Sleeves

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Carmy stood in the dimly lit laundry room, hands on his hips as he glared at the washing machine like it had personally wronged him. The display panel flashed erratically, like it was trying to send an SOS in Morse code, while a faint but concerning smell of burning plastic wafted through the air.

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. All he wanted was to wash his clothes—just one normal task in a sea of chaos. Apparently, even that was asking too much.

With a frustrated sigh, he muttered curses under his breath and gave the machine a half-hearted nudge with his foot, as if that might magically revive it. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The machine remained defiantly lifeless.

“Wow. Bold strategy. Were you planning to wrestle it next?”

The voice startled him. He turned sharply to see you standing in the doorway, holding a laundry basket overflowing with brightly colored clothes. You were dressed in the epitome of Saturday comfort: an oversized t-shirt with a graphic that read 'Physics: It’s Not Rocket Science... Oh, Wait, Yes It Is,' paired with baggy sweatpants and ridiculously fluffy, colorful monster feet slippers. Your hair was slightly messy like you’d just rolled out of bed—or perhaps fought the laundry demons he was now dealing with.

Your lips curved into a teasing smile as you tilted your head. “I’m impressed. I didn’t know machines responded to passive-aggressive foot taps.”

Carmy let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t have a better idea.”

“Well,” you said, stepping into the room and setting your basket down on the counter, “I hate to break it to you, but this thing looks like it’s plotting your demise. What’s the issue? Won’t open?”

“It stopped mid-cycle,” he explained, gesturing toward the uncooperative machine. “Clothes are stuck. It’s probably fried.”

“Oof. Smells like defeat and polyester.” You crouched down to inspect the machine, tilting your head like a mechanic sizing up a stubborn engine. “Looks like it’s giving you the silent treatment. Did you try apologizing? Promising to separate your whites and darks next time?”

“Funny,” Carmy deadpanned, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

You straightened up, planting your hands on your hips in a stance that could only be described as authoritative. “Well, lucky for you, Carmy-next-door, I happen to be an expert in broken things.”

Carmy raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. “Yeah? How’s that?”

You let out a playful scoff, crouching in front of the washing machine as if it were a patient in need of your expertise. “When you work in a place that runs on shoestring budgets and prayers, you pick up a thing or two about fixing stuff. I’ve practically got a minor in MacGyver-ing. It’s part of my many talents.”

He smirked, watching as you pressed a few buttons and tapped the side of the machine like you were coaxing it back to life. “Sounds like a tough gig.”

“Oh, it’s a blast,” you replied sarcastically with a grin, peering at the machine’s latch. “But the real fun is my lovely fourth graders and their… slippery fingers. Nothing keeps you on your toes like finding out your class stapler’s been dismantled to ‘see how it works.’”

“And you adore them,” Carmy guessed, his voice soft but sure.

“Ugh, to a fault,” you admitted, sitting back on your heels to glance at him. “They’re chaos in human form, but they’re my chaos. Like when Marcus decided to see if he could use glitter glue as a bookmark. Spoiler alert: he couldn’t. And then there was Kayla’s science project that involved exactly zero science but a lot of snacks. Kids are wild, but they’re kind of the best.”

Carmy chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shook his head. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

You huff a laugh nodding. “But they make all the broken stuff worth it... also, they’ve prepared me for moments like this. Fixing things? I’m a pro. Diffusing meltdowns? Also a pro. Dodging paper balls? Let’s just say my reflexes are unmatched.”

He chuckled quietly, his blue eyes softening as he observed your easy confidence. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Oh, hardly,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh.

He watched as you tinkered with the inner workings of the washer, the way your monster-footed slippers stuck out behind you, and the light in your eyes as you spoke about your students. There was something captivating about the way you moved—confident but never overbearing, your words spilling out in an endless stream of humor and warmth. For someone who probably dealt with endless chaos in your day-to-day life, you had an energy about you—warmth—messy and vibrant—that felt oddly grounding in his otherwise muted world.

Finally, with a triumphant click, the washer’s door popped open. A puff of warm, damp air escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of detergent. You rocked back on your heels, grinning up at him as if you’d just disarmed a bomb.

“And there you have it!” you declared standing up, sweeping your arm dramatically toward the liberated laundry like a game show host revealing a grand prize. “Your clothes are finally free, Chef Carmy. Laundry liberation, courtesy of yours truly. I accept gratitude in the form of snacks, coffee, or eternal admiration—your choice. But please, no autographs. I have to stay humble.”

“You’re something else, you know that?” Carmy said, huffing a quiet laugh as he shook his head, stepping forward to start transferring the damp clothes into another machine. His tone softened slightly as he added, “But thanks, really. I owe you one.”

You waved a hand dismissively, already moving to the next machine with your own basket in tow.

“Don’t worry about it, Carmy…” you said, your tone casual, though the smirk playing on your lips suggested otherwise. “But, if you do feel like you want to repay me, feel free to bring me more of those leftovers—like the ones you brought when I first moved in.”

He paused, eyebrows raising slightly as he met your gaze. “That’s what you want? Leftovers?”

“Not just any leftovers,” you clarified, turning back to load more clothes. “The fancy ones. Braised short ribs, perfectly roasted vegetables... whatever culinary magic you’re whipping up in that kitchen of yours. Don’t think I forgot.”

Carmy paused mid-transfer, glancing at you with a faint, almost embarrassed smile. “You liked those, huh?”

“Liked?” you scoffed, tossing a pair of socks into the machine. “I was ready to write you a thank-you sonnet. That braised short rib? Poetry in food form. You’ve ruined me for takeout forever.”

He chuckled softly, shutting the door to his machine. “It was just a test recipe.”

“Well, then I’d be happy to test more of your recipes,” you said with a wink, starting your own machine and leaning back against it. “Strictly as a favor, of course. I’m nothing if not generous.”

“Generous,” he repeated, shaking his head with a smirk as he pressed the start button on his machine. He glanced at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do.”

“See?” you teased, flashing him a grin. “You’re already getting the hang of this whole neighborly exchange thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my expectations high.”

Carmy shook his head, letting out another quiet laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” you quipped, settling yourself into the nearby chair and grabbing a book from the empty laundry basket at your feet. You opened it casually, like you weren’t fully aware of the fact that his attention was still on you. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, Chef Carmy. I’ve got standards now.”

Carmy smirked faintly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, arms loosely crossed. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, watching as you flipped through the book, completely at ease. The light in the room, though dim and slightly yellowed, softened your features, making you look... warm. Pretty, even. The oversized t-shirt, the messy hair, and those ridiculous monster slippers didn’t detract from it—in fact, they only made you more endearing. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. Instead, he tucked the thought neatly into the back of his mind, letting it sit there quietly.

The faint hum of the working washing machine filled the space, stretching the silence between you into something that felt oddly comfortable. He wasn’t used to that—not in conversations, not in moments like these. Usually, silence felt heavy, awkward, something to be broken. But this? This felt... different.

Still, the need to say something eventually won out, despite his lack of finesse with small talk. Clearing his throat softly, Carmy shifted his weight and finally asked, “So... uh, how are you liking it here?”

You glanced up from your book, your lips curving into a small, knowing smile. “In the building? Or in the laundry room?”

Carmy huffed a quiet laugh, looking down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “The biulding, I guess."

“Oh, it’s not bad,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “The walls are a little thin—I may or may not know the entire plot of the soap opera your upstairs neighbor is binging—but they are decent. A little quiet, though, except for one guy who keeps kicking appliances. Total menace.”

“Sounds rough,” Carmy deadpanned, though his smirk gave him away.

“It is,” you said with mock solemnity before your smile softened. “But honestly? I like it. It’s... cozy, you know? Feels like a place where things can settle down.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping briefly to the floor. “That’s good.”

“It’s growing on me,” you admitted, closing the book and resting it on your lap. “I mean, it’s not every day you move into a building and immediately make friends with someone who’s probably going to be on the cover of Some Fancy Chef Magazine someday.”

“Friends?” he said, arching a brow.

“Yeah, friends,” you replied with a teasing grin. “Or at least laundry room acquaintances.”

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “Friend's better.”

"Good," You smiled, shifting slightly in your chair. “So, Carmy-next-door, aside from working and battling possessed washing machines, what do you do for fun?”

“For fun?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow as though you’d just asked him to name every spice in his kitchen alphabetically. “Uh... I don’t know. Not sure I’ve got much time for that.”

“Not buying it,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Everyone’s got something. Come on, spill. What’s your guilty pleasure? Do you secretly knit in your downtime? Binge-watch trashy reality TV? Start a garden but refuse to tell anyone because it ruins your ‘serious chef’ vibe? And if you are, I know someone who could be your new best friend.”

He let out another quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of those, but now I’m thinking I should start knitting just to throw people off.”

“Do it,” you said, pointing at him. “Then you can make me a scarf. But seriously, what’s your thing? There’s gotta be something.”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “I guess... sometimes I’ll just walk around the city. Clears my head, you know?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “That’s a solid choice. City walks are like people-watching with a side of fresh air. What’s your favorite spot?”

“There's this park near the river. Quiet, not too crowded. Good place to think." Carmy tells her.

"Sounds nice," you replied, smiling. "I might have to check it out sometime."

"You should," Carmy said, his expression softening. He clears his throat, "I-uh, I used to draw, though. Sketch stuff when I had the time.”

“Used to?” you asked, leaning forward a bit, intrigued. “You mean you don’t anymore? Or are you just too modest to admit you’ve got sketchbooks hidden under your bed?”

His smirk faltered into something a little more genuine, a touch of shyness creeping into his expression. “I still do. Sometimes. When things aren’t too crazy.”

“Now that’s interesting,” you said, sitting back with a thoughtful smile. “What kind of stuff do you draw? People? Landscapes? Elaborate food masterpieces?”

“A little of everything,” he said with a small shrug. “But mostly recipes, or at least how I want them to look."

