Undercover(s) (18+)

undercover(s) (18+)

summary: oh no, there's just one bed!

pairing: tim bradford x f!reader

word count: 5,4k

warnings: friends to lovers trope, dirty talk, vulgar language, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, riding that thick dick, praise, mentions of injury (reader), let me know if i missed anything<3

You were perched in front of the mirror, admiring the woman gazing back at you through long lashes.

“It's giving brat.”

False lashes, acrylic nails, threaded brows.

“You know, I'm actually kind of diggin’ it.”

Little black dress with an open back, Jacquemus handbag, golden hoops, perfumed skin, high-heeled boots.

“Damn, I look good.”

Through the mirror, you could see Tim still at it with the device, a little black box with an antenna that could detect signals from even the smallest, most high-tech recorders. It made a static noise as he hovered the stick over just about every surface and object.

“Alright. It's safe,” he finally concluded once he was content with his work.

“Could have told you as much. My contacts are good,” you sassed with a smug look, leaning your hand on your hip.

Tim shot you an incredulous look as he packed away the gear. “Yeah, you can drop the bratty attitude now, smartass.”

You chuckled as he removed the gun from his belt and put it on the dresser. “I don't know—it's kinda growing on me.”

Though you had never been undercover with Tim before, you were confident you knew him well enough to feel when something was off with him. You had known each other for a long time, and right now he was being off.

And you knew exactly why.

“Come on, it's not that bad,” you sighed, finally moving away from the mirror and stepping out of the shoes.

There was only one bed.

He arched a brow at you and rolled his eyes. “The hell it is. We're supposed to play brother and sister and we're sharing a bed?”

You snorted at his tone—speaking as if it would jeopardize the whole operation.

“Look, even if anybody thinks anything of it, I refuse to believe it'll become a problem. We'll just roll with it,” you reasoned nonchalantly.

“What?” he mouthed in disbelief. “Roll with it? I—” he cut himself off, brows knitted tightly as he ran with hands over his face.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction and folded your arms as you leaned against the wall. “I'm sure we won't be the first incestuous couple residing in Buttfuck Arizona.”

You were clearly making him uncomfortable and you were having way too much fun with it.

Tim seemed to be looking anywhere but at you. You wondered if it was the one bed or the way you looked in the dress. You hoped it was the dress.

His jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply through his nose, his mouth set in a tight-lipped twitch. He shook his head when he finally glared at you, quickly turning to unload the gear from your suitcase. "Okay—just… Get your head on straight, yeah? Meeting's set in twenty.”

***

You winced as Tim tightened the string working through the flesh of your upper arm, the hand that wasn't holding the needle holding your shoulder in a firm grip. The pain was nothing you hadn't experienced before, but his touch made you hyper-aware of every sensation in your body. Including the heat rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Stay still,” Tim ordered, his steely blue eyes focused on his patchwork as he closed the wound and bandaged it for you. “Let me know if there's any discomfort.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, your tone lower and shakier than you expected it to be.

The deal had gone sideways, but not completely off the tracks. Tim seemed worried that your cover was blown but your instincts told you not all had gone awry—you had been caught in a knife fight with your target's enemies. While the target fled the scene and bullets ricocheted, you and Tim secured the gangsters before heading off, too, leaving the rivals disabled for when backup swooped in. You had convinced Tim the operation was not compromised—that if anything, you had substantiated your cover.

Tim went out to pick up some food and you jumped in the shower, careful not to ruin the work Tim had just finished on your arm. By the time you finished up, Tim returned with a plastic bag and you ate on the bed. You could practically feel the tension in him radiating from his body and though you tried to tune it out, there came a point where you could no longer stand it.

“Look, if you're that worried about it, we can call it off,” you proposed. “I trust your gut so if you feel like something's off, we just pull the plug. Check-in's in an hour.”

Tim looked up with a furrow, appearing confused by your suggestion. It had crossed your mind that the ordeal with the rival gang earlier on was not the only thing pressing him—the whole situation probably made him uncomfortable.

While you were used to undercover work, he had really only dipped his toes into the world. You had known each other for years; you've had drinks far into the morning, deep conversations, and seen each other adapt to life's challenges. You knew he felt comfortable around you, and you felt comfortable with him, but it made sense to you that this whole scene was somewhat unfamiliar to him.

Your jobs forced circumstances where you worked together, but you had never been entangled in a situation where either one of you got seriously hurt. It was one thing knowing someone you cared for could find themselves in a dangerous situation at any given moment; a whole other when you're present and see how things go south in a matter of seconds.

Tim shook his head, swallowing down a bite of his burger. “You've done this kind of work a lot longer than me, it's your call.”

It bothered you a tad, him showing you unconditional trust in a life-or-death situation. If he really thought there was the slightest chance you had been made, you would rather have his honesty.

You chewed your lip instead of the fry in your hand, watching him quietly, trying to read him. In all the years you had known Tim, he had always been stoic, his warmer traits only showing once his guard had been breached. While he wasn't exactly an open book, he was always blunt on his opinions—just not now.

It had to be more than just about the operation.

“We'll do the check-in to let them know we're good. We can revisit in the morning.”

Tim bobbed his head but didn't look at you.

You arched an eyebrow at him, deciding to switch topics. “So… you wanna flip a coin on the bed?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “No, you take it. I can make myself comfortable on the floor.”

Your brows knitted together and you gave him a quizzical look. “What? You sure—I mean I certainly prefer sleeping cozy, but it doesn't feel fair to just—”

“Doesn't matter. You take the bed. I'll be fine.” he insisted and finished his meal, wiping his mouth with a napkin before standing. “I'm gonna take a shower.”

Tim scrunched the trash together and threw it in the bin before locking himself in the bathroom.

You sighed and drank from your watered-down soda.

Tim planted his hands on the counter in front of the bathroom mirror, letting his head fall to level with his shoulders as he exhaled deeply. He cursed himself for agreeing to this operation.

It was one thing to know you got hurt, and another to see you suffer injury on his watch.

This is what you do, he reminded himself. You are used to this.

Tim was angry with himself for letting this get to him, although he was more disappointed that your - well, your character's - blatant flirting with the criminals bothered him in such a way—his blood boiling whenever someone looked at you with primal urges.

He had no right.

Even worse he was disgusted with himself for entertaining the thought—how your acrylic nails would feel scratching the skin on his back, how your soft and supple flesh would mold in his palms, how your glossy lips would whimper soft mewls, and how your lashes would flutter shut in bliss.

Tim inhaled sharply, clearing his throat, and turned on the shower. The splashes that hit the tiles added a backdrop to his obscene thoughts while he rid himself of his clothes, goosebumps forming on his skin.

He stepped into the downpour, leaving the shower head attached to the clasp in the wall. Tim subconsciously held his breath as he let the water burn his skin, feeling the need to inflict pain on himself to clear his mind. Regardless, the scorching sensation passed and soon enough he gave in and pumped his aching cock in his hand.

When he had showered - and shot his load down the drain - he put on a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a white shirt before walking back into the room.

You had already gotten under the covers, your eyes focused on the open page of your book. You had put aside two blankets and a pillow for Tim to make use of. The TV was on low volume, viewing a baseball game, and the remote was left at the end of the bed.

Tim’s jaw clenched and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, seeing how you had laid out this display for him to feel comfortable when he had just jerked off thinking of you in a way friends were not supposed to.

He made a spot for himself on the floor, leaving his watch and handgun beside the pillow.

“You made contact?”

“Yup,” you replied softly, turning the page.

Tim hummed in response and settled on the hard floor cushioned by one of the blankets. When you felt his attention focus on the television, your absentminded gaze left the book and you watched him instead.

Even in a relaxed position, he maintained his characteristic rigid demeanor. Your gaze was caught by the broadness of his frame and the way his shoulders appeared constrained by the white fabric that hugged them.

Tim didn't seem too invested in the sports channel and soon he turned it off, lying down. You followed suit and put your book away, turning off the bedside lamp with a small grunt.

“You can read on if you want,” he said lowly.

You chuckled as you got comfortable in the bed, head leaning over the edge just enough to watch him from above. “Is that your way of telling me you're scared of the dark?”

A huff left his still body, and a grin pulled at your lips and although it was too dark to see, you could hear the smile in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You laughed. “Yes, sir.”

You weren't sure for how long you had laid there before you began feeling restless. Instead of merely zoning out, your mind seemed to focus on every little detail. Outside the wind was ominously howling, a windchime clinking soft pitchy notes, and Tim seemed fixated on every little sound, whether it was a car door shutting or you turning in bed.

The silence inside was tangible, and you could practically hear Tim's mind running at a hundred miles per second.

Another heavy sigh escaped him as he turned on the floor with a grunt. Initially, he hadn't thought it would be that bad - Tim reminded himself he had slept in worse conditions while in the army - but now that he was here, the carpet smelled like tobacco and the ’80s pattern seemed to crawl.

He rolled on his back again, draping one arm over his eyes.

You shifted under the covers, the springs creaking beneath you. “How are you doing down there, bro?”

“Don't call me that,” he scoffed quickly, clearly far from sleep and you grinned.

You debated it in your mind before deciding to just throw it out there. It didn't have to be weird. You could literally just not make it weird. “You know, there's enough room for the both of us up here.”

Yeah, that wasn't too weird.

Right?

“What?”

Okay, you had made it weird.

The suggestion made Tim tense up, and his mind did not hesitate to picture the scenario. He knew you well enough to know the offer was innocent, but he couldn't help but imagine things far from innocent.

You chewed down on your bottom lip and tried to joke your way out of the position you had just put yourself in. “Easy, Sargeant—not offering to get handsy, just a side of the bed.”

There was another pause and the air was too thick for comfort. You were quickly coming to regret your offer, wishing the mattress would just swallow you whole before Tim could say another word. It had been a long time since you had been this embarrassed.

A moment later you could hear him move, but you didn't dare look.

“Move, then,” he suddenly muttered, and a shiver chilled your spine—he was already on his feet, so close.

You swallowed and made space for him in the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. You felt a heat rise to your cheeks when you realized he had brought the blanket from the floor, your subconscious having irrationally convinced you that you would be sleeping under the same.

Tim's movements were almost mechanical as he lied down, and you found yourself shifting further to the edge of the bed, afraid to accidentally touch him.

God, you wanted to touch him.

If nothing else, then just to see his reaction—find out whether he wanted you as much as you did him.

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to slow your breathing as your whole body tingled. You could hear Tim's breaths as well, measured and controlled like everything else he did and it bothered you for some reason. If only he would just slip up, be a little easier to read.

Tentatively, you tilted your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. His hands were folded across his stomach and his eyes were shut, taut muscles barely moving an inch as if it might actually kill him to shift.

Tim couldn't possibly be comfortable like that.

He looked like a damn robot waiting to be recharged.

While this rigid man lay unmoving beside you, your heart was hammering away in your ribcage and your thighs rubbing together like the act might stand a chance of relieving you in some way.

You returned your gaze to the ceiling, breathed out, and rolled onto your side so that your back was facing him.

The thought of what you might feel if you pushed yourself against him made you inhale sharply.

Stop it, you cursed yourself mentally.

You didn't know how long you were laying there, just staring at the wall, but at some point your eyelids finally grew heavy, sleep slowly but surely, pulling you in.

Tim wasn't as lucky.

His mind wouldn't let him get a second of rest with you lying this close to him. He tried to focus his mind elsewhere but he was all too aware of the proximity.

His mind continuously betrayed him, replaying every moment during the day that had made him feel like you knew exactly what you were doing to him—the way you had practically teased him while doting on yourself in the mirror, the way that damned dress hugged your body in ways that made him feel like a fucking schoolboy with uncontrollable hard-ons, the way you had flirted with the criminal at that meeting and the way it made him feel possessive in a way he had no right to.

Then you had offered to share the bed with him, making it sound so casual like you knew it wasn’t the worst thought you could have had—reigniting the idea of “getting handsy” in his already spinning head.

You had to know what you were doing to him.

He felt like a coiled wire about to snap; like the subtle heat radiating off of your body threatened to burn him alive.

Then you shifted.

A tiny, barely noticeable movement so small he might as well have imagined it.

But then it repeated, this time accompanied by a small sigh.

In your sleep you inch closer to Tim, instinctively seeking a warmth the covers fail to provide you.

At first, it's just your foot grazing his calf, but then you rolled over, closer to him, and your knee bent so that it rested on his thigh as you nestled deeper into the mattress.

Tim tensed and held his breath, his entire body going rigid beneath the sheets.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you continued shifting, moaning as if displeased, and rolled closer, molding your body against his side as if it belonged there.

He knew he should pull away—you're asleep, completely unaware of what you're doing. But it really did feel like your body belongs this close to him. Tim can't make himself move.

But then your hips moved, ever so slightly, and it didn't feel so innocent anymore.

Tim couldn’t think straight, his head spinning, conflicted. He was as still as a statue, stiff and unmoving. You sighed, soft and breathy, content and utterly unguarded against his body, his scent filling your lungs with safety.

Worse is when you murmured his name in your sleep. Though barely a whisper in the quiet room, it slipped through the cracks and under his skin, searing Tim from the inside out.

Before he could stop himself his hand moved down, ghosting over your hip to see if you would stir, if this was real. It was the faintest touch and while you didn't flinch, Tim was spiraling at the feeling of the curve of your body hiding beneath the cover.

His hand tentatively weighed down on your hip, ever so carefully feeling you in his palm. He froze when you shifted again, but you only pressed further into his touch and his breathing stuttered in response.

Another content moan escaped your lips, and Tim's jaw locked while his fingers clenched in reflex, tightening his grip on your hip.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat and your spine went taut as Tim's grasp pulled you from your semi-asleep state.

Your lashes fluttered against your skin and for a moment you were afraid to open them fully, fearing the man whose scent had captivated your dream might not be real.

But Tim was very real and very close, the warmth of his hand seeping through the cover and into your skin, branding you.

It took you a moment to separate imagination from reality, but when it sunk in, you melted completely.

For a moment neither of you spoke, the darkness of the room swallowing everything bar the feel of one another. The creaking bed might as well have been a cloud, peacefully floating about in the dark of the night.

Tim felt captured as your gaze studied his features, your hazy eyes full of something he didn't dare assume, but could only hope.

“Tim—” you breathed quietly, lips quivering with the unspoken, and Tim's heart ached at your voice; a raspiness, a hesitance.

He knew he should pull away, apologize, do something, but he couldn't move or say a thing. Not with the way you looked at him with desire in your eyes and your bottom lip caught under your teeth.

You didn’t pull away, you couldn’t and you didn’t want to, and judging by his hand still holding onto you, he didn’t want you to either.

You weren't entirely sure what was happening, lust and warning bells waging war in your mind, but your primal needs took over and your hips did an experimental grind.

A curse slipped from his lips, low and guttural, and he exhaled your name, a confirmation that he wanted you as much as you did him. Tim's digits dug into your hip, his stormy eyes latched onto yours as he swiftly moved on top of you, bracing himself with a strong arm beside your head—

And fucking hell it was spinning.

His lips were so close, his warm breath ghosting your skin, raising goosebumps. Your chest heaved heavily with each breath but instead of the air entering your lungs it was only him.

Another second passed and it was one wasted not on Tim, so as the next ticked in you closed the space between you completely, pressing your lips against his in a feverish kiss.

Tim's sturdy body molded against yours, his rough palm sliding up to cradle your cheek as he kissed back with an eagerness resembling your own.

All that had pent up in the course of the day, or perhaps for longer, was released then, your bodies syncing to become one in the dark of the night.

Sighing against his warm lips, you allowed your hands to find purchase on his shoulders, feeling around for any inch of revealed skin. Your fingertips slid under the sleeve of his t-shirt, tracing the hard lines of his flexed muscles, and your other hand snaked up to the back of his neck.

You could feel yourself getting more heated by each second, hungrily licking into Tim's mouth as you allowed yourself to be completely engulfed in everything him.

In turn, Tim worked on removing the blankets separating you so that your bodies were flushed.

When you felt his frame pin you and his erection press against your sex, you gasped into his mouth, every stolen glance, every flirty comment leading up to this moment, suddenly sparking every nerve ending in your body alive. Feeling his undeniable lust for you made your world tilt on its axis, making this feel overwhelmingly real. And yet, it was somehow not real enough to convince you it was not merely another fever dream. You needed him inside you, to claim you and to fill you up, to leave marks on your skin that would linger in the morning.

