FRANK LIES TO YOUR COLLEGE PROFESSORS

Potions

Pairing- Usopp x reader x Zoro

Summery- Based off this ask

Warnings- drinking, sex pollen (kinda ig??), sex while under the influence, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), penetration

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Usopp explored the plethora of booths at the market he got Nami to bring the crew to this specific island for a specific booth. “Ah, here it is!” He spotted the place he had so eagerly sought out.

Although, it was strange he could have sworn the name of the booth he was searching for was Amil’s and not Amel’s but oh well!

Stepping up to the man who stood behind the booth. He greets Usopp. “Ah, good sir! How can I assist you on this fine day?”

“Oh, yes.” Usopp clears his throat, pulling his glasses down covering his eyes as he leans in closer. “You see, I may have heard you have procured a certain strengthening potion.” He tries to sound laid-back, almost tipping over once his arm doesn’t find support on the small booth.

“Oh….” the man's voice trails off as his eyes scanning across his almost empty cart before he sees a random bottle. “This!” He pulls it out eyes trailing over it, he’s been meaning to find someone to take this off his hands.

“And you’re sure this is it?” Usopp eyes the mixture that reminds him of a beer bottle or maybe wine. The red and pink sealant that protected the substance dripped down almost covering the peculiar drawing on the gut of the bottle. Depicting a creature with three heads, one of a goat, one of a human and one of a bull.

The bottle itself definitely didn’t scream potion but never judge a book by its cover y’know.

Salesman's eyes trails down for a sly second before answering, “Yes, of course friend. I would never lie.” Before Usopp could question him any further he quickly gives the price before shoving it into Usopp's hands.

He found the man's behavior odd but didn’t question it as going off to explore the island now that he’s got what he came for, or at least what he thinks.

A few hours later

Walking into the kitchen with Zoro your eyes land on the decorated beer bottle on the table. Usopp sat on the other side, clean glass in hand. He goes to pick it up but you swiftly swipe it up you turn the bottle to its back not caring to look at the label.

“What’s this?” You ask, twisting the cap off the bottle smelling it. A pungent smell hits your senses, nostrils flaring before you hand it off to Zoro, himself smelling it trying to suppress the surprisingly sharp smell.

Usopp debates on whether to tell then he sees you going to take a swig. “A Potion!” He yells reaching for the container. You stop right before the bottle touches your lips, pulling away your cock a brow at the man across the table.

“Potion?” Zoro questions.

“Okay so, a week or so ago I overheard someone talking about a potion so strong it gives you the strength of ten horses, ten horse man! Could you imagine what I could do with the strength of ten horses.” He rambles stopping once he sees the uninterested expressions of the two in front of them. “But it’s rare and could only be found here.” He finishes his rather short explanation you sit the random liquid down.

“And you how this is the exact potion? How?” You ask and Usopp just smiles sheepishly. “Well I mean if it’s not what’s the worst it could do?”

“Uh–I don’t know. Mutate us, shift our bodies. Change out Genders!!” You list out the tame possibilities but Usopp just shrugs as he pulls out two more cups for you and Zoro.

“I mean other than that, what could happen?” Usopp asks, taking the bottle in hand pouring double shots in each cup. The color of the drink was akin to blood and makes you judge their carefree attitude to the strange concoction.

“Zoro what do you think?” You turn to the silent man.

“I mean, I don’t need a strength potion but if it gets me drunk, sure.” Zoro says taking the cup Usopp hands him.

Huffing in annoyance you look down at the cup Usopp offers to you. Rolling your eyes you take it; “Fine, I’ll drink it. But not because both of you are doing it.” You grumble shooting the drink back in one gulp the sappy flavor overcoming your tastebuds.

You all wait for something, anything, to happen. But nothing, no bulging muscles appearing out of thin air, no ghastly mutation. Just a really, really strange taste.

“Well, then let's get this party started.” Usopp sounds disappointed as he pours another drink, this time normal bourbon.

You drink that one rather quickly, wanting to get the strange flavor of the other out of your mouth.

It only takes a few minutes for what you suspect is the ‘potion’ to kick in and it definitely makes you feel something. Your stomach felt queasy all the heat in your body going down.

You look at Usopp, who was already looking at you. You blink a few times, head feeling foggy, “Usopp..” You say stopping mid sentence for some peculiar reason. You want to finish, say ‘are you sure this is a strength potion’ but you can’t focus on anything but Usopp and his lips. When had his lips become so attractive?

“Y/N?” Usopps’ voice was dry making your thigh quiver for a second, Zoro definitely doesn’t miss it watching from the interaction from side taking another sip of bourbon.

You move to sit on your knees in the chair, head tilting to the side, eyes trailing over Usopp, low-lidded eyes, no jacket allowing you to see all of his muscles. With ypur gaurd down, no logical mind to stop think, you grab Usopp by his jaw pulling him into a soft kiss.

His lips felt exactly how you thought they would be, heavenly. The kiss slowly morphed from gentle to hungry. He grabbed the back of your head pulling you closer and guides you to his lap. You pushed deeper into the kiss teasing, testing to see how far he would go. He pulls away from the kiss, both of you gasping for air. His hands gripped your hips, both of you waiting for the other to attack.

You could feel how wet you were, surely your panties were already soaked; at this point you would take anything.

He flips you around sitting you sit in his chair now. His hand moves across the top of your shorts hand dipping inside. Moving your panties to the side slips two fingers teasing your slit before pushing past your folds.

He does a few experimental circles around your clit seeing what made you twitch and twist. “Oh..” you say heat grows through your body like a wildfire taking over a forest. Your legs spread, letting him move deeper, fingers teasing your tight entrance. He pushes inside, quickly opting for two digits he explores your body. Your bodies seemed to be hypersensitive as every touch felt like coals being thrown in a fire. Your hips moved in sync with Usopp's thrust, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

The way your walls pulse around his fingers, Usopp knows you're close.

“Be a good girl and cum,” He whispers, kissing your inner thigh, his slender fingers pumping in and out of you; thumb moving perfectly on your clit. Usopp looks up at Zoro who’s observed the entire situation but has yet to do anything. “If you cum you’ll get Zoros’ cock.” Your walls clench around him. “Oh, poor baby needs some cock.” Zoro mockingly teases, finally speaking once he sees the way your cunt responds at the mention of getting fucked.

And just like that you cum. Body shaking, the air in your throat catches as pure pleasure controls your mind, soul, and body.

Usopp pulls his fingers from you, looking at them they shine with arousal. On a sudden power trip Usopp stands up straight, smirking before shoving his fingers in Zoros’ mouth.

Taken back a bit he eyes Usopp but once your tangy flavor seeps into his mouth he doesn’t mind it, Zoro allows Usopp to have this little ego trip as he cleans you off of his digits.

You wish you could paint this moment, it was beautiful, they were beautiful. Usopp pulls away from Zoros’ warm mouth, fingers whispering against the green haired man’s bottom lip.

Zoro gets up from his seat, not once breaking eye contact with the other male. Usopp gulps once Zoro is at his full height, “Get over there.” Zoro instructs him to stand right next to you.

Allowing Zoro to lay you on the three chairs you once occupied, his lips connect to your neck leaving rough hickeys. Yelping when he hikes your leg up with a deathlike grip your foot hits the bottle knocking it to the ground, the rest of the elixr pouring out.

Zoros’ lips travel down your body, strong hands tearing your shirt down exposing your hardened peaks. He holds them his tongue exploring your chest, his hips moving slowly trying to suffice the need to be in your cunt. You can feel him harden beneath you.

Turning your head back to the spilt bottle your eyes center onto the illustration that covers the label.

You try to place where you’ve seen it before and then it clicks;

Asmodeus. Demon of lust.

Your face twists into a smile as you realize, it was never a strength potion.

You giggle as Zoro rips your bottoms and panties down, tip of his cock slipping and sliding on your soaking pussy. You can’t hold the pornographic cry that falls from your lips once he pushes in, bottoming out in one big thrust.

Zoro kisses you harshly once more if both of you were not under extreme influence you would have thought it gross how both of your saliva gathered as you made love to each others’ mouths.

He pulled away spit string pulling with him. He began to thrust, quickly becoming lost in your tight cavern.

As your body rocked you never lost eye contact with Usopp whose eyes were buglike and his bulging cock sat right in your face.

Moving your hands up you untie Usopps’ slacks letting them fall to the ground the only thing hiding his cock thin briefs. You palmed him biting your lip in anticipation and trying to keep in the moans Zoro seems so adamant to pull out.

He helps you pull his briefs down, his dick springing free. You thrust him in your hand, pre-cum leaking out. Using your thumb swiping over his crown using it as lubricant as you jack him off over your face.

You try to keep up the pace of your hand to Zoros’ thrust but your efforts were in vain making tears well in your eyes, the overwhelming need to please both of them consuming your mind. Opening your mouth you take him in, a raspy sigh leaves Usopp as you hollow your cheeks out, tongue swirling over his tip, egging his hips on to move.

Slowly he does his movements start slowly, his long cock quickly hitting the back of your throat but you take the rest of him.

