Aftershock - Office Barbie

Break My Rules

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Smitty!reader

Summary: You have a rule not to date men who work with your dad - who just happens to be Quigley Smitty. After becoming friends with Lucy Chen, you meet Tim Bradford and realize that some rules hurt you more than they help you.

Warnings: slight angst, discussion of Tim's past, stress and anxiety (Tim and r), fluff, comfort, very slightly suggestive at the end, softie!Tim, Lucy is a wingwoman

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

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“Sorry I’m late,” you say, hanging your bag off the back of the chair. Your dad waves off your apology as he stands and pulls you into a hug. “One of my choir students asked for help with her homework after practice and I lost track of time.”

“I remember when you used to ask for homework help,” he muses. “I was pretty good at it, wasn’t I?”

“Sure, you were,” you answer, rolling your eyes playfully. “That’s why Mom told me to stop asking you.”

“She was just jealous.”

“That must be it. How was work?”

“It was normal. Bad guys got arrested.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, right?”

“That’s why it was normal. No high-speed helicopter chases or unexpected promotions make Smitty a dull boy.”

You nod, opting to peruse the café’s menu rather than commenting. Your relationship with your dad is great, and you enjoy the time you spend together, but he can be a bit… dim. He doesn’t seem to do it on purpose, but you know that he’s aware of how he comes across, and he doesn’t seem to care that he makes himself the punch line. If he’s okay with his reputation, who are you to pick him apart for it?

“Good evening,” the waiter greets, approaching your table. “What can I get started for you tonight?”

You order, then pass your menu to him after your dad finishes. The waiter smiles at you, and you thank him as he walks away.

“He was flirting with you,” your dad points out.

“You think he was flirting with me, but you can’t tell when I’m being serious about picking up the bill?” you challenge. “He’s a waiter, his job relies on his people skills.”

“If you’re not interested in him, let me set you up with a cop. The money isn’t great, and we’re always stressed, but there are one or two who have promising potential.”

“Dad,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I’m not dating cops. I’ve had the rule for years.”

“No dating cops,” he says with you.

“What if I set you up with someone who isn’t from my station?” he offers.

“No. If you know them, I don’t want to date them. That’s like inviting a devastating breakup or lackluster romance.”

“Just because I know them doesn’t mean they’re like me.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just… it’s easier this way. And there’s something to be said for serendipity.”

“Seren-what-ity?”

You sigh and shake your head. “What song should we perform for the state choir show this year?”

“The Real Slim Shady.”

“Why did I ask?” you mumble.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, stepping back from the metal bin before you. “Completely my fault, go ahead.”

“No, no, I wasn’t looking,” the woman beside you replies. “You’re good.”

She has two records tucked in her folded arm, and you nod to communicate your approval of her choices.

“Good taste,” you compliment.

“I got a record player for my birthday, and I’ve been looking for some of the stuff I listened to as a kid and trying to branch out a bit. Try some new things,” she explains. “Based on your outfit alone, I’m guessing that you have good taste too and could offer a few good recommendations? If you have time or want to, of course.”

“Well,” you begin, glancing toward the alphabetized bins. “I’m a sucker for classic rock, but you’ve got to try something from this decade on vinyl. Most of the production is really good, depending on the label. You said you like older?” She hums, and you flip through the A-C bin before you murmur, “This one.”

“A-ha? Like ‘Take on Me’?” she questions, reaching out for the record.

“One of the best songs ever written, I think, and hearing it like this is like being in the front row of an angel concert.”

“I’ll buy it,” she begins slowly. “On one condition. You get coffee with me and become my best friend, because I feel like we’re halfway there.”

“Was that a Bon Jovi reference?”

“You do know your classic rock.”

“Well,  I am a choir teacher.”

“Please agree to coffee. I’ll pay.”

You smile and pull your phone from your pocket. “Here, give me your name and number. We’ll set it up, bestie.”

“I’m Lucy, by the way,” she offers, moving the records against her chest to put her contact information in your phone.

You tell her your first name as you send her a text with your favorite coffee shop and a link to your current favorite playlist. As you walk to the checkout together, you feel lighter. Maybe you can find a life outside of school separate from your dad.

“Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,” you sing softly, flipping through your choir binder.

“Have you made a decision?” Lucy asks, pulling the chair from the opposite side of the table to sit closer to you.

“I’ve got it narrowed down to three. Well, the kids narrowed it down to three and now I can’t pick.”

“Which songs?”

“Take Me to Church, Hallelujah, and Frozen Heart.”

“Those… those seem very different. What’s Frozen Heart?”

“The ice workers’ song at the beginning of Frozen. I don’t know who picked it originally, but it got a lot of votes.”

“If you were performing, what would you vote for?”

“Honestly, as a teenager, I probably would’ve said Frozen Heart. And they’ve got the skills and the range to do it.”

“There’s your answer,” Lucy says, smiling.

“Thank you,” you reply, closing the binder. “Now, how was your day, Officer Chen?”

“Long, but I did hear a new song on the radio with a melody I think you might like.”

“No, you don’t get to change the topic back to me like that. How are you, Lucy?”

“I’m okay. I guess I just feel kind of bored. Like, I go to work, I hang out with you, and I love my routine, but I want to do something new.”

“Well, you’re invited to the choir show, of course. But, in the meantime, we could always do something together when you have some time off. We live in the heart of shows and sports; there’s plenty of things to pick from and I have someone who can get tickets at a price high school choir teachers and cops can swing.”

Lucy’s eyes brighten, and she smiles.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Would you like to go to a Dodgers game?”

“Always.”

You stay at school late on the day of the Dodgers game. Choir practice ended on time, but Lucy is bringing another cop friend to the game, and it will be easier for them to pick you up here rather than at your apartment. As you tidy your classroom, you play music and sing along.

Losing track of time as your playlist continues, you don’t hear someone open your door. As a song ends, you turn and freeze.

“Hi,” you greet, lifting your hand in an awkward greeting. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the man watching you replies, his eyes following you as you rush to pause your music. “Sorry to intrude.”

“No, I lost track of time, sorry to make you come in.”

“You’ve got a beautiful voice.”

You slow, smiling shyly as you murmur, “Thank you.”

“Oh, there you are,” Lucy sighs, rounding the corner to reach your classroom. “This is Tim, who I asked to wait for me.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, offering your hand.

His handshake seems to warm you from the inside out, and when you drop your hand to your side, it feels as if you’re pulling away from the world’s strongest magnet.

“Ready?” Lucy asks. “We got an email earlier that the seats were upgraded, so we’ll have an even better view when we win.”

“She just wants the Dodgers to win because there’s less of a chance of us getting called in for overnight patrol if we do. Bigger loss means more fighting,” Tim explains quietly.

“No, I’m a fan,” Lucy argues, several steps ahead of you.

“Is your station near the stadium?” you inquire.

Lucy holds the school’s door open for you and answers, “We’re in Mid-Wilshire.”

You stop in the parking lot as your brows draw together. “You both work at Mid-Wilshire? How did I not know that?”

“You know the station?” Tim asks, slowing to wait for you.

“And its laughingstock.”

Lucy laughs as she pulls the backdoor of Tim’s truck open. “Our laughingstock is a cop, believe it or not.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Smitty’s my dad.”

Lucy’s hand slips off the door, and she steps forward quickly to catch herself. Tim’s eyes run over your body before lifting to meet your gaze again. If you weren’t feeling so put off by the realization that you’re breaking your rule in a way, you might be flattered by how easily he seemed to take you in. Maybe even admire you.

I’m not breaking my rule by being their friend, you tell yourself. But can it end there? you wonder, looking at Tim.

“Did you know he had a daughter?” you ask, beginning to walk again.

“No,” Tim and Lucy answer together.

Tim opens the passenger door for you and whispers, “I wish I had.”

Less than a month after meeting Tim, you’ve become close. Now, you have not one but two best friends from your father’s station. You haven’t said anything to him about you, and you assume Tim and Lucy haven’t either because he hasn’t brought it up the numerous times you’ve seen one another.

