?
Although you picked the movie, you can’t focus on it. Tim’s fingers tap against his jean-clad thigh, moving restlessly as he looks past the television to stare at the wall.
“Tim,” you whisper, leaning toward him.
He hums, his fingers slow, but he doesn’t reply. You reach for the remote, pause the movie, and then pick up your phone from the table. After a moment of scrolling, you find a song and play it. The music fills the space, and you shift to sit atop your feet with only a cushion between you and Tim.
“Oh, they say some people long ago were searching for a different tune,” you sing softly.
Tim turns toward you, his eyes tired and his shoulders tense. As you continue singing the first verse, he lets his head fall back against the couch cushion and his eyes shut. Watching Tim, you sing as the tension in his muscles ease and his hand spreads across his leg, the stressed movements slowing because you distract him from whatever is on his mind.
“And then they nursed it,” you sing, moving your hand to rest an inch away from Tim’s.
“Rehearsed it.” His hand moves toward yours, your fingers brushing.
“And gave out the news.” The song is nearly over, and you want nothing more than to collapse into Tim’s arms and give in to every urge and desire you’ve buried since you met.
“That the Southland gave birth to the blues!” you conclude.
Tim smiles and opens his eyes when you slip your hand under his and lace your fingers with his.
“Does me singing actually help you?” you wonder.
“It does,” Tim answers. “Do I actually help you calm down?”
“Even when I’m not at a performance.”
Tim nods, and the deeper meaning of your questions pushes you toward a decision you’ve been avoiding since Tim asked you out.
“I can’t do it,” you whisper.
Tim sits up straighter, looking at you but refraining from speaking.
“I thought that refusing to date someone my dad worked with would save me from heartbreak, keep me from getting into a doomed relationship. But the rule is what’s hurting me.”
Tim squeezes your hand gently.
“I can’t follow the rule anymore. I want you, Tim. Telling you no hurt me worse than trying to be more than friends could.”
“What are you saying?” Tim asks.
“I… Would you want to go on a date with me?”
Tim smiles, releases your hand, and pulls you against his chest. As his hands rise to hold your face, he answers, “Unless you have any other rules you want to break first.”
Laughing, you shake your head and lean toward Tim.
“I’d love to go on a date with you,” Tim says. “But remember that I asked you first.”
“There is one favor I have to ask, though.”
Tim nods once, and you request, “Can we not tell my dad? For a while, at least.”
“I try not to talk to your dad unless forced.”
“I’m taking that as a yes, honey, I’ll do whatever you want.”
Tim’s brow raises, and he slides one hand around your waist and spreads it across your back to encourage you to lie against him. “Whatever you want, honey,” he repeats lowly before his lips meet yours.
Kinktober Special Part 2
Mo’s Kinktober Special
The Crew’s Whore (Part 2) (+18)
Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your power fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.
Pairing: Franky x afab!reader
WC: 3100 I'm so sorry
TW: IS THIS A SAFE SPACE?!?! Banging a robot, alcohol consumption oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, crying, forced orgasm? face shot, heavy use of pet names, cringe, his body is a sex toy idk, cringe, so much cringe, please forgive me I love him, idc
Chapter 1 Chapter 3
Robo-boning uder the cut:
Chapter 2: The Cyborg
It was a breezy evening aboard the Sunny as you sipped from your wine glass while leaning forward against the railing of the deck. Sanji had once again prepared the crew a fantastic meal and you felt full and comfortable with the cool sea wind blowing through your hair. It was late, most of the crew had returned to their quarters. Zoro was up in his crows nest dojo having a late night workout, Franky had returned to his workshop to fiddle with some new cannon technology, Luffy was in a food coma and snoring loudly laid up against the mast, and even Sanji had finished dishes with Robin’s help and excused himself to bed. Robin was always so helpful with the dishes with her Devil Fruit powers and all.
You were alone out here with only the sounds of the waves crashing against the hull and your captain’s aggressive snoring. You thought about how you missed your old life, but also how happy you were with the Straw Hats. You loved your job at the brothel and it certainly was less dangerous… but this new life? It was… exhilarating. You loved it.
*I think I need something stronger* you thought to yourself…
You looked at your empty wine glass and walked into the galley for something more exciting. It was spotlessly clean and empty. You opened up the liquor cabinet and perused your options. Vodka, tequila, gin, rum.. hmm…
*It’s a pirate’s life for me, I guess.* You giggled and grabbed the bottle of spiced rum off the shelf. You realized that taking it straight from the bottle was a little barbaric for a late night solo cocktail and went to the fridge for a mixer. Orange juice, mineral water, nothing suitable to mix with rum. You wracked your brain, what would go well with rum? A lightbulb went off in your brain, there’s an obvious choice. Cola!
