Venom To The Rescue- Venom/Eddie Brock X Reader

All That Matters

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

Pairing: Dominique Luca x younger!fem!reader

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

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

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know your stuff.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Four Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m happy,” you say softly.

“For now,” your father grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you care about the age gap?”

“Of course not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Watch him,” Deacon warns Luca.

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

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

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

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

“We kept the relationship private,” he explains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that wonderful smell?” Hondo inquires.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What calendar?” you ask.

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

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

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

“Adultère”

Adultère: French for Adultery. 

pairing: Andy Barber x WOC!fem!Reader

Warnings: CHRISTMAS, emily trying to be a good fanfic writer and pretending she knows shit about male underwear, cheating, insecurities but y/n is THAT bitch though, swearing, smut: degradation, andy puts the pussy on a pedestal (as he should), unprotected sex: P in V (zon’t do it. zon’t do it….), light daddy kink + subspace, use of the word “cunt” ihkzlkadj, cheesy happy ending 

A/N: THIS IS FOR MY MAIN GIRLY JASMEEN ILY JAS THEE STALLION CAUSE ITS HER BDAY AND IT MOTIVATED ME TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR ONCE!! ❤️💞🥺 @cloudystevie

For Siri’s  @stargazingfangirl18‘s Happy Hoelidays Challenge! 

Prompt: Character A is having a sad, lonely holiday when Character B unexpectedly shows up to spend it with them

Since i’m a lazy, incompetant person, this is also for the Happy Hoelidays Challenge! Love u Siri, hope you’ll like this

chile not me giving y’all the bare minimum every two months. listen to Lana Del Rey and wake up your sugar baby instincts for maximum experience. Also, i didnt watch defending jacob cause as much as I love chris and shows in general i’m poor and lazy… And i wrote about boston. LAST TIME. my ny ass had a hard time rbhnkjdik // Also, i’m not that good with christmas stuff like.. I really don’t care that much about the christmas spirit and i’m so sorry cause IK you can feel it throughout the whole fic.

Word count: 4.6k+ 

Keep reading

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

A/N: This is the finale. I hope it meets some expectations, if not all. Sorry it’s taken so long to write.

18 and up, y’all.

There were no servants to be seen in the winding corridors that led toward Walt’s bedroom, and not one of his steps faltered, his arms like pliable steel around you. The long hem of your dress fell almost to the tops of his shined dress shoes, white lace drifting to and fro with the sway of his movement.

You glanced up at Walt’s face, your heart hammering a fast staccato in your chest. He caught your look and winked, a slow unfurling grin revealing the blunt points of freshly returned ready canines.

Keep reading

All The Reasons We Can't

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (Lucy's roommate)

Summary: When you move in with Lucy Chen, you don't expect to fall for her ex-boyfriend.

Warnings: unspecified age gap (r is younger than Lucy), angst, fluff, spoilers for s6! (it's canon-divergent but still has spoilers)

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

A/N: If you are looking for a happy ending for Lucy and Tim, this is not the fic for you lol.😆

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Lucy!” you call, waving from your seat in the back of the restaurant.

She rushes to you and pulls you into a tight hug. “Thank you so much for coming,” she whispers into your embrace. “I needed this.”

“You’re my best friend, Lucy, I’ll always be here for you.”

Lucy nods as she releases you. You take the seat beside her rather than across from her. She’s dealing with a lot, and you know that she needs a friend right now.

“So, how long are you staying in town this time?” Lucy asks as she picks up the menu.

“Uh, about that,” you begin slowly. “I was thinking I’d just stay this time. You’re here, a lot of other things I love are here, and I just- I think it’s time to stay in LA for good.”

“You’re moving?” Lucy exclaims. “Please don’t be kidding, I can’t take that right now, girl.”

“I’m serious,” you promise her. “I’ve been looking for a new job and a place. Lucy, I want to be close to you; I need you in my life all the time, too.”

“It’s been too long,” Lucy agrees as she takes your hand. “I do have an idea though.”

You hum, inviting her to share, and her smile grows.

“Why don’t you move in with me? Tamara moved out, so I have the room. Even if it’s just temporary until you find your own space, I’d love to be roommates.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of change, Luce, and I don’t want to get in the way of you processing everything.”

“I’m really sure.”

“Then, yeah, I’d love that, Lucy.”

Lucy squeals, drawing the attention of an older couple sitting across from you. You wave awkwardly before they look away, then laugh with Lucy. Moving in with her sounds perfect and being right there for each other is part of why you decided to move.

“Hello,” you greet when Lucy returns from work. “Dinner is in the oven.”

“You’re the best friend ever,” Lucy sighs. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Wasting time until we met online mostly,” you answer. “How was today?”

“It was- uh, it was better. Tim and I still have a lot of work to do, mostly on ourselves. We’re going to try to be friends, though, because there’s no way either of us could ever just go back.”

“I get that. Being friends will be good for you, Lucy, even if it’s hard. Especially since you have to see him every day.”

“Yeah, it’s just still hard. Really hard sometimes, to wake up and remember he’s not there.”

You pull Lucy into a hug, which she gladly accepts. The oven timer dings, and you release her with a smile and an apology to finish preparing dinner.

“What would make it better?” you ask. “I know you’ve been thinking about it.”

“Honestly, I know I’m not ready to get out there yet, but I think seeing Tim with someone else – even just platonically – could help. He deserves it, too. For everything that he did and didn’t do, he’s a great guy, and he needs a friend or two that he can be himself with. Or does that sound selfish, like I’m trying to push him away to forget?”

“It doesn’t sound selfish at all, Lucy. You want the best for him, and if he’s trying to be friends, it seems like he wants that for you, too.”

“Yeah.” Lucy taps her fingers on the counter.

“I’ll get you a sign for the door,” you joke, trying to make her smile. “Lucy Chen, Platonic Matchmaker.”