Your air supply goes tight when he pushes on your throat feeling it wrap around his cock. He slides out letting you suck in as much air with your nostrils as possible before sliding back in. He tries to keep his thrust calm, collected. But it’s just so hard when you feel so good. He fucks your throat hard, almost as hard as Zoro torments your cunt.

Groans falling from the men and the muffled moans that could escape between Usopps’ wild thrust bounce throughout the room.

The coils in your tummy tighten with each thrust from either man. The lightheaded euphoria overtook you, possessing you. Your nerves shock as a volcano inside you erupted. The world went still, your lungs tightened as burning pleasure blasted its way through your body.

Zoro stifled a moan as your pussy spasms around him, he grabs onto Usopp's arm, shoving his face into your neck inhaling your pheromones and with one quick thrust both of them cum. Drinking down the salty liquid that feels your throat your cling to Zoro as he rides his high out.

The men pull out of you both helping to clean you up before all you're left with is silent.

Zoro grabs the bottle that didn’t fall off the table and pours two cups. One for him and one for you.

“Well, that just happened.” Usopp says sitting, shirtless, in his chair.

“Yeah, that did.” You say taking the shot with Zoro.

The Cook and The Teacher!

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

The meeting of Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Headcanons.

The day had been long, and Carmy was just trying to keep it together. He’d left The Bear earlier than usual—if you could call "earlier" 9 p.m.—and was heading upstairs to his apartment with a bag of takeout that was far less exciting than anything he cooked in the kitchen. His mind was still buzzing with half-finished ideas for new recipes and the stress of balancing the books. It wasn’t until he rounded the corner in the hallway that he saw you.

You were crouched on the floor outside the apartment next to his, wrestling with a particularly heavy box. A burst of bright, patterned fabric caught his eye—it was your socks. Your jeans were rolled up messily, revealing mismatched socks peeking out of your sneakers, and a stubborn strand of hair that kept falling to your face. You didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on trying to angle the box through the doorway.

“Uh, you need a hand?” Carmy asked, his voice quiet and even, as if he wasn’t entirely sure you’d hear him.

You startled slightly, looking up at him with wide eyes. A man—tall, with a mop of messy blond hair, tired blue eyes, and a hoodie that had definitely seen better days—stood a few steps away. He looked a little rough around the edges, like he’d just stepped out of a 12-hour shift. And, unbeknownst to you, he had.

For a moment, you seemed unsure whether to accept, but then you huffed, brushing your hair out of your face. “Honestly? Yes. Please. I think this box is plotting my downfall.”

Carmy set his takeout on the floor and stepped over. He crouched down beside you, studying the situation. “What’s in here? Bricks?”

You laughed, the sound warm and full, and it caught him off guard. “Close enough—books. I hoard them like a dragon.”

He smirked faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. Without another word, he lifted the box with relative ease, surprising you with how quickly he maneuvered it through your doorway. “Where do you want it?”

“Anywhere that’s not the hallway,” you said with a grin, stepping aside to let him pass. “But if you want to put it by the window, I won’t stop you.”

Carmy carried the box to the corner you pointed to, but as he turned back, his eyes lingered on you longer than he intended. Standing amidst the chaos of your half-unpacked apartment, you looked effortlessly natural—strands of hair falling loose, a faint smile on your lips, and a light, easy confidence that made the mess around you seem insignificant. The light caught your cheekbone, highlighting your warm, colorful presence, a stark contrast to the muted tones he was used to. The room was already full of little glimpses of your personality—colorful throw pillows piled on a couch, a small vase of fresh flowers on the windowsill, and a stack of what looked like hand-painted signs propped against the wall.

“Thanks for that,” you said, breaking his train of thought. “I owe you one.”

Carmy couldn’t help but think how effortlessly pretty you were, though he kept the thought to himself, letting it settle quietly in the back of his mind.

He shrugged, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You just saved me from throwing my back out. That’s definitely worth at least a plate of cookies or something.”

Carmy opened his mouth to respond, but you kept going, your energy bright and fast-paced. “Wait—are you my neighbor? Please tell me you’re not just some random guy who walked by and felt bad for me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Carmy said, scratching the back of his neck. “I live next door.”

Your face lit up. “Oh, good. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you...?”

“Carmen,” he said. “Carmy.”

“Carmy,” you repeated, testing it out. “Alright, Carmy-next-door. Thanks for the rescue.”

He nodded awkwardly, his social skills feeling a little rusty. “Yeah. No problem.”

-----

Carmy was just about to head out for his usual coffee run before work when the knock came at his door. He hesitated for a moment, not used to anyone knocking on his door—especially not at this hour. He opened it cautiously, and there you were, standing on the other side, holding a plate covered in plastic wrap.

“Hey!” you said brightly, flashing him the kind of smile that felt a little too sunny for such an early hour. You hold the plate out toward him. "These are for you. My way of saying thanks for saving me from a very undignified fate yesterday.”

“You weren’t kidding,” he said, glancing down at the plate.

“Never joke about cookies,” you said solemnly, holding them out to him.

Carmy hesitated for a moment before taking the plate, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“Uh thanks,” he said simply, his tone soft but sincere.

You tilted your head, your smile softening into something a little teasing. “That’s it? ‘Uh, thanks’? No ‘wow, these look amazing,’ or ‘you didn’t have to, Y/N, you’re too kind’?”

A chuckle escaped him before he could stop it, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, genuine smile. “Alright, fine. Wow, these look amazing. And you didn’t have to.”

“Much better,” you said, nodding approvingly. “I knew you had it in you, Carmy-next-door.”

“Carmy-next-door?” he repeated, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You didn’t tell me your last name, so I had to come up with something. If you’d prefer something fancier, we could workshop it.”

He shook his head, amused. “Carmy-next-door’s fine.”

There was a brief pause, and Carmy shifted slightly, unsure of what to do next. Social interactions outside of a kitchen weren’t exactly his strong suit, but something about the way you stood there, so at ease, made him want to keep talking. “Peanut butter?”

“Yep. I hope you’re not allergic or I might feel terrible for accidentally murdering my new neighbor.”

“No allergies,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “They look... good.”

“They taste better,” you replied confidently, rocking back on your heels. “You’ll see.”

Carmy stared at the plate in his hands for a moment, then back at you. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of you yet—this whirlwind of color and brightness that seemed to completely contrast his muted world.

“You uh-bake a lot?” he asked, his voice quieter now, curious despite himself.

You laughed, and the sound made something in his chest loosen. “Not really. I’m more of a ‘wing it and hope for the best’ kind of baker. Which, coincidentally, is also my teaching style.”

That caught his attention. “Teaching?”

“Yep. Fourth grade at Abbott Elementary,” you said, a note of pride in your voice. “You ever try to teach ten-year-olds about fractions? It’s like trying to train cute little squirrels to sit still.”

Carmy huffed another laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Can’t say I have.”

“You’re lucky,” you teased, crossing your arms over your chest. “Anyway, I should let you get back to... whatever it is you were doing. But enjoy the cookies. They’re my signature recipe.”

“Signature?” Carmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yep,” you said with a playful smirk. “Passed down from the great culinary masterminds of my family. By which I mean, I Googled it five years ago and have been winging it ever since."

Carmy let out a quiet laugh, glancing back toward his apartment. For a moment, he considered inviting you in, but the idea of it felt… too sudden. Too much. Instead, he took a step back toward the door, holding up the plate as a gesture of gratitude. “I’ll let you know how they are.”

“Oh, it will,” you said confidently, already backing toward your apartment. “See you around, Carmy-next-door.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, watching as you disappeared back into your apartment, leaving him standing in the doorway with a plate of cookies in his hands and a strange sense of warmth in his chest.

-------

The plate of cookies sat on Carmy’s desk in the cluttered back office at The Bear, their presence almost mocking him. He’d brought them along in the rush of the morning, figuring he might as well snack on them during the chaos of his day. But, as usual, the day had taken over—prep work, managing the team, putting out fires both literal and figurative—and by the time he finally sat down, the cookies were still untouched.

Richie, after coming into his office asking about the butter delivery for tomorrow, noticed the cookies on the table.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, pointing to the plate with an incredulous look. “Since when do you bake cookies?”

Carmy looked up from his paperwork, deadpan.“They’re from my neighbor. She brought them over as a thank-you for helping her move a box.”

Richie snorted, picking one up without waiting for permission. “Your neighbor? What is this, a fucking Hallmark movie?”

“Can you just eat the cookie and shut up?” Carmy said, though his tone was more resigned than annoyed, as he leaned back into his chair.

Richie took a dramatic bite, his eyebrows raising in exaggerated surprise. “Damn. These are actually good. Who’s this neighbor of yours? She running a bakery or something?”

“No,” Carmy said, shaking his head. “She’s a teacher.”

Richie blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. “A teacher who bakes like this? That's a keeper. Because these cookies are better than anything Marcus has cranked out lately.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Carmy muttered, grabbing a cookie for himself.

They were soft, perfectly sweetened, with just the right amount of salt to balance the flavor. He wasn’t expecting much when you’d handed him the plate earlier, but now... now he understood why you’d been so confident.