You bucked your hips against him, pathetically trying to relieve yourself with some sweet friction.

A low groan vibrated against your wet lips and he held your waist down with a rough grip, squeezing the exposed flesh.

You whined, looking up at him with doe-eyes. “Tim, I wanna feel you.”

“You will,” he promised, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear making you shudder and writhe.

His stubble tickled the sensitive flesh of your throat and his mouth suctioned the skin, tongue pressing and teeth scraping, quickly contorting the pout on your face into a breathless moan.

Tim's hand brushed past the waistband of your shorts and panties with practised ease, and when two long digits dragged through your wet folds, another breathy moan escaped you.

“Fuck,” Tim cursed as he felt how wet you were for him, watching your reaction with dark eyes as he dipped the fingers into your needy hole. “Tell me—did you have a little dream about me?”

Your jaw went slack, lips parted in a silent gasp, as he slipped two fingers into you, knuckle deep. No sound escaped your throat, but you couldn't exactly stop the wet squelch coming from your wet cunt.

His palm guided your face back to his, stormy blue orbs searching for an audible answer. You hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath. “S'that why you've soaked yourself? Were you havin’ a little dirty dream ‘bout me?” Tim's fingers sunk back into your sobbing pussy.

“Yes,” you finally exhaled shakily, eyes rolling back as he slid his torturous fingers out and back in, curling them against your gummy walls. “F-fuck—yes!”

“Was it the first time?” he quizzed, clearly pleased with himself and—well, you were very pleased with him, too. He planted a chaste kiss just below your ear. “Hm? Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Ye-yeah,” you hummed, your mind barely grasping the words he spoke, everything a hot haze. “Sometimes… when I touch myself.”

“Good,” Tim murmured, scissoring his fingers into you while leaving feather-light open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

You shuddered, biting down on your wet bottom lip, focusing on the contrast between his delicate touch tracing down your collarbone and his fingers stretching you deliciously. He lifted your shirt, exposing your breasts and you moaned as he sucked on the soft flesh above your perked nipple.

Clamping down on his long fingers, you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Breathing shallow, eyes rolling to the back of your head, Tim picked up on the clues.

“Let go for me, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “I got you.”

Tim continued fingering you through your orgasm, pumping slowly but purposely as you creamed around his digits. Thighs shaking involuntarily, hands struggling to hold on to anything, you cried out a shaky moan. Riding against Tim's hand, you clawed at his neck as you came down from your high, quivering lips teasing his.

“Attagirl,” praised Tim and softly patted your jaw, prompting you to open and he shoved his fingers down on your tongue. Barely out of your daze, pussy still throbbing, you moaned around his digits, sucking them deeper into your mouth when he pressed his erection against your thigh. “Shit.”

Tim pulled his fingers back out and hungrily licked into your mouth, tasting the honeyed essence on your tongue.

Your hips bucked against his hard cock, greedy for more. Looping your arms around his form, you turned him over and straddled him, the creaking of the mattress emphasizing your needy movements.

Tim inhaled sharply, large hands squeezing your waist, pressing you down against his clothes hard-on.

Steely blue eyes that looked to be brewing a storm watched you intensely, loving how fucked through you looked after just one orgasm. Hair disheveled, lips plump, neck and cheeks flushed.

Grinding down on Tim you sighed, leaning down to kiss him passionately, acrylics poking into his chest where you found purchase. You were still out of breath, but you didn't care—oxygen was no longer what kept you alive, he was.

Moaning your name, Tim felt a wave of heat rush over him, veiling him completely in your scent and desire. He could hardly believe this was happening. One thing was you dreaming, moaning his name and letting him care for you; a whole different kind of reality was you grinding down on him, rubbing your sweet little cunt over his rock-hard, twitching cock.

Tim's jaw clenched when you reached down to free his neglected erection, an inhale getting stuck in his throat as the feeling of your soft fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft.

He was heavy in your hand, certainly bigger than what you would consider average. Thick and veiny girth with an angry head leaking precum. Swiping your thumb across the weeping slit, you brought it between your lips, moaning at the salty taste.

Tim hissed and sighed your name, hips bucking upward, eager for you to sink down on him. He was getting impatient and you could feel it in the way he held you, so you drew his throbbing cock against the soaked fabric of your panties.

His grip tightened in warning before he spoke in a low tone. “Don't be a brat now, sweetheart.”

You choked on the chuckle you emitted when you pushed your panties to the side and lined him up. Pushing the angry head between your slick folds, forcing an intrusion— “F-fuck, Tim,” you cried out, sinking down on him.

The stretch was intense, a sharp pain that shot into your abdomen, but you tried to ground yourself in the moment, focusing on where you were—on an undercover mission with a colleague, a friend, a man you had suppressed your attraction to for all too long.

You inhaled deeply, your hands falling to where his were placed on your hips, guiding them up to your breasts as he allowed you to accommodate him. Doing an experimental squeeze around him, he cursed and you began moving.

“You're so big,” you shuddered, leaning forward so that your bodies were flush, grounding you, cupping your hand against his clean-shaven jaw. “Feel so full of you, Tim.”

Sinking back down on him, you began to feel the pleasure overpowering the pain, the stinging stretch becoming absolutely delicious as you felt how your walls hugged him, clinging onto him. A wanton moan rasped from your throat as you sunk back down on him, reveling in how your cunt molded to fit around his thick girth.

Picking up a comfortable rhythm that had him rubbing against all the right spots, you met his gaze, salacious eyes staring back at you through layers of desire.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he admitted coarsely, breaths heavy and jaw slack. “Ridin’ me like you were made for me—fuck… Sweetest girl, you feel so good around my cock.”

His praise settled in your chest, pulling at your heart's strings. Clashing your lips against his, you picked up your speed and Tim's hands squeezed at the soft flesh of your asscheeks, resting there, helping you keep the rhythm steady.

Your tits bouncing against his chest, ass slamming down on his thighs, and your tight, juicy pussy sucking him in—Tim prayed to God this was not the last time you would ride him.

The sexiest moan you had ever heard reverberated from Tim's chest, the sight of the strings of your slick attaching to his pelvis as you bounced bringing something resembling primal instincts out of him. A ring of your milky cum circled his engorged shaft like a pearl bracelet, hugging his base and making a complete mess on him.

“Shit, baby—I won't last long f’you keep going like that,” Tim rasped, but made no sign to stop you. A breathy, self-satisfied grin escaped you but it contorted into a moan when Tim's thumb began drawing tight circles on your bundle of nerves. He pulled you down by your hair, fingertips rough yet soothing against your scalp. “S'that what you want? Hm? Wanna milk me for all I'm worth, yeah—go ahead, sweetheart. I'll fill you up,” he coaxed.

The pressure Tim applied to your throbbing clit made you whimper pathetically, though it was barely audible over the obscene moans and slapping sounds of wet, sweaty skin-on-skin contact.

The muscles in your thighs were burning from the strain but you didn't dare stop riding him, needing him to fulfill his promise of filling you up with his seed.

Tim showered you with praise, spurring you on as he noticed how your moans crescendoed. His thumb rigorously rolled against your clit, hips bucking up and fucking into you as he chased his own orgasm. “That's it, baby—come around my cock.”

And the brink was no further away than that.

You came, pussy clamping down on his rock-hard cock, pulsing walls practically massaging Tim's thick shaft.

You desperately tried not to get sloppy, wanting him to fill you, but you were a moaning, writhing mess, and your movements stuttered.

Tim wasn't one to break a promise though, and he fucked you through your orgasm, cock relentlessly fucking into your crying pussy. Incoherent pleas for him to fill you with his cum tumbled from your lips, and he didn't leave you begging for long.

With a final thrust, hot spurts of his seed painted your velvety walls, Tim's swollen cock pulsing against your insides.

Breath heavy, panting, you slowly slid off him, limply falling on his side, barely grounded as the high wore off. Tim's large hands supported you, one cradling your cheek, thumb caressing the warm skin, while the other dragged between your legs as he whispered reverent praises.

“You did good, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered and you whimpered when he scooped his leaking cum from your pussy and made an effort to push it back in. Lacking the strength to do more, you merely nuzzled your head deeper into his embrace, and he pulled you closer. “Does that mean we can do this again?” you asked, somewhat sheepish.

Tim's chest rumbled with a chuckle and he placed a kiss on the crown of your head. “Of course, but you have to let me take you out on a date once we get back.”

The butterflies in your stomach began flapping their wings harder. “Deal,” you agreed with a tired smile and kissed his collarbone.

Tim Through the Years - The Game

Series Masterlist

Summary: You go to a hockey game with Tim and your brothers. 0.6k+ words

To say that Sam was nervous was a HUGE understatement. Dinner with Dean and Tim did not end well, and his twin sister was hurt. He knew y/n wanted the dinner to go well in hopes that Dean would approve of Tim since family means everything to the Winchester siblings. So, with the help of his twin, he got hockey tickets for them up against the glass.

Dean loved hockey ever since he could remember, and it helped him through his teenage years. It was an outlet to get out all his anger at their father. He knew Tim liked hockey because his sister told him they had been to multiple games together. It obviously was not the best night to watch the game because it was the LA Knights vs. The Kansas City Wendigos… and both men were dressed head to toe in their respective teams' jerseys and merchandise. This night was going to end just like dinner. Tim was on your left and Dean on your right, neither of them speaking, and wearing big scowls on their faces.

“Anyone want anything to drink?” you asked nervously.

“Beer,” both Tim and Dean responded.

“Okay…” you replied as you and Sam got up and went to get the drinks.

While you and Sam were gone, Tim and Dean sat crossed-armed, and the tension could be cut with a knife. A man behind them recognized Tim as an officer from a previous encounter.

“Get out of here, pig,” the man slurred.

Tim calmly ignored the guy, but he kept throwing insults at Tim.

Dean stood up and sneered while towering over the man. “Alright, cool it. This man is a respected officer and should be treated with respect. If you don’t leave him alone, you’ll have to deal with me!”

The man mumbled out an apology and quickly turned away from the two of them. Soon silence filled the space once again.

Tim looked at Dean and offered, “Hey, man, I just want to apologize for what happened at dinner. I let my anger get the better of me. I just really like your sister. She’s very important to me and I want to protect her.”

Dean looked at Tim and said, “All good, man. I said some stuff I shouldn’t either. New leaf?”

By the time you and Sam got back, Tim and Dean were standing side-by-side, banging on the glass and cheering together. Maybe the night wouldn't be so bad after all. After the game, as you were heading to the car, Tim and Dean were the best of friends, so it seemed like the plan actually worked!

“Can you believe that fight that broke out right in front of us!? Absolutely ridiculous!” Tim said to Dean between fits of laughter.

“The guy lost his front tooth!” Dean added, laughing loudly.

“What about that save! That was so crazy! I cannot believe they saved that!” Tim explained loudly. “Are you keeping that puck or can I give it to your sister?”

Dean dug around his leather jacket and tossed the puck over to Tim, and Tim caught it in the air. “I’m gonna tell her you fought a small child for this,” Tim told Dean. Dean looked at Tim and laughed while nodding his head.

“Hey.” Dean grabbed Tim’s shoulder once they reached the car. “You’re an okay guy, just don’t hurt my sister and we won’t have any problems. 'Kay?”

“I’d never hurt her, but you’d have to get in line if you do. All my friends chose her over me already,” Tim said while smiling.

“Good, then we can all hide the body,” Dean joked. “Want to go get beer and burgers sometime?”

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myfictionalbfs

1 year ago

sanji's first time | sanji x reader

sanji has been wondering what this day would be like for years and he's sure he could die a happy man after a night with you ♡

18+ ACCOUNT/CONTENT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

warnings: sub sanji, men whimpering yeahhhhh, sex for the first time, afab reader!, lots of commanding sanji

sanji pants heavily when you pull off of his cock with a pop, a pathetic whine leaving him when you press a sloppy kiss to the tip. "such a good boy. don't even have to tell you to behave." you giggle as you pump him with your fist, another cry leaving him as he watches your hand and grips the sheets underneath him. you stop only a moment later, crawling into his lap and leaning down to kiss him as you slowly grind back against his cock that's leaking pre-cum and flushed red at the tip. "c-come on, baby, pleasepleaseplease.." he gasps out, his shaky hands finding your waist and squeezing it. you playfully tut at him, taking his hands off your waist much to his dismay; a quiet cry leaves him when you instead place his hands on your breasts. "gotta take it slow, sweetheart. don't want you cumming just yet." you say with a hum, reaching back to lead his cock to your entrance.

the two of you moan in unison when his tip pushes just past your folds, staying like that as he throws his head back against the pillows with a loud moan. his face is flushed red with lust, lips slick with spit as he tries to stop himself from drooling at your heat around his tip. "don't be shy, honey, i want to hear alll your sounds." you giggle as you finally lower your hips with a long moan, sanji unable to hold back the embarrassing cry of a curse that leaves him. his hips buck up into you on instinct, another whine leaving him when you push his hips down with one hand. "let me take care of you, handsome. you already help me so much." you say, lifting your hips again; you bite your lip to hide the growing smile on your face when you don't lower your hips, relishing in the desperate look in sanji's eyes. "pleasepleasepleasepleaseohgodspleasebabyplease"

you pick up the pace of your hips as you lean forward enough for sanji to force you further down, groaning as he buries his face in your breasts; had this been any other moment, you would have laughed but sanji's eagerness even for his first time only turned you on even more. "such a good boy, puppy, so so good." you whine softly as he squeezes your breasts further against his face. without warning, he starts to buck his hips up into yours in a way that sends a chill up your spine, setting a fast, steady pace that makes a choked moan leave you. he babbles strings of praise to you and what you think is an apology; "feelsofuckinggood, 'm sorry.." he whines as his hands find your ass and squeeze it, using it as a way to lower your hips to meet his.

way too soon for sanji, he feels himself getting close and he can already tell it's going to hit him hard. "b-baby, 'm soclose, please, w-wanna cum inside.." he pants heavily, looking up at you with this look that makes you let out a small whine: how can you possibly refuse him when he's looking at you like you are god herself? "let it allll out, honey, give it all to me." you whine as you start to move your hips to meet his, feeling your own release coming. sanji's sounds only grow louder and more pathetic with every stroke inside of you, calling out your name like a mantra. it isn't long until sanji finally cums, letting out a loud, low groan as his hips speed up into an almost impossible pace much to your pleasure. he goes limp against the bed as you ride out your own high, head tipped back and soft gasps slipping out of you as you milk sanji for all he's worth.

im ngl to yall, i finished this at almost 2:00 am so sorry if anything sounds weird LMFOAM

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

1K notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

3 weeks ago

2000 Leagues

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!Coast Guard!reader

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

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

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

A/N: 2000.

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Karadec.”

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

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

“One can hope,” Daphne mumbles.

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

He sighs as he turns toward his team.

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

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

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

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

“Who’s the owner?” Daphne inquires.

“Local millionaire named Ashton Weatherford.”

“Of Weatherford Water Sports?” Morgan interjects.

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

“I was nearby.”

“Of course you were,” Karadec sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On it,” Daphne replies.

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

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

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

“Hopefully it’s enough,” Karadec murmurs.

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

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

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

“Good morning,” Detective Karadec responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” Karadec says.

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

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

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

“Are we going out to sea?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. We’re not completely incompetent.”

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

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

“Shotgun!” Morgan calls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A- Karadec,” you call.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t hear anything,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help!” someone yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That dive could kill you!” he exclaims.

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

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

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

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

“Go!” Karadec yells. “Now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Start compressions, Morgan,” he instructs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re okay,” Morgan says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” you question.

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

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

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

“Kevin?”

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

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

“For what? You saved my life, Adam.”

“I shouldn’t have let you jump.”

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

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

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

“How are you?” you ask.

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

“Does Kevin have anyone?” Karadec inquires.

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

“Good.”

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

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

“Always,” Karadec answers.

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

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

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

“We radioed,” you reply.

“Several times,” Daphne adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” Karadec calls after her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” you promise.

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

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

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

64 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

3 months ago

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

Could You Do Fic For David 'Deacon' Kay With Wife Reader Where She's A Ballet Dancer? Maybe He Brought

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.”