“Like a visual diary,” you said, nodding. “That’s actually really cool.”

“Yeah, well...” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big.”

“Carmy,” you said, tilting your head at him. “You just admitted to having an actual hobby, and I’m here for it. Don’t downplay it.”

He huffed, shaking his head flushing ever so slightly. “Alright. What about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Me?” you repeated, your eyes lighting up as you sat back in the chair, clutching your book like a prop in a comedy routine. “Well, let’s see. I’m a professional daydreamer, certified in overthinking, and an expert-level snack enthusiast. It’s an impressive resume, I know.”

Carmy chuckled, the corner of his mouth twitching into a rare smile. “Sounds like a full-time job.”

“Oh, it is,” you said with a mock-serious nod. “But if we’re being serious... I like to read, obviously.” You held up the book for emphasis. “And I’m a sucker for a good movie. Big screen, small screen, doesn’t matter. I also like to go out with friends— go to clubs, a karaoke bar, grab dinner, play board games, complain about life. You know, the usual.”

He tilted his head, his expression softening. “Any favorites? Books or movies?”

“Hmm,” you mused, tapping your chin. “For books, I like a little bit of everything—mysteries, fantasy, even the occasional cheesy romance. Keeps life interesting. And movies... I’m a sucker for feel-good comedies. But every now and then, I’ll binge something dark and broody just to balance it out.”

Carmy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “Feel-good comedies? Got any recommendations?”

“Oh, I’ve got tons,” you said, your eyes gleaming. “But only if you’re ready for some real classics. Think Clueless, The Princess Bride, or When Harry Met Sally. If you’ve never seen those, we might have to reassess this friendship.”

“Clueless,” he repeated, remembering the movie because of Natalie who forced him and Mikey to watch it, one eyebrow-raising. “That the one with ‘As if’?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “See? You’re already on the right track.”

He smirked, shaking his head again. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“What about you? Do you watch movies, or is that too much fun for someone as serious as Chef Carmy?”

He smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I watch stuff sometimes. Nothing specific. Just... whatever’s on.”

“Lame answer,” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him. “We’ll work on that. I’ll make you a list. Everyone needs go-to favorite movies.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said, his smirk softening.

“Good,” you replied with a playful nod, leaning back in your chair. “And since you’re such a layer enigma, like an onion, I’m guessing you don’t do the whole ‘night out with friends’ thing often?”

“Not really,” he admitted, his tone quieter now. “Doesn’t happen much.”

“You should,” you said, leaning forward slightly, your tone teasing but warm. “You might surprise yourself. One minute you’re awkwardly standing in a corner, and the next, you’re reenacting a dance scene from Dirty Dancing with a stranger. That’s how the best stories happen.”

Carmy shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Not sure that’s my thing.”

“Hey, it doesn’t have to be Dirty Dancing,” you said with a shrug. “But everyone deserves a good night out now and then. Even mysterious chef-next-door types.”

“I’ll think about it,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”

“Fair,” you replied, looking over at him with a soft smile. “I’m just saying, Chef Carmy, you can’t live in your kitchen forever. Sometimes you’ve gotta step out and find your own rom-com moment.”

Carmy stared at you for a moment, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. He shook his head, as though amused by something he couldn’t quite put into words, but the warmth in his expression lingered.

The hum of the machines filled the room, a soft backdrop to your easy conversation. What started as playful banter drifted into more thoughtful exchanges—small glimpses into each other’s lives, quirks, and histories.

Minutes melted into what felt like seconds, neither of you noticing the time slipping away. For once, it wasn’t about schedules, responsibilities, or the ever-present noise of the outside world. Just two neighbors sharing stories in the glow of the laundry room’s dim light.

A/N: So, thank you so much for all the support. It really keeps me going. I'm thinking of making like a small series of this, like a few interactions before they started dating- maybe some jealousy along the way lol- the first date- maybe the future but idk.

Also, just in case I do, please tell me if you would like to be tagged.

Part 4?

@themorriganisamonster

Keep Living with Us

Part 2 of Keep Living with Me | Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Anderson!cop!reader

Summary: After the death of your mother and getting engaged to Tim Bradford, you take another step in life.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, mentions of parental death (Zoe Andersen), pregnancy

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

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

“What about those?” Tim asks, pointing at another page in the magazine before you.

You hum before turning the page. Tim pulls his hand away from your lap before gently removing the magazine from your hands. He raises an open palm to your cheek and gently turns your face to his.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to answer any questions unless they’re asked under fairy lights,” you murmur.

Tim notices that your eyes aren’t quite to his. The past few months have been hard, but you’ve been able to move on and take your life back from the man who murdered your mother. Thanks in no small part to Tim and his constant presence by your side.

“That proposal spoiled you,” he muses. “I knew I should have asked you in those ratty old pajamas.”

“You said I look beautiful in those pajamas.”

“And you do. You don’t have to talk to me about it if you don’t want to, but don’t hold it all inside.”

“I just- planning a wedding is hard, but I always thought I’d be doing it with her. My mom was in every idea and dream I had of my future. Now she’s gone. Even looking at bridal magazines makes me miss her more.”

Tim leans forward and kisses your forehead. He loves you and has reminded you that life is worth living, and the loss and grief you feel do get better, though it never goes away.

“I have a question for you,” you murmur against his palm.

Tim looks up before he clicks his tongue. “No fairy lights.”

“Will you go dress shopping with me? You don’t have to see the dress or anything, but I want you there.”

“Of course. I’m great at picking wedding dresses; ask Angela.”

“Thank you.”

Tim hasn’t said you’re welcome in weeks, always saying, “I love you” instead. Just as he does now.

“I love you more.”

“Knock, knock,” Wade calls through the curtain separating your bridal suite.

“Come in,” you call.

“Wow,” he compliments as he enters. “You look beautiful.”

“Don’t make me cry this makeup off.”

Wade chuckles before asking to speak privately. Your bridal party, including Angela and Lucy, excuse themselves, and you take Wade’s hand as he leads you to sit on the settee.

“I know what you just said about crying, but I have something for you.” He pulls an envelope from his blazer pocket and taps it against his hand. “Your mom was a planner and a good one. She, uh, wrote you this letter and gave it to me in case anything ever happened to her. Actually, she wrote you a different letter, and replaced it with this one a week or so before everything happened.”

You take the envelope carefully, tearing up at the sight of your mom’s handwriting on the front.

“I’ll leave you to read it, but it’s a big day, and you deserve to know that your mom loved you.”

“Can you stay? Please,” you say as he stands.

Wade nods and returns to his seat. He watches you as you remove the letter and read it. When your eyes reach the bottom of the paper, you look away quickly and wipe under your eyes with the pads of your thumbs.

“Can you find Tim?” you ask with a sniffle. “I need to talk to him.”

“I can. He’s not seeing that pretty dress, though.”

You stand after Wade leaves and pace the bridal suite. It’s less than three minutes later when Tim steps through the curtain. Finding it impossible not to, you laugh at him.

“This was Wade’s idea,” he grumbles.

Tim raises his arms, and you take his hands with another laugh.

“Whose tie is that?” you ask.

“Wesley’s. Can’t you tell from the quality silk?”

Tim uses your joined hands to pull you closer, and he lowers his voice to ask if you’re alright.

“Wade gave me a note from my mom. She talked about you and how happy we were together. Uh, the last line was that our life together would be twice a life.”

“You sound like you’re about to cry,” Tim says. “Please don’t. If you start crying, I have to take the tie off.”

“Just hug me, Tim,” you demand.

Tim happily pulls you into his arms and kisses the top of your head. In parallel to the night after the funeral, Tim holds you close and whispers promises that everything will be okay and you’re never alone. When he adds that he loves you and he can’t wait to be your husband, you choke on a cry.

“Don’t,” you say as his hands move to the tie. “I’m okay. You- you can go now.”

“Oh, great,” Tim groans as he turns away. “Now it’s my turn to cry when you walk down the aisle in the perfect dress.”

The moment you step into Tim’s sight at the end of the aisle, tears build in his eyes. Though it’s Wade at your side, you feel your mom’s presence, too. It’s as if she is right beside you and cheering you on the entire walk down the aisle.

“You’re perfect,” Tim whispers as he takes your hand.

You shake your head, but Tim squeezes your hand to reiterate his point.

“The dress is perfect,” you reply with a smile.

Tim picked it for you to try on and it ended up being your favorite. The surprise on his face when he first saw it was just as amazing as you anticipated. Now, at the altar before all your closest friends and those who have become family, you know that you’re living again, and nothing can take the life you have built with Tim.

“I love you,” Tim mouths as the crowd takes their seats.

“I love you more,” you reply silently.

“Hi,” you greet.

“Watch your step,” Tim chides as his hands move to your hips. “This is harder than it looks.”

“Sorry.”

Tim moves the bouquet into the crook of his elbow before taking your hands. The sun has set, and only ambient light illuminates the trail before you.

“Hi again,” you start over. “We got married, Mom.”

“Thanks to you,” Tim adds.

You don’t sit down, too worried about grass stains on your reception dress. Tim seems to understand why you stop farther back. He steps forward and sets the flowers at the base of the headstone before returning to your side.

“It was your daughter’s idea to give you her bouquet,” Tim says.

“And it was your son-in-law’s idea to do it before we left. Everything that I am and have is thanks to you, Mom. I miss you like crazy, but I know you’re with me everywhere I go.”

“She loved you,” Tim murmurs against your shoulder.

“She loved you, too,” you tell him. “We’re going on our honeymoon. I know you would’ve given me a hard time about the time off, but you’d also be happy for me. I love you, Mom.”

You turn away and smile at Tim. He nods before kissing you and whispering, “I’ll catch up.” When you’re out of earshot, he squats and says, “I will treat her better than you ever thought I would. Thank you for letting me be your son-in-law, Zoe.”

Four months after you return from your honeymoon, you walk into the Mid-Wilshire Station; not for work, but to visit Tim on your day off. Your smile is wide, and even Smitty notices your contagious excitement.