It works, and Lucy smiles as you slide two plates onto the counter. She’s your best friend, and if she thinks Tim Bradford needs a friend (even after breaking her heart), then you trust she’s right.

“Hi,” Tim greets softly when the elevator opens.

Lucy nods once in greeting as she steps inside. “Good morning.”

Tim presses his lips together in the awkward silence. He knows he made the right choice by letting her go to get the better things she deserves, but it doesn’t make this part easier. “Big plans this weekend?”

“Not really,” Lucy replies. “My roommate is making me dinner tomorrow night and we’re just going to hang out, I think. Tamara and some other friends are coming over this weekend.”

“That’s good. You got a new roommate already?”

“I did. A friend I met a few years ago moved here, so…”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.” The door opens and Lucy steps forward. “Plus, she knows every little thing there is to know about me and you.”

Tim’s eyes widen and Lucy laughs as the elevator door closes behind her. Shaking his head, Tim smiles because Lucy looks happy again. His phone buzzes with another reminder about her cop-iversary, a term she coined to celebrate the anniversary of when she graduated to short sleeves. It’s the first year he hasn’t celebrated with her, but he’s still celebrating for her.

On the day of Lucy’s cop-iversary, you wake up early to surprise her with her favorite breakfast. When you have the food done and decorated for her big day, you realize that she should be awake by now. You walk to her bedroom door and knock lightly.

“It’s open,” Lucy calls from inside.

Gently pushing the door open, you see her finishing her hair. With the last clip in place, she sighs and looks at you. Her eyes are bloodshot, she looks tired, and there’s no sign of excitement for her big day.

“What happened?” you inquire.

“Yesterday was awful. A cop got shot, and I got roped into an undercover thing that almost blew up in my face… I’m just stressed and tired, I think. Everything’s piling on, you know?”

You extend your arms toward her, and Lucy hugs you tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “What is that amazing smell?”

“That’s your cop-iversary breakfast. Go eat, I’ll tidy up in here for you.”

“I love you,” Lucy sighs. “You’re the best person, friend, roommate, human, ever.”

“Back at ya,” you reply happily. “Now go before you run out of time.”

Lucy presses her hands together in another silent thanks as she walks backward out of her room. If she hadn’t told you about the rough day yesterday, her room would have. There are some clothes spread around on the bed and floor, her desk is disorganized, and there’s an overflowing backpack shoved in the corner. Her go bag, you realize. You pick a place at the back of the room and begin gathering the loose items; it’s the least you can do for your best friend.

In the kitchen, Lucy takes a bite of food and closes her eyes in appreciation. Before she can continue eating, someone knocks on the door. As she stands, she grabs a piece of food from the edge of her plate and pops it in her mouth on the short walk to the door.

“Kojo!” she squeals.

She drops to her knees without greeting Tim, opting to welcome Kojo into the apartment rather than the man who brought him over. Lucy takes the leash from Tim and leads Kojo to the couch.

“Can I come in?” Tim asks from the hall.

“Yeah,” Lucy answers, not looking away from Kojo. “What are you two doing here?”

“Heard about yesterday,” Tim says as he closes the door. “Thought you might want some Kojo comfort.”

“Kojo comfort is my favorite.”

“Happy cop-iversary.”

You survey Lucy’s room once you’re finished. With a satisfied nod, you turn toward her door. As you open it, you realize that Lucy has company.

“Sorry,” you say softly as the man looks toward you.

You recognize Tim Bradford from Lucy’s description of him and the pictures she refuses to delete. Now that they’re friends, it’s fine, but you didn’t approve of the folder while she was lying awake every night.

“I’m just gonna…” you trail off and walk toward your room.

“No, you can stay,” Lucy says. “You live here, too. This is Tim. Kojo and I will be right back.”

Lucy stands, and Kojo follows quickly behind her. She gathers her plate from the counter before she and Kojo disappear into her room and the door closes behind them.

“Hi,” you tell Tim. You remember that Lucy never actually said your name and offer it.

“Nice to meet you. And glad to see Lucy got a good roommate,” Tim replies.

You nod and look toward her door before you drop your voice to say, “Thank you. Lucy told me how you’re trying to do everything right after the breakup. Friends and all that. Plus, she needed to see Kojo today.”

“It is quite literally the least I can do,” Tim replies.

“I disagree. You seem like a great guy, Tim, and the fact that you’re trying at all means a lot. To me, at least.”

Tim isn’t sure how to respond to that. He blames himself for so much of what has happened recently, yet as he stands here with you, that guilt and the memories fade. He just wants to know about you.

“So, you and Lucy have been friends for a while?” he asks.

“Long-distance friends. We met online and then ran into each other in person a while back. Everything just kind of fit between us.”

You’re taking up every thought in Tim’s head, he realizes. Even as you’re talking, he wants to know more, to know you. But then a small voice in him points out that you’re young. Whatever it is he’s feeling doesn’t matter; you’re younger than him, younger than Lucy, and there’s no way you’d be interested in him. The realization fails to silence the other voice that whispers about how he feels alive, like himself again.

“How are you?” you ask. “Not just like how are you, I mean. Uhm… How are you doing with everything?”

The whispering voice rises to a yell. Tim’s heart knows exactly what it wants. Back to life in his chest, Tim acknowledges its cry that he needs you. Tim Bradford has feelings for Lucy’s younger roommate.

“I’m sorry if that’s overstepping your boundaries,” you add when Tim doesn’t answer. “It’s just that Lucy had me, Tamara, plenty of people to talk to after the breakup. From what she’s told me, you may not have had that same community to help you.”

“I don’t,” Tim agrees. His heart hammers in his chest as he wishes he could come home to you and your arms, where nothing else would matter.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs half-heartedly and offers a small smile. You see right through them to the sadness and guilt beneath. Living with Lucy has accustomed you to touch and physical affection, and you don’t think twice before you hug him.