Rum and cola went together like peanut butter and jelly, like pancakes and syrup, like tea and honey. Your mouth watered at the prospect of a tasty drink… You knew there wasn’t any cola in the kitchen, but you knew exactly where it was. You filled a glass from the cabinet with ice and held it in one hand and the bottle of rum in the other. You pushed past the swinging galley door towards the hallway that went to the center of the ship. You skipped down a flight of stairs until you reached a wooden door marked with blue cartoonish stars. Blue lettering adorned the top of the doorway reading ‘Franky House.’
*So nostalgic of him* you chuckled to yourself before knocking twice.
“What’s up?” You hear Franky’s booming voice from the other side of the door. You opened the door and sidled in with your glass and bottle in hand.
“Oh heyyy pretty thing, what are you doing up at this hour?” Franky turned on his stool next to his workbench to look at you.
“I could ask you the same thing.” You smiled at him as you strode confidently towards the fridge you spotted in the corner of his room. “Fancied myself a rum and cola, figured you’d be the guy to call about finding a bottle of cola around here.”
“Yeah babe! Mi cola es su cola!” He flashed you a winning smile before he turned back towards his work bench and continued fiddling with whatever gadget he was working on before your intrusion. You grabbed a bottle of brown syrupy liquid from the fridge and brought it over to him. You said nothing, just pointed the head of the bottle in his direction. He barely looked up as he reached his large hard out and popped the cap off of the bottle for you. You smiled.
“Thanks, handsome.”
You returned to the desk in the middle of the room where you had set your rum and glass, setting the cola down. You picked up the rum and poured a GENEROUS amount over the ice. You topped it off with the freshly popped cola and brought the glass to your lips. Holy shit you over did it with the rum but damn, that’s good. You took a few more sips and let out a big sigh.
“Rough day, sweet cheeks?” Franky laughed after hearing your exasperated sigh.
“Hmm.. I guess. Just feeling a bit nostalgic is all.”
Franky’s hands continued to manipulate the mechanical item on his work bench.
“Yeah I get it. It happened to all of us, ya have this whole life and then all of a sudden you’re a pirate. It’s super weird. You’ll get used to it, y/n, we all do. We can talk about it, if ya like.” He doesn’t turn around. He had always been so good at expressing his emotions, such a tender and kind soul. He knew how you felt, and wanted you to feel heard.
*Such a sweet heart for a robot* you thought to yourself. But he wasn’t a robot, he was still a man. Sure, his body was more metal than flesh at this point, but it didn’t take away from what a gentle spirit he had. You started to wonder what other human instincts he had left…
“Honestly Frank? I’m kind of trying not to think about it. What are you working on?” You walk over to his work bench and lean up next to him, against the table backwards, able to see the item on the table but facing his body.
“Oh this? Nothing totally crazy, just something I was thinking about for my forearm cannon. You see this part here…” He was excitedly telling you about his work, clearly passionate about his science. You nod and give him “hmm”’s here and there. You pour another strong drink and bring it back over to Franky’s work bench. You set the glass in front of him.
“I can’t be the only one indulging tonight, right?” You say seductively as you slide the glass towards his massive chest.
“Well little lady, I’m usually a cola purist, but I guess one drink won’t hurt.” Franky grabs the glass in his large hand and slams the drink in one gulp. He hisses out, not prepared for how strong you made the cocktail.
“My god girl, you’re trying to get me drunk?!”
You laugh out loud and pour yourself another drink.
“No no, just trying to get more comfortable!” You laugh again. “Now tell me more about this hydraulic, fusion combustion, thingy again…”
You say this as you set yourself down on Franky’s wide lap, drink in hand.
“Okay so if you can see this piece right here…” Franky continued explaining his latest project to you as you became distracted by his handsome features. He had a strong, chilled jaw, defined abs, incredible thighs and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his swim briefs. Was it still real? Did he have anything or was he like a doll?
You let your thoughts get the better of you and you set your glass down on the workbench. You slid to your knees in between Franky’s spread legs and let your head rest on his thigh.
“WoAAhhh sweet thing, something else on your mind?” He dropped what he was working on and lifted his sunglasses onto his head as he looked down at you. He leaned back. You giggled up at him while stroking his crotch slowly.