“Tim!” you call when you see him.

“Hi,” he greets as he turns to meet you. “What are you doing here?”

“I have something to show you. Can we go somewhere private?”

“Ooh,” Smitty interjects before pursing his lips.

“I would gladly go somewhere away from him,” Tim agrees.

He leads you into an empty break room before looking you over. Other than your growing smile, you look the same as you did when he left this morning.

“Here,” you say, passing him a small box.

Tim raises his brows before removing the lid. The small plastic stick inside causes him to freeze, and he slowly puts the lid back on and sets it down before cupping your face between his hands.

“We’re pregnant?” he asks softly.

You nod, and your smile falters for a moment before Tim’s smile grows to match yours. He pulls you into a kiss before wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you around. As you gasp in surprise and excitement, you know that this is the life your mom and Tim talked about.

“What is happening in here?” Angela asks as she opens the door.

You nod at Tim, and he says, “We’re having a baby.”

“You’re pregnant?!” “Who’s pregnant?” Lucy asks from outside. She sees you and squeals before joining your hug with Angela. “Ooh, can I do your gender reveal party?”

“Not without me,” Angela answers.

“You’re not arguing with me, Tim. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find a single thing wrong with this moment,” Tim admits as he pulls you into another hug.

“You really didn’t know about this?” Tim asks again.

“No! Just shoot it, Tim!” you cheer before placing your headphones on again.

Tim levels the gun in his hands before aiming at the target. A shooting range gender reveal sounded like the perfect idea, and you were happy to let Tim do the honors. As he pulls the trigger, you hold your breath for the millisecond it takes to hit the target.

The packet behind the target erupts and turns the range pink. You cheer before Tim picks you up and yells in excitement. He sets you down and kisses you before running his hands over your bump, where your daughter is healthy and growing.

“We’re having a girl,” he whispers in awe.

“I love you,” you reply.

You’re pulled apart by your friends, but the joy of everyone around you only increases your happiness.

The night after the gender reveal, you find yourself lying beside Tim, with your head on his chest as you watch your most recent ultrasound.

“Look at her little hands,” you coo. “She’s perfect.”

“Hey,” Tim says. You ignore him to point out something else. “We should name her Zoe.”

You sit up quickly, momentarily forgetting that you have a bump to impede your movements. Tim moves to accommodate your new position and smiles at the look on your face.

“What?” you ask.

“We should name her Zoe. Your mom got us here, and honoring and remembering her like that would- I think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” you agree. “Tim, thank you. For everything.”

“Of course.”

“No, you don’t know; you can’t imagine how much you and our relationship… how much you’ve done for me and what it means. I can’t thank you enough or tell you that I love you enough.”

“I love you more,” Tim says.

You smile wetly as tears gather in your eyes. Tim pulls you against his chest and restarts the ultrasound recording. When he whispers again that he loves you, your baby kicks. At this moment, you can’t imagine how different things would be without Tim, or if you had given up and stopped living. You’ll never know because of Tim Bradford.

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

Should I Stay or Should I Go? (Part Four)

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader

Part four of four 💖

Warning: reader drinks/smokes, difficult relationship with Giles and not friends with Buffy. Fighting. Blood. Biting. Sexual reference

It had been a long night.

Spike kept swatting you away every time you started trying to talk to him about something. He was getting exasperated and you found it cute. You didn’t want to walk in silence sensing demons and vampires anymore, that game was getting tired.

He sighed, looking up at the sky exaggeratedly as you started mindlessly talking again. It was something that he usually enjoyed, always had ever since he had met you and you just poured out your thoughts to him against your better judgement. The way you were able to just talk, speak your mind in such a way that made him want to reach deeper. Know you even more.

But there was a time and a place and he was really trying to concentrate. Still, he weaved his hand in yours and squeezed as he listened.

“Don’t you get bored with the fighting? I’m getting splinters here” You moved to show him the other hand, the one brandishing the stake.

“Put the bloody thing away then. You don’t need it anyway, you’re a natural, love” he insisted, making you glow at such a high compliment. He wouldn’t compliment you on your fighting lightly.

“Well, thanks, but I’m still kinda over it. Surely it’s almost dawn?” you yawned, side-eying him to watch the characteristic eyeroll. You knew him so well now, as well as he knew himself.

“Don’t you feel it? Coursing through your veins?” He said, squeezing your hand tighter and bouncing slightly as he walked.

“Boredom?” you teased, the smile spreading across your face telling him that you had been enjoying your little hunting trip. But, really, ten demons was excessive for one night and you were starting to get cramp in your wrist from all the staking.

“The power, pet, the fight of it all”

“There’s me hoping you’d be a lover not a fighter”

“Why can’t I be both, hm?” He arched an eyebrow suggestively, his hand grazing the skin of your arm, until he reached that point on your neck that he loved so much. His thumb stroking the pulse point.

That look was in his eye again, the one from that night. You gasped as his lips caught yours, taking the stake from your hand and throwing it into the darkness. There was a need to the kiss, an urgency even though he had all the time in the world to enjoy your love.

His senses consumed by you, he couldn’t care less if a demon was in the area anymore. All he wanted to feel was you. He pressed you against the closest mausoleum, the rough brick caressing your back as you held Spike against you. You moved your hand beneath his duster, under the layers of fabric that kept his body from yours.

It had been a month. A month since you had died.

He had grazed the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of your blood. He whispered what he wanted to do. That he wanted to turn you. To have you for eternity, that was how strong his love was for you. You had nodded, not thinking and just enjoying the moment. Enjoying him.

You only realised once you had awoken, that you had made the right decision. You would have done anything for him in that moment. In any moment.

It hurt, God it had hurt. If you hadn’t already been dying it would have made you want to so badly. He cradled your form as you went limp beneath him, licking up the side of your neck at the open wound that was still leaking. You had never looked so attractive to him as his own blood collected at the corner of your mouth.

He held you for hours, whispering reassurances, promises of glory and just how good you would feel. Really, he should have buried you. It was a vampire’s rite of passage, having to claw your way out of a grave. But he had never been one for rules.

He laid you in his bed, lying beside you each day, waiting for you to arise.

When you did, you understood everything in such clarity. This is what you were meant to become. You felt like yourself, you weren’t itching for some lame evil masterplan nor were you feeling any guilt for becoming something you had been taught was disgusting and unnatural for so long.

Spike doted, he truly did. He adored you even more now that he had sired you, if that was even possible. Worshipped the ground that you walked on.

And he liked to show you at any possible moment. He liked to stay in physical contact in some way most of the time. Whether it was his hand in yours, leaning against you or kissing you as passionately as he was now. Your life was so full now, you had made friends with a couple of local demons and you sometimes even managed to convince Spike to go on double dates (very, very rarely).

You finally had a purpose. A reason to get up in the evening. All it took was the little death to make you come alive.

You and Spike made a cosy little life together, you lived fully and helped kill demons when the mood struck. You felt like you were doing good, even if it was in a kind of morally grey way. You knew that Giles would never be proud of you, but you couldn’t find it in your to care as much as you did when you were living.

As Spike slid his hand beneath your waistband, his hands sizzling against your skin despite you both being room temperature, your kisses getting sloppier as you mumbled against his lips. You adored this man. His lips. His hands. His everything…

You moaned against his skin, fully wrapped up in him.

Until, of course, you were interrupted in the usual Sunnydale way. You had missed the sound of footsteps, beating hearts and panting breath.  You had missed the scent, the urgency and fear that could now be smelled in the air.

“Y/n! I’m glad we found you”

“Y-you are?” You said, managing to drag yourself from Spike’s touch, ignoring Xander’s eyes dropping to where Spike had just removed his hand from. He was stood with Anya looking

“Can’t a man have any sodding privacy around these parts?” Spike grumbled, showing his hands in his pocket and daring Xander to say something about what he had seen with that smirk that you loved so much.

You focused on trying to look human. You blinked probably more than was normal and stook irregular and strange breaths. It was funny how easily you could have forgotten something that had once been so normal.

You stared at them, more specifically at their necks. Beating and full of life. It made you hungry. Ravenous. You gripped Spike’s arm, feeling your fangs threatening to elongate as the human spoke animatedly about something.

Oh, right, you were meant to be listening.

There was (another) apocalypse on the horizon. An evil force that had been exploding people from the inside. Demons and humans alike. It was like a parasite, once you were infected it lived inside you, making a home until it was ready to ‘hatch’, leaving the host exploding into pieces.

It was pretty grim, even by Sunnydale standards and even Anya looked scared. A little impressed, but still scared.

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“There’s some prophetic-prophecy thingy that mentions you”

“Me?”

“Well, sort of. G-man can explain. Let’s go”

“Hold on, what makes you think we want to help you losers?”

“The world is ending here, and I’m human and mortal and I don’t want to die and we haven’t got time for tantrums” Anya spiralled and Xander comforted her. It was clearly serious. You and spike looked at each other for a moment.

“One condition. Spike comes too.”

It was awkward to say the least. There was something written about the one that ends a Watcher lineage having ‘potential’. Some sort of dormant power that needed releasing. You had to say some words or shake a stick or something that would cause immunity from the parasite. You weren’t listening too closely you were just waiting for instructions.

You had half hoped it was just some excuse so that your father could talk to you. Perhaps reconcile. But when you arrived it was clearly not the case. They had invited you in, thankfully, and you sat in the corner with Spike.

You stared across the room, your father brewing a hot drink for the group who looked like they all needed something a bit stronger. They had all been told that the world was ending, after all.

As if he had read your mind, Spike slid a flask from the inside pocket of his duster, a glint in his eye as he poured the liquor into each of your mugs. Your father either didn’t notice or chose to turn a blind eye due to the nature of the situation.

They discussed the situation well into the night. Each of them eyed Spike suspiciously and your Dad flat out glared every time Spike so much as looked in your direction.