158 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

3 months ago

Charlie Gets Over the Waitress (charlie kelly x afab reader oneshot)(SMUT!)

*it’s always sunny intro music plays*

pairing: charlie kelly x afab! reader (gender neutral up until the cut i’m pretty sure)

tags: smut!, age difference mentioned but vague (mostly just for a bit with dennis lmao i couldn’t resist), slight size difference, very cliche and weak plot, charlie has soft dom vibes, praise, slight possessiveness, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, some dirty talk, some fluff

i tried to make the intro kinda read like a typical iasip episode. the nsfw starts after the cut! this story is very self-indulgent lmao but thanks for reading!

charlie comes into the bar one day where dennis and mac, who were bored out of their minds, turn their heads to greet him. dennis was behind the bar while mac sat in front of him nursing a beer.

“nice of you to show up for work, charlie,” dennis says dryly. but as charlie sits down on a stool with a small pout, dennis knows exactly why he’s been gone all day so far. “been catching up with the waitress again, huh?” dennis guesses, putting charlie’s stalking problem lightly. charlie huffs and rolls his eyes dramatically, confirming his suspicions.

“man, you’ve got to get over that girl.” mac chimes in.

“yeah, she’s crazy.” dennis scoffs.

“and not even that hot..” mac adds.

“ugh, shut up.” charlie interrupts them and buries his head in his arms on the counter. after a pause, he speaks again, his voice muffled and soft. “i know.. i know i have to get over her.” charlie agrees, taking his friends by surprise. not that they cared that much..

“you know, maybe you could try finding someone else? someone who actually likes you back. or at least, like, get laid.” mac suggests and dennis nods, neither of them really thinking much of the comment or expecting charlie to change his ways. but mac’s words make charlie pause.

“maybe.. you’re right.” charlie lifts his head up, a gleam in his eyes all of a sudden as he looks between dennis and mac. as if they’re reading his mind, they instantly try to backtrack, talking over each other and saying no. charlie interrupts them again.

“no, no guys! you’ve got to help me. set me up on a date!” charlie stands up now and approaches mac and dennis enthusiastically, giving a desperate look to both of them.

“bro..” mac sighs, hanging his head in his hand in exasperation.

“no way, charlie. it was just a suggestion.” dennis shakes his head. the two men are clearly not interested. they share a look, both of them thinking it would be nearly impossible to get any sane person to date charlie.

“oh, come on!” charlie yells, gesturing wildly with his arms. “i.. i’ll..” he stammers, trying to think of something he could do to reward them. “i’ll give you guys the week off. i’ll do all the work, including charlie work.” he finally promises, looking between them hopefully.

mac gives another dramatic sigh while dennis looks annoyed, but thoughtful.

“fine. i’m in.” mac says, standing from his seat.

“fine. but this better work,” dennis huffs, coming around the bar to point sternly at charlie. “you have to promise us that this is worth our time, that you’re actually going to try and get over that waitress.”

“i promise!” charlie celebrates as soon as they accept, pumping his fists in the air as his two friends head toward the front door of the pub. “oh yeah! just come find me whenever you got the goooods. i’ll be here.” he smiles and does finger guns at them, trying and failing to act cool. dennis grimaces, the weight of their task starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

“right, just.. take a shower or something, charlie.” he grumbles on the way out, slamming the door. but charlie doesn’t care at all about how irritated his friends are with him. all he’s thinking about is possibly getting lucky tonight. it wouldn’t be the waitress.. but for once a distraction, at least, is welcome.

“where the hell are we going to find someone crazy enough to go on a date with charlie? he’s a freak!” mac yells as he and dennis get in the range rover. “seriously, i love the dude. but anybody could spot that a mile away.”

“i don’t know, man. just forget about the ‘charlie’ of it all for now. we’ll go on the prowl, find ourselves a candidate and butter ‘em up. then we can throw them at charlie and just hope things work out somehow.” dennis suggests with a shrug. “sure, we’ll do our best. but we’re not miracle workers. we just gotta look for someone desperate. or stupid. or both, preferably.” he sighs. being able to find a serious companion for charlie didn’t even cross his mind as a possibility. “if all else fails, i’ll get frank to buy him a hooker or something.”

with that, they head to the mall and decide to pop into the first trendy clothing store they see. dennis scans the area for potential options while mac follows. “just leave it to me, buddy. i know exactly how to find the person we’re looking for.” he says with his typical air of superiority, both of them trying to act casual as they pass through the clothing. they wander around for a bit, but then, dennis spots one person in particular.

“ah, ah, ah. i think we might have a candidate,” he stops mac and leans in close for only him to hear, pointing at someone who was minding their own business looking through the t-shirts. “not bad, a little on the plain side. but i think that’s exactly what we want, way higher chance of being desperate. plus, they’re here all alone, probably lonely.” dennis analyzes them as if he was a genius, but really he was just being creepy and making assumptions. but mac, of course, goes along with it without question, looking impressed.

“man, you are good! they look a little young, though..”

“even better,” dennis comments, almost forgetting he wasn’t the one looking for a date. mac gives him a look. dennis clears his throat and quickly clarifies. “naive.” mac’s stern expression softens and he nods thoughtfully in understanding. with that, they approach.

“hi there,” dennis gives a charming grin. “i’m dennis. this is my buddy, mac.” he introduces him and mac and you look at them, a little confused.

“um, hello. i’m (y/n),” you reply, waiting for them to say what they’re approaching you for. dennis breaks the silence.

“ah, nice to meet you, (y/n). beautiful name. well, me and my friend here just wanted to say hi. we were both saying how good-looking you are, right mac?”

“right! you’re super hot-” dennis elbows his side. “i mean, uh, attractive!” mac gives a big smile, both of them pausing to see how you react. this is the real test. if you fall for this, you might just give charlie a chance.

“r-really?” not used to this kind of attention, your lips curl into a bashful smile, looking a little like a schoolgirl. the boys’ eyes light up. this is what they want to see.

“oh, yeah. most beautiful in the mall, hands down,” dennis winks, turning up the charm. “but hey.. listen, we’ve got a good friend named charlie. he’s been having a real rough time trying to get over this one girl. he’s a real sweetheart, and it hurts seeing him so down, you know?”

falling for the sympathy card, you frown. “oh, that’s horrible..” you reply.

“right? it sucks.. but we were thinking it might be nice to set him up with a date, get his mind off things. show him that there’s other fish in the sea, so to speak,” mac continues, easing you into their true purpose here. “would you be willing to meet him?”

your eyes widen, not expecting the request. a date for yourself was long overdue, not to mention whoever this mystery man was that they spoke of. and it’s not like you had anything better to do. and hey, if you didn’t like him you could back out, right? after considering for a moment, you slowly nod. “yeah, i guess so. why not?”

with that, the three of you leave the mall, going to a hole-in-the-wall bar they apparently own in south philly called paddy’s pub. you all walk in, and when you don’t immediately see charlie the two men instruct you to sit in a booth while they go find him.

but when dennis walks into the office, he finds charlie sitting behind the desk flipping through photos on a camera. dennis already has a feeling he knows what he’s doing, but charlie’s suspicious jump when he comes into the room says all he needs to know.

“what are you looking at there, charlie?” dennis asks pointedly, putting his hands on his hips.

mac comes in behind him. “what, what’s he got?”

“nothing!” charlie says quickly. “it’s nothing, man, just some random pictures. nothing special-“ he tries to brush it off before dennis snatches the camera away and quickly flips through the photos to see blurry, far-away photos of what looked to be the waitress. not even bothering to give charlie the benefit of the doubt, too annoyed after trying to find a date for him, he storms out of the room completely giving up.

“well, i’m sorry, but this man is a lost cause!” dennis rages while charlie gets up in a panic and follows him into the bar, not even processing yet that dennis was talking to someone else. mac rolls his eyes and goes to pour himself another beer.

“hey, hey, wait man! it’s not what it looks like!” charlie yells after him, lying poorly as he tries to get the camera back. that’s when his eyes catch you sitting in the booth. he stops and stares, forgetting all about the pictures for a moment, taking immediate interest.

“listen here, this man stalks the girls he likes. and that position is already filled. sorry to waste your time.” dennis announces to you, his anger pointed at charlie.

you just sit there, completely confused and unable to do anything but watch the chaos unfold.

“hey! i’m not a stalker, and l-let’s not jump to conclusions, man!” charlie tries his best to backtrack what dennis has unveiled, caring about your impression of him despite not even knowing you. stalking tendencies he may have had, but now that he’s looking at you it could be that that ‘position’ dennis spoke of just opened up.

as this strange interaction goes on before your eyes, you study the shorter man. he’s really handsome. definitely weird, a little disheveled. but funny, animated. cute. you probably should be running away, but the seriousness of their conversation starts to go right over your (possibly sick) head.

“you can stalk me if you want. i don’t mind,” you blurt out in a flirty, joking sort of way, looking right at charlie with a smile. this makes everyone in the room take pause. dennis eyes you incredulously as if he’s realizing you’re crazy. mac just raises his eyebrows and takes a swig of his drink. but charlie, he looks strangely flattered.

“really? i mean! i-i.. you got it all wrong. i’m not a stalker,” charlie says, raising his hands up at his sides.

“he is.” mac and dennis say in unison, making charlie grit his teeth.

“would you get out of here?!” he snaps. mac and dennis actually listen and head towards the door, not knowing what to think but happy that their job is over.

“see you in a week, bud.” mac says before the door to the bar slams. you just watch, not thinking much of it before turning your attention back to charlie.

“charlie, right? i’m (y/n).”

“uh..yeah, hi (y/n).” he replies, scratching the back of his neck in an awkward sort of way. “you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to..” he mumbles, not expecting you to want to be anywhere near him after hearing about his problems. he glances in your direction, wanting to kick himself for ruining another potential relationship. for some reason the waitress falls off of his mind when he looks at you.

“i’d like to stay. i think you’re cute.” you reply, making his ears turn rosy. “is that okay?”

“u-uh, um..” his eyes widen and it takes him a second to recover, not expecting this response at all. “y-yeah! that’s fine.. great, actually. would you, uh, would you like a drink? on me.” he smiles, remembering his manners and getting a sudden burst of joy now that his plan is actually coming to fruition. maybe he’ll be able to get over the waitress after all. and if not, maybe he’ll have a good night this with new person anyway.

you tell him your drink of choice and he makes it for you, taking a beer himself. he sits down across from you at the booth and you get to talking, the conversation flowing easily between you, an instant chemistry blooming. you both just met, but right off the bat there is a lot he really likes about you, and you can say the same for him. you like his scruffy beard and his smile. you like his quirky demeanor. the way his eyes brighten when he laughs and the expressiveness he has when he talks. his fluffy hair. and his hands. they’re soft yet manly. you start to imagine what they would feel like on you. this leads to wondering what he’s like in bed. he is a goofy sort of guy, but something tells you that he knows what he’s doing.

and as the alcohol blooms in your systems, these kinds of thoughts start to dominate both of your minds. you’re both starting to slur your words and giggle at everything. someway or another, you start comparing your heights.

“well, you know, i’m shorter than dennis and mac.. they always call me a little guy.” he says, shrugging. neither of you know how you got to this topic.

“how tall are you? i wanna see,” you say, suddenly getting out of your seat and motioning him to follow. you make him stand right in front of you, putting your hand on top of your head and moving it towards him to see where it lands.

“you’re taller than me.” you say with a small smile, your face inches away from his. oh, he likes that. he just nods. then you reach for his arm and start to compare your hand to his. hand to hand, your fingertips barely reach the first knuckles of his fingers. he swallows hard.

“you’re a little pipsqueak, aren’t you?” he smirks, teasing you. you pout slightly but he continues before you can reply. “don’t deny it. i’m one of the smallest guys i know. and you, my friend, don’t even compare.” he chuckles, enjoying the soft blush that colors your cheeks.

“yeah, yeah. whatever..” you roll your eyes, looking away.

“you’re cute.” he says.

“i am?”

“mhm.”

your hands still connected, he slowly interlocks your fingers. when you look at him he’s looking right into your eyes. his mind is running wild with all the thoughts of what he wants to do with you. to do to you. and by the look in your eyes, you feel the same. but he wants to hear you admit it first.

“whatcha thinking about?” he asks in a nonchalant way, a teasing look in his eye as he watches your face.

“i want to kiss you.”

“oh?” he raises his eyebrows playfully, pretending to be shocked. “how much have you had to drink?” he jokes as if you weren’t both knee deep in liquor.

“just- just a couple..” you pout again, the buzz making you easily embarrassed.

“you’re so cute.” he repeats with a laugh. this time, he brings his free hand up to your cheek as if he couldn’t resist.

“please?” you murmur when he doesn’t immediately kiss you. he smirks at this, before giving you a nod.

____________________________________________

he leans in, connecting your lips with his. it’s gentle, soft, and warm. your linked hands disconnect, his going to your waist while yours go around his shoulders, the action bringing your bodies closer together. feeling your curves underneath his hands and pressing against his body, he growls lightly and kisses you deeper.

things heat up fast, he’s walking you backwards until your butt meets the booth table, and he’s helping you to hop up and sit on it. one hand plants itself on your thigh, encouraging you to spread your legs so he can step between them and be all that much closer to you.

you break the kiss only to catch your breath. his free hand goes up to tangle in your hair while his mouth purposefully moves from your lips to your jawline and down your neck, angling you to give him better access. you’re beginning to think that your earlier suspicions about him are dead-on.

you let out a gasp as he sucks the sensitive skin beneath your ear into his mouth, nibbling there and leaving a small mark. he does the same around your pulse point, copying the action at multiple areas until you’re breathless and practically grinding against him.

“pretty,” he murmurs as he pulls away and admires his work, his voice taking on a husky quality that makes your stomach flip. he pulls away from your neck and his fingertips tease just beneath the hem of your shirt as he looks down at your flushed face.

“can i?”

you nod. he slides his palms underneath the fabric, feeling your soft skin as he helps you out of your shirt, tossing it aside. he sucks in a breath when he sees you in your lacy bra, before helping you out of that next.

freed from the fabric, your breasts spill out and into view. you shiver slightly, your nipples already hardening in the cool air.

he stares, entranced for a moment, licking his lips. his fingers twitch with the urge to touch but he forces himself to hold off, a mission in mind.

“i wanna see all of you.” his eyes flit back to yours, silently asking your approval, to which you nod eagerly once again.

with that, he moves to undo the button and zipper of your jeans in a flash, helping you lift your hips and wiggle out of them. when he catches sight of your panties, the gusset already damp with arousal, he bites back a groan.

“fuck, (y/n),” he rasps before bringing a hand to tease you through the thin fabric. you let out a whimper when his thumb catches your clit, and he looks like he can barely contain himself from devouring you whole right then and there. his other hand cups one of your tits, tweaking the nipple between his fingertips as your hips start to grind into his hand.

“you’re so responsive,” he chuckles softly, almost in amazement. he can hardly believe that this is all happening. you’re so sexy. you almost make him forget about his own needs, his cock hard and straining against his jeans. “feel good?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, in shambles already. he can tell you want, need more. and oh, he’s going to give it to you.

he leans in and presses a kiss to each breast before kissing down your stomach. to your surprise he kneels, now face-level with your clothed pussy.

“charlie..” you whine, the sight of him so close to where you need him most driving you crazy. you feel shy and desperate all at once.

he just hums in response, spreading your legs wider and beginning to plant soft kisses up your inner thighs, alternating between them. they’re meant to soothe but they just rile you up even more. you can feel his beard lightly scratching your skin on the way and it makes you nearly tremble with need.

this continues until he reaches your center, where he kisses at either side of your panties. you whine again and he grins to himself, satisfied, before finally taking the waistband between his fingers and pulling the last thing that’s covering you down your legs, revealing your soaked slit.

he takes hold of your legs, guiding them to rest over his shoulders and he brings a hand up to your pussy, gently spreading you out with his thumb. you can feel his breath fanning over your sensitive flesh before he gives you what you want.

his lips meet your cunt, his warm tongue sampling your wetness with one broad lick from bottom to top. you shudder at the sudden contact, letting out a gasp. he takes a firm hold of your hips, holding you in place before devouring you with gusto. lewd sounds fill the air along with your moans. he alternates between pressing his tongue inside you and sucking your clit, swirling his tongue around it in a way that makes your hips buck and your hands grip the table for dear life.

fuck, he could eat you out all night. listen to the sounds you make, savor your sweetness, feel you grind against his face. but that wouldn’t help the throbbing happening in his pants. getting a little selfish, he decides to move things along in a way he knows you won’t complain.

at the same time he draws your clit between his lips, he shifts slightly. bringing a hand down, he traces a finger between your folds, wetting the digit in your abundant slick before pushing in slowly but surely. you nearly squeak from the sudden combination of his mouth and fingers, your back arching off the table.

he soon adds another finger and pumps them in and out. when his fingers curl upwards and graze that spongy spot inside of you, you let out a high-pitched cry and begin to tighten. you’re getting close. he lifts his head for a moment, still fingering you steadily.