Shaking your head, you try to stop thinking of Tim and focus on the practice session you’re leading. Five minutes before choir practice ends, your phone rings.

“It’s a distraction,” your choir group calls together, quoting your response when asked why they can’t have their phones out even though school is technically over.

You see Tim’s name on the caller ID and wave for them to quiet before you answer it. As a cop’s daughter, you’re no stranger to the wave of nausea that threatens to pull you under as you answer an unexpected call. Tim could be hurt, or maybe Lucy, even your dad. But you must answer the call to find out, so you swallow your fear and ask, “Hello?”

“Sorry,” Tim says breathlessly. “Sorry to bother you. Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up practice. What’s wrong?”

“Noth- nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing, Tim.”

“Can you call me when you’re done?”

“Where are you?” you inquire softly, looking over your shoulder at the high school students talking to one another.

“At home.”

“I’ll be right there,” you offer.

Tim releases a sigh before he says, “Thank you,” and ends the call.

“You’re free to go, guys,” you announce. “Great work today. I’ll see you for dress rehearsal tomorrow and then you get a break until the show on Friday.”

The students cheer as they leave the room, but your mood is far more somber as you shove your things into your bag and rush out of the building. Tim’s house isn’t far, but every mile seems to stretch for an hour as you worry about him. After parking behind his truck, you jog to his front door and ring the doorbell.

Tim pulls the door open wearing sweatpants and a look that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” he forces out. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Come here,” you offer raising your arm to him.

Tim doesn’t hesitate to step forward and into your hold. His arms wrap around your waist as you rub your hand along his bare upper back. Without removing his hands from your sides, Tim nudges the door closed and presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I got you.”

Tim exhales shakily against you, and you guide him carefully to his couch. Sitting beside him, with his chest pressed to yours, you trace shapes on his back and begin humming.

“Can you keep doing that?” Tim requests.

You’ve become friends with Tim; you know about his past and grumpy disposition, but you’ve also seen glimpses of the man beneath. Right now, you’re with a side of Tim you suspected wanted to break free but had been buried after years of heartbreak, betrayal, and abuse.

“Humming?” you clarify.

Tim nods, and you start a different song, humming the opening notes before singing softly. As you move through the words, Tim relaxes against you.

“Thank you,” he whispers as you finish the song.

He sits up, separating himself from you. His eyes meet yours, soft and open, and you raise your hand to cup his face before you stop yourself. He put distance between you, and you don’t want to scare him away by moving too quickly. You care about Tim more than you should probably care about a friend.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“I’m better now,” he admits. “Thank you. Today was… there was a little boy who called the police on his dad because he was hitting his mom. It got to me – it shouldn’t have, but it did. Then I got home, and in the quiet, it was too much. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let myself get stressed like that.”

“How do you normally destress?” you inquire, shifting the focus from what he thinks he should or shouldn’t have done.

“Boxing, watching a game,” he lists. “I’ve got a few little things, but everything felt wrong.”

“Well, I’m here for you,” you promise. “Anytime you need me.”

“Your voice is pretty.”

“You’ve told me before,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you sing?”

Your phone buzzes with an incoming message from your dad, but you flip it face down on Tim’s coffee table.

“Do you need to get that?” Tim asks.

“No, he’s just checking in. I’ll call him later. And to answer your other question, I don’t sing because I like teaching, supporting, more than being the center of attention. I love it, but I don’t think I’d thrive in it as a career.”

“When’s the next choir show?”

“Friday.”

“Can I come?”

You smile at Tim and answer, “Of course.”

As you shift your hand to pick at your fingers, someone walks closely behind you and pulls your wrists apart.

“Don’t do that,” Tim says softly.

You sigh and turn toward him, tucking your hands behind your back. “I’m the teacher and I still get as nervous as I did when I was actually singing,” you confess.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Tim assures you. “They’re talented – you’ve said it yourself – and they have a great teacher.”

“Unless I forgot something or miss a cue or-“

“Stop,” Tim demands, using his cop voice rather than the softer tone he tends to adopt when speaking to you. “Breathe.”

You nod, watching his chest as you match your inhales and exhales to his. After several breaths, you release a sigh and whisper your gratitude.

“I brought you these,” Tim says, reaching for a nearby seat. He lifts a cellophane-wrapped bouquet and passes it to you, watching your eyes as you stare at the beautiful arrangement.

“Thank you,” you say. “They’re beautiful.”

“I don’t know choir etiquette, but, I thought you’d like them. If I knew you were panicking I would’ve gotten you something more useful like a weighted blanket or an inhaler.”

You laugh, pushing Tim’s shoulder slightly. Something about being near him makes you feel different. When Tim is with you when you’re talking or sitting together, even the mere thought of him makes you feel special in a way you have never experienced before. Tim Bradford is special, and though he has quickly become one of your closest friends, you can’t help but feel that there’s something else, something more.

“Hi!” Lucy exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “You look so nice!”

“Thank you,” you reply, smiling as you hold your flowers to your chest. “You do too. Thank you both for coming.”

“Of course,” Lucy answers. “I’m so excited.”

“If your choir team finishes third or higher tonight, you go to regionals, right?” Tim clarifies.

“Yes,” you answer. “But we’re hoping to line up some charity shows after this either way.”

“Well, we know a police station that wouldn’t mind a concert,” Lucy points out. “Right, Tim?”

“Right,” Tim agrees, his focus steady on you.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, my dad just walked in. I’ll see you two after?”

Tim and Lucy nod, wish you luck, and then take their seats as you walk toward the opposite side of the auditorium to say hello to your dad.

“I can’t believe she’s Smitty daughter,” Lucy mumbles. “They’re so different.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, his eyes following your every move. “She’s a lot more tolerable.”

Lucy lifts her brow and muses, “Sounds like you’d like to do more than tolerate her.”

Tim turns quickly, a warning look on his face, so Lucy raises her hands in surrender.

“Tell her,” she says. “Not me.”

“You really did not have to do that,” you repeat as you and Tim walk out of the restaurant.

“Least I could do,” Tim replies. “Now stop talking about it.”

“No, I have to pay you back. At least let me buy you coffee or something.”

Tim slows on the sidewalk. He brought you flowers to the show, hugged you after your team was awarded second place and progressed to regionals, and enjoyed a nice dinner with you, which he paid for. Everything felt more like a date than two friends hanging out and supporting one another, he realizes. More, he thinks, he wanted it to be a date, and he would like to do it again.

The Tim Bradford who hesitantly agreed to join Lucy and her new friend at a Dodgers game a few months ago is not the man walking beside you now. Not the man wondering what it would be like to take your hand and kiss you in the warm glow of a streetlight, thinking about the right words to ask you out, picking apart every word you’ve said tonight for a sign that you might want it too.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Tim looks up at you, realizing his thoughts caused him to stop walking. “Just thinking,” he admits.

“Must take a lot out of you,” you joke lightly. “Everything alright?”

“Would you…”

“Would I?” you press.

“Would you like to go out on a date?” Tim asks quickly.

You let the question hang between you as you process what he’s asking. For Tim, the idea seems to crash between you, shattering on the sidewalk between you as you prepare to reject him.

“Never mind,” he says. “I shouldn’t have-“

“No, Tim,” you interrupt, raising your hand. “It’s not you or the question. Not even that I don’t want to.”

“Then?”

“I have this rule. I came up with it years ago, a decision never to date one of my dad’s coworkers. There’s too much that could go wrong, I guess, and I see the strain being a cop puts on my dad and his relationships. So, it’s not you that I’m saying no to.”

“It’s that I work with your dad. I get it,” Tim offers. “Being a cop is hard. Being with a cop is harder.”

“You’re not mad?” you ask.

“I’m not mad,” he assures you, offering a small smile. “You don’t have a rule against being friends with a cop, right?”

“Well, I did, but I didn’t find out Lucy worked with my dad until it was too late, so I scrapped that rule.”