It was getting late but neither you or Spike was tired. You had always been one to stay up late so it wasn’t unusual to your father. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

“Do you have any snacks?” You asked, moving to look through the cupboards. You and Spike were going to watch movies until everyone else went to bed and you could sneak out for some blood. You had settled on some sort of comedy, with lots of blood and guts.

“Oh! You have a full box of these!” You exclaimed, they were your favourite snack, grabbing them and fighting the box to get it open. He had kept them in the cupboard, in case you ever returned.

“You did, ah, always like them when you were a child” Giles said smiling wistfully. It really wasn’t like him to come over all nostalgic and soft. They might take away his British citizenship if he wasn’t careful.

Your father stayed for another twenty minutes before he left for bed, looking at you and wishing you a good sleep before he went. He had missed you, even if you did make some terrible choices.

You had mostly been camped in your old room for the last couple of days. It had been taken over by stacks and stacks of books since your departure. You had insisted that Spike stayed and seeing as you were helping the Scoobies out they reluctantly allowed you both to stay. You had been grumbling about the state of your old room and Spike reminded you that last time he was here he was sleeping in the tub, so it was somewhat of an upgrade. Willow skipped in that morning to see you.

“Let’s go to the espresso pump, it’s a nice day and I have something I wanted to tell-”

“No. Thanks” You said firmly. Willow had wanted to tell you about Tara, she knew you would be supportive.

“Just go, Y/n, we don’t need you here every hour of the day. Just be on call for when we need you” Your father had walked in behind Willow, eyeing Spike with disdain.

“No, really, I’m good. Thanks, though”

“Come on, some light will do you good” Willow insisted, trying to draw back the curtains. You propelled yourself forward to try and stop her but Spike just braced himself and moved out of the way.

You screamed. It wasn’t exactly your finest moment. But the pain was terrible, it felt as if your skin was being cooked. Bubbling beneath the surface.

Everyone ran in from the other room, shocked and confused as you dived behind your old bed to hide from any stray sunlight.

“You’re-”

“Dead? Yeah”

Buffy didn’t think she just launched herself at you, leaving you reacting instinctively and kicking her in the stomach from your spot on the floor. Leaving her reeling backwards into a stray stack of books, not actually expecting you to be as strong as you were.

Xander caught Buffy and Spike immediately got to his feet and struck the Slayer on her jaw before howling in pain at the chip firing in his head.

“I’m, ow, I’m- I have a soul!” You shouted and everyone just stared at you.

“How?” You father asked, staring at you as if you were a museum exhibit. You could have made something up, some heroic story but you doubt any of them would have believed you anyway. You knew you had a reputation for being a bit of a slacker.

“You liar! You don’t have a soul” Anya stated. She would have been able to see it in your eyes.

“Worth a shot” You shrugged trying your best to stick to a defensive stance.

Giles turned to Spike, rounding on him and pinning him against the wall. Spike had killed his child. And turned you into something evil. You ran to pull him off your love, Giles staring at your strength and seeing a passion that he had never seen you display before. You cared about Spike. Truly.

“Look, Dad, I’m sorry. I know I’m all dead now and I’m probably not exactly what you envisioned but I’m powerful now and I can fight demons the way you always wanted me to.”

“I don’t suppose you believe that this cancels out the numerous killing of innocents?”

“I’m, uh, joining Spike on an animal diet. It’s only fair seeing as he can’t eat proper- uh, the other way around” You insisted, though this hadn’t been entirely true. But they didn’t need to know that.

Spike just stared at your Dad, his face unchanged. The amount of times the vampire had wanted to rip Giles’ head off for the way he treated you. But he had let him get a few blows in, because he knew it would still upset you if he hurt your Dad.

There was a silence for a while. Everyone exchanging glances. Finally Buffy nodded and walked towards you, reaching out her hand to you. Waiting for you to shake. A truce. An agreement.

Buffy leaned in, warning you that the moment she caught you killing or doing something immoral you would be dust.

You didn’t feel particularly evil. Or particularly good. You were happily between the two, basking in the grey area that you had always figured existed for demons. Now you knew it was true. And would try and prove it every day to the Slayer and your father.

You had hoped for a happier ending with your father. He barely tolerated your presence. But, you supposed it was better than the alternative: matching piles of dust. You and Spike had gone back to the crypt, so as not to tempt anyone to kill you both in your sleep. But you had still committed to visiting Giles one evening a week to discuss the prophecy and to spend time with him. You had just left and Spike was waiting for you at the end of the drive.

His face always softened when he saw you, his love for you deepening by the day. You felt a little sad. You hid it from Spike the best you could, smiling at the way he doted on you. Waited to walk you home to your shared crypt.

He reached for you, pulling you into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around you, inhaling deeply, enjoying your scent. It was as if he could feel the sadness radiating off you, though. You were clinging to him a little tighter. Hiding your face against him.

“Sod this” Spike said suddenly, pulling away.

You frowned, “The hug?”

“No love” he replied, having already taken his hand in yours and began leading you at pace through the streets of Sunnydale until you reached his car with the blacked out windows and he gestured for you to get in.

“Where are we going?”

“Far” He shrugged, opening the passenger side door for you.

“We can’t go. I can’t let them die, Spike. Even though I would probably quite enjoy it.” He grinned, pressing a kiss against your temple before you slid into the seat.

“Thought about it, when I visited LA last Angel had an ex-Watcher working with him. I wager they’ll figure it out before any real damage is done” He shrugged sitting beside you and starting up the car.

Wesley. You had forgotten about him. You suppose he had ended his Watcher lineage too if he was no longer in the role.

Spike was, as you had once claimed, quite astute. And he could tell you needed a change of scene. He hated to see you sad. This should be one of the best times, learning to hunt and enjoy the darker side of life. He wanted to show you a whole new underworld, one that he knew you would thrive in.

You didn’t need any crappy jobs, no “success” as defined by your father. You had power. Had love. Had a way to contribute. You could actually fight the demons now rather than cower in the corner and let Spike deal with the threat.

You watched him as he pushed a cassette tape in and started slamming the wheel to the beat and banging his head.

You lit up a cigarette, not able to stop yourself from smiling wide. As you passed the Sunnydale sign, you felt free. For the first time in a long time you felt lighter. With Spike by your side, with all the possibilities that came with your new powers.

You drove towards the sunrise, cigarette smoke curling in the air and the music blasting. You couldn’t help smiling as he slid a hand to rest on your thigh.

You felt happy. Real happiness. You felt a flutter of excitement in your dead heart.

Tape

Description: Bruce and Y/N’s sex tape leaked

Warnings: Cursing, sex tape, suggestive,

Word Count:0.8k

“Bruce, wake up,” Y/N startled her husband awake. Normally she tried to let Bruce get at least four hours of sleep but this was an emergency.

“What? I’m up,” Bruce’s first thought was either the Manor was on fire or one of the kids was about to set the Manor on fire. He knew Y/N shaking him awake meant something bad had happened.

“It leaked,” Y/N speaking in vague terms didn’t help Bruce relax in this situation. He was much too tired to attempt to decipher whatever she was talking about.

Keep reading

Charlie Gets a Girlfriend

Charlie Kelly X Reader

Summary: Charlie gets a girlfriend who finally doesn't think he is gross or weird. Naturally, The Gang has to investigate this girl for themself, and what's a better time than during one of their dates?

Word Count: 3.4k

a/n: There are not enough non-smut iasip fanfics, so I took matters into my own hands, enjoy! requests are open...

2:45 pm 

ON A THURSDAY

PHILADELPHIA

“Dennis I’m telling you, we gotta go to this new bar! Scope out our competition.”

“Mac it’s a gay bar, I don’t wanna be seen there.”

“Yeah! But-”

“Guys! Guys!” Charlie barges into Paddy’s breathless as if he had just run from his apartment to the bar. As usual, the rest of The Gang, minus Frank, was wasting the day away drinking at the counter. “This girl… we went out... I think I’m in love…” Charlie’s speech comes out in quick huffs as he tries to manage his breathing. 

“That’s great Charlie, but Dennis! I swear you won’t regret going to this bar with me!” Mac pointedly ignored Charlie, turning back to his roommate.

“Mac, it just sounds to me like you want an excuse to go to a gay bar.”

“What? No dude! It’s just-”

“Guys!” Charlie’s roar finally snapped the other guys out of their conversation. “Aren’t you proud of me? I finally got over the waitress just like you said I should! I found the love of my life!” The Gang only sent questioning looks to Charlie’s wide grin. He seemed genuinely happy about this girl, not hinting at ulterior motives for going out with her. 

“Charlie, what the hell are you talking about? What girl?” Dee chirped, wiping down some glasses on the bar.

“Look, I met this chick and oh my God she is beautiful.” Charlie gushed, his body language visibility getting giddier by the moment. “I asked her out and she said yes, it was awesome!” 

“Right, okay, and how much paint did you huff this morning?” Dennis lazily looked in Charlie’s direction, mocking him with his words and gaze. 

“What? Guys no, she’s like seriously totally real!” Charlie began rummaging around his pocket. He pulled out a small keychain, one that had a tacky-looking bear on the end of it with a bow. It was clearly cheap and on the verge of falling off the chain at any moment, but Charlie seemed proud of its appearance. “Look! She even won us matching keychains at the arcade yesterday!” Charlie beamed at his friends who appeared less than impressed at the display. 

“If she’s so real then you should bring her around the bar, Charlie,” Dee suggested, half smirking at the idea. In The Gang’s mind, there was no way a real woman would put up with Charlie’s idiocy. Unless she was equally as stupid. Or ugly, she could be hideous. 

At this suggestion Charlie began to avoid eye contact, looking anywhere but his friends, which amused them and only solidified their preconceived notion of this woman not being real. “Well, I don’t know…”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Dennis taunted, clearly amused by how this conversation was unfolding. 

“Well, you guys are kind of always really mean to me, and also degrade me. I just don’t want her to think I’m some kind of punching bag.” Charlie’s foot absentmindedly scuffed the ground.