Your arms wrap over his shoulders, and the brief moment where you think he will pull away ends when his strong arms tighten around your waist. He drops his face to your shoulder and holds you tighter as he clings to you. You feel it, and Tim does too, as he melts in your arms and releases the baggage he’s been carrying for far too long.

“You have people now,” you whisper.

Tim nods against you and raises one arm toward your shoulder to deepen the hug before he pulls away.

“Do you have your phone?” you ask, your hand still on his arm. “I can give you my number so you can call or text any time you want.”

Tim passes you his phone and watches your eyes as you type your contact information. As you place it back in his hand, you repeat your invitation.

“Anything you need, just to talk or listen, I’m here, Tim.”

“Thank you,” Tim replies. He holds your eyes for a moment then asks, “Is Lucy going to give Kojo back?”

You tilt your head back and laugh, and Tim smiles at the sight and the melodious noise. “Nope,” you answer.

“Maybe I should take her roommate to get even,” Tim jokes.

You smile at him as you shake your head. “Take a seat, she’ll be a while. There’s plenty of food, too, so help yourself.”

Tim happily takes a seat, more than willing to pass the time with you while Lucy gets comforted by Kojo. The minutes pass quickly as you and Tim get to know each other. When Lucy’s door opens again, Kojo trots to Tim’s side and Lucy calls that she’s just getting her stuff and she’ll be ready.

“Great, I’m a chauffeur now,” Tim grumbles.

“Tim, you should come over more often,” you suggest. “Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course. I think it would be good for all of us, though.”

You pat Kojo’s head as Tim promises, “I will. And if you ever want to come to my place or meet somewhere, you have my number.”

Lucy emerges before you can answer Tim, and she hugs you tightly to thank you for the cop-iversary present. She tells Tim he’s free to go, to which he rolls his eyes but leaves anyway. You know that you’ll be texting him soon.

“You hugged Tim,” Lucy accuses after he leaves.

“What?” you ask, turning back toward her after watching Tim leave.

“I’m not mad. You’re really good for him.”

“Lucy, I promise it was not my intention to-“

“I know,” she assures, reaching for your hand. “But Tim and I are friends, he clearly likes you… If you want to try, I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks.”

She picks up her bag and steps toward the door. “You didn’t ask how I knew you hugged him.”

“Cologne?” you guess.

“Happiness. I saw it on him too, and it’s been a very long time since it was that obvious.”

After she leaves, you unlock your phone and see that Tim has already sent you a text. With his comments and Lucy’s approval, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t pursue whatever it is that’s blooming between you.

“Thanks for the hug and the talk,” you read. You smile as you type a reply: Meet at my favorite restaurant on Friday for more?

The message says ‘delivered’ then ‘read,’ but there’s no reply. A minute passes and you lock your phone. Maybe you misread everything, and he really did just need a hug, and now he’s done. You try to shake it out of your head and begin to clean the kitchen. You’re nearly done when your phone rings.

“Hello?” you answer as you dry your hands.

“Why?” Tim asks.

“Hmm?”

“I’m older than you,” Tim points out. “And I dated your roommate and then dumped your roommate. I kept secrets and lied and nearly lost my job. There are more reasons than I can count that this wouldn’t work.”

“I know you’re older than me. And I don’t care. Tim, for all of the reasons you just told me that this- that we wouldn’t work, did you think of any reasons we would?”

Tim exhales before he admits, “No.”

“Then I’ll see you Friday, because both of our hearts already know, and for every reason that your brain tells you no, my heart is telling me yes. If yours isn’t, tell me now and we walk away.”

“Mine is too,” Tim whispers.

“Good.” You smile as you say, “Hey, can you get the early bird special, so our first date is cheaper?”

“What do you care? You’re not paying,” Tim replies, an addictive, teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m glad you came over today, Tim. I needed that hug, too.”

“See you on Friday for more.”

𝗽𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗱 - 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗲𝗿

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

𝘄/𝗰: 0.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and?”

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

“your point?”

“that’s more than half of your paycheck”

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

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

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

you were so wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the police.

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

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

Still Find You

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: You're abducted from your coffee shop and Tim has to trust his instincts to find you before it's too late.

Warnings: abduction, torture (not graphic), violence and threats of violence, angst, mention of drug distribution and overdose, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 3.6k+ words

A/N: I ended this with lines from Still Find You by Granger Smith because it fit (and I have no control when I write).

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

Soft jazz fills the coffee shop as you lock the door one minute after closing. You wave at the young woman walking down the sidewalk who just left after finishing her thesis in your shop.

She brought you a small gift with a note and said, “I couldn’t have finished this without you and your café.”

You haven’t opened the gift yet, but you smile because you made a difference in someone’s life. Your coffee shop resulted from chasing your dreams and hard work, and you want people to feel both comfortable and inspired when they come in. Today, you accomplished that.

After you turn off the lights in the front seating area, you pull your phone from your apron pocket and change the music playing through the speakers behind the counter to something more upbeat. You sing along with the first song as you wipe down the counter and dismantle the coffee machines to make tomorrow easier.

A loud sound makes you flinch as you prepare to enter the walk-in freezer. Turning quickly, you expect to see someone knocking on the door or a bird flying away from the glass. But there’s nothing to see. Shaking your head, you continue your nightly closing checklist and think about what you should make for dinner.

Fifteen minutes later, your shop is clean and prepped for the morning, and your apron hangs on its dedicated hook. You pull your bag over your shoulder, slide your phone into your pocket, and open the back door.

Before you step out into the small parking area you share with a few nearby business owners, a hand wraps cruelly around your upper arm. Whoever it is pulls you harshly away from your car and slams you against the brick wall behind you.

“Here,” you say, offering your bag. “That’s all I have.”

You glance up and see that it’s undoubtedly a man, large, tall, and terrifying. He’s wearing a mask, but you can hear his deep and rough voice clearly when he chuckles. He knocks your arms down, and your bag falls to the cement with a thud. The man says your full name, and you can’t stop from flinching away from him.