He finished the cookie quickly, his mind already drifting to thoughts of you. He could picture the way you’d smiled when you handed him the plate, the playful glint in your eyes when you teased him. He wasn’t used to people being so... warm. So open. It felt unfamiliar, but not in a bad way.

Richie leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “Seriously, though, what’s the deal? She single? Maybe I should swing by, introduce myself. Could use some homemade cookies in my life.”

Carmy shot him a warning look, though his tone remained light. "Just get out of here, Richie,"

Richie chuckled, grabbing another cookie as he walked out. “Hey, if she makes more of these, tell her I’ll marry her. Hell, I’ll even carry her boxes next time.”

Carmy shook his head, staring at the now half-empty plate of cookies. For a moment, he considered texting you to tell you how good they were, but he didn’t have your number. Instead, he made a mental note to return the favor—something different than cookies.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he cared so much, but as he reached for one last cookie, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips.

-----

It had been two days since you’d dropped off the plate of cookies as a thank-you for Carmy helping you with your move. You didn’t expect much in return—maybe just a polite nod in the hallway or, at most, an offhanded “thanks.” That was the kind of vibe you got from Carmy: quiet, reserved, polite but not overly forthcoming or social.

So, when there was a knock at your door that evening, you weren’t expecting to find him standing there, holding a small brown takeout box.

“Carmy-next-door,” you said, your voice warm and teasing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, as his eyes flicked between her face and the container in his hands. “Uh, thought I’d return the favor."

Your eyes flicked to the container, and you tilted your head curiously. “Return the favor?”

"For the cookies.”

You blinked, glancing down at the box in his hands. It wasn’t your typical store-bought takeout container—this one looked nicer, almost custom-made. You tilted your head slightly, curious. “What’s this?”

“Just something I made,” he said, shrugging one shoulder like it was no big deal. “Nothing fancy.”

You smiled, reaching out to take the box from him. “Wait, so you’re telling me you cook? Like, professionally?”

Carmy hesitated for a moment, clearly debating how much to say. “Yeah. I’m a chef.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Like... a real chef? Not just someone who’s really good at making grilled cheese?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. A real chef. But I do make a mean grilled cheese.”

“Well, color me impressed,” you laugh, holding up the box like it was a prized treasure. “What’s in here? Or is it a secret?”

“Braised short ribs,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “With some potato puree and roasted vegetables. It’s... leftovers from a test recipe.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “You're giving me that as a thank-you for cookies?”

He shrugged again, his gaze flicking away. “Figured it was better than just saying ‘thanks.’"

You laughed softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, now I feel like I need to bake you an entire cake or something. Cookies don’t seem like enough anymore.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “You didn’t have to bring me anything in the first place.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have discovered that my new neighbor is secretly a culinary genius,” you teased, watching as his cheeks seemed to tint just slightly pink.

“Not a genius,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just... a chef.”

“Well, Chef Carmy, you’ve officially raised the bar for neighborly exchanges,” you said, grinning.

A small, almost shy smile tugged at his lips. “Just enjoy it.”

She studied him for a beat longer, the way he seemed both completely comfortable and slightly out of place at the same time. “Well, thanks, Carmy. I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slightly. “You do that.”

Carmy turned to leave, but before he reached his apartment, you called after him, your voice light and teasing.

"Hey, Carmy-next-door!"

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder, a curious expression on his face.

"Is this some kind of competition now? Because if it is, my next thank-you might have to involve actual fireworks."

He gave a quiet chuckle, a rare sound that widened your smile. "It's not."

You laughed, the sound brightening the hallway. "Well, it is now," you declared, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I’m not going down without a fight."

"Looking forward to it," he murmured, shaking his head, his smile lingering as he turned and disappeared into his apartment

You stood in the doorway for a moment, still holding the box, a warm feeling spreading through you. There was something about him—quiet but deeply thoughtful—that made you feel like you’d just scratched the surface of who he really was.

You carried the box into your kitchen, setting it carefully on the counter. The smell alone was enough to make your mouth water, but you didn’t open it right away. Instead, you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a seat, savoring the anticipation. And as you finally took your first bite, you couldn’t help but think: maybe moving into this building was the best decision you’d made in a long time.

Hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

Part 3??

literally JUST read your i bet on losing dogs fic and i was wondering if roy ever brings up the fact that black!batsis paid for his rehab? like is he upset with her or just wants answers as to why? i can imagine it leaves him conflicted for a bit…

@flyestvenustrap I finally got to it! part two of this

Roy was having trouble sleeping. Who knows how many hours had passed since he and Y/N laid down to sleep but he just couldn't fall asleep. His mind was only focused on what Oliver said during dinner. Part of him wanted to just dismiss it but the other part wanted to know if it was true. He felt Y/N stir next to him. Her eyes squinted at him as she realized that he was still awake.

"I don't want to fight," He said as he adjusted her slipping bonnet.

"So we won't," She said snuggling closer into his arms. Roy rubbed her baby bump before sighing.

"Oliver said something the other night, and I need you to be honest with me," Roy knew he wanted to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was to get Y/N worked up, and pregnancy anger was no joke.

"Okay," She said, sitting up in the bed.

"Did you pay for my rehab all those times?" He spoke while still lying down. His hands were rested behind his head.

"Oliver paid the first time. He treated like some miracle program, but let's be honest, we both know it's more difficult than that. Every time after that, I paid." She admitted quietly. The only other person who knew she had paid for his rehab was Bruce, or at least that's what she thought.

"But you were what? Nineteen?" The small age gap between them lingered in his mind at times. He had so much baggage that he often wondered why she chose him to be with.

"Yeah," She spoke shyly.

"Why? We weren't even dating back then," He looked at her, realizing what their relationship was like.

"I didn't wanna give up on you." Y/N wouldn't say she loved him back then, but she cared for him as more than a friend. He was there for her when her brothers couldn't be, and she knew that he was a good person. That was enough for her.

"Don't cry, baby. I'm not upset, I promise. How come you never told me?" He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled before continuing.

"I was so happy when you came back and you had Lian. You had to adjust to being sober and being a father. I didn't want you to think you owed me anything. Whether it be a relationship or money," She admitted. She kept her distance for a year until Roy found her after he came back from where he disappeared to.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," He spoke, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you too," She leaned on him and kissed his stubbly cheek.

Roy was having trouble sleeping. Who knows how many hours had passed since he and Y/N laid down to sleep but he just couldn't fall asleep. His mind was only focused on what Oliver said during dinner. Part of him wanted to just dismiss it but the other part wanted to know if it was true. He felt Y/N stir next to him. Her eyes squinted at him as she realized that he was still awake.

"I don't want to fight," He said as he adjusted her slipping bonnet.

"So we won't," She said snuggling closer into his arms. Roy rubbed her baby bump before sighing.

"Oliver said something the other night, and I need you to be honest with me," Roy knew he wanted to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was to get Y/N worked up, and pregnancy anger was no joke.

"Okay," She said, sitting up in the bed.

"Did you pay for my rehab all those times?" He spoke while still lying down. His hands were rested behind his head.

"Oliver paid the first time. He treated like some miracle program, but let's be honest, we both know it's more difficult than that. Every time after that, I paid." She admitted quietly. The only other person who knew she had paid for his rehab was Bruce, or at least that's what she thought.

"But you were what? Nineteen?" The small age gap between them lingered in his mind at times. He had so much baggage that he often wondered why she chose him to be with.

"Yeah," She spoke shyly.

"Why? We weren't even dating back then," He looked at her, realizing what their relationship was like.

"I didn't wanna give up on you." Y/N wouldn't say she loved him back then, but she cared for him as more than a friend. He was there for her when her brothers couldn't be, and she knew that he was a good person. That was enough for her.

"Don't cry, baby. I'm not upset, I promise. How come you never told me?" He sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled before continuing.

"I was so happy when you came back and you had Lian. You had to adjust to being sober and being a father. I didn't want you to think you owed me anything. Whether it be a relationship or money," She admitted. She kept her distance for a year until Roy found her after he came back from where he disappeared to.

"I love you more than you'll ever know," He spoke, pulling her closer to him.

"I love you too," She leaned on him and kissed his stubbly cheek.

taglist: t: @flyestvenustrap @megamindsecretlair @blxckdesire @animegirlfromvietnam  @nupppuff  @prettyvintageafternoon   @lilbanas @certifiedloverwoman @melissa-ashe @hoyoooo

Bradford Has a Valentine's Day Princess

Part 2 of Bradford Has a Princess

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

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

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

Word Count: 3.1k+ words

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

February 11th – Los Angeles, CA

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

“Good for you,” Tim says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose not. Can I open it?”

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

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

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

“Then I’ll be funny,” you decide.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

February 12th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That fit?” he asks.

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

“It’s not rocket science.”

“Yet most people mess it up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look good?” he asks.

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

“Which face wash?” he asks.

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

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

“I love you,” you say.

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

“Later, then,” you agree with a nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could find another Valentine by tomorrow.”