Mac piped up, “But you are a punching bag.” 

“I just want her to think I’m strong and cool okay?!” The Gang understands Charlie’s sediment, they weren’t exactly the kindest to him on any occasion. If he brought a girl in here they certainly would rip into him until they inevitably left a bad impression on her. 

“Look,” Dennis began, “If you don’t want us to meet this chick then why are you wasting our time by telling us about her?” 

This question caused Charlie to smile, eventually forming into a smug expression. “I just wanted to brag that good old Charlie got a hot girlfriend before any of you losers did.” The Gang seems unimpressed, clearly still not entirely buying her existence. 

“Look, if this chick is actually real I bet she’s hideous or stupid to be dating you, Charlie,” Dennis said in a dismissing way. 

This aggravated Charlie. Of course, The Gang doesn’t care, why did he even bother coming here to tell them? He had hoped that for once maybe they would have congratulated him on his feat. “Look, you can insult me all you want, but don’t insult her!” All Charlie got in response was a silent Dee and Mac paired with an eye roll from Dennis. “Fine, if you guys don’t care then I’m gonna go hang out with my girl. She at least appreciates me!” And with that, Charlie storms out of Paddy’s. 

It was quiet for a bit, Dee resuming her cleaning while Dennis and Mac picked up their conversation from before. “Hey guys, do you think Charlie actually has a girlfriend?” Dee asked while she was finishing up. 

“Who cares?” Dennis stated. “It’s probably some homeless girl he found under the bridge or in the sewers. If she’s dating Charlie she must be some sort of gross creature.” 

“Probably, but I’m still curious.” Dee imagined all the potentially horrible aspects of this girl. Images of a woman with missing teeth and tattered clothes came into her mind. She obviously hasn’t showered in weeks and smells horrid, much how like Charlie typically did. Then, an idea popped into her head. “Wait, Charlie said he was going out with this girl today, right? Maybe we could do some stalking to see what she’s really like.”

“If she’s even real,” Dennis adds. “But, that might not be a bad idea. I’d like to see this broad for myself.”

“Yeah! And then I can visually access her to see if she is a threat!” Mac seems excited about the idea. It was settled, The Gang would see if Charlie’s girlfriend was a suitable match for their eccentric and grotesque friend. 

—-----------------

Charlie nearly dents your door with how much force he knocks with. It was a pleasant surprise for him to come visit you, and he seems more than excited to see you again, even if it’s only been fifteen hours since you’ve last seen each other. 

“Hey, Charlie.” You smile, “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Adoration is dripping from his voice, he could hardly believe you were real. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the fair with me! I heard it was in town so…” Charlie’s voice trails off but he still looks at you expectantly. 

“Sure! I just have to change real quick. Wanna pop inside?” You move to the side to allow Charlie access to your apartment. A wide, cheesy smile takes over his face as he enters, quietly thanking you. He’s relieved in a way. He didn’t think that you would say no to his invitation, but some small part of him expected it. He’s used to rejection and teasing, not warmth and acceptance. It was new and something he was slowly learning, but certainly not unwelcome. He settled on your couch with perfect posture, obviously trying his hardest to seem proper. You only giggled at his attempts and told him he could make himself at home, which visibly made his shoulders relax a bit. 

While you were gone he scanned your small apartment. Charlie was a relatively talented stalker, but he hasn’t found a good way into your apartment yet. You lived in a decent building so getting past the security measures wasn’t easy, but he would eventually find a way. Most he’s seen was glimpses through your windows, getting a general layout. But now that he was inside, he could finally get a good look at your home. It wasn’t anything lavish, but it was certainly cleaner than his apartment. You had a small kitchen which you’ve mentioned you love baking in, something Charlie was looking forward to exploiting in the future. He loves his sweets, and yours probably tastes better than any he’s had before. There are a few photographs, but most are of your childhood pets or scenery. There is only one photo of what Charlie could guess was your family. It sat on the edge of a mantel, almost hidden from sight. Charlie examined the image, taking in all of the faces. Perhaps one day he would be fortunate to meet them. 

Before Charlie could snoop further, you step out of your bedroom wearing a cute sundress. It was a nice day out and you wanted to dress appropriately. You almost laughed at the way Charlie looked like a deer in headlights, clearly looking around and making himself at home like you had said. “You ready to go, tiger?” Charlie nodded absentmindedly, clearly staring at your body in the dress. You looked absolutely gorgeous to him, the color of your sundress bringing out the color of your eyes. It was strange, he typically didn’t notice these things about people, but it seemed you were changing him in all the right ways. Your bright smile of confusion knocked Charlie back into reality. 

“Yep! Let’s go!” Charlie exclaimed, his excitement shining through his demeanor. He grabs your hand and practically runs the two of you down the stairs. The walk on the way to the fair was long but sweet. Charlie would constantly stop to pick up the “treasures” on the ground, even gifting you the ones he considered to be real finds. In reality, it was just someone’s trash he was picking up and admiring, but you found it to be charming, how he could find the value in anything. He certainly had a creative mind and it was refreshing to see someone with such a positive outlook on things. You eventually made it, pockets now full of trinkets. 

The first thing Charlie sees when entering is the carnival games, particularly the game where you throw balls at bottles. “Oh! I’m so good at these things! I have lots of practice throwing rocks at people and trains and dogs.” He ushers you over to the game, a thrill oozing from his words. The last part of his statement mildly concerned you, but you followed nonetheless. You knew you were never in danger with Charlie around. Charlie hands the man at the booth a $5 bill, turning to you. “I’ll win you a prize! I’m the master at this game after all.”

—-----------------

“What the shit?” Dee cursed, crammed behind a nearby bush with her brother and his idiot roommate. “That girl is not ugly at all.” 

“No, no she is not…” Dennis comments, trying to get a better look at your assets. “This chick is gorgeous, which makes it weirder that she would willingly want to hang out with Charlie.” Dennis leaned further out of the tiny bush. The three of them were not hidden, the bush was incredibly too small for them, but it was clear you and Charlie were too enamored in each other to notice.

“Maybe she’s getting paid to date him?” Mac suggested as fellow pedestrians stared at their ridiculous behavior. However, as per usual The Gang was shameless in their endeavors. 

“Yeah totally. I can almost smell Charlie from here.” Dee forged a face of disgust at the thought of Charlie’s hygiene, wondering how you could stand to be in such close proximity to the man. 

“Hey guys,” Dennis started, giving the other two the look he usually gives when he comes up with a ruthless plan. “Why don’t we go introduce ourselves? I mean, if Charlie is really serious about this chick then she should be introduced to his friends?” A jumble of agreements falls from Dee and Mac as they all exchange psychotic looks. They’re not going to be mean to the girl, just show her the kind of people Charlie surrounds himself with.

—-----------------

Charlie was now $20 poorer and still empty-handed from the ball toss game. You eventually had to usher him away from the game after he began cursing out the man operating the booth, consoling Charlie on his loss and assuring him it was definitely rigged. He seemed to appreciate your comforts and decided to put his small grudge on the carney on the backburner for now. Ruining this date was the last thing he wanted to do. 

The two of you walked hand in hand, Charlie’s palm getting increasingly sweatier as time passed. You chalked it up to nerves, but that could also just be how his body normally functions. It was nice being around Charlie, he had an amazing sense of humor and never judged you in any way. For the first time in a long history of dating you felt like you could finally be unapologetically yourself. Any insecurity or weird interest you had, Charlie made sure to make you feel adored and seen. He was quite honestly the most charming man you’ve ever talked to because of his quirks. Your friends disagreed after showing them a selfie you two had taken, but what did they know? 

Thinking further about Charlie you turn your head to smile at him, but he seems to be preoccupied with something he saw in the distance. You could have sworn you heard him curse under his breath before redirecting where the two of you were walking. “Charlie? I thought you wanted popcorn?” You question, actively walking away from the booth selling popcorn. 

“Yeah, I changed my mind. You like caramel apples, right?” He seemed timid, his wary smile not quite meeting his eyes. 

You nod at the comment, “I do, but I wanted to treat you to something you like! Since you spent all that money trying to win me a prize and all.” 

Charlie simply shrugged off your concern, finding it sweet that you wanted to do something for him, but more nervous about the situation at hand. “Candy apples, popcorn, they’re all good to me! I think you forgot I eat literal trash.” You giggle at the comment, then grimace a bit at the thought. You probably need to buy him a new toothbrush. Or a toothbrush period. 

Charlie kept tugging you along, seemingly avoiding something. After around five minutes of him dodging your comments and not slowing down for anything you dig your feet in the ground causing the two of you to stop. Charlie looks back at you with a nervous, questioning smile. “Okay Charlie, what is going on?”

“Haha, what’re you talking about?” Charlie asks, not bothering to hide the fact he is scanning the area around you two. 

“What am I talking about?” You parrot, “Maybe the fact you are acting like we’re on the run from the cops?” At his still anxious expression you consider your words for a second before adding on with a whisper, “Are we running from the cops?” Your face was close to his, close enough that you could feel his breath on yours. Charlie sighs in defeat before giving in. 

“No, it’s worse than cops. It’s my asshole friends trying to ruin the only good thing in my life yet again.” 

“How are they your friends if they ruin your life?” It seemed strange, but then again nothing you’ve learned about Charlie’s life sounded normal. His living conditions, his odd roommate that you learned may or may not be his biological father, and the bar he works at was definitely out of the ordinary. 

“It’s complicated, just don’t think about it too much.” Charlie looks down at your still intertwined hands, contemplating what to do next. “I just don't want them to make you see how weird or gross I am.”

“Charlie I’m sure-” Your sweet words were cut off by three breathless people chanting Charlie’s name, running up to you two. 

“Charlie!”

“Charlie there you are!”

“Hey, buddy! Funny running into you here!”