“That was easy,” he murmurs. “Where’s the bag?”

You shake your head, afraid but honest.

“Where is the bag?” he repeats, slow and low as he steps closer to you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply.

“That’s a shame.”

He raises his right hand and signals to someone or something. You take the opportunity while he’s distracted to slip your phone from your pocket. Holding it behind your back, you take a screenshot, hoping to capture the time. You then attempt to unlock it without looking and navigate to what you hope is the camera. Tilting the phone in several directions, you tap the screen and don’t think about what will happen if you’re not getting information to pass along to the police.

A blue van approaches quickly and then stops behind your car. The man wraps his hand around your arm again, and you drop your phone to bring your other hand up to fight. You know how to defend yourself, but he’s bigger than you, you were ambushed, and you’re outnumbered. He directs you past your car, and you drop the one belonging you don’t want to lose onto the hood. As you’re pushed into the backseat and thrown back against the seat when the van begins moving again, you hope that someone finds your phone and does the right thing. If you took any pictures, they might save your life.

Tim stretches his neck to the side after he parks in his driveway. He looks around while he turns the ignition off and frowns. Pulling his phone from the center console, he presses your contact. It goes to voicemail, and he has no missed calls or messages to explain your absence. You’ve been off work for nearly an hour, and even if you stayed to clean up – because you’re too nice to your employees and let them leave early, he thinks – you should still be here by now.

Tim opens his tracking app and sees that the blue dot showing your phone’s location is steady at your shop. He tenses his jaw and restarts his truck. As he pulls back onto the road, he calls your shop, but it just rings and rings. Tim clenches his jaw, throws his phone into the passenger seat, and speeds up. He thinks something is wrong, and if it’s not, he’s going to start an argument because you know better than to worry him like this or forget your phone. You know better. And that’s why Tim reaches for his phone to call dispatch and find out if you called 911 for any reason.

Tim leaves his truck running after he parks, blocking your car in. You’re not in the car, and the lights are off in your coffee shop. He walks to the back door, ready to pound on it and hope you open it. He stops on the sidewalk when he sees something out of place. Your phone case is something he’s familiar with, and he lowers to reach for it. There’s a new crack down the middle of the screen, and the edge of your case has been scuffed. This wasn’t simply dropped.

Tim holds your phone in his left hand as he calls Angela. He gives her the facts of what he knows, letting her come to her own conclusions. She says she and Nyla will be at your shop right away, and Tim stands in place after the call disconnects. As he looks around, he doesn’t see anything else worth noting.

He leans against the brick wall, keenly aware of every breeze which moves around him. He unlocks your phone and opens the messages. No half-typed or emergency notes. No phone calls or a dialed number. Whatever happened, you didn’t have time to react in a typical way. Tim returns to the home screen and then taps the photos app. You took a picture of Kojo laying on Tim yesterday, but nearly a dozen new photos are displayed beneath it. Not the kind of photos you would take, Tim realizes as he stands straighter.

There’s a screenshot of your lock screen taken 45 minutes ago, a blurry image of the back of your legs and a pair of boots in front of you, a seconds-long video that Tim can’t bring himself to play yet, and a picture of a gloved hand wrapped around your arm. Tim locks your phone again and exhales deeply, attempting to remain calm. Based on those images, he’s convinced that his worst fear is coming true. You’ve been abducted. He sees Angela’s unmarked car pull in and steps off the sidewalk to meet her and walk her through his movements. As he passes your car, something glints in the light, and he steps back.

“Tim,” Angela says as she exits her car after parking behind Tim’s truck. “Tell me everything.”

Tim doesn’t reply as he lifts something off your car. Your engagement ring wouldn’t just fall off; you left it.

“Tim,” Angela repeats when she sees the ring and your phone. “What happened?”

Tim clears his throat before explaining that you weren’t home, so he called and came here. He passes her your unlocked phone and mentions that he couldn’t watch the video. And the ring.

“What’s her name?” Nyla asks.

Tim answers, realizing that Nyla probably doesn’t know who you are. “My wife.”

Her eyes widen as she looks at Angela. They meet at the back of your car to watch the video, and Tim stares at your ring lying on his palm instead of around your finger.

“We need to find her,” he says, looking up. “Now.”

“Tim, I know you’re worried,” Nyla begins.

“Of course I am,” he replies. “But I’m also angry, and you can use that.”

“We’re not going to ask you to sit this out,” Angela assures him. “She’s smart, and if anyone can pick up the clues she’ll leave, it’s you.”

“I know it’s probably a stupid question, but any idea who would do this?” Nyla asks.

“She doesn’t have any enemies,” Tim answers. “But this wasn’t random.”

“No,” Angela agrees. “She got the vehicle on camera. Unfortunately, we can only make out that it’s a blue minivan.”

“Easy to find in LA,” Tim grumbles.

“Right. I’ll get the phone to cyber, see what they can find.”

Tim walks down the length of your car and looks to his right. “If they went east, I know where she’d try to leave the next clue.”

Nyla takes your phone and gets in Angela’s car to return to the station while Angela climbs into Tim’s passenger seat.

“Are you prepared to deal with this if she didn’t leave any more clues?” she asks softly.

“I’m ready to finish this,” Tim answers. “Whatever it takes.”

Angela nods as he turns out of the parking lot and heads east. They both know that targeted abductions rarely end well, but neither of them says it aloud. You’re smart, but that doesn’t make you infallible. Or indestructible.

You cough before you spit blood from your mouth. Everything hurts, and you have no idea where you are. After you managed to leave Tim another clue in a place he’d think to go – if he’s realized that he needs to look yet – the men who took you decided it would be better for you to not know where you were going. They blindfolded you, covered your mouth, and drove in silence. You tried to keep track of the turns and the time, but they kept you from doing that. The larger man, the one who pinned you to the wall, moved you into the floor of the van and held something that felt suspiciously like a gun against your sternum. It moved every time the driver turned, and you were too distracted to notice which way your body rolled.