“mmmm yes. How could I not wonder? I’ve thought about it so much. Never had someone like you before…” You drew your face closer to the growing bulge in his swim briefs as you palm him.
“Are you sure? How much do you want it? It might be too much for ya, doll face…” Franky puts his large palm on the side of your face, seemingly a bit concerned.
“I want it. I can take it, please show me.” Your fingers worked at the hem of his tight black speedo before he helped you bring it down to his ankles. You pull them all the way off and return to your kneeled position between his legs.
“Wow…”
His cock was so gorgeous. It had to be real. It was so long, thinner than you’d like, but the length was truly impressive. The base was decorated with tufts of blue hair.
“Is this good for ya, babe? Tell me what ya like and I can make it happen." Franky stroked your hair as you were staring at his cock from between his knees.
“What?” You didn’t know what he was talking about. Was he that confident in his sexual abilities? You felt your cunt clench in anticipation.
“No, this," He nods his head down at his erect cock. "I can make it anything you want. Too big?” You stared up at him with wide eyes.
“Want bigger? Maybe you’re a little size queen?” Franky smirked at you with those last words.
“No no,” You stuttered out. “Could you… could you maybe make it a little… thicker?” You were so embarrassed, you felt so silly asking for this man to change up his own cock for you.
“Of course doll, if you want to be stretched out real good, who am I to deny you?” Franky smiled as he pressed his metal nose.
You stared at his erect penis as it became grittier right before your eyes.
“No way…” You gasped quietly to yourself.
“Yes way baby! You really thought I would rebuild my own body and not give myself an incredible dick?” He grinned down at you between his legs. “Now… where were we?”
You felt his hand gently push the back of your head towards his newly engorged cock. You were snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the thick length with both hands and began to pump it slowly.
“Perfect….” Franky cooed at you as you stroked him.
You leaned forward and took his tip into your mouth. He groaned loudly. You knew he would be loud, he always is, why would now be any different?
You gradually took more and more of his cock into your mouth and bobbed your head up and down. With each pull backwards you slurped and dragged your tongue across the bulbous head of his dick.
“Fuck, shit, just like that…” He tried so hard not to ram his hips into your face, knowing it would scare you off. His body was too strong.
“Shit baby… You’re way too good at this… get up here and let me stuff you.”
Once again your pussy squeezed around nothing, pushing out a drip of your arousal. Franky leaned down and grabbed your hips to pull you upward.
In a moment you were on your back on Franky’s workbench, his projects swept to the the floor with one brush of his huge forearm. He was man handling your body to pull all your clothes off of you. You lay back down on the table, now fully bare in front of him.
“Franky, fuck me. Please. I want it.”
He hovered over you, massive body eclipsing yours.
“And you’re sure? I told you it might be too much… Once I start… well it can just be a lot for someone who isn't used to it.” Franky asked you for the last time, making sure you knew what you were getting into.
“Yes, Frank. I’m so sure.”
He pushed you down forcefully, but you protested by rising to your elbows and catching his lips in a wet kiss. He accepted your kiss and forced his tongue past your spit covered lips. You groaned at his dominance, such a change from how you were used to being with your other lovers.
After making out for several moments, you whined a bit too loudly when he pinched at your nipple.
“Okay okay needy girl, I’ll give you what you want now. But don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
He pushes your thighs up with one hand as he lines his perfect cock up with your sopping hole with the other. He squeezes himself in slowly.
“Holy FUCK, my GOD Franky…!” You shout out as he sinks balls deep inside of you, having you in a mating press with one hand due to his large stature.
“Oh pretty lady, we haven’t even started.” He begin to pull out and shove himself back into your cunt, slick coating his cock more and more with each thrust. You slammed your eyes shut in pleasure, his dick was hitting all the perfect spots inside of you almost like it was made perfectly to fit your body… oh wait… it was.
All of a sudden you felt a new sensation along with his heft length splitting you open. Was he… vibrating? Your neck snapped up and your eyes shot open to meet his above you.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. Had to add something for the ladies pleasure, right?”
“FRANKY!” Your body lurched forward and grabbed his biceps. You had never felt anything like this before. It’s like your body was lit up by electricity. The smooth drag of his vibrating cock against your g-spot was complete sensory overload.
Franky chuckled. He continued railing into your tiny body, chasing his own pleasure, not worried that you’d reach yours.
“Frank I’m going to-!” You yelped as your body tumbled over the edge in pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your spasming cunt pushed out your release all over your lovers abdomen and legs.