“Kojo, for sure.”

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

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

“Probably more.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you reply with Tim.

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

You bat your eyelashes, and Tim considers your request.

“Sure,” he decides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Morning,” you reply.

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

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

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

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

“I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I already told you no,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he inquires.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

February 14th – Valentine’s Day

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

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

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

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

“There will be more Valentine’s Days.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

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

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

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

“They never give things away for free.”

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

undercover(s) (18+)

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

pairing: tim bradford x f!reader

word count: 5,4k

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

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

“It's giving brat.”

False lashes, acrylic nails, threaded brows.

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

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

“Damn, I look good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew exactly why.

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

There was only one bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It had to be more than just about the operation. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sighed and drank from your watered-down soda.

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

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

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

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

He had no right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You made contact?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laughed. “Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, that wasn't too weird.

Right?

“What?”

Okay, you had made it weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, you wanted to touch him.

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

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

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

Tim couldn't possibly be comfortable like that.

He looked like a damn robot waiting to be recharged.

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

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

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

Stop it, you cursed yourself mentally.

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

Tim wasn't as lucky.

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

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

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

You had to know what you were doing to him.

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

Then you shifted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And fucking hell it was spinning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the brink was no further away than that.

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

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

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

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

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

“You did good, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Strong Enough

0.8k+ fluffy words of Karadec getting fed up and proving you wrong. (it's not a prank blurb but it is a from a trend so I'm tagging it the same!)

The Major Crimes unit is silent. It’s disturbing and unsettling, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat while waiting for someone to make a noise.

“Is Soto back?” Oz whispers.

Daphne shakes her head no, then taps her mouse to check if the computers are back up. “We’re still dark,” she replies softly. “So… what’s the worst date you’ve been on recently?”

You don’t have to see Karadec to know he’s rolling his eyes. Still, you smile at the distraction and move closer to Oz and Daphne’s back-to-back desks.

“I haven’t been on one in a while,” Oz says. “But a few months back, she asked me to get her an Uber to her backup date.”

“Oh, no,” Daphne exclaims with a laugh.

“That’s awful,” you agree. “She didn’t have to tell you where she was going.”

“No, she really felt like she needed to,” he explains. “What about you, Daph?”

“Went on a second date with a guy and he asked what kind of wine I wanted and then ordered something completely different.”

“Don’t tell me he pulled the I’m paying and I’m sure you’ll like it,” you ask, pinching your brows sympathetically.

“Better. He told me that my palette wasn’t refined and offered to help with that.”

“Gross,” you and Oz respond simultaneously.

“I went on a date last week, and he offered me his jacket,” you offer.

“That’s sweet,” Oz argues.

“It didn’t fit, so he asked if I was working to lose any weight so I could wear his clothes if things got serious.”

Daphne’s jaw drops as her brows rise, and Oz shakes his head.

“Granted, I don’t think I’ve ever dated a guy whose clothes I could wear. Let alone one who could lift me or anything. I’m not sure they exist in my circle.”

Karadec scoffs, and you turn in your seat to look at him.

“What?” you inquire.

“Nothing, just working,” he answers, opening a file.

“Sure. What’s the worst date you’ve been on?”

“Nothing as bad as this moment.”

“Someone’s grumpy,” you stage-whisper over your shoulder to Daphne.

“You work with cops, there’s fifteen gyms within a mile radius,” Karadec explains, “so you must be choosing the wrong men.”

“Okay, one, the cops I actually work with day-to-day are mostly desk jockeys. No offense, Oz.”

“None taken,” he interjects.

“And two, Karadec, I’m not going to go hang out beside a gym to get some testosterone-fueled meathead just because he can pick me up. I’m saying realistically, naturally, in everyday life, I don’t know anyone who could just romantically manhandle me for the sake of it.”

“Romantically manhandle?” Morgan repeats, incredulous, as she enters the bullpen. “What am I interrupting?”

“Detective over here thinks there are no men in Los Angeles who could lift her onto their shoulder,” Karadec explains flatly.

“Ooh, like the video?” Morgan inquires, pulling a chair to your side. “Ava has shown me a few, they’re cute. Not so much when the scrawny-armed boys don’t succeed, but still.”

“We’re not going to get any work done today, are we?” Karadec inquires.

“Not with Soto busy and the system down,” Daphne reminds him. “So, try to let loose for a few minutes, would you?”

“You really don’t know anyone who could do it?” Morgan asks.

“Nope,” you answer. “Not for lack of trying, contrary to what Karadec will tell you.”

“Tell her about the jacket guy,” Oz encourages.

Karadec stands and gestures for you to do the same.

“Fine, we’ll change the subject,” you sigh.

“Stand up,” he demands.

Morgan moves her seat back as you stand, and Karadec steps closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist, bends slightly, and then your feet are off the floor. You clutch his wrist at your side as he effortlessly lifts you onto his shoulder. From the elevated position, you look down at him with wide eyes.

Carefully, Karadec lowers you back to the floor and removes his hand from your side. He raises his hands to his sides and asks, “Happy now?”

Before you can answer him, Lieutenant Soto returns.

“Are workplace crushes frowned upon?” you ask her.

“Shut up,” Karadec grumbles as he returns to his desk and retrieves hand sanitizer from his drawer.

“What did I miss?” Soto asks, looking between you and Karadec.

“Oh, we can’t explain what just happened,” Oz muses.

“Luckily, I filmed it,” Daphne announces, raising her phone.

“You did not,” Karadec snaps, spinning to face her.

“She did!” Morgan answers, smiling brightly, as she watches the screen over Daphne’s shoulder. “And right… there is the moment she falls in love.”

Karadec shakes his head, and you murmur, “I was kidding. I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

He tips his head to the left, then nods and reboots his computer. “Of course not,” he replies, though it’s the least convincing you’ve ever heard him sound.

Sneaky Link Roy

Description: A deeper dive into sneaky link Roy and Y/N

Warnings: Suggestive content, allusions to sex, cursing, sneaky links

Word Count: 0.8k

"Roy, what did I say about calling me?" Y/N asked while she rubbed an expensive cleanser onto her face. He just happened to facetime her the one night all of her siblings were in town for some mission. Her phone was placed on her vanity counter as she did her nighttime skincare routine. Her knotless braids sat in a bun on top of her head while she wore a robe with her name embellished on it.

"I know, I know, but I need you," Roy's eyes couldn't help but travel down the silk robe. His mouth went dry at the sight of her cleavage.

"We're not exclusive, you could call someone else," Y/N offered. As much as she hated the thought of him with someone else, it would be the safer alternative if Jason or Dick caught them together.

"I want you, though," Roy whined and Y/N had to reconsider her choices. For him to be just her sneaky link, she didn't like the power he had over her emotions. She didn't appreciate how sweet he was to her but she loved how he begged for her attention.

"Okay, you always know what to say. I'll be over in thirty," Y/N said hanging up the phone.

Y/N had an important in the city that she rarely stayed in. It made the perfect place for her and Roy to meet up. Donning a pair of sweats and a zip-up hoodie, Y/N stuck her head out of her bedroom door. The key now was to avoid Alfred. If she timed it right, she could make it through the front door without anyone knowing she was gone for at least two hours.

"It's late, where are you going?" Damian asked as his sister attempted to sneak out of the manor. Y/N almost cursed once she remembered that Damian was off patrol because of his broken arm.

"Out," Y/N suspiciously drew out the one-syllable word.

"Out or out-out," Damian questioned trying to gauge if he wanted to come with her or not.

"I'll buy you a month's worth of vegan Ben & Jerry's if you walk away and don't tell anyone," Y/N offered with a quirked eyebrow. Damian contemplated his choices and realized that ice cream is always the answer.

"Deal," He backed away slowly into the hallway and Y/N dashed the excite.

- Roy doesn't remember how he ended up shirtless and cuffed to Y/N's bedframe. All he remembered was walking into her apartment and being attacked with kisses. She had him stripped to his boxers and she wore the thinnest lingerie he had ever seen. She straddled his lap and placed a ball gag in his mouth.

"Don't start whining, yet. We've barely started," Y/N said as she kissed his cheek. She stopped when she heard a phone buzzing on the floor.

"It's Jade," Y/N said as she held up his phone. Roy's eyes widened as he realized how this was about to go. Jade managed to call Roy almost every time he was with Y/N. It was never about Lian, either and that just pissed Y/N off even more.

"Hello," Y/N spoke into the cell phone while running her hand up and down Roy's thigh.

"Who is this?" Jade asked.

"Let's not pretend you don't know who I am,"

"Where's Roy, Y/N?" Jade asked with venom on her tongue. Y/N enjoyed teasing the assassin. It was like taking the bully's favorite toy.

"He's a little busy at the moment," Y/N said as she searched her bedside drawer for more fun playthings. Roy was sweating bullets. He knew that Jade was mildly crazy but Y/N was wildly petty.

"Give him the phone," Jade demanded.

"I would, but there's a gag in his mouth. He looks so pretty tied to the bed," Y/N winked at Roy and his cheeks turned an even brighter red than his hair. He was in for the night of his life.