Tim laughs, but deep down, you both wonder, What if the other rule was scrapped too?

Although you picked the movie, you can’t focus on it. Tim’s fingers tap against his jean-clad thigh, moving restlessly as he looks past the television to stare at the wall.

“Tim,” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He hums, his fingers slow, but he doesn’t reply. You reach for the remote, pause the movie, and then pick up your phone from the table. After a moment of scrolling, you find a song and play it. The music fills the space, and you shift to sit atop your feet with only a cushion between you and Tim.

“Oh, they say some people long ago were searching for a different tune,” you sing softly.

Tim turns toward you, his eyes tired and his shoulders tense. As you continue singing the first verse, he lets his head fall back against the couch cushion and his eyes shut. Watching Tim, you sing as the tension in his muscles ease and his hand spreads across his leg, the stressed movements slowing because you distract him from whatever is on his mind.

“And then they nursed it,” you sing, moving your hand to rest an inch away from Tim’s.

“Rehearsed it.” His hand moves toward yours, your fingers brushing.

“And gave out the news.” The song is nearly over, and you want nothing more than to collapse into Tim’s arms and give in to every urge and desire you’ve buried since you met.

“That the Southland gave birth to the blues!” you conclude.

Tim smiles and opens his eyes when you slip your hand under his and lace your fingers with his.

“Does me singing actually help you?” you wonder.

“It does,” Tim answers. “Do I actually help you calm down?”

“Even when I’m not at a performance.”

Tim nods, and the deeper meaning of your questions pushes you toward a decision you’ve been avoiding since Tim asked you out.

“I can’t do it,” you whisper.

Tim sits up straighter, looking at you but refraining from speaking.

“I thought that refusing to date someone my dad worked with would save me from heartbreak, keep me from getting into a doomed relationship. But the rule is what’s hurting me.”

Tim squeezes your hand gently.

“I can’t follow the rule anymore. I want you, Tim. Telling you no hurt me worse than trying to be more than friends could.”

“What are you saying?” Tim asks.

“I… Would you want to go on a date with me?”

Tim smiles, releases your hand, and pulls you against his chest. As his hands rise to hold your face, he answers, “Unless you have any other rules you want to break first.”

Laughing, you shake your head and lean toward Tim.

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” Tim says. “But remember that I asked you first.”

“There is one favor I have to ask, though.”

Tim nods once, and you request, “Can we not tell my dad? For a while, at least.”

“I try not to talk to your dad unless forced.”

“I’m taking that as a yes, honey, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Tim’s brow raises, and he slides one hand around your waist and spreads it across your back to encourage you to lie against him. “Whatever you want, honey,” he repeats lowly before his lips meet yours.

Divorcing Dad

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (they're parents!)

Summary: When your daughter asks Tim if he's getting a divorce, he doesn't know what to say. In the aftermath of the question, you have to comfort both Bradfords.

Warnings: mentions of divorce obv, fluff, crying, comfort, I changed the spelling of Capt. Andersen's last name for Tim's daughter

Word Count: 1.5k+ words (this was supposed to be a blurb lol)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim’s favorite day of the week is Friday. Not because it marks the end of a week or is the mostly agreed upon best day of the week, but because it’s the day that he gets off work early and gets to pick up your daughter from school. Since his promotion to Sergeant, Tim began leaving early one day a week to spend extra time with his daughter, who has him wrapped around his finger. She’s been a daddy’s girl since you gave birth. Still, whenever you see your favorite Bradfords together, you become more convinced that Tim Bradford didn’t truly understand love until he cradled you and your beautiful daughter in his arms. Although, you’re a bit jealous that she is Tim's spitting image. At least he’s gorgeous, you remind yourself often.

“Munchkin!” your daughter, Anderson, named for Tim’s late captain, yells as she exits her classroom.

Tim shakes his head as he pulls her into his arms and against his chest. A few weeks ago, she overheard you call Tim Munchkin while teasing him about playing princess dress-up, and she’s picked it up as well. Rather than remind her that he’s Dad, not Munchkin, Tim moves his hand to her side and tickles beneath her backpack strap.

“Dad, dad, stop!” she yells through her giggles.

Tim relents, smiling as he waves to her teacher and turns toward the parking area. As he walks, he listens to Anderson talk about her day. When she hesitates before talking about what she and her friend Marcie did at recess, Tim fights the urge to get protective.

“Did you play any games?” Tim asks as he places her in the booster seat.

“We played fairies!” she answers, perking up again to explain what her fairy looks like.

Tim nods along, but his mind drifts back to her sudden pause. He’ll wait for her to bring it up, he decides… or for you to get home.

“What do you want for dinner, my little fairy?” Tim asks as he looks in the pantry.

“Are you getting divorced?” Anderson asks, her voice soft behind him.

Tim freezes with his hand on a container of flour. He has no idea where she came up with the idea; he’s never said it, which means she must have heard it at school. Or, worse, he thinks suddenly, from you. Shocked, with his mind racing, Tim doesn’t realize that his silence has misled Anderson. When she begins crying, Tim turns quickly. He shakes his head, confused and desperate to know if you mentioned divorce around her, which only makes it worse. Anderson’s cries turn to sobs, so Tim lowers to his knees and pulls her close. She clings to his neck, crying against his shirt, and he can only rub her back.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s alright,” Tim whispers.

Anderson hiccups and shakes her head. “No!” she wails through her cries.

Tim shifts back, leaning against the cabinets as he pulls his knees up to hold Anderson as tightly as possible. Anderson needs time to calm down, so nothing Tim says now will help. Convinced that he can’t help his daughter, Tim is forced to return to the question of where she came up with the idea that you were getting divorced.

“We love you, Anderson,” Tim promises.

You stretch your neck to the side as you exit your car. As you walk toward your front door, you smile because it’s Friday. So, Tim and Anderson are already home, likely making dinner and messing up your kitchen. It’s the most family time you get all week, even with Tim’s new Sergeant schedule. The door is closed and locked, which is unusual. Usually, you’re greeted by Tim, your daughter, or both. Shrugging, you fish your keys out of your bag and let yourself into the house. Rather than the television, music, or laughing, you’re greeted by your daughter crying and Tim whispering. Rushing toward the kitchen, you stop when you see Tim sitting on the floor with a visibly distraught Anderson curled against his chest.

“What happened?” you ask softly, stepping toward them carefully.

At the sound of your voice, Anderson begins crying harder, harsh, hiccupping sounds before she pants for air.

“Tim?” you inquire.

Anderson takes several short breaths as she stands and maneuvers out of Tim’s lap. When she reaches you, she wraps her arms around your legs and presses her face against you. You place your hands over her hair and look at Tim, wide-eyed as he stands and wipes his cheeks.

“She, uh, she asked if we were getting divorced,” he explains quietly.

“What did you say?” you ask, slightly more accusatory than intended.

“Nothing. She- I don’t know where she even heard about it!”

“Anderson,” you coo, carefully bending to smile at her. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re divorcing Dad,” she whispers, heartbroken.

You shake your head and take her hands in yours. “No, I’m not, sweetheart.” You lean closer, conspiratorial as you add, “He’s stuck with me.”

“You’re not?” Tim asks.

Your brows furrow as you look up at him. He shrugs, and you realize he thinks Anderson heard you talking about it.

“Anderson, where’d you hear about divorce?” you inquire.

“Marcie,” she answers shyly, attempting to drop her head against your side again. “She said her mom or dad aren’t living with her anymore.”

“Alright,” you murmur as you pull Anderson into your arms and stand. Looking at Tim, you smile and request, “Order us pizza and then meet us in the living room?”

“Sure,” Tim agrees. He toys with his wedding ring while on the phone with your favorite pizza place. Though his worries have lessened since you returned, especially after hearing that someone at school introduced the topic to his daughter, Tim is still eager to hear everything. “Twenty minutes,” he tells you as he lowers onto the couch beside you.

You offer your hand behind Anderson, and Tim happily takes it in his. As you begin speaking, he notices that your wedding ring is on Anderson’s finger.

