Kotonei Moleyneux

I really love reader's fics | 🇵🇪 | She/her | 28 y/o | 🩷🩷🩷

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Tim being annoyed at a criminal for flirting with you…

“Nolan!” Tim barked as his fellow officer when he caught the familiar blue uniform and his rookie.

Nolan paused in his tracks and answered with visible confusion. “If this is about the cat in the parking spot, I’m working on it.” He said.

Tim approached with a scowl. “Would you care to explain why your latest arrest is flirting with the one person I’m engaged to?”

Nolan opened his mouth but couldn’t quite find a way to defend himself. Unfortunately, his and Celina’s arrest was a talker and a shameless flirt to any attractive officer.

Celina raised her hand, “If I may, Officer Bradford. Mickey is mostly harmless. Plus he’s in police custody.”

Tim glanced at Celina, “Boot, don’t you have paperwork to complete?”

Celina grinned. She clasped her hands behind her back and swayed, pleased with herself. “Actually, it’s all done and lodged.”

Tim internally groaned at her efficiency. Without leverage, he returned his focus on Nolan. “It’s unacceptable.”

Nolan pursed his lips and nodded. “Perhaps, although do you think that maybe you’re just feeling a little jealous?”

Tim’s muscles tensed. “Tim Bradford doesn’t do jealous.”

He marched off with a need to vent. Tim found Angela and Nyla observing an interrogation.

“I need your opinion about - what the hell is this? What’s Y/n doing in there?” He demanded, eyes staring at the occupants on the other side of the glass - you and the flirty arrest.

Nyla was unfazed with his tone and general anger. She gestured to the glass panel for viewing and shrugged. “Their job.” She stated.

Angela grabbed her drink from the table and sipped it, equally amused with the interrogation on display. “And doing one hell of it without drooling.”

“Preach.” Nyla hummed.

Tim clicked his tongue at their lack of concern but joined in nonetheless to observe. “He’s not even that handsome.”

“Spoken like a jealous fiancé.” Angela smirked.

Mickey, the arms dealer, was smiling at you. His eyes raked you from top to bottom with a wicked delight. “You’re something else.”

Setting the papers onto the desk, you quirked a brow, “Believe me, I know.”

Mickey’s eyes flashed to the ring on your finger. “Does your significant other know that you’re in here with me?”

You held in a scoff. This guy didn’t hold a candle to Tim but you were ready to play the game if his cockiness led to a confession. “Does he need to be worried?” You inquired.

Mickey leaned back in his seat. “If he was smart, I think he should be very worried.”

You opened your mouth to reply when the interrogation room door burst open. Mickey jumped back, caught by surprise with the sheer anger roiling off the new officer.

Closing your eyes at Tim’s behaviour, you merely pinched the bridge of your nose. “Sergeant Bradford.”

Tim glared at the crook. “The fiancé.” He defined.

You managed to look up and see Angela and Nyla by the door trying to hold in their laughter. They were far too amused.

Mickey’s attitude shifted from concern to impressed as he took in Tim. “Oh, I can see what the fuss is about.”

Tim ignored him and looked at you. One glance was all it took to say ‘this session is over’. Taking a stand, you handed the questioning to Nyla and Angela before following Tim out.

If there was one thing that was going to happen in the next ten minutes, it was Tim getting an earful about jealousy in the workplace.

~ More imagines here ~

[fluentmoviequoter]

Like a Couple

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: Five times other people see you and Tim act like a couple while being completely oblivious and the one time you realized you are already more than friends.

Warnings/Word Count: canon typical case warnings, injuries, betting (inspired by another show), banter, fluff, comfort, makeout sesh. 2.2k+ words, requested

Directory | T.B. Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist

Other officers can see that you’re with Tim before your shift even starts.

“Could you give me some advice?” Yasmin, a new rookie, requests. “Is there anything I need to know about this station?”

Lucy glances at the clock above the door and shrugs. “I mean, Mid-Wilshire’s power couple will be here soon. Overall, it’s a pretty chill place to work.”

“Power couple?” Yasmin repeats.

“Oh, yeah,” Aaron agrees, stepping to Lucy’s side. “They’re as close to perfect as a couple can be.”

“Totally unfair that they’re both hot, too,” Celina murmurs. “I mean- actually, I’m not defending that. You’ll see.”

Yasmin follows their eyeline to the corner. Like clockwork, you and Tim round the corner together, him passing you your favorite drink before you straighten the sleeves of his uniform.

“Okay, yeah, I see it,” Yasmin tells Celina.

“Stop,” you request lowly, pressing against Tim’s chest. He stops with an annoyed exhale, takes your cup, and glares at you until you finish adjusting his collar.

“Are you done?” he asks.

“You need to look presentable,” you remind him, taking the drink back from him.

“Then what’s your excuse?” he jokes flatly.

“You mean why do you look so stunning for a job like this?” you counter. “It’s a curse, really.”

“I- I thought you said they were a couple,” Yasmin says. “They’re kind of…”

“That is what we call banter,” Angela interjects. “We anticipate it will get a lot more insufferable when they finally get together.”

“Wait, they’re not together yet? But it’s literally the best relationship I’ve ever seen? And I grew up watching Aragorn and Arwen in The Lord of the Rings.”

“Join the club,” Lucy says. “They’ve been dating for almost a year, they’re just too oblivious to see it.”

“It’s always like this?”

“No,” Aaron answers. “Sometimes it’s a whole lot more sickening.”

Dispatch can see that you’re with Tim by how you seek each other out.

“How’s 7-Adam-100?” you ask dispatch.

“Checked in two minutes ago to clear a noise complaint,” Nell answers. “I can patch him through if you’d like.”

“No, thank you.”

At her desk, Nell looks away from the computer with a smile. You and Tim ask about each other, you take over radio channels, even call Nell directly to get information or join one another’s calls. It’s as if you need to be close all the time, hear each other’s voices. Like a couple.

“Any news?” one of the other dispatchers inquires.

“None yet,” Nell replies. “Only a matter of time, I hope.”

“And hopefully it’s good. You know my boyfriend, the ER nurse? Well, the day shift has an entire betting pool going for when they finally do something.”

“Strictly limited to the ER?” someone checks. “Because I’ll put twenty on him going ballistic the next time, she gets hurt and accidentally revealing everything.”

“I’ll text him now.”

“Why’s the ER so invested?” Nell wonders.

“Because every time they take someone down there or get sent in for medical clearance, they hear what we get all day.” The girl with the ER nurse boyfriend leans in, as if there’s anyone around to eavesdrop, and continues, “That car accident last week when she got hit by the car trying to go around the wreck? Apparently, Bradford rushed in with her, started yelling at the doctor to run every test they had.”

“Bradford doesn’t calm down easily and she was out in an hour,” the other remembers. “How’d that happen?”

“She grabbed his hand. Calmed him down instantly. The betting pool underwent a lot of updates and growth that night.”

“They’re literally already dating,” Nell muses. “I wonder why they won’t admit it.”

“Says the girl who called Elroy every chance she got.”

“At least I told him I liked him and didn’t hijack LAPD radio channels to flirt under the guise of fighting.”

Food truck vendors can see you’re with Tim every time you stop by.

“Hey, Bradford.”

“Mark,” Tim greets.

“The usual?” Mark checks.

“Yes, please. And-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I said the usual.”

Tim taps the side of the food truck in thanks, then walks to the picnic table where you’re waiting, one hand holding up your chin as the other scrolls on your phone.

“Thanks for ordering,” you say, pressing your shoulder to his arm. “What do I owe you?”

“Mark owes me the food truck. So, nothing,” Tim answers. “You doing anything this weekend?”

You shrug, flipping your phone to be face down on the table. “I might watch the fight Saturday. Other than that, no. You?”

“No plans.”

Mark carries a plastic tray with two plates on it, sliding it in front of Tim and smiling at Tim’s silent gratitude. Despite his grumbling that he long ago repaid Tim’s debt for saving his team in the Middle East and paying for half of the food truck he’s working out of now, no amount of free lunches will really cover that cost.

You accept your plate, thank Mark, then take a fry from Tim’s plate. In response, he pulls your least favorite part of your combo away and pops it in his mouth. Mark shakes his head, watching the ease with which you move together. You know what to share, what to steal, what the other likes and dislikes.

“They're like an old married couple,” Mark grumbles to the woman in the food truck beside his.

“Lucky girl, that one,” she muses, nodding toward you.

“I think he’s the lucky one,” Mark counters.

“Look at him. He knows it.”

Tim smiles at you when you attempt to sneakily take another fry. He nudges the plate closer to you, giving you access to take all you want.

“When’s the wedding?”

Mark turns toward her and begins, “No wedding yet, but I’ve heard there’s a betting pool…”

Criminals and victims can see you’re with Tim and don’t hesitate to comment.

“7-Adam-100, three in custody,” Tim radios, glaring at the handcuffed men on the curb.

“That was dumb,” you tell the men, rubbing your forearm with a gloved hand. “You do realize that when stores close, they’re empty, right? Nothing for you to steal.”

“Copper pipes,” one of the men replies.

“Yeah, new construction doesn’t use those, genius,” Tim scoffs. He looks toward you, realizing that you’re cradling your arm now. “What happened?” he checks.

“Tripped,” you answer simply. “Scraped it when I fell.”

“Think it’s broken?”

You shake your head and drop your arm to your side as more shops turn into the parking lot to transfer the men to the station.

“How long y’all been datin’?” the man closest to Tim asks. “You’re a lucky man, brother.”

“We’re not dating,” you call as Tim snaps, “Not your concern.”

“Fine, fine,” he mutters. “But lowkey, y’all, like, super fine, you know? Not even just the uniforms. Ain’t often you see a couple like-”

“Stop talking,” Tim interrupts.

You turn away to direct responding backup and to hide your smile at his ‘super fine’ comment.

In fact, you’re still thinking about what he said hours later when you’re taking a statement from a burglary victim.

“What’s he doing?” the woman inquires, pointing shakily at Tim.

“My partner is taking a few pictures to pass along to the detectives,” you explain. “Understanding how the thieves broke in will help us catch them.”

“I see. You know, you’re very cute together. You remind me of myself and my late husband when we were young.”

“Oh, uh, th-thank you, but we just work together,” you explain softly.

“Why not be more?” she wonders. “Time passes whether you admit how you feel or not. The only thing you miss out on is the freedom of youth together.”

You glance at Tim and nod. “We’ll do everything we can to find the thieves and recover your belongings, ma’am. If there’s anything else we can do to assist you, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

When you return to the shop, Tim inquires, “What’d she say?”

“She came home and found the window open,” you recount. “So, not much.”

“They never have the essentials.”

Maybe not. But she had what could be valuable advice.

Civilians can see you’re with Tim no matter where you go.

Your radio is completely useless. It fell between two large pieces of rubble while you pulled someone free from what was once their apartment building. Since then, you haven’t spoken to any of the officers you responding to the bombing with. Blood and sweat drop toward your eyes, prompting you to drag your forearm across your forehead.

“I’m going to get an ambulance,” you tell the injured woman. “Stay right here, I’m not going far.”

She nods, her shoulders shaking as she cries, staring up at the blue sky. You run half a block before you see an ambulance, waving wildly until the EMTs exit the vehicle and rush toward you with a backboard.

“Go!” one tells you. “We got her. LAPD rendezvous is at the corner of Wilshire.”

You nod, promise the woman that she’s in good hands, then begin walking toward Wilshire. The pain and tiredness are beginning to settle, a bone-deep lethargy making each step heavier than the last. Watching your steps, you don’t see someone break through the crowd of blue at the corner.

Tim reaches you quickly, wrapping his arms around you loosely. It takes a breath to recognize him, and when you cling to him, Tim tightens his grip on you.

“You hurt?” he checks.

You shake your head against his shoulder, a silent promise that you’re okay. With the adrenaline coursing through you, you really can’t be cure, but you’re better now purely because you’re with Tim.

The barista telling Nolan about everything she saw leading up to the explosion watched Tim run to you, and she continues watching as Tim drops to one knee, dragging his hands along your body to ensure that you really are okay.

You pull Tim up, holding his hand as you smile at one another. He wipes a path of blood off your forehead, then leads you toward the waiting medics.

“Are you alright?” Nolan checks.

“Yeah, sorry. Just- they’re cute, and it was nice to see after all this,” she murmurs.

Nolan sees you and Tim, nodding in understanding.

You and Tim can see you’re together after a long night.

It’s two a.m. when you finally get in bed after the bombing. Your hair is wet from showering, your joints stiff and tired.

“Need anything?” Tim checks.

You shake your head, shifting your hips forward to get closer to him. Tucked under his arm, you lay your head on Tim’s chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart.

“Think that guy would still think we’re super fine?” you ask quietly.

Tim chuckles beneath you, his fingers trailing lazily down your spine. “Do you think we are?”

“Always.”

“Even with the bandages and bruises?”

“Especially all beat up. I mean, have you seen any fanart? The shippers yearn for blood and injuries.”

“What are you talking about?” Tim wonders with a chuckle.

You nestle closer to him and sigh, “I don’t know.”

Tim drags his fingers lower, and when he finds that your shirt has ridden up, exposing your lower back, he takes the opportunity, spreading his palm open against your skin. You soften, his warmth spreading through you.

“He’s not the only one that thinks we’d be good together,” Tim says.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the locker room talk,” you reply, tipping your chin to see his jaw. “Apparently, we’re already dating but not admitting it. I guess we do a lot of things that couples do.”

“Like, sharing a bed?” Tim suggests.

You smile and nod. “Like sharing a bed. Would it… Do you think there’s any truth in it? Are we really oblivious enough to miss what boots, dispatch, Mark, criminals, and random civilians can see?”

“Oblivious but super fine,” Tim jokes.

Pushing up onto your elbow, you look down at Tim. He adjusts his arm to keep his hand on your waist, smiling up at you.

“Could we?” you ask. “Could we cross the line we’ve been walking for so many years?”

“That’s not the question. Will we? Do you want to? Because I know I do.”

“Of course I do,” you admit. “I love what we have, but wouldn’t it be nice to have more, to do what we want?”

“Start tonight,” Tim whispers.

You drop your chin, pressing your lips to Tim’s forehead before you kiss him properly, melting against him when he pulls you down onto his chest.

“You’re super fine,” you hum into the kiss.

Tim lifts his hips, tightening his arm around you to flip, pressing you into the mattress as he kisses you again. This time, he takes your breath so you can’t make him laugh. But he still smiles, wholly enamored with you.

Bonus:

“How much money was there?” Tim asks when he finds out about the bets.

“Uh, do you want the real number or something that sounds better for everyone involved?” Lucy checks. Tim’s stare is her only answer, so she gives him the honest answer: “About twenty thousand.”

“Where’s my cut for kissing him?” you wonder.

“You’re all idiots,” Tim grumbles.

“I’d be more offended if I hadn’t won like three grand.”

“I got five!” Angela calls. “You practically bankrupted the E.R. dayshift.”

“Good,” Tim deadpans. “Should teach ‘em to mind their own business.”

“It won’t,” you say with Lucy.

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[simplyhale]

fix your shirt t.b. (18+)

tim bradford x fem! reader

summary; getting locked up in the evidence lockup with tim during a storm isn’t too bad.

notes; divider by the fabulous @uzmacchiato !! this is what happenes when i have an idea and finish it when im ovulating. i do think this is much better then my first attempt at smut but let me know what yall think !! some of the warnings — swearing, dirty talk, dom!tim, HE LITERALLY TEASE YOU ABOUT HOW TURNED ON YOU ARE?, dirty talk, pet names, unprotected sex, fingering, HE IS LITERALLY FINGERING YOU AGAINST A WALL

words; 4188

— ⋆ 𝝑𝝔˚⟡˖ ࣪.

A bright light filled the station, followed behind with a loud boom of thunder that shook the walls slightly. Your head snapped over to the closest window, watching as a waterfall flowed down, causing a blurry, warped filter to be placed on the glass so anything on the other side couldn’t be made out.

Letting out a sigh, hearing the sounds of the distance, rolling thunder, you turned your attention back to your paperwork. 

Your shift ended almost two hours ago. But when the rain started, so did the influx of calls. More calls, combined with bad weather  meant you were going to be drowning in paperwork. Luckily, you only had about twenty or so pages left. It wasn’t so bad though, because right across from you in the dimly lit bullpen, he was in the same situation as you.

“Even if I get done with all this, I’m still gunna have to wait for the rain to stop before I even think about going home.”

“Yeah, because I’m more than likely going to have to answer that call.”

“I would have to die before calling you because I hydroplaned.” You remarked looking up at Tim, who simply rolled his eyes at you before looking back down at his desk. Watching him for a few moments, studying the way a small wrinkled form in the middle of his brows as he concentrated on his work. He readjusted his wrist, and the veins on his forearm bulged out before sinking back in, disappearing back into his skin.

Tearing your eyes away after realizing you hadn’t remembered how long you had been staring at him, you dropped your pen onto your desk and brought your hands together. Pushing the fingers on your hands back and forth, feeling the satisfying pop of the joints, which were once tense from holding the black ballpoint pen, but were now loose and feeling slightly better.

Looking down at the paper, picking right where you had left off. Your brows quickly frowned at the confusing set of numbers. “Huh?” You muttered under your breath, checking the copy of the evidence list you had.

Before the rain had started, you had been called to a department store where a 30-year-old woman was shoplifting. Insisting that she was going to pay for everything, every person in the store claimed that she was trying to just walk out. The total of everything was just under $800. Maybe it was because you were bored, or maybe it was because she kept yelling directly in your face, but you suggest that she should at least try her card before you take her to jail. She tried it almost four separate times, and each time it was declined. She then tried to shove you out her way, only adding an assault charge to the shoplifting one. Because of how much was taken, you had to make sure that all the items matched the evidence number, which of course had gotten messed up during the chaos of the sudden storm outside. 

Reaching down and grabbing your I.D. card before pushing your chair back. Getting up and walking down the hallway towards the evidence room. Normally there’s someone at the desk, but this late into the night, no one was. Watching as the light turned from red to green as you pressed your card against it and opened the now unlocked door. Walking down towards where your box should be. Looking around the shelf that was at your eye level, but saw nothing that had your signature or matching case number on.