They were all equally loud and crazy-eyed. There were two men and one woman, you assumed these were the asshole friends Charlie had referred to. They all shamelessly eyed you up and down in an almost judging manner, to which you only replied with a hesitant smile. 

“Oh, hey! You must be the girl Charlie was talking about.” The girl addressed you first. She was tall and blonde, staring at you with intimidating bird-like eyes. 

You began, “Yeah, I’m-”

The brown-haired man next to her interrupted your introduction, “Wow, Charlie. What a catch. You’re certainly easy on the eyes.” He was clearly checking you out, purring his words with a flirtatious tone. It was mocking in a way. “How did you land such a catch? You know, with your disgusting hygiene habits. You know he goes into sewers naked?” The man stared at you with wide eyes, more than likely expecting a large reaction out of you, to which you only blinked in his direction. 

“Right, well-”

Another man cut you off, this time with slick black hair. God damn these people did not allow anyone but themselves to get a word in. “Hey! If you guys are done at this stupid boring fair you should definitely come back to Paddy’s!” His words were now solely directed towards you, “That’s our bar, y’know. We own it. Charlie does too but he’s basically just our janitor. We call it the Charlie work, it’s very gross.” You only half-heartedly nod. No wonder Charlie was so anxious, these guys are dickheads. Speaking of your scraggly boyfriend, you turn your head to see him practically fuming next to you. You knew if you didn’t intervene now things would turn a whole lot uglier. 

“Ok, well, it was um, wonderful meeting you three, but,” You discreetly take Charlie’s hand in yours, taking a few steps back. “We actually have dinner reservations so we have to leave now.” It was a lame excuse, but anything to get out of here. 

“Oh perfect! I’m starved,” The blonde began. “Where are we eating?”

“Actually it’s only a table for two, sorry! Maybe I’ll see you guys again! Bye!” You half-yell as you actively usher Charlie away from the scene back to your apartment. 

“What a bitch.” Dee casually said as the other two agreed. 

—-----------------

The walk home was quiet, which was strange as Charlie always found one thing or another to talk about. He was still silently mortified next to you, deep into his own mind. He was convinced you would never want to hang out with him again after hearing how his friends spoke about him today. Charlie knew you were aware of most of those things, but what if hearing them from another person changed your mind about things? He felt light-headed thinking of how you’d never talk to him again after this. 

Eventually, you made it into your apartment building and to your door. Charlie was about to admit defeat and simply walk away before you take hold of his arm. “Charlie?” For the first time since his friends showed up, he looked into your eyes. In them, you only found anxiety and sorrow. 

“I’m sorry about today, it was supposed to be nice.”

“Oh Charlie, it was still an amazing day, don’t worry about what your stupid friends said.” You cooed, but it didn’t seem to change much in his mind. 

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t wanna go out anymore. I am pretty gross.” 

“That’s stupid,” You began, “I mean, you may have some non-hygienic habits, but it’s just a part of who you are! It makes you stand out from the crowd.” You move closer to your boyfriend, hands now cupping both of his cheeks. Charlie learned into your palms, drinking up every moment of physical touch between you two. “Charlie you’re such a unique soul and you’re so kind to me. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you because then you wouldn’t be my Charlie anymore, you would be someone else.” You could see Charlie’s eyes slowly light up at your words, almost as if he’d never heard a kind word to or about him in his life. 

“You mean it? You really wanna keep seeing me?” Your hands leave his face, which makes Charlie think the worst, but your lips quickly take their place on his cheek. 

“See you tomorrow?” You smile sweetly, causing Charlie to enthusiastically nod as you enter your apartment and softly shut the door. From inside your living room, you can hear his yell of triumph and only a few minutes later you can see him from your window practically skipping down the street in joy. You chuckle to yourself, you really did score with him. His friends, however, are a completely different story. You just hope you won’t have to see them too often. But knowing Charlie’s background, you’re sure they’ll only become more of a nuisance with him. 

Bradford Has a Valentine's Day Princess

Part 2 of Bradford Has a Princess

Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader

Summary: Leading up to Valentine's Day, you - Tim Bradford's princess - learn exactly what your relationship and Tim's treatment of you mean.

Warnings: fluff! princess treatment, brief angst (harassment), Tim is protective and soft and gets called 'king'

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

A/N: I had to Google makeup, nails, and restaurants for this... Based on the impeccable whipped Tim idea from @nevereclipse!

February 11th – Los Angeles, CA

“I’ve got a buddy with a vacation house in the Caribbean,” Aaron offers, scrolling on his phone in the passenger seat of Tim’s shop.

“Good for you,” Tim says.

“Or I can get you in touch with my girl Shayla; she’s a product developer for Estee Lauder.”

“What is it exactly that you’re trying to do, Thorsen?” Tim asks, turning slightly in his seat as he slows for a stop sign.

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day, and it seems like you’ve set the bar pretty high with the whole ‘princess treatment’ thing, so I’m just trying to help,” Aaron explains. Tim’s brows lift, and he adds, “Sir.”

“I appreciate the intent – or I think I do – but I’ve got it under control,” Tim assures him as he prepares to continue patrolling.

Aaron watches Los Angeles pass outside the window for nearly a mile before he says, “Dior is having a sale, by the way.”

“I know,” Tim grumbles. When Aaron looks at him quickly, wide-eyed at his response, he threatens, “Tell Angela and see what happens.”

Tim sighs as he slides his key into the lock. Between Aaron trying to help with Valentine’s Day plans and a car full of frat boys who ran from a traffic stop and made the rainy afternoon extraordinarily long, Tim is more than ready to sit back and relax. Closing the door behind him, he shakes his head and smiles.

“Why does it smell like food in here?” he calls.

You wave from the kitchen and don’t answer. Tim rounds the island and wraps his arm around your waist to pull you away from the oven.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, holding you against his side.

“I thought you were smarter than this,” you answer, smiling brightly. “I’m cooking.”

“I told you I’d cook tonight, and every other night,” Tim reminds you. “Or get takeout.”

“Yeah, and I really appreciate that, but you’re stressed. I can tell.”

“Are you saying I have wrinkles?” Tim challenges, tightening his arm around you.

You hum as you look at his face, then run your fingers under his jaw. “I was going to say your shoulders are tense, but now that you mention it-“

Tim shoves you away gently and grabs you before you can catch yourself. You laugh as he lifts you onto the counter, then pout when he blocks you from getting down.

“I’ll finish,” he says, holding your hips. “Sit there and look pretty.”

Resting your arms on Tim’s shoulders, you lean forward and kiss him. The oven chimes as the timer ends, and Tim pulls away from you with whispered gratitude.

“You didn’t let me do anything,” you remind him.

“Check the table by the door, please,” he says over his shoulder as he bends to remove dinner from the oven.

You tear your eyes from Tim as you slide off the counter – and ignore his demand of “Careful!” – before you walk toward the door. There’s a metallic pink gift bag with silver accents around the edges on the table. You use the braided handles to lift it, then smile at the card beneath it. Carrying both back to the island, you smile at Tim.

“What’s the special occasion?” you inquire.

“Another day with you?” Tim offers with a shrug. “Does there have to be a special occasion?”

“I suppose not. Can I open it?”

“No, I just got it for you to look at the bag,” Tim deadpans.

“You’re not funny,” you reply, “but at least you’re pretty.”

“We can’t both be pretty but unfunny,” Tim points out.

“Then I’ll be funny,” you decide.

Tim laughs, putting the oven mitts in a drawer by the oven. He nods as he walks to your side, and you pull the white tissue paper out of the bag before you gasp.

“Tim!” you exclaim as you lift the pink and white Estee Lauder bag. “It’s so pretty!”

“I’m glad you like it,” Tim replies, sliding his hand onto your lower back. “If you want different stuff, we can return it.”

You unzip the bag slowly, then unwrap the tissue paper to read the names of the items within. “Is this the Rebellious Rose lipstick? I’ve been wanting this one!”

“Rebellious should be a good fit,” Tim muses.

“This is the best Valentine’s Day gift I’ve ever gotten,” you say as you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him.

He lifts his hand to glance at his watch and says, “It’s not Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s close enough,” you point out as you lean back, keeping your hands on his sides.

Tim holds your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, leans in, and says, “You’ll know when it’s Valentine’s Day. Now sit down, I’ll plate the food.”

February 12th

“What do you want for Valentine’s Day?” you ask as Tim uses a fluffy towel to dry your hands.

“You,” he replies, setting the towel aside.

“I mean as a gift. Chocolate? Creatine?”

Tim chuckles at your second idea. He holds your hands in one of his as he opens an alcohol pad with his teeth.

“I’m off work for once,” he says as he carefully drops your hands. “So, I’ll handle plans and gifts. I just want to spend the day with you.”

“As opposed to what you’re doing right now?”

Tim looks at you through his lashes, then shakes his head and returns his attention to your hands. He wipes the alcohol pad across each of your nails and drops it in the trashcan beside your vanity, where you’re sitting with your legs bracketing his hips.

“It says to shape your nails,” Tim says, looking at the instructions beside you. “Do you want to do that?”

“I did it last night,” you answer, watching him rather than checking your nails. “I’m good.”

Tim nods, then opens the box by your left thigh. He removes the press-on nails and then directs your hand to rest on the counter beside them. Carefully, he lines one up on your forefinger nail.

“That fit?” he asks.

You look away from him to examine the fit. “It’s perfect. You’re good at this.”

“It’s not rocket science.”

“Yet most people mess it up.”

Tim puts the other sizes back in the box and opens the nail glue, flitting his eyes to the instructions again.

“If I mess up, you can get them fixed before Valentine’s Day, right?” he checks, looking up at you.

“I won’t have to.” Tim continues to look at you, so you sigh and say, “Yes, I can.”

With a firm nod, Tim applies a thin layer of glue to the first nail, then lines it up with your cuticle. He places your hand on his left palm, then gently presses the nail down with his right thumb. When he finishes, he tilts your hand gently to check it, then moves to the next nail.