“Wow doll face, I never thought you’d be a squirter!” Franky laughed over you as he drilled his hips into yours further, not concerned about your recovery from your intense orgasm. Your body was limp in his hold now, not able to produce any sort of coherent phrase.
“Franky wait, I feel like-Ah!“
You were cumming again. It was only a few moments after your last orgasm and your center was squeezing and creaming on Franky’s thick robotic cock again. You had lost full control over your body, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. You screamed. You had no idea what words you were trying to scream, but you screamed.
“You like that, huh baby? How about one more for me? I think you can do it, right?” Tears streamed down your face as you laid on his workbench, boneless. Your cunt was throbbing in both pain and pleasure. You were being thrust into so forcefully that your body slid back and forth on the table, your breasts basically hitting you in the chin as they bounced so aggressively.
“Mmmm.. Hmm. FUCK! Yes I can do it, I can take it!” You felt drunk on pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes focused. The sensations in your pussy were unlike anything you’d ever experienced. As your cyborg lover pounded into you at an impossible speed, you felt the familiar wave of pressure bubble up from your center, but this time far more intense than the others.
“There it is baby, I can feel it, I knew you could do it for me sweet thing.” He coaxed you into tipping over the edge. Your back arched and you shrieked up at him. You vision went completely white for a moment as you felt your massive release splattering against Franky’s thighs and cock. Wet, sloppy noises filled the room as you felt your cunt start to tingle with numbness and overstimulation,
“Can’t… it’s too much!” You whine loudly at him as you make a feeble attempt to push at his abs, not entirely sure what you wanted yet.
“That’s just fine doll face, I’ve got something else in mind anyway.” He flashes you a huge grin before grabbing you around your ribs and setting you down on your knees on the floor in front of him.
“Open wide, pretty lady!” He held your hair in a makeshift ponytail with one hand and stroked his massive cock in front of your face with the other.
Obviously after 3 earth-shattering orgasms you were putty in his large hands. You stick your tongue out and look up at him. After seeing the makeup smeared on your face from spit and sweat and tears, there was no way he could hold back any longer.
“Fuuuuuuuck…!” He groaned out as he painted your eager, wrecked face with simply so much cum. It dripped off your cheeks and your chin as you happily kept your mouth open for him. He finally finishes his release and taps his cock on your tongue, so you can taste the last bit.
“Shit you look so super like this!” Franky beamed down at you covered in his thick cum. You grin back up at him, delirious from exhaustion, cum dribbling down your neck. “But I guess I can’t leave ya like that huh?” He grabbed a clean rag from a drawer in his workbench and started wiping his seed off your face, you were so exhausted your eyes fell closed and you held your head in his free hand.
“Hold on hold on doll, I’m almost done then I’ll put ya to bed.” Franky finished cleaning your face and picked up up off your knees and set you down on his bed. He tucked you in and went to put back on the little clothing he had on in the first place. He moved towards the door of his room.
“Well thanks for the break, little lady! I have a repair I need to finish up on the deck tonight, but you get some rest.” Franky says from over his shoulder on the way out to the rest of the ship. You close your eyes and relax your bruised and exhausted body into Franky’s mattress.
"Hey, if you’re feeling up to it when I get back, we can have a round 2! You haven’t even seen half the super stuff I can do, I just went easy on you!” He shouted as he left the room with his toolbox and the door closed behind him.
Your eyes snapped open.
“WHAT?!”
---
a/n I again, am so sorry lol but Franky needs more love. Justice for Franky Fuckers.
Mom and Dad Are Still Fighting
Part 2 of The Bradfords
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader
Summary: After a long night, you're grateful for Lucy and all she does for you. You continue protecting her from Tim's attitude, even though you're lying to them.
Warnings: mostly fluff, brief angst, threats and robbery. typical rookie stuff.
Word Count: 1.4k+ words
A/N: I love this dynamic!! Two Bradfords caring about Lucy in their own ways is so fun to write (and being married to Tim is a dream by itself). I will continue abusing Chenford gifs for this storyline lol.
“Good morning, Mom,” Lucy calls as she enters the bullpen.
She passes you a cup of your favorite drink, and you look at Tim quickly. He tilts his chin to the side, and you nod once. You’ve been talking without speaking for years, and you’re more grateful than ever for your silent language.
“Thank you so much, Lucy,” you say.
You pull her into a hug that lasts longer than usual. She couldn’t know that you had a long night and needed this today: the drink and the hug. Hence, your shared ‘did you tell her?’ ‘no, she just cares’ look shared with Tim.