“I don’t…” you pant, “know what bag.”

He swings his fist in an arch, holding your shoulder as he punches beneath your diaphragm. Your breath leaves in a painful rush, and you drop to the wooden floor beneath you when he removes his hands from you.

“We’ve got all night,” he says. “You don’t. Start talking, and no more of the don’t know act.”

“Whatever you’re looking for, I am not the person you need to find it.”

“No,” he agrees, bending at his waist to look into your eyes. “You’re the next best thing.”

You take the opportunity to spit into his exposed eyes, and he stumbles back as he wipes at his face. Smiling, you ignore the pain for a moment.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you taunt.

“I don’t have to,” he replies. “I just have to wait until you’re ready to tell me.”

He leaves you alone in the dilapidated bedroom, and you wrap your arms around your stomach and push yourself to stand. The window is barred and it’s dark out, but you can see plenty of lights beneath you. You’re somewhere in the hills, but you might be here forever without a way to get that information to Tim.

“That wasn’t very nice,” the other man says, kicking the door closed behind him.

A rope rests over his shoulder, and he cracks his knuckles as he stalks toward you like a predator. He’s been quiet until now, just the driver, but as he nears you, you begin to think he’s the one you should have been scared of all along.

“Getting anything?” Wade asks, entering the observation area.

“No,” Tim answers.

“She left you clues,” Wade points out. “We’ll find her.”

“There’s not enough to go on!” Tim exclaims, letting his emotions come out in front of someone he trusts. “Her ring and a bracelet left in a restaurant parking lot isn’t going to save her life.”

“Then keep looking,” Wade encourages. “Bradford, you and I both know a trail doesn’t go cold this quick. Something will come up.”

“She said something about a bag,” the man sitting across the table from Angela says. “Then the big guy led her back to the van.”

“A bag?” Angela repeats. “Do you remember what exactly she said?”

“Something about not having the bag, and not knowing where it went.”

“That mean anything to you?” Wade asks.

Tim wracks his brain, thinking of every bag he’s seen, confiscated, or searched over the past weeks. He shakes his head and then remembers something. Not a bag, but a man looking for a bag.

“Aaron stopped a car on Pico,” he tells Wade. “There was a backpack sitting on the top of it. Aaron offered it to the guy, and he refused to take it; insisted it wasn’t his.”

“Right,” Wade agrees, snapping as the memory resurfaces. “It was searched when he brought it in. There was drug residue all over it – all over it. Not enough to charge someone probably, but it could’ve been indicative of possession with intent.”

“I didn’t think about then,” Tim mumbles.

“Think about what?” Angela inquires as she returns. “He didn’t know much, but he did call 911 because he thought the woman was in trouble. Dispatch rerouted him to the Sheriff’s department and they can’t even take themselves seriously, so it’s still showing as active and waiting for response.”

“The same morning Aaron found that bag, Chen and I were trailing one of Metro’s CIs to a meeting and there was a guy looking frantically in a parking lot,” Tim explains. “A parking lot just off Pico. He was looking on top of cars and crawling around on the ground. Chen asked him if he needed help, and he said he was looking for his cat.”

“Get a name? Description?”

“Name, no, but Chen had her body cam on.”

Wade leads them to his office and finds the footage from the encounter. The man captured was large, had a scar across his chin, and looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t care about a cat.

“Rick Wendell,” Angela says. She shows his most recent mugshot – when he first got the scar on his chin – and swipes through his record. “He’s got two houses. One of them is in the hills.”

“How’d a career criminal afford that?” Wade wonders.

“Bought it in a foreclosure for less than 300 thousand,” she reads. “It’s secluded, falling apart, but he’s up to date on the payments.”

“Good place to take someone if you want privacy.”

“I found out guy,” Nyla announces, rushing into the office.

“So did we,” Angela says, showing her the mugshot.

Nyla’s brows pinch before she replies, “He wasn’t the driver.”

“We have reason to believe they’re at Wendell’s house,” Tim interjected. “What’s the driver have to do with it?”

Nyla shows another mugshot, and Tim feels like he’ll never breathe again.

“Ankou,” Tim says.

“AKA Peter Newman, his given name,” Nyla adds. “Wanted by every three-letter agency and just about everyone on Interpol’s roster.”

“What’s he got against you, Bradford?” Wade inquires.

“I got him extradited on a drug charge. He watched two young girls OD on over-potent heroin, but possession was all I could get him on. While he was overseas, we raided every drug stash we could find. He got out of prison after a few months and came back to nothing but more warrants.”

“Did you happen to take a bag?” Angela asks.

“All but one,” he says. “We could never find the rest of his signature heroin.”

“Which is likely what Aaron stumbled on,” Nyla deduces. “And he’s targeting you rather than Aaron because it’s your fault he had to move what was left.”

“And now he’s trying to get information from my wife,” Tim snaps. “So why are we still standing here?”

“Because we can’t waltz into his house without a plan,” Angela replies. “I have to ask… Does she know about Ankou, or the drugs?”

“No.”

“Really? Not even a mention?” Nyla asks.

“She doesn’t know,” Tim insists roughly. “I keep her away from this. Look where it got her.”

“I hate to bring this up,” Wade begins. “But the bag has been missing for nearly a week. Why now?”

“He’s got a meet,” Angela realizes.

“And if he doesn’t have the drugs, he’ll offer something else,” Tim says. “Or someone.”

“Tim,” Wade says. When he finally has his attention, he asks, “What do we do?”

“You’re not going to agree with what my instincts are telling me to do.”

“If it were Luna, I’d do whatever I had to. You wife trusts you, now trust yourself. Walk us through it.”

Tim glances at the map on Angela’s phone. “He won’t expect us to come down the hill.”