"I will fuck your shit up," Jade threatened into the phone's speaker. Y/N simply removed the phone from her ear and waited for Jade to finish her string of curses.

"Bitch, you're the one who calls every time we're together," Y/N noted without missing a beat.

"And you'd think that the spoiled princess would learn to take a hint," Jade spoke and Y/N chuckled to herself a little before responding.

"You know what, I'm not arguing with a woman whose baby daddy just ate my ass," Y/N said without a hint of remorse. She had a smirk on her face the entire time. The line went quiet before Jade began to scream into her phone.

"You bi-," Jade started before being rudely interrupted.

"Have a blessed night. Okay, where were we?" Y/N turned to face Roy with bright eyes.

Damaged

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: After a bad evening with your parents, Tim Bradford reminds you that you aren't damaged, and if your family won't be there for you, he will.

Warnings: abuse (emotional, verbal, and physical), 3rd party alcohol consumption, fluff and comfort, protective!Tim, platonic leading toward romantic

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Slacking off?” Tim asks. “A little early for civvies.”

You look up quickly, surprised by his presence outside the locker room. “I’m leaving early,” you explain weakly.

“I remember,” he replies, observing you. “Dinner with your parents.”

“Right.”

“Enjoy.”

Dropping your eyes to his boots, you nod and answer, “I will. Bye.”

Tim watches you go, wondering why dinner with your parents puts you on edge. Every time you mention them, your eyes shift, you grow nervous and jumpy, and the strong, confident cop he knows retreats into the shell of a scared woman. It’s a change he recognizes, one he understands, and he knows you lied when you said you’d enjoy yourself.

“You know what I think?” your dad asks.

You’re going to tell me no matter what, you think.

“Your job is bad enough,” he says, interrupting himself to take a drink. “But you could at least dress like a woman while you’re off the clock.”

Glancing down at your outfit, you try not to let his words affect you. Your parents have been like this for your entire life. Some might call it verbal abuse, while others consider it an absence of a filter. Regardless, your parents have never hesitated to point out your every insecurity. The worst part of seeing them, you think, is that they see your scars and rip those old wounds open again, tearing you down with every word they speak.

“Can you afford some new clothes?” your mother asks. “Maybe then you could find a man who’d give you a second thought.”

Chewing your inner lip, you nod silently. You feel like you’re twelve years old again, too big for the frame they try to shove you into. It’s been years since you gave up on trying to please them, but it doesn’t take away the pain.

“Although,” your dad continues, “who would want to start a family with a beat cop who could get shot at any moment?”

“Beat cops are a real family,” you mumble under your breath, fiddling with the napkin in your lap.

You don’t see your mom move, but the sharp slap sound of her palm hitting your face startles you enough that you finally look her in the eye. Your hand raises to your stinging cheek without thought. You know it won’t bruise, and something deep inside you tells you to stand up for yourself, to leave, and never look back.

“I’m getting another drink,” your dad states, stumbling slightly as he stands.

You’ve been in this exact spot too many times, you realize. So, you decide to play the part until they’re ready to leave. Sitting still, you listen, nod, and apologize as you hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Look at the time,” your mom mutters after you serve dessert.

“And we have people who give a crap about where we are,” your dad adds, laughing at you. “We better head out. Next time we do this, don’t make the- the food like that and buy more drinks.”

“Will do,” you answer, standing.

“That didn’t sound like an apology,” your mother patronizes.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately. “I’ll do better next time.”

“That means we have to come back,” your dad grumbles.

Not if we can help it, you think.

“Sweetheart,” your mother says, wrapping her hand around your wrist. Her nails dig into the sensitive skin above your pulse point, but you level your expression. “You need to try harder.”

“Sure. I will.”

She releases your hand, but your dad takes it just as quickly, his grip tighter and stronger than hers. You pull back instinctively, and he raises his other hand. When you cower away from him, dropping your chin, he laughs and twists the skin of your arm harshly.

“Better food,” he seethes. “Better news. If we come over here again and you’re still a disappointment… Just don’t.”

“Yes, sir,” you force out.

You stand in place, staring at the dirty dishes on your table as the door slams behind them. Alone, you stumble backward until you hit the wall, your vision growing blurry with tears. Sinking to the floor, you let yourself cry, and within a minute, heavy sobs shake your entire body. You feel paralyzed, your mind viciously reminding you that you and your parents are on a crashing course that only worsens with time.

But, you remember, they are your parents. They loved you at some point, but it’s always been like this. Maybe you are the problem, a voice you don’t recognize says in your mind.

You want to forget tonight, forget the pain in your chest and along your skin, so you reach for your phone. You’re texting Tim before you think about it. You don’t know what to say, but you’re desperate. Anything would be a welcome distraction, so you ask if he’s busy.

It changes from Delivered to Read, but he doesn’t reply. So, you toss your phone aside and pull your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself as if it will make the world disappear. 

A knock on your front door pulls you out of your teary reverie that is on the constant brink of returning to the nightmare of reality. Walking to the door, you hope that it isn’t your parents. You look through the peephole before you open the door, sure your surprise is evident.

“What happened?” Tim asks, his face softening when he sees your tear-stained face and red cheek.

You shake your head as you step back, and Tim follows you inside, closing the door softly.

“Did your parents come over?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer, laughing humorlessly. “They were here.”

“Hey,” Tim says. You hold the back of your chair and stare at the table again. “Hey,” he repeats firmly. “Look at me.”

You turn your chin toward him, your eyes glassy and your skin blotchy.

“You’re okay,” he promises, spreading his hands with his palms toward you. “Whatever they said, whatever they made you believe, it’s a lie. Your parents are… they’re abusive.”

“They just-”

“Crossed a line,” Tim interrupts. “I see it every time you mention them. I don’t know what they said or did, but if it brought you here, they are the problem. Not you.”

You rub your chest, failing to lessen the pressure there before Tim steps toward you. When you don’t stop him, he lays his hand on your shoulder.

“What if they’re right?” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

Tim looks between your eyes, then says, “What if my dad was right?”

Your eyes clear as you look at Tim. His question, his vulnerability, brings you back into this moment. Tim is here because he saw something in you. Despite his gruff exterior, he cares about you. And now he’s sharing something about himself to help you. To save you.

“My dad was abusive,” he says. “He shoved my head through plaster, yelled at me, belittled me, made me doubt myself and all that I could do. You? You’re stronger than you think, stronger than your parents make you feel. You are not what or who they say.”

“Then why am I like this?” you wonder.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Tim repeats, his thumb brushing kindly, comfortingly over your shoulder.

“They…” you begin. “Their voices are in my head constantly, and it’s so loud.”

“They talk with razors on their tongue just to provoke your combat, use new weapons to snap those final strings just to watch you fall back,” Tim replies. “I get it. Their voices, their lies, they follow you everywhere because they’ve ingrained them into you.”

“How do you do it?” you ask, wiping the tears from your face. “How do you do everything that you do, and do it well and confidently, after going through it?”

“You know who you are and what you can do. Place your confidence and your belief in that, not the words they yell trying to make themselves feel like they’re better than you.”

“I don’t think I can do that, Tim,” you argue, shaking your head as you sink into your chair.

“Then shut them up, drown them out, listen to me,” Tim encourages, moving with you. “Whatever it takes.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy. I’m not as strong as you Tim.”

“You’re stronger,” he insists. “And I’m here for you. You’re not alone, okay?”

You nod, willing yourself to believe him. Tim takes your hand, and when your sleeve shifts, he sees the bruise forming around your wrist. Without hesitation, he pushes the fabric up to your elbow, revealing the darkening patch and angry red scratch marks.

“They touched you?” he asks, his voice different than before as he stares at your arm.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Was it the first time?”

“I…”

Tim releases your hand as he stands. Your unwillingness to answer was better confirmation than he would have received if you had said yes. Tim moves toward the door, on his way to leaving you alone. Again.

“Tim,” you call, your voice strained as tears well in your eyes once more. 

He slows, his hand on the doorknob. “They touched you.”

“Please,” you plead.

“I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Tim, please don’t leave me,” you whisper, fresh tears running down your face, the salt stinging your raw skin.

He sighs, turning toward you. As he returns to your side, he makes a promise to himself. No one will ever hurt you like this again. He let his dad impact his life for years after he moved away from home. When his dad got sick, it felt as if a strong current was pulling him into the nightmare his dad created all over again. If your parents are so willing to take you for granted, to hurt you, then Tim Bradford will be at your side to stop them from damaging you.

You’re not alone. As long as Tim is breathing, you never will be.

Finally Safe

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 6,179

Warnings - kidnapping, drugging, talks of malnourishment, sad Tim hours, angst, fluff, inaccurate medical scenes, swearing

Summary - after being missing for years, you and Tim are finally reunited

A/N - hey y'all! this was an idea suggested to me by @scarletstarrs so I hope I did your idea justice because I loved exploring this idea so much (and all the angst that came with it). anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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When Lucy entered the station, ready for the morning roll call, she was both shocked and confused to find Tim Bradford missing from the building. Other than being forced to take leave after being shot, Tim had always shown up to work no matter what.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?” Lucy asks, sitting down in between Jackson and Nolan who both shrug, shaking their heads. Before the three could begin theorising about where Lucy’s training officer had gone, Sergeant Grey stepped up to the podium and began to talk, detailing what was going to be happening during the day. Just before he sends everyone off to start the day, he addresses Lucy.