“(y/n),” he breathes, pupils dilating as he takes in your blissful state, head lolled back and skin flushed with pleasure. “can you cum twice for me?” he asks, eager to push you over the edge.

you look down at him, the hunger in his eyes and the evidence of your arousal on his lips nearly making you finish right there. you nod, mouth dry.

“good.” he hums, eyes flitting down to watch your pussy soak his fingers before looking back up at you. “want you to cum on my fingers and then on my cock. sound good?” he asks, making your head spin.

“yes, please,” you reply breathlessly. his fingers start to fuck you faster and deeper.

“mm,” he just grunts, biting his lip as if in a trance as he savors the sight of you before diving back in.

his lips pull your clit back into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves while his fingers fuck you open. it doesn’t take you long at all to reach the edge, his name on your lips and your hands in his hair.

“oh fuck, charlie-” you whimper, your thighs quivering on either side of his head. he groans his approval against your pussy, the vibrations making your eyes roll back, and drapes a firm arm over your pelvis to keep you in place.

before you know it you’re moaning uncontrollably and writhing on the table as your orgasm crashes over you. he continues to stroke your fluttering walls and gently lap and suckle at your clit, letting you ride it out, in no rush at all. when you finally settle, he pulls back to see the aftermath.

he gently pulls out his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to clean them off before getting to his feet and leaning forward against the table, hovering over you.

“all good?” he asks, confidence clear in his voice as he takes in your dazed expression.

“absolutely.”

he grins. “you taste delicious,” he watches with satisfaction as you blush. “ready for more?”

you’re a bit winded, but still beyond aroused. “yes.”

he starts to undo his pants, but when he’s about to pull them down he pauses, looking down at you.

“are you comfortable?” he asks randomly.

you’re laying on a cheap bar table, so the answer is probably obvious. but you don’t really care about that sort of thing at a time like this.

“i’m okay.” you reply. but he clicks his tongue, not convinced.

“nah, come on. get up.” he instructs, taking you by the waist and guiding you up.

once you’re on your feet again, he sits down in the booth. you watch as he shimmies his pants and boxers down.

“c’mere.” he calls, motioning you over. and god, he looks sexy.

you do as he says, not really knowing what his plan is. but as he helps you to straddle his lap, you understand.

“there you go. perfect.” he murmurs, his encouragement in that soft, raspy voice making you melt. his hands find your hips, kneading lovingly at them before bringing one hand down to position himself underneath you.

“ready?” he grins, his eyes sparkling as they meet yours.

“mhm,” you nod, your breath catching a bit when you feel the head of his cock seek out your entrance.

“good girl, just let me in.” he coos as you start to lower yourself onto him. the praise makes your pussy flutter around him briefly and he bites back a growl at the feeling, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

eventually you sink all the way down and he bottoms out deep inside of you. the stretch, the fullness, it’s divine. you can feel every ridge, every vein, every curve molding your insides into his unique shape. you curse softly, savoring the feeling as you melt against him, your hands going to shoulders for support.

charlie feels your cunt pulse around him again and he groans. “god, you’re so sensitive aren’t you?” he teases, though he’s genuinely a bit amazed at how well you’re milking him already.

you nod with a light pout, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy. he’s not sure how you look so cute at a time like this. “you feel so good,” you whimper, rolling your hips on his lap. he chuckles at this, watching you with half-lidded eyes.

charlie’s content with letting you grind and cockwarm him like this, enjoying the feeling of himself deep inside of you. but the more selfish side of him wants to push you a bit, see how much you can take. plus, he doesn’t know if he can control himself much longer if you don’t move.

“i know, i know.. but, i believe we had a deal..” his lips curve into a small smirk as his eyes dance with yours. “you want to cum on my cock, don’t you?” he asks bluntly. you didn’t think you could get more turned on but you stood (or sat??) corrected.

“..yes.” you nod shyly. he chuckles lowly again and grabs your hips more purposefully.

“then ride me, baby. c’mon, i’ll help you.” he coaxes sweetly, his hands gently urging you to move. when you do, lifting your hips and sinking back down in one smooth motion, both of you moan. “fuck, that’s it. tight, wet, perfect little pussy..” he mutters between gritted teeth as his head falls back, his composure faltering.

as you build up the pace mewls fall past your lips. he lets you ride him by yourself for a little while, enjoying watching your tits bounce and your hair fall in your face before he can’t resist stepping in, unable to resist the urge to fuck you any longer. and so he starts to help you up and down, meeting your downward motions with his own upward thrusts. you gasp sharply, knowing instantly you won’t last long at this rate.

“that good?” charlie bites out cockily between panting breaths. he knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it.

“god, yes.” you reply quickly, your face scrunching up from the pleasure. when you tighten around him he knows he’s on the right track, a primal, determined gleam in his eye as you start to fall apart. his cock twitches at the thought of you convulsing around him.

“can you rub your clit for me?” he asks.

“y-yeah..”

“go on.”

you reach down to do as he says, and this combined with him fucking up into you makes you see stars. your breath hitches and you let out a series of pornographic noises. you’re climbing rapidly to your peak for the second time of the night.

“mm, you look like heaven..” charlie rasps, his eyes raking over you greedily, so lost in pleasure and taking it so well. there’s no way he’s letting you go after this. “let go for me, baby. you can do it, i know you can.” he encourages, snapping his hips up a bit faster.

your fingers dig into his shoulder as you reach the edge. you cum with a broken cry and a string of curses and his name, riding it out until your head falls forward into the crook of his neck and you’re panting for breath, your arms wrapping around him as your orgasm settles.

“perfect, so perfect,” he grunts, still pulling you up and down on his cock. it was his turn to reach his peak, and he earned it. you whine into his neck, overstimulated and officially brainless, and he gently soothes you, contradicting the way he’s absolutely wrecking you. “shh, sweetness, it’s okay. just a little longer, you can take it.” he whispers, his voice turning to a low, possessive growl as he continues. “so fucking tight around me, jesus.. made for me..”

he fucks you a bit longer, mumbled words of praise and filth slipping out between grunts of pleasure. the veins in his neck pop out and his grip on your hips becomes tight enough to leave bruises. but soon he tenses up, cursing as he buries himself to the hilt one final time and finishes.

“fuck..” he pants as he comes down from his high, his hands immediately softening on your sides. his arms wrap around you and his lips graze your temple. “you okay?”

“mm..” you just hum, completely satisfied and exhausted.

“what’s that?” his lips quirk upwards, pulling back to look at your face. he’s looking for a full answer.

“i’m more than okay.” you tell him.

“good. same here.” there’s a gleam in his eyes as he looks at you, affection in his gaze. he didn’t want to let you go, but you couldn’t exactly stay like this in the middle of paddy’s pub. “let’s get you dressed and home safe, m’kay?”

he taps your hip gently, helping you off of his lap. he tries hard not to stare at the mess of your juices and his cum between your legs, the sight nearly making him hard all over again. he slips his pants back on and stands, finding your articles of clothing scattered on the floor and handing each to you.

once you’re dressed he walks you to your apartment which happened to not be that far away. at your door, both of you pause.

“you, uh.. you have a number or something?” charlie asks you, leaning against your doorframe. you smile and nod, pulling out a scrap of paper from your bag and writing it for him. he takes it and puts it in his pocket.

“alright, cool, well.. goodnight, (y/n)..” he smiles back, but doesn’t immediately move to leave. neither do you move to head inside your apartment. instead, you frown slightly, unwilling to say goodbye.

“would you want to stay the night?” you ask, looking at him hopefully.

“really?” a night away from his crappy futon sounds great, and the idea of sharing a bed with such a lovely companion instead of frank for once sounds heavenly. you nod and he happily accepts with a “hell yeah!”

125 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

3 months ago

shot - e. buckley

evan buckley x gn!reader

summary: a visit to the 118 goes wrong when a grief-stricken man with a gun storms in.

w/c: 2.4k

⚠️ TW: gun, shooting

You made your way to the 118 firehouse, a container of cheesecake cradled in your arms. You'd baked it especially for them, making sure to save an extra slice for Chimney, who had raved about it last time.

As you stepped inside, Buck greeted you with his signature smile, his blue eyes lighting up as he noticed the dessert in your hands. "You really didn't have to," he said, pulling you into a hug. "I wanted to," you replied, enjoying the comfort of his embrace. "Besides, Chimney practically begged for more last time."

Buck laughed, taking the cheesecake from you and leading you upstairs to set it on the table where the rest of the crew was gathered. "You should stay awhile," he suggested. "At least until the next call." It didn't take much convincing. Spending time with Buck and his team always made you feel like you were part of something special - they were like a second family to you.

But the peaceful atmosphere didn't last.

About fifteen minutes later, a shout echoed from downstairs, shattering the mood. Everyone turned their heads toward the commotion, a collective unease settling over the group. Everyone exchanged wary glances before rising to investigate. As you all gathered at the top of the staircase, what you saw sent a cold chill down your spine. A man stood at the bottom, brandishing a gun, his voice trembling with rage and desperation. "You killed my wife!" he screamed, his face contorted in agony. "Now you're all going to pay!" The man's behavior sent a wave of fear through you as he ordered everyone downstairs.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you couldn't afford to panic. Slowly, you began descending the stairs with the others, taking note of the man's shaky hands, the sweat beading on his forehead, and the wild look in his eyes. You leaned toward Buck, your voice barely above a whisper. "Look at him closely, babe. He looks like he's under the influence of something."

Buck followed your gaze, his brows furrowing as he observed the man more closely. You continue, "His hands are trembling a lot, he's sweating excessively and his eyes look wide and panicked. That can't be normal." Buck nodded in agreement, whispering back, "You're right. If he really is under the influence, it makes this ten times more dangerous because he could be unpredictable. We need to be careful."

Before you could say anything else, the man's eyes snapped to you. "What are you whispering about?" he demanded. "N-nothing," you stuttered, hating how fear made your voice falter. "Better be," he growled, his eyes darting between you and Buck.

Buck gently put his hand on the small of your back, his touch bringing some comfort to you. ‌"It's okay, baby. We'll be fine," he tried to reassure you, but he didn't seem so certain himself.

Once you were downstairs, everyone spread out slightly, but Buck stayed close, his touch never leaving you. The man's breathing was erratic, and he was clearly unstable. You kept glancing at Buck, who kept his hand lightly on your back, a silent promise that he wouldn't let anything happen to you. "Stay calm," Buck whispered again, his voice low and controlled, even though you could feel his pulse quicken through the light pressure of his hand.

The man's gaze darted between the firefighters, paranoia swirling in his bloodshot eyes. His grip on the gun tightened, knuckles white against the metal. "You think I'm bluffing?" he growled, eyes wild. "You think I won't do it?"

‌Behind you, Eddie slowly moved to your right, his movements so subtle that you almost didn't notice. You could tell he was preparing for something, but you weren't sure what. ‌Chimney tried to reason with the man, "We're not the ones who hurt your wife, man. Let's talk about this, figure out what happened. There's no need for this to get worse."

‌The man's hand shook even more violently, the gun bobbing in the air. "Shut up! You don't know anything!"

Hen had positioned herself slightly to the left, closer to the phone. The man glanced away for a moment, his focus faltering. ‌But then, suddenly, he snapped back to you and Buck, eyes narrowing. "You two," he snarled, pointing the gun directly at you. "You were whispering. Come here."

Buck stepped forward in front of you, shielding you instinctively. "Leave her out of this. She's not the one you want," he said, his voice dangerously steady, but there was a tremor underneath that only you could hear. The man's eyes darted between the two of you, flickering with uncertainty. His breathing grew more erratic by the second. You knew Buck was ready to move if he had to, but the wrong move could end disastrously.

‌You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady as you started to speak, hoping to diffuse the situation as best as you could. "We don't want any trouble. Please, just put the gun down. We can talk this out, okay?"

‌The man wavered for a split second, his grip faltering. His eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you saw some uncertainty, or even hesitation. His grip on the gun loosened slightly, his stance wavering. You hoped this would de-escalate or else this would all spiral out of control.‌ "You don't have to do this," you said softly, keeping your hands where he could see them. "Whatever happened to your wife, it wasn't their fault. They're just here to help."

‌For a moment, the man looked confused at your words. He probably assumed you were also a firefighter but he seemed to realise that you weren't. Then, his face twisted in anger. "Help? You call letting her die helping?" His voice cracked, desperation leaking into his words. He looked over at the rest of the 118. "I trusted you guys. She trusted you!"

‌Eddie inched a little closer, but the man suddenly noticed the movement, snapping his attention back to Eddie. "Stop!" he yelled, pointing the gun wildly between all of you. "Stay where you are! I swear, I'll shoot!" ‌Eddie froze, hands up, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest. Buck stepped closer to you again, his body tense, ready to move if needed. ‌"Listen," Buck said, his voice calm but firm. "We're sorry about what happened to your wife. But this isn't going to help. This isn't going to bring her back. Please, let's just talk."

‌The man's face contorted with pain, his eyes glossy, filled with unshed tears. His arm was trembling so badly that you feared he might pull the trigger by accident. His voice wavered, "I-I don't know what to do anymore..."

‌Hen, who'd managed to get a little closer to the phone, locked eyes with you. She signalled for you to keep him talking. The longer you stalled, the better chance you had of getting help. ‌Taking a breath, you spoke gently. "I can't imagine how much you're hurting. Losing someone like that... it's unbearable. But this isn't what your wife would want."

‌He lightly flinched at that, and you knew you'd struck something deep. Did you say the wrong thing? You hoped you hadn't or you could end up dead - or even worse, one of the 118. "You don't know what she'd want," he muttered, though the conviction in his voice was fading.

‌"I don't," you admitted. "But I can tell you loved her. And I know that if she was here right now, she'd want you to be safe. She wouldn't want you to throw your life away."

‌Tears slipped down his cheeks, and his hand shook violently, the gun lowering just slightly. But then, almost out of nowhere, a sharp ring pierced the air - the phone. ‌The man jumped, startled by the sound, and in his panic, his finger tightened on the trigger.

Bang!

Everything happened in a blur. You felt Buck pulling you to the ground as the shot rang out. There was shouting, movement all around, and you didn't even know where the bullet went. Your ears rang from the sound, and your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest.

‌When you finally managed to focus again, you saw Eddie and Bobby rushing toward the man, disarming him as he stumbled backward in shock. Hen and Chimney were already moving to check on everyone.

‌Buck looked down at you, still shielding you even though the danger had passed. Until he felt something. ‌Buck pulled away slightly, his eyes widening in horror as he noticed the blood soaking through your shirt. "No, no, no..." he muttered, his hands trembling as he pressed down on your abdomen. You hadn't even realized you'd been hit, the shock of everything numbing the pain.

‌"Buck?" your voice came out weaker than you intended and the moment you heard it, the reality started to sink in. The bullet must have hit you. You tried to focus, but the pain was spreading, sharp and hot.

‌"Hey, stay with me," Buck said urgently, panic creeping into his voice. "You're gonna be okay. Chim! Hen!" His voice cracked as he called for help, but you could barely focus on him anymore. The world felt fuzzy at the edges, the sound of everyone around you starting to blur.

‌Chimney was beside you in an instant, his hands moving quickly to assess the wound. "Alright, we've got you," Chim said, his voice steadier than Buck's, but you could see the worry etched in his face. Hen was already rushing to grab supplies and Eddie tried to move Buck to the side but Buck refused to budge, his hand still pressed against the wound, his eyes locked on yours. "Stay with me, please," Buck whispered, his voice breaking. You could see the desperation in his eyes, his fear for you palpable.