“Anderson, your dad and I aren’t getting divorced, okay? We love each other so much, but we love you even more,” you explain. “Marcie’s parents will always love her too, even if they don’t live together.”

Anderson nods and leans against Tim’s side. She’s not old enough to hear about his previous divorce from Isabel, but he knows that he needs to acknowledge the topic, the same as you.

“Yeah, Munchkin,” he teases. “We love you so much that we’re never letting you go. You’ll be with us like a baby kangaroo in a pouch.”

Anderson laughs, then, as kids tend to do, she changes the subject. “Can I draw a picture?” she asks.

“Of course,” you answer. “Grab your color case and come back, I want to watch.”

“Okay, Mommy!” she cheers as she slides off the couch, leaving your ring on Tim’s thigh.

Tim watches her with a smile, then picks up your ring and turns to you. “Sorry I freaked her out.”

“You didn’t look too good yourself, there, Sergeant,” you reply.

Tim rolls his eyes and raises your left hand to put your ring in its rightful and permanent place.

“I mean, after all this time, you should know that I’m never letting you go. Marrying an Abercrombie model-level-hot cop is a once in a lifetime thing,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“Is that how it is?” Tim challenges.

“You’re right. You are the lucky one, I’m a catch.”

Tim’s eyes soften as he takes your hand and murmurs, “Yes, you are.”

“You want cuddles tonight don’t you?”

“I just spent an hour in the kitchen floor worried that you were divorcing me, what do you think?”

“Mom!” Anderson calls as she returns with her drawing items. “Can I draw us at the beach?”

“At the beach?” you repeat excitedly. “Absolutely.”

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you,” you reply – promise.

“Me too,” Anderson agrees before deliberating between blue and gray for the clouds.

Bonus:

“Wait, wait, Anderson asked if you were getting a divorce, and your mind immediately went to my wife is leaving me without telling me? The woman who treats you far better than you deserve and kind of settled for you?” Angela asks.

“The insults felt a bit unnecessary, but, yeah,” Tim answers. “What else was I supposed to think?”

“She’s six, Tim, kids her age have no filter. If someone in her class hears a word, she’s going to hear it,” Wesley points out.

Tim tips his head back and groans.

“I’m with Wesley on this one,” Nyla chimes in. “You should’ve asked instead of freezing, which to most kids sounds like, yep.”

“I’m still stuck on the fact that you could even think she’d leave you,” Lucy muses. “She loves you, like, a concerning amount.”

“Never took you for the insecure type, Bradford,” Nolan adds.

“It’s not insecurity,” Wade interjects. “Not wanting to lose the love of your life is a whole ‘nother thing.”

“Dad!” Anderson yells as she runs toward the table.

“Sorry,” you apologize, approaching behind her.

“Yeah, clearly, she wants to divorce you,” Angela tells Tim.

“Well,” you begin, wrapping your arm around Tim’s shoulders as you stand beside his seat. “I guess we’ve just got this marriage thing figured out more than Marcie’s parents.”

Tim smiles at you, and you barely catch Angela exclaim, “Marcie’s mom from PTA? That witch had more than a divorce coming.”

Talk to Me, Baby

Requested Here!

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

Summary: Your son loves to talk to you. Unlike his dad, Tim, he doesn't try to make you shy.

Warnings: FLUFF! Angela and Tim act like siblings

Word Count: 1.0k+ words

A/N: Happy birthday @sweetheartlizzie07! I hope you enjoy!🤍

“Hi,” your baby boy says as you approach his crib.

“Hi,” you reply happily. “How are you?”

“Hi,” he repeats with a nod.

You shake your head in amusement and lift him from his crib. He’s only a few months old, but he enjoys talking to you as if he understands exactly what the conversation is about. As you carry him into the living room, he clings to the collar of your shirt and babbles quietly. Your phone rings, and you lower him onto a play mat to crawl around before you sit on the floor beside him and answer your phone.

“Hi, Angela,” you greet.

“Hey! The kids and I are in the neighbourhood, and I wanted to ask if we could drop by for a few minutes?” she asks.

“Of course, come on over.”

“Is everyone awake? I don’t want to interrupt naptime.”

“Yep,” you assure. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Perfect! Thank you so much!”

You end the call and look toward your son, who is on his hands and knees to press the buttons of a toy phone.

“Aunt Angela is coming over,” you tell him.

“Ange!” he cheers.

“Yeah, Ange. And she’s bringing your friends.”

“Hi!” he says, waving excitedly toward the door.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t get your people skills from me or your dad,” you mumble. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?” you ask him. “All those books we read?”

He nods and crawls toward you, so you pull him into your lap and kiss his plump cheeks. He giggles loudly at your attention, and you continue playing with him as you blow raspberries against his skin. You pull your knees up so he’s upright and kiss his forehead as he calms down from his giggle fit.

“Can I get one of those kisses?” Tim asks.

You look up quickly, surprised to see him. He smiles at you, and you look back at your baby, so he doesn’t see your shy smile.

“If you want,” you answer softly.

“You’re right,” Tim says as he walks toward you. “I don’t want one. I want more than that.”

He sits beside you and takes his son from your lap. You lean toward Tim and rest your head on his shoulder. After he kisses the top of your head, he gives his attention to his son.

“Hey, buddy,” he greets.

“Hi, dada!”

“Angela is coming over,” you tell Tim.

“Friends,” your baby says.

“You’ve got a better vocabulary than Lucy,” Tim praises, raising his voice to a higher pitch that makes your baby smile.

“Boot,” he says, sounding it out slowly, like ‘buh-oo-t.’

“And better word association,” Tim adds.

“He’s going to start calling people boot if you’re not careful,” you say against Tim’s shoulder.

Someone knocks on your door, and Tim raises one hand to help you stand. As you walk toward the door, he holds your son close to his chest and pushes himself up. Angela comes in with both of her kids, and you point her to the bathroom when Jack asks to go.

“It’s almost mama’s birthday, bud; let’s practice,” Tim says behind you. “Happy.”

“Hap,” your son says.

“Happy,” Tim repeats. “Birthday.”

“Hap birth-ay.”

“Good job, my little man.”

You walk to Tim’s side, and when he raises the arm not holding your baby, you wrap your arms around his waist and settle under his arm. Angela may want to talk while the kids play, but Tim just got home, and you’ve been missing him since he returned to work after paternity leave.

“We read Goodnight Moon earlier, and he finished some of the lines,” you tell Tim.

“Because he’s smart like his mom,” Tim replies.

You hide your face against Tim’s shirt as you say, “And his dad.”

“I think we should read him the rook book. Give him a head start.”

“And that’s why we wonder how you ever got married and had a baby,” Angela says as she returns.

“Don’t like the competition?” Tim taunts.

“How do you deal with him?” Angela asks you.

“I usually don’t,” you answer. “He’ll just make it worse if I try.”

“That makes me sound like a horrible husband,” Tim interrupts. “But I’m not. Ask this guy and he’ll say I’m the best dada.”

“Best dada!” he cheers, bouncing against Tim’s arm.

“See?”

Angela shakes her head as she pulls her phone from her pocket. She types something quickly before she looks at you.

“I have to go. Maybe we can schedule an actual play date soon so your genius son can teach Jack that crayons are for coloring and not sniffing,” she suggests.

“Nothing wrong with sniffing crayons,” Tim defends. “It builds character.”

“If you sniffed crayons and turned out like this, I need to make him stop before it’s too late.”

Angela rolls her eyes at Tim as she hugs you, and then she gets a high-five from your son before she leaves. Alone again, you return to Tim’s side and lay your hand on your son’s back.

“I got you something,” Tim says. “We arrested a counterfeiter today who had a ton of books that he used for ink matching, and evidence cleared the books. So, the backseat of my truck is filled with children’s books.”

“Little guy will be thrilled when he wakes up.”