The sun rises over LA, sending scattered light through the dirty window behind you. Your chest rises and falls slowly, every breath painful and shallow. Everything hurts, but you hold the splintered floorboard you pried up between your bloody hands, ready to fight when one of your abductors returns.

A hinge squeals downstairs, and you grip the wood tighter. You can’t hear footsteps, but you know someone is coming. When a gunshot echoes through the house, you push yourself against the wall and wait, letting your eyes close as you listen.

Tim doesn’t hesitate to fire when Wendell comes toward him with a sawed-off shotgun. He keeps his gun up as he walks to Wendell’s side and squats. Wendell doesn’t have a pulse, but Tim notices there is plenty of blood on him. His gloves are worn and stained, and some of the blood coating the outside of the fabric is fresh.

“She’s here,” Tim whispers over his shoulder.

Nyla taps Tim’s shoulder as she and Wade go left. Tim and Angela go right and soon come to a narrow staircase.

Ankou – the henchman of death – is in the house, and Tim must find him before he returns to you. Ankou is an omen of death and, in France, he is death personified as a skeleton with a scythe. This Ankou, however, is just a criminal who got away with too much and got too cocky about it.

Tim has taken down his fair share of monsters and a faux Grim Reaper doesn’t scare him. Especially when Peter Newman is holding his wife hostage.

Stepping over a loose step, Tim nears the top of the staircase. Three closed doors and a dead-end hall greet him. One of the doors has runes drawn on it, and Tim’s instincts tell him it’s a trap.

Angela gestures toward it, and Tim shakes his head. He walks to the door farthest from the steps and lays his hand on the doorknob. Angela covers him as he pushes it open, and Tim doesn’t take a step in before he wraps his hand around someone’s neck and flips them onto the floor.

You drop the broken weapon and let your tears fall as Tim walks into the bedroom, holstering his gun as he nears you. Angela handcuffs your attacker, groaning on the floor after Tim took him down.

“I got you,” Tim murmurs, visually inspecting every mark on you.

“How-” You hiccup as you reach for him, but once your hand is in his, you ask, “How did you find me?”

“I trusted my instincts,” he answers softly.

You nod, leaning toward him. Tim cups your chin in his other hand as you reply, “Thank God you have good instincts.”

“You left me clues,” he points out.

“Not enough.”

Tim shakes his head, then lifts you carefully into his arms to get you out of the house. The ambulance is waiting outside when he carries you out into the sunlight, and you cling to him as he lowers you onto the gurney.

“You must have really good instincts,” you say.

Tim takes your hand, his jaw tightening when he sees the blood and dirt surrounding your nails. You fought, and you endured torture and pain, yet you’re thanking Tim for coming as if he rescued you.

“About one thing, at least,” he replies as he climbs into the ambulance beside you.

“You look so good!” Angela exclaims, wrapping her arms around your shoulders as you enter Tim’s house.

“Thank you,” you reply, laughing. “I think the bandages and the stitches bring out my eyes.”

“If you ever decide to switch careers, the LAPD could use another strong woman,” Nyla adds.

“Absolutely not,” Tim and Wade answer together.

Your brows lift as you look at Wade, and he explains, “I’m not dealing with Bradford like that ever again. Stay safe, all right? That’s an order.”

“Thank you for everything,” you tell them. “When I’m actually looking and feeling good again, you’re all invited to dinner.”

“We’ll be here,” Angela promises. “Call us if you need anything. There’s food in the fridge, more in the freezer, and more gift cards and baskets than I can count all over your dining room.”

You nod, give her and Nyla a hug, and then wave as they leave. Wade is the last to go, giving you another hug and promising to check in often. Once you’re alone, you turn to Tim.

“Did you find a gift bag in the stuff I dropped outside the coffee shop?” you ask.

“Yeah, it’s on the bed,” he answers. “Do you want it now?”

“It can wait,” you reply. “It’s special, so I wanted to make sure it was okay.”

“Not the only special thing that needs to be okay,” he murmurs.

“I’m okay,” you promise, taking Tim’s hand. “Because you found me. And you’ll find me every time.”

Tim nods, running his finger over the silicone wedding ring on your swollen finger. His instincts are good; that’s why he’s such a good cop, but when it comes to you, his instincts are even better. You could be a raindrop in a desert or a snowflake in a blizzard, and Tim Bradford would still find you.

how about something where peter and reader are having sex but reader gets a bad calf cramp midway. peter tries to help by massaging the leg but he's just laughing really hard. overall v funny and crack. love your work btw!

w: smutty smutty, a little name calling.

Your arms are glued to Peter’s while he thrusts into you, you grip him tightly trying to keep him close. The sheen that covered his body made him both sticky and sweaty. 

“Fuck!” 

The back of your head rubs against his pillow, his hands push higher on the backside of your knees, you’re fully spread open and he continues to push further, you’ve never felt him so deep. 

“Baby, you’re… fuck,” you can’t even compliment him, you’re a million percent cockdrunk at the moment. 

You could kiss your left knee with how high Peter had it pushed up, he grunts at the new angle and thrusts deeper. You shoot out a cry of pleasure, his words come out between clenched teeth. 

“So good, you’re doing so good for me.” 

You whimper and whine along with his praises, you’re so lost your words tumble out. 

“Thank you, thank you, you know me so well.” 

Your boyfriend grunts but a smile takes over, he slows down and puts a hand on your cheek. Your mind races but his touch grounds you a little, you push your hips into his, trying to get back the momentum. 

“Are you thanking me for fucking you?” 

You try to clasp your hands around his neck and he narrowly misses, you roll your hips into his taking control. 

“You were being so nice, now you’re being mean.” 

A sarcastic pout takes over his face, he pushes his body down, anchoring himself into place with an arm by your head, the other hand takes your leg to push it over his hip. In one fluid motion he thrusts into you hard, you lose your breath and gasp against the pillow. 

“This what you wanted? Wanted me to fuck you hard and deep?” 