“Where’s mine?” Tim inquires with his brows raised.
“I, uh, I didn’t know your order,” Lucy says carefully. “Sorry.”
Angela calls for you, and you thank Lucy again as you walk away. Tim watches you go; he knows you aren’t feeling great and appreciates Lucy’s care on your behalf.
“Thanks, Chen,” he says.
“For what? I didn’t get you anything.”
“You should know that caring about her is the same as caring about me. At least as far as I’m concerned,” he answers. “Now get ready.”
Your long night catches up to you quickly. By your mid-morning break, you’re feeling tired and stressed. The worst part of what you’re feeling is that you haven’t told anyone why you’re feeling it. Tim stayed up with you most of the night and held you to comfort you, and while you appreciate it, it only upsets you more because he did it without asking why you needed it.
“7-Adam-19 requesting backup,” Chen calls over the radio. “11351; suspect in possession of heroin and oxycodone.”
“Dispatch, attach me to 7-Adam-19’s backup call,” you request.
You drive to the address dispatch provided and hope your day improves after seeing Tim again. When you arrive, the suspect is cuffed and in the back of Tim’s shop as they search his car for other drugs.
“Hey,” you call as you exit your car. “What do you need?”
Tim looks at you as Lucy says, “Suspect escort and search assistance.”
“I can do either. Let me know what you want me to do,” you offer.
“Suspect escort, please,” Tim answers. He tips his head to the side, and you walk to the sidewalk with him.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
“Yeah. So, you just want me to get him to booking?” you reply, brushing off Tim's concern.
“Please. Will you tell me if you stop being okay?”
“Yes, Tim. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at lunch.”
You turn away from Tim and move the driver in custody into your shop to take him back to the station. Tim and Lucy abandon their search to watch you leave.
“Is she alright?” Lucy asks.
You turn a corner, disappearing from Tim’s view, and his jaw tightens. He couldn’t get an answer from you, and now Lucy thinks he knows everything in your head. Tim refuses to show worry, so he lets his concern come out as anger and annoyance.
“That is not your business or an appropriate topic to discuss while we are on duty, Chen. Focus,” he replies.
Lucy nods and returns to the search of the car, but she’s beginning to feel just as stressed as you and Tim. You all care about each other and moving around in circles like this won’t help.
“Goodnight, Luce,” you call as you walk beside Tim to go home.
“Hey, do you want to go to dinner with me on Friday?” she asks. “Just to catch up, hang out?”
“Yeah, that sounds fun,” you answer with a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Tim grumbles beside you, and you’re convinced it’s because he didn’t get an invite.
“We’ll have breakfast Saturday,” you promise him.
Lucy laughs behind you, and you wave over your shoulder as Tim spreads his hand across your back and leads you toward his truck. You know he’ll hold you close again all night, even if you don’t ask, because he comforts you without pushing you. When or if you want to talk about it, he’s ready to listen, but he knows what it is like to need room, and he’d never take that from you or force you to tell him anything before you’re ready. He’s amazing, and you wish you could share what is bothering you, but you can’t put any more people in danger.
When dispatch alerts you to a call in your area, you accept it, hoping to get your mind off everything. The officer reads Lucy’s apartment building address, and your stomach drops. You tell dispatch to attach Bradford and Chen to the call before hitting your lights and sirens to get there as fast as possible.
The apartment building, for the most part, has been ransacked. Doors are broken, windows broken and locks picked, and residents’ belongings are strewn through the halls, but nothing appears to be missing. Tim and Lucy arrive a few minutes after you do and meet you on Lucy’s floor. Her apartment is trashed, but she can’t see where anything has been stolen.
You lead Tim through the other side of her apartment before stopping suddenly.
“Tim,” you whisper. “Someone called me a few nights ago… They threatened to do something to Lucy, and I think this was it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.
He looks over your shoulder to ensure no one is listening before giving you his complete attention.
“Wade knew, but he said that you and Lucy shouldn’t know because the threat was vague, and it would just put you on edge.”
“That should have been my decision!”
“Tim, I’m sorry.”
Tim’s eyes soften before he nods. “Is that what you’ve been so upset about? You were worried about Chen?”
“Yes,” you admit softly. “But this looks planned, intentional. They only went into certain apartments, and the stuff thrown everywhere was an afterthought.”
“Someone was looking for something,” Tim agrees.
“But what?”
Tim looks around before yelling, “Chen! Get in here!”