You point to your son, asleep against Tim’s shoulder, and smile. He loves reading with you and Tim, which you accredit to all the time you spent reading aloud while you were pregnant. Tim thinks that’s also the reason he can talk so well already.

Tim walks to the couch with you and sits beside you. Seeing him with your son on his chest makes you fall more in love with him each day, even if he does tease you for watching them. Sitting at Tim’s side, you have a clear view of his profile. When you tip your chin up and kiss his cheek, Tim smiles and turns his face toward you. You kiss him and sigh against his lips.

“I love you,” you say as you pull back.

“I love you,” Tim replies.

“Love you,” your baby says against Tim’s shoulder.

“Has he said that before?” Tim asks, wide-eyed as he looks at you.

You shake your head and quietly scold Tim for trying to wake him up to hear it again. When you kiss Tim’s jaw, your baby boy gets another shot at peaceful sleep, while you fight not to shy away from your husband’s affection.

sanji and zoro teaching each other how to fuck you (pt 1)

18+ ACCOUNT/CONTENT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

warnings: exhibitionism, p in v, afab reader!, they/them pronouns degradation from zoro but LOTS of praise from sanji lol, breeding kink if you squint, men whimpering yeahhhhhhh, feminine pet names

zoro grumbles as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out of you, eyes focused on the way your lips part in soft gasps with every stroke. "slower. not too much, now." "shut up." zoro hisses at sanji, glaring over at the cook sitting in a lounge chair only a step away from the bed where zoro is currently fingering you. "they like it when you take your time. don't you, beautiful?" sanji says, the first part coming out like poison when he addresses zoro before smiling over at you like you're the most stunning thing he's seen in years. you weren't used to the swordsman being like this, fingering you and prepping you for as long as humanly possible; sanji was the one to do that and he was good at it too. but unlike him, zoro's fingers were thick, calloused from years of work and you were secretly enjoying it more than you ever thought you would.

you can only whine in response to sanji's praise, jolting when zoro hits a certain spot in you. "alright, that's enough. lay them on their back." much to your surprise, zoro doesn't try to resist sanji's command. before you know it, he's pushing into you at a slow but delicious pace that has your legs shaking around his waist. "just a little faster. thaaat's it." sanji says with a soft groan of his own, biting his lip as he watches the way soft moans leave you and your back arches off the bed. you turn to look over at sanji as best as you can, a shudder running down your spine at the obvious hard-on the cook has. "p-please, sanji, closee.." sanji coos at that, leaning over to cup your chin in one of his hands as more soft gasps escape you. "cum for me, cherie." he whispers against your lips, immediately pressing his lips to yours when you reach out a hand to tug on his hair.

he moans almost in unison with you when you finally feel the coil in you coming undone, whining and moaning against sanji's lips as quiet grunts leave zoro on top of you. he presses his hips flush against yours (just like sanji had instructed) when he cums only seconds after you, your legs snugly wrapped around his waist and shuddering at the pleasant full feeling. there's a moment of soft pants and moans between the two of you as zoro buries his face in the crook of your neck. "tell her how beautiful she is, that you love the way she feels-" "i'm not doing that."

FIRST POST ON THE SIDE ACCOUNT LETS GO

I just found this fic. Hopefully it will be good. It’s a Aldon fic.

It’s so criminal when you start watching a new show/movie, and realize after you are already in love with yet another fictional character, that there’s no fanfics at all.

I need people to start writing for Aldon Reese from Fubar and Patrick Jane from the Mentalist. Plssss

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

A bit of 18 and up, y’all.

Early the following morning, you rounded a corner humming to yourself, only to pull up short and duck back out of sight, peeking around the wall’s edge as Walt and your father were deep in what appeared to be a sombre conversation.

Or, at least, your father seemed serious, but Walt, facing your way down the corridor, was trying to suppress a smile. His eyes flicked toward you and you knew you were caught, but to your pleased surprise, he didn’t mention your presence to your dad.

Keep reading

All That Matters

Requested by anonymous: "Alright, could you write Luca with a younger reader (25-28 yes old). She's super sweet and bubbly, basically just a sunny disposition. People think she's too young for him/he's too old for her, like especially her family. She grew up really seeking their approval, like she has a problem trying to make other people happy even if it leaves her exhausted, sad, or uncomfortable. but she won't compromise her happiness this time for anyone because she really loves Luca. Sorry if that's too much. I really love your writing" AND a request that I lost about Luca meeting his shy/innocent girlfriend on the beach and keeping their relationship private

Pairing: Dominique Luca x younger!fem!reader

Summary: You're sweet, bubbly, and perfect for Luca. When people begin judging your relationship because of the age gap, you decide that you, Luca, and the love between you are all that matters.

Warnings: age gap, fluff, brief angst, parental judgement

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

A/N: Thanks for the kind words, anon! And sorry to the other anon whose ask I lost; I hope I remembered the gist of it. :)

“What’d you think of that one, sweetheart?”

Luca looks up from his surfboard when he hears the question. It sounds wrong like the man in the wetsuit is calling someone sweetheart when he shouldn’t be. The word is dripping in condescension, and Luca is prepared to stand up for the woman being addressed with the sarcastic and likely uninvited pet name.

“It was really good!” you reply, smiling brightly.

Immediately, Luca regrets turning his attention away from his board. He’s quickly convinced he can never get it back from you. You playfully shove the surfer, who grips his arm like he’s in incredible pain. At least she’s okay, Luca thinks as he tries to focus on prepping his board for his morning surf.

“Peters was looking at you again,” the man with you complains.

“Why?” you inquire, using your heel to trace a shape in the sand.

With a sigh, he replies, “Don’t worry about it. I’m going back in. Pay attention long enough to give me some honest feedback?”

“You’re always good,” you assure him. “But I’ll try.”

Luca stands and lifts his board while your friend runs into the surf again.

“Good morning,” you greet as he nears you.

“Morning,” Luca replies with a smile. “How’s the surf look today?”

Nodding, you look at the water and say, “Good. Offshore breeze should help, water’s glassier than it was yesterday, and the wave shapes have been nice.”

“You know your stuff.”

You look down at the sand, and Luca decides then he’d love to get to know you.

“I’m Luca,” he says, dropping the end of his board to shake your hand.

“Luca!” your friend calls as he returns from a wave you didn’t witness. “I thought I recognized that board.”

“And I should have recognized the hair,” Luca replies, fist-bumping him.

“How do you two know each other?” you inquire.

They both look pointedly at their boards, and you roll your eyes.

“Better question is, how do you two know each other?” Luca questions.

“He’s my neighbor,” you explain. “He’s trying to ‘get me out of my shell.’ His words.”

“It’s working!” he defends. “You wouldn’t have talked to a stranger on the beach six months ago.”

You lower your voice to confide in Luca, “That’s true.”

“Excuse me,” your neighbor asks, marching toward a surfer you recognize: Peters.

“He doesn’t like Peters looking at you?” Luca deduces.

“I don’t know why,” you say with a shrug. “Good luck surfing. Or have fun, whatever the right phrase is for non-competitive wave riding.”

“Either works. And between you and me, it’s because you deserve better than Peters.”

You look down again, but you’re smiling, so Luca decides to use this opportunity like a perfect wave and ride it for as long as possible.

“Would you like to get dinner with me?” he proposes.

Looking up, you answer, “I’d love to.”

That evening, Luca glances at his watch while Street and Tan argue about which restaurant makes better cheesecake. He needs to leave now, or he’ll be late to your first date, and while you seem incredibly sweet and would probably understand, that isn’t how he wants to start a relationship with you.

“Guys, I’m gonna head out!” he calls, pointing over his shoulder.

“What? Why?” Street inquires. “We’re going to your favorite place!”

“You don’t know what my favorite place is, Streeter. And the waves are going to be perfect in the morning, so I need some rest. Have fun!”

After he leaves his team, he meets you at an oceanside restaurant and takes your hand as you’re led to a table on the deck. The more you talk and open up, Luca realizes that you’re not only sweet, you’re downright bubbly, and possess a sunny disposition about everything in the world. Yes, you’re innocent and can be shy, but you open up to Luca. He knows he was right this morning, and he needs to know everything about you.