Searching along the shelf above, then the next one, and the one after that. Some idiot had put it nearly four shelves higher than you could reach. 

“You gotta be kidding be,” 

Looking around the room to see not a single stool or ladder in sight. You rubbed your dry, tired eyes, trying to figure out how you were going to reach the box. The first thought to come to mind was to climb the shelves. But with one small shake the whole structure of rusty pipes creaked and swayed, clearly showing that any extra weight was already risky, let alone let it be the weight of a human body. Then you thought about just putting it off until the morning, but you know that would just lead to a reprimand from Grey. So you did the only option left.

“Hey, Tim?” He finished writing the word he was on before snapping his head up to you. “The dickheads in evidence moved my box onto the highest shelf possible.”

His pen was now tossed to the side, his forearms crossed and leaning against the desk top. “You know there's a great invention called a ladder, right?”

“Really? Should we call the Chief and let him know of your great discovery?” You quickly remarked back, walking up to his desk and placing your palms onto it. “Please, I just want to be done with this already.” Looking up at you with those stupid blue eyes, he broke out into a small smirk, dropping his head before standing up. “Show me where it is,”

You smiled wide at him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

The two of you walked side by side down the hall. Well, he was an inch behind you. Tim Bradford was always an inch behind you. It caused a feeling of protection mixed with a hint of nervousness. Anytime he was close to you, it was always too close–the kind of close that would cause goosebumps to form and your stomach to start to twist. Your mind blanking and a stupid smile eagerly trying to push its way through. Any normal person that would be this close would earn a side eye and a step away. But this was Tim.

“It’s right there,” 

“I see it, the one in the glitter pen?” He glanced at you as if you were serious, slightly wondering if you were going through another Legally Blonde moment.

“This isn’t the first time they did this. Just the first time there hasn’t been a ladder to my rescue. And yes, the glitter reflects off the lights. That way I’m not wandering around like a chicken with my head cut off.” His eyes drifted to the side, clearly taking your words into thought. Pressing his lips together into a thin line with a shrug of his head.

The clear Tim signal of approval. 

Even if it was considered a bit extra, he had to give you points for the creative. 

It wasn’t like he towered over you. The height difference wasn’t anything crazy. Now, the length of his arms compared to yours–that’s why he was your go-to man.

You watched him stretch up towards the box with his left arm. Groaning a small ‘come on’ before switching to reaching with his right arm, having to go onto the tips of his toes. All the while, a loud, booming string of thunder sounded outside, shaking the old room along with the lights that hung above them. “And I-I-I…” Just as his finger tips brushed the edge of the cardboard, the whole power surged off, followed by the loudest crack of thunder known to man.

You reached outwards and found one of the bars of the shelves. “Tim?” You asked into the darkness, almost expecting him to have just up and disappeared. 

The sound of clothes rustling came first followed by his voice, “I’m right here.” And a bright white, blueish light started to beam towards the ground. He then moved his phone upwards and shined it at you, making sure not to shine it directly into your eyes. 

“Aren’t the generators usually up by now?”

He then waved the light around the room, towards the camera in the corner where the small red light that had always been on was now off. “The weather must’ve also knocked out the backups.” At his words, he quickly went towards the front door. You reached out, grabbing the back of his shirt, using it as a leverage to pull yourself up to his arm, hooking it through yours. “What, afraid the shadow man will get me?” He teased, looking back at your concerned face. “No,” You leaned towards him, “I don’t want to risk the chance of walking into one the shelves.”

“Turn on your light,”

“I left my phone on my desk. I didn’t think it would take this long.”

Leaning back a little when you realized just how close you were to him. Not only was your body pushed up fleshed against his arm and side, but you and Tim’s face were an inch apart. Feeling his breath on you, a breath caught in the back of your throat at the realization. Your heartbeat escalated at the thought of closing the space, finally giving into the thoughts that would keep you up at night. The drunken ones that made you physically throw your phone so far into your closet, not risking the chance of drunkenly confusing everything to him. 

“Here,” Tim handed you the phone. You took it and leaned your back against the nearby desk, checking first as to not knock into anything before you did. Watching as he tried the knob, which turned but didn’t give when trying to pull on it.

The doors locked, loudly hitting its frame. Trying over and over again. It was official; when the power went and the generator wasn’t coming back on that meant the door wasn’t going to budge either. A single slam of Tim’s shoulder against it was all he needed for a quick reminder of the steel plate in the middle of it. 

The light slowly trailing down was what caught his attention, seeing that the light you were tasked to be held still had somehow made its way to his arms–his biceps, if you wanna be specific. Looking up at you to see that you had been spaced out staring at him.

No, not him.

His arms. 

At first, he was confused on why you had such a fixation on him, but the voice that stated the obvious followed with the way you bit your lip, only fulled his ego. Taking a step closer to you, watching as you stepped back, your eyes finally peeling away from his arm. Taking another step backwards when you saw that you had been caught. Opening your mouth to try and come up with an excuse, any excuse, but it didn’t come. Instead, your mouth shut as your body covered in goosebumps and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. The way he was looking at you had you both wanting to hide away but also drop to your knees and do whatever he said. 

He took another step, nearly making the two of you flush against each other, but you were swift to keep some type of a distance, knowing that if you were that close there wasn’t any telling what you would do. But the next step took you off guard–you had predicted him to do that, the need to dominate and all. But he steps to the side, blocking off the one path you had. 

It wasn’t like you were completely blocked off; if you truly wanted to get away from him, all you needed to do was take a step forward. But the air between you two, the tension, was electrical–more electrical than the actually booming storm outside. 

So here you were, on one side a cluttered metal desk to your right, and to you left was a man that you had plenty of wet dreams about. Turning and looking at him, using one of your hands to brace yourself off the corner of the desk. When the stinging pain of the metal giving you a small cut–nothing to bring blood but enough to break skin–was all you needed to be reminded that you were awake. 

Trapping you between the very arms that had brought you so much pleasure were now holding you into place. Feeling the way his eyes studied you, burning into you, causing a wave after wave of nervousness to crash into you. Taking a shaky breath, feeling a steady finger drag along your chin, forcing you to look into his burning baby blue eyes.

The light from his phone was now pushed to the edge of the desk. Its beam shot straight up towards the ceiling and created a light grey light in the room.

“Do you get off on my arms?” His tone steady but tinged with a kind of quiet authority, causing the fuzziness in your stomach to grow and your core to grow even wetter than it already had been. “Use your words, darling.”

Pressing your lips together, mustering up whatever form of self you still had to answer, “Have you seen your arms?” Tim smirks and chuckles quietly, allowing his body to relax against your stiff one. 

“Do you want me to get you off with my hands?”

It felt like all the wind had been knocked out of you. Had you been struck by lightning and now in heaven? Had you been in a coma and this was just a surreal dream that you’d wake up from? Was this some type of late April Fools Joke? Did you truly care enough though to say no?

Especially when his calloused fingers dragged down from your chin to your neck, feeling them settle on your pulse, smirking a bit wider when he felt it thudding against your chest. Slowly nodding your head repeatedly, with your mouth hung open. “Yeah–I’d like that,”

He kissed you, gripping a hold the side of your neck to keep you in place. One small kiss already had you pooling, feeling like every vein in your body had lava flowing through them. Your head was spinning all from just that one small kiss, a kiss that was fully a tease and a wanting to see you melt under him, which you did.

His hand slithered down from your throat, down your waist and towards your buckle, “You say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll stop.” 

Looking up at him, you reach up and wrap your hands around his neck and pull him into you, moving your body to press against his, trapping his hand between the two of you. The two of you started to devour one another, fighting the urge for air as the want for the other was greater.

Your back was now fully against the wall, feeling the small mess of a force that was Tim’s horniness. Keeping his lips on you as his hands made quick work on unbuckling your belt, tossing to the side, followed by quickly unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. One of his hands trailed up, holding the back of your neck, moving it so his thick bicep pressed against your shoulder. Humming with satisfaction as his big, rough hand cupped your clothed pussy. He let out a low groan against your neck, “Surely this can’t all be just from me, sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

If your body wasn’t buzzing with adrenaline, you would be slightly embarrassed from how wet you already were. He hadn’t even touched you, and yet you knew there was a pool in your panties. “I don’t see anyone else who it would be for?” 

Tim fingers stroked at the wetness, teasing you with the thought of penetrating through the thin fabric. It felt like he was trying to map out every inch of you, like in a moment you’d be gone and all he had left was the memory of the way you felt. Feeling the smile from his mouth on your neck widen when you let out gasp the moment he reached your throbbing clit. 

Your hand instinctively reached for his wrist, rolling forwards as you let out a shaky breath. Well, it was actually more of a breathy moan, but you knew that would only fuel his ego even more. When his hand pressed harder, rubbing tighter circles, with that toothy grin of his was all the answer you needed.

Your nails dragged up his skin, satisfied at the feel of goosebumps and his hair standing upright. This, along with the decent size tent in his pants that was currently poking into your inner thigh, caused you to grow even more wet.

Knowing that this was turning him on just as much as it was you – god, you could just come at the thought of that alone. 

His fingers pulled the thin cotton fabric to the side, allowing his fingers to run through your slick. Dragging the pads of them up and down deliberately slowly before parting you. Inhaling sharply through gritted teeth at the sight. Dropping his head by your ear, “Look at you,” He trailed off, slipping one finger slowly, but settled it deep inside. Letting out a deep groan, “Feel better than I could ever have imagined.”

“So you do get off on the thought of me t–fuck,” Another finger joined. Your head rolled back allowing him full access to your neck, which he took, placing a messy sting of sloppy kiss on any piece he could. 

Your body arched against his hand, fucking his fingers deeper in you. Tim curled them at just the right angle to touch the spongy part. Setting a steady pace of pulling them out, curling them, before deeply shoving them back inside of you. His thumb circled your clit–rougher now, less teasing. His hand that was by your neck dropped down to the hem of your shirt. Feeling his calloused hand push your shirt up, exposing your boobs and the pushup bra you had worn. Feeling his breath hitch when his hand started to knead the skin, ever so softly.

Clearly, this was a mix of not only seeing your fantasies come to life but his as well.

Pressing a deep kiss to his mouth, moving it to the corners, trying not to let any of your moans out, not needing them to bounce off the walls and let the entire station know what was happening. Letting out a semi-loud moan that was quickly cut off by Tim smashing his lips into yours. “Fuck, as much as I would love to hear those noise, sweetheart, you need to keep quiet.”

Swallowing harshly, licking your raw lips, looking up at him, seeing his blown out pupils, “It’s very–shit–hard when you’re making me feel this good.”

He smirked at your praises, “How about this then,” He dropped his head low enough to reach your chest, giving your sternum a kiss, “You keep quiet-” Another one kiss moving closer to your boob. “-and I’ll let you-” Another kiss now where the top of your bra covers your nipple. “-be as loud as you want.”

Your mind was hazy, and your body was right on the edge of coming. You couldn’t answer him even if you wanted to. He noticed, slowing his pace on both your clit and inside of you, just enough to get your attention back. Standing back upright, bringing his hand up to lightly grab your chin to fully look at him, clearly waiting on your answer. Blinking a few times before nodding your head, "Absolutely,"

His grin was right back. “Good girl,” 

Kissing you deeply as he picked the pace back up to where it had been before, swallowing every moan and whimper you had. His hand slowly trailing back to its place on your chest. One of our hands stayed steady on his chest, gripping the fabric and using it as leverage to keep him close. Feeling his heart hammering against your palm, along with the quick rise and fall of his chest. Your other one was dragging your nails from his skin, even in the dim light seeing the faint red marks they left behind, reaching past his rolled up sleeves, all the way to his collar, pulling the fabric to expose the skin under it. 

You were close, feeling a low tightening knot in the bottom of your stomach, chasing after the build up, starting to roll your hips into his hand alongside his movements. 

Trying to stiffen the build-up high-pitch moans, you attached your lips onto his neck. Just as you were tipping over the edge of pure hot bliss, it became too much so you bit into his soft skin. Tim’s groan was the exact thing you needed to send you over that edge, moaning into his neck, white-knuckling his shirt. Clenching tightly around his fingers before your hips started to jerk. His fingers slowly helped you ride out your high, making sure to keep his free hand around your shoulders. 

Coming back to Earth, you fully let your weak body fall back and hit the concrete wall behind you. Waiting for your head to do the same, but it didn’t. Slowly the numb tingling faded, and the soft ringing in your ears cleared you right back to Tim. Smiling blissfully at him, feeling his hands cradle your neck. He let out a breathy laugh, “Thought you passed out on me, honey.”

All you could do was let out a small laugh as well. Pressing a lazy kiss into the crease of his forearm. Looking down and fixing your pants, going to fix your belt but got quickly reminded that he had thrown it. “Did you see where my belt went?”

He glanced around before nodding, “Yup, got it,”

Both of your eyes were pulled up to the ceiling with a loud rumble of thunder.

Using that moment of your distraction to grab your belt, not wanting you to move too much, knowing you were probably still a bit dizzy. “Thanks.” You held out your hand but he shook his head instead reaching down and starting to loop it through the slots. “Tim, I can–” He cut you off with a quick kiss, “I know you can, but let me do something.” You quickly looked at him with raised brows; he had just given you the most intense orgasms you’d had in a while and yet was acting like he hadn’t lifted a single finger. Watching the way each of his veins bulged with each movement of fixing your belt.

And he caught you staring, again, “Really?’

You shrugged, breaking into a wider smile, “What? I’m a simple girl.” 

The sound of the door settling brought back the reminder that the two of you were still locked inside. And that’s when an idea popped into your mind.

You took a step forward. Tim kept a hand around your waist after seeing you sway slightly. Looking over the desk, shining the light at where the tin can full of random shit was. Smiling at the sparkling piece of metal, grabbing it and quickly showing it to Tim, “You still have your pocket knife?”

He slowly pulled it out of his pocket, waiting for you to reach for it before pulling it back. “You knew you could pick the lock and yet still let me slam myself up against the door?”

You shrugged, “It was kinda funny to see you try to break down a reinforced steel door.” You replied before reaching up and kissing him before taking the knife from his hand, “But basically yeah!” 

Turning on your heel and quickly crouching down. Handing off the flashlight to Tim, taking the thinnest part of the letter opener and shoving it into the keyhole. Using the tip of the knife to try and set the pins in the lock, but the blade was too big. Closing it and handing it back to Tim before finding a paperclip off the desk and unfolding it. “Where did you learn this?”

You shoved the unfolded paperclip in, replying to him while you tried to set the three lock pins into place. “I used to break into my parent’s liquor cabinet…and the city pool…and the highschool.” When they all were into place, you pulled the thing metal out and gave the letter opener a turn, unlocking the door. Turning and facing him, “I didn’t steal anything, besides the liquor, I just wanted to see what they looked like at night.” 

He slowly walked up to you, placing his hands on either side of your face, shaking his head, “How are you still full of surprises?” He reached down and kissed you, this time with passion and care, not the hunger and need like before. “Why don’t we finish the page we do and then go back to my place?”

You looked up at him as you felt your face flush, knowing that he actually wanted to see you again made you feel all warm and fuzzy. “Yeah, yeah that sounds like a plan.” 

Tim watched you turn around and slowly started to leave the room. His eyes looking over your body before his brows quickly frowned. The bottom of your shirt was still completely messed up. It wasn’t tucked in, and sat a bit askew on your body. With wide eyes he quickly chased after you. “Fix your shirt.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Answers You Don't Want

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim is your second TO after a mid-year transfer. He wants answers about what happened at your last station but doesn't realize what they might cost you. In the end, he's the one at your side, the TO you can trust.

Warnings/Word Count: angst, depiction of harassment/assault, fluff and comfort, Tim threatens someone, Tim and r makeout but he lets her lead everything bc he's a big softie. 2.5k+ words, requested

A/N: I made the threatening scene more graphic at first then dialed it back and kept the rated R version for myself haha

Directory | T.B. Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist

The body cam clicks into place, acting as an audible, tangible start to your day. The Mid-Wilshire station is beginning to feel more comfortable, even as you stare at a scuff on the wall and listen to murmured conversations behind you. Your new training officer, Tim Bradford, told you to get ready while he speaks with Sergeant Grey. Maybe he’s talking about you, theorizing about why you’re here, maybe not. Regardless of what he tells you or keeps from you, you have to be careful around Tim.

Two months ago, when you asked your previous TO why he was talking about you in the locker room, you learned that there are some things you’re better off not knowing.

“You ready?” Tim asks.

You flinch, turning on your heel to nod. “Yes, sir.”

He gestures toward the garage, following you to the shop. You’ve only been his boot for five days, a work week, yet Tim has already realized a few very important things about you. Like all boots, you’re careful in what you say. But the kind of timidity you display each day is different. You keep Tim at arms’ length, hesitating to trust him. When you were shot at yesterday, you obeyed his every command. But when he asked why you became a cop, you picked at your finger until it bled, refusing to talk to him.

Transferring to a different police station is never meaningless, but moving in the middle of your rookie year is almost unheard of. That’s why Tim thinks something happened at your previous station or worse, with your first TO. You won’t talk to Lucy or Angela either, so he knows your hesitancy and anxiety doesn’t begin and end with him.

Despite it all, Tim trusts you. He only has to figure out how to convince you to trust him too.

“Bradford!” Grey calls, jogging out of the station.

Tim puts the car in Park and steps out of the driver’s seat.

“I need to borrow your boot,” Grey adds.

You exit the car, your fingers hooked together as you join your watch commander. He leads you into his office wordlessly, sitting with a heavy sigh.

“How is your first week?” he checks.

Stiffening your shoulders, you nod. “It’s going well, sir.”

“Better than your last station?”

Swallowing, you prepare to say yes.

“I don’t need to know what happened,” he continues, “but if you have problems here or want to talk to somebody, let me know.”

“I will. Thank you.”