‌Chimney spoke more urgently now. "Buck, you need to let us work. We need to stop the bleeding." ‌Buck hesitated, his grip tightening as if letting go of you would mean losing you, but finally, he stepped back, allowing Chimney to take over. Hen was back in seconds, placing pressure on the wound as Chimney worked quickly, his face calm but focused.

‌You felt Buck's hand grasp yours, his fingers trembling. "You're gonna be fine," he kept saying, over and over, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. But your body felt heavy, the pain sharp. ‌You tried to speak, to tell him you were okay, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, you just squeezed his hand weakly, hoping it was enough.

‌"Hang in there," Hen said as she prepared an IV, her hands moving swiftly. "We'll get you to the hospital soon."

‌Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. The world around you was dimming, the edges of your vision going dark. You could hear the sirens in the distance, you knew help was coming but it felt so far away. Buck's voice was the only thing grounding you, the only thing keeping you from slipping away entirely.

‌"I love you," Buck said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words laced with fear. "Please... don't leave me." ‌You tried to hold on to that, to his voice, to the warmth of his hand, but the pain was overwhelming. The last thing you saw before the darkness took over was your boyfriend's face, tear-streaked and terrified, as the world faded to black.

(TIMESKIP - the next day)

When you finally woke up, the harsh lights above blurred into focus. Your body felt heavy, your chest tight with pain. For a moment, everything was hazy, and you couldn't remember how you got there, but then it hit you like a truck. The gunman, the shot, Buck's terrified voice.

‌You blinked, your vision clearing just enough to see Buck sat beside you, his eyes red and puffy from crying. His hand was wrapped around yours, his grip so tight you wondered if he'd been holding it like that the whole time.

‌"Buck," you whispered, your voice weak. The simple act of speaking made your throat burn, but you needed to let him know you were here, okay - or at least alive. ‌"You're awake," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He sat up straighter, leaning closer to you. "Thank God, you're awake."

‌You managed a weak smile, though every movement felt like a huge effort. "Hey," you whisper, "It's okay, Buck. I'm okay."

‌Buck let out a breathy laugh, though it was laced with a kind of relief and disbelief. "You scared the hell out of me," he said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I thought-" He swallowed hard, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought I was going to lose you."

‌Buck looked like he was barely holding it together. "Baby, your heart stopped. It-" he paused, his voice shaking. "But they brought you back. You're okay now. You're going to be okay." He said it like he's reassuring himself. ‌You glanced down at yourself, seeing the bandages across your abdomen. It hurt but the pain was nothing compared to the fear you had felt before everything went black.

‌"I was so scared," Buck continued, his voice breaking as he squeezed your hand again. "I couldn't do anything but watch you bleed, and I..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to shake away the memory. "I don't know what I would've done if we lost you."

‌"Shh," you murmured, managing to lift your other hand weakly to touch his face. "I'm right here." ‌He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into your hand. "I love you," he whispered again, like he needed you to know, like you might forget if he doesn't say it enough. "You mean everything to me."

‌Tears stung your eyes, the overwhelming emotions mixing with the pain in your body. "I love you too, Buck," you whispered back. The words were weak, but they were all you could give him in that moment.

‌He smiled, though it was shaky, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. "Just rest, okay? The doctors said you're going to need time to heal."

‌You nodded slowly, exhaustion starting to pull at you again. The pain meds were dulling the ache in your body but your body was craving rest. As you closed your eyes again, Buck's hand stayed firmly in yours. He promised himself he would stay with you however long you needed him to.

911 masterlist

620 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

1 year ago

what about this: reader is on what they thought was an innocent facetime call with andrew garfield spider-man but it turns out he's 'secretly' been jacking off 🙊🙊

contrary to popular belief, I do indeed respond to my asks 😋

nah, but actual, lovely request, and I’ve been thinking about this one for a while, soo hope you like it ♥️

Keep Going…

(andrew) peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: male and female masturbation, phone sex, squirting, that’s like it

What About This: Reader Is On What They Thought Was An Innocent Facetime Call With Andrew Garfield Spider-man

“And get this, he spilled coffee on me then yelled at me for trying to leave to clean it up.” She rambled on, lying on her left side as she spoke to her boyfriend.

“Pete? You listening to me?” She muttered, flipping around to lay on her stomach, holding her phone under her.

“Mhm, always do, sweetheart.” She heard his out of breath voice from her phone, furrowing her brows at the sound of it.

“You okay, Pete? You don’t sound too well.” She spoke worriedly.

Suddenly he moved the phone to in front of his face, which was flushed red. “I’m fine, babe. Promise.”

“You don’t look well, either. Are you sick?” She groaned. “I told you just because you’re Spider-Man doesn’t mean you can be out late at night during winter when it’s raining-“

“I-I’m not sick, baby.” He shook his head, his fluffy hair bouncing.

“Well, what’s wrong with you?” She asked, pouting slightly.

“Nothin’. Nothin’s wrong.” He shook his head again making her huff and bury her head into her pillow.

“Hey, hey, baby. Don’t stop talking, ‘kay? Keep going.” He mumbled, his voice sounding slurred, and when she looked back at her phone only his neck was visible due to his head being thrown back.

“Pete.” She whined and she heard him mutter ‘fuck’ under his breath. “What’s wrong?”

He groaned, chewing on his bottom lip before he looked back at the screen, his brown eyes hazy.

“You sure you wanna know?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

She nodded enthusiastically, attentively looking at her phone screen.

He swallowed harshly before moving his phone down to around hip level.

Her jaw dropped as she saw his veiny hand wrapped around the base of his dick pop up on her screen.

“Pete.” She muttered breathlessly.

“Shit- yeah, Princess?” He groaned loudly, her eyes going wide when she saw his hand start to move up and down, his thumb running over the tip of his dick.

“You- you’re jerking off.” She whispered, trying to pull her eyes away from the sight but she couldn’t.

“Mhm. To the sound of your voice, baby. Been too long since I’ve had you wrapped around me.” He groaned out, a bead of pearly precum dribbling down the length of his cock.

“Pete.. have- have you done this before?” She whispered, holding back the urge to slide a hand down and into her pyjama shorts.

“Mhm” he groaned out, his hand moving even faster. “That okay, babe?”

She whimpered, hearing the loud squelching of his hand around his dick and watching as the tip of his cock got redder and the veins got more prominent. “Yeah.. yeah, it’s okay.” She whispered out, her mouth salivating.

His pearly teeth bit into his pink bottom lip. “Baby, touch yourself. You know you want to.” He spoke lowly, his hips thrusting into his fist.

She whimpered and nodded, moving the camera down to hip level, just like how he has it, and wiggled her pyjama shorts off, leaving her in an oversized shirt (that belonged to Peter) and light pink panties that had a dark patch at her entrance.

He groaned, seeing the wet patch on her panties, his hand moving even faster around his dick. "Fuck, you're so fucking wet."

"All for you." She whined out, propping her phone up with a pillow so the could use both hands to pull her panties down, throwing them somewhere in the room.

"Shit, look at that. Fuckin' cunt fluttering around nothing, huh? Bet you want my cock, right?" He spoke lowly, taking his hand off his dick to lightly roll his balls in his hand, staving off his impeding orgasm.

She whined, nodding her head and running her index finger through her folds, tracing her slit as her arousal practically dripped down onto her bedding.

"Stick a finger inside your pretty pussy for me, yeah?" He grumbled, his hand wrapping back around his dick.

She whimpered and followed his orders, circling her entrance with her middle finger before easing inside of her, a sharp moan escaping her lips.

“There ya go.” He groaned, his eyes fixed on her finger as it disappeared inside of her pussy, his hand movements speeding up.

She whined, curling her finger up inside of her, her other hand playing with her clit.

“That’s its princess. Keep fucking yourself. Imagine it’s me, yeah? Stick another finger inside your pretty cunt, baby.” He groaned out, his hips bucking up to meet the movements of his hand.

She whimpered, moving her ring finger to join her middle finger in her movements inside of her.

His voice faded out in her ears as the white hot pleasure built in her lower stomach.

“Pete- Petey!” She whined out, her eyebrows furrowing.

“What? You’re gonna cum already? Fuck, desperate, aren’t you?” He groaned, tilting his head back for a second before looking back at his phone screen.

“Mhm!” She whined, feeling her arousal drip down her ass cheeks and onto the her sheets even more.

“Fuck, yeah, cum for me, baby. Gush around those fingers.” He grumbled, feeling his thighs tense as his own orgasm approached.

She whimpered, her fingers rubbing her clit faster as her legs shook and she threw her head back into the pillows, a large gush of liquid exiting her body and a shaky moan exiting her body.

He groaned in response, biting his lip as the camera on her end got blurry, her squirt covering her phone. His hand tightened around the base of his cock as he also came, closing his eyes as his cum covered his stomach, chest, and hand.

She whimpered, taking her fingers out of her pussy and looking at her phone, her eyes widening as she used her (his) shirt to wipe off her phone screen so it wasn’t covered in her squirt anymore.

“So, baby, what happened after your boss yelled at you?” He asked lazily, bringing his phone back up to his flushed face, staring at her through the phone.

i never know how to end these ahh

𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗱 - 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: peter and you argue because he loves to spend all of his money on you.

𝘄/𝗰: 0.5k

𝗮/𝗻: sorry for disappearing for a few months… again 😭 i am slowly getting back into writing so please bear with me! i saw my last fic reached over 9000 notes so that really motivated me to write something else for you guys ♡ i’m not so sure how i feel about this but i really do see peter as the type of boyfriend to blow all of his paycheck on you so i just had to write this LOL anyways i hope you all enjoy this!!

“put it on my card” you suddenly hear peter say as he pulled your earphones out, causing you to jump.

you were trying to keep yourself awake while waiting for peter to come through your window after patrolling for the night. to keep yourself occupied, you decided to listen to music and do some online shopping (which consisted of you just putting things in your cart but never actually buying anything). with your back facing your window and your earphones in, you didn’t see or hear peter come inside.

“jesus christ peter, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“yeah yeah whatever” he says not really caring that he nearly scared the life out of you. “as i was saying before you rudely snapped at me, put your order on my card”

“i literally have over $400 worth of clothes in my cart”

“and?”

“what do you mean and? that’s expensive”

“your point?”

“that’s more than half of your paycheck”

“doesn’t matter. the whole reason why i have a job is to spoil you” he says while taking off his suit and getting comfortable in your bed.

“aww pete, you’re too sweet. but still, no. i don’t want you spending that much money on me”

he hummed an okay which led you to believe he was gonna just drop the conversation.

you were so wrong.

before you know it, he’s shooting a web at your laptop and dragging it over to him.

“NOOOO!” you scream dramatically and tackle him on your bed before he can type in his card information.

“LET ME BUY YOU CLOTHES!” he screams back while trying to push you off of him so he can grab your laptop again.

you quickly snatched your laptop from the bed and ran out of your room as fast as you could.

“GET BACK HERE!” peter shouted while chasing after you to which you just ignored and kept running away.

“you know what, you leave me no choice” he abruptly stops chasing you which causes you to stop in confusion.

suddenly, he jumped and stuck to your roof with his webs, and webbed your laptop over to him. you literally had no way of getting to him now.

“that’s no fair, you’re cheating!” you whined.

he laughed at you standing helplessly below him and finally placed your $450 order on his card.

“here you go” he smiled and jumped down from the roof, handing your laptop back over to you.

before you were about to scold him for spending so much money on you, you heard a knock at your door.

you and peter both looked at each other confused because you weren’t expecting anybody for the night. he walked to the door and opened, revealing the people you were least expecting.

the police.

“hello, we were called over here for a noise complaint. your neighbors reported screaming being heard from your apartment room and they were concerned. is everything alright?”

you did not expect to end your night by explaining to the police that you and your boyfriend were screaming over buying clothes.

Strikes to Die By

Part 2 of Words to Die By

The Rookie x Criminal Minds Crossover

Pairing: (FBI!)Tim Bradford x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: Months after you kissed Tim, you have to save him and yourself without letting your emotions get in the way. His past follows him to the FBI, and you must decide if you want to be part of his past or his future.

Warnings: angst, canon-typical content, violence, near-death experiences, fluff and banter, literary references and spoilers for Revival by Stephen King, canon-divergent Monica Stevens

Word Count: 10.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

The air buzzes as a hooded figure walks through the dewy grass. Hair stands on end as the city seems to shake within itself. A door closes silently, and less than an hour later, the figure returns to the static-filled wilderness of Teague, Texas, leaving wreckage in his wake.

Quantico, Virginia

“That’s great, baby girl, but it’s too long,” Derek chides gently.

“No, it isn’t,” Penelope argues. “This is a correct sentence.”

Derek clicks his tongue, then straightens from Penelope’s side.

“Historically, the longest sentence ever printed was 823 words long,” Spencer interjects from his desk. “Victor Hugo put it in Les Misérables.”

“Well, I’m going to be more miserable if we don’t cut some words out of this,” Derek complains. “Where’s the bookworm?”

“Me?” you ask from Hotch’s doorway.

“No, Frankenstein,” he deadpans.

“Actually,” Spencer says, “Frankenstein is-“

“The doctor,” everyone in the BAU bullpen finishes together.

Spencer raises his hands in a dramatic surrender, and you heed Derek’s beckoning and walk to his desk. He points at his screen, and Penelope sighs as she pushes his chair back. You drop your chin forward to read the briefing on the screen and then look at Penelope with your brows furrowed.

“What’s the problem?” you inquire.

“It’s too long. That sentence takes up four lines!” Derek exclaims.

“It’s a report,” Hotch calls. “Not a contender for the Pulitzer.”

You shake your head at Derek’s dramatics, then point to an accurate but lengthy transition phrase. “Remove this, add a period, and fix the capitalization on the right side.”

Derek lifts his arms in victory as Penelope does as you instructed. She hums, pleased, and submits the report to Hotch.

“You’re the best reader in the world, sweetheart,” Derek tells you.

“Careful, Penelope’s right here,” you warn.

“We can share him,” she assures you. “For now.”

“Iceland is probably home to the best readers,” Spencer tells JJ. “They have the highest per capita book reading rate in the world and a literacy rate of about 99%.”

“I bet Iceland is quiet,” Derek muses. “What with all the reading, not so much time to talk.”

“Was that aimed at me?” Spencer replies.

“Conference room!” Hotch barks. “Now.”

You abandon your post beside Derek’s desk and follow him into the conference room. As you lower into your seat, Hotch leans over the table and puts the phone on speaker.

“SSA Hotchner,” he greets. “I have the BAU here with me.”

“Pleasure,” a man with a moderate thick southern accent says. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Neilson of Teague, Texas. This morning, we discovered a man dead in a hotel room.”

“Murdered?” JJ asks.

“We’re not sure,” he replies. “ME took a preliminary look and reckons the victim was electrocuted. But we’re having… We have reservations about actually entering the crime scene or moving the body.”

“Why?” Hotch says.

“The room is spotless. By which I mean, it’s too clean.”

“Do you have CSI photos? Any photos?” Spencer inquires.

“Emailing those now. Photographer got in and out pretty quickly, but the photos should show you how odd this seems. Even the vents are clean, as far back as you can see.”

Penelope types something on her laptop and then casts the images onto the large television screen behind Hotch. He steps out of the way and listens to Neilson’s account of the distressed 911 caller: a housekeeper who entered the room with a master key.

“It’s way too clean,” you murmur.

“That’s beyond what any hotel maid is trained to do,” Spencer adds.

“Or paid to do,” Derek says.

“Penelope, can you go back?” you request after she clicks another image.

You stand and round the table to view the wide-frame photo of the hotel room. There’s something off about it – even more than the cleanliness.

“Is there another picture of the nightstand?” you ask. “Closer?”

Penelope exits the full-screen view and scrolls through the files before she finds one. After it loads on the television, you point to the Bible on the nightstand.

“That should be in the drawer,” Hotch says. “Nielson will call back in a few minutes. I gave him the go ahead to have CSI process. I doubt there’s any physical evidence left to disturb.”

“The Bible should be in the drawer, yes,” you agree. “But that’s not what I noticed.”

“Is that bed frame waxed?” Derek interrupts, peering over your shoulder.