“Officer Chen, you’ll be riding with me today. Dismissed.” Grey says, his dismissal causing everyone to stand up and make their way out of the room to start their day. As Grey begins to exit, Lucy follows after him.

“Sergeant Grey, while it’s an honour to ride with you today. Where’s Officer Bradford?” Lucy asks, trying her best to sound respectful while enquiring about where Tim is.

“Officer Bradford is taking a personal day,” Grey replies simply, gesturing for Lucy to go and get the war bags to load the shop. At Grey’s gesture, Lucy began to make her way to get the bags, silently wondering to herself why Tim had taken a personal day and whether he was okay.

Across LA, Tim was sitting at home. He had barely had the energy to move out of bed when he woke up but he had managed to drag himself over to the sofa after making sure Kojo had his breakfast. Kojo, while not having lived with Tim long, had picked up on Tim’s melancholy mood and curled up next to him, whining softly as Tim studied a picture on his phone. Tim let out a soft sigh, tears filling his eyes as he studied the picture, a picture of him and you, his wife, on your wedding day. He was embracing you happily, lips pressed to yours.

“I miss you so much,” Tim whispers, unable to remove his gaze from the image of you. You had gone missing three years ago to the day, and Tim could never forgive himself for it. At Tim’s whisper, Kojo shuffled around, resting his head on Tim’s lap, sensing Tim’s pain. Kojo’s movement briefly pulled Tim’s attention away from his phone.

“I’m sorry buddy,” Tim says softly, stroking the top of Kojo’s head. Since you had been taken, Tim had consistently taken a personal day on the date you were taken with each passing year you remained missing. Most detectives involved in your case had told Tim that it was time to give up. The chances were high that whoever had taken you had killed you and had moved on. But Tim wouldn’t just give up on you. He couldn’t. Deep down he knew you were still out there somewhere, and he needed to find you. As Tim continued to swipe through the album of photos he had of you and him, Kojo began to paw at his leg slightly, as if trying to drag him out of his slump.

“I know. Come on, I’ll take you for a walk.” Tim says, knowing that keeping Kojo inside because of his upset would just not be worth it. Tim manages to get up from the sofa, shower and change before grabbing Kojo’s lead. As he left the house with Kojo trotting along by his side, he was silently grateful for the dog’s presence in his life. Before Kojo came around, Tim just wallowed in his house, hiding away from the world when he missed you too much. But now he had someone relying on him, and he couldn’t let Kojo down. After reaching the park, Tim let Kojo off the lead so he could explore while he sat on a bench. As he watched Kojo, he couldn’t help but imagine you sat by his side. You had always wanted to get a dog since long before marrying Tim and he had always put it off, claiming he wanted to wait. He felt so guilty for owning Kojo while you were missing but he knew that when he found you, you’d love Kojo and you’d so quickly become his new favourite person.

After a while, Tim whistled for Kojo to come back over so they could walk back home and as they made their way home, Tim’s phone buzzed, alerting him that he had a message but he opted to wait until he was home to see what it was. When he finally made it home, Tim collapsed onto the sofa and pulled out his phone to see a text from Angela.

‘How are you?’

That simple message was enough to bring the smallest of smiles to Tim’s face. Angela had been Tim’s entire support system since the day you went missing. She had checked in with him regularly and was someone to lean on during his bad days. When she had been promoted to detective, Angela had promised Tim she would do what she could to try and pick up any leads in your missing persons case. Tim had been so grateful for Angela’s support over the last few years, she was the person he needed to help him navigate your absence in his life.

‘Could be better.’

Tim could never lie to Angela. She had ways to see right through him, even over text so he knew there was no point even attempting to act like he was feeling okay on a day like this.

‘Do you want to come over? Have some company?’

Angela’s offer of company was not unusual, although the last few times Angela had asked if he wanted her to come over after her shift had finished, but now with her on maternity leave, both she and Tim had a whole day to console each other.

‘That would be nice. I’ll be over in a few.’ 

Tim types out and sends his response, once again forcing himself up from the sofa and petting Kojo, promising him he’d be back soon before grabbing the keys to his truck and making his way to Angela’s house.

When he arrived he barely even knocked on the door before Angela opened it, a soft gentle smile on her face as she took in Tim’s appearance. It was obvious to her that he hadn’t slept well the night before but she couldn’t blame him. If Wesley had gone missing she knows she’d be absolutely beside herself with worry and anticipatory grief.

“Come and sit down,” Angela says softly, resting a hand on Tim’s back and guiding him to the sofa, easing herself down alongside him, her gentle hand never leaving his back as she moves it up to rub his shoulder lightly. For a few minutes, the two of them sit in silence before Tim lets out a shuddering breath.

“I miss her so much.” Tim manages to say, his voice choking as tears begin to well in his eyes.

“I know, Tim,” Angela says sympathetically, her hand continuing to rub soothing circles on his shoulder in an attempt to keep his breathing steady.

“It hurts.” Tim manages to say, hand hovering near his heart, swearing he could feel his heart pounding louder and stronger with each second.

“I can’t imagine the pain. But I’m here for you. You’re not alone.” Angela says softly, feeling her heart break more and more at Tim’s broken state. She was the only person who got to see this side of Tim in these moments and it made her more and more determined to find you. After a few moments of comforting whispers from Angela and teary sniffles from Tim, he turned to face her, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“Do you think we’ll even find her alive?” Tim asked, uncharacteristically pessimistic about your case, making Angela shocked.

“She’s got to be out there somewhere. And we’ll find her.” Angela says, pulling Tim into a careful hug.

“It’s my fault she’s gone,” Tim mutters against her shoulder, a confession no one had heard from him before.

“Don’t say that. You’re not to blame.” Angela says, pulling away slightly to look him in the eyes as he shakes his head.

“I am.” Tim insists, his right hand moving to fiddle with his wedding ring, a movement Angela didn’t miss. She knew he would take the ring off when he was on duty, but when he was off duty it would be restored to its rightful place and he’d often find himself twisting it around on his finger out of habit.

“Why do you say it’s your fault?” Angela asks tenderly, hoping she’d be able to help Tim realise that it wasn’t his fault.

“We had an argument that night. A stupid one at that, I can’t even remember what it was about, maybe about chores or something? But y/n got pissed at me and she said she needed to go on a walk to clear her head. I was pissed too and the moment she left I just decided to go to bed. I was too angry to do anything else. If I had gone after her none of this would’ve happened. She’d still be here with me.” Tim whispers, feeling like his throat is closing more tears welling in his eyes as he relives that night.

“Where are you going?” Tim asks, pausing his angry pacing to glare at you from across the room.

“For a walk. I can’t be around you right now.” You reply, your voice just as venomous as his as you grab your keys, reaching for the door handle.

“Fine.” Tim spits angrily, turning on his heel and stalking off again as you open the door, exiting and angrily closing the door behind you while Tim storms to the kitchen, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge.

After a couple of beers, Tim decided it wasn’t worth staying up waiting for you any longer. You had taken your keys and he knew you’d come back whenever you were ready to so he took himself to bed, practically passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Tim woke up and found your side of the bed still empty, and when he reached across to search for any remaining body heat, he found that your side was still cold, like no one had slept in it all night. Figuring you had spent the night on the sofa, Tim sat up and got himself out of bed, all anger from the night before gone.

“Hey, Baby, I’m sorry about last night.” Tim enters the living room, rubbing his eyes as he enters, stopping in his tracks when he realises you’re not in the room, nor was there any evidence you had even slept on the sofa. At the sight of the empty room, and your keys still missing from the key bowl, Tim felt his stomach turning with anxiety. He just knew something bad had happened to you. You wouldn’t just go silent on him or not come home at all.

After trying to call your phone and getting no answers, Tim knew he had to file a missing persons case when he got to work. He wasn’t going to rest until he found you.

“Tim, listen to me. It is not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Neither of you could’ve known there would be a psycho out there. You can’t blame yourself for something you never could’ve anticipated.” Angela says softly, her voice shaking Tim from his thoughts. She could imagine the guilt Tim was feeling, but she knew it wasn’t his fault.

“It is. If I had just-”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. There’s nothing you could’ve done. I know just as well as you that y/n is stubborn as anything, so if she wanted to go and get some air after your argument then she would’ve done it regardless. You can’t predict the future and y/n wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Angela says, her voice was soft yet firm so she can get her point across to Tim. She knew Tim had a habit of blaming himself for things out of his control but she had no idea that he had carried guilt from your disappearance silently and had been beating himself up about it for so long.

“I just need to find her. I need her safe and home with me. I didn’t even tell her I loved her the last time I saw her.” Tim says, fiercely wiping at his eyes to stop any tears from falling.