He keeps going, drilling in and out and your mind spins with pleasure. 

“C’mon, baby. Said I was being mean, is this better?” 

Your fingernails pierce the skin on his shoulders, your boyfriend's aggressive words made you slicker, you can hear the difference in sounds and know he can feel it on his end. 

“Like that? You like when I make you needy? Like you’re a dirty slut who-” 

A punch to his chest, panicked words usher from your mouth. 

“Out! Get out of me!” 

He didn’t mean to take it that far, he thought you liked it, it felt like you liked it. Peter paused, his motions stopped but he didn't move. 

Your leg had slipped down on his thigh and you were met with a wicked cramp that you needed to step down on to fix it, the pain and pressure was spreading up your thigh, a true life or death moment. You pushed at his chest to get him to move but he was frozen, you let out a yelp and threw his shoulders away the best you could. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” 

More aggressive than you meant but, fuck, charley horses were the worst cramps imaginable. 

Peter finally snaps into motion and pulls out of you quicker than he normally would’ve, you hiss at the feeling but jump from the bed, he watches you with scared eyes. He shouldn’t have said that, called you a dirty slut, he was just talking in the moment. 

The second you’re able to stand you deflate with air, the pulling motion eased. You finally had control of your leg back, it was tender as all hell from being locked up but it was your leg again. Picking it up and pressing your weight back down you felt ready enough to finish what’s been started. 

You flop back down to the bed and open back up, “ready.” 

Peter doesn’t move, you look down at the foot of the bed. His eyes are focused on yours, he looks scared. 

“Are you-” 

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking and it was a just in the moment thing and I didn’t mean it.” 

You squint your eyes and look at his face, “what?” 

Peter’s arms fly out to cup your face, you have squished cheeks and are forced to look in his eyes as he hovers over you. 

“I don’t think you’re a slut. Like, at all.” 

You bat his hands away, “I didn’t think you did but, thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

Well, now he has no idea why you threw him off. 

“I thought you didn’t like it.” 

You sit up with him, “calling me a slut?” 

A nod, you retraced the steps and let out an “ohhh,” then shake your head and smile at your boyfriend. 

“I had a cramp! I feel like you know how much I liked you saying that.” 

Peter’s hand was thrown over his chest, telling his heart it can stop going so fast. 

“I thought you did, but then I thought I went too far, thank god.” 

You scoff and tilt your leg open more. 

“Not far enough, now give my leg a rub down and fuck me like a dirty slut.” 

His fingers dig into the plush of your calf, already tenderizing the area, “yes, ma’am.” 

THE GANG EXPANDS pt. 1

IASIP x Reader

Always Sunny Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2000 Leagues

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!Coast Guard!reader

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

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

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

A/N: 2000.

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“Karadec.”

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

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

“One can hope,” Daphne mumbles.

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

He sighs as he turns toward his team.

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

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

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

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

“Who’s the owner?” Daphne inquires.

“Local millionaire named Ashton Weatherford.”

“Of Weatherford Water Sports?” Morgan interjects.

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

“I was nearby.”

“Of course you were,” Karadec sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On it,” Daphne replies.

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

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

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

“Hopefully it’s enough,” Karadec murmurs.

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

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

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

“Good morning,” Detective Karadec responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” Karadec says.

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

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

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

“Are we going out to sea?”

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

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

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

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

“Yes. We’re not completely incompetent.”

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

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

“Shotgun!” Morgan calls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A- Karadec,” you call.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t hear anything,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Help!” someone yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That dive could kill you!” he exclaims.

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

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

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

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

“Go!” Karadec yells. “Now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Start compressions, Morgan,” he instructs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re okay,” Morgan says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” you question.

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

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

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

“Kevin?”

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

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

“For what? You saved my life, Adam.”

“I shouldn’t have let you jump.”

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

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

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

“How are you?” you ask.

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

“Does Kevin have anyone?” Karadec inquires.

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

“Good.”

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

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

“Always,” Karadec answers.

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

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

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

“We radioed,” you reply.

“Several times,” Daphne adds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” Karadec calls after her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” you promise.

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

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

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

Shoulder to Cry On

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (w/ 3 y.o. daughter)

Summary: When your daughter Mia is taken hostage, Tim Bradford holds you together and offers a strong shoulder to cry on.

Warnings: child abduction, discussion of past criminal activity, r has a daughter from a previous relationship, angst to fluff

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

Your phone rings, and you reluctantly pull your hand from Tim’s to check it. The caller ID displays ‘Unknown,’ and you send the person to voicemail.

“Everything okay?” Tim inquires. “Was that the babysitter?”

“No, everything’s fine. Where were we?”

“We were talking about your dream date.”

“I don’t remember that,” you reply with a smile. “But I think I might already be on it.”

Your phone rings again, and Tim gestures for you to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Four… hundred… thousand,” the distorted voice says slowly.

“I think you have the wrong number,” you reply.

The voice says your name, then asks, “Mother of Mia? I’ll take that sharp inhale as a yes. The price is 400 grand.”

“Price for what?”

Tim watches you with pinched brows, and you avoid meeting his eyes.

“Say hi,” the voice demands.

“Mommy,” your daughter Mia cries.

“400 grand by tomorrow night.”

Realizing that this unknown person has your daughter, you raise your wide eyes to meet Tim’s.

“What?” he asks.

“Ooh, is that the cop? Put him on,” the man on the other end of the phone demands.

You pass the phone to Tim without a word, then grip the napkin in your lap tightly. Tim doesn’t speak, but his jaw tightens with each passing second. He ends the call and then stands.

“Tim,” you whisper.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he promises, offering his hand. “Let’s go.”

You allow Tim to lead you out of the restaurant. Once outside, your chest grows heavy as an uncomfortable pressure builds behind your eyes.

“Tim, I can’t breathe,” you tell him, gripping his hand as you panic.