Four Months Later

“Pretty dress,” your mother compliments at family dinner.

“Thank you! Luca got it for me,” you reply, holding the skirt as you look down at the dainty details lining the top.

“You’re still with him?” your father inquires. “Sweetheart, I’m glad you’re happy but you are too young for him.”

Your mom lays her hand on his arm as she amends, “He’s quite a bit older than you.”

You swallow harshly, fighting the urge to do something that will regain their approval. You’ve been trying to make them happy your entire life, and when they continuously bring up the age difference between you and Luca, it makes you sad.

“Why don’t you go out with that neighbor of yours?” your mother suggests. “The surfer with the pretty hair?”

Because then you’d complain there’s too much sand in my house. Rather than voicing that opinion, you remind her, “He has a fiancé. And she’s one of my best friends.”

“Maybe I can set you up with a son of one of my buddies,” your father says.

You nod, picking at the appetizer on your plate with no trace of your usual smile. Being aware that you’re a people pleaser doesn’t make dealing with the emotions of disappointing someone any easier.

“I’m happy,” you say softly.

“For now,” your father grumbles.

You decide to change the topic, and as the night goes on, the heaviness in your stomach seems to weigh you down. When you return home, you’re inexplicably exhausted, sad with yourself and your parents, and uncomfortable. You never feel like this with Luca because he accepts you for who you are and doesn’t take advantage of your tendencies to do all you can and more for others. It’s one of the many reasons you love him.

As you lie awake in bed, you make a decision. Your happiness is the only thing that matters. And starting now, you will not compromise your happiness or relationship for anyone. You’ll do it for yourself and for Luca.

“How’d your dinner go?” Luca inquires, brushing a stray hair from your face.

You shrug, and Luca brushes his lips against your temple.

“I don’t want to disappoint them,” you admit. “But I don’t want to put us at risk to do that.”

“Do you care about the age gap?”

“Of course not!”

“Then that’s what’s important. Everything is up to you. I know it’s not easy to hear and even harder to put it into practice but doing what makes you happy is the only way you’ll get what you deserve. You’re sacrificing yourself for others.”

“I just don’t understand why they can’t accept that you make me happy. They don’t care that I love you.”

Luca’s brows raise as he smiles. You realize what you admitted but can’t ask if he’s okay with you saying it before Luca pulls you into a hug that makes all your worries and discomfort disappear.

Luca’s phone buzzes during a sparring match. When he remembers that you are one of the few people who can reach him while he’s at the station, he calls timeout. Ignoring Street’s protests, he lifts his phone and reads the message.

“I gotta go,” he tells his team. “Family thing.”

“You’ve been having a lot of family things,” Deacon says.

“Just tell us what’s going on, man,” Hondo invites. “You know we’re here for you. Don’t have to keep sneakin’ off if you let us help.”

“I…” Luca hesitates, then says, “I don’t know if you can help me get my future in-laws to like me.”

Deacon and Hondo’s jaws drop, and Street snatches Luca’s truck keys out of his hand.

“We’re meeting her right now,” he declares. “Wasn’t a question either, and I can beat you if you try to take these keys back.”

“She’s not feeling great right now,” Luca argues. “Next time.”

Tan pulls Luca’s phone from his hand and taps the message. Luca tries to get his phone back, but Hondo reaches it first. Lifting it to his ear, he raises his hand toward Luca and says, “It’s ringing.”

Luca stops. He’s almost sure you will hang up when you realize it isn’t him calling, but Hondo has a way of disarming people, and you already see the best in everyone you meet.

“Hi,” Hondo greets. “My name is Daniel Harrelson; I work with Luca.” He smiles and holds Luca’s gaze as he says, “Yes, I am Hondo. And Luca is fine. My team and I just wanted to ask if we can finally meet you. Luca hasn’t said a word about you.”

Hondo ends the call a moment later and returns Luca’s phone without a word.

“She said she’ll have coffee and desserts ready when we get there.”

“Watch him,” Deacon warns Luca.

“Alright,” Luca says. He chuckles and shakes his head before inviting his team to follow him to your house. He doesn’t mention that you’re young, sunny, or nearly perfect, but he’s sure they’ll realize quickly. If they disapprove of the relationship, Luca may have to make the hardest decision of his life.

Hondo, Deacon, Street, and Tan watch as you greet Luca at the door. They realize imediately that Luca is in love. Not like the love he’s claimed to be in before, but really, truly, madly in love. What makes Deacon smile is that you are, too. Three of the four men on your walkway don’t notice that you’re younger than Luca, at least not right away. The fourth notices, but only to make well-meaning jokes and take jabs at Luca while they bicker.

“Nice to meet you all,” you say after introductions. “Luca’s told me a lot about you.”

Luca cuts in before Hondo can remind you that they haven’t heard about the relationship.

“We kept the relationship private,” he explains.

“He means he decided to keep me from any possible judgement,” you explain. “I’m getting enough grief from my parents about the age gap without inviting more people to comment on it.”

“I mean I wasn’t going to say anything,” Street begins.

“Then don’t,” Deacon interjects. “He’s kidding.”

Tilting your head, you look at Street, then say, “You’re funny.”

“If you ever get tired of Luca or he throws his back out surfing or something, I’m right here.”

“And you said I’d have to worry about Hondo,” Luca murmurs to Deacon.

“What is that wonderful smell?” Hondo inquires.

“Maybe it’s both of them,” Deacon replies.

“I made some scones, chocolate chip muffins, and brownie bites this morning,” you remember excitedly. “There’s also fresh-brewed coffee. Follow me.”

Luca watches as his team gets to know you. They support the relationship - which they ensure they voice to Luca upon returning to the station - and clearly appreciate your sweet and bright personality. It’s a welcome light in their sometimes dim day-to-day lives.

“So, what are you doing about the parents?” Street inquires as he reaches for another brownie. “If you decide to cut them loose, Deacon and Annie would probably adopt you.”

You look to Deacon, smiling as you expect a deadpanned response that will make you laugh.

“Annie’s going to love you,” he begins. “So, I actually don’t have a response to that because it probably would happen.”

“I think you should just introduce Luca to your parents,” Hondo says, breaking a muffin into smaller pieces. “If we can see how happy the two of you are together, anyone can.”

You look to Luca and decide to do just that. It won’t be an overnight change, but if they see that you love him, they’ll grow to accept him. You and Luca are the only people that matter in your relationship, and you’re happy with him and him alone.

“When’s your birthday?” Tan asks. “We’ll add it to the calendar.”

“What calendar?” you ask.

“The family calendar,” Luca tells you. “I wasn’t kidding when I said if they like you you’re stuck with them.”

Smiling, you ask, “What else is on the calendar?”

“Not your parents’ birthdays!” Street exclaims from the living room, looking at your pictures.

THE GANG EXPANDS pt. 1

IASIP x Reader

Always Sunny Masterlist

“See, what I'm hearing is that you convinced some poor college kid into doing slave labour for us by bribing her with a coffee..."

Summary: When Dee meets a potential new hire for the bar, the gang decide to give you an interview. They decide the best way to determine if you’re a good fit at Paddy’s is to play Chardee Macdennis with you.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ References to sex, drugs, alcohol. Other topics commonly found in canon.

You had met Dee at an early morning Pilates class, and were quick to find you were the only two women under 50. You had innocently misread the timetable, whereas Dee had attempted to sneak in and copied your excuse after the instructor asked you both to leave. Not wanting to waste a free morning out or the opportunity to make a new friend in a new city, you invited Dee to get coffee with you.

When Dee mentioned that she worked at a bar her dad, brother, and brother's friends owned in South Philly, your ears pricked up with a mutually beneficial idea. See, you weren't a Pennsylvanian, you had only moved to the state to study short-term at Penn State. As part of the curriculum, you had planned for your thesis to be about local businesses and the psychology of fostering a strong team. Dee jumped at the idea. Almost too enthusiastically in hindsight but she really needed a little extra femininity in the bar.