“I can’t do my skincare while these set,” you remember as he finishes one hand and moves to the next. “Ooh, they look great though. Thank you!”

Tim mumbles what you assume is you’re welcome. He’s focused on you and doing this correctly for you, so you watch him with a smile. He closes the nail glue and slides it into the box after the last nail is secure.

“Look good?” he asks.

You nod and pucker your lips, requesting a kiss. Tim leans forward and kisses you, then pulls back and opens the cabinet with all your skincare.

“Which face wash?” he asks.

“The oil cleanser, please. It’s the orange-y one,” you reply. “I can do it in thirty minutes.”

“We need to leave in an hour, let’s get a head start.”

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” Tim replies. “But stop talking, I’d hate to accidentally waterboard you this early in the day.”

“Later, then,” you agree with a nod.

“Maybe you are the funny one,” Tim muses as he wipes a wet washcloth across your forehead. “Feel okay?”

You nod, and Tim gently washes your face. He lifts your chin and moves his fingers in gentle circles, imitating your motions – the ones he has watched reverently, in awe of you, many nights as he waits for you to return to his side.

“Moisturizer, right?” Tim checks as he pats your neck dry.

“The Estee Lauder crème. It’s still in the bag,” you request. “I really like the night stuff.”

“It smells good,” Tim muses as he uncaps the moisturizer.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going for brunch, so I know what to wear?” you ask.

“Your outfit’s on the bed,” he says rather than answering. “Makeup?”

“Uhm,” you hum, dragging out the sound as you turn to look in the lighted mirror behind you. “I think just lipstick, brows, blush, bronzer, and mascara. Unless I need a full face?”

“Your face is perfect like it is,” Tim mumbles as he replaces the moisturizer into the pink bag and retrieves your new lipstick.

“But you’re the pretty one,” you remind him.

Tim shakes his head as he raises a bronzer from your custom makeup drawer – which he built (with some help from Nolan) and installed for you. You nod, and he sets it by the sink as he gathers the other items you mentioned.

“Do you think the Dior Addict Lip Glow would go with this lipstick?” you ask.

“As much as I love you and enjoy touching you face,” Tim begins. “I have no idea.”

You frown before you say, “Maybe I should return you then.”

“You could find another Valentine by tomorrow.”

“Kojo, for sure.”

“Oh, yeah, he’d be honored,” Tim agrees. “Unfortunately, he’s spending Valentine’s Day with Lucy.”

“Ah, so he’s nearly as spoiled as I am.”

“Probably more.”

Tim finishes cleaning up the minimal mess he made, organizes your makeup how you apply it, and then returns to you. He faces away from you, bends his knees, and hooks his hands behind your calves to pull you forward.

“I can walk,” you argue, smiling as you wrap your arms over his shoulders.

He stands, lifting you into a piggyback carry as your nails finish setting. “Better safe than sorry.”

In the Waldorf Astoria Beverly Hills elevator, you shift under Tim’s arm.

“Sorry,” you say softly. “These heels are new.”

Tim looks down at the shoes he bought you the last time you took him shopping. “Do they fit?”

“Yeah, just need to be broken in, I think,” you reply. “They’re just pinching under my ankles a little bit.”

The elevator opens on the rooftop, and Tim removes his arm from your shoulders to hold your hand. He gives his name at the door of The Rooftop Beverly Hills, and you’re quickly seated with a panoramic view of Beverly Hills and the Los Angeles skyline. Tim sits on the same side of the table as you and holds your hand in his lap as you read the menu together.

“Celebrating Valentine’s Day early?” the chef asks as he checks that the patrons enjoy their meals.

“Not exactly,” Tim answers. “Just enjoying some time together.”

“Well, you’re a beautiful couple. Order anything from the menu, I can prepare whatever you’d like.”

“Thank you,” you reply with Tim.

After he leaves, you whisper, “This place is expensive, Tim. Let me pay half the bill as part of my Valentine’s Day gift to you?”

You bat your eyelashes, and Tim considers your request.

“Sure,” he decides.

Yet, fifteen minutes later, he excuses himself to use the restroom and pays the bill without telling you.

In the parking garage, you hold Tim’s arm as you attempt to keep weight off your ankles, regretting wearing brand-new shoes on a date.

“I can go get the truck or I can carry you to it,” Tim offers. “Your choice.”

“I can wait here, if you’re sure,” you reply.

Tim smiles, kisses your forehead, promises to return quickly, and then jogs into the parking garage. He should’ve splurged for the valet, he thinks.

“Good morning,” a man greets as he exits a Ferrari illegally parked in a handicap space.

“Morning,” you reply.

He drops his eyes to your dress, then down your legs to your sleek back heels. You cross your arms over your chest uncomfortably, watching for Tim.

“You’re very pretty,” the man continues as he walks toward you. “I’m Jett.”

You begin to reply that you’re not interested, but he continues talking.

“Are you staying here or just having a Galentine’s-type thing?” he asks. “Pretty girl like you probably has a lot of friends.”

“I-“

“I got my ‘Rari as a Valentine’s Day gift to myself a few years ago,” he brags, clearly flexing his arms as he slides his hands into his pockets. “Say, what about a Valentine’s Day ride? I’d be happy to take you out tomorrow.”

He moves closer to you as he speaks, and you step back, ignoring the pain from your heels. You look toward the ramp, but Tim isn’t back yet.

“I’m not interested,” you say as he waits for an answer.

“C’mon,” he presses, reaching for your arm. “It’s not marriage, just a drive.”

A car door slams and you look up quickly. The tension in your shoulders eases when Tim walks around the front of his truck.

“Back up,” he demands lowly. “Nobody teach you to keep your hands to yourself?”

The creep beside you – whose name you’ve forgotten – dares to laugh and stay beside you. “How ‘bout you get back in your cheap little truck and let us get back to our conversation?” he tells Tim.

Tim’s jaw ticks as observes the man, and then his eyes flit to you and soften.

“I already told you no,” you say.

“Babe,” the man sighs, raising his arm to wrap it around you.

Tim lifts the hand closest to you, and you take it as you move to stand behind him.

“She said no,” Tim reiterates darkly. “If I have to tell you no, you won’t be able to do this again, even if you wanted to. So do everybody a favor and go.”

The man looks at you over Tim’s shoulder and scoffs.

“Whatever. She isn’t even that hot,” he mumbles as he walks toward the elevator.

Tim doesn’t move as he watches him until the doors close. Then, his muscles relax, his fingers slot between yours, and he turns to face you.

“You okay?” he inquires.

“Yes,” you promise, squeezing his hand gently. “Thank you.”

Tim looks at your eyes, then nods when he sees that you’re okay. He helps you into the passenger seat of his truck and leans across you to buckle your seatbelt. As he prepares to close the door, you extend your arm and say, “Wait.” You lean out carefully and point to the Ferrari. “He parked illegally.”

Tim smiles as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “That is the best Valentine’s Day gift you could give me.”

“Hey! You didn’t let me pay!” you realize as he closes the door and calls dispatch.

“Weird,” you murmur as you lock your phone and set it aside.

Tim raises his arm and invites you to curl up at his side before he asks, “What’s weird?”

“My streaming services should have renewed this week, but none of them were charged yet.”

“I paid for them,” Tim says, navigating through the comedy section of one of the aforementioned services.

“What? Why?”

“I watch all of it with you,” he points out as if that’s reason enough.

You know better than to argue with Tim, and you know it’s part of how he shows love, even if you wish he’d let you show some in return. The key to loving Tim Bradford, you’ve realized, is knowing that he doesn’t give and receive love in the same way. After you realized that he loves spending time with you, hearing your voice, and knowing you’re close, you learned how to love Tim Bradford with the same intensity he loves you – just in your way.

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day,” you remind him as the sun sets. “We could watch a rom-com and no one could judge you.”

“The people who would judge me are under the impression I’m living in one,” he replies, smiling as he tugs you closer.

“That makes you the rom, and I’m the com, right?”

“Just for that, we’re watching basketball.”

February 14th – Valentine’s Day

A gentle sea breeze blows across the deck as you tell Tim about the heart-shaped cupcakes you want to make. His hand had been on the back of your chair as you ordered, but now that you have his full attention, his fingers find their way up, toying with the end of your hair as he nods with your explanation and enjoys your excitement.

Tim wraps your hair around his fingers, then gathers it in his palm and lifts it gently before repeating his loving ministrations. You feel his movements against your exposed back and eventually trail off, meeting Tim’s eyes as he watches you.

“Do you want to make them tonight?” he asks. “We can stop at the store after we leave.”

“We can make them another day,” you answer. “I don’t want today to end.”

“There will be more Valentine’s Days.”

“But they won’t be the same. This one… Today has been perfect because of you.”

“And I’ll try to make the rest perfect too.”

“So, you really don’t care that your friends think you’re whipped, and you wouldn’t do something you didn’t want to just because I’m younger and you care about me?”

Tim sits straight in his seat, and his hand spreads across your back, sending shivers down your spine.

“Valentine’s Day is a day on the calendar-“ he begins.

“It’s a weekend with you,” you interrupt.

“It’s a day on the calendar,” he repeats firmly. “But this – what we have – it’s forever. I enjoy doing things for you, getting things for you, and spending time with you. But I love you. You. Not what my friends think or the fact that you called me a cradle robber a few weeks ago. I love you.”

“I love you,” you whisper. “You’re the only one I want.”

“And the princess treatment is part of that. So don’t ever question that I care about you, and I want to do all of this for you. Whether it’s February 14th or June 30th.”

“What’s June 30th?” you ask with a smile.

“An example,” he replies, chuckling. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Tim pushes his fingers into your hair, tipping your head gently, lovingly, as he kisses you. Waves lap peacefully onto the shore beneath you, and you lean against Tim as the perfect night in the perfect relationship continues.

“Hey, where’d you learn the term princess treatment, king?” you ask, attempting to hide your smile.

“The same person who told me about the free Estee Lauder gift bag.”

“They never give things away for free.”