He turns toward you, releases your hand, and holds your eye contact. “Listen, hey, eyes on me.” When your eyes meet his, he lifts your hand to his chest and presses your palm over his heart. “Breathe with me. In… and out. Good, again. In… out through your mouth. I have no idea what you are feeling right now, but I need you to trust me. I called it in, and I’m going to the station now. We’re going to get Mia back.”

You nod quickly, keeping your hand against Tim’s steady heart as he speaks. “What am I supposed to do?” you whisper.

“Stay strong for Mia. Can you think of anyone who would do this?”

“No. I don’t… no.”

“Okay, well I know people who can find that out. Do you want to go home or come with me to the station?”

You grip Tim’s shirt as you plead, “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Tim pulls you against him and promises, “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to bring Mia home.”

“Tim, what do you know about the father?” Angela asks. Tim doesn’t acknowledge her, staring out into the bullpen at you, where Luna Grey is consoling you. “Tim?”

“Hmm?” he hums without turning.

“Mia’s dad,” Angela says. “What do you know about him?”

“Not much. He hasn’t been in the picture, ever.”

“She hasn’t told you anything?” Nyla inquires. “No name, no complaints, just that he’s gone?”

“It’s not something I’m overly interested in, Harper.”

“You stand from your seat and rush toward Tim. He extends his arms toward you, but you press your ringing phone into his hand.

“He’s calling again,” he tells Angela.

“Answer it,” she tells you. “We’ll try to trace it.”

“Hello?” you greet.

“I’m not seeing any money,” the voice chides.

You hear Mia crying in the background and bite your lip harshly. “Where is my daughter?” you ask.

“She’s fine. Won’t stop crying, but she needs you to get me my money, understand?”

Angela shakes her head and moves her finger in a circle so you’ll keep talking.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” you explain. “Why me?”

“Because he stole it.”

You glance at Tim as you ask, “He who?”

“Mia’s father! I lost half a million because of him. I knocked a hundred grand off but if I don’t see my investment returned, I’ll make a new one.”

“I can’t get that kind of money,” you say through your teeth. “What else can I do?”

“Find a way. You have twenty hours, so find it quickly.”

The line clicks before you drop your hand away from your face. A tear tracks over your cheek, and you don’t do anything to stop it.

“No location on the trace, but I have the internet number’s information,” Angela explains. “Tech might be able to do something with it.”

“Excuse me,” you mumble.

Tim watches you walk into the restroom. He rubs his hand across his face before Lucy pushes him toward you.

“Go,” Angela encourages him. “We’ll find Mia’s dad and go from there. She needs you, Timothy.”

Tim knocks on the bathroom door as he opens it. He says your name as he steps in, but he’s only met with muted crying and sniffles.

“I can’t do this,” you whimper.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says, stopping outside your stall. “I can’t take it away, but I’ll do everything I can to get her back.”

“It was… I know it sounds bad, but I don’t know anything. He was working with someone or something, and they lost the money, and then- then he lost everything else. I don’t even know what the money was for or where he went after the fallout. He may not have realized that what they were doing was wrong.”

“It’s not your job to know all of this,” Tim reminds you. “He did something wrong, and he lost the best people I’ve ever met.”

You sniff before you begin crying again, and Tim nudges the door open. He pulls you from your slouched position against the partial wall and into his arms. Running his hand over your hair, Tim grounds you and reminds you that you’re not alone, you’re cared about and loved.

“Wait,” you say against his chest. “Did he say half a million?”

“Yeah, but he dropped it to 400.”

“I remember hearing something about the biggest ‘donor’ and they called him… it was something about a shark, like great white or… maybe it was hammerhead?”

“Mako?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, that was it.”

“He's wanted for dozens of crimes. I need to go tell Angela, but…” Tim hesitates and pulls you into a tight hug.

You carry the duffel bag filled with seized money in both hands as you approach the darkened warehouse at the Port of Los Angeles. Tim, Angela, Nyla, Nolan, and Lucy are somewhere behind you, and a Metro team is waiting for their command. After you knock four times, the door slides open, and a man dressed in black steps out.

“Where’s Mia?” you ask.

“She’s close, ready to go with you,” he answers cryptically.

“Stall him,” Angela says in your earpiece. “We’ll find her.”

“Can you- can you tell me what he did?” you ask the man.

“You really don’t know, do you? You have no idea about how many people he robbed, how many lives he destroyed.”

“No, I don’t. All I know is that he left me and my daughter, and now you’re trying to ruin our lives.”

“Fool me once.”

“But I didn’t. I had nothing to do with losing your money.”

The man barks a laugh and tries to snatch the duffel bag from you, but you step back quickly.

“Not until I know my daughter is okay,” you snap.

“She’s waiting in a Corolla on the other side of the building, ready for you to drive her home,” he says. “Money, now.”

“I’ve got Mia,” Tim says in your ear. “Metro, move in.”

You sigh in relief just before a swarm of armed officers surround you and your daughter’s abductor. They pull him away from you just as Tim rounds the corner, your daughter safe in his arms.

“Mia!” you call, running toward them.

You crash into them, wrapping one arm around Mia and the other around Tim’s waist. Mia wraps her arm around your neck and shifts her weight toward you as Tim holds you close. She rambles against you until you wipe the tears from her face.

“Are you okay, baby?” you ask.

She nods, then reaches toward Tim. He takes her hand, and Mia lowers her head to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whisper to Tim, standing against his side. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies. “You too, Mia, and I meant what I said.”

You look at Tim with your brows raised, and he whispers, “I promised a trip to the toy store and her favorite diner for milkshakes.”

Mia nods against you as you ask, “Am I invited?”

“What do you think, Mia?” Tim asks. “Can Mom come?”

“Yeah,” she answers against you. “Love you.”

“I love you so much,” you tell her.

She mumbles something, then says, “Love you, Daddy.”

You look at Tim and smile as you raise your hand to his cheek. He looks like he might cry, but he has a much better story about how Mia made him cry today.