“Yes, sir?” she asks as she enters.
“What do you have in here that someone would be so desperate to get?” he asks.
“I don’t-“
“Don’t tell me that you don’t know. Think about it, Lucy. What would someone risk their freedom, their life for, and do this kind of damage to hide?”
Lucy taps her fingers against her thigh as she thinks. Your surprise phone call didn't provide information about what they wanted, so you stay quiet.
“Well?” Tim pushes.
“Give her a second to think,” you scold. “She didn’t ask for this, she’s not the criminal. Be nice.”
Tim clenches his jaw. In his mind, she may as well be the criminal. She led someone to her apartment, to you, and you’ve been worried because of her. His annoyance and need for answers is justified.
“Wait, I got a necklace at a police auction!” she says suddenly.
“You bought jewelry at a police auction?” Tim asks. “Last boyfriend really that cheap?”
You elbow Tim and shake your head. “Leave her alone.”
“Who buys a single necklace at a police auction?” he argues. “A car, a trailer, sure. But one necklace?”
“It was expensive,” Lucy defends.
“Which means whoever wants it is probably the one responsible for the police having it,” you deduce. “I’m going to go help them search the upper floors. Tim, be nice. Lucy, look for the necklace, please.”
You walk into the stairwell and find yourself face-to-face with a Humphrey Bogart wannabe in a ski mask. It takes less than thirty seconds to get the cuffs on him, and based on his surprise, he thought he had already outsmarted the cops with the widespread burglary distraction.
After you pass him off to another officer, you return to Lucy’s apartment and let them know he’s in custody.
“Bradford, why does my suspect have a black eye?” Wade asks over the radio.
“He threatened Lucy,” you answer quickly. “But, who knows, maybe he already had that. He was wearing a ski mask, after all.”
“You hit him for threatening your puppy, station kid, whatever you call her?” Tim asks with his brows raised.
“Thanks, Mom,” Lucy calls from her bedroom.
“We’re leaving,” Tim announces. “Good luck finding your criminal necklace.”
“It’s pretty!” Lucy yells as you walk out.
“I need a nap now,” you tell Tim.
He nods and says, “I always need one after working with Chen.”
Sleeves
Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!neighbor!reader
Summary: Deacon's son Sam loves giving you temporary tattoos. When Deacon comes home to find you with a full sleeve of them, he admits he could get used to seeing you like this.
Warnings/Word Count: 1.6k+ words of fluff (in which Deac flirts a lot)
Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
You step out of the car and sigh. It’s been a long day; you’re tired, stressed, and want to decompress. Before you move toward your door, someone calls your name.
“Sam!” you reply, smiling brightly as you lower to hug him.
“I brought you something,” he mumbles, reaching into his pockets.
“I wonder what it is,” you muse lightly. “Can you give me a hint?”
“No!” he exclaims with a laugh.
After another round of checking his pockets, he withdraws a small square of white cardstock with a plastic film over it. The temporary tattoos have become an inside joke between you and Samuel Kay. Since you did his dad Deacon a favor several months ago and babysat the boys and Lila while he embarked on a late-night raid, you’ve been the happy recipient of more tattoos than you can count. You’ve borne firetrucks, robots, planets, and animals on your skin. Deacon saw the first one, but you’re not sure if he knows that his son enjoys giving you tattoos nearly as much as he enjoys receiving them himself.
“Sam!” Deacon calls, walking into your yard. “What did I tell you about speaking to ladies?”
“Right,” Sam says, pinching his brows as he stands up straighter. “How are you today?”
“I’m doing well, Mr. Kay, thank you. How are you?”
“Better when I give tattoos,” he answers honestly.
Deacon shakes his head, and you thank Sam for the dog tattoo he gives you.
“How are you, older Mr. Kay?” you ask Deacon.
Sam looks between you and his dad, then returns to his brother and sister. You watch him go, smiling at his joy.
“Better when I see you,” Deacon answers.
“You’re teaching your children to be flirts, you know that, right?”
Deacon shrugs. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything.”
“My team was invited to an event the mayor is hosting. It’s tomorrow night and my usual babysitters aren’t available on such short notice.”
“I can absolutely watch the kids for you,” you offer. “As long as I can order them pizza.”
“Pizza!” Matthew shouts.
“They’d love that,” Deacon says, shaking his head. “Thank you. I can pay you or find another way to thank you.”
“Flirt,” you exclaim softly.
“You’ve done a lot for us,” Deacon explains. “Made this transition to single parenting easier. I appreciate it more than you know.”