Tim shrugs, and you kiss him once more before someone delivers a dozen red roses and another gift bag with your dinner.

Elliot With A Wife That Comes From A Wealthy Family

You come from a wealthy family

The typical old money family

So everyone was so surprised when you announced you were getting married to Elliot

Elliot is not the kind of man your family would’ve imagined you with

After all, both of your sisters went on to marry rich men

They both sneered at Elliot and his profession but your parents were happy for you

Elliot cannot STAND your sisters and has to mentally prepare himself for each visit

But everyone manages to come together for your kids

Each holiday and birthday is always an expensive gift

Your family being a little out with the world their grandchildren and nieces and nephews live in

They never have to worry about money, so their advice is pretty useless

Elliot always feels like bashing his head whenever your sisters talk about some expensive trip to Europe or whatever expensive item their husbands got them

Sometimes Elliot feels like he doesn’t deserve you 

You have to remind him that you married HIM and that you’re glad you did

Your family really does mean well, they just don’t have any tact

If your family is having money issues, Elliot refuses to dip into the money that’s part of your inheritance or ask your parents for help

Seriously, this man doesn’t know when or how to ask for help

He wants to be able to provide for his family himself

You having to go behind his back and doing what needs to be done anyway

Really, Elliot loves you so much and wants to give you the life that you

I had this dream where reader works as an emt firefighter and in her turnout jacket she's got a little stash of snacks where after an emergency she offers people snacks on the way back to the 118 station, and she always gives buck his favs bc they're in a secret relationship

Dunno I thought it was cute and sweet, like proper mom friend vibes

SPECIAL TREATMENT — E.BUCKLEY

you know buck well, and you pride yourself on it. and whilst you try to keep your adoration for him under wraps during shifts, he still gets a little bit of special treatment.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 1.3k | fluff | masterlist.

a/n - this is such a cute idea :(

The sirens wailed as the fire engine rumbled through the streets, red lights flashing against the sky. You sat in the back, your heart still racing from the adrenaline of the call.

It had been a tough one—a nasty car accident that had left both cars in a mangled heap. But everyone made it out okay, thank god, you weren’t sure you or anyone else in the team had the mental energy to deal with the aftermath of that today.

You leaned your head back against the seat, trying to catch your breath. The smell of smoke and sweat still clung to your skin, the weight of your turnout gear pressing heavily on your shoulders.

It wasn’t your first call of the night, and it wouldn’t be your last, but this one had taken its toll.

“Hey, you good?”

Buck’s voice cut through the noise of the engine, echoing in your headpiece. He was sitting next to you, his helmet resting on his lap, his blue eyes filled with concern. He’d seen the way you’d thrown yourself into the chaos of the scene—no hesitation, just action. It’s one of the things he admired about you. But you knew he also worried. You worried about him, too.

“Yeah,” you replied, offering him a small smile. “Just... long night.”

Buck nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned back to stare out the window.

The two of you were good at keeping up the act, at hiding what simmered beneath the surface, especially when you were surrounded by your crew. No one at the station knew about your relationship, and you both preferred it that way—for now anyway. It was easier to keep things separate, to focus on the job without worrying about what everyone else thought about the two of you abandoning your professionality to pursue a romantic relationship.

But still, you had your little moments.

As the engine slowed, winding through the LA streets back toward the firehouse, you felt the familiar weight of your turnout jacket shift. Your secret stash was in there, tucked away in a small interior pocket. After every call, it had become your little ritual—a way to ease the tension, to offer comfort in the smallest way possible.

Quietly, you reached into the pocket and pulled out a granola bar and a bag of Buck’s favorite pretzels. It had started as a joke between you two, a way to break the ice after long, stressful shifts. But now it was just, well, a part of your routine.

You nudged him gently with your elbow, holding the pretzels out toward him. He looked down, his eyes lighting up with that boyish grin you loved.

“Seriously?” He mouthed, trying not to let the others overhear.

You roll your eyes with an amused smile. “You know I always come prepared.”

Buck shook his head, chuckling under his breath as he took the bag from your hand. His fingers brushed against yours for just a second—too quick for anyone else to notice, but long enough to send a warm tingle up your arm.

“You spoil me,” he murmured, tearing open the bag and popping a pretzel into his mouth.

“Someone has to,” you shot back, leaning back against the seat again, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Can’t have you running on fumes.”

Buck glanced over at you, his gaze softening for a moment. “I think you just like having an excuse to feed me.”

You shrugged, playful. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know what you’re like when you get hangry.”

The engine finally pulled into the station, and as the others began to climb out, you slipped the granola bar into his hand before anyone could see. He caught your eye, his gratitude clear, and you gave him a quick wink before turning to help unload the equipment.

As the night wore on, the crew went about their usual post-call routine—checking equipment, cleaning up, and trying to unwind after the chaos. But your secret little exchange with Buck stayed with you.

It wasn’t a grand gesture or declaration of love—it was a granola bar and a packet of pretzels after a call— but it was something that meant you knew him, that you cared about him and his wellbeing.

And like knowing what snacks he liked after a tough call, he always made sure to walk on the side of the street closer to traffic when you grabbed coffee together on your days off, or guided you away from streetlamps you might bump into when you’re walking on your phone.

Inside the firehouse, the fluorescent lights buzzed softly as everyone filtered into the kitchen, grabbing water bottles and snacks from the fridge. You slipped in beside Buck, leaning against the counter while he made himself a quick sandwich.

“So,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “does this mean I get special treatment forever?”

You gave him a sidelong glance, suppressing a smile. “Special treatment?”

He held up the empty pretzel bag with a grin. “Snacks after every call. Feels like I’m getting VIP service.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping him gently with your shoulder. “Only because you’re secretly my favourite.”

Buck leaned in just a fraction, head tilting in amusement. “I better be.”

His breath brushed against your ear, and for a split second, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the low hum of the kitchen fading into the background.

You fought the urge to kiss him right there, to let the rest of the crew in on what you’d been keeping to yourselves. But instead, you pulled away, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Don’t get cocky, Buckley.”

His laugh was soft, just for you. “Too late.”

“Fyi,” You turn to switch on the coffee machine, a fond smile on your face. “I have snacks for everyone, not just you,”

Buck gasps like he’s in a telanovela, a hand clapping into his chest. “Now that is betrayal,”

You roll your eyes with a laugh, full and hearty and exactly how Buck thinks you deserve to feel for the rest of your life.

“They’re your favourites though, so you can’t be mad at me,” You give him a smug smile, and he sighs.

He could never be mad at you. God just looking at your face has him feeling like he’s in heaven.

“I love you,”

Its a little brash for being stood in the middle of the fire station, but Buck didn’t mind, not when you looked like that. Like you held the whole world in those beautiful eyes and spoke nothing but poetry from your lips.

You laugh, a quick glance across the room for the presence of your coworkers before your response. “I love you too,”

No one else knew, and for now, that was fine.

You had your little rituals, your secret moments tucked away between emergency calls and late-night shifts.

It was enough for now—more than enough, really.

Because as long as you could offer him his favorite snacks after a tough night, as long as he could flash you that boyish grin and know you were there, the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Not my Rookie, Not my Problem. (…..Sike.)

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

Summary: When Grey conducts a training exercise for Mid-Wilshire, involving rookies having to partner up with new T.Os for the time being, Tim is faced with the obstacle of not being able to do what he does best—be your T.O.

The department wide training exercise had barely started, and already, something felt off.

Tim wasn’t sure what it was at first. He stood among the other training officers, arms crossed, watching their assigned rookies partner up with new T.O.s for the day.

It was meant to test adaptability, to see how the rookies handled new leadership styles. Logically, he understood that. But watching someone else give you instructions?

That was another story.

You were paired with Sergeant Harper, which, as far as temporary assignments went, wasn’t bad. Nyla was sharp. She knew what she was doing. Tim had no reason to worry.

And yet.

His jaw clenched as he tracked your movements through the training course, eyes narrowing at the way you hesitated for half a second before moving into position.

Normally, he’d bark at you to stop thinking so much, to trust your training.

But today? That wasn’t his job. He wasn’t your T.O. right now. You weren’t his problem.

Still, that didn’t stop his eyes from catching every little thing—the way you adjusted your stance, the slight delay in your reaction time.

Rookie mistakes. Correctable, but mistakes nonetheless.

And Harper, for whatever reason, wasn’t correcting them.

Tim shifted his weight, his arms tightening across his chest. Maybe she was waiting to address it later. Maybe she had a different method in mind. Maybe—

Nope. He couldn’t do it.

“Stop.”

His voice cut through the noise of the training ground before he even realized he’d spoken.

Everyone froze.

Harper turned first, her brow raised. “Bradford?”

Tim was already moving, stepping onto the course without hesitation. He ignored the way the other officers exchanged glances, ignored the fact that this wasn’t his drill to interrupt. His focus was solely on you.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, eyes locked on yours. “You’re leaving yourself open. That’s a great way to get shot, kid.”

You blinked, caught between confusion and familiarity. “I—”

“Fix it.”

A beat of silence. Then, like muscle memory, you adjusted without argument. Quicker stance, sharper movements. The hesitation vanished, replaced by the reflex he’d drilled into you a thousand times over.

Tim gave a curt nod. “Better.”

Harper, to her credit, looked more amused than offended. “You know,” she mused, “last I checked, I was running this drill.”

Tim exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw. He wasn’t about to apologize, but he knew he’d overstepped. Still, as he glanced back at you—more alert now, more you—he found he didn’t regret it.

“You weren’t fixing it,” he said simply. “So I did.”

Harper smirked. “And here I thought you were handing them off for the day.”

Tim huffed, stepping back to rejoin the other T.O.s. “Guess that’s easier said than done.”

And just like that, it clicked.

Because maybe, for the next few hours, you weren’t technically his rookie. Maybe, on paper, you weren’t his responsibility right now.

But in every way that mattered?

Yeah. You still were.

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