“I’m working with detectives to pick up the dead ends from y/n’s case. One of them will lead us somewhere I’m sure. Between you and me, working y/n’s case is the only work Wesley is okay with me doing while on maternity leave. He knows how important it is to us and he’s promised me that if we catch the asshole he’d ensure he spends the rest of his life behind bars.” Angela says reassuringly, wanting to help restore Tim’s faith in finding you.

“Thank you, Angela,” Tim says quietly with a nod. With the topic seeming to be at an end, Angela decides to change the subject and while Tim had always jokingly complained about helping Angela with wedding planning, he was more than happy to do so on this day. While he helped Angela plan various parts of her wedding, he couldn’t help but think about the time he had spent planning his wedding with you.

“Tim, we can’t seat my uncle next to your brother-in-law!” You exclaimed with a laugh, curling further into Tim’s side as he wrapped his arm around you, chuckling lightly to himself, both of you focusing on the seating chart Tim had drafted.

“Sure we can. It would be hilarious.” Tim says, squeezing you closer, his hand winding around your waist.

“You want our wedding to result in a fistfight?” You say, an amused tone to your voice as you raise an eyebrow.

 “Mmm, might not be the best idea then,” Tim murmurs, leaning close to press a kiss to your cheek.

“The best idea is to make sure they stay as far away from each other as possible.” You muse, unable to stop the smile covering your face as Tim continued to press kisses to your cheek.

“We’ll figure it out.”

By the end of the day, Tim had spent most of his time at Angela’s house and he had been beyond grateful for her company and her willingness to help him through a day like this. When Wesley got home, Tim decided that was when he should be heading home himself, knowing Kojo was probably waiting for him.

“I’ll see you around,” Tim says quietly, giving Angela a gentle hug, pulling away and giving Wesley a friendly nod before making his way out of their house, heading to his truck to head home. Unbeknownst to Tim, the moment he left, Angela’s phone buzzed and when she read the text she knew she had to step into work again. Whether Wesley liked it or not.

The next morning, Angela made her way to the hospital, meeting with other detectives once she got there before being led to a room that had a girl inside. Angela figured she couldn’t be any older than her early twenties. After getting a quick brief from the other detectives, Angela made her way into the room, smiling softly to let her know she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, Bella. I’m Detective Lopez, but you can just call me Angela.” Angela introduces herself, easing herself down onto one of the hospital room chairs as Bella eyes her carefully. Angela could tell that the last thing Bella wanted was to be questioned but it was protocol, whether she liked it or not.

“I promise I’ll make this quick, just tell me what happened,” Angela assures, pulling out her notepad and pen.

“A few months ago, some guy grabbed me off the street while I was making my way home. He kept calling me ‘Samantha’ the whole time. No matter how many times I told him my name was Bella he just ignored it.” Bella explains, tears welling in her eyes as her arms wound around her middle.

“Can you describe this man? And where he was keeping you?” Angela asks carefully, making notes on her notepad as Bella nods.

“He looked like he was in his forties, his hair was greying and he had a huge burn scar on his right arm, like all up it. He was keeping us in the woods. It sounds really cliche now that I say it out loud. He’d moved us around a bit before he found this old abandoned cabin on the outskirts of the city. He managed to get power and water so he figured we could just stay out there, like some delusional family or something.” Bella says, and Angela immediately picks up on her choice of words.

“I’m sorry, you said ‘us’. Was there someone else?” Angela enquires, glancing up from her notebook.

“Yeah, there was another woman, she might’ve been in her thirties? The guy kept calling her ‘Vivian’ but I’m guessing that wasn’t her name.” Bella explains with a nod while Angela pulls her phone out of her pocket, hurriedly scrolling through it and finding a picture with you in.

“This other woman. Did she look like this?” Angela flips the phone around, showing Bella the picture, watching as her eyes widen in recognition.

“Yes! That’s her!” Bella exclaims, looking over at Angela.

“She’s alive,” Angela mutters to herself, unable to believe the news.

“Do you know her?” Bella asks, noticing Angela’s reaction and how hurriedly she was typing into her phone.

“She’s a friend of mine. She’s been missing for a while.” Angela says, tucking her phone away as she talks.

“She’s the one who helped me escape. She saw the opportunity and she encouraged me to go for it.” Bella says, watching Angela’s reaction carefully.

“That sounds like y/n. She always looked out for others.” Angela says with fondness, remembering how you had always put others above yourself.

“I want to help her,” Bella says, a strong, newfound determination in her voice.

“Can you recall where the cabin was? If you can that would help us track her down.” Angela asks, listening carefully as Bella explains all the details she can remember of her escape from that cabin. After getting as many details as Bella could remember, Angela excused herself, exiting the room and immediately calling Grey on her way out, informing him of everything and letting him know that he and the LAPD needed to act fast before you were moved again.

Back at the Mid-Wilshire police station, police officers were starting to prepare for an operation on the outskirts of Los Angeles just as Lucy and Tim entered, ushering their recent arrest to be processed. They quickly became aware of the atmosphere around them so while Lucy was processing the arrest, Tim stepped out to find Grey.

“What’s going on?” Tim asks after tracking down Grey.

“I’m getting some people together for an operation. But I need you and Officer Chen to stay on patrol.” Grey says, gathering his war bags and barely glancing Tim’s way.

“I want to help,” Tim says, confused as to why Grey isn’t letting him get involved with an operation, not when he had as much experience as he did.

“This isn’t a matter to discuss Officer Bradford. You’re one of my best patrol officers and I need you out on the streets with Officer Chen while we do this. Is that understood?” Grey asserts, facing Tim and staring him down as Tim straightens up.

“Understood, Sir,” Tim says, feeling his heart sink at not getting to be involved with an operation.

“You’ll get in on the next operation,” Grey says, clapping Tim on the shoulder quickly before making his way towards his shop, leaving Tim to head back to Lucy, finding her after she had just finished processing their arrest.

“Hey, did you find out what everyone’s doing?” Lucy asks, looking up at Tim curiously.

“There’s an operation going down. I don’t know what it’s for but Grey wants us on patrol.” Tim says with a shrug, beginning to turn on his heel and make his way towards their shop, annoyance evident in in his body language.

“Do they know this would be a great learning opportunity for me? I want to get as much experience in operations as possible. Why aren’t they letting us help?” Lucy asks, following behind Tim.

“I don’t know, Boot. But it’s not my place to challenge Sergeant Grey’s orders.” Tim says firmly, glancing over his shoulder at Lucy who nods, still obviously upset about not getting to help with an operation while she’s still in training.

“Come on, get in. We’ve got a patrol to finish.” Tim then says with a shrug, both of them reaching the shop and getting in, ready to continue their patrol.

After a couple of hours of patrolling, Tim and Lucy had stopped to grab some coffee and while they stood outside their shop, talking and sipping at their drinks, Tim’s phone rang, making his eyebrows furrow when he saw Angela’s name displayed across his screen.

“Angela.” Tim greets as the phone reaches his ear.

“Tim, you need to get your ass to the hospital right now,” Angela says, making Tim raise an eyebrow before he thinks of a reason why she’d be asking him to come to the hospital.

“Are you having the baby already?” Tim asks, a panicked expression crossing his face.

“What? No. Look, just come to Shaw Memorial as soon as you can.” Angela says, an urgency in her voice that Tim hasn’t heard in a while.

“Okay, I’ll head over now.” Tim concedes, bidding Angela goodbye before hanging up the phone and shoving it away in his pocket.

“We’re going to the hospital. And no Angela is not giving birth.” Tim says, able to predict what Lucy was about to ask from a single look.

“Then why are we going to the hospital?” Lucy then questions, both of them getting into their seats just before Tim starts the drive to the hospital.

“No idea. Maybe one of my C.I’s ended up in hospital and they wanted to talk to me.” Tim says, shrugging lightly, wondering to himself why it was Angela had summoned him to the hospital when she’s not supposed to be working. The closer they get to the hospital, the more Tim starts to suspect that it has something to do with you. Angela had assured him that the only case she was working while on maternity leave was yours. But as he parked in the car park for the hospital, he started to picture the worst possible case scenario as he bursts through the hospital, tracking down Angela within minutes, practically leaving Lucy behind.

“What’s happened?” Tim asks, studying Angela’s expression carefully as she grabs his wrist leading him to a nearby hospital room and letting him look through the window. At the sight, tears immediately began to well in his eyes, stepping forward slightly towards the door before Angela stopped him.

“The doctors are working on her now. They’ll get you when she’s stable. I just wanted to show you that we found her.” Angela explains softly, watching as Tim refuses to tear his gaze away from the window.

“She’s alive,” Tim whispers, tears in his eyes as he watches the doctors hooking you up to an IV drip and heart monitors.

“She is. We found her.” Angela says softly, carefully guiding Tim back to the waiting room and helping him ease himself into a chair just as Lucy finally found the pair.

“What the hell? Why did you leave me behind?” Lucy demands, approaching Tim who barely processes her words, his gaze locked on the floor in front of him as his knee bounces impatiently.