“You deserve it all and more, Deacon. I’ll see you tomorrow, what time?”
“5?”
“See you at 5,” you promise. “Thanks, Sam!” you call. “Hi, Lila, hey, Matthew!”
They stop playing long enough to wave, and as you walk into your home with the smile only Deacon can bring you, you wonder if Deacon has any idea that you are the lucky one in this arrangement.
“Uncle Luca got it for me,” Sam explains after his dad leaves.
You’d had trouble speaking to Deacon before his teammate Street picked him up. With his form-fitting dark suit on, he’d been more attractive than usual, and your eyes and brain were working overtime.
“Very cool,” you tell Sam, looking at the oversized tattoo booklet with him. “Which one do you want to do first?”
Sam hums as he flips the page, and you stifle a laugh when you realize that he’s acting exactly like Deacon. He reaches a page of tattoos that are all pink and purple. He hesitates, then looks at your arm.
“Can I give you some?” Sam asks.
You shrug before you answer, “Sure. Whatever you want, bud.”
While Deacon regrets leaving you and his kids when he could have stayed home or brought you, you realize that giving Sam permission to do whatever he wants might not have been your best idea.
Deacon’s tie is loosened at his neck when he enters his home. The time with his team was enjoyable, but the night felt long, and he was distracted. By you, even though you were miles away.
“Hello?” Deacon calls softly. “Anyone home?”
“In here!” Lila replies.
Deacon smiles as he follows her voice to the living room. You’re lying on the center cushion of the couch with Sam asleep against your side, Lila lying across your legs, and Matthew fighting to stay awake as he watches an animated movie play on the television screen.
“Thank you,” Deacon whispers.
Half an hour later, he’s carried his children to bed, tucked them in, and wished them goodnight. You’ve straightened up the small mess you made during dinner when he returns to the kitchen. The urge to wrap his arms around your waist and hold you tight startles Deacon, but he realizes quickly that he should’ve seen it coming.
“We had a lot of fun,” you tell Deacon. “Thanks for letting me hang out with my favorite neighbors.”
Deacon smiles, dipping his chin in a way that makes your heart flutter. He pauses, tipping his head to the side as he looks at your arm. Reminiscent of an intrigued puppy, he gently reaches for your arm and lifts it in front of you.
“Nice sleeve,” he muses after a moment.
You laugh at his teasing, unconsciously leaning against him as he traces his fingers beneath a few tattoos, his touch featherlight yet addictive and enlivening.
“I like it,” you whisper, looking into his eyes.
Deacon trails his fingers down your arm, then links his fingers in yours to hold your hand.
“How was the thing with the mayor?” you whisper.
“Something was missing,” Deacon admits, using your joined hands to guide you closer.
“You’re jealous of my sweet tats,” you joke softly. “They would look good with your suit.”
Deacon nods, clearly not listening to you. He lifts his other hand to hold the back of your head before he tilts your head, gentle in his movements as he guides you into the perfect position.
“I could get used to it,” Deacon says.
“It?” you repeat, glancing down at his lips.
“Coming home to you, seeing you with my kids, watching Sam cover you in tattoos.”
“I could get used to it, too,” you whisper.
That’s all Deacon needs to hear, and he closes the distance between you. He holds you gently, lovingly, and reverently. Deacon makes the world around you disappear. In this moment, you know him and him alone. Then, he spreads his palm over your tattooed bicep and traces an already flaking mark that sends shivers down your spine.
Three months after Deacon first kissed you in his darkened kitchen, you find yourself against his side during a movie night. Samuel is drawing on your arm with skin-safe markers and a printed picture, but you’re not allowed to look until he’s finished because he wants to surprise you. Lila’s hair remains in braids after your girls’ lunch earlier today. This feels like home. Like you’re where you’re supposed to be.
“Looks good, Sam,” Deacon says, his chest moving against your back as he speaks.
“Can I look yet?” you request.
Sam caps a marker, then nods and bends your arm so you can see it. The flowers and shapes lining the top and bottom of your forearm are messy in the most perfect way, but it’s the handwritten note that catches your attention. Sam tried hard, and from how slowly he moved the marker along your skin, you know he was copying his dad’s handwriting.
“Thank you, Sam,” you say before you turn to face Deacon. “Yes,” you tell him, smiling brightly as you reach for him.
Deacon smiles, pleased by your answer to Sam’s tattooed ‘Will you be Daddy’s girlfriend?’ tattoo. “Nice sleeve,” he murmurs, pulling you against his chest to kiss you.