"She's cool, and she's smart, and we don't have to pay her anything cos she has to do it for college." Dee explained to the gang, telling them about her ‘new friend’ proudly.

Dennis narrowed his eyes as he turned his head ever so slightly, all the while maintaining eye contact with his sister. His mind ruminated on several trains of thought at once, but his main focus was needing to know how old you were. Followed very closely by wondering how attractive you were.

Mac was the first to speak after Dee's several minute long monologue recap about her entire morning meeting you. "See, what I'm hearing is that you convinced some poor college kid into doing slave labour for us by bribing her with a coffee..."

"What? No! No, she's like, in her mid twenties at least. She's doing her masters degree..." Dee explained, putting extra emphasis on the latter detail. "I told her she could come here later tonight to meet everyone."

Dennis posed the question of whether or not the potential new recruit was attractive or not, to which Mac raised that an attractive woman working at the bar would be good for business. They were very clearly forgetting that Dee worked at the bar but none of them thought of Dee that way. She wasn't like a woman woman, let alone an attractive one. Clearing her throat loudly to grab their attention, they all turned towards her with looks of annoyance.

"Can't you see that the men are talking Dee?" Frank said before they turned back to talk amongst themselves. "You know me, I'm on the record for loving the idea of slavery. But we gotta' sus her out for ourselves."

Charlie made a whiny sort of hum as he thought to himself; which he aptly called his ‘thinking sound’ fairly often. "Should we do like, a background check to make sure she's not a psycho?"

"Ooh! Good idea, Charlie. We should stalk her Facebook page..." Mac clicked his fingers at the laptop as the pride he felt over his own idea. Was it not genius to search you online and see for themselves? To see if Dee was fucking with them over by hiring an ugly chick? He sure thought it was genius.

Reluctantly, Dee typed in your name slowly before Mac quickly pressed the enter button to bring up the results. “Is she the top one?” He asked excitedly, and after sighing slowly, Dee nodded.

"She's hired." Dennis said bluntly before leaning over the bar. "And if you'll excuse me, I have some background checks of my own to do." Then, without further explanation, took the laptop from the group and walked to the back office alone.

Besties get Banged

Angel Dust x FemReader Smut

➽─❥Angel Dust x MaleReader Smut version

You didn’t think Angel liked you the way you did him, how could you? While sharing a profession, he was nothing like you. He was the star in every room he entered. After being booked on a shoot together, you find maybe Angel wasn’t so ignorant to your existence.

Warning/Promises: Angel x Reader do not fuck but they do get banged, Val is going to ruin shit but I ain’t writing that part, Foursome but no one cares, handjob, cum countdown 💦, masturbation, making out, porno, vaguely threatening ending from Val

minors dni (👁️👄👁️🔪)

When Angel Dust slipped into the dressing room of Val’s ‘sex dungeon’, you struggled to keep your smile down. You’d never actually worked together. The two of you had attended the same awards shows, frequented the same clubs, danced the same stages. But never graced the same screen. Every encounter left you more and more enthralled. Always the life of the party, but when the crowds would die down Angel would become so sweet, talking with an emotional intelligence many sinners seemed to have lacked or intentionally abandoned at death.

Angel threw himself at many people, sometimes jokingly, sometimes not. But you’d be lying to say it didn’t sting he’d never propositioned you.

“Mornin’,” he plopped into the make-up chair beside you, hand lazily combing through his bedhead.

Angel hoped you hadn’t seen him pause when he saw you. He didn’t get butterflies often, but you always managed to make his stomach flutter. He felt so silly, a kid with a crush.

You knew Val wasn’t going to let it be just the two of you. He enjoyed watching you both get fucked too much. ‘Besties get Banged’ was written on the clapperboard. Angel gave you a wink, “Ooh besties! Is this work or just another Friday night?” His elbow hit a soft spot in your ribs, making you laugh.

“Stop— st-stop that. Get on the bed.” Val used all four arms to separate you, “Bitch number 1 on the left side, Bitch number 2 on the right.” He sat in his chair, arm angrily motioning for the large demons to enter the set already.

It was a standard enough shoot, until you and Angel found yourselves both on your knees, eye to eye from across the pink heart shaped bed. One yellow and one black eye looking back at you, hazy with pleasure as he was fucked dumb by some piece of muscle with a dick attached.

He looked so beautiful when he felt good. You reached out your hand to him, then the other. Fingers laced together, you both moaned into the space between yourselves. Angel’s eyebrows rose up, tongue coming out. His face was so flushed, cheeks pink. You weren’t sure it was an invitation, but you pulled yourself to him and ran your tongue over his. The demon behind you followed your body, trying to maintain contact.

Angel’s eyes rolled closed, tongue pushing into your mouth. The kiss interrupted again and again as the repeated pounding into your holes pulled your lips apart, your entire bodies moving in rhythm.

“Hey!,” Val yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Angel smiled at you, “Whats the matter Val?” He strained forward, capturing your mouth again.

“Stop kissing! You’re ruining it!”

“You never kissed a bestie? Awww,” Angel kept his lips near yours. “Val’s never had a real good friend before.”

Val’s antennae bristled, “Pull em apart, they’re making googly eyes at each other. Killing my fucking hard on. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Your bodies were slid away, fingertips still reaching out to each other. You were flipped onto your back, pacing brutal as if making up for lost time.

Angel watched you, mouth lonely. His cock leaking from just a kiss. Reaching down, he began to stroke himself while enjoying his own personal show. Your body bouncing with the thrusts, eyes watery. He arched his back, looking across to where your body connected with the other demon. You looked so wet, so inviting.

“Angel!” Val seethed.

Angel’s closed his eyes, imagining you around his cock and not his fingers. His eyes shot open when he felt hands on his face. His fear dissolved into relief as he saw you had scooted back towards him, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. Breath hot, he moaned into your mouth.

“Uh Boss, should we stop em again? It’s kinda hot.” The shark demon behind Angel slowed.

Your fingers slipped through his hair, bringing him deeper into your kiss. There was nothing else in the room anymore but you and Angel. Tongue rolling over tongue, breathy moans exhaled and inhaled.

Val shook his head, “Let the little sluts kiss. If they wanna ruin my shoot so badly, be my guests.” His eyes aglow, Valentino exhaled his toxic smoke throughout the studio, sinister grin spreading across his face.

The demons continued as directed, you and Angel not having noticed the interruption you had caused. Angel’s mouth left yours, head resting on the mattress.

“Val’s going to kill us,” you tried to remember the name of the wolf demon pounding into you, knowing you had some sort of lines.

Angel’s teeth nipped your ear lobe, “He’s gonna do that anyway.”

You moaned, “Feels good when you do that.”

“Yeah?” The wolf asked. You wanted to kick him in the neck.

“Uuh, yeah. You… fuck me so good, Daniel.”

“Donny.” He corrected.

Angel got back on his elbows, “Literally no one cares, David.” Whispering now, “Roll over and come ‘ere.”

Douglas didn’t seem bothered, you using your feet to stop him and twisting around his cock to get back on your knees. The demons whose names neither of you cared to learn followed you again. Angel was pressed into you, two arms holding you against his body, one arm on your cheek, a fourth finding its way to your clit.

You gasped, Angel licking up your neck and chin as his hand expertly rubbed you. Regaining some bit of your brain, you reached down a hand to his cock. It was slapping against this stomach in time with the thrusts. Your hand only need to grip him, the other actor basically fucking him into your grasp.

Angel’s head craned down, sucking bruises into your collar bone, “I wanna fuck you so bad, it hurts.” Another whisper into your skin.

“I thought you didn’t like me,” your words faded in and out, volume jumping as your pussy took hit after hit. Angel’s hand electrifying every part of your body.

Angel pulled you as close as he could, bringing your hand from his cock to hold in his. Now him and his pre-cum were rubbing along your stomachs, pressed together tightly. “Wrong. So wro-uh.” Eyes rolling back, Angel’s words fell apart.