“Not now, Lucy,” Angela says, holding a hand out towards Lucy to silence her while her other hand rests on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Lucy then asks, noticing the unusual behaviour Tim was exhibiting and how Angela was protecting him fiercely.

“We’ll tell you later,” Angela says, knowing that with the state Tim was in, she shouldn’t go spilling his personal life.

After half an hour of waiting, a doctor approached Angela since they only recognised her but she made sure to bring Tim into the conversation as well as make sure the doctors knew he was your husband so that he would make any and all medical decisions that you couldn’t make.

“y/n had been drugged upon being found, I assume something that was something done so that the perpetrator could move her without the risk of her running away. She’s also showing clear signs of dehydration and malnourishment so we’ve got her on IVs to give her what her body needs. She’s still asleep but would you like to see her?” The doctor explains, glancing at the tablet in his hand before looking at Tim who nods. The doctor gestures for Tim to follow him to your room but before he leaves he turns to Angela.

“Message me if you need me,” Angela says softly, watching as he nods once more before following the doctor and being granted access to your room. As soon as he enters the room, he grabs a chair and pulls it up along your bedside, one hand taking your hand in his while his other hand runs through your hair.

“I’m here, Baby. I’m so sorry. I love you.” Tim says, repeating the three sentences like a mantra as he squeezes your hand softly. He felt more tears welling in his eyes as he took in your form. Your cheeks were hollowed and you had dark circles under your eyes. The more Tim watched you as you slept, the worse his guilt got. He couldn’t help but hate himself more and more for letting you leave the house that night. As the day progressed, Tim found himself uncharacteristically talkative with you, rambling about everything you had missed.

“I’ve got a new rookie. Her name’s Lucy Chen. You’d like her a lot actually. She reminds me of you in a way.” Tim says, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of your hand as he talks. He knew you and Lucy would get on well. After all, Lucy was someone who was unafraid to speak her mind around Tim and you’d admire her fire. By the time night fell, Tim was sure he’d covered everything that had happened since you had gone missing. He felt a yawn slip past his lips which made him attempt to shake the sleepiness off. He didn’t want to fall asleep and then risk waking up to find out that this had been a dream. He couldn’t bare to wake up to find you missing again. However, as the night progressed, Tim got more and more tired and he began to struggle to keep his eyes open so he laid his head down on your bed, making sure he was facing up at you, keeping your hand in his the whole time before letting his eyes slip closed, hoping this wasn’t all a dream.

You woke up slowly in the early hours of the morning and as you slowly open your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile tearily when you recognised the sleeping face of your husband. The face you had dreamed of seeing for years. You watched Tim quietly for a moment, admiring the man you loved so much before your need to talk to him overtook you and you squeezed his hand softly, rousing him almost instantly. His eyes blinked open and you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

“Hey, Tim.” You whisper softly, your voice slightly hoarse from lack of use. Tim couldn’t even bring himself to talk, he just squeezed your hand, tears welling in his own eyes.

“You’ve grown your hair out a bit.” You observe quietly, gently extracting your hand from his to run your hand through his hair, having been used to his shorter haircut for too long.

“You like it?” Tim asks with a teary laugh.

“I love it. I did always tell you it would look nicer if you grew it out a little.” You muse softly, enjoying the feeling of running your hand through his hair with the slight added length. As another tear rolls down your cheek, Tim reaches out and wipes it away, his touch as soft and as gentle as you remembered it.

“I’m so sorry, Baby. I let you down.” Tim apologises, his hand lingering on your cheek as you lean into his touch, desperately craving the love and comfort only Tim could provide you with.

“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who left that night.” You say, slowly retracting your hand from Tim’s hair, returning it to your lap as Tim shakes his head.

“I should’ve stopped you.” Tim argues, making you shake your head in response.

“You couldn’t have known, Tim. Look, let’s not argue. We haven’t seen each other in years I don’t want to ruin this by arguing. It’s no ones fault but the ass who took me.” You say, your voice soft yet firm as Tim nods lightly in understanding.

“I missed you so much.” Tim then whispers, his face displaying every emotion he was feeling in the moment.

“I missed you too.” You reply softly. Glad you were reunited with your husband again.

After a few days stay in hospital, you had finally been cleared to go home which you were excited for. Your days in the hospital were mostly spent talking to lawyers and detectives to get all the evidence needed for the case against your kidnapper. But Tim had all but refused to leave your side through it all, and some of your friends came to visit you after news had spread that you had been found. You even got to meet Tim’s newest rookie, Lucy, who like Tim predicted, you got on brilliantly with. And while you had appreciated people wanting to visit you, and that the detectives and lawyers wanted to get that guy behind bars as soon as possible. But you just wanted to go home, to spend some time with Tim in the comfort of your own house, as well as getting to know the family member you had missed the arrival of. When Tim had told you about Kojo, he had not missed the way your eyes lit up and he knew it was going to be love at first sight for both you and Kojo. After all the paperwork had been sorted and Tim had brought you a comfy change of clothes from home, you finally headed out to Tim’s truck, letting him help you into the vehicle and settling in to the passenger seat.

The drive back to yours and Tim’s shared house was relatively silent, you listened to what was on the radio and occasionally chatted with Tim until he pulled into the driveway. You waited upon Tim’s orders for him to round the truck and open the door for you, helping you out carefully before leading you to the front door.

“Are you ready?” Tim asks softly, hand interlocked with yours as you both stand in front of the door, staring it down before you nod lightly, giving Tim the sign he needed to unlock the front door, easing it open and ushering both you and him inside, quickly coming face to face with Kojo.

“Hey, you must be Kojo. Tim’s told me all about you. I’m y/n.” You introduce yourself to the dog, watching his reaction carefully as he approaches you, sniffing at your outstretched hand for a few seconds before gently licking your hand and allowing you to pet him.

“Oh, aren’t you the sweetest boy?” You praise, petting Kojo happily while Tim jokingly rolls his eyes.

“It took less than a minute for me to be replaced by the dog.” Tim jokes, making his way into the kitchen to grab some drinks and by the time he returned, you had curled up on the sofa with Kojo and Tim couldn’t help but smile at the sight of having you home again. After placing the drinks on the coffee table, Tim sat down on your other side and wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you into him and pressing multiple kisses to the side of your head as you smile softly, cherishing the attention and love Tim was giving you.

By the time night fell, you were ready to crash and Tim knew it. He chose to carry you to the bedroom, sitting you down on the bed and finding one of his old police academy shirts he knew you loved to wear and a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms, handing them to you before turning around to get changed himself. When you were both ready for bed, you climbed under the covers while Kojo curled up at the foot of the bed. You instantly curled into Tim’s side, burying your face in his chest.

“I’ve missed this so much.” You mumbled, smiling to yourself when Tim tightens his grip around your waist.

“Me too. I love you so much.” Tim whispers, kissing the top of your head before you tipped your head up so Tim could press the softest of kisses upon your lips.

“I love you too.” You reply softly, eyes full of love as you look up at Tim before curling back into him, quickly falling asleep in his arms the way you had been dreaming off the past few years.

In the middle of the night, Tim stirred, aware of the way the two of you had shifted throughout the night. You were now lying with your back to Tim and his arm was wrapped around your middle but he quickly withdrew it when he noticed you twitching and crying in your sleep. He instantly knew you were having a nightmare so he flicked his bedside lamp on and reached out to gently rouse you, placing his hand on your shoulder and calling your name softly until you bolted upright, eyes wide open and tears staining your cheeks.

“y/n. Baby. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.” Tim says softly, his hand reaching down to hold yours, his actions only stopping when you practically curled into him instantly, changing his action from holding your hand to holding your sobbing, shaking form instead. Tim continued to reassure you and comfort you quietly, his hand rubbing up and down your back while Kojo rested his head on your leg, whining softly in his own way to comfort you. Tim then began to coach you through slowing your breathing, using techniques you had used when he suffered with nightmares and when you began to calm down, he began to wipe your tears away.

“I thought I was really back in that cabin.” You admit with a sniffle, making Tim hold you closer, taking your hand in his and placing it above his heart.

“You feel that? I’m here and so are you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.” Tim promises quietly as you focus on the steady thumping of his heartbeat while your other hand reached down to pet Kojo softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You apologise, pulling away with your eyes still shining with tears as Tim shakes his head.

“Don’t apologise. I’m going to be here for you when you need me to. I’m your husband and after what you went through I’d be a shit excuse of a husband if I did anything but look after you when you needed me. Don’t ever apologise for having a nightmare. I love you and I’m going to help you through this.” Tim says, pulling you back into his arms and feeling you settle your head perfectly above his heart so you could focus on his heartbeat once again.

“I love you too.” You mumble, soothed by Tim’s repeated action of running his hand up and down your back as well as his melodic heartbeat and soon your eyes slipped closed again. In the arms of the love of your life and feeling safe for the first time in years.

Tim watched you sleep peacefully for a few minutes, just to make sure no nightmares tried to attack you again as you slept but after not as much as a twitch, Tim switched his lamp off and cuddled you closer as he let himself drift off to sleep. You were finally back where you belonged. And Tim wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you again.