“You’d notice,” Penelope jokes.

“Hotch, I can call the cleaning staff to find out if there’s a reason the room is that level of clean.”

“Sure,” Hotch agrees. “Make sure you ask about the air vent, too.”

Derek salutes as he exits the conference room. After he leaves, you point to the Bible's top and bottom edges.

“The pages aren’t big enough,” you point out. “Whatever is in here, I don’t think it’s the Bible. I think it’s a paperback in a Bible binding.”

“Why would someone do that?” JJ asks. “Aside from the obvious.”

“In a scene this clean, it has to be a signature,” Hotch answers.

“We need to know what book it is,” you say.

Hotch calls Nielson back while you, Spencer, and JJ look through the rest of the pictures. It’s a weird scene, something you haven’t seen before, but it’s carefully constructed. As close to perfect as you’ve ever seen a criminal come.

“Hey, where’s your boyfriend?” JJ asks you.

You turn your head slowly, then scoff. “Tim is not my boyfriend.”

“No, they just use my office to makeout sometimes,” Penelope interrupts.

“That was one time,” you argue. “And we’ve barely seen each other since then.”

“Because he’s moving to the FBI and across the country,” JJ points out. “For you.”

“Not for me.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer states.

You, Penelope, and JJ turn toward him together. He shrugs and continues examining the photos. Spencer’s comment doesn’t change your mind, though. Tim Bradford is part of your life; you have feelings for each other, but it ends there. It has to.

“We would’ve done something already if we were going to,” you admit softly.

“You did. You pulled him out of the bullpen and into a rom-com worthy smooch fest,” Penelope says.

“Who did what?” Hotch asks as he returns.

“Uh, Spencer found a loose screw on the bed frame,” Penelope lies.

“No, I didn’t,” he defends, standing to his full height.

“Oh, then I misheard.”

“I’ll assume I did too, then,” Hotch deadpans. “CSI said you were right. It’s not a Bible. It’s an annotated copy of Stephen King’s Revival.”

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fantastic.”

“That means something to you then,” Derek muses as he returns. “Hotel said there is absolutely no way their cleaning staff did that. Bonus, the hotel was closed for two weeks before it reopened four days ago, when our vic checked in.”

“Why was it closed?” Spencer asks.

“Let me guess. An ant infestation,” you say.

Derek’s brows raise as he begins to clap slowly.

“Revival is a nod to horror classics like Frankenstein and Lovecraft,” you begin. “It’s the story of a Methodist preacher who discovers ‘secret electricity’ that can heal people. Jacobs decides that it can take him into the afterlife and – as in most Stephen King novels – loses his mind in the process of trying to get there.”

“How do ants play into this?” Derek asks.

“How does murder play into this?” Hotch amends.

“Jacobs has an unhealthy obsession with Jamie, a boy he met while he was still a preacher, before his family died and his decline began. When they meet, Jamie is playing with toy soldiers on an ant hill. When they open the door into the afterlife, neither heaven nor hell greets them. Instead, it’s something called ‘The Null.’ Inside, ant-like creatures serve ‘Mother,’ who takes over dead bodies and uses them for her purpose: to bring more souls into The Null.”

“That answered half of the question.”

“Jacobs kills with electricity in his attempt to go to the afterlife.” You glance at the map showing Teague, Texas, and tilt your head. “Is the hotel the tallest building in the city?”

Penelope’s fingernails click against the keyboard for several seconds before she replies, “Tallest building, second tallest structure. There’s a decommissioned water tower that stands taller.”

“Why was it decommissioned?” Spencer asks.

Hotch raises the phone to his ear and raises his finger for Penelope to wait. A moment later, Deputy Sheriff Nielson is connected to the call and brought into the conversation.

“Why was the water tower decommissioned?” Spencer asks him.

“It was struck by lightning one time too many,” Nielson answers. “Teague is the lightning capital of the world, if you didn’t know, and over the years, we’ve had to learn to adapt to that.”

“Hotch,” you whisper.

He turns around, facing you with his back to the phone and the team.

“In the book, Jacobs goes to the tallest place he knows of, where’s there’s a big metal flagpole, and that’s where he makes his final kill.”

“You think this guy will do the same?”

“Without looking at his notes in the book, I can’t be absolutely sure, but if he has enough of an infatuation with the book and electricity to stage the scene like he did… it’s likely.”

Hotch nods once, then turns back toward the table. “Deputy Sheriff Nielson, our team is inbound. We’ll be there in a few hours to assist your department with the case.”

Nielson exhales, sounding like it would make him physically lighter. “I can’t thank you enough, SSA Hotchner. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Someone knocks on the open conference room door as you gather your things. You don’t look up until JJ elbows you in the ribs.

“I couldn’t help but overhear the last part,” Tim Bradford says, not even sparing a glance at you. “I can lead the tactical apprehension team.”

“I’ll work on finalizing the assignment,” Hotch agrees.

“We don’t need a tactical team,” you interject. “He’ll get spooked too easily for that.”

Tim keeps his eyes on Hotch, but you can see his jaw working as he tenses his facial muscles.

“All due respect,” Tim begins.

“No, Tim,” you snap, turning toward him quickly. “This is not a storm the castle operation. This guy isn’t limited to electricity, and he will kill anyone who gets in his way.”

Hotch looks between you and Tim and surveys his tight fists and your short breaths. The final decision is his, but he respects your opinion. Then, he remembers that Tim saved you and Spencer on his first day with the FBI. You bring different skills to the BAU, and he doesn’t know which he may need in the Lone Star State.

“Your team will accompany, Bradford,” Hotch agrees. “But you are on standby until further notice. You don’t say or do anything without my instruction, is that understood?”

“Understood, sir,” Tim agrees.

He leaves the conference room first, and you follow Hotch into his office and close the door.

“Hotch, I trust Tim,” you explain. “But if you want to solve this case without losing more lives, you need to tread lightly. If he gets to close, it’s over.”

Hotch nods once, and you step backward, preparing to leave.

“You said the guy in the book had an unhealthy obsession with someone,” Hotch remembers. “Think that affects our investigation in any way?”

You consider the possibility of a Jacobs and Jamie-type conspiracy. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that the killer wasn’t working alone, but something about the efficiency of this particular kill makes you think it was just one man: one man who could somehow control all of the variables in that hotel room.

“Not yet,” you answer carefully. “It took Jacobs a while to actually bring Jamie in as an adult. For this case, I’d say he’s more likely to recruit a former cell-mate or small-time criminal from his past to assist him in the big kill.”

“Victim?”

“There’s only one person in the world who knows that, and he won’t be in any mood to talk to us.”

“Penelope is looking into the town’s residents. If she finds anything, I’ll let you be the first to look.”

“Thank you, sir. Oh, and one more thing. The book isn’t just about faith and the nature of reality. It’s about addiction and morality. Drug addiction, healing addiction, someone turning away from God to make a deal with something worse than the Devil. Whoever this is, there’s more to him than meets the eye. We need to be careful.”

“We’re all coming back from this,” Hotch assures you. “We’re wheels up in twenty.”

Tim splashes water in his face, then grips the edges of the porcelain sink as it drips from his chin. He doesn’t look up in the mirror and doesn’t want to see anything except you. Since you walked into Mid-Wilshire nearly a decade after dropping out as a rookie, you have consumed Tim Bradford’s thoughts, his time, attention, and – most terrifyingly – his heart.

“Regretting arguing with her, aren’t you?”

Tim stands up at the sound of Derek’s voice. He snatches a paper towel from the dispenser and wipes his hands harshly, then wipes his face before he tosses it into the trash can.

“I didn’t come here for her,” Tim defends.

Derek smiles. “Nobody said you did. Nobody except you.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

Tim begins to walk toward the door but stops when Derek says, “If you didn’t come for her, you need to tell her that.” Tim’s head turns toward his shoulder, so Derek continues, “Coming back into your life wasn’t easy for her, and don’t let her think there’s a spot in it for her if there isn’t.”

“I’d never lead her on.”

“Maybe not on purpose.”

Tim pushes the bathroom door open too hard and walks out.

“What’d the door do to you?” you question from the hallway, your go bag slung over your shoulder.

“It was in the way,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, they tend to do that.”

You look at each other silently for a moment, then speak simultaneously.

“No, go ahead,” Tim insists.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier. The situation, this killer, it’s all very volatile and I don’t want to see anybody else get hurt.”

“I get it,” Tim responds. “And I’m sorry I stopped reaching out after I went back to LA.”

“It’s okay.” You smile and say, “A taste of my own medicine won’t kill me.”

“It was different.”

You nod, then lead Tim to the plane. It’s a few hours to Texas, and you have over 400 pages of literary research to review on the way. Plus, whatever fun facts Spencer can tell you about lightning.

Hotch’s phone rings as you begin your descent into Texas. He answers it, his brows pinching as he listens to the caller. Extending his hand, he says, “It’s for you.”

Tim glances at you as he takes Hotch’s phone. He introduces himself, then shifts so that his gaze is directly on you for the duration of the call.

“Where?” he asks after listening for several breaths. Then, he says, “Thanks… I’m not, but I can… I’ll let you know.”

He hangs up and returns Hotch’s phone, ignoring the intrigued looks from the rest of the BAU as he stands to speak to you.

“That was Angela,” he says. “Oscar filed a new residency and employment with his parole officer. Then, he got a new parole officer.”

“What are you saying? He moved counties?” you clarify.

“He moved states.”

Tim steps his right leg back into the aisle of the jet to address your team. He concludes, “He moved to Teague, Texas.”

“And you think this Oscar is our killer?” Hotch asks. He looks at you, but your eyes are on Tim.

“If Oscar is the Reverend Jacobs in this scheme, then he’d have another contact in California either with him or coming right behind him,” you point out.

“Or he is the co-conspirator,” Spencer adds.

“In either case, we’d have to comb through decades of Oscar’s criminal history," Hotch says. "Tim? Do you think he’s the mastermind or the recruit?”

“I think he’d used somebody long before he let himself be used,” Tim decides.

“I can’t imagine him being this cold-blooded, though,” you say. “He’s a narcissist, not a psychotic murderer trying to open the gates of Hell.”

“If he’s a narcissist and he found someone to look up to, it could get dangerous very quickly,” Spencer offers. “His narcissistic tendencies would return and likely be worsened. He’d…”

“Have a god complex?” Derek guesses.

“More or less, yes.”

“Then we need to find Oscar and find out what is going on,” Hotch instructs.

“I can do it,” Tim offers. “He knows me.”

Hotch looks at you, and you nod, which ends the discussion. Tim is running headfirst into danger for a case you didn’t even want him to work. It’s a very good thing he isn’t your boyfriend, you tell yourself, even as your hands shake at the mere thought of losing him.

Teague, Texas

“Deputy Sheriff Nielson, this is my team. Special Agents Reid, Morgan, Jareau,” Hotch introduces before he gets to you.

You each shake the Deputy Sheriff’s hand before you enter an oversized office with a large wooden table centered inside. A cardboard box of evidence is on the table and two folders bearing the case number rest atop it. You expected as much - or as little - with such a pristine scene, but seeing how little you have to go on is disheartening.

“Are there any people in your jurisdiction that you think are capable of something like this?” Derek asks Nielson. “Any motive?”

Nielson taps the table in thought, then tips his head to the side. “Kid named Nicholas just got back from a stint in Texas State Pen. He started in high school, little things like petty theft and peepin’ tom charges and worked his way up to manslaughter. Thinks he’s hot stuff around here.”

“What’s Nicholas’ full name?” JJ asks. “We can run him through the federal database and work from there.”

“Hutchinson.”

You look away from the nearly empty evidence box. “Hutchinson? Do you know if he’s related to Oscar Hutchinson?”

“Sure, he mentioned a cousin named Oscar once or twice. Seemed close, but Oscar doesn’t live around here.”

“Wait, Oscar?” Derek repeats. “Oscar who-”

“Tim is going to see?” you finish, unlocking your phone to warn Tim. “Yeah, that Oscar.”

“I take it you have a profile, then?” Nielson asks Hotch.

“One better,” Hotch answers. “We have a suspect.”

You ignore their continued conversation as the phone rings.

“C’mon, Tim,” you mumble as the dial tone trills in your ear. The line finally connects, and you ask, “Tim? Tim, you there?”

“I haven’t seen your name in a while.”

You take in a sharp breath as you wave your hand toward JJ.

“I didn’t know Bradford had gotten his little rookie back.”

“What do you want, Oscar?” you demand.

Your words catch your teammates' attention far quicker than your actions, and Derek rushes to your side. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and lays his head atop yours to listen to your phone call.

“Oh, you misunderstand!” Oscar exclaims with a laugh. “This is about what I can do for you.”

“You know exactly what I’d like you to do,” you reply darkly.

“The BAU has jaded you, dear. Tim is perfectly safe. Aren’t you, Sergeant?”

“Everything is fine,” Tim calls. “Just like the last time we split duties.”

“That’s enough small talk,” Oscar interrupts. “I assume you know about my cousin, Nick.”

“No, I don’t.”

Oscar takes several breaths before he hums. “You’re a good liar. But you’re a better cop, so I’m sure you know exactly who I’m talking about. He was released from Texas State Penitentiary last week and then poof! he disappeared. He’s in Texas, you’re in Texas… you catching my drift?”

“He went missing?” you clarify. “Immediately after being released from prison?”

“There it is. You understand my concerns. Now, to give you a little incentive to release him unharmed, I’ll promise to keep Daddy Cop here unharmed.”

Tim makes a noise of protest, but there’s a roaring in your ears that you can’t ignore. You don't even notice Derek lift his head long enough to repeat Oscar's nickname for Tim.

“Oscar, have you read Stephen King?” you ask.

“No. Live enough horror and you don’t want to read it,” Oscar answers.

“I think your cousin is in danger,” you tell him, looking up at Derek.

“Well, that’s a new play.”

“Oscar, I’m not playing. We’re not here for you or your cousin, we’re here because someone was murdered last night.”

“Sure, because the LAPD cares about that.”

“I’m FBI now,” Tim corrects.

The line goes silent. Your heart races, pounding in your chest, and you prepare to run out of this station and look in every building in the county until you find Oscar and Tim.

“My plan may need some slight adjustments,” Oscar muses.

“Oscar, listen to me. Tell Tim what you know, let him come back to the station, and I promise you that we will find your cousin and get him home safely.”

“I’m not big on the first two points. I’ll tell your boy what I know, and then I leave him here. A baseless arrest is the last thing I need.”

“Oscar do not try to find Nick alone!” you implore. “Let us do this; there’s more at stake than you realize.”

“You have no idea.”

The line clicks, and you clasp your phone between both hands to keep yourself from throwing it at the wall. Derek rubs his hand along your back as he looks at Hotch.

“What can we do to help?” Nielson asks.

“He won’t hurt Tim,” you assure your team. “He’s full of himself, not stupid. Give him a few minutes, and if we haven’t heard back, I will hunt him down myself.”

“You said Nick is in danger,” JJ says. “What does that mean?”

You lean into Derek’s touch and explain, “I was looking at it backward. Nick isn’t Jamie, he’s Mary. He’s the sacrificial lamb. Whoever our killer is, he plans to offer Nick up for whatever his purpose is.”

“Picked the wrong state to deal in religious symbolism and the deadly sins,” Neilson murmurs. “Dallas SWAT, Texas Bureau of Investigations, and Fort Cavazos have teams on standby ready to assist you in any way you need.”

“Excellent,” Hotch responds. “Considering our tactical leader is currently being held hostage.”

You blow out an amused breath and argue, “I told you not to let him come.”

“What can we do while we wait?” Derek asks.

“Find out when the next lightning storm is,” Spencer answers.

“Yep, that’s all you, Pretty Boy, get to work.”

Spencer rolls his eyes but opens a laptop regardless. On the plane, he found out that the estimated time of death aligned perfectly with a cloud-to-ground lightning strike within a few miles of the city. Considering the killer’s infatuation with the book, you support the opinion he’ll time his next kill with another lightning storm.

“We also need to look for places he might choose to commit the murder,” you say. “Between the first mention of the ants and the ultimate sacrifice, Jacobs took more lives. Granted, some of them took a while. I… I don’t think he’ll take that route, actually.”

Your phone lights up, you answer it before the first ring ends, then place it on speaker.

“Hello?” Penelope asks.

“Oh, hey,” you greet, setting your phone on the table.

“Whoa, don’t sound so disappointed that it’s me,” she replies.

“Tim was abducted,” Spencer tells her. “We’re waiting for a call with his whereabouts.”

“Speaking of which,” JJ begins. “Is no one going to mention what Oscar called him?”

“It’s an inside joke,” you say. “What’s up, Garcia?”

“I got the property records for the land surrounding the old water tower,” she explains. “It’s on public land, but everything around it is private.”

“Right,” Nielson agrees. “You can’t get to it without going through someone’s yard now.”

“But, the lot east of the tower was just rented,” Penelope continues. “To Nicholas Hutchinson.”

“No way he can afford something like that fresh out of prison,” Derek argues.

You nod but then consider the idea of land plots. “How many acres?”

“Seven,” Penelope reads.

“Tim said that everything was fine, like the last time we split duties, right?” you ask.

“Yes,” Spencer answers. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “He’s either giving us a clue or talking about something I don’t remember.”

“The last time you worked together was in LA,” Hotch reminds you.

You stare at the table, thinking. You spent most of that trip trying to separate your life and work from the past. It didn’t work, and you and Tim were held at gunpoint by a man trying to save you from everything except himself.

“We didn’t work together much,” you say. “I worked with Lucy, he went with Derek, and then we stayed together until we were in the townhouse with Riley.”

“No, you weren’t,” Hotch says.

You turn quickly, your brows raised.

“When we went to the last scene – the one where we found the novella about you – Tim was at the station. Pissed off enough that people stayed away from him, from what I’ve heard.”

“Whoa, watch your language Hotch,” Derek chides. “This is a work trip.”

“I’m still your boss, Morgan.”

“But a big teddy bear of a boss,” Penelope interjects.

“Regardless of who remembers what,” JJ says, “what does that mean to you?”

“I made him stay at the station,” you reply. “He was mad, obviously, but… he was fine. We thought I was in danger because I jumped the gun.”

“And we found two bodies,” Spencer mumbles.

Your breath catches, and you lock eyes with Derek before you look at JJ, then Hotch.

“What?” Spencer asks, looking up from the looping radar on his laptop.

“Hutchinson wouldn’t kill people right in front of Tim, would he?” JJ asks slowly.

“Deputy Sheriff,” you call, “have you had any double murders here recently?”

“No murders, no, but there was a car accident that killed two young girls about a week ago,” he replies. “Out on County Road 650.”

“Any structures near it?” Hotch asks.

“A couple outbuildings a few hundred feet from the curve where it happened.”

“Is there any way our abducted agent would know something had occurred there?”

“There’s a collection of flowers, stuffed animals, stuff like that. And… yeah, there’s a large picture of the girls, the family put it up.”

“We need to get out there, Hotch,” Derek urges.

“I’m going with you,” you say.

“How far is that from the water tower?” Spencer asks.

“A few miles,” Nielson replies. “Faster if you cut through a field.”

You slide your phone into your pocket and follow Derek and Hotch out of the police station. For the first time since you met Tim Bradford, your roles have reversed, and you may be the only thing standing between him and something he’ll never come back from. He’s saved you more than once, and you plan on returning the favor.

“Slow down,” Penelope instructs, her voice clear through Hotch’s speakers. “You’re approaching the curve where the accident happened.”

“Guys,” you say. “Oscar’s calling.”

Hotch slows, steering the SUV onto the grassy shoulder beside the road. He keeps his eyes up, but Derek turns in the passenger seat to watch you as you answer the call.

“You have one chance to save yourself, Oscar,” you remind him.

“He’s unharmed,” Oscar grumbles. “But I’d like to offer a trade.”

“We had a deal.”

“Yes, but this one involves a better outcome for me.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ll tell you where I am, and you can come get me and your boy. In exchange, I want to assist in the search for Nicholas.”

“And then you’re going to jail for abducting a federal agent,” Derek interjects.

“I’m not bartering with you,” Oscar replies.

You meet Hotch’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and when you exhale shakily, he nods.

“You’ve got a deal, Oscar. But you’re on thin ice,” you respond.

“Excellent, that’s where I do my best skating. We’re in some nasty barn off 650.”

Hotch pulls back onto the road, hitting his blinker to turn onto a dirt path that travels straight toward the outbuilding Nielson pointed them toward.

“We’re here,” you tell Oscar. “We’re coming in and you-”

“Better not have a weapon, yes, I know.”

Derek pulls the large sliding door open, and you enter behind Hotch, who raises his gun. Oscar lifts his hands lazily, and Tim stares at you from the back corner of the barn. You walk around Hotch and straight toward Tim.

“I’m sorry,” you say, reaching up to release the knotted rope holding his hands above his head.

“You can apologize later,” he replies. “Oscar’s not our guy.”

“We know. That’s what I was calling to tell you. I had it all wrong.”

“And now?”

You lift your brows quickly, silently acknowledging that you aren’t sure what you have now. You push higher onto your tiptoes before you stumble and place your hand on Tim’s chest to right yourself just as his hands fall from the pole above him. He catches you, his hands firm against your waist as you tip toward him. Looking into his eyes, you don’t move back. At least not until Derek clears his throat.

“Oscar has an idea of who might consider Nicholas as a perfect sacrifice,” Hotch says. “If you’re ready.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” you agree, stepping back.

As you exit the building, you notice the air is growing uncomfortably humid. With your hand against your forehead, you look up at the sky. Thick, dark clouds are gathering in the north, and the wind shifts to blow against your right side.

“There’s a storm coming,” you point out. “A bad one.”

“You think it’s time?” Derek inquires.

“Time for what?” Tim asks.

You drop your voice and say, “Whoever has Nic is going to kill him in some grand display.”

“Where?”

Shrugging, you admit, “Maybe the water tower, maybe somewhere else.”

Tim lifts his brows, then says, “Sounds like you need to do your job instead of worrying about me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you suffer me,” Tim deadpans. “Let’s go.”

“Without a solid lead, we’re going to have to split up,” Hotch explains back at the station. “There are three potential targets for the killing site. The water tower, the top of the hotel - again, or a barn out towards the lakes.”

“But there’s only five of us,” Spencer points out.

“Six,” Hotch corrects. “Bradford’s team was called up to Salt Lake City for a counterterrorism case, but he’s still here.”

“So, we’re sending two people out, so the lucky couple gets to fight a crazed psychopath who kills people with electricity,” Derek reiterates snappishly.

“During a lightning storm,” JJ adds.

“We really can’t narrow this down more?” you inquire. “What about the lead Oscar gave us? Lev Davids?”

“I’d recommend going that route,” Tim interrupts, entering the private office. “Oscar finally told me why he suspects Lev.”

“A criminal he looked up to?” you guess.

Tim nods, and his eyes remain locked on yours as he says, “Monica Stevens.”

The rest of your team turns to look at you, and you stand.

“Tim,” you begin. “I have no idea who that is.”

“Right, sorry, after your time. She’s a corrupt lawyer, she worked for Elijah Stone and Abril.”

“Now those names we know,” Derek announces, smiling again. “I’ll get Penelope on their trails, see what she can find.”

“We only have fifteen minutes before the storm is here,” Spencer says. “Not much time to find someone and get there. And if we’re wrong, we’ll be too late.”

“Then we split up, as planned,” Hotch replies. “If Garcia finds something or someone gets a better lead, we reconvene. For now, it’s our only choice.”

“Why don’t we ask Nielson for officers to help us?” JJ asks.

“We can, but they’re not trained in hostage negotiations and don’t understand the psychology of someone who would do this. There’s too much risk leading them in all the way.”

“We’ll take the water tower,” you say, walking toward Tim.

“I was going to send you with Derek,” Hotch argues.

“Send him with Spencer,” you suggest. “You know we can do this, Hotch. Besides, he may not even go to the water tower.”

Hotch sighs, shaking his head with a hand on his hip. He looks more like a father of five than someone leading a highly trained group of federal agents, but he trusts you. So, he lets you go.

“What are the chances we’re walking into the middle of a storm?” you ask, bracing yourself against the wind as you exit the station.

“You’re talking metaphorically, right?” Tim checks, opening the door for you. “This is going to be awful.”

“That’s not comforting!”

Tim prepares to close the door as he says, “It’s true.”

Your phone buzzes as Tim steers the car around a large rock. The water tower looms above you, tall and imposing against the dark storm clouds. Thunder rumbles in the distance, growing closer as the car shakes with its intensity.

“Garcia hacked into Stevens’ computer; Lev is planning to use the water tower,” you communicate. “She isn’t sure what their connection is or what Stevens’ motivation is for encouraging him to do this, but she’s still working.”

“We can’t wait,” Tim says, glancing at his watch. “The storm’s about to intensify.”

You reach for the door handle and say, “Then let’s do this.”

The wind closes the car door harder than you intended, and you draw your shoulders up, hoping Lev didn’t hear the noise. As you approach the water tower, you adjust your holster so your gun will be accessible even as you climb 150 feet into the air while the wind blows nearly 60 miles an hour.

“Any words of encouragement?” you ask Tim, looking up the metal ladder that seems to reach far past the clouds.

“The chance of tornadoes is low,” he replies over the wind.

Looking over your shoulder, you exclaim, “That is not encouraging! Or comforting!”

Tim lays his hand on your back, leans forward, and promises, “I’m right behind you.”

You nod, take a deep breath, and wrap your hands around the ladder rung. Tim boosts you slightly, and you can feel the metal shift in the wind. Climbing up, you remind yourself not to look down and keep moving as fast as possible without compromising your safety or Tim’s.

“Cavalry is here,” he says as you near the halfway point.

“I really hope they brought a sniper,” you grumble.

Lightning flashes brightly, striking nearly to the ground in the not-far distance, and you hold the ladder tighter as thunder follows it. You’re nearly out of time, and if Lev is ahead of schedule or planning for more lightning, you may be too late to save Nic. Worse, you realize, is that you may be unable to save yourself. Climbing onto a giant metal lightning conductor during a severe thunderstorm was a job requirement today, but it may not have been your best idea ever. You and Tim are on your own, and you have to save a life, keep yourselves safe, and then find a way off this tower before the storm worsens.

Nearing the top, you slow, attempting to gauge where Nic and Lev are. Before you can guess, you hear footsteps. Tim sees the shadow of someone approaching the ladder and climbs several rungs. His chest presses against your back as he wraps his arms around the side of the ladder. You trust him to hold your weight as you let go of the ladder and pull your gun from its holster.

“You need to go!” Lev yells.

“Not going to happen,” Tim replies. “Put your hands where we can see them, and this gets easier.”

“I have to finish! My mission is nearly complete!”

“Your mission?” you repeat. “Or Monica’s mission?”

Lev doesn’t reply, and his shadow remains in place.

“Don’t do this for someone who doesn’t care about you, Lev,” you implore. “There’s more in this world. There’s better people. You can have a life. But not if you do this.”

“You don’t know what I can have,” Lev argues.

He walks toward the top of the ladder, and you aim up and ahead of you before you pull the trigger. Lev drops to the metal balcony as the bullet whizzes by. It cracks loudly when it impacts the tank.

“Go, go,” Tim instructs in your ear.

You slide your gun into the holster quickly and pull yourself up the last few rungs. When you grip the handrail and spin onto the balcony, Lev is gone. Tim joins you, pulling his rifle off his back and into his hands. You duck when another lightning strike flashes, but you can’t focus on the storm now.

“The storm is coming from the north,” Tim reminds you, whispering as he leans toward you. “That means he’s probably on that side.”

You nod, looking over his shoulder quickly before you point toward the north, the opposite side of the tank. He gives you hand signals as the rumbling thunder softens. You will lead the way, and Tim will ensure Lev doesn’t sneak up behind you. It’s a dangerous game of cat and mouse you’re caught in. There is no choice but to play, however, and you distantly wonder if this is what Jamie felt like in the book. But Jamie didn’t have his own gun, you remember. Or Tim Bradford watching his six.

The first raindrop landing on your cheek is an omen, a reminder that even when you get to the other side of the balcony, this is just beginning. As the sporadic drops become a steady downpour, you fight the urge to lower your gun and wipe your face. Tim moves silently behind you, and you wish you were back in Quantico. You wonder what you’d be feeling right now if you had just told you care about him when you had the chance. It’s gone now, and nothing you can do will change that. If you survive this storm, you’ll face Tim Bradford, unafraid and determined. The rain may saturate your clothes as you hear someone screaming in pure fear, but Tim has the unrivaled power to transform your life like heavy rain, cleansing and shaping you just by being near you.

“Steady,” Tim murmurs behind you.

He taps your left shoulder, and you look in that direction. Your eyes widen when you see the large metal pole extending from the side of the tower. It wasn’t in any of the pictures you reviewed of the city, so you know Lev is deviating from the book, no longer trusting nature to do the job for him unassisted.

“He’s scared,” you whisper.

“That’s not comforting,” Tim replies.

“Lev,” you call, pressing yourself against the tank. “Do you like Revival?”

“There has to be more,” he says, raising his voice over the rain. “This is only the beginning.”

“Did Monica promise you that?” Tim asks.

“This isn’t about her!” Lev screams. “It’s about me and what I deserve!”

“Life in prison?”

“No! Vindication!”

You glance at Tim, and his expression mirrors yours. Lev is having a mental breakdown, and you don’t have the time to pull him back to reality.

“Last chance to surrender,” Tim tells him. “If you don’t, we will drop you.”

Lev barks a laugh. “You’re too late!”

At the bottom of the water tower, Hotch looks up, covering his brow with his hand as he attempts to find you and Tim. Derek argues with Spencer about whether or not someone should go up after you, but JJ remains in the car.

“Garcia,” she greets when her phone rings.

“Monica was taken into custody,” Penelope says. “She alluded to the fact that Lev didn’t know the entire plan and that she intended for him to die on that tower too.”

“He’s just a pawn?” JJ clarifies.

“Something like that. The tower is a death trap.”

JJ ends the call and rushes out of the car. “Hotch!” she yells over the thunder. “Stevens expects Lev to die up there!”

“I’m going up,” Derek decides.

“No, you aren’t,” Hotch replies. He looks up again, rain falling on his face. “We’re too late to change anything.”

“Then we should at least warn them!”

“Are you crazy?” Spencer inquires. “Cell phone usage is inviting a lightning strike. At their altitude and the current barometric pressure, they’d die before the line connected.”

“We can’t just stand here!” Derek exclaims.

“I understand you care about her,” Hotch says. “We all do. But… Whatever happens now is in her hands.”

Derek steps toward Hotch with his hands fisted at his sides. “If she doesn’t come down, it’s on us.”

“And we’ll all have to live with that. If- If she doesn’t come down.”

Spencer ducks and Hotch turns toward him before something hits the ground. Derek glances toward the sky and then retrieves it. He holds up two cell phones before tapping the screens to wake them.

“Either they’re alive and taking precautions or Lev is crazier than we thought,” he muses.

“Crazy is a generic term,” Spencer points out.

“Which the FBI frowns upon,” Hotch continues. “But this psycho has two FBI agents up there in a deadly storm, so let’s make an exception, Reid.”

You shake your hand after tossing your phone over the railing. Your gun has metal in it, and your back is against a giant steel plate, but limiting the dangers on your person seemed like a good idea when Tim whispered the suggestion. Lightning strikes in a nearby field, and Tim turns toward you, pushing his arm over your torso. It won’t make a difference when the storm is directly above you. Yet, the idea that he’s still protecting you after everything you’ve done and said makes you wrap your hand around his forearm.

“Tim,” you murmur. “If we die up here, I need you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I don’t regret joining the FBI, but I do regret leaving you without an explanation.”

“I never blamed you,” Tim replies. “I- I still-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “We can’t change it.”

“But I can say it now.”

You look into Tim’s eyes, rain running down both your faces. If you weren’t in immediate peril and convinced today is the day you’ll die, you might find it somewhat romantic.

“Let’s finish this,” Tim whispers.

You nod and step forward, raising your gun toward Lev.

“Drop it!” you demand as he pulls a long chain toward the rail.

“Help!” someone calls, his voice muffled.

“Nic?” you ask.

He hums, and you lower to your knee, giving Tim a clear shot of Lev. Moving forward, low against the tank, you round the valves on the northwest bend in the balcony. Nic comes into view, and your heart drops. He is wrapped in chains, and secured to a metal chair against the side of the tank. The metal rod you saw earlier extends into the sky, anchored between Nic’s feet.

“What are you doing?!” Lev screams.

He pulls the chain tighter before he lunges toward you. Another loud thunderclap nearly drowns out Tim’s gunshot. You stand as the world seems to slow, reaching forward as Lev stumbles back. He topples over the balcony rail, and you are several inches short of catching him.

The chain stops unraveling, suspending Lev as he hangs from the tower. Tim pulls the strap on his rifle so it’s against his back once more before he pulls you away from the rail.

“We have to get the rod down!” he reminds you.

You nod, letting the rain wash away the guilt of not catching Lev. He had every chance to surrender, and he was going to hurt you. Tim did what he was supposed to do, exactly what you would have done.

You pull the rod at the base, and it slides up through the grating of the balcony with a sharp screech sound. Tim takes it from your hands, tipping it over the edge just before a nearby tree cracks, struck by lightning.

“We don’t have time to get him freed and down,” Tim points out.

“Go,” you implore, holding Tim’s wet vest. “I can free him, and we’ll hunker down. You can get down.”

“I’m not leaving you up here!”

“Tim, if one of us-”

Tim raises his hands to your face, holding you as his eyes bore into yours. “I’m not leaving you.”

You nod slowly, then step back and search for the end of the chain. The metal links are wet, your hands are wet, and the air turns eerily still and quiet as rolling thunder echoes against the metal.

“I can’t find it!” you exclaim, your hands pushed into the metal.

Tim stands above you, his legs against your back while he begins pulling the chains up over Nic’s head. “This is going to hurt,” he warns.

“I don’t care,” Nic replies through chattering teeth. “Just get me out of here, please.”

You shift to reach the loops around Nic’s legs. You don’t notice that the chains have been filed while you pull the tightened chains over his feet. Sharp points line the outermost links, and they dig into Nic’s skin and yours.

“Go, go,” Tim exclaims as he drops a heavy bundle of chains onto the balcony.

You stand as Nic does, and he limps past Tim as he moves toward the ladder. Rather than following, you’re distracted by a black shadow in the other direction.

“What are you doing?” Tim calls.

“There’s a rubber mat,” you reply.

Tim’s eyes widen as he calls Nic back, but you turn to look at the sky.

“Tim,” you say.

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

“No, it’s too quiet.”

Tim moves to your side as Nic stands atop the rubber mat. He follows your gaze, but there’s nothing to see besides fields, sparse houses over the land, and trees swaying in the wind.

“Please don’t be a tornado,” you say to the sky.

Tim grips your upper arms and steers you to the mat. On it, you have a better – though admittedly not great – chance of surviving a lightning strike. The insulation will help, but it may not be enough.

“It’s not big enough,” you realize as Tim stops.

He looks down at your feet and Nic’s. There isn’t room for him to join you on the safer material, so you step back onto the metal.

“Get on it,” Tim demands.

Shaking your head, you make up your mind. Wherever Tim is, that’s where you’ll be. He puts his hands on your waist and attempts to push you back. Your tears mix with the rain, but when you lay your hands on his chest, he hears your breath catch as you cry.

“I can’t do this,” you admit, gripping his shirt at his collar.

Tim hesitates, then turns so that you’re facing the mat. He steps back onto it, then pulls you forward. Against his chest, he directs your legs so that they’re bracketing his. Your left foot is between Tim’s, and your right is against the side of his boot. Nic shifts slightly to make room for you. Only then do you notice the blood.

“Nic, are you okay?” you ask.

He nods, then raises his hand to his neck. “It’s just a scratch. The chains,” he explains.

You glance at your hands and notice that they’re similarly marked. Holding tightly to Tim, you brace yourself as the tower sways gently in the strengthening wind. Tim glances at his watch and cradles your head against him.

“It’s here,” he murmurs.

Closing your eyes, you pretend that you and Tim are hugging for any other reason. Try to pretend that tomorrow is promised and that Tim will believe anything you confess.

“In the car,” Spencer demands. “It’s not safe out here.”

“JJ, call the fire department,” Hotch requests as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “We need them here as soon as the storm passes.”

“Do you think they’re okay?” Derek asks, glancing out the window at the man hanging from the tower.

“That’s not Tim,” Spencer reminds him. “Different build; it has to be Lev.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Derek’s phone rings, but he sends Penelope to voicemail. The car brightens with the next lightning strike, and the bright red flash at the water tower’s highest point isn’t promising.

JJ covers her mouth while Derek drops his head into his hands. Hotch sighs, looking at the wheel rather than the tower beside them.

You groan before you open your eyes. Tim’s hand moves slowly across your lower back as Nic mumbles.

“I feel like I’m buzzing,” you murmur.

“Storm’s moving,” Tim says. “Do we try to get down on our own or wait for the fire department?”

You look at Nic, the most injured member of your party.

“I’m ready to go,” he answers. “I don’t ever want to see another water tower.”

You smile as you stand straighter. Tim holds you steady as he taps his boot against the metal platform. Nothing happens, so he drops his hands to your hips as you step off the rubber.

Nic walks beside you, but as you near the ladder, he stops walking.

“I- I can’t feel my legs anymore,” he says.

His eyes roll back before he tips, losing consciousness. Tim catches him, lowering him gently to the balcony.

“I guess we’re waiting,” you mumble as you kneel beside him. “No burns. Indirect strike, I’d guess.”

“You can head down if you want to,” Tim tells you. “I’ll stay with him.”

“And I’ll stay with you.”

Tim nods. He offers his hand, and you squeeze it tightly as you move to sit. He sits beside you, and you lean against his shoulder.

“I want to tell you something,” you say. “But not now. I don’t want you to think that I’m just saying it because we could have died.”

“Will you answer a question?”

“Sure.”

“Was there ever a chance of starting something between us back in LA?”

You consider the question, rubbing your hands on your pants. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Ask me another question,” you request.

Tim notices your constant movement and lifts one of your hands. He brushes his finger along your wrist as he looks at the cuts and darkening bruises lining your skin.

“Why did you kiss me at the BAU?”

As you breathe together, the thunder grows quiet even as the sky remains dark and rain falls in steady sheets.

“I acted too fast,” you answer finally. “I tried to seize a second chance that I don’t think was there.”

“Is that why you stopped talking to me after?”

“It scared me,” you admit. “I messed up before. It kept me up at night for years, Tim.”

“Me too. But… Never mind.”

Your hand is still in Tim’s when you see first responder lights approaching. Some look like police, two or three firetrucks, and at least four ambulances.

“Care for a question?” you ask.

Tim smiles as he answers, “Sure.”

“Is there a chance of starting something between us now?”

Leaning forward, Tim looks into your eyes and says, “There never stopped being a chance after you came back.”

Smiling, you whisper, “I love you. I’ve loved you since I walked into Mid-Wilshire again.”

Before Tim can reply, a police cruiser siren sounds once. Derek speaks through the loudspeaker to threaten, “If you survived, I’m going to kill you.”

“What’s he going to do if we didn’t survive?” Tim asks.

“Kill Monica.”

Tim purses his lips and lifts one brow. “Might not be the worst thing.”

“Derek,” you groan. “Thank you for caring about me, but my head is throbbing, so could we save the lecture for later?”

He stops talking, and when you think he’s about to stomp his foot and start again, he wraps you in a hug.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, gorgeous,” he implores.

“I won’t,” you reply. “Although, it wasn’t on purpose this time.”

“Shh.” He tightens his grip on you, then steps back and salutes with a smile.

“Do you have a minute?” Hotch asks. “It’s not a lecture.”

You nod, then stand from your seat and join him at the back of the jet. Tim is in Los Angeles for a few days to work on the Monica case, and when he returns to Quantico, you have a lot to discuss. He isn’t aware of your new symptoms from being indirectly struck by lightning, but Spencer assured you they’re temporary.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks softly.

“I’m… almost fine,” you reply. “That was terrifying, but I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you know the bureau offers counseling if you need anything, and I’m here, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What did you tell Bradford on that tower?”

Your eyes widen, and you search for the right words. “Just some shared history stuff.”

“You thought you were going to die. In that situation, people tend to say something they don’t mean or speak the truest statements in their lives.”

“Yeah,” you agree carefully. “Lots of confessions, real and imagined.”

“So,” Hotch continues, crossing his arms. “Which was yours?”

“You’re a profiler, you tell me.”

Hotch shakes his head at your smile but moves his arms to lay a hand on your shoulder.

“Be sure he meant what he said before you do anything you can’t take back,” he advises.

“You think he would speak emotionally?”

“In the right circumstances, we all can. Even a stoic like Bradford.”

“Are you speaking from experience, sir?”

“This is me giving you advice, not an interrogation, agent,” Hotch replies.

You nod, hiding your smile. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the advice.”

Hotch turns away, then looks over his shoulder. “One more thing. There’s a bet in the unit about whether or not you kissed up there, so maybe keep the specifics to yourself.”

“What do you think happened?” you ask.

“I know everything.”

“Even the art of romance?”

“I’m leaving now.”

You smile as you trail Hotch until you reach your seat. Derek watches you, then leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. JJ’s computer chimes before she tells you that Monica’s court date has been moved up.

“Bradford isn’t listed as testifying,” she adds.

“Is Lopez? Grey? Chen?”

“Yes, as well as Nolan and a few other officers from the division.”

“Then he’ll be there,” you reply. “Which means, Hotch, you may need someone to fill in for him and keep me safe.”

“You were a lot less reckless before daddy cop showed up,” Derek muses.

“Did you tell everybody about that?!” you exclaim.

He shrugs, practically admitting his guilt before he closes his eyes again. Tim texts you that he is staying in LA for a few more days. The following text, which says he’ll see you when he gets back, is the one that surprises you.

It’s just past 2 a.m. when someone knocks on your door. You roll over, pulling a pillow over your head. Unfortunately, the knocking doesn’t stop. You groan and retrieve your gun from your nightstand as you walk out of your room. At the door, you lean against it and press one eye to the peephole. Suddenly, as if you drank straight espresso, you’re wide awake and pulling the door open.

Tim’s hand raises to knock again, but he stops when you open the door and wrap him in a warm hug.

“Good morning,” he grunts as you collide with his chest.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice carrying traces of sleep.

Tim moves his right arm around your waist and carefully maneuvers back into your living room. He kicks the door closed behind him, drops his bag, and then notices your gun on the table by the door.

“Expecting someone else?” he asks, smiling.

“Not expecting anyone,” you reply, stepping back. Your hands remain on Tim's shoulders as you continue, “It’s a good surprise.”

“Sorry to wake you. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“It’s fine. This one time.”

“How are you?” Tim asks, pushing your hair out of your face. He slides his fingers into your hair, pushing it up toward your roots gently. He watches your face as if he’s memorizing it, worshipping it. “Headaches gone?”

“How do you know about that?” you ask, tipping your head toward his hand. “Derek?”

“Spencer,” he corrects. “I got a lengthy message about letting you rest and not giving you a reason to be on your phone.”

“They’re good coworkers but they’re nosy.”

“They care about you.”

“Just them?”

Tim raises his other hand to your neck as he steps toward you. In the low light of your living room, only the streetlight outside illuminates your face and the space around you, and it’s as if you are the only people in the world. Tim looks at you like you alone matter. Like this moment is specially made for the two of you.

“They care about you,” Tim repeats. “I think I do a bit more than that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” you say. “I… I know our relationship isn’t typical, but you deserved the truth.”

“I didn’t know, no, but I still would have fought for you. I didn’t know what I had until I lost it, and the decade I spent without you taught me that some things- that some people are worth fighting for.”

“You weren’t this nice to me as my TO,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over a scar on Tim’s neck.

He got it protecting you, although he yelled at you the entire time he was treated and bandaged. Tim shivers at your touch yet doesn’t shy away or attempt to hide behind the persona he wears to protect himself.

“What you said on the tower,” Tim says. “Ask me.”

“Do you love me?” you whisper.

“I fell in love with the idea of you the day we met,” he admits.

You recoil from his touch briefly, but he holds you close. “And then I realized that everything I felt, all of the bitterness and disappointment I associated with you, was because I wanted you, desired you, more than anything. I didn’t think I loved you because I’d never been in love like this before.”

“Do you love me?” you repeat, softer. As you step toward him, pressing your chests together, soft rain begins to fall outside.

“Yes,” Tim answers. “Of course I love you.”

His smile grows as you hug him. One arm wraps around your waist as the other remains in your hair, gently curling and uncurling his fingers. Using the hand in your hair, Tim tips your head so he can see your face. He leans forward and stops with a single breath between you.

“Who needs lightning when you’re here?” he jokes.

You roll your eyes and scoff. Before he says anything else, you move your arms over his shoulders and kiss Tim. It’s different than the kiss in Penelope’s office. This moment is slow, meaningful, and full of love, history, and new beginnings simultaneously. Tim lets his hand fall from your hair, trail over your side, and slip beneath your arm to hold your hip.

Tim takes slow steps to move you against the couch and then lifts you to sit on it. Once you settle, Tim breaks the kiss just long enough to take a breath, squeezing your hips as he breathes.

Diving back into you like you are oxygen at the bottom of the ocean or a safe haven in a lightning storm, Tim cradles your face in one hand as he splays his fingers across your back and holds you upright.

“Tim,” you say, repeating it several times before he presses his forehead against yours and lets you speak. “I meant what I said in the storm. That wasn’t my emotions. I’ve felt like this for a long time.”

Tim smiles. “Stop profiling this,” he grumbles before he lowers you onto the couch and hovers above you.

“There’s also a bet running about what we did on the tower.”

Tim lifts your head and moves your hair so it isn’t pulled or trapped beneath you. “Let them wonder,” he whispers before trailing kisses along your jaw and hairline.

“What have we got?” you ask as you enter the conference room.

“Wannabe Bonnie and Clyde,” Spencer answers.

You nod and sit beside Penelope, who narrows her eyes at you.

“What?” you whisper.

“You kissed daddy cop,” she accuses. Your brows raise, and she speaks up to add, “He came to see you as soon as he landed, didn’t he?!”

You look at Derek and mouth, You’re dead, but he smiles and blows you a kiss.

“In line with the theme,” Hotch says, drawing attention back to the case, “this couple is heavily armed.”

“Which our tactical sergeant would know something about,” Derek muses, smiling as he looks at the door.

You turn and see Tim standing in the doorway, wearing an FBI t-shirt.

“Thanks for coming, Bradford,” Hotch says. “We’re going to need backup for this one.”

“Of course, sir,” Tim replies.

After Hotch dismisses you, you wait until you’re alone in the room with Tim.

“Would telling them make the teasing stop?” he asks.

You lean against the table and cross your arms. “You’ve met them, right?”

“We could always pretend to hate each other.”

“Easier for you than me,” you argue.

Tim shakes his head as he takes your hand. He rubs his thumb over the nearly faded marks from the chains.

“We don’t have to tell them,” you say.

Tim’s brows raise as he asks, “You want to keep a secret from your team?”

“They’re outside the door.”

Tim glances toward the door as you stand from the table and pull it open, unsurprised when Derek stumbles inside as he tries to catch himself.

“Secret’s out,” you say flatly. “We good?”

“What about the bet?” Derek asks.

“Morgan,” Hotch warns.

“I mean, what bet? Who said anything about a bet?”

“My office is off limits,” Penelope says, pointing at you.

“Can we get back to work?” Tim asks.

“Excellent idea,” Hotch replies. Nobody moves, so he adds, “Now. Everybody.”

The room clears, and, this time, your team members return to their respective desks.

“Not you two,” Hotch says. “I had an idea to run past you.”

“Sure,” you answer, closing the door.

“Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Yes?” Tim presses.

“They’d be threatened by another couple.”

“Us?” you clarify, pointing between yourself and Tim.

“Only if it’s something you’d be comfortable with.”

You look at Tim, who tips his head toward you, giving you the final decision. It wouldn’t be much different than what you did in Los Angeles a few months ago or some of the lies you played into during your short time as a rookie. Besides, when else will you have a chance and an excuse to be that close while working?

You smile, and Hotch nods. “Pack your bags then,” he says. “You’re going back to California.”

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