“You close?”

He nodded.

“Want me to count you down?”

A more frantic nod.

“Five”

You leaned in to kiss at his neck.

“Four”

A long drag of your tongue up to his ear.

“Three”

A kiss to his cheek.

“Two”

You bit at his lip, pulling it with you before letting it go.

“One”

Angel clenched his eyes, grip on you tightening as he came across your stomach, thick and hot. You heard the other actor moan, Angel’s ass tightening with his release.

You took the chance to kiss Angel again, lips soft and swollen from the long shoot. His cum dripped down your stomach and found its way to his hand, adding more lubrication to your wet pussy. Angel’s fingers eagerly used his seed to slip and slide over your clit.

The feeling pushed you into your orgasm, legs shaking as you tried to stay up. “For fuck’s sake,” Val could be heard shouting just past the studio lights.

Drawing him in for another kiss, less deeply now, lips sometimes on lips, and sometimes the chin and the cheek.

You stayed, holding each other, through the shoot. The other actors finishing their parts, cumming and making some puns about bosom buddies. When everyone else left the scene, and you two broke apart your hungry mouths to consider getting cleaned up and dressed, the air grew thick around you. Heads swimming now, a horny haze fell on set.

“Bravo, bitches. You ruined my shoot, only fair I get to ruin something now.” You both turned to see the lights gleaming off Val’s glasses. “Where should I start?”

༻Masterlist༺

My general tag list is called the Horny Little Deer Cult! To be tagged, you are more than welcome to ask to join

First and Second Steps

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!reader (first-time parents!)

Summary: Deacon has missed a lot of important moments, but when you surprise him at work, he gets to watch his baby's first and second steps.

Warnings: FLUFF!!!!!!!!!! (I don't specify if it's a son or daughter, nor the age, so that's up for interpretation/preference!)

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (we don't get to see Deacon smiling enough, especially considering how pretty his smile is!!!)

“Deac?” you mumble groggily, reaching out across the bed. “David?”

“We’re right here,” Deacon answers from the rocking chair in the corner of your shared bedroom.

“We?” you ask, rubbing your eyes as you turn, following his voice.

Smiling as you see him holding your baby, you toss the covers aside. Deacon has your baby against his bare chest as he enjoys the quality time he can get. You walk to stand before him, sitting on the fluffy rug below the chair.

“I’ve missed so much,” Deacon says, rubbing his hand over your baby’s back.

“You’re an amazing father, David. From the pregnancy check-ups you made it to, being by my side when I went into labor, to right now, you’ve been here. We’re lucky to have you,” you tell him, laying a hand on his knee as you lean toward him. “Besides, not much has happened so far. Other than ‘dada’ being the first word.”

“Because I’m a great dada, right?” Deacon asks, winking at you before he looks down at the sleeping kid on his chest.

“You are,” you agree. “And the massive amount of overtime is ending soon, so when you get back to a regular schedule, you’ll be here for every dirty, smelly moment and the adorable ones in between.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, David Kay, and your baby.”

Deacon waits until you stand, letting you take the baby from his arms. While you feed, Deacon gets ready for work, hugging you both close before he leaves. You kiss his jaw, waiting for his promise to come home to you before you let him go, with another reminder that you love him.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ 

“Deacon,” Hicks calls as he enters the situation room. “Deacon… David!”

“Yeah? Sorry,” Deacon answers, looking up from his phone.

“What’s going on with you this week?”

“I just- I miss my kid and my wife.”

“I can understand that, but your baby’s not brand new. It usually sets in before this, those paternal instincts that make you want to stay close, be there for everything and protect them.”

“I missed so much of the pregnancy, and with this overtime and everything happening, I’ve barely been home since we got home from the hospital. It was a miracle that I managed to be there for the birth, but I’m missing first words and growing. Maybe it shouldn’t bother me…”

“Deacon, your family is your priority, so you decide what does and doesn’t, should and shouldn’t bother you. We’re getting these cases wrapped up, and the moment I can, I’m sending you home for a few days. Until then, just know that we’re here for you, all of you.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you. Uh, what’d you need?”

 “Oh, there’s someone here to see you. My office.”

Deacon nods, thanking Hicks again as he walks toward his office. He’s expecting a DA or captain, so when he opens the door and sees you smiling, he rushes to close the door and get closer.

“What are you doing here?” Deacon asks, hugging you tightly.

“We missed you,” you answer, sighing against him.

“Dada!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Deacon replies, turning.

You raise a hand to Deacon’s chest, holding him in place as you both watch with wide eyes. Watching your only (so far) child standing clumsily, you clutch Deacon’s hand as you witness the first step. With a giggle, your baby rushes toward Deacon, falling as he gets close. His superpower-like abilities and dad reflexes allow Deacon to catch his baby before he hits the floor, laughing before he cheers.

“You didn’t miss that,” you say, pressing a hand between Deacon’s shoulder blades. “Someone was excited to see Dada.”

“I’m excited too, baby! You did so well,” Deacon says, turning toward you.

Your smile grows when you see the pure joy on Deacon’s face. This moment makes up for so much of what has been missed, and Deacon’s excitement about being here for the first steps reminds you of why you love him and what makes him a good father.

“May I?” you ask, extending your arms.

“Mama.”

Walking a few steps away, you sit on the floor of Hicks’ office, setting your baby on the floor, hoping to see another race toward Deacon. Following your lead, Deacon kneels, watching happily.

“Maybe I’m more likable than I thought,” you whisper.

“I like you,” Deacon agrees. “A lot.”

Hicks knocks before he opens the door. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

“First steps,” Deacon answers happily. “Maybe second, too, if Mama stops hogging all of the attention.”

“Wow,” you respond, and Hicks advises, “Take it easy, Deacon.”

“Yeah, David. You don’t have to get jealous, there’s enough of me to go around,” you add.

Deacon doesn’t reply, his eyes widening as you slide back, giving room for second steps. After a few wobbly steps, Deacon pulls his giggling baby into his arms, cheering just as excitedly for the second walking trip. You stand, walking to Hicks’ side as Deacon falls into a happy conversation with a miniature version of himself.

“Thanks for letting me surprise him,” you say. “He’s been upset about missing so many firsts.”

“I understand. I wasn’t home for a lot of my kids’ firsts, and it can weigh on you. We’re dads, so not everyone expects us to want to be involved.”

“But you are good dads and good husbands, so you do.”

“Right, and Deacon’s the best of us.”

“I’d have to agree.”

Deacon says your name, drawing your attention to your kid standing before Deacon, holding one of Deacon’s hands out as he steps in place.

“Of all the things you could have given him, you gave him your energy,” you say sarcastically. “Thanks for that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m giving him some time off, so they can wear each other out,” Hicks tells you kindly.

“Hug?” Deacon asks, raising his other arm.

“Hug!”

“Got Deac’s touchy tendencies, too, huh?” Hicks murmurs.

“Oh, yeah,” you agree. “You can’t imagine what it’s like for me. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Hicks smiles before turning away to answer his phone. You stand beside Deacon, smiling down at him as he relishes in a hug.

“Good news, Deac, 20-David just got released from standby. If you want to take the rest of the day,” Hicks begins.

“I do. Thanks, Hicks, see you later,” Deacon answers quickly, standing as he speaks.

With his arm around you and your baby held against his side, Deacon leads you to the locker room, gathering his things quickly before leaving S.W.A.T. HQ to spend as much time with you and his baby as possible.

“Congratulations,” you say, smiling as you kiss Deacon.

“For what?” he asks, looping his arms around your waist.

“Having a great kid and being here for the important stuff.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more. And, really, you should be congratulating me for my excellent timing on deciding to surprise you today.”

Deacon chuckles, pulling you into another kiss, leaving a trail of kisses up your cheek before he replies, “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re going to get touchy, aren’t you?” you mumble against his neck as you return his hug.

“Oh, we both are. We have a lot to celebrate.”