“Which one?” Lila asks, holding up two temporary tattoos.
You point to the one on the right: two interlocked rings. Your arm has slowly become covered from your shoulder to your wrist. With less than thirty minutes until you walk down the aisle to marry Deacon, you already know his reaction will be great.
Lila takes your unmarked hand, and you smile as you look down at her. She looks adorable in her dress, and how she looks at you like she loves you and the life you’re creating for her with Deacon makes your heart thump harder in your chest.
“Can I call you Mom now?” she asks.
You fight the tears threatening to build in your eyes, unwilling to disturb your makeup. “If- if you want to, Lila, of course you can.”
“Thanks, Mom,” she says.
She skips toward the small table by your vanity table and takes a mint as if she didn’t just change your entire life with a single word. Luca knocks on your door and smiles at you before he tells you it’s time to take your place at the end of the aisle.
Deacon’s eyes are on you the moment you come into view. His gaze drops to your arm, but then he sees you. His eyes are watery when you reach the altar, and you shake your head as a warning not to cry.
“That’s my favorite sleeve yet,” Deacon tells you before the ceremony begins.
As your reception closes, and only your closest friends and family remain, you hold a sleeping Sam in your arms, and Deacon spins Lila around the dance floor. You're in your new life now, your family. If every moment feels half as perfect as this – temporary tattoo sleeve or you as you are – then you can never ask for anything more.
Bonus:
“So, what are you planning to do with your dress?” Deacon asks.
You look up from your phone, where you’d been scrolling through crafts to preserve your wedding decorations. “One side of my dress is covered with temporary tattoo stains,” you remind him. “I’m going to treasure that forever.”
“We can just give you new tattoos next time you want to ruin an outfit,” Deacon points out. “Or when we get back from the honeymoon, or when-“
“I get it,” you interrupt. “You like the sleeves.”
“Yeah, I do. But I love the girl under them.”
THE GANG EXPANDS pt.2
IASIP x Reader
Always Sunny Masterlist
“Nope... I'm putting my foot down you guys. We can't make someone drop acid as a job interview.” Dee slurred, attempting to stomp on the ground and almost losing her balance on the stool.
Part 1 Here
Summary: You agreed to play Chardee Macdennis with the gang as a form of ‘job interview’. The level 3 card you pull poses the question of how far is too far?
Warnings/Tags: 18+ due to the very nature of the show. Canon typical themes including but not limited to misogyny, exploitation, abuse, derogatory language, drugs and alcohol, sexual themes, etc.
You read the level 3 card aloud, "You must do the hardest drug available to you. Players have 1 minute to search and present you with their findings."
Thinking that this game was most likely designed to be played on a weekend when it was more likely for someone to be holding, you sighed in relief. However your brief moment of safety was short lived as you watched everyone dispense and rummage around in their pockets — desperate to find anything that could be considered a hard drug.
Dee dug her contraceptive pill packet from her handbag and placed it on the table. It was a safe option, what would a harmless bit of estrogen do for a fellow fertile woman, huh?
Dennis reluctantly pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and took out a small clear ziplock baggie with a single pill inside of it. "It's a perfectly legal prescription, calm down."
"But what is it though? It could be a fresh dose of date rape for all we know. How do we know it's not a roofie, huh?"
"Jesus Christ Deandra, no... It's an emergency melatonin for me to take if I decide to stay the night with a lovely lady at her house instead of mine."
Dee wasn't buying that crap. She wasn't buying it for one second.
Frank pulled out a penny, $300 in cash, a cracked piece of eggshell and a black jelly bean from his pocket, whilst Charlie pulled many an assortment of treasures; A Phillips head screw, a cashew nut, a crumpled up receipt and ball of lint that on second glances was definitely crawling across the bar table. Last but not least however, you watched him pull out a tab of acid from his jacket pocket.
"Wait, shit… I need that back!" Charlie said worriedly, leaning over Frank's shoulder to take back the receipt of all things. "I bought a dud goldfish from the pet store the other day. It's a rollercoaster of a story. I'll tell you later."
"Nope... I'm putting my foot down you guys. We can't make someone drop acid as a job interview." Dee slurred, attempting to stomp on the ground and almost losing her balance until you swung your arm out to stop her.
"You're right Dee. You're right." Mac hiccupped before raising his eyebrows in surprise of his own inner thoughts. “What if she dropped acid as an employee? Make it a team bonding exercise.”
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