You return to the shop, somewhat surprised to find that Tim waited for you. He’s scrolling on his phone when you buckle your seatbelt, not looking up until you’re secure.

“Everything okay?” Tim checks.

“Yes, sir,” you reply. “Grey just wanted to check in at the end of my first week.”

Tim hums, then asks, “What happened before?”

Your breath catches in your throat, your chest tightening as you press your knuckles into the opposite palm. That question is one that you haven’t even answered for yourself. Even if you could admit it, you won’t tell Tim because he could be the same.

While you grow more anxious, silent as you shut down from fear that this is either the end of your career or the beginning of what you thought you escaped, Tim’s wondering about your past shifts. His curiosity evaporates, replaced by an undeniable bad feeling deep within him. Something happened at your last station and, based on your reaction and how you act around him, likely involved your original TO.

Tim is different. He knows he is. And he’ll prove it to you if it’s the last thing he does.

You were too quiet for the rest of your shift after Tim asked about the beginning of your rookie year. Now, he stares at his television, not actually watching it as he thinks about you. Kojo whines, pressing his snout to Tim’s side.

“I don’t know, bud,” he sighs, rubbing Kojo’s side. “She won’t tell me.”

From the moment you stepped into the bullpen, Tim knew that your nervousness and rigid posture was more than the ‘I’m new to being a cop’ separation. It was more personal. He’s asked around a little, but no one knows what happened at your last station. The few people who know where you transferred from don’t know anything more.

The morning of your second day, instead of demanding you tell Tim where you are, he asked careful, open-ended questions about your rookie experience so far. Each question made you increasingly more anxious. When you dug your fingernail into your skin, he stopped asking. Everything he does to try to help makes it worse. If Tim could, he’d take you to a safehouse, show you that you’re safe now, and dedicate his life to showing you that you can trust him.

“Uh oh,” he hums. “Kojo… I think I’m in trouble.”

Kojo huffs, shifting into Tim’s lap.

“Yeah, you’d like her.”

“Sergeant Bradford?”

Tim lifts his head quickly, surprised to see you standing in the doorway, backlit by the sunrise. He came in early to work on something, but time passed too quickly when he found your transfer paperwork.

“Sorry,” Tim offers when you step back. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you reply, offering a small smile. “Uh, roll call is starting.”

“Right. I’ll be right there. Thanks.”

You nod, then walk away. Tim has more questions than he did before, and asking you seems to make it hard for you to so much as breathe. You have all the makings of a great cop, as long as Tim doesn’t push you too far. But, at the same time, he needs to show you that whatever happened before doesn’t have to define you now.

After today, Tim has a day off to do as much investigating as he pleases. The bad feeling in his stomach has become a pit, a familiar sense of dread that someone overstepped, robbed you of your safety and maybe even your identity. Your last TO has something to explain as far as Tim is concerned.

“Good call,” Tim applauds when you return to the shop after a traffic stop that led to an arrest.

“Thank you,” you murmur, straightening your belt.

“Did your last TO teach you to watch for that?” he asks lightly. “What was his name again?”

Tim saw the paper just this morning, but it feels like a careful in. You look at him then and Tim is suddenly struck by the realization that he’s never had eye contact with you before.

“He didn’t,” you answer flatly. “One of my teachers at the academy did.”

“Okay,” Tim replies, his grip tight on the wheel as you look at him. There’s something in your eyes that he recognizes just as much as the dread within him.

You blink, then turn away without answering his second question. Tim, for all his faults, knows better than to press. He doesn’t want you to shut down again, not when you’re finally letting him in, granting him a glance inside to see who you really are behind the hurt and the fear.

“Name?” the officer at the front desk asks.

“Sergeant Tim Bradford,” Tim replies, dressed in his civvies but still displaying his badge on his hip.

The officer passes him a visitors’ badge, then buzzes him into the heart of the station. Tim looks around, quickly identifying a boot in long sleeves.

“Excuse me,” he calls. “Is Officer Damian Jacobs here?”

“Uh, he’s not actually my TO, but I haven’t seen him today,” the officer replies. He glances down, then adds, “Sergeant.”

“What do you think of him?” Tim asks. “Decent guy?”

The rookie looks around quickly, then drops his voice to answer, “The guy’s a piece of work.”

Tim’s jaw tightens as he nods. “Thanks.”

He asks three more people, including a lieutenant, for their opinions on your previous TO. They all offer variations of the first answer; Officer Jacobs is described as a jerk, a narcissist, and something a little stronger. Yet no one mentions the rookie that left because of him.

Tim smacks his hand on the steering wheel in his truck, upset with himself for failing to find out why you left. Jacobs had to have been the reason, but if he didn’t force you out, what made you decide to leave? He’s tried asking questions that might lead you to telling him and gotten nothing. Maybe it’s time for a more direct approach.

After riding with Officer Chen yesterday, you prepare yourself to be questioned by Sergeant Bradford about how it went. He asks questions clearly intended to get more than a yes or no.

When he stops on the sidewalk and asks, “What did your last TO do?” you aren’t expecting the blunt question.

You were on edge all week because of his prior questions, but this is different. Without expecting it, you can either remain quiet, hesitate and come up with a vague answer, or tell the truth.

Your mouth moves faster than your mind, your thoughts a jumbled mess of anxiety and self-preservation. “He harassed me,” you blurt out. “He made my life miserable. I- I was never safe.”

“He harassed you?” Tim repeats.

Pressing your arms to your side, you take a deep breath and start at the beginning. If Tim wants to know, you’ll tell him. You’ve been waiting for rain to put out the fire inside you for so long that if Tim decides to bounce you for this, you’ll take it as a sign, a miracle break in the clouds.

“Officer Jacobs was inappropriate from the beginning. He’d follow me around, make disgusting, lewd comments when no one else was around. A week into training, when he realized I wasn’t telling anyone, he started turning off my body camera in the shop. He’d touch me, ask me questions that I didn’t want to answer.” You take a shaky breath, your eyes on Tim’s boots. “The day before I submitted my transfer request, he followed me home.”

You can’t see Tim’s hands curl into fists or his jaw clench as he listens. His gut feeling was right — as usual — but he didn’t realize how angry he’d be when he finally got the answers he thought he wanted.

“He pushed me and came inside,” you continue. “He- he tried to force himself on me and I was too scared to tell anyone, so I just left. And maybe that makes me a coward or a bad cop, but-”

“You’re not a bad cop,” Tim interrupts roughly.

You lift your eyes, which Tim immediately realizes are glassy. His shoulders drop, his gaze softening as he looks at you. You don’t need his anger or his sympathy, you need a reminder, you need to trust him.

“He’s a horrible person,” Tim reassures you, “but that doesn’t say anything about you. You’re here now, away from him. Okay? We would never do anything like that.”

You drag the back of your hand across your face and nod. “I know that now. I- I was scared to get close to you at first but you’re different.”

“And you’re more than whatever he made you feel,” Tim adds, stepping toward you with his arms spread at his sides. “You’re safe now.”

You nod, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Has he tried to contact you since you transferred?” Tim questions as he opens the door for you.

“No,” you answer. “I don’t know what I’d do if he did.”

“You’d call me.”

But part of you had already thought of that.

Tim marches into the station in his uniform, his eyes hard. Officers move out of his way, and the rookie he spoke to before points across the bullpen.

“Jacobs!” Tim barks.

Officer Damian Jacobs turns, wide-eyed before Tim grasps his lapel and slams him against the nearest wall.

“You think it’s okay to harass women?” Tim demands. “You thought it was okay to assault your rookie?”

The officers around him gasp, several murmuring to each other.

“I didn’t!” Jacobs insists.

Tim presses into him, blinking when Jacobs struggles to take a full breath.

“You’re going to resign,” Tim says.

“No, I’m not!”

Tim leans in, his voice low as he repeats, “You are going to resign. And if you don’t, I will personally ensure that you never wear a badge again.”

“Get me fired,” Jacobs dares. “No one will believe her.”

“I never said I’d get you fired,” Tim murmurs. “And I believe her. Trust me when I say that is enough.”

“Sergeant Bradford!” someone greets.

Tim releases Jacobs, stepping back as the TO falls to the floor before scrambling up.

“Sarge, this brute just attacked me!” Jacobs yells.

“Sergeant Bradford is a highly decorated officer,” the watch commander says. “I doubt he attacked you.”

Tim spares one final glance at Jacobs, then walks toward the door. “Jacobs assaulted a rookie; harassed her until she felt like transferring was the only way to stay safe.”

“If I had done that,” Jacobs seethes, “what would stop me from going back after that stunt you just pulled?”

“Jacobs!” his watch commander interrupts. “My office now.”

“Go near her again,” Tim dares. “You won’t like what happens.”

Someone knocks on your door while you’re making dinner. You don’t get many visitors, so you approach the door slowly until you can see that it’s Tim.

“Hi,” you greet, inviting him inside.

“Jacobs resigned,” Tim says, his hands in his pockets.

Your shoulders drop as you look at him. “Thank you.”

“He resigned. No reason to thank me.”

Patting Tim’s arm, you argue, “That’s not going to work on me. I may be quiet in the shop, but I know you. You’re a good guy, Sergeant Bradford.”

“Tim,” he whispers, leaning into your touch. “Please.”

“Okay,” you agree with a smile. “Want to stay for dinner, Tim?”

“You’re not worried I’ll let you down too?”

“I’m not worried at all. Are you?”

Tim blinks, then steps back. “I’ll stay for dinner, but you can’t do that.”

“Do what?” you question.

“Don’t- don’t look at me like that. You’d have to get another TO.”

You smile, and Tim forgets what he was saying. He needs you closer, needs to feel you against him, needs to breathe you in like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

“Would that be so bad?” Tim questions then.

“What? A third TO?” you clarify. “Depends on the why, I guess.”

Tim lifts his hands to your waist, hovering his hands beside you until you step forward into his hold. “If this is the why?” he whispers, looking between your eyes and your lips.

“I don’t want another TO,” you murmur, spreading your fingers over his chest. “But I want this.”

“Then we’ll lie.”

“You’re a bad example,” you whisper. “Kiss me?”

“I’m the bad example,” Tim grumbles before his lips meet yours.

He kisses you like he won’t get a second chance, though you both know this is the beginning rather than a one-off. His touch is desperate, passionate, laced with apologies and desire.

“I’m only a rookie for a few more months,” you remind him when he pulls back. “And I’m eighty percent sure Wade knows that we were going to get here eventually.”

“We’ll take it as slow as you want. Tell me if it’s too much,” Tim pleads, his forehead against yours.

“I will,” you promise. “I trust you.”

Tim Bradford Taglist 🏷️ @sweetheartlizzie07 @waltermis @bellsbomb @maialopez23 @peachescastles @eberles @kmc1989 @sogoodtoheritsvicious @person-005 @multifandombliss @thecranberrypineapple @russopalatte @averyhotchner@arcane-fan @hiireadstuff @lori19 @bradleybeachbabe @natashamea18 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @defonotsolesblog @goodwitchswift @noxchirurgus @mazikeensmith1981 @gh0stgurl @waywardhunter95 @ilocuras24 @anonymousmuffinbear @teti-menchon0604 @fdl305 @corvusmorte @ttulipwritezz @devilslittlehelper

[hayleythesugarbowl]

hey girlyyyyy could you maybe write for Tim Bradford from the rookie and like the reader is his rookie and while they’re on patrol they run into someone who knows the reader’s abusive ex bf and he makes threats against reader and after their shift reader is super scared so he escorts them home and stays with them idk just an idea 😅

Nightlight || Tim Bradford x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • john nolan fic  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you encounter a man while on patrol who has a threatening message from your ex, your TO, Tim, offers to spend the night with you

word count: 10.4k

warnings: abusive past relationship, reader kind of has a panic attack, mild language, blood, guns, inaccurate police stuff

a/n: ahhh i had so much fun writing this, love!! i took your idea and also added some stuff so i hope you like what i did. i also apologize for the length, i kinda went wild. i imagine this to take place in s1. fem!reader. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “7-Adam-19, armed shoplifter, Radcliffe Complex, 718 Oscar Road. Respond.”

     The dispatcher’s voice filled the silence of the car.

     “7-Adam-19 responding.” Officer  Bradford set down the radio and replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

     “What’s the most important thing to remember when dealing with an armed shoplifter, Boot?” Tim asked you after a moment. 

     “Why did I think that when I was in short-sleeves I would get a break from your Tim Tests?” you muttered.  

     You’d been Bradford’s rookie for seven months now and some days he still treated you like it was your first day on the force. You appreciated him trying to teach you so thoroughly, but did he have to be so Tim all the time?

     “Is that your answer, Boot?” 

     “No, um, I guess it would be that he’s armed. But no, that’s too obvious for you. Ok, what about what they’re stealing? Their physical state? Keeping their hands in sight at all times?”

     Tim sighed, looking bored. “Wrong. It’s—”

     “Suspect on the move, heading east on Apple Boulevard,” came the dispatcher’s update, interrupting your TO’s answer.

     “Looks like we’re headed east,” Tim said, turning sharply in the direction you’d just come from. 

     “Saved by the suspect,” you joked. 

     “Don’t think this is over,” Tim narrowed his eyes at the road. “Lessons don’t stop for crime.”

     “Ok, batman.”

     Tim glared at you.

     “I mean, Sir.”

     After you’d first been assigned to Officer Bradford, you’d been told stories of his ruthless training style. Your first thought was that you needed to impress him from day one.

     Well, technically your first thought was damn, because you’d have to be insane not to notice how objectively attractive he was. But you’d quickly quelled that thought—crushing on your TO was not how you wanted to start your career as an officer. 

     So, impressing him was your second thought. And you had been more than a little terrified of not impressing him. 

     You would be lying if you said that wasn’t how things still were between you two, to a degree—you trying to prove yourself and him making it as difficult as possible. 

     But, at least after several months, you felt like your TO trusted you more. 

     “There!” You pointed to a man running down the street, duffel bag in hand.

     Tim hit the gas, surpassing the suspect, and skidding to a stop in front of him, effectively cutting him off. 

     You both hurried out of the car, weapons drawn on the man who was currently aiming his gun back and forth, between you and Bradford. 

     “Police! Drop your weapon!” Tim shouted at the man. 

     The man hesitated, seeming to be weighing his options—how easily he could take out two cops. 

     “Set the weapon down, nice and easy,” Tim ordered, his own gun still pointed at the suspect.”

     The man, seeming to sense the inevitability of his capture, sighed and set his gun on the ground. 

     “The answer was dialogue, by the way,” Tim addressed you, his eyes still on the suspect. “Dialogue is the most important  thing when dealing with an armed suspect.”

     “Good to know,” you acknowledged, before ordering the man in front of you. “Hands behind your head, interlace your fingers.”

     The man’s gaze shot to you as he obeyed your commands. 

     “Hey, lady cop, you look familiar,” the criminal squinted at you. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said. You’d never seen this man in your life. 

     “I swear—”

     “Hands on the car!” You ordered 

     The man reluctantly did what he was told, placing his palms on the side of the shop. 

      “Wait a minute,” the man sized you up before smirking slowly. “Your Paul Cranston’s girl, ain’t ya?”

     You felt your blood instantly run cold at the name. 

     “You must have me mistaken for someone else,” you said again, robotically, grabbing one of his arms. 

     “No, no I’d recognize that pretty face anywhere,” the criminal whispered. “He told me all about you. Hey, why don’t you let me go and I’ll give you a friendly tip?”

     You responded by twisting his arm behind his back even harder.

     He winced. “So you didn’t hear then? Paul’s out.”

     No. That couldn’t be true. Paul wasn’t supposed to be out for—

     “Boot, you going to cuff him or not?” Tim called impatiently.

     “Right.” You shook off the stupor and began handcuffing the suspect. Your mind was still on that name, however, and your reflexes were slowed.

     Which is how the suspect was able to rip his arm from your grip and shove you to the ground as he tried to make a break for it. 

     Tim tackled him almost immediately, wrestling him into the cuffs that were dangling on one of his wrists where you had started to restrain him, and pushing him towards the shop.

     “Wait, Paul’s got a message for you!” the man hurried out, looking only at you as Tim waked over and shoved him into the backseat. “He said you best watch yourself, because he has connections, and he still hasn’t gotten his revenge. He’s out—and he’s coming for you.”

     “That’s enough, get in the car.” Tim slammed the door shut, and the echo of it rang in your ears as the man’s words played over and over again.

     He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     “What the hell was that?” 

     You looked up to Bradford’s questioning—and furious—face. He offered you a hand and you took it, standing up to face him. 

     “Sorry, I—”

     “‘Sorry’ doesn’t stop criminals from escaping,” Tim shouted. “Get your head in the game. You do want to be a cop, don’t you, Boot?”

     “Yes, sir.”

     So much for Tim trusting you. You couldn’t believe you’d almost just let a suspect get away. That had never happened to you before. But, that name—

     Your TO shook his head, walking to the drivers side and opening the door. “You know, I should write you up for that.”

     You noticed his wording. “But you’re not going to?”

     He waited for you to get into the passenger seat before saying, 

     “I didn’t say that. First you’re going to tell me what just happened between you two.”

     You flinched. “It—nothing. It was nothing.”

     “Uh-huh. It didn’t sound like nothing. Who’s Paul Cranston?” 

     You swallowed hard. “He’s just someone I used to know.”

      A million images flashed through your head. Paul’s face looming over you. The flashing lights and sirens. Waking up in the hospital. 

     You shook yourself out of it. You didn’t want to talk about this now. You swore you’d never talk about it again. “Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we get back to the station. Don’t we have to book this guy?”

     Tim sighed, started the car, and re-entered traffic. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

     “Control, this is 7-Adam-19. I need an ID on a Paul Cranston,” Tim spoke into his radio. 

     And so much for not talking about this now.

     “Can you do that without suspicion of a crime?” You asked him.

     “You can when dispatch loves you.” He winked at you. 

     You rolled your eyes at him as the radio began speaking. 

     “Paul Cranston: caucasian male, date of birth 8/4/92, recently released on parole, history of theft and domestic violence.” 

     Tim turned his gaze to you. “How do you know this man, Boot?”

     “It’s—a long story,” you told him. 

     “Well then you better start talking if you want to finish before we reach the station,” Tim commanded, making a left turn.

     “Can’t you just let it go?” You asked him. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

      He’s out, and he’s coming for you. 

     You couldn’t fight the shiver that racked your body. 

      Tim’s eyes flicked to you, before returning back to the road. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, shifting the car into park before turning to you. 

     “If this is another one of your ‘I’m dying, where are we’ tests—”

     “Boot, focus,” Tim barked. 

     “With all due respect, sir, I don’t think it’s really any of your concern if—”

     “Of course it’s my concern!” Tim shouted. His expression was so intense, you squirmed under his gaze and you felt your face heat. 

     He looked torn for a moment, before sighing and saying, “It’s my job as your TO to train you to the best of my abilities, and I can’t do that if you’re withholding information that may affect your performance as an officer.”

     “Fine,” you breathed. “It was a long time ago. I was 18, Paul and I met freshman year of college. We started dating and things were fine, good even, for a while.”

     “Until?” Tim prompted.

     “Until he got pissed one night because I caught him coming home really late with a ski mask and a bag full of stolen cash. Cliche, right?”

     You looked to Tim, but his expression was as stony as ever and you continued.

     “Apparently, he’d been stealing since high school and turns out he’d lied to me about working in retail and a whole bunch of other stuff. I threatened to call the police if he didn’t stop and—”

     You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

You watched the houses and trees and cars pass by as you drove towards the station. 

     “—and he hit me. It didn't stop after that—once he knew he could get away with it. He said if I ever told anyone—about the robberies, the beatings—that he’d kill me. And I let him go on like that for months. I was so scared that if I called anyone, he’d make good on his promise.”

     Tim’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his fingers turning white, but he didn’t speak.

     “But then, one night, it got so bad that I thought he might actually kill me anyway. So I waited until he left the room for a minute and I called 911. He was arrested and—and that’s all I remember before I blacked out. I woke up in the hospital the next morning.”

     You kept your voice even, trying not to let the emotion show through your story. You were just recounting facts. This was almost 10 years ago, and you’d moved on with your life. 

     But reliving it all was hard, even after so much time had passed. 

     “It’s actually why I joined the academy,” you finished. “I wanted to save people, the way the officers that night did for me.”

     You were both silent for a moment. 

     A muscle in Tim’s jaw ticked. “Does the department know?”

     “Yeah,” you sighed. “It’s all part of my file.”

     “And the guy back there?” 

     You shrugged, glancing back at the suspect and lowering your voice. “He must be one of Paul’s partners or goons or—I don’t know. I guess he’s been in contact with him since he was released, if he knows what I look like.”

     The thought made your skin crawl. 

     “I don’t know what came over me,” you kept going. “It’s been years, I just—I didn’t expect to hear about him out of the blue from a criminal on the street, you know? But, I promise it won’t happen again.”

     Tim ignored that. “Do you think it was an empty threat?”

     “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I sure as hell hope so.”

     Bradford was silent for a long moment, his expression tense.

     The radio crackled to life. “7-Adam-19, we have a 215 in progress near your area, 239 West Armston Street. Respond.” 

     “Negative,” Bradford answered the dispatch call. 

     You stared at him, shocked. “Why aren’t we taking that? We can drop this guy off afterwards.”

     “Yeah, I agree,” the suspect chimed in from the backseat. “I think you should take that first.”

      Tim payed him no attention. “They’ll have someone else over there in minutes. We have more important things to do.”

     “You’re not even going to ask me if I know what a 215 is?” You joked. Tim never passed up an opportunity to quiz you. 

     “What’s a 215, Boot?” 

     “Carjacking.”

     “Correct.” Tim nodded. “And we’re going to have a talk with Sergeant Grey.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

    “Paul Cranston, released on parole from a thirteen year sentence three days ago, currently believed to be residing in the Woodland Hills area.”

     You sat in the briefing room, surrounded by other officers, as Sergeant Grey read out your ex-boyfriend’s file. You stared into Paul’s face on the screen, his mugshot visible from all angles. 

     Bradford stood near the front of the room, leaning against the wall. 

      “The department is aware of Officer (Y/l/n)’s history with Mr. Cranston,” Grey continued. “And will take necessary action should the situation progress.”

      “So, what’s the course of action here?” Tim crossed his arms. 

     “I’m afraid, as of now, there isn’t one,” Grey said. “Since there is no direct proof against Paul Cranston, we’d essentially be taking the word of a petty thief and wasting resources on what most likely was a desperate attempt to escape arrest. The department doesn’t exactly consider it a threat.”

    “Doesn’t consider it a threat?” Tim’s voice was low and dangerous. “How about a charge for threatening an officer?”

    “But Paul didn’t threaten an officer,” you sighed, thinking. “The armed robbery suspect did.”

     “Exactly, Officer (Y/l/n),” Grey agreed. “Basically, our hands are tied.”

     “Then untie them,” Bradford snapped, beginning to pace. “There’s gotta be some technicality we can get him on. Violation of parole, conspiring with a felon, failure to—”

     “That’s enough, Officer Bradford,” The sergeant fixed your TO with a firm look. “I appreciate your concern for (Y/l/n)’s safety, but we’ve done all we can do. And, for now, that’s nothing.”

      Tim’s concern for your safety. That thought had been in the back of your mind since the ride to the station. You couldn’t figure out why Tim was so determined about this. You supposed you were his rookie and was his job to look out for you. It was just, up until now, he hadn’t exactly done anything to make you believe he’d care so much.

     “Failure to take action could be endangering one of our officers,” Tim said, his jaw clenched. “Who’s to say this guy won’t make good on his threat? At least increase security at (Y/l/n)’s residence.”

     “Tim, its fine,” you said, your voice firm. “Let it go.” 

     They were making a big enough deal about this already. It probably was just a case of a criminal trying anything to get free. You doubted Paul even cared about what happened to you anymore. He probably never wanted to see you again—and that was a good thing. 

     But, then, you couldn’t get those words out of your head.

     He’s out and he’s coming for you.

     Bradford turned to you, his chest rising and falling. He looked so…resolved. Like he did when chasing down a suspect or that time when you’d walked in on him in the training rooms.

     Images of Tim shirtless, the muscles in his back tight as he pushed himself harder filled your head and you quickly shook them away. Definitely not the time. 

   “We’ll send a surveillance team to Paul’s location in the morning,” Grey said, turning to address you. “But for now the best thing you can do is to go home, get some sleep, and not let this rattle you. Understood?”

     “Yes, Sergeant.”

     “Good. Because the last thing the L.A.P.D needs is a cop who lets their personal life get in the way of their ability to do their job in any way that’s less than exemplary. I trust that’s not the case?” 

     You glanced to Bradford, certain he was going to mention your mistake with the suspect earlier. 

     “No, Sir,” Tim said instead. “My rookies don’t do ‘less than exemplary’. Don’t worry about (Y/l/n)—she’s proved to me she has what it takes to be an officer.”

     “Glad to hear it. Shift over. Everybody else, back to work,” Sergeant Grey waved everyone away. 

     You walked towards the front of the room, hearing grumbled complaints about midnight shift from the unlucky officers who still had to do patrol as you did so. 

     You stopped in front of your TO. His eyes were on you, his brow drawn in something that looked like concern.

     “Thanks,” you said. You couldn’t believe he’d told Grey all that—it was the most complimentary thing he’d said about you in your whole time riding with him. 

     “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Tim stated, shrugging. “I expect you to live up to any praise I’ve given you.”

     “Yes, sir,” you nodded, almost smiling.

     “Besides, you’re being trained by me. You’d have to be royally screwed up not to become one of the best on the force.”

     “And he’s humble too,” you teased. “But I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

     “Whatever, Boot.” Tim smiled, shaking his head. 

     “Be nonchalant all you want,” you said, feeling brave. “I know you like me.”

     For a brief moment, Tim looked like you’d slapped him. But then, the flash of—whatever that was—was gone and his expression was replaced by one of cold indifference. 

     “In your TO not your friend, (Y/l/n),” he stated. “It’s not about liking you. It’s about training you.”

      You sighed inwardly. Just when you thought you were making ground with Tim, he treated you like you’d just met. “Of course, how could I forget.”

     Tim stayed silent. 

    “Well, I should head out,” you told him, “I’ve got a busy night ahead me. You know, trying not to get killed by my ex and all.”

     You’d meant it as a joke, to make light of the situation that left you feeling more uneasy than you’d care to admit. Tim, however, just shook his head and brushed past you, out of the briefing room. 

     You stood there for a moment, trying to work through what had just happened, before turning around and taking a step in the other direction. Only to find Officers Lopez and Bishop standing in front of you, staring between you and Tim’s retreating figure. 

     “So how’d you do it?” Bishop looked you up and down.

     “Do what?” You asked, confused. 

     “Get Tim wrapped around your finger,” Lopez answered for her, smirking. 

     You felt your eyes widen. “Tim’s not—” 

     “Please,” Lopez put her hands on her hips. “I’ve watched him train dozens of rookies and he’s never stood up for any of them like that. So naturally I figured you’re either blackmailing him or sleeping with him.”

     You blanched, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as you let what Angela said sink in. You knew she was just teasing you, but the statement caught you off guard. You imagined you and Tim—together. It wasn’t necessarily an unpleasant thought. And then you realized what you were thinking and you chided yourself, hurriedly un-imagining it. 

     “No, that’s not—neither one of those things,” you answered quickly. “Trust me, Tim doesn’t give me any special treatment, if that’s what you’re implying. I actually can’t tell if he hates me half of the time.”

     “We’re not implying anything,” Bishop replied. “Only observing. And he doesn’t hate you.”

     “How can you possibly know that?” You were suddenly insecure. You still held on to a secret dread that you were going to wildly disappoint Tim—that you already had. Sure, there was all the stuff he had just said. But there was also months of him being hard on you and saying that you weren’t friends. 

     “Because I’ve seen him hate plenty of people,” Bishop spoke. “And he definitely didn’t look at them the way he looks at you.”

      The way Tim looked at you? You weren’t aware he looked at you in a way that was different from the way he looked at anyone else at the station.

     “What are you guys trying to say?” You asked them. 

     “I’m saying watch out,” Bishop raised an eyebrow. “Because Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.”

     Could there be any truth to what the two officers were saying? Was it wrong for a small part of you to hope there was?

     “Um, ok,” you said, blinking. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

     “Don’t believe us if you want, it’s your call,” Bishop shrugged, backing up. “But I’m telling you, you mean something to Tim that the rest of us can only guess at.”

     And with that she walked out of the room.

    “Bishop can be intense,” Angela said when the woman was out of earshot. “She’s got that whole ‘anti-cops-dating’ thing going on—but I do think she’s right about this. Tim’s tough, and I’m sure he gives you hell—but it’s not because he doesn’t like you. I actually think it’s quite the opposite. ”

     Was there really something that everyone saw between you and Tim except for you? You still couldn’t even entertain the thought that Tim had feelings for you that were more than TO and rookie. 

     “Well you’ve certainly left me with a lot to think about,” you said finally.

     “Then I’ll let you start thinking—you’re welcome for the peace of mind.” 

     You wouldn’t have used the phrase peace of mind, yourself. Sure, it was nice to know that the officers who had known your TO for years were confident that he didn’t look down on you. But, this conversation also had left your head swimming with conflicting thoughts about Tim that you didn’t feel like dealing with right now.

     “And take care,” Lopez said knowingly. “We have your back if anything happens.”

      With that, your thoughts slammed back to the current situation.

    “Right, that. You—you think something’s going to happen?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

     “I think in this job we have to be prepared for the worst,” she corrected. “But I also think that bastard would have to be pretty stupid to mess with you.”

     She smiled at you and you smiled back. After watching her leave, you followed her path, heading towards the locker rooms.

     You thought about what she had said about you and Tim, about Paul.

     You hoped she was right—you just couldn’t say which you hoped she was more right about.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     Your thoughts bounced between your conversation with Talia and Angela and the message from your ex as you walked to your car minutes later. 

     When you woke up this morning, you thought the most stressful part of your day would’ve been a police chase or a shootout.  You never would’ve expected it to be my ex-boyfriend is out of jail and could be hunting me down and my training officer might have feelings for me.

     Funny how things could change so fast.

     Suddenly, you heard a bang. You spun around quickly, your heart in your throat. But it was only a car door being slammed shut from across the parking lot. 

     Get a grip, you told yourself. 

     You rounded the corner, running a hand through your hair.

     You stopped. Tim was leaning against the side of your car, arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked you up and down.

     “What are you doing?” You asked. 

     “Driving you home, Boot,” Tim said. “Get in the car.”

     “Tim, you don’t have to—”

     “That wasn’t a question, give me the keys.”

     There was no point in fighting him. Besides, there was a small part of you that didn’t really want to fight him. 

     You tossed him the keys to your car and got in the passenger seat with a sigh.  

     Tim started the engine. 

     “If this is about Paul, this really isn’t necessary,” you said after you’d been driving for several minutes and the silence became too much. “I can handle myself. I am an officer, in case you forgot.”

     “You’re a rookie,” Tim corrected, eyes never leaving the road. “And if the department won’t do anything, then I will.”

     “What—we’re not going to go looking for him, are we?” You asked.

     “Of course not,” Tim scoffed. “I’m not a vigilante, Boot. Where do you live?”

     “Take a left at the light,” you guided. 

     Neither of you talked for the remainder of the drive, save your occasional directions. When you pointed out your apartment building, Tim parked the car and handed you the keys. 

     “Thanks,” you mumbled to him as you got out of the car, grabbing your bag and heading towards the building.

     You heard a door shut behind you and turned to find your TO standing on the sidewalk, an eyebrow raised.

     “You didn’t think I was just going to let you spend the night alone with a target on your head, did you, Boot?” 

     “Tim—”

     “No more protests,” he said firmly. “As your TO, I—”

     “No, I was just going to say that if you were planning on staying here, why couldn’t I have just driven my own car?”

     “I don’t let my rookies drive,” Tim walked past you and to the front door. “Even off-duty.”

     You followed him quickly, getting out your key and letting you both in.

     When you reached your apartment you did a quick scan of the space—it wasn’t exactly like you’d been expecting company, much less your training officer. You cringed at the messiness.

      “How many entrances and exits are there?” Bradford asked. 

     “Um, just the front door. And there’s windows in the kitchen and the bedroom,” you said. 

     You skimmed past everything in the place, looking towards the window in your bedroom. Your eye caught on one of your bras hanging from your bedpost. You quickly ran over and shut the door, blushing and hoping Tim hadn’t noticed.

     “Please, Boot,” Tim made a face. “It’s nothing I haven’t already seen before.”

     “Ok no offense, but I usually don’t let guys see my bra the first time I bring them to my place,” you joked.

     “If that’s an offer, I’m going to have to politely decline.”

     “What—no,” you hurried out, worried your voice sounded wrong. “I just meant—”

    Tim interrupted. “I’m going to do a sweep of the place, make sure everything’s as it should be.”

     “Is that really needed?”

     “I’m not taking any chances.” He left the room and you sunk down onto the couch, letting your bag fall to the floor. 

     Your TO returned a few minutes later. “All clear.”

     “See, everything’s fine,” you said, speaking just as much to yourself as you were to Tim. 

     “Well,” Bradford started, amusement in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say everything is fine. Your storage closet’s a fire hazard.”

     Had Tim Bradford just made a joke?

     “I’ll be sure not to exit through the closet in the events of a fire,” you said sarcastically. “And if you keep insulting my living space, I’m going to be forced to kick you out.”

     “Bold for someone whose career I could end.”

     “You can’t end my career for that,” you shot back. Paused. “Can you?”

     Tim raised his eyebrows.

     “Only one way to find out,” you said enthusiastically, teasing him now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t let the closet trap you on the way out.

     “Nice try, Boot. But you’re still stuck with me for,” Tim checked his watch. “eight hours.”

     “Nine hours,” you corrected. You had to leave for work in nine hours.

     “You’re right, I should get us drinks,” Tim joked.

     You rolled you eyes and he shot you a look. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge.”

     Tim got up, disappearing into the kitchen.  

     “Is all you own ginger ale, Boot?” He called. 

     “There’s six year old tequila in the cupboard,” you suggested.

     “Ginger ale it is.”

      Tim joined you in the living room again, carrying two bottles. He handed one to you, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. 

     You noted the careful distance he put between you. 

     “What’s this thing made of, Boot? Plywood?” Tim asked, inspecting the couch.

     You smothered a laugh.

     “Get comfortable. It’s where you’re sleeping,” you answered. 

     “Won’t be necessary. If you’re not awake you’re not aware.”

     “So, what, we’re taking shifts on guard like this is a stakeout?” You asked.

     “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t come here to sleep.”

     “Tim I can’t let you stay up all night while I’m unconscious.” you sighed.

     “You can if it’s an order. Besides, no offense, but rookies are historically less vigilant and have a slower response time…” 

     You tried not to take offense at that. “Right, Eagle Eye.”

     Tim glared at you. 

     “Angela told me.”

     “Of course she did. And at least I didn’t leave valuable evidence on the street to chase after a dog wearing a top hat.”

     “Sparky could’ve been involved in the crime,” you said, indignant. “And that was one time!”

     “One time too many,” Tim mumbled, lifting the bottle to his lips, his eyes sparkling. 

     “Ok, so when you were a rookie you were, what, perfect?” You shot back.

     “Damn straight.” Tim nodded. 

     “You made no mistakes, at all?” You prompted.

     “Well,” Tim took a sip of his drink. “There was one thing.”

     “Aside from the graffiti incident?”

     “That wasn’t a mistake because it wasn’t my fault. I was following direct orders and—you know what, never mind. If you don’t want to hear it—”

     “No, no, I do!” you scooted towards the edge of your seat in anticipation. “And none of that ‘I worked too hard and too efficiently’ crap.”

     “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically. “My first week on the job I was put on paperwork duty, which was—”

     “Boring and tedious? I can imagine,” you deadpanned, having been put in charge of paperwork by Tim many times.

     “I was going to say necessary and a valuable skill to have,” Bradford corrected. “But anyways, we had just got done booking a couple suspects and I was working on the reports. A triple homicide and a prostitution case. It was a long day and I was tired and I guess I got sloppy—”

     “You? Sloppy?” You interrupted.

     “Do you want me to tell you this story or not?”

     “Right, sorry. Continue.”

     Tim did. “I’d just finished tagging the evidence for both cases and when I was filling everything out I somehow got the numbers mixed up. Long story short, according to my report, the homicide gun ended up being linked to the prostitution case and the weapon allegedly used in the triple homicide was…a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs.”

      You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you now.

     “Forensics caught it before it was sent to the judge, thank god,” Bradford sighed. “But the next day when I was getting ready for my shift, I was greeted by dozens of similar handcuffs in my locker—apparently Smitty has a guy.”

     “Tell me you kept them,” you begged, pulling your knees up to your chest.

     “Of course not!”

     Tim blinked.

     “Well, not all of them—Isabel made me take a pair home. I found out later that she was the one who orchestrated the whole prank. She used to do stuff like that all the time before she, uh,—”

     “Tim—”

     You’d heard about Bradford’s ex-wife. How she’d become an addict, gotten herself mixed up with bad people. You knew how much it had affected Tim, even if he hadn’t said so. 

     She was in rehab now, getting her life back together. You were glad she was finally getting the help she needed. Still, you knew how much she meant to Tim. How much it had hurt him to move on from her and let her start a new life without him. 

     “I’m fine.” Tim said firmly, clearing his throat. “It’s good to talk about her…before. She’s on the right path now.”

     You stared at the ground in front of you, picking at your fingernails. 

     “Are you still in love with her?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You didn’t know why you asked—didn’t know why you cared what the answer was. Ten minutes ago you wouldn’t have even dared to ask that question.  

     But he was being so uncharacteristically open and you seemed to be getting along well. You reluctantly brought your eyes up to Tim.

     His eyes had gone wide. He looked like he wanted to leave or yell at you or both, and you immediately regretted it.

     But then his eyes softened and he opened his mouth. “No. I’ll always care about her and she’ll always be someone that I did love. But relationships change—people change.”

     You nodded. “I get it—I mean, I’m kind of rusty on relationships—but I get it. I actually haven’t dated anyone since Paul. I guess it was just hard to trust someone after that. I kind of sabotaged any relationship that had any chance of starting.”

     It was the first time you’d admitted that to anyone. You wouldn’t have pegged Tim as being so easy to talk to. You had almost forgotten about the whole Paul situation before you’d just brought him up. You had been enjoying hanging out with Tim, no matter the circumstances. He was actually pleasant to be around when he wasn’t on the clock. 

     You imagined this happening more often—you and Tim, not just coworkers but friends. Maybe even more. Maybe this was one relationship you didn’t have to end before it started.

     You dared to let yourself think about it. You watched Tim process your words. Saw the emotion clearly written in his face as he looked at you intensely. 

     “Hey, thanks again for not letting me be alone tonight,” you told him, you’re voice soft. 

     “Don’t take it personally, Boot,” he said. “My house is being repainted and even your place beats breathing in paint fumes all night.”

     “I’m honored,” you laughed, rolling your eyes. “But you have to admit this has been fun—hanging out.”

     Your little impromptu sleepover. You smiled.

     Tim, however, looked like a switch had been flipped inside of him. You watched as he clenched his jaw, leaning almost imperceptibly away from you 

     “Listen, Boot—”

     He was cut off by the sound of breaking glass and a loud thumping sound. 

     You both shot up off the couch, abandoning your drinks. Tim’s hand went to his gun. You did the same. 

     Tim turned to you. “Stay here.”

     “Like hell,” you shot back, following him as he started to do a sweep of the main room.

     If that sound was someone—Paul—breaking in, you weren’t going to sit here and let Bradford fight your battles for you. 

     He signaled to let you know he was moving to the kitchen. You nodded, following. 

     “Clear,” he muttered, and moved on towards the bathroom. You were right behind him when you heard another noise, like the muffled sound of scraping of furniture, and you spun around.

     The bedroom. It was the only room in that direction that you hadn’t checked yet. 

     You glanced to Tim, but he hadn’t heard it. He was a few feet ahead of you, just now entering the bathroom. 

     You slowly stepped away from him and made your way across the apartment, down the hall and over to the closed bedroom door.

     Holding your weapon in one hand, you opened the door with the other. But, you barely had time to see what was on the other side before you were grabbed and a cloth was shoved into your mouth. 

     Your gun was ripped from your hand, and you were pushed hard onto the ground. Your wrist burned where you landed on shards of glass from the broken window

     Something smacked into the back of your head and you were dragged and thrown onto the bed on the corner. You heard the door shut. 

     Squinting up into the light, rubbing your throbbing head, your heart dropped as you saw who was in front of you. 

     “Did you miss me?” Paul sneered, spinning your gun in his hand. 

     You froze. Everything crashed into you at once. The events of the last time you saw your ex-boyfriend sped through your mind. Suddenly, you were scared and 18 again, at the mercy of this man. 

     “I guess you got my man’s message,” Paul continued. “Because you don’t exactly look shocked to see me. Scared, of course, but not shocked.”

     Coming back to yourself, you scrambled up onto your knees, ready to knock him out.

     Paul shook his head, laughing. “No, no. If you move even an inch I’ll shoot you right in the forehead.”

     You sat back down, your heart thumping in your chest as you scanned the room for a way out. Some way to get the upper hand on him. You had been trained for this.

     “Listen to me,” he continued, his hand coming to the gag in your mouth. You flinched away from him. “I know there’s someone in here with you. If you try to scream to alert them, I will also shoot you.  I’d like to play with you first before I put a bullet in your brain but, hey, I’m not picky. Is that clear?”

     You nodded, trying to measure how fast you could knock the weapon out of his hand before he could take a shot at you. Paul took the cloth out of you mouth.

     You gasped in air. “Backup’s going to be in here any second and then you’re going back to prison.”

     Tim would notice you were gone. He had to. 

     “Oh, I don’t think so,” Paul smiled. “I’ll be long gone and you’ll be long dead before that happens.”

     You glanced towards the door. What was taking him so long?

     Suddenly, Paul reached forwards and gripped your face in his hand. “Just as beautiful as I remember. It was such a shame things had to end with us as they did. How did that happen again? Oh, that’s right. You betrayed me.”

     “And that was the best decision I ever made,” you spat. 

     Paul backed up, shaking his head. “You’ve gotten feistier, baby. It’ll make this so much more fun for me.”

     He stepped back towards you, his face inches from yours, sneering. “This’ll be just like old times.”

     Bam! The door to your bedroom busted open. Bradford rushed in, taking in the situation. You breathed a sigh of relief.

     “Get down on the ground!” Tim growled.

     Paul froze for only a second, fear flashing across his face, but it was enough. You lunged, wrestling the gun out of his hands, your wrist protesting. 

     You trained it on him. Paul was surrounded.

     “You have five seconds to get on the ground before I shoot you,” Tim bit out, his expression murderous.

     “Come on, baby, you’re not going to let Officer Buzzkill treat me like that, are you?” Paul appealed to you. 

     You leveled your gaze on him, ignoring his words. “You heard him. Get on the ground.”

     Paul slowly knelt, never taking his eyes off of you. Tim charged him, pulling out handcuffs and locking them around his wrists. 

    You took a moment to be amused—of course Tim had off-duty cuffs. 

    “So this ends the way it starts, huh?” Paul shook his head. “You getting me locked up?”

     “Just like old times,” you echoed his earlier statement. You stayed stoic, putting your hands on your hips to hide the way they shook.

    Anger sparked in Paul’s eyes before he took on a smug expression. “You’re right. You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

     “Don’t listen to him, Boot,” Tim warned hauling the man up off the ground. 

     “You know I’m right,” Paul’s manic eyes bore into yours. He was enjoying every moment of this, laughter in his tone. It took all that was in you to keep your expression blank, unaffected. “You’ll always be that person I knew—the person who loved me. Because you did—love me. You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You just took it all like the victim you are. You pathetic bitch—”

      He was cut off abruptly as Tim slammed him face-first against the wall. Paul cried out.

     “That’s enough!” Tim shouted. “If you ever threaten—no, if you even look at (Y/l/n) again, I will hunt you down and personally remove every external limb from your body, do you understand me? (Y/n) is a million times the person you will ever be and you don’t get to make her feel small. If I didn’t think sitting in a cell for the rest of your life was a worse fate, I’d kill you right now—screw the department.”

     Your ears were ringing, your head dizzy as you tried to ground yourself. Your voice came out tiny. “Tim, stop.”

     Bradford turned to you, almost as if he had forgotten you were in the room. He was breathing hard, his fists clenched around the man in custody. 

     “And she’s not a victim,” Tim whispered, turning back to Paul, his voice right by his ear. “She’s a survivor.”

     With that, he shoved Paul back to the ground and moved over to you, his eyes roaming over your face. Your body. He took the gun out of your hands, setting it on the desk. Then, he gripped your injured wrist and you winced as he inspected it.

     “Probably hurts like hell, but you won’t need stitches. Any other injuries?”

     “Um, he hit me in the back of the head,” you felt your scalp, a lump already forming.

     Tim’s hands moved to your hair, his touch gentle, his breath on your cheek as he leaned to get a better look.

     Your own breath caught, your heart racing at the intimacy of your position. 

     “What’s the damage?” You almost whispered.

     Tim’s eyes met yours, the heat of his stare spreading through your body. “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but there’s no external bleeding.”

     Tim stepped back, and you found yourself wishing he hadn’t.

     “Are you—are you ok, Boot?” He asked carefully. 

     How did you even answer that question? You were still in shock, unable to process what had just happened. 

     “I will be,” you settled on, breathing in slowly. Exhaling.

      Tim looked like he wanted to say more but he clenched his jaw, glancing in the direction of Paul, who had been uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he had finally accepted his defeat. 

     “I’m going to call for back up, you go clean that up,” Tim gestured to the blood covering your wrist where you had landed in the broken glass. “You need help?”

     “No, I got it,” You nodded, walking towards the bathroom as you heard Tim make the call.

     “911, what’s your emergency?”

     “This is off-duty officer Tim Bradford, badge 34831. I need a unit to my location for a 126. Suspect in custody. Code 4.”

      Tim’s voice faded as you made your way down the hall, shutting the bathroom door after you to access the medicine cabinet behind it.

     You took out the necessary supplies and began cleaning the wound. You stopped in front of the sink, letting your burning eyes close for a moment, massaging your temples. 

     Now that you were alone, you let yourself collapse, bracing your hands against the counter 

     Images flooded your senses. 

     The gag. Paul hitting you from behind. You, young and frightened, huddled on the ground. That gleam in his eyes.

     Your eyes snapped open, your breath coming out fast.

     He’s in custody. You told yourself. He can’t hurt you anymore. 

     You looked at your reflection in the mirror staring wearily back at you, your hands still shaking as you brushed your hair back from your face. Was it hot in here or was it just you?

      Turning your attention back to your wrist, you took a deep breath and continued to dab at the wound.

      You reached for the bandages on the counter. A sheen of sweat broke out on your forehead as you wrapped your arm. 

      You pictured Paul’s grip on you. His words rang in your ears. 

     You’re the same girl you were when I met you. You haven’t changed a bit.

     The room tilted. You swayed on your feet so you sunk down to the ground, leaning your head against the cabinet, the cool wood pressing against your head. 

     You tried to slow your erratic breathing but you couldn’t. You couldn’t—

     The sound of footsteps and voices carried through the door. You were vaguely aware that it was probably the backup here to take Paul away.

     You closed your eyes, your throat tight, you pulse thundering in your ears.

     I’m ok, you tried to tell yourself. I’m ok. I’m ok.

     You were unaware how long you sat like this. You had no concept of time. Your thoughts were wild, images flashing in and out, unable to form conscious ideas. Every breath sending a sharp pain through your body. 

     “Boot?”

     The muffled voice was closer than the others had been. 

     “Boot?” The voice was louder now. You registered Tim at the door. He knocked once. Twice. 

     “Boot, I’m coming in,” he shouted, his voice laced with worry. The door was shoved open. 

     “Dammit,” he cursed, seeing your state. You felt him getting closer to you, but you didn’t look up as he knelt by you, his concerned expression taking in yours.

     “Hey, look at me,” Tim coaxed. “(Y/l/n), breathe.”

     He seemed miles and miles away. There was a pause.

     “Hey, Boot, I got another test for you,” he spoke quickly, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “I want you to tell me the most annoying person we work with.”

     “What?” You rasped, barely hearing him. 

    “Bishop’s an easy target,” he said. “And Lopez is a slob, so you can’t go wrong there. West’s got the whole daddy issues thing. Don’t even get me started on Nolan—”

     You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry.

     “And then there’s me. I mean, I’m annoying right?”

     You breathed a shaky laugh, opening your eyes slowly. 

     Tim smiled. “Oh so you agree? It’s ok, Boot, you can say me. Go ahead, I can take it.”

     When you didn’t say anything, Tim kept talking. “Personally I’d go for Detective Coleman. The man makes double what I do and I’m convinced he doesn’t own a decent looking tie.”

     “L-like the—the green one from last week,” you managed, trying to slow your breathing.

     “Leprechauns would call it tacky,” Tim agreed. “Now, since we’ve discussed this from all angles I’m going to need you to choose wisely. Because this is going to go on your evaluation for today.”

     You gulped. “Are—are you going to get me fired if I say you?”

     Tim let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “I knew it. Guess who’s going back to long-sleeves on Monday?”

     “In this heat wave? You—you wouldn’t dare,” you joked, sniffing.

     “I don’t know, I am the most annoying person you work with—sounds like something I might do.”

     You laughed again, this time the sound coming out less strained. You focused on taking deep breaths, feeling your heart rate return to normal. 

     “There you go.” Tim stood up, offering his hand to you for the second time that day. You gripped his arm as he pulled you up onto shaky legs.

     “Thanks,” you mumbled, embarrassed to have had your TO see you like this now that your head was clearer. 

     “For what, doing my job?”

     You smiled weakly at him, running a hand along your forehead. “Sorry for um—”  

     “Having a normal reaction to a highly emotional situation? Don’t apologize for being human,” Tim said firmly, his forehead creased.

     “So, he’s gone?” You’re voice came out small.

     Tim’s expression softened. “He’s gone.”

     You nodded again, looking at the floor.  Tim sighed, reaching an arm out. “Come here.”

You took a step towards him and then you were in his arms, his embrace strengthening you as he rubbed your back. You stood there like that, not wanting this to end. Not wanting to put distance between you again. Finally, he pulled back and looked down at you, his gaze weighted, before taking a few steps towards the door. You looked over Tim’s shoulder.

     “Hey, (Y/n), look at me.” Tim said. You brought your gaze up to meet his. “He is never going to hurt you again, ok? I’ll make sure of that.”

      You let your eyes fall closed, feeling ashamed that you had been so affected. That Tim had to handle all of this for you. “I know. And I’ll understand if after…all this, you don’t see me fit to—to be a police officer anymore.”

     Tim’s eyes hardened, his voice hardening with them. “With all do respect, Boot, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. I meant every word of what I said back there—you’re a survivor. All I saw tonight is that you are a brave and intelligent woman who just so happens to have a scumbag of an ex-boyfriend. Don’t let it define you because then he wins. You’re a great cop, (Y/l/n). It’s rookies like you who make the force as strong as it is.”

     You listened to Tim speak. He sounded so…passionate. Bishop’s words came back to you.

     Tim might like you more than he’s willing to let you—or himself—in on.

     You desperately wanted that to be true, now more than ever. He’d been so kind to you in this past hour—staying with you, rescuing you, reassuring you, bringing you back from whatever dark place you had just been in. 

     And then this. Talking about you like he…like he really cared about you. And maybe it was just because he felt like as your training officer he had to protect you. But in the moment, it felt like maybe it could be more than that. 

    “So what I’m hearing is, I’m getting a promotion?” You teased finally, brushing your hair back from your damp face, breaking the silence. 

     Bradford put up a hand. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, you still have a lot to learn from me.”

     You sighed. This was normal, this was comfortable. How you and Tim always acted with each other. You were both relieved and disappointed at the change back into familiar territory. 

     You ran a hand through your hair, stifling a yawn. Saying today had been a long day would’ve been the understatement of the century.

     “Now come on,” Tim flicked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

     “Let me guess, nine p.m. sharp every night?” You teased.

     “That’s not true.”

     You raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Nine-thirty,” he admitted. 

     You giggled, following Tim out of the bathroom and into the hallway which led to the living room.

     You glanced at your bedroom as you passed it, trying not to think about what had happened in there. It was over now, you told yourself. 

     “Since my room is kind of a crime scene, I guess we’re both crashing out here,” you sighed, gesturing to the couch. 

      Silence filled the room and you immediately realized your mistake, cheeks flaming. 

     “Or, right, I guess you can go now. Danger’s over.”

     “Are you kidding?” Tim said. “And get to bed even later? I’m not going anywhere.”

     You stepped into the living room. You were glad Tim was staying. You felt safer with him here, even though you knew it was irrational. 

     “I’ll get the blankets and stuff,” you said, turning back the way you’d came.

     “Let me go with you,” Tim offered.

     “I would but they’re in the closet and I don’t want it to trap you or something,” you said. 

     “You think I can’t take a closet full of your crap? Bring it on,” Tim challenged and you led him down the hall. 

     A few minutes later you returned to the living room, blankets and pillows in tow. Tim helped you pull out the couch bed—you were grateful you’d opted for this couch instead of a regular one—and you stood back, admiring your work. 

     “Take the couch,” you told him. “It was your bed originally.”

     “Not gonna happen.” Tim crossed his arms. “It’s your house. And you’re injured.”

     “I’m fine. And where are you going to sleep? The floor?” You asked him. 

     Tim scanned the room and then sat down on the chair across from the couch-turned-bed. 

     “Are you sure you’re ok on that?” You asked. It didn’t exactly look comfortable for spending hours on.

     “Trust me, Boot, you got the short end of the stick. Have fun sleeping on plywood.” 

      You smiled. “So, what, you’re just going to sit over there and watch me sleep?”

     “I can leave, if you’re—”

     “No,” you’re voice came out faster and more sharp than you’d intended. “I mean, you came all this way, I don’t want you to have to get an Uber home at this hour.”

     You climbed into bed, aware that you were still in your clothes, but not caring enough to change. 

     “We should get some sleep, it’s been a long night,” Tim sighed. He got up and turned the lights off, darkness filling the room. 

     “Damn, boot,” you heard Tim’s voice even though you couldn’t see him anymore. “It’s pitch black in here. You don’t sleep with a light or anything?”

     “Well I don’t usually sleep in my living room,” you pointed out. Then you stifled a laugh. “Wait a minute. Is Officer Tim Bradford afraid of the dark?”

     Tim scoffed. “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

     “Your secret’s safe with me,” you teased.

     “There is no secret,” Tim shot back.

     You winked. “Exactly.”

     “You’re impossible.”

     “Thank you.” You smiled.

     The room fell silent. You heard him sit back down. 

     You laid back, staring up at the ceiling. The seconds ticked by. 

    “Do you—do you think he really would’ve shot me?” You asked, finally.

     “I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “He clearly thought you guys had unfinished business. But guys like that get high on fear—on desperation. He couldn’t have that if you were dead. In his mind, he’d be losing his power over you.”

     He paused. 

     “Besides, I don’t think he would’ve gotten the chance,” Tim said. “He clearly underestimated the badass-ness of his opponent.”

     You snorted. “Did you just say ‘badass-ness’?”

     “It’s a word!” Tim defended. 

     You laughed, turning over on your side. 

     “But seriously, if you ever need anything, you can always talk to me,” Tim said, sounding earnest. “I mean it.”

     “I may just take you up on that,” you responded. “Do you tell that to all your rookies?”

     You could barely make out Tim’s frame in the dark. “No, not all of them.”

     “I’m going to take that as I’m special,” you said. 

     Your next words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.   

    “You know, Lopez and Bishop had this crazy idea that you had feelings for me,” you said, staring up at the ceiling. “But I told them it was just that—crazy.”

     Tim didn’t speak.

     “It is crazy right?” You asked. You had to know. He still was silent. “Right?”

     “Boot, look—” Bradford started. His voice came out rough, as if he hadn’t talked in days. Your heartbeat was a deafening roar in your ears. 

     “Tim?”

     You could hear more than see Tim’s movements. He stood, pacing the length of the room. Sat back down. Stood up again. Sat. 

     “Dammit, Boot, I can’t do this,” he finished. “I can’t do this right now, (Y/n).”

     Your pulse quickened. He hadn’t denied it. 

     You stood up. 

     And maybe it was having to deny your attraction to your TO for seven months. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through your veins from the attack earlier. Maybe it was because the darkness felt safe and secret—made you feel like you could do anything. Maybe you were just too eager after his small encouragement—or, lack of discouragement.

     But, whatever the reason, you walked over to where Tim sat, kneeled down, looked into his confused, strained eyes, and kissed him. 

     Tim froze, his lips still against yours. And then, almost as if he was afraid you would vanish or startle, he placed his hand gingerly on your waist, and leaned into the kiss.

     And he was kissing you back. Tim Bradford was kissing you back. 

     His free hand went to your hair, deepening the kiss as he gripped you closer. He kissed you like he had been waiting a lifetime.

     It was desperate and raw and passionate—it was perfect.

     You broke apart, both gasping for breath.       

     “Listen, Boot,” Tim started. You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “You’ve had a long and confusing day—”

     You interrupted him. “Yeah. Yeah, I have. But I’m not confused about this.”

     You brought your lips to his again. This time he didn’t hold back. He pulled you closer to him and you felt the warmth of him through his shirt. 

     When you came apart again, he was smiling. 

     “Well, I guess I can check thinking that you hate me off my daily checklist,” you whispered. 

     “I don’t hate you, Boot,” Tim said. “I actually hate how much I don’t hate you.”

     You studied the planes of his face, the light from the hallway illuminating his eyes. His lips. His jawline.

     “Boot—”

     “If you’re going to say that this is a bad idea, I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight,” you said. 

     “I thought that was obvious.” Tim stated matter-of-factly. “I was going to say actually I’d appreciate it if you did turn on a lamp or something, because—”

     You laughed, kissing him again. 

     “But seriously,” Tim continued. “You know we can’t do this.”

     “Why not?” You pouted. “If it’s what we both want.”

     “It’s not about what we want—we could be putting both of our careers in jeopardy.”

     You knew he was right. Of course he was right. 

     “But is it—what you want?” 

     “God yes,” Tim blurted, standing up, his voice strained. “It’s what I’ve wanted from the moment I started training you. Do you know how hard it’s been trying to put distance between us and deny every damn thing when all I wanted to do was—”

     He broke off, running a hand along his hair. 

     “Then do it.” Your heart pounded in your chest. “You’ll only be my TO for a few more months, we’ll just keep it a secret until then. No one has to know.”

     Tim looked at you. 

     “Ok you’re right, Bishop and Lopez will totally know something’s up,” you admitted.

     “I guess I’ll just have to transfer,” Tim joked.

     “What happened to ‘Tim Bradford finished what he starts’?” You asked.

     “Oh I intend to do just that,” Tim whispered. “Are we really thinking about doing this?”

     You thought about the consequences you could face—Tim could face—if it got out that you and your training officer were romantically involved. You knew it would be a huge risk—one that could get you cut from the program.

     You looked at Tim. He was watching you like he never wanted to let you go again. You thought about how long you’d wanted this, even if you didn’t fully know it until tonight.

     And the decision seemed clear.

     “Yeah,” you beamed. “Yeah I think we are.”

     He cupped your face in his hand, his fingers warm against the back of your neck. Your eyes closed against his touch. You felt comfort for the first time in hours.

     “You need rest,” Tim whispered and your eyes fluttered open. “As much as I’d love to do this all night.”

     You nodded, backing up towards your bed. Tim ran a hand through his hair again and then sat back down in the armchair.

    “What’re you doing?” You asked him.

    “Going to bed,” Tim answered, as if it was obvious. 

    “Get over here,” you gestured, rolling your eyes at him.

    “I was hoping you’d say that,” Tim smiled. 

     You climbed into bed beside him, pulling the covers over both of you.

     You lay your head on Bradfords chest. You could feel his heartbeat in your ear as you closed your eyes.     

    “You know, this will kind of be like doing undercover work—minus the threat of getting killed,” you said. 

     “I don’t know about that—I wouldn’t put anything past an angry Sergeant Grey.”

     “We’ll just have to be so in-character that we never find out,” you said. 

     “I’ll make sure to be extra tough on you next shift,” Tim agreed. 

     “And that’s different from any other day how?” You shot back, sitting up. 

     “Hey, training rookies is a sacred duty and I take that very seriously. If you think I’m going to throw your education out the window simply because—”

     You shut him up by pressing your lips to his. You echoed his earlier words. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

     Tim shook is head slightly, eyes roaming over your face. 

     “What?” You asked.

     “You’re so beautiful, (Y/n),” Tim breathed. “I’m so glad I can finally tell you that.”

     “Me too,” you said. “Even if it took…this for it to happen.”

     “Speaking of which, maybe I’ll take a sick day tomorrow,” Tim said. “Since there’s no way Grey—or myself—is letting you go to work. What’d you say?”

     You wanted to fight him, say you were fine and you could make it to your shift the next day. But the promise of taking a sick day with Tim was to tempting to pass up. 

     “I say I’m glad your house is being repainted,” you teased. “Because then you’ll have to stay with me.”

     Tim smiled knowingly. “My house isn’t being repainted, Boot. And I’m all yours.”

     You grinned, laying back down and resting your head back against Tim. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

     You felt safe, protected in his arms. 

     The rest would come. Dealing with what had happened tonight. Starting your secret relationship with Tim. Eventually facing everyone at work who had heard the news and would want to ask if you were ok. And you would be ok.

     But for now, this was enough. He was enough. 

     “Tim?” You whispered.

     “Hmm?”

     You struggled for words to fit the gravity of what you were feeling for him. “Thanks for…everything.”

     “What are TOs for,” Tim shrugged. 

     “Apparently keeping the night light business afloat.” You giggled at the look on Bradford’s face. 

     “Shut it, Boot.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed loves!! i’m so down bad for tim it’s not even funny 😵‍💫

[girl-of-many-fandoms]

I need more tim Bradford from you

His Achilles Heel

Pairing: Tim Bradford x Reader

Summary: Y/N gets injured while on the job and Tim is immediately worried.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort | Angst Turned Fluff | Established Relationship.

MASTERLIST

~~~~~~~~~

The second Tim saw the blood, he stopped breathing.

It was chaos—sirens blaring, shouting across radios, the suspect cuffed and screaming obscenities. But all Tim could focus on was you, slumped against the side of the squad car, clutching your side with a pale, shaking hand.

“No, no, no—hey—hey!” he was at your side in seconds, kneeling, pressing his hands over yours to apply pressure. “What happened? Who shot you?”

“Just—grazed me,” you gritted out, trying to smile. “Got cocky in the hallway. I’m okay, Tim.”

His jaw clenched. “You are not okay.”

You tried to sit up straighter, stubborn as always. “Seriously, it’s not—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked. “Don’t do that. Don’t downplay it to protect me.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “I wasn’t…”

“You were.” His voice was low, trembling with emotion. “You always do. You laugh off pain, act like you’re made of steel, and it’s killing me.”

You reached up, fingers brushing his jaw. “Tim…”

“I need you to stop scaring the hell out of me,” he whispered, leaning into your touch. “I can’t lose you. You get that? You’re not just my partner, you’re—” His throat bobbed. “You’re everything.”

You smiled then, even through the pain. “So… this mean I’m your emergency contact now?”

Tim huffed a weak laugh and pressed his forehead against yours, voice choked with relief. “Yeah. And the one I wanna come home to. Always.”

“Then help me up, Bradford. I need to survive this graze so we can argue about the thermostat later.”

He kissed your forehead, gently, reverently. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “More than anything.”

~~~~~~~~~

If you'd like to be added to The Rookie's taglist, let me know so that you can be notified when I post anything related to that show <3.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Daughters First Festival || Zuko ||

A/n: Bless those who worked hard on the movie, FUCK PARAMOUNT FOR BEING GREEDY ASSHOLES. Sidenote: If you are going to watch the leaks then please find away to support only the people that worked hard. They don't deserve any hate....but fuck paramount.

Your daughter’s first memory of the Fire Lord Festival is not the crowds.

It’s not the banners or the drums or the way the palace glows like a living ember once the sun begins to set.

It’s your hand.

Small fingers wrapped around yours, sticky with candied plum syrup, her other hand clutched tightly in her father’s sleeve like she’s afraid he might disappear into the noise if she lets go.

Zuko keeps glancing down at her.

Not in the stiff, ceremonial way he used to glance at crowds, no...this is softer. Quieter. Like he’s counting breaths, grounding himself through the warmth of her grip.

“She’s staring,” he murmurs to you, leaning down just enough that only you can hear. “Is she overwhelmed?”

Your daughter looks up at him at the sound of his voice, eyes wide and bright, cheeks flushed from excitement and heat. She doesn’t say anything—she’s still at the age where words come slowly but she squeezes his sleeve tighter and grins.

You smile. “She’s amazed.”

Zuko exhales. “Okay. Good.”

He says it like he’s passing some invisible test, shoulders less tense.

The Fire Lord Festival has been rebuilt from the ground up, no displays of dominance, no roaring infernos meant to intimidate. Instead, there’s warmth. Lanterns shaped like dancing flames. Street performers bending fire into floating koi and drifting petals. Musicians laughing as they play as others danced.

The people bow when they see Zuko.

Not sharply. Not fearfully like they used too, they all now with gratitude.

Your daughter notices.

She pauses, right in the middle of the walkway, and tilts her head as yet another group lowers themselves respectfully before her father.

She looks up at him, confused.

“Daddy?” she asks, soft and uncertain.

Zuko stops instantly. “Yes?” he answers, kneeling so they’re eye level, completely unconcerned with the fact that he’s halting the Fire Lord procession.

“Why… people do that?”

Your heart tightens.

Zuko doesn’t hesitate. “Because I help take care of them,” he says simply. “And because they’re being polite. But you don’t have to do it back unless you want to.”

She considers this very seriously, cheeks puffed and then she waves.Just a small, enthusiastic wave, fingers wiggling like she’s greeting duck-turtle hatchlings.

The crowd laughs.

Zuko blinks for a moment then laughs too, a quiet, breathless sound that looks like it surprises him every time it happens.

“That works,” he says.

She beams like she’s solved something important.

Aang arrives later, a grin already plastered on his face as he comes gliding down into the festival on a current of air that sends streamers fluttering and children squealing. He lands lightly, already smiling, already barefoot, already radiating a joy that feels impossible to contain.

“Aang,” you greet warmly.

Zuko straightens instinctively but not stiffly. Not like he used to.“Aang,” he says, nodding.

Your daughter stares, wide eyes, head tilted back as she kept her gaze only on him.

Aang crouches immediately, eyes lighting up. “Whoa. You must be the famous one.”

She let's out gasp then presses herself closer to Zuko’s leg, peeking out with curiosity.

“This is my daughter,” Zuko says, pride threading through every word. “And...” He clears his throat. “—this is Aang. The Avatar....My friend

Her eyes widen.“Va-tar,” she repeats carefully.

“That’s me!” Aang grins. “Do you wanna see something cool?”

Zuko glances at you, hesitant. Protective.

You nod. “She’ll be okay.”

Aang lifts his hands slowly, gently, and forms a tiny swirl of air that lifts a single lantern ribbon into a floating loop. It spins lazily, harmless and beautiful.

Your daughter gasps. She reaches out instinctively, fingers brushing the ribbon as it drifts. She then explodes in giggles.

“Again!” she demands, voice full and delighted now.

Zuko watches the whole thing like he’s seeing the world rewritten in front of him.

Aang catches his eye and smiles soft, knowing.

“You’re doing good,” Aang says quietly.

Zuko swallows. Nods once.

As night falls, the lanterns are released.

Your daughter sits on Zuko’s shoulders now, tiny hands tangled in his hair as she points at the sky.

“Fire stars!” she shouts.

“They’re lanterns,” Zuko corrects gently. Then pauses. “But… yeah. Fire stars.”

You stand beside him, your arm around his waist, feeling the steady heat of him beneath your palm—not the wildfire it once was, but a home.

The people cheer as the sky fills with drifting light.

Your daughter claps.

She leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Zuko’s head, entirely unprompted.

Zuko freezes.

You feel him go still beneath your touch.

Then his shoulders shake.

He doesn’t cry. Not exactly.

But his voice is thick when he says, “I’m glad she remembers this.”

You rest your head against his arm. “She will cherish this.”

He looks at you then looks at you. “When I was her age,” he says softly, “my memories were… different.”

You squeeze his hand. "These are hers,” you reply. “Because of you.”

He nods, unable to speak for a moment.

Your daughter yawns, finally, eyelids drooping as the last lanterns fade into the dark.

She curls against his head, half-asleep.“Daddy?” she murmurs.

“Yes,” he answers instantly.

“Fire… pretty.”

He smiles. “Yes,” he says. “It is.”

And for the first time, standing in the heart of the Fire Nation with his family wrapped around him, Zuko believes it, not as a ruler, not as a symbol, but as a father watching his child grow up in a world he helped make kinder.

This is the festival she remembers.Warm hands. Soft light. Laughter.

And a father who never lets go.

[multific]

The King’s Mate

Summary: A desperate human escapes the arena and finds the one person he should never have threatened, the King’s mate.

Your son is warm against your chest.

Even through the thin cloth wrapped around him, you can feel the gentle rise and fall of his tiny body as he sleeps. His small claws curl softly against your skin. Every few breaths, he makes a quiet little noise, something between a sigh and a hum.

You stroke the smooth ridges along the side of his tiny head.

“Shh, I'm here.”

The room around you is quiet and safe.

Your home sits deep within the structure, far from the roaring arena where warriors prove their strength. Your mate made sure of that when your belly first began to grow with new life.

Still, you know the sounds of the arena when they carry through the stone.

Roars. Metal. The echo of violence.

Today is one of those days.

You shift slightly on the bedding and wince.

The healer told you to rest. Your body is still recovering from bringing your son into the world only days ago. Your abdomen aches if you move too quickly. Your muscles feel weak. Everything inside you still feels tender.

But you do not mind the pain.

Not when you look down at him.

Your son.

Half human. Half Yautja.

Perfect.

He yawns, opening a tiny mouth filled with barely visible little teeth. You laugh softly and press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You are going to rule the stars one day,” you murmur.

A sudden crash echoes through the corridor.

Your body freezes.

Your heart begins to beat faster.

That sound did not belong here.

Your home is guarded. Secure. No one comes here without permission.

Another sound follows.

Footsteps.

Running.

Your stomach tightens as fear fills your chest.

Then the door bursts open.

A human man stumbles inside.

He is covered in blood. Some of it is clearly not his own. 

His clothes are torn and dirty. His chest heaves as he drags air into his lungs like a drowning man who has just broken the surface of the water.

For a moment, the two of you simply stare at one another.

Shock locks your body in place.

His eyes widen.

Then they drop to the small shape in your arms.

Everything changes in his face.

Recognition.

Hatred.

“You,” he breathes.

Your grip tightens around your son.

The man laughs. The sound is ugly and sharp.

“Oh, that is rich. The king’s little pet.”

Your heart begins to pound harder.

“Please. Leave.”

Instead, he steps further into the room.

Your son stirs at the rising tension. A small whimper escapes him.

The man notices.

His smile grows wider.

“That thing yours? Half one of those monsters?”

Your son begins to cry.

The sound slices through your heart.

You pull him closer to your chest, rocking him instinctively.

“It is alright,” you whisper desperately. “Mama’s here. It’s alright.”

“Shut that thing up!” the man snaps.

Your eyes fill with tears.

“Please,” you say again.

He runs a hand through his dirty hair and begins pacing like a trapped animal.

“I saw the fights, I saw what they do. What they make people do.”

His gaze snaps back to you.

“But you.”

He points at your son.

“You sleep with them. Have babies with them.”

The words drip with disgust.

Your son cries harder at the shouting.

You feel your fear growing.

“You are going to help me,” the man says suddenly.

You shake your head.

“No.”

“Yes, you are.”

He steps closer.

“You are their queen or whatever they call you. That means you can get me out of here.”

Your pulse hammers in your ears.

“No,” you repeat.

His face twists with anger.

“You do not get a choice!”

He lunges forward.

That is the moment your instincts finally take over.

You turn and run.

Your son clutched tightly against your chest.

Pain flashes through your abdomen the second you move too fast. Your body protests violently after the recent birth.

But adrenaline drowns it.

Behind you, the man shouts.

“Hey! Get back here!”

Your bare feet slap against the cold floor as you race into the corridor.

You know this place.

He does not.

You run left.

Then right.

Through a long hall lined with carved stone.

Your son cries loudly against your chest, but you keep whispering to him between ragged breaths.

“It’s alright… Mama’s got you… Mama’s got you…”

Behind you, the footsteps continue.

He is still chasing you.

“Stop! You are going to help me whether you like it or not!”

Your lungs burn.

Your abdomen aches worse with every step.

But then you see them.

Warriors.

Three towering Yautja are standing guard at the far end of the corridor.

Relief floods your chest.

You stumble toward them.

“Help!”

The warriors turn instantly.

Their masks tilt as they assess the situation in a heartbeat.

Then the man bursts around the corner behind you.

Weapons lift.

The warriors move.

And the hunt is over.

You collapse to your knees the moment safety surrounds you.

Pain spreads through your abdomen as exhaustion crashes over you.

Your son wails in your arms.

Then another presence arrives.

A towering shadow moving with terrible purpose.

Your mate.

The King.

He drops to one knee beside you immediately, massive hands gentle as they steady your shaking body.

His deep voice rumbles with alarm.

“My Queen.”

You look up at him, breathless and trembling.

“There was a man. He escaped the arena.”

Behind you the human begins shouting again as the warriors hold him.

Your mate slowly rises to his full height.

The temperature in the corridor seems to drop.

“You entered my Queen’s home,” the King says.

The human laughs nervously.

“You are monsters. All of you!”

The King says nothing more.

His wrist blades extend with a soft metallic click.

The man’s shouting ends moments later.

Silence returns.

Then your mate kneels beside you again.

His large hand cups the side of your face with infinite care.

“You are safe.”

But your body is still shaking.

You glance down the corridor toward your home.

And suddenly it does not feel safe anymore.

Your whole body trembles.

The world around you feels distant, muffled by the pounding of your heart. Your son cries against your chest, his tiny claws gripping the fabric of your clothing as he presses himself into you.

“It’s alright,” you whisper weakly.

But your voice shakes.

Large hands gently touch your shoulders.

The King kneels in front of you again, his towering frame shielding you from the rest of the corridor. Even with his mask, you can feel the intensity of his gaze studying you, searching for injury.

His voice rumbles low and deep.

“My Queen… look at me.”

You lift your head slowly.

His mandibles twitch with tension. The usually calm, controlled ruler looks dangerously close to losing that control entirely.

“You ran,” he says.

You nod.

“He came into the house. He just barged in. I didn’t know what to do.”

Your arms tighten around your son instinctively.

“He started yelling. He scared the baby.”

Your son whimpers as if remembering the moment.

The King leans closer, one large claw carefully brushing the small ridges of the infant’s head.

The touch is gentle.

“Our son,” he murmurs softly.

Your baby hiccups between cries.

Then his attention returns to you.

“You are hurt.”

It is not a question.

You shake your head quickly.

“No. Just tired.”

But as you try to stand, pain flares sharply through your abdomen.

You gasp.

The King moves instantly.

Before you can protest, strong arms slide beneath you and lift you effortlessly from the ground.

Your breath catches.

“I can walk,” you insist weakly.

His deep voice answers immediately.

“No.”

You are already resting securely against his broad chest, your son still tucked safely between you.

“You should not have been running.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

The King begins walking down the corridor, warriors falling into step behind him.

“You had the choice of calling for guards,” he replies.

“He was already inside.”

That stops him for half a second.

Just long enough for the tension in his body to grow.

His mandibles tighten slightly.

“He entered our home,” the King repeats quietly.

“Yes.”

A low growl vibrates deep in his chest.

“You were alone.”

You swallow.

“Yes.”

The growl deepens.

The warriors behind him remain very silent.

Your mate continues walking, but you can feel the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“He frightened you,” the King says.

“He frightened our son,” you answer softly.

Your baby makes a soft little sound as if agreeing.

The King glances down.

His massive hand gently adjusts the blanket around the small infant.

For a moment, his expression softens.

Then you whisper the thought that has been sitting heavy in your chest.

“I don’t want to go back there.”

The King stops walking.

The corridor falls completely silent.

He looks at you.

“Explain.”

Your voice trembles slightly.

“He got in too easily. I thought it was safe but it wasn’t.”

You glance at your son.

“What if someone else comes?”

Your eyes return to your mate.

“I cannot protect him alone.”

Something changes in the King’s posture.

The words strike him deeper than any weapon.

“My Queen, you were never meant to protect him alone.”

“I know, but today I had to.”

Your mate exhales slowly.

You can feel the guilt settling heavy in his chest.

“My warriors failed.”

“They didn’t,” you say quickly. “The man escaped the arena.”

“That is failure.”

His voice hardens with quiet fury.

“He should have died before he ever reached this level.”

You reach out and gently touch the side of his jaw.

“It’s over now.”

The King stares at you for a long moment.

Then he begins walking again.

“We will not return to that home.”

Relief floods through you.

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Your mate turns down a different corridor, one that leads deeper into the royal section of the complex.

“You will have a new residence. Far from the arena. Far from the prisoners.”

Your chest tightens with gratitude.

“Thank you.”

The King glances down at you.

“I do not refuse my Queen.”

Soon, you reach a wide chamber filled with soft light.

The healer waits inside.

The moment she sees you being carried, she rushes forward.

“My King.”

Her eyes move quickly over your body.

“My Queen, what happened?”

“An intruder,” the King answers.

The healer’s expression darkens.

“Put her here,” she says, gesturing to a large resting platform.

Your mate carefully lowers you onto the bedding.

You finally release a long breath.

The healer gently examines your abdomen.

You tense slightly when she presses the tender muscles.

“You ran too soon after birth,” she says.

“I know,” you admit.

“But the baby is fine,” you add quickly.

The healer smiles softly.

“Yes. He is strong.”

She looks up at the King.

“Your Queen is not injured. Only exhausted. Her body is still healing.”

The King stands very still beside the bed.

“Will she recover?”

“Yes,” the healer says calmly. “She simply needs rest.”

You already feel the exhaustion pulling at your eyelids.

Your mate notices immediately.

He kneels beside the bed again.

“You should sleep.”

You glance down at your son.

“He’ll wake soon.”

“I will watch him.”

You hesitate.

The King reaches out and gently brushes your hair away from your face.

“You are safe here.”

The words settle deep inside you.

For the first time since the intruder burst through your door, your body begins to relax.

You carefully place your son beside you on the bedding.

He squirms sleepily but does not wake.

You lie down slowly.

Your mate remains beside the bed like a silent guardian.

Your last sight before sleep takes you is the King watching over both of you.

Unmoving.

Unbreakable.

Protecting everything that belongs to him.

Sleep takes you quickly.

Your body needed it more than you realised. The moment your eyes closed, exhaustion pulled you under like deep water. The ache in your muscles fades into the background and the frantic fear that once filled your chest finally loosens its grip.

For a time, everything is quiet.

Then something wakes you.

Absence.

Your arm reaches out across the bedding automatically, searching for the warm little shape that had been curled beside you.

Your hand touches empty fabric.

Your eyes snap open.

Panic crashes through your chest so fast it steals the air from your lungs.

You push yourself upright.

Pain fills your abdomen, but you ignore it completely.

“Where is he?”

Your voice comes out breathless.

Your gaze flies around the chamber.

Then you see them.

Across the room, near a large window carved into the stone wall, your mate stands with something small and wrapped in his arms.

Your son.

The King holds the infant carefully against his chest, one massive hand supporting the baby’s back while the other steadies his tiny head.

Relief floods your body so powerfully that you nearly collapse back onto the bedding.

Your heart slows.

“Oh.”

The sound escapes you in a soft breath.

Your son is awake.

He is not crying.

Instead, he makes a series of soft babbling noises while waving his tiny arms.

Your mate tilts his head slightly as if studying him.

The baby squeaks.

The King rumbles something back in the deep clicking language of his people.

Your son answers with another little noise.

For a moment, you simply stare.

They look like they are having a conversation.

You watch your enormous, battle-hardened mate gently adjust the small blanket wrapped around the baby.

The baby makes another bubbling sound.

The King replies again.

You cannot help the small laugh that escapes you.

Your mate turns his head.

His gaze lands on you instantly.

“You are awake.”

His voice is quieter now, softer than it was in the corridor earlier.

You nod slowly.

“You stole him.”

“I protected him.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“From me?”

The King walks back toward the bed.

“You were sleeping.”

He kneels beside you again and gently places the baby into your arms.

Your son immediately curls against your chest like a tiny magnet finding its place.

He lets out a satisfied little grunt.

You kiss the top of his head.

“I was terrified when I woke up,” you admit.

The King watches you carefully.

“My Queen, you are not alone here.”

“I know.”

You glance up at him.

“But I did not know if someone had taken him.”

Your mate’s posture stiffens slightly.

“No one will ever take him.”

You believe him.

Still, your arms tighten around the baby instinctively.

Only then do you notice the small tray sitting beside the bed.

Food.

Warm broth. Fresh fruit. Soft bread.

Your stomach growls loudly.

You blush slightly.

The King tilts his head.

“You have not eaten.”

“I forgot.”

“You should not forget.”

He gestures toward the tray.

“Eat.”

You shift carefully on the bedding, still cradling your son while you reach for the bowl of broth.

The warmth spreads through your hands.

The first sip makes you realise just how hungry you actually are.

You eat slowly while your mate watches the two of you.

Your son babbles again between small, sleepy movements.

The King answers him once more.

“What are you telling him?” you ask with a smile.

“I am explaining the world.”

You laugh softly.

“He’s three days old.”

“He should begin learning early.”

You take another sip of broth.

“And what has he said in return?”

Your mate pauses.

“He disagrees with many things.”

That makes you laugh.

When the tray is finally empty, your body feels much stronger than before.

You carefully set the bowl aside.

Then you reach out and gently touch your mate’s arm.

“You stayed with us.”

“I will always stay with you.”

But something in his voice feels heavier than usual.

You study his face.

“What is wrong?”

The King lowers his gaze slightly.

For a moment, he says nothing.

Then he finally speaks.

“I failed you.”

Your heart sinks.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes. A human entered our home. You ran through the halls with our newborn child while your body was still healing. That should never have happened.”

You shake your head.

“Escapes happen.”

“Not near my Queen.”

Your mate looks at you again.

The intensity in his eyes burns stronger now.

“If you had fallen… if the human had reached you…”

He does not finish the sentence.

He does not need to.

You reach for his hand.

“I’m alright.”

“But you were afraid.”

You nod honestly.

“Yes.”

The King’s chest rises slowly with a deep breath.

Then he straightens slightly.

“I will correct my mistake.”

You tilt your head.

“How?”

“You will live further from the arena.”

Your eyes brighten.

“New residence?”

“Yes.”

His voice grows steadier now, filled with determination.

“A larger place. Safer. Guarded by my most trusted warriors.”

Your son makes a soft chirping noise as if approving the idea.

Your mate glances at him.

“You will have space to grow,” he tells the baby.

Then his gaze returns to you.

“And my Queen will have peace.”

Your chest warms.

“You would really do that?”

“I would build you a palace if you asked.”

You smile softly.

“I don’t need a palace.”

Your fingers gently trace the tiny ridge along your son’s head.

“I just need somewhere safe.”

The King nods once.

“You will have it.”

He stands slowly, towering beside the bed.

“Tomorrow we will move you.”

Your eyes widen.

“Tomorrow?”

“I will not risk another night.”

The determination in his voice makes your heart flutter.

Then his tone softens slightly.

“You will help me make it a home.”

You smile.

“Together?”

“Yes.”

Your son wiggles in your arms again and makes another small babbling sound.

The King looks down at him.

“What does he say now?” you ask.

Your mate pauses.

Then he answers in a serious tone.

“He says he approves of the idea.”

You laugh again, warmth filling the room.

For the first time since the intruder entered your life, you feel something else stronger than fear.

Hope.

A new home.

A safer world.

And a future for the small life sleeping peacefully in your arms.

---

The move happens quickly.

Your mate does not waste time when he makes a decision.

By the next morning, the corridors outside the healer’s chamber are busy with warriors moving supplies. Large crates are carried past the door, along with bundles of soft fabrics and personal items taken from your previous home.

You sit on the edge of the resting platform while holding your son against your chest.

The healer had insisted you eat again before leaving.

Your mate had insisted you rest.

Neither of them seemed interested in arguing.

Now the chamber door slides open.

The King steps inside.

The movement in the room seems to calm immediately around him. Even the warriors in the corridor fall silent as their ruler enters.

Your mate approaches slowly.

His gaze moves first to you.

Then to the small infant in your arms.

“Our son slept well?” he asks.

You smile softly.

“For most of the night.”

Your son makes a small squeaking sound as if responding to the attention.

The King crouches beside you.

One large finger gently brushes the tiny ridges on the baby’s head.

“He is strong,” he murmurs.

“He is loud,” you reply.

That earns a soft rumbling sound from your mate that almost resembles laughter.

“It is time.”

Your stomach flips with nervous excitement.

“The new place?”

“Yes.”

He reaches down and carefully lifts you into his arms before you can even think about standing.

You sigh.

“I can walk a little.”

“You will not.”

You know better than to argue.

Your son remains safely pressed between you and the King’s chest as he carries both of you through the corridors.

The path you take is unfamiliar.

Further from the roaring echoes of the arena.

The sounds of battle slowly fade until the only noise left is the quiet hum of the structure itself and the steady footsteps of the warriors escorting you.

You relax a little more with each turn.

Finally, the King stops before a large set of doors carved with intricate markings.

He nods to the guards.

The doors slide open.

You inhale softly.

The space beyond is enormous.

Light pours through several tall openings in the walls. The chamber is wide and open with high ceilings and smooth stone floors. Several connecting rooms branch off in different directions.

A large resting platform already sits near the centre of the main chamber, covered in thick blankets and soft fabrics.

There are shelves, seating areas, and even a smaller alcove that looks like it was designed specifically for a child.

Your eyes widen.

“It’s beautiful.”

The King steps inside with you still in his arms.

“I hoped you would approve.”

You look around slowly, taking everything in.

“It’s huge.”

“It will hold everything you need.”

You laugh softly.

“It might hold three families.”

“That means our son has room to grow.”

Your heart melts a little.

He carries you over to the resting platform and gently lowers you onto the soft bed.

Your son squirms slightly before settling again.

The King remains standing nearby.

Warriors begin quietly placing crates and supplies around the room.

You look up at him.

“You did all of this overnight?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

His mandibles twitch slightly.

“I gave orders.”

You shake your head in amazement.

“You really are the King.”

His voice grows quieter.

“But I was not a good protector yesterday.”

You sigh.

“That again.”

“Yes.”

He kneels in front of you, his towering form lowering until his eyes are level with yours.

“I must say it.”

Your hand rests gently on your son’s back as you listen.

“I allowed danger to reach my Queen. A human entered our home and frightened you. You were forced to run while still healing from giving life to our son.”

His claws tighten slightly against his thigh.

“That failure belongs to me.”

You study his face.

The fierce warrior who rules countless hunters looks almost troubled.

“My King, you didn’t fail.”

“But the intruder reached you.”

“And you stopped him.”

The King shakes his head slightly.

“You should never have faced that fear.”

You consider his words carefully.

Then you reach forward and place your hand over his much larger one.

“You protected us.”

His eyes soften slightly.

“I should have protected you sooner.”

You squeeze his hand gently.

“Well,” you say quietly, glancing around the new home. “You did a pretty good job fixing the problem.”

That earns another low rumbling sound from his chest.

The King finally stands again.

“This place is further from the arena. No prisoners ever pass this level.”

He gestures toward the large open space.

“There will always be warriors guarding these halls.”

You nod.

“I feel safer already.”

Your son suddenly makes a loud babbling noise.

Both of you look down.

The baby waves his tiny arms dramatically.

The King tilts his head.

“He has something to say.”

“Oh?” you smile. “What now?”

Your mate watches the baby very seriously.

“He demands more space for his territory.”

You laugh out loud.

“He’s a few days old.”

“He is ambitious.”

You gently kiss the baby’s forehead.

“He gets that from his father.”

The King studies the room again.

“You will arrange it as you wish,” he says.

“Arrange it?”

“Yes.”

His voice carries quiet pride.

“This is your home now. You may change it. Build in it. Fill it with whatever makes you comfortable.”

You look around again.

The space suddenly feels even more special.

“Our home,” you whisper.

“Our beginning,” he corrects.

The King steps closer and carefully places one large hand over both you and your son.

The gesture is protective.

Possessive.

Loving.

“My Queen, no harm will reach you here.”

You believe him.

You lean back into the soft bedding while your son curls happily against your chest.

The King remains standing beside you like an immovable guardian.

Battles rage in the arena.

But here, far from the violence, something new begins.

A home.

A family.

And a future for the small life that now sleeps peacefully in your arms.

A/N: The above photo is from Pinterest, I do not own it!

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

[multi-fandom-imagine]

The First Night I saw you || Leon S.Kennedy ||

Long before the cure. Long before the marriage.The night Leon S. Kennedy fell hopelessly, stupidly, permanently in love.

It started with you being stood up, as every messy story apparently.

It happened at a quiet bar on a Friday night.

One of those places with warm lighting, a decent jukebox, and bartenders who didn’t card aggressively because anyone foolish enough to show up sober was clearly there for heartbreak.

You sat alone at a small corner table, nursing a drink you didn’t like,adjusting your dress every few minutes, glancing at the door with shrinking hope.

Your date was an hour late.

Your eyes were soft, brave, pretending not to be disappointed.But your posture, the way your shoulders curled in, the tiny twist of your fingers in your lap told the truth.

You were stood up.

Across the room, halfway through a glass of whisky sat Leon, still wired from a mission that lasted too long. He saw you from the corner of his eye, he didn't mean to focus so much on you. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen a pretty face in a bar but something inside screamed that you were different and then something in him softened, dangerously, irrevocably.

He didn’t approach.

Not yet.

He wasn’t the type to swoop in like some knight, not to mention how he didn't want to look like some creep, not when you looked so heartbroken and were trying so damn hard to hide it.

But when a drunk stumbled past your table and decided you were his new entertainment?

Leon moved

fast.

The Drunk wasn’t subtle but then again no drunk ever is.

“You alone, sweetheart?” he slurred, leaning heavily on your table. “You look like you could use company.”

“I’m fine,” you said, polite but firm.“I’m waiting for someone.” You kept your gaze focused on the glass in your hands.

The drunk laughed.

“No you’re not. I saw you sittin’ here like a lost puppy for an hour...come on baby, don't be like that."

Your shoulders stiffened.You started to gather your things, to leave, to escape, to get away before tears betrayed you,but his hand grabbed your arm.

Hard.

“You don’t walk away when I’m talkin’—”

"Stop it! You're hurting me." You struggled to pull your arm back.

"You're lucky a guy like me is even giving you any passing thought, dressing like some slut."

“Let her go.”

The drunk turned.

And came face to face with Leon S. Kennedy.

Not the rookie cop.

Not the government agent.

Just a man who’d seen enough ugliness in the world to know exactly how to deal with it.

“Oh look,” the drunk sneered, “pretty boy wants to play hero.”

Leon’s eyes didn’t waver.“I said,” he repeated calmly,“let her go.”

The drunk squeezed your arm harder out of spite, pulling you flush to his chest as you stumbled, a pained cry leaving your lips.“Or what?”

Leon’s voice didn’t change.But something colder slid beneath the calm.“Or I’ll make you.”

Then man scoffed letting you go and then he swung,sloppy, wild.

Leon barely had to move, he ducked under the swing then caught the mans wrist with a precise twist, crack.

The guy howled, dropping to his knees cradling his wrist to his chest.

Leon didn’t look at him again, he looked at you.

Only you.

“Are you hurt?” he asked softly, stepping between you and the man like an instinct.

You shook your head, stunned, breath caught in your throat, tears running down your cheeks as you held your arm to your chest. "I....no...I don't think so?"

Leon offered his hand out for you to take, steady, calloused, warm.“Let’s get you out of here.”

Hesitating for a moment, you let out a small sniffle until you finally took it as he lead you outside. The night air was cool against your heated skin.

Leon walked beside you, even though his bike was parked close, even though you were trembling, he didn’t rush you.

He let you breathe.

“You don’t have to take me home,” you said quietly, embarrassment creeping in. "I’m just… I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He shook his head immediately.“You don’t apologize because someone else was an asshole.”

Then softer, his hands shoved into the pocket of his pants.“You deserve better than that.”

Clearing out his throat he then slipped off his jacket placing it on your shoulders then offered a helmet out for you. "Mind if I drive you home? You can say no...I can call someone or you can and-."

Your heart stuttered.You didn’t say no.The helmet was slightly too big.Leon adjusted it for you anyway fingers careful, touches light, like you were something delicate he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.

When he swung his leg over the bike and held out a hand for you to climb on, your stomach fluttered.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured, meeting your eyes over his shoulder.His voice dipped lower.“Please.”

You wrapped your arms around him.He froze for half a breath, surprised, affected and then the engine roared to life.

He rode slower than he normally would.Carefully.Every time you loosened your hold, he gently tapped your hand.

“Hold tight,” he’d repeat, voice vibrating through your chest.“I’ve got you.”

And you believed him.

When he pulled up to your building, he didn’t immediately let go.He waited for you to climb off first.Waited for you to steady yourself.Waited for you to take off the helmet, still dazed.

He should’ve asked for your number.

He should’ve.

Instead, he just smiled, soft, crooked, far too handsome. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

You blinked.“Will I… see you again?”

Leon opened his mouth.Closed it.Something flickered behind his eyes, fear? hope? longing?

Maybe the belief he didn’t deserve something good.

Then he said the dumbest thing he’s ever said in his life.“…I hope so.”

While in his mind cursing that he should have grabbed your number.

You gave him a soft smile, a kiss to his cheek and walked in side the building. Leon waited by his bike, waited to make sure you got in safe and when he saw you wave from the window he finally rode off, gripping the handlebars too tightly, one truth settled deep into his bones.

He had fallen for you in one night.

Hard.

Fast.

Hopelessly.

And he had no idea who you were.

[m6cabre]

shower.

leon kennedy x wife!reader : none

she was a woman of habit. she did the same routine each day. maybe the products changed, but the scents were all similar. she always smelt of vanilla, especially when she was fresh out of the shower.

she had just exited their bathroom, just in her panties and a stolen shirt, still brushing her hair.

"do you wanna go out for milkshakes? i want a milkshake," she stated, wandering to turn on her little candle warmer on her nightstand.

when she approached the bed, he got a whiff of her. she smelt like vanilla icing. she reeked of it.

"whatever you wanna do, honey," he whispered, hand reaching over to grab her thigh, tugging her onto the bed.

"or maybe you can just make me one," she stated, tossing her hair brush aside.

"in a few minutes," he muttered, shoving his nose into her chest. she smelt so good, so much like herself. sure, he had met other women that smelt like vanilla, but it was never the same as her.

she laughed, fingers running through his hair.

"you're getting gray hairs," she teased.

"i wonder who's causing them..." he retorted gently, nose brushing against the base of her neck.

"people at work?" she asked.

"yeah, honey," he replied softly. leon knew well she was playing stupid, but he was too busy memorizing her scent once again to care.

little drabble bc i got a new body scrub and i lwk smell like vanilla heaven rn

[simple-dorito]

Had this in the drafts for a bit, might as well drop this here.

You: *sees Leon slip on his wedding band* and when did you get hitched? And you didn’t tell me?!

Leon: *raises his brow* we’re not doing this now.

You: yes we are, partner.

Leon: alright then partner, where’s your wedding band?

You: *slips off you glove to show him a wedding band matching his own* I never take mine off.

Grace: wait are you married to other people or?

Leon; *points to you* I married this idiot as fast as I could.

You: *points to him* and I said yes because look at him, who could say no to that face.

Grace: old dad jokes and everything?

You: …yes.

[multific]

The Ring in the Drawer

Summary: You discover a ring hidden in Leon’s drawer, bought months ago but never used.

You are not snooping.

At least, that is what you tell yourself.

You are just looking for batteries.

Leon’s office smells like leather and gun oil. Everything is organised. Too organised. Nothing is out of place.

Except for the top right drawer.

It sticks slightly when you pull it open.

Inside, underneath a folded document and an old watch, there is a small black box.

Your breath stops.

You stare at it for a long moment before picking it up. It is heavier than you expect. Your fingers shake just slightly as you open it.

The ring is simple. Elegant.

A clean band with a diamond that catches the light without screaming for attention.

It is exactly your taste.

Your chest tightens.

You do not hear him at first.

“What are you doing?”

His voice is calm.

You turn slowly, still holding the open box.

He freezes when he sees it.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

You do not smile. You do not cry. You just look at him.

“Were you going to tell me?” you ask softly.

He runs a hand through his hair. That nervous gesture he only does when he is cornered emotionally.

“I wasn’t sure,” he admits.

“Not sure you wanted to?” you tease lightly, though your heart is pounding.

His eyes snap to yours.

“Don’t.”

You soften immediately.

“Then what?”

He walks toward you slowly, like approaching something fragile.

“I bought it months ago, saw it. Thought of you. Didn’t think past that.”

Your fingers tighten around the box.

“Why didn’t you ask?”

He exhales quietly. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just honest.

“Because I’m good at a lot of things. But promising someone forever?”

He shakes his head faintly.

“I don’t exactly have the best track record with people staying alive around me.”

There it is.

Not fear of commitment.

Fear of loss.

You step closer to him.

“Leon.”

His jaw is tight. Controlled. But his eyes betray him. There is something vulnerable there. Something raw.

“I didn’t want to put a ring on your finger and then…” He trails off. He does not finish that sentence.

You reach up and touch his cheek.

“Were you scared?” you ask gently.

“Yeah.”

That word feels bigger than any speech.

You close the box carefully and place it back in his hand.

He watches you closely.

“I just need you.”

Silence fills the room.

Then you do something that makes his breath hitch.

You take the ring from the box.

And you slide it onto your own finger.

His eyes widen slightly. “Sweetheart.”

You look up at him.

“I choose you, not because it’s safe. Not because it’s guaranteed. But because it’s you.”

For a moment, he just stares at your hand. At the ring resting there like it belongs.

Then he steps into you and cups your face with both hands.

He does not kneel.

He does not make a speech.

He kisses you.

Slow. Certain. Deep enough to make your knees weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“I’m not good at this,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

“I can’t promise normal.”

“I don’t want normal.”

His hands slide down to your waist, holding you steady.

“But I can promise, that I’ll come home. Every time I can. I’ll fight like hell to.”

You smile softly.

“That’s enough.”

He presses one more kiss to your lips.

Then, almost like it costs him something and means everything at the same time, he says it.

“Marry me.”

Not loud.

Not grand.

Just him.

And you nod against his mouth, already knowing your answer.

"Yes."

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

[harpsinfinity]

IVE BEEN PLAYING REQUIEM OMG IT'S SO GOOD UGHH

Your husband Leon who, much to your relief, finally makes his way back home to the warmth of your loving arms. He always promised, exchanged quietly the night before whilst tangled in the sheets with you. Stealing soft kisses and even softer touches, lacing fingers with yours to feel the warm metal of the wedding band he slipped on your finger so long ago.

"I'll come back, always do."

The night he returns is always a moment you cherish, one you could never miss. The sensation of his rough palms slide along your skin, slowly and carefully as if Leon were holding something fragile. For the days he was gone you were on his mind; your pretty face, the perfume you wore that seemed to follow him around always.

Just you.

The nights he returned was when he got to hold you close, kiss every inch of soft skin and memorise it until he would never be able to forget the feeling of his lover, including the noises you produced under his ministrations, if Leon could have a CD or playlist of them, he could die a happy man.

When he pushed into you, it was gentle. The both of you getting used to the feel of each other, something that never got old even after all these years spent together. He held your hand, held it tight, as tight as your walls as they clenched around him— as if your body was silently begging, demanding he'd never leave you again.

Oh how good it felt to have his weight on you, trapping you between a wall of hard muscle and the softest sheets money could buy. You clung, fed moans into his ear as Leon did so in yours. Both of your hearts intertwined just like your bodies as you let yourself drown in the intimacy.

Because Leon didn't fuck, he made love.

Leon whispered sweet nothings to you, thrusted slow and deep with meaningful purpose, held you close.

"I missed you, God, I missed you sweetheart."

The agent knew your body like the back of his hand; your weak spots, what got you going, what exactly to groan into your ear to make you tighten and leak around him; he had years of experience in getting to know his wife's body.

He thumbed at your clit when he knew you were close, gaze zeroing in on the way your face contorted in such pleasure and wonder even after all this time, the way your lips parted in that perfect 'o' shape as your body shook and trembled beneath him.

When you came with a call of his name, Leon held you tight, fucking you through your high even when his own came. The two of you tangled together so tightly, so dearly and so lovingly.

The fingers that ran through his hair never failed to eliciting a satisfied hum, even with the silver streaks that now decorated the top of his head.

"You still look handsome to me, my silver fox, always."

Is what you told him when he spotted the first few grey hairs. Your arms were wrapped so nicely around him, your eyes gazing into his with so much love and adoration. All for him, just for him.

Leon Kennedy always had someone to come home to, and that was you.

[harpsinfinity]

Biting Leon's biceps

Out of all the things you couldn't keep yourself from when it came to Leon was his muscles, specifically his biceps. They were just so big and bulky, it was hard not to sink your teeth into them.

At times, it's been out of nowhere. It could be a quiet night in the living room Infront of the TV. Leon could be half asleep when he'd feel your teeth bite into the corded muscle.

The man was used to it, giving a sigh and just letting you do your thing.

"Again, gorgeous?"

"Mhmm."

You'd hum in answer, just enjoying the physique of your lover before detatching yourself from him and pressing a kiss to his scruff.

"Didn't realise I was your new chew toy."

Other times would be when he had you beneath him, on all fours as he rutted into you; fingers circling your twitchy bundle of nerves. It was as if your mind was seeping from your ears from the overwhelming pleasure running through your veins.

So blissed out, when Leon's arm came around in a headlock— not too hard but firm— your first instinct was to sink your teeth into the meat of his bicep, moaning into the skin as the head of his cock slammed to nicely against your g-spot.

"mhh— always bitin' me, so damn good for me."

When you came, you came hard, so hard that afterwards there was a visible mark on Leon's arm. Even if you were a biter, he really loved you.

[saintlea]

Leon, who immediately after being cured of the T-Virus, showed up to his ex-wife’s house.

a/n — pls spare me if it isn’t good. feedback is appreciated unless ur mean

warnings — fingering, a bit of scratching mentioned, biting, marking, he’s a bit rough at the start but he softens, i think that’s it? zero plot!

loud, rough pounding at your door startled you out your sleep, eyes snapping to the clock on your beside.

4:02AM.

who the fuck was knocking at your door this late into the night? It was so late it was pushing being early.

with a grumble you pushed up out of bed, rubbing your eyes. whoever was pounding at your door at this time was gonna get an earful from you.

your porch light didn’t do much to help when you looked out the peephole, the largeness of the frame—undoubtedly a mans—blocked it, casting a shadow over him.

but from what you could see through the darkness, he was broad. shoulders stretched wide, arm large and by his side — fist clenching and opening repeatedly like he was tense.

wedding band on his finger.

hold on—is that..?

you opened the door a fracture, peeking out with equal parts curiosity, confusion, and…concern?

Leon’s eyes immediately went to yours through the crack of the door, looking impatient and pent up.

like a bull trapped in a cage.

“Leon?” you questioned, voice confused but soft as you opened the door wide for him to come in.

you haven’t seen Leon since the divorce was finalised, and it gave you the chance to take in the different…look to him.

more frown lines across his forehead, stubble on his jaw that was clenched tight, grey threaded into his blonde, eyes darker — but that might just be the lighting. you glanced to where his necrosis was, and noticed the lack thereof. no more black, rotted skin. no more black veins.

he looked…well.

“Is everything okay?” you managed to find your voice to ask the question, and the second it left your lips Leon was backing you up into your house, slamming the door shut behind himself.

“Feel better than I have in years.” his rough voice hissed, and before you could even open your mouth to reply—his was on it.

his large hand slid through your hair to the back of your head, lips devouring yours with the intensity of a man who hadn’t stopped thinking about doing this.

placing your hands on his chest with a gasp, he took the chance to push closer against you and slide his tongue into your mouth.

you broke from the kiss with a gasp, looking up at him with surprise, cheeks warming at the feeling of his body pressing against yours.

“Leon, what’s going on?” you breathed, frowning up at him. he frowned back.

“Just— shut up. I need this.” he murmured before pressing his lips back to yours, this time with less force and more desperation.

you were a weak, weak woman—and it was Leon—so you melted into the kiss, hands balling his shirt up at his chest. Leon tightened his fist in your hair as the kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with yours in a sloppy, wet, desperate rhythm.

he pushed you backward until the back of your knees bumped against the edge of the couch, and pushed forward further until you were falling onto your back, him immediately climbing over you. you moaned into the kiss, face scrunching as you slid your hands up to his broad shoulders, pushing at them.

“Leon.” your voice started softly, edging on a warning tone.

He looked down at you with dark eyes, pupils dilated wide and feral. “Stop talking.” he dipped his head to your neck, pressing messy kisses along the column of your throat.

your breath hitched as he kissed at your neck, before squeaking when he scraped his teeth against your neck — the same way he always did.

you felt his hands beginning to glide over the map of your body like he still had it memorised. It made you shiver. “Leon—I haven’t…” you trailed off, staring up at the ceiling before squeezing your eyes shut. “Since we divorced.”

Leon growled, nails scratching down your waist before he gripped your hips. the possessive, feral instinct in him flared in his chest at the implication of your words. you hadn’t been touched by another man in over a year.

God, he was a selfish, possessive bastard.

“Damn fucking right you haven’t.” he murmured against your skin, kissing and biting at every sensitive area—knowing every single one of them like the back of his hand. his hands squeezed at your waist tightly, like he was remembering how it felt to have you in his hands. the cold steel of his wedding band—the one you slid onto his finger—pressed into your skin like it was branding you.

one hand slid up to grope the softness of your breast, rough fingers pinching at your pebbled nipple, making you shiver and moan.

“You’re still so fucking perfect,” he groaned appreciatively, dipping his head into the crook of your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark.

you gasped a high pitched noise, one you hadn’t made in a while.

one that made him want to sink his teeth deeper into your flesh.

he, instead, licked over the mark he just made, soothing the sting before leaning back to admire his handiwork. his mark on his ex wife.

you stared up at him, breathing heavy, before your hands slid over his chest and his shoulders, pawing at his biceps. he wasn’t the only one appