Anniversaries

A Manly Guard Dog

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: You've been asking your husband for a dachshund, but he tells you that you need a manly dog. When the K9 unit gets a new recruit, Tim reevaluates his view of dachshunds.

Warnings: teasing/banter, pure fluff

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Tim?” you whisper over your dimmed phone screen. “Are you asleep?”

“That depends,” your husband Tim answers. “Why?”

“Look at this.”

“I’m asleep.”

You roll your eyes at his poor attempt to avoid talking to you, even though it is the middle of the night and he has to be at the station in the morning. Despite feeling bad for waking him up, you know he’s awake and need to ask him something important.

“Tim, it hurts,” you add.

“What hurts?” he asks as he sits up quickly. After he pushes up onto his hands, Tim leans toward you and reaches over you to turn on the lamp on your nightstand.

“Look,” you repeat, extending your phone toward Tim so he can see the dog on the screen. “It hurts because I don’t have one of my own.”

“A dachshund? We’re back to this again?” Tim asks incredulously.

“Tim, I want a dog.” Your words are emphasized by your pout, but Tim only grunts as he turns the light off and lies down again.

“If we ever get a dog - big if,” Tim murmurs, “it has to be a manly dog. One that can protect you when I’m not here.”

“We can train a dachshund to be a guard dog,” you argue. “They’re vigilant, loyal, vocal, and easy to train. Tim, it would be perfect and so cute!”

Tim tosses an arm over your waist and kisses your temple before he responds, “Go to sleep.”

As you move closer to him to do just that, he whispers, “I love you, but we’re not getting a wiener dog.”

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Lucy calls as Tim exits the locker room the following morning. “Oh, you’re not going to believe this.”

“Then don’t tell me,” Tim deadpans.

“So, there’s a new K9, right?” Lucy begins as they walk toward the bullpen.

“And you’re telling me.”

“The trainer brought Officer Fuzz over. Cutest name ever, I know. But when we heard that they were working with a new breed we thought it would be a husky or something. It’s not. It’s so much better. Guess what it is, Tim!”

Tim stops in the middle of the bullpen. A crowd of officers surrounds the K9 trainer, and between two cops, Tim can barely make out the shape of…

“A dachshund?” Tim asks loudly.

“Yes!” Lucy cheers. “Isn’t it awesome?!”

“I can’t believe this.”

“C’mon,” Lucy urges, pulling Tim along by his arm. “Meet Officer Fuzz.”

Tim squats to pet the friendly dog and shakes his head at the tiny K9 vest he’s wearing.

“Nice to meet you, Fuzz,” Tim mumbles. “My wife’s never going to let me hear the end of this, pal.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls from the other side of the circle. “How would you like to take them out for a ride along?”

Tim stands as the trainer adds, “I’d love to join one of the best officers in the field to test Officer Fuzz’s progress.”

“Sure,” Tim answers through gritted teeth. “But are dachshunds really worth anything in a job like this?”

The trainer and Officer Fuzz follow Tim toward his shop, and Tim can’t help but watch the small dog walk happily through the station on his first day.

“If they’re trained right, they certainly can. They’re bred to hunt badgers by tracking scents and entering their burrows. A lot of those skills translate to police dog responsibilities. Basically, because of their intimidating bark, alertness, devotion, braveness and stubbornness - courtesy of their hunting instincts - they’re perfect. Fuzz here can scare a suspect or locate bombs, drugs, you name it.”

“Scare suspects until they see him, you mean,” Tim points out.

“Well, Bradford. Let’s test your theory.”

“LAPD!” Tim yells. “On the ground!”

Behind him, Officer Fuzz barks.

“Is that a dog?” the suspect attempting to steal a sports car asks. “Your car doesn’t say K9.”

“Show me your hands and drop to your knees!” Tim repeats. “Or I can call my K9 partner over here.”

The man seems to weigh his options, then drops his tool and raises his hands over his head.

“Scared of dogs?” Tim asks.

“Police dogs are crazy dangerous, man. Scared is smart, that’s what my-“

“I don’t care who said it,” Tim interjects before he begins reciting the Miranda rights.

When Tim opens the back door of his car, Officer Fuzz growls lowly before barking once.

“Whoa! I’m not sitting by that thing!”

“See the barrier? That’s for your safety, not ours,” Tim says. “Now get in.”

At lunch, Tim pulls his phone from his pocket and begins to type. He hesitates, however, and looks away before he can finish the search.

“Chen!” he calls, waving for Lucy to join him. “Where can I adopt a dachshund?”

Lucy’s eyes widen in excitement before she asks, “You’re getting a dog?!”

“I’m getting my wife a dog.”

“Because of Officer Fuzz,” Lucy states (not asks).

“No,” Tim defends. “No, I just… Dachshunds are a good option for family pets and protection.”

“Which you know because of Officer-“

“Fine, yes,” Tim admits quickly. “Do you know where I can adopt one or not?”

“Maybe you should ask the K9 trainers,” Lucy suggests. “They’ll know where to get a good one.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”

“Sure thing.” Lucy stands to return to her partner, but not before she says, “And I’m glad you’re finally listening to your wife.”

“No, quiet,” Tim commands. “Good. Now, sit.”

“Tim?” you call from the front door.

“Uh, one second!” Tim calls.

He sounds frazzled, and you walk toward his voice before you stop. Tim is whispering to someone, but you can’t make out what he’s saying before the bedroom door opens.

“Hi,” you greet. “Are you okay?”

“You’re home early,” he replies, gripping the doorknob tightly.

You glance at the time on your phone and say, “No, I’m not.”

Tim’s brows furrow as he looks at his watch. He nods, then laughs and locks eyes with you.

“Am I interrupting something?” you ask.

“No, well, yes, but no.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Tim sighs and reaches toward you. You don’t hesitate to step forward and lay your hand on his. With his hand wrapped around yours, Tim leads you into the bedroom, and inside, a brown blur races toward you.

“Tim!” you exclaim as the long-haired dachshund puts its front paws on your leg and wags its tail happily. “A dachshund!”

“Canis lupus familiarias. The K9 trainer that helped me out told me all about them,” he explains.

“Is he…” You trail off, unprepared to hear a negative answer.

“He’s ours,” Tim answers happily. “He’s already been obedience trained and I’m going to work with him to create the smallest but mightiest guard dog you’ve ever seen.”

You pull the dog into your arms and hug him kindly before you lean against Tim’s chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into Tim’s eyes.

“Sorry I said no for so long.”

“What changed your mind?”

Tim doesn’t answer, and you turn your attention to your new pet, or guard dog as Tim introduced him to you.

“Was it Lucy? I bet it was Lucy,” you whisper to the dog.

“It was Officer Fuzz,” Tim grumbles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Officer who?”

“New K9 who I’m sure you’ll meet next time you visit the station.”

“I love you.”

Tim kisses your head before he asks, “Wait, me or the dog?”

Should I stay or should I go? (Part one)

Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Spike x Giles!reader

Part one of four! Be kind please💖

Warning: reader drinks, difficult relationship with parents, especially dad!Giles, reader loses their home.

You had moved to Sunnydale a few years prior with your father, he had tried desperately to train you up as a watcher but you never listened, you hated following orders and ultimately, you failed your observation when the watcher’s council came into town to check on your progress.

It bored you and for the 48 hours that you had been in charge of Buffy, you had all gone to the Bronze and let an apocalyptic rift open in the heart of the town when you failed to investigate or do any meaningful research. In your defence, it was a very minor and basically harmless apocalypse. Well, it was after Angel contacted your father when he couldn’t get hold of you or Buffy and he came back into town.

You hated dusty research and telling people what they ought to be doing. You hated the weird pressure your father put on you to become a watcher just like him and sometimes, you even hated Buffy because of the way your father doted on her so. She could do no wrong, even when he was mad at her or telling her what to do he gave her a much easier time than he ever had with you.

You were a disappointment. You could see that clearly enough.

You stayed in Sunnydale though, for reasons unknown to yourself. You just didn’t have anywhere else to go. Nothing excited you, it seemed.

You had moved back in with your father after you couldn’t make rent. You had let another crappy job throw you out the door. You just couldn’t stick to their stupid pointless rules. They made no sense and they paid you next to nothing at that.

You were sitting on the lid of the toilet as Buffy fed your newest houseguest blood from a novelty mug.

“Willow may have had a very helpful idea. She seems to be coping better with Oz’s departure, don’t you think?” Giles asked walking back into the bathroom, directing his words at Buffy rather than the rest of the room as he walked in. It was like you didn’t exist most of the time.

“Well, she still has a way to go but, yeah, I think she’s dealing”

“What, are you people blind? She’s hanging on by a thread” Spike stated, muttering to himself after and rolling his eyes. Buffy just scoffed and left the room, taking the blood he had been drinking away with her as your Dad followed her out.

You had just been about to say something similar, but in a perhaps more conversational format rather than accusatory.

“You’re quite astute really, aren’t you” You said, scanning Spike’s face. He used to creep you out a bit back when he was trying to kill you and all that. Not that you would admit it.

You had never really studied him this closely before. But looking at him now, he just looked so normal. Apart from the shackles and the almost painfully pale complexion… and the fact he had blood crusting at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s no talent, pet, a man walkin’ in from the street could read the lot of you like a book”

“I like to think I’m not that predictable”

“Don’t you all. Humans, you’re always thinking you’re so original, but you’re all a copy of the last”

“I guess when you’ve been around a thousand years everything gets sort of old… apart from the, uh, obvious” you sort of gestured vaguely at his face, a little glint in your eye as you teased him.

“Watch it” He warned, his shackles clinking against the tub as he pointed to accentuate his words. You waited for a moment in silence, watching the tap slowly drip beads of water into the cool porcelain. You waited about seven drips before you spoke again.

“Don’t you get bored? I get bored of the days here sometimes, it’s always a demon or a spell or some dumb melodrama with Dad’s little protegees”

You were surprised at the way this admittance casually tumbled from your own mouth. You weren’t sure why you were speaking to him like this, perhaps you were seeking some kind of connection. It was very you to try in such a stupid place.

“No” he shrugged turning away from you and staring up at the ceiling.

“Come on, I’m trying to open up here”

“Well close back up again” He shrugged, his eyes still fixed upwards. You shrugged, standing and leaving him in his bathtub. You hoped boredom consumed him for the rest of the day.

You left for a bar and returned late at night, having missed another eventful Sunnydale evening. By the morning when it had all calmed down, Willow had showed up to apologise again to Giles and caught you brewing your morning beverage.

She explained animatedly about your father going blind, Buffy and Spike getting engaged and Xander being a demon magnet. You tried very hard to focus on her words and gasp in the correct places whilst your head spun and you gripped the handle of your mug.

Willow was your favourite out of the Scoobies, she was a sweet kid and you made the most effort with her as you got the sense she knew what not being listened to felt like. You were glad you had missed the evening’s events, not that sitting alone at a bar and nursing a drink was much more interesting.

A few weeks later, Spike had been allowed to roam more freely by this point and he was lying on the sofa in your living room. You had a snack in your mouth and had carried a steaming mug of blood in one hand and a box of Weetabix in the other.

You gestured with your head for him to move his legs and he just stared at you for a moment before moving and snatching the mug and the box from your hands. You settled in beside him in front of an episode of Passions, trying, once again to speak to him but he was cold with you. Not even a thank you for the blood. I mean, he was evil, but did he have to keep it up all of the time?

You had tried talking to him, asking him questions about his past but he only really gave short sentences in reply. Today you were unceremoniously told to shut up so that he could watch Passions in peace.

You huffed but stayed beside him, weirdly drawn in by the stupid show. You missed his eyes lingering on you briefly as you glued your eyes to the set.

Truth was, Spike had a little soft spot for you. One that had grown even slightly since he had become a hostage in the same house you lived in. He tried to keep a distance from you, not directly look you in the eye as if you were some kind of love-inducing gorgon that would turn his resolve into a stone that could so easily crumble.

But he wouldn’t give anything away.

By the time Spike left, you were relieved that you could use your bathroom in peace. You knew trying to talk to him had been a waste of time but he interested you and, more to the point, you had found yourself being incredibly lonely.

You had been distracted lately, trapped inside your mind. You felt like you were missing something. So much so you had maybe accidentally skipped a couple of shifts at your new job. You had been sneaking back into your house when Giles caught you. You winced at his voice, knowing you would have to fess up.

“Shouldn’t you be at the Magic Box?”

“Oh, right, about that…” You began, unsure how to explain what had happened the day before. You had been avoiding your Dad ever since. You didn’t have to say anything, he already knew.

“You really are a bloody-”

“A what? Go on, say it!”

“A liability” He stormed over and poured himself a whiskey.

“It’s not exactly surprising is it, being told I couldn’t even visit my mother, left only with a man like you as a father, hey Ripper?” You don’t know why you said it. Truly, he wasn’t a terrible father. He was just bad at hiding his disappointment which made you feel, in a word, terrible about yourself.

He went very quiet for a moment. The temperature seemed to drop before he finally spoke again.

“I suggest you leave”

“What-?”

“Pack up your things and leave” he repeated, pronouncing each word crisply.

“You can’t mean that!”

“You can’t support yourself, Y/n, and I certainly shouldn’t have to”

“Where am I supposed to go?!”

“I suppose you will have to begin by figuring that out for yourself” He stared through you, downing the rest of his scotch before thundering up the stairs to his room and slamming the door.

You were ashamed to admit that as soon as he slammed the door, you broke down into tears. You knew you had been fucking everything up. You just wanted something more, you couldn’t describe it.

You packed a bag, slung it over your shoulder and walked out of the door, not once looking back. To this day you still don’t know how long you walked for, but by the time that you could see the sun threatening the dark skies through your blurred vision you had found yourself in a graveyard.

You had nowhere else to go and you weren’t above sleeping in a graveyard, you soon discovered You were so exhausted you could barely move another step. You ducked into some old mausoleum, kicking away some dust from the corner and laying out your jacket as a sort of mattress and you bag as a pillow.

You curled into the corner and screwed your eyes up. You had finally began to drift into a fitful sleep when heavy footprints came towards you.

“This ain’t a bloody hotel, bugger off would you-!” He stormed, reaching down to grab your shoulder before he recognised you, “Y/n?”

You bolted up, relaxing only for a moment when you noted you weren’t in any immediate danger before descending straight into embarrassment. You would really rather he hadn’t caught you sleep-crying on the floor of a crypt. Then again, it didn’t really matter what he thought, you reminded yourself quickly. He scanned your face, finding pain written there and seemingly making a decision before he turned away.

You stood up, noting an old couch had been pushed into the far corner of the tomb. You sat on it, bringing your bag with you and noting that it was only marginally more comfortable than the floor.

“Here” Spike returned, offering you a half empty bottle of  liquor. You took it, nodding your thanks and taking two large gulps. His eyes bulged for a moment before pulling a face of slight approval, until you looked back at him and he hid any evidence of expression from his face.

“Why are you being nice?”

“You take that back. I’m not bloody nice”

“No, I know, you’re evil and all that. I’ll admit, I felt a little shiver when I saw you first until, I uh, remembered you couldn’t…” You tailed off, “Not helping my case am I?”

“Liquor’s the cheap stuff so you’re doin’ me a favour by getting rid of it” he shrugged. Spike was secretly pleased for the company. He had felt so alone of late.

You watched his lips, eyes scanning down to his neck and over his leather-clad torso. The way the dim light accentuated his features, the curve of his jaw, that sparkle in his eye, that smirk that was never far from his lips.

Oh God, no. You didn’t… did you?

A Picture of Happiness

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When your robbery investigation and Karadec's missing persons case intersect, Morgan notices that there's more between you than professional collaboration.

Warnings: fluff, soft Karadec, Melon alert, case involving abduction and drug trafficking

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

A/N: The final scene is inspired by an idea posted by @venommie but I'm also planning a fic based more heavily on it!

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Oh, no,” Daphne murmurs. She leans back, turning slightly to look into Lieutenant Soto’s office. “Our vic was robbed last weekend.”

Selena sighs, then raises her phone toward her ear. “I’ll bring in Melon.”

“Oz, what’s the latest on the car?” Karadec inquires as he returns to the bullpen with Morgan.

“Still waiting to hear back from the DMV,” Oz answers.

“Daph?”

“The victim was robbed just over a week ago,” Daphne explains. “Part of a string of B&E thefts slowly progressing from simple wallet snatching to larceny. Lieutenant is alerting Melon.”

“Fantastic,” Karadec grumbles. “Are we thinking that the B&E went south? Homeowner was there, they can’t graduate to murder yet, so they snatch him?”

“From that house?” Morgan clarifies, her brows raised. “Not a chance.”

“Even the most prepared people can get caught off guard,” Oz points out.

“He had a Glock in his nightstand, he wouldn’t have let someone get that far into his house, or that close to him, without fighting back. Was there any sign of that?”

“No, there wasn’t,” Daphne says. “CSU isn’t done cataloging the weapons, so we’re not sure if any are missing.”

“I don’t see this guy getting caught off guard,” Morgan muses. “Not by some stranger sneaking in through a loose window.”

“The neighbor who wouldn’t talk to us this morning is in interview 2,” Karadec adds. “Lawyered up, but I think he’s just covering his own-“

“I heard a cry for help,” Lieutenant Melon interrupts, smiling as he enters the bullpen.

“Yeah,” Oz deadpans. “That’s what this is.”

“Quite the robbery spree you’ve stumbled upon. Estimated $2 million in property losses, even higher insurance payouts if we don’t start recovering things soon.”

“What’s the MO?” Morgan asks, flipping through the missing persons' case file.

“Initially, broken window, a few little, moderate risk items stolen.”

Morgan looks up, surprised to hear a voice she doesn’t recognize. She looks at you, then at Melon, then Karadec, and back at you.

“Yesterday morning, reported robbery used a crowbar to pry open a sliding glass door and cleaned out the safe,” you continue. “No sign of forced entry into the safe, just the door.”

“Strange,” Daphne murmurs.

“So, what can the missus and I do for you?” Melon asks. “Solve your case?”

“Missus?” Morgan repeats. She notices how Karadec shifts, pushing his jaw out as he rubs his jaw. It’s evident that he wants to speak but stops himself.

“We’ve been undercover,” you explain. “Trying to get this guy to rob a new, naïve rich couple.”

“Translation: she’d never settle for Melon,” Selena interjects.

“Hey, I’m a catch,” Melon argues.

“More like someone would catch something from you,” Oz adds.

You smile, and when you lock eyes with Karadec, you both shake your heads.

“Yesterday’s robbery wasn’t the same thief,” Morgan interrupts. “The approach pattern was completely different.”

“Approach pattern,” Melon repeats softly.

You look over Karadec’s shoulder to their case board. Tapping the simple black band on your left ring finger, you mentally review the facts of the case. Adding a missing person to a robbery case means the criminal is progressing. If more than one criminal is working here, your job becomes harder.

“Bottom to top,” Morgan says. “Your average thief works from the bottom up. Makes it easier to rifle through drawers because you don’t have to close one to get to the next. That’s where we get the whole ripped apart scene cliché. Yesterday’s case – and our missing person – produced scenes that were relatively neat. Because… any guesses?”

“The perp worked top down,” you and Karadec answer together.

“Right!” Morgan snaps, turning toward the case board. “So, if we remove these two cases… That gives us one planner, someone unafraid to go straight from- what’d he take?”

“From which scene?” Melon inquires.

“Yesterday.”

“Uh…” Melon opens the case file and skims it quickly before he answers, “A pair of diamond earrings, a Degas copy, and a thumb drive. Total estimated value: $14,000.”

“The earrings are most of that,” you add. “Apparently the thumb drive was empty, because the report didn’t value it in any way.”

“No intellectual property,” Daphne agrees. “Then why steal it? Not like they’re expensive or hard to come by.”

“There is something on it,” you realize. “Something he didn’t want the police to know about.”

“Maybe something worth kidnapping someone for,” Karadec adds.

“Whoa,” Melon interjects, raising his hands. “That’s a bit of a jump. It’s a thumb drive owned by someone who is not your victim.”

“Interior,” you say.

Morgan nods excitedly while Melon turns toward you with a sigh.

“The Degas copy was ‘Interior,’ which depicts a meeting between a man and a woman. It’s tense, dangerous, also called ‘The Rape.’”

“Make the connection, dear wife,” Melon pleads.

Karadec tips his head to the side, holding Morgan’s attention with his reactions to how Melon speaks to you.

“Follow me,” you invite.

Karadec moves first, falling into line behind you. You walk into Melon’s office without asking permission, and he scoffs when Morgan and Karadec join you.

“Get over it, Walter,” you encourage, uncapping a marker to alter his board.

“Is this even in English?” Morgan inquires, squinting to read a sticky note.

“Ha, ha,” Melon mutters. “What are we doing here?”

“This,” you answer, circling an address on the board. “The robbery from yesterday. Compare this address to the one of your missing person.”

Karadec’s eyes bounce around the board as he thinks. “454,” he realizes. “They’re a number apart, and the street names are just a few letters off.”

“As if someone had part of an address and was looking for something specific,” Daphne adds.

“And covering their tracks by taking something worth missing,” Oz says.

“He was looking for the thumb drive,” you deduce.

“Why?” Morgan asks. “None of our suspects – none of yours, either – have a clear connection to the victim.”

“Where was the Degas purchased?” Selena asks.

“Art dealer in downtown LA,” Daphne answers.

“Maybe someone should go look for another,” she suggests.

“Like a well-to-do married couple?” you ask, smiling.

“Precisely what I was thinking.”

“Well done,” Karadec says.

“Thank you,” you reply. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I need to feign an interest in impressionist art with my husband.”

Morgan’s eyes widen as she watches Karadec. He doesn’t react as before; instead, he lets you take his hand and lead you out of the office. There’s no sense that he doesn’t want you to touch him, no second-guessing of your intentions, or startled expression. He’s used to that, she realizes.

“So, what’s the deal with Karadec?” Morgan asks, back in the Major Crimes bullpen.

“What do you mean?” Daphne replies.

“He was ready to knock Melon’s teeth out. Followed a certain officer out of here like a lovestruck puppy.”

“Notice that, did you?” Oz interjects.

“What am I missing here?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Daphne teases.

“Karadec just texted,” Selena calls. “They found something.”

“Need backup?” Oz asks.

Selena chuckles rather than answering, and Morgan slaps her legs.

“Seriously, what am I missing? Are they some kind of dream team or something?”

“What did you see?” Selena asks.

“Karadec longing for her, but- wait. Seriously?”

“Can neither confirm nor deny,” Oz answers. “But the first part wasn’t that hard to notice.”

“What do you see?” Karadec asks softly.

“Some of these frames are hollowed out,” you whisper. “There’s more than paintings in here, but before we start talking, we need to know what it is they’re moving.”

“Drugs or money.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Cover me,” you request.

Karadec nods, straightens his shoulders, and buttons his blazer as he walks toward the man at the desk. You walk toward the back of the store, pretending to look at the paintings as you locate the cameras overhead. Directly beneath one of the lenses, you bend your knees to lower, then run your fingers along a delicately beaded frame. Slipping your fingers over the corner, you examine the narrow slotting in the wood. When you run into a small plastic pouch, you pull your hand back and look at your fingers. The white powder on them could be wood or printing materials, but it’s not likely.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you apologize as you return to Karadec’s side. “There’s just so much to see… to do.”

“Your husband was telling me that you’re a fan of Degas,” the man whose nametag reads Antonio states with a smile. “We’ve got no shortage of quality prints.”

“I saw my favorite at the back,” you reply. “They’re beautiful, very well done. We were actually referred here. One of our friends who shares our appreciation for arts, and its many influences, mentioned that his friend Leonard loved your service and the purchases he’s made.”

“Leonard is one of our best customers,” Antonio responds. “Any friend of Leonard’s is a friend of ours. Perhaps I could walk you through a bit of the influences we’re passionate about here.”

“We’d love that,” Karadec agrees, smiling at you as he traces his finger down your finger beneath your wedding ring.

“Two cases closed in one afternoon,” you muse as you fall into your seat. “Drug running secrets stolen, people abducted to procure more product, the American dream. You’re welcome.”

“We helped solve your case too,” Daphne points out.

You crack one eye open before you argue, “I had to pretend to be Mrs. Walter Melon for no reason.”

“You deserve a medal,” Oz says, shuddering for emphasis.

“You also pretended to be married to Karadec, no?” Morgan asks.

You turn toward her, then look at Oz and Daphne. “She doesn’t know?”

“We’re not legally or morally permitted to tell anyone,” Daphne replies.

“Under threat of bodily harm,” Oz adds.

“Promise of bodily harm,” Karadec corrects. “And, no, Morgan, we weren’t pretending for that part.”

Morgan’s jaw drops, and she turns quickly to look between you and Karadec. She’s observant and brilliant, so you fully anticipated that she would have figured out your relationship status already.

“Breathe a word of it to anyone,” Karadec warns.

“Yeah, yeah, bodily harm, I caught that.” She leans toward you and whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“No.”

“Wasn’t talking to you Karadec.”

He hums, repeats, “No,” and tosses you his keys.

You wave over your shoulder, and Morgan’s excited chattering seems to follow you through the station.

Karadec watches you, spinning his ring on his finger. You feel his eyes on you but don’t say anything as you prepare dinner. When the food is in the oven, you wash and dry your hands, then walk toward Karadec. He looks up at you from his seat, and you smile.

“You’re brooding,” you point out.

“I don’t brood,” he argues.

You hum and move between his knees and the coffee table. Karadec leans back, spreading his knees apart so you can stand comfortably between his legs.

“Want to talk about it?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting to all day.”

“Save the sarcasm, Adam.”

He lifts his brows, barely containing his smile as he lifts his hands to your thighs.

“Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I know he does it just to get under my skin.”

“Then don’t let him,” you encourage, rubbing your hands down your husband’s forearms.

“Not that easy,” he argues.

“Yes, it is. He’s Melon, and I come home with you. Whatever he says or does, just ignore him.”

Karadec nods, and you scratch your fingernails gently over his wrists.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you.”

“I also threatened to punch Melon today.”

“Should’ve carried through,” Karadec muses. “Sorry for letting him in my head. It’s been a weird few days.”

“I get it. No hard feelings. As long as you’re not grumps.”

“Did you just say ‘grumps'?”

You smile, and Karadec shakes his head as he tugs your hips forward. Before you can catch yourself, he pulls your knee to his side so you drop into his lap.

“Ah,” you murmur. “You don’t like that Melon acts all soft and loving when we’re undercover and you think you have to do it in private.”

“I thought you were a good detective.”

You inhale, playing up your offense at his taunting. Before you can reply, Karadec slips his hand beneath your shirt and rests it against your waist. Lifting your hand, you cup his jaw and lean toward your husband.

“Have anything else you need to talk about?” you inquire softly. “A case? Personal stuff?”

“No,” Karadec answers. “Not right now.”

“Right. No talking.”

Karadec nods, pulling you closer. “That sounds like a good idea.”

You smile, then kiss your husband. He holds your waist in one hand and cups the back of your head in the other while you hold his face, brushing your thumb over his beard and up to his cheekbone. Moments like these are your favorite, and make you remember why you love Karadec so much.

Although your relationship may not be common knowledge, you’re happy, content, and secure. The quiet nights after the long, hectic days make it all worth it. No one notices or questions why you carry around hand sanitizer and keep an eye on Karadec during joint operations. You appreciate the privacy, but they’re missing out on a picture of happiness, love, and pure joy.

Venom To The Rescue- Venom/Eddie Brock x Reader

Summary: Venom comes to readers rescue when she’s harassed by John Walker

Word Count: 1, 710

CW: *does have a scene of sexual harassment so TW for that*

*Want to be tagged in any future Venom/Eddie fics? Click here*

The excess room in the transport van was much appreciated, as you, Eddie and Venom travelled to meet the famous Avengers. Eddie stayed with you for most of the journey, but Venom wanted to take over every now and then, complaining that he wanted to see you and that he was bored.

You knew the main reason for the van was to act as a somewhat transport cage for Venom, especially with the armed guards behind you and one in the passenger seat, but you understood.

Being with Eddie and Venom for the past two years and seeing what Venom could do, you completely understand peoples caution. Venom tried to act innocent and like he didn’t understand the need for armed guards, but he knew why, and you think deep down he was a little proud.

“Are we almost there?” Venom continued to complain.

“I think we’re pulling in now, Vee,” you smile sweetly and patiently at the large alien.

“Mr. Brock, it might be best for you to be the one to meet with the Avengers first,” the armed guard in front of you informed.

“What?! That’s not fair!”

The guards pulled their guns, and Venom smiled wide as he licked his fangs, obviously excited for a fight. You knew this was stressing Eddie out and that Venom could easily take these guys out, so to calm the situation you gently placed your hand on Venoms bicep.

“Hey, V, think of it this way, they see Eddie first and think it’s fine, and then when the times right you can make a big appearance, wowing and scaring everyone.”

You always knew how to stroke Venoms ego to make him behave.

“Very well,” he simply spoke as he let Eddie come back.

Seeing Eddie’s face and body once again, you both sighed a sigh of relief. Holding onto Eddie’s hand tightly, you see the van is slowing down and a woman in a professional looking pants suit and tablet is ready waiting for you.

Giving Eddie’s hand a last squeeze of encouragement, you both step out of the vehicle.

“You must be Eddie and Y/N, welcome to the Avengers headquarters. My name is Maria Hill, and I’ll be introducing you and ah- your friend to the team.”

Maria was sweet, although you could tell a little nervous. You and Eddie knew that the Avengers had seen lots of different and dangerous things, but it seems Venom is still a challenge for them.

Walking down the halls to the planned meeting area, Maria is pointing out different things about the building, where things are, what things do, who certain people are.

As you’re all about to step into the elevator together, you hear someone running over.

“Hey, hold the elevator!” You hear someone yell.

Turning around to look at who the voice belongs to, you notice it is no other than John Walker, aka Fake Cap, as you, Eddie and Venom call him. You knew you’d most likely encounter him today, and you all had to prepare each other to meet him, and be on your best behaviours.

“Ah, John good to see you,” Maria told him, obviously trying to hide a wince, “this is Eddie and Y/N. Eddie is a new potential recruit and Y/N is his partner.”

At hearing you were dating Eddie, something seemed to pass John’s eyes, a look of both intrigue and mischief, but whatever it was, it put you on edge.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he spoke only to you as he stepped into the elevator with you, a little close for your liking.

Eddie put his arm around your waist and you could hear Venom growl. Eddie and Venoms protection of you seemed to amuse him, as he smiled creepily, and his eyes leered at you.

Facing the doors for the rest of the lift ride, you could still feel John’s eyes on you the whole time. Eddie’s grip on you got tighter and tighter as you could tell he was trying to hold back Venom.

You comforted them as they protected you.

Walking into the large lab-like room, the rest of the team stood around an area that was no doubt designed for Venom to show himself. Venom had a crowd and a podium, this is exactly what your little drama queen wanted.

After Maria had introduced you to the anxious group of heros, you let go of Eddie and encouraged him to step forward.

While you watched Venom appear through Eddie, you tried to ignore the way John’s eyes obviously bore into you, as if he was studying your actions. Venom stood to full height and waved at you like a kid at a talent show, your wave back seemed to interest John as his stare became even more intense.

Luckily for everyone, Venom was a little too busy showboating to notice how close John now stood to you.

“Alright, Vee, I think that’s enough, sweetheart, time to bring Eddie back,” you called to him as you could see he was getting a little too excited.

Being with both Eddie and Venom could be challenging sometimes, especially when Venom acted like a toddler, but you knew there was more to him than that. You knew how to wrangle him in, and he knew how to make you laugh and look after you.

The team seemed almost amazed that you could bring him back so easily, but the amazement quickly turned to relief as Eddie appeared again. Everyone parted for Eddie to stand beside you, except for Maria, who had most likely practised keeping her cool, this kid Peter who was more excited then scared, and of course, John.

“Alright well, if it’s alright with you Y/N, we’d like to talk with Eddie in private now. Please feel free to wait in the common room I showed you and we’ll come get you once we’re finished.”

You felt a little worried to leave your boys alone, but you made sure to give Eddie a comforting hug and whisper a stern ‘behave’ into Eddie’s ear, before you left.

********

The common room was nice, it was about midway up the tower with large glass windows to see all over the city. After such a long trip it was to your delight that the room was empty, so you could have any of the big comfy couches all to yourself.

Once you made yourself a drink from one of the fancy machines in the kitchen area, you got yourself comfortable and began to read with your warm drink.

It seemed the meeting with Eddie was taking longer than you thought it would, as you finish a chapter and your drink. Standing up you decide to go back to the kitchen to get a cool drink of water. Unfortunately as you turn toward the kitchen however, you almost run into John.

Seeing him alone, and now standing so close, you try your best to calm your breathing.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the meeting?” You asked, trying your best to sound pleasant.

Instead of answering, he simply gave you a sly shrug and smile, as he pushed you against a table, trapping you between it and him.

“What the fuck, John?”

You try your best to shove him off, but it’s no use. Looking into his eyes with fear, his stare only appears predatory as one of his hands rests on your hip.

“What? You’re not gonna call me ‘sweetheart’ like you did with the monster? Hmm? Pretty thing like you dating both a man and a monster. What Brock not man enough for you? Need a monster to fuck you too? You really are a kinky little bitch. I like that.”

You were petrified, frozen in fear, as you prepared for him to kiss or grab you, but it never came. Instead you feel his body weight leave yours, and you see him thrown around the room.

Venom lets out a loud growl as he pinned him against the wall by his neck.

“How dare you speak to her like that! How dare you touch her!”

Still frozen from shock, you can’t move to stop him, and it seems like none of the rest of the team want to do anything either. John thrashes about in Venoms grip, and the team look like they’re trying to work out if and how to save him.

“This guys growing on me, I say we let him join,” Bucky laughs to Sam, everyone’s attention on Venom and not you.

Sam simply rolls his eyes at his friend and groans, realising he’s the one who has to stop all this.

“Alright, I think he’s had enough, big guy.”

You knew Sam wouldn’t be enough to stop him, and you didn’t want someone innocent being hurt by Venom.

“Venom!” You finally find your voice and call out.

You try to think of more to say, but as he and Eddie look at your trembling form, it’s enough for him to stop.

“My sweet,” Venom strides over to you, with each step he turns back into Eddie.

“Let’s get you outta here, sweetheart,” Eddie’s hand comes up to gently stroke your cheek.

“Um huh hmm, Eddie and Y/N, if you’d like to follow me, I can show you to a room for you to stay for the night,” Maria awkwardly interrupted, attempting to soothe the situation.

As if in a numb state, you simply followed Eddie while he gently drags you along. You seem to zone out the whole trip there, until you hear a buzz of your door opening.

“Come on, baby. Get you into bed and I’ll hold you.”

Eddie gently pulls you into the room, and begins to make you comfortable. Sweetly laying you down on the double bed, he takes off your shoes and socks, pulls the covers over you and crawls into bed on the other side of you.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he gentle coaxes as he opens his arms.

The second you lay on his warm chest, a floodgate of tears fall down your face, and the fear and anxiety hits you all at once.

“I’m sorry, baby. We love you so much,” Eddie coos as he rocks you, safe in his arms.

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

A/N: I cannot help it, I love the teeth. I love this gif.

You woke to the dark, in an unfamiliar bed, soft silk rustling beneath you as you shifted, struggling to open your eyes. When you finally managed, you realised you were not in your own room, but in Walt’s. He was sprawled on his back next to you, breathing evenly, his chest moving quietly. Memory of the earlier evening came rushing back and you touched the sore patch of skin on your neck, hissing softly as you felt two perfect tiny holes, almost healed over already.

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A Room Away (No More)

Part 2 of A Room Away

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!roommate!reader

Summary: Your abusive ex reaches out, and you hide it from Tim until it's almost too late.

Warnings: angst, domestic violence, abuse, assault, anxiety/panic attacks, fluff and a happy ending guaranteed!!

Word Count: 3.7k+ words

A/N: A Room Away is one of the first Tim fics I wrote and it took me a few months, but I loved writing this continuation! I hope you enjoy!🤍

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim’s thumb brushes back and forth over a nearly invisible scar on your arm as you wait for your dinner guests. Remembering that it has been days since your last nightmare and nearly a week without a migraine makes you smile, and Tim glances at you but doesn’t ask any questions. The doorbell rings and he grumbles under his breath as he leaves your side. As he opens the door to invite Angela and Wesley in, your phone vibrates beside you. Tim is giving Angela a hard time, as usual, and you take the moment when her attention isn’t on you to read the new text.

Unknown There is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.

The sentence is familiar, too familiar. You read the message again, and before you finish another comes through.

Unknown Los Angeles isn’t big enough to hide you from me.

“Are you okay?” Angela asks.

You lock your phone quickly and clear your throat before you look up at her and nod. The message repeats over and over in your head. Your phone may not know who sent the text, but you do, and knowing that your ex is in the same city as you terrifies you. Deep down, you know you should tell Tim, but you can’t.

“How’s Timothy treating you?” Angela adds.

She sits beside you, and you try to forget about the text for now. “He still won’t reduce my rent,” you complain jokingly.

Tim watches you from his spot in the kitchen. The last few weeks have been good. Your nightmares are becoming less frequent, you let Tim touch you without flinching or panicking, but the look on your face right now isn’t right.

“How are things?” Wesley asks. “Need a prenup, yet?”

“Funny, Wesley,” Tim replies without looking away from you. “I hope Angela cleans you out in the divorce.”

“He can keep the kids,” Angela adds from beside you.

“Good luck getting rid of me,” Wesley says. He lowers his voice and turns away from Angela to ask, “Seriously, Tim, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Things are good, great even. I just don’t want to do anything that makes us go backward.”

“Abusive relationships are hard to get over, but you’re helping her with that, Tim.”

“I hope so.”

“Wasn’t a question, Sergeant.”

Tim rolls his eyes as he puts your favorite food on a plate. It isn’t often that Angela and Wesley come over, but right now, Tim wishes he was alone with you so he could check on you. You don’t seem to hide things from him on purpose, and he understands the time it takes to trust people after having your trust betrayed and being abused. He’ll never push, but the moment you pull, he’s there. Never more than a phone call or a room away.

“Here you go,” Tim murmurs as he passes you a plate.

Your shoulders tense as he nears you but drop just as quickly. The jumpiness is something that was completely gone just yesterday, and Tim furrows his brows as he watches you accept the plate and look out the window. He runs a finger over your jawline to bring your attention back to him, and you smile at him.

“You alright?” he asks.

It seems to be everyone’s question tonight, and you once again lie, “Yeah.”

Tim nods and you thank him for the food before moving to sit by Angela. With his eyes on you throughout dinner, Tim decides that something is wrong, and he needs to get to the bottom of it. You open up as the night continues, yet when Angela and Wesley leave, you fall silent as you clear the table.

“Hey,” Tim calls softly.

He wraps a kind hand around your wrist to stop you, and you flinch away from him involuntarily. Tim raises his hands, and you drop your chin toward your chest and fight the tears threatening to spill. You’re scared because of the text, but that is no reason to move away from Tim. As you struggle not to panic, Tim whispers that everything is okay.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out.

Tim shakes his head to remind you that you never have to apologize. You step closer and pinch his shirt between your fingers before wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. Strong arms settle over your back, and you push your cheek over Tim’s heart.

“I’m just feeling off, or something,” you say. “Please don’t worry about me.”

Tim hums and moves a hand to brush your hair away from your face. He won’t agree not to worry about you, and it’s too late to pretend like he’s not already doing just that.

The next few days pass slowly, and as you continue to spend more time at home, Tim’s concerns grow. You’re up and moving around, so it’s not a migraine, but you haven’t worked more than eight hours in three days. Every time Tim sees you at home, he hugs you, kisses you, and silently reminds you that he’s right beside you, but you keep up your act that nothing is wrong. It’s a failing façade, though, and you’re just waiting to break.

When you wake just after 1 in the morning, you can’t stop the scream that escapes. Your ex was in your room, in Tim’s home, and when he was done with you he was going to cross the hall and do the same to Tim. Of all the nightmares you’ve had, seeing Tim moments away from being hurt was the scariest of them all. You pull your knees up to your chest and drop your head as you sob, your panicked scream making way for the fear you’ve been burying since you got the text.

Tim comes in without question or knocking, and when your door hits the wall, you lift your head and flinch to the other side of your bed. At the sight of Tim, however, you launch yourself toward him and let him pull you close. You cry against his chest as he whispers comforting promises, but the only thing that helps you is the tangible reminder that he is safe. You tell yourself over and over, clutch his shirt, and listen to his heartbeat. He’s safe, and he won’t let anything happen to either one of us.

As he holds you, Tim keeps you as close as possible. He knows that you shouldn’t ask questions now. Not that you’d give him an honest answer anyway, he thinks. Whatever you’ve been hiding is making you scared, and it breaks Tim’s heart to see you affected this way. Waking up to your scream scared him, so he can only imagine what must be going through your mind.

Unknown I saw the planetarium today. Can you see it from your new home?

Unknown Met a girl in the supermarket who looked like you. But I won’t settle for second best.

Unknown Clues, clues, clues. Am I getting closer, baby?

With each new text you receive, you have to talk yourself out of running from Tim. You don’t want to pull away from him, but you constantly worry that if you’re found, Tim will be in danger, too. A knock on your door draws your attention away from the newest message, and Tim smiles when you meet his eyes.

“Want to go to lunch? Just us?” he offers.

You should say no, but you nod before standing. Nothing bad can happen in public, and being beside Tim is the safest place to be, you think. Even as you try to convince yourself that going to lunch will be fine, you can feel the fear and anxiety building in your chest. It weighs down on you and makes it hard to breathe, so you measure each breath and focus on Tim instead of the adrenal responses flooding your body.

Tim turns into a random subdivision and slows down. You raise your brows and look at him, but he only offers a hand extended over the console. When you lay your hand over his, he intertwines his fingers with yours and pulls your hand closer to him. He makes another turn, and you realize that he’s not taking a shortcut to the restaurant.

“What are you doing?” you inquire quietly.

“I don’t want to push you too hard or too soon,” he says. “But something is bothering you, and I can’t help if you stop talking to me.”

“Tim, I’m fine, I promise. I’ve just been feeling off.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll pass.”

“What will pass? Pushing me away and blocking me out won’t fix whatever is happening!”

“And telling you will?” you ask. You’re getting defensive because you’re scared, and you try to pull your hand away so you can stop talking to him.

“Why did you ever let me in if it was just going to end like this? I’m with you, but why can’t you trust me enough to tell you what’s making you scream in the middle of the night and jump when I walk up behind you?”

“Because he can threaten me all he wants, but I don’t want Brent to find you too!” you snap.

“Brent?” Tim asks lowly. He pulls his hand away and sets his jaw to ask, “Brent who?”

You shrink in the passenger seat and whisper his last name. Tim’s brakes squeal as he presses the pedal to the floor and parks on the side of the road. You can tell without looking at him that he’s angry, and you slipping up and saying your ex’s name certainly didn’t help.

“Get out,” Tim orders.

“Are you serious?” you whisper brokenly.

“Out of my truck. Now.”

You slide out of the passenger seat and close the door behind you. Tears have been building in your eyes for a week, and you let them fall freely now. You’re scared and hurting, but Tim refuses to look at you as you stand on the curb.

“Tim, please don’t do this,” you plead through the rolled-down window.

Tim doesn’t answer, and when he shifts the truck back into drive, you know he’s serious about leaving you here.

“Tim, please!” you beg through your tears.

“Go home,” he says over the engine.

The truck pulls away from the curb where you stand, and you harshly wipe your tears away to clear your vision. As you dig for your phone, you know it’s time to take Angela up on her offer. She said to call if Tim was ever mean to you, and you think leaving you on the side of the road counts.

Tim turns around in a nearby cul-de-sac and parks behind a tree where you can’t see him, but he can keep an eye on you. He’s angry and needed a second to calm down, but he never intended to leave you. He sighs as he types the name of your ex into his phone. He’ll ask Angela to run it later. When Tim looks back up at you, you have your back to him, and your phone raised to your ear. Your shoulders shake as you cry, and Tim taps his knuckles against his steering wheel. He made you cry this time, and though he’s glad to have a few answers, he wishes this wasn’t how he got them.

After moving in, you confided in Tim that Angela told you to call her if he was ever mean to you. When her car pulls up and you climb into the passenger seat, Tim shakes his head fondly. You’re mad at him, but you’re still perfect in his eyes. Now that he knows you’re safe, Tim decides to stop by the station and do some digging on your ex.

“I think I’m going to text Tim,” you say.

“What? No! He abandoned you. Just eat your ice cream and wait for him to come and beg on his knees,” Angela replies. She points her spoon at you and adds, “You’re too good for him, anyway.”

“I think that’s the other way around.”

“Fine,” she groans. “Text him. But I’m still mad at him.”

Your text to Tim is short, a simple apology, just: I’m sorry. His response is nearly immediate, and you smile when his name pops up in the notification.

Tim I’m not mad at you. I know you’re with Angela. Want me to pick you up?

Tim You don’t have to come home if you’re not ready. Whatever you want.

Your response is a promise that what you want is to be with Tim. Angela rolls her eyes at your smile, but she’s happy for you and Tim. After all, it’s because of her that you found a place a live and met Tim. She begins to ask a question, but your ringing phone cuts her off.

“Tim?” you ask as you answer.

“When did the texts start?” he inquires.

“Uh, about a week ago, I guess.”

“Change of plans, then. Let me talk to Angela.”

You pass the phone to Angela, and she listens for a moment before she stands and walks into her bedroom. Whatever they’re talking about, they don’t want you to know about. Tim said there was a change of plans, which sounds suspiciously like he won’t be taking you home tonight. The panic from earlier returns slowly as you wonder if he’ll ever let you go home again.

“Your boyfriend wants to talk,” Angela says, cutting through your doubt as she returns your phone.

“Sorry,” Tim begins. “I looked into your ex. He flew into LAX about a week ago, so the texts weren’t just threats. He’s here. And a week is a long time when you’re trying to find someone. I want you to stay at Angela’s tonight, okay?”

“Are you- are you working tonight?” you ask softly.

“I am now. Brent’s got an arrest warrant, and the threats he sent you make him a higher priority. We’re gonna look for him. We will find him,” Tim promises.

“Be careful, Tim.”

“I will. I have to get home to you, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll call you later and check in. Let Angela know if you get more texts, please.”

“I will. Sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“I promise I’m not mad at you.”

“I know,” you murmur. “See you later, Tim.”

Tim’s decision to drive by his house before he starts looking for your abusive ex was both a precaution and about Kojo. The house looks exactly as it had when he left with you for lunch, and Tim puts Kojo in the front seat of his shop before driving toward Angela and Wesley’s house. If Brent goes to his house to find you, both you and Kojo will be safe and sound with Angela Lopez prepared to defend you. There aren’t many people Tim trusts, but when you called Angela, he knew you made the right choice. It’s the one he would have made, too.

Kojo pushes past Angela to meet you when she opens the door. You happily invite him into your lap and hug him tightly. He soothes your nerves without trying, and you loosen your grip on him only to look up at Tim.

“Nothing yet,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’m a call away if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Tim,” you reply.

He lays a hand on your shoulder and smiles as he promises, “I’ve got you.”

“Where’s your car?” Angela asks you.

“I just moved it. Public parking off Sepulveda,” Tim answers for you. “He doesn’t seem like the smartest guy in the world, but, just in case.”

“He’s not,” you agree.

Tim slowly pulls his hand away before he leaves again, and you lean closer to Kojo for his comfort. Angela disappears into her bedroom again a few minutes later and returns in a rush.

“I have to go. There’s been a homicide,” she explains. “I called Tim and he’ll be here in less than thirty minutes. Don’t answer the door for anyone; he and Wesley have keys.” She slows to ask, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go solve a homicide.”

She rushes out the front door and locks it behind her, but you stand and double-check it anyway. Your phone is empty of notifications, and you can only wait until Tim arrives. After you settle beside Kojo again, you give him your attention. You and he freeze simultaneously when your phone chimes on the coffee table.

Unknown Walk outside or you will cost them everything.

You read it twice before you realize what he’s asking you to do. The moment you step out in the open, he can do anything and everything he wants. But you look around and see the life Tim and Angela have built for themselves and know that you can’t do anything to jeopardize that or their safety. So, you quickly shepherd Kojo into a bedroom and lock the door before slowly flipping the locks on the front door and stepping out into the Los Angeles night. The sun recently set, but there’s enough light you can see someone standing at the corner of the yard. Tim can’t be more than a few minutes away, but his thirty-minute estimation feels like an eternity.

“Los Angeles,” Brent says before laughing. “I knew you’d run somewhere you could hide but the city of angels? You, baby, were never going to fit in here.”

“What do you want?” you ask, willing your voice to be strong.

Brent smiles and you take a step back as he moves closer. You stumble against the sidewalk behind you, and Brent surges forward to wrap a cruel hand around your arm. He twists your skin with his grip, and everything about his touch is the opposite of Tim’s. For the first time since you met Brent, you fight back. Your free hand makes contact with his jaw, but he recovers quickly and shoves you to the ground.

Pulling your knees up, you try to create momentum to knock Brent off of you, but he pushes your legs down and shoves the heel of his hand between your ribs. The air is driven from your lungs, but you know you can’t stop fighting. When Brent moves his hands, so one is holding your face and the other is reaching for something in his waistband, you panic. You need Tim, but he’s a call away, and you left your phone inside.

“Domestic dispute and assault in progress at…”

Tim doesn’t hear anything past Angela’s address, and he hits the lights as he makes the final turn onto her street. Several neighbors are gathered on the opposite side of the street and watching an altercation in Angela’s front yard when he reaches the curb. A woman screams, and Tim slams the shop into park when he sees the glint of a gun being pulled. He opens the shop door and immediately ducks as a shot is fired. “L.A.P.D. Put down the weapon!” he yells from behind his open door.

He calls your name, but there’s no sound. No reply, no calls or screams from the neighbors, and Tim peeks around the door. Slowly, the gun is tossed to the side and the man, your ex, slowly clambers onto his hands and knees. When he sits back and puts his hands up, Tim has a clear view of you lying on the ground. There’s blood on your face, and you’re not moving, so Tim rushes forward. Two more police cars join Tim’s shop, but his complete focus is on you. He kneels beside you and pushes two fingers against your pulse point.

“I’m okay,” you whisper when you feel Tim’s skin on yours.

Tim sighs and drops his head before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling your torso off the ground and into a hug. You return his tight grip as he sits on the sidewalk and holds you close. Two other officers handcuff Brent and put him in the back of a cruiser, and you’re surprised but pleased with the lack of threats directed toward you.

“Sergeant Bradford, the weapon was discharged, but the bullet was fired into a tree. CSU will gather data for ballistics,” an officer tells Tim quickly.

His grip tightens on you at the mention of the gunshot, and you sigh against his shoulder. As you lean up, he gets a better look at the bruise under your jaw and the fresh blood pooling against the older, dried blood under your nose. He moves you gently so he can stand and calls for a paramedic.

“Tim, I’m fine,” you say with a painful chuckle.

“Respectfully, I want a second opinion,” he replies. “And then we’re going home.”

“Don’t forget Kojo.”

“I’ll get him.”

“Oh, you may need a key.”

Tim furrows his brows at you but doesn’t ask what you’re talking about as he lowers beside you again. His hand in yours distracts you from the pokes and prods of the paramedics, and your mind is no longer anxious and scared, but excited to go home and remind Tim how much you appreciate his protectiveness.

Tim doesn’t let you out of his sight or his hold from the moment you enter his house. He pulls you against him and sits on the couch, inviting Kojo to join you. You’re finally okay, and it makes it easier for both you and Tim to show the affection you’ve been avoiding.

“I don’t want to be a call away anymore,” Tim confesses softly. “Not a room away… I need to be right beside you.”

“Tim, I only asked for the separation because I had to have it. Thinking that he would come after me was concerning, but the closer I got to you, the more worried I was he’d hurt you, too.”

“I understand that, but it’s over now. So, it’s your choice again.”

You nod and tilt your bruised face up from Tim’s chest to look into his eyes. “I don’t want to be a room away either,” you whisper.

Tim smiles and brushes a gentle thumb over your cheekbone before withdrawing his touch from your face. He kisses you gently, a series of pecks more than a real kiss, before allowing you to move closer.

As you fall asleep in Tim’s arms, you’ve never felt more at home. His touch, his presence, his protectiveness, and his care make him special, and he’s the best roommate-turned-more you could have asked for.

“I love you,” Tim whispers, and you wake up faster than ever.

Good Luck Charm

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

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

Warnings: pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

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

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

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

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

“So am I!”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

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

“Ugh, you’re such a man.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

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

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

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

“Left, right,” you murmur to yourself.

“Excuse me?” the man asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh as you ask, “Why?”

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

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

Tim smiles as he agrees, “Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

“You disagree?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really are good luck,” Tim replies.

“Maybe you’re the good luck."

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

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

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

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

Bonus:

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks.

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

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

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

Tim rolls his eyes and answers:

Wait until they find out why we won.

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

You Must Be Stuffed

Kinktober Day 2 Zoro Roronoa x Fem!Reader

Word count:878

Tags:NSFW, Modern AU, Unprotected sex(Don’t be silly wrap your Willy guys), drunk sex, breeding kink, slight manhandling

Synopsis:After one to many drinks you and Zoro try something he wanted to try for a while

Kinktober Masterlist | One piece Masterlist

You and Zoro’s night started off with the two of you drinking at a local bar before you two decided to take the drinks home with you when things became a little too loud. 

You both are about 15 drinks in your words slur as you both speak about two different things, you speak about a show you just watched and Zoro speaks about how you're so pretty and gorgeous. Then he says something that causes you to stop talking and look at him, “Y/N I was thinking that we should try fucking raw, and me finishing inside of you.” he slurs most of his words but you understood him, you choke on your drink a bit of it coming out of your mouth. 

“What did you say!?” wiping your mouth you look at him like he has three heads, but your thighs self consciously rub together, “I think that we should fuck raw and that you should let me finish inside of you multiple times. So want to do it right now?” He has a dopey smirk on his face he takes another sip of his drink, as he is drinking you sit there staring at him wondering if he is being for real or faking it, but then drunk words are sober words and you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t think about how he would feel raw and what drunk sex would be like. 

“Yea I wanna do it right now” you blurt out watching as he gets up from his seat walking towards you, he grabs your arms and pulls you up to your feet; he then brings his hands to the side of your face and pulling you into a messy wet sloppy kiss, his tongue darts into your mouth tasting the drink you just had, pulling away a string of saliva connecting you both. “Come one, sweetheart” Zoro pushes towards your shared bedroom, closing the door behind you.

You sit on the bed watching as Zoro undresses in front of you, you grab your own shirt and tug it off throwing it next to the pile of his clothes, Zoro stands in front of you naked and hard; his thick veiny cock standing proudly against his stomach, pre cum dripping from his flushed tip. Zoro leans forward grabbing your waistband and pulling both your sweatpants and panties off in one swift motion. 

The cold air hits your wet pussy causing you to shiver and whimper, “Shit your so wet” Zoro rubs his thumb up and down your cunt slowly pushing it in and out of your hole, “I don’t even need to prep you baby” he smirks down at you grabbing his hard cock, slipping the tip into your sopping hole, “Oh god you feel even better like this” he slurs from pleasure and drunkenness (?) “Shit. Zoro you feel so good.” 

You can feel every ridge and vein on his cock, your cunt pulsing around him. Zoro starts to move his hips in a sloppy and rough way, the sound of his balls and hips making contact with you and the sound of you and Zoro’s loud slutty moans fills the room. The way Zoro thrusted into you had you feeling even more drunk than before, Zoro watches as your face scrunches up in pleasure, the way your eyes fill with tears each hard sloppy thrust he gives you. 

“Oh god I’m so close, baby.” Zoro groans his orgasm approaching rather closely, “I’m close to Zo’ don’t stop please don’t stop.” You rub your clit in a fast motion as Zoro fucks you into the bed, within seconds your body is shaking as you cum all over his cock, “F-fuck Zoro” moaning as he fucks you even faster than before catching his own high, “O-oh fuck.” Zoro finishes deep inside your pussy, your hole becoming so full as his load fills you up. 

“Shit. We’re not done yet Y/N.”  Zoro pulls out of your cunt watching as his and your orgasm drips out your hole landing on the bed, “Turn around for me and put your ass up baby,” he helps you move to your knees, his cum starts to run down your thigh causing you to shiver. Zoro moves behind you roughly pushing your head down in the pillows beneath you thrusting his dick into your hole as soon as it comes into view. His thrusts are so hard that the slapping of his hips against yours causes you to jolt every time you make contact, “Zo’ you feel so good,” you slur drool seeping out your mouth and getting on the pillow. 

Your cunt is so sensitive from your first orgasm that your second one comes quicker than before, “Zoro I’m coming” you squirt and cream on his cock your cunt tightening around his cock has him, your moans and cries are the only thing Zoro focuses on has he comes inside you again for the second time of the night, “Y/N” he moans leaning down to kiss and suck on your shoulder. 

All movements come to a stop, you and Zoro’s heavy breathing the only thing that can be heard, Zoro kisses your neck before leaning back up; “One more time baby.”

©Bella2023

eddie teaching venom about love languages <33

"Physical touch is," Eddie starts, shoulder bumped up beside yours on the couch, but Venom cuts in, head hovering over Eddie's shoulder.

"That is the one where we fuck her." Venom announces proudly, toothy grin aimed in your direction. You stifle a laugh and Eddie groans, head tosses back against the couch cushions.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's the one where we fuck her," Eddie drawls, exasperated, "But that's also, like, holding hands, kissing, that kind of stuff."

"That one is my favorite." Venom declares, "I do not care about the other ones."

"Yes you do," You counter, and Venom's milky white eyes turn to you again, "'Cause there's gift-giving. That's when I bring you chocolate. And chickens."

"I gave Eddie the gift of a decapitated man once," Venom reminisces, "But he hated it. Does that mean he does not love me?"

"That's not a gift, buddy." Eddie shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the gory memory, "That's- I mean maybe you thought that was a gift, but gifts are supposed to be nice things, like flowers or a teddy bear."

"Teddy bears are useless!" Venom roars, and you know he's only speaking out of deep-seated loathing for your own stuffed animal, which the symbiote is rather jealous of.

"I would much rather receive a head," He huffs, turning back to Eddie, "Does it mean that you do not love me because you do not give me heads to eat?"

"No," Eddie rubs a tired hand over his face, "Let's- let's just move on. Uh, words of affirmation."

"You're so handsome," You croon at Venom, who blinks as you stroke the back of your hand along his goopy cheek, "And you're a great protector, I always feel safe around you."

"See?" Eddie nods, "Just like that. Nice things you say to the person you love."

"You are very small," Venom practices, and while it's true compared to his gargantuan size, it's not much of a compliment, "And I like that you feel safe around me even though I could easily rip your head off. And eat it. You would not stand a chance."

"We'll work on it," Eddie mutters, "Alright, acts of service."

"Like when Eddie gives me a shoulder massage," You hum, stretching out the tense muscles in your neck, "Or when I wash his hair for him in the shower. That's nice things you do for the person you love."

"I am good at that!" Venom boasts, "I make you breakfast sometimes."

"Yeah," Eddie nods, voice strained, and you play along even though you know that the attending to the mess that comes with Venom's cooking is more effort than doing it yourself, "Yeah, buddy, that's good. You're right, that's really nice of you."

"I am very nice," Venom agrees, bobbing his head up and down, "Are there more?"

"Quality time-" You and Eddie speak in unison, laughing sheepishly at each other. It's Eddie that continues, "Like what we're doing now. Sitting together, talking, just hanging out and being with each other."

"When he takes me on dates, too," You chime in, your voice a soft hum, "Or when you take me around the city, big guy."

You tap at Venom's cheek and he nods, blinking once in understanding.

"I like quality time," Venom decides, the thick black ooze connecting his head to Eddie's shoulder sucking him back in until his face is nestled between yours and Eddie's. It's an odd feeling on your hair but you and Eddie hold your positions anyways, intent on drilling non-sexual physical touch into the symbiote.

"Me too," You nod, and Eddie pitches in his confirmation, "Which one is your favorite, V?"

"Mm," The symbiote hums, but it sounds more like the revving engine of a car, "I do not know. I like getting gifts, but I like sitting with you, too. I like them all."

"Too hard to choose," Eddie agrees, "You?"

"More of the same," You conclude, turning your face so that your nose nudges Venom's cheek. He purrs, not unlike a cat, sounding more engine-like than ever, and his large eyes slip shut.

"Naptime," Eddie chimes, reaching over to grab your hand in his. You smile, puckering your lips to send him a kiss that you can't press to his cheek unless you break away from Venom. He pretends to catch it where the symbiote can't see, slapping it onto his cheek and acting injured at the recoil.

"Oh," He groans while you giggle, "You throw a mean kiss."

You settle against Eddie's side, and it's odd having Venom's face in between you to where you can't rest on the man's shoulder, but he's a nice pillow in and of himself. You're only seconds away from fully drifting off to sleep when Venom's jaw moves against your face, and he whispers (terribly), "Eddie. Are you awake?"

"Yes, Venom." Eddie groans, but by the sound of his voice, he wishes he wasn't, "What do you need?"

"I decided on a favorite," Venom informs Eddie, and you listen under the guise of closed eyelids, "I like the sex one best."

You can't help it; you let out a snort.

"Nice going, V," Eddie squeezes your hand, shutting his eyes once more and attempting to get comfortable, "I'm sure that's just the answer she wanted to hear."

He is Nothing Like You

Tim and Reader have been secretly married for three years, which has done them good, considering the risks of Tim's occupation. One day, while Tim was on shift, he never expected his secrets to start ripping at the seams and spill onto the floor.

MDNI 18+ since it involves sexual activities! I’m gonna do a second part

"I've been meaning to ask you, what's the ring around your neck?" Lucy asks, trying to break the silence in the shop.

"Not that it's any of your business, but it's just a ring to me, no specific meaning," Tim responds while silently praying Lucy would end the conversation there, "Also it's safer if it's around my neck than on my finger."

"Grey wears his wedding band, and you don't see him having any trouble with it," Lucy mentions as Tim chuckles and reminds her that Luna would kill him if he ever took his ring off.

"Just let it go and focus on other important things, like that carjacker right there," Tim said, causing Lucy to jerk her attention back in front of her as he stopped the shop and the both of them get to work.

Once the carjacker was booked and processed, Tim and Lucy were on their way to get back on the road when Grey stopped them with a, "Bradford, my office real quick."

Lucy asks, "What is that all about?" Tim responds, "I don't know, just wait by the shop. I'll be there when I'm finished."

Tim enters Grey's office to see his wife, Y/N, sitting in one of the chairs. "She doesn't look pleased about something," Tim thought to himself before Grey excused himself to let the couple talk privately.

-Y/N's POV-

"Is everything okay?" Tim asked me while I got up from the seat to stand in front of him before I ask him, "Do you remember telling me when we first started dating that your dad died?"

Tim gulps before clearing his throat and answered, "Yes, why are you bringing that up?"

"I was cleaning the house up when the phone rang. It was a hospice nurse calling for you because Tom Bradford was asking for you," I responded before continuing, “Thinking it was the wrong number, I called Genny to ask her what was happening. She told me I needed to have that conversation with you."

Before Tim could answer me, Grey popped his head in to remind Tim about an old case regarding a family friend, Monica Ochoa.

"Do you need to go? I'm not mad. I'm just so confused," I said before Tim turned his head towards Grey and told him he was still on it before turning his attention back to me.

"I'll explain it later, I promise," Tim responds before I nod. Understanding his tone's urgency, I told him I'd be waiting with Kojo at home.

Hours passed before I heard the doorknob jiggle; Kojo had heard it since he had jumped off the couch to run to the door and greet Tim.

"Hey bud," I hear Tim say as his footsteps start toward the living room, bringing him into view.

"Hi," I say as Tim takes a seat next to me before he takes my hands in his.

"I haven't been honest with you about everything, and I am truly sorry. It wasn't fair of me to let you get whiplash from finding out I lied about my dad being dead," Tim responds as I notice tears brimming in his eyes, making me take my hands back and put one of them on his cheek, running my thumb along the bone.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I meant what I said. I'm not mad at you," I whisper, reassuring him before he sighs and responds, "I know, but it still wasn't right of me. So, I want to tell you everything."

"Okay," I say as Tim clears his throat to mention, "The reason I told you he was dead is because he's dead to me. He was abusive. To me and Genny, mostly me."

Before I can ask, he says, "When I was 7, he smashed my head into a wall. Another time, he left me at Griffith Park with only a compass to find my way home, said it's supposed to turn me into a man."

"Tim," I croak out before tears started to fall down my cheeks, "Now I feel bad that you had to reopen those wounds."

"No, no, don't you dare blame yourself," Tim said as he wiped the tears before continuing, "I should've been honest from the get-go, but instead, I wanted to keep that part of my past secret to spare you from the pain. And it was about time I told you since I have to see him."

"You don't need to see him if you don't want to. Don't let this hospice situation guilt you," I respond before Tim shook his head and told me it had to do with the Ochoa case.

"I think he had something to do with it; now I have to face him," Tim says, looking like the little boy who just wanted his dad's love, which prompts me to ask, "Want me to come with you?"

"No, you don't have to. I wouldn't force you," Tim started to say before I cut him off, "I want to. You're my husband, and my vows stated that I will be by your side for every obstacle in your path."

"Okay," Tim whispered as the both of us exited the house hand in hand, preparing to battle this demon together.

We arrived at the facility and entered the room to see my father-in-law lying in his hospital bed.

"Oh, man. Never thought I'd see your face again. Genny tell you to visit?" Tom says as I squeeze Tim's hand harder in comfort.

"Wow, liver really did a number on you, old man," Tim responds before Tom tells him he doesn't have it so bad.

"Nurses here all love me. It's just no one will bring me that shot of Patron I keep asking for," Tom says as he jesters toward the apple juice, saying it's a joke.

"A cruel joke if you ask me," I thought before glancing at Tim's face to see he thinks the same.

"You always seem to have someone looking after you, even when you don't deserve it," Tim responds, squeezing back my hand.

"Something on your mind, son?" Tom asked, clearly wanting this to be done and over with.

"Remember Frank Ochoa? Lived down the street. Shot to death 25 years ago. Well, I'm sure you remember his wife, Monica," Tim responds.

"Can't say I do," Tom deflects, obvious sign that he does remember.

"Come on. You were sleeping with her behind Mom's back," Tim says, making Tom laugh, and he asks where he got that from. Tim mentions that he saw the two of them together when he was 13.

"Oh, crap," Tom says before Tim continues, "For some reason that I still don't understand, I lied for you, lied to Mom."

"Poor little Tim-Tim," Tom degrades before spouting out, "What are you bitching about? You kept your mouth shut. You did good. Now get over it."

I feel my blood start to boil in anger at the audacity, the disrespect this son of a bitch in front of me had for the man I plan to spend forever with and have children with, but I keep quiet because he seems to not care about my presence.

"You know, I found the gun that you hid in the wall. I know you killed Frank. But why'd you do it? You wanted Monica all to yourself?" Tim asked before continuing, "Ruining one family wasn't just enough for you, was it?"

Tom takes his cannula out before getting off the bed and walking towards us. "And so what if I did?" What are you gonna do about it?"

"Get back in bed," Tim grits out as he moves me to stand more behind him for safety reasons, prompting Tom to challenge him with a "Make me."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You're right. I killed Frank. But he had it coming. So screw him, and screw you," Tom says before telling Tim to put the cuffs on him and drag him away from his deathbed like a big man.

"This isn't over," Tim responds as he grabs my hand again, and we both leave Tom's room.

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have heard all of that," Tim whispers before entering the truck, "I have to get to the station and type up that report. I'll drop you off at home before I do."

"No, take me with you, it would save gas," I said as I explained to Tim it wouldn't make sense to do that.

After arriving at the station, Tim heads to one of the computers while I follow him. I glance over to see his rookie, Lucy, walking over.

"My dad confessed to Frank Ochoa's murder. I'm typing up the report," Tim tells Lucy as she looks at me before gesturing there were ears listening, "She's my wife, she knows."

"Wait, wife?! As in ring on the finger?" Lucy asked in shock as I raised my left hand to show her my wedding band, "We'll get to that later, but Tim, while you were gone, I brought Monica Ochoa back in."

"Why?" Tim asks as Lucy explains, "Because I knew there was more to her story. You couldn't see past the version that you wanted to see."

"What'd she say?" Tim asks again, before Lucy tells him what was confessed.

The look on Tim's face tells me we're going straight back to that hospice facility. We walk back into the room and see Tom snoring in the chair, so Tim places the shot glass and pours Patron before placing the bottle on the table, waking Tom up.

"You brought me a present?" Tom asks before Tim tells him to think of it as a push.

"You didn't kill Frank," Tim says as Tom repeats that he did and tells Tim to cuff him, "Monica confessed."

"Leave her out of this," Tom responds.

"Frank was beating her. She fought back. She shot him. She was terrified, so she ran to you. You came up with the burglary story, helped her stage the house, then you hid the gun in case the cops got too close and you needed to frame someone else," Tim says.

"He was a brutal, abusive bastard. She deserves a medal for what she did," Tom responds, making me and Tim look at him in shock.

"He was an abusive bastard?" Tim asked, testing Tom for what came out of his mouth.

Feigning confusion that was fake, Tom asked if he was like him, which prompted him to say he was nothing like Frank.

"I taught you what you needed to know, son. You're a man now because of me," Tom says before I finally let my voice be heard.

"No, absolutely not. You are not getting credit for how Tim turned out," I gritted through my teeth as Tom looked at me with disdain before asking me who I was, "I happen to be the woman your son is going to spend the rest of his life with. I'll be damned if I stand by and let his piece of shit father try to take what's rightfully his credit. You deserve nothing of the sort, he's nothing like you and he will never be like you."

"Tim, you're going to let your wife speak to me this way?" Tom asked before Tim scoffed and responds, "She's right. I'm who I am in spite of you."

As Tom sits there stunned, Tim says, "Goodbye, Dad. I hope it hurts."

We left the facility without looking back, and after we arrived home, I suddenly felt my body being moved to where my back faced the door and I craned my neck up to look into Tim's eyes.

"Thank you," Tim whispers as I look at him in confusion, "Thank you for being by my side for that. I know it wasn't easy, but you were right. I needed you there with me."

"You don't have to thank me for that, I will always be there for you," I say before Tim smiles and leans down to kiss me.

After kissing for what felt like minutes, Tim moves his mouth to be near my ear and he whispers, "I'm also really turned on by you defending me."

I laugh before asking, "Oh are you? What are you going to do about it?"

I feel Tim's hands move down to my ass before I squeak out in surprise as he hoists me up, causing me to wrap my legs around his waist and feel the outline of his dick through his jean.

"I think I'm going to give my beautiful wife a thank-you gift," Tim whispers before moving towards our bedroom and putting me down on the bed.

"Tim, you don't have to," I started to protest before he cuts me off, "Just let me do it, you deserve it."

My attention gets grabbed while I watch his hands curl around the collar of his shirt before he pulls it up off his body, which, I feel myself start to drool over my husband's abs. His hands then moved to his belt to unbuckle it before he walk up to me and get down on his knees so he can be on the same level as me. Tim pulls me into another kiss, one more passionate than the last, as I feel his hands unbutton my jeans before he pulls the materials down to my ankles to take them off, leaving me in my black panties. He then positions my body to lean back against the pillows before he moves himself to be above me, Tim asks, "Is this okay?"

Not trusting my voice, I nodded my head before Tim's fingers curled around the sides of the panties as he started pulling them down. He groans out in pleasure as he changes his position, his shoulders in between my thighs, keeping my legs where he wants them to be, his hands near the area I yearn for him to pay attention to. I shivered when I felt his breath before he placed his mouth on me, causing me to let out a shuttered moan. When I felt myself getting close, Tim pulled away, causing me to groan out in frustration, making him laugh.

"The only way you're cumming is around my dick," Tim whispered in my ear as he gets himself out of his pants and boxers while he pushes my shirt up to above my chest, showing the matching black bra.

The both of us let out a groan as Tim enters me and starts to thrust, his dick hitting all the right places. After minutes passed, the both of us came and Tim's body moves to his side of the bed as I tell him that was a great gift, making him he let out a soft laugh.

"Glad to be of service," Tim says getting out of bed and putting on clean boxers and pajama pants before he goes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth to clean me up.

After Tim cleaned me up and helped me get dressed, he got back into the bed to pull me into him so we can cuddle.

"Tim?" I said after a moment of silence, causing him to say, "Yeah?"

"I have something for you," I respond before reaching over into my nightstand and pulling out a small box, "I was going to give you this later, but now feels right."

Tim opens the box and pulls out a onesie that says, "My daddy will arrest you if you mess with me."

"Babe, this is perfect for our future baby," Tim responds before he felt his voice stop short when he sees what else is in the box, reaching in to pull out the pregnancy test, "Are you really?"

"Yes, I found out two weeks ago, you're going to be a dad, Tim," I said as Tim pulled me into a tight embrace before kissing the top of my head, "And you're going to be the best dad, I just know it."

"I love you so much," Tim whispers before pulling me into the most loving kiss a girl could ask for.

Tim may have had the worst pick in the dad potluck, but no doubt in my mind he will never treat our children the way Tom treated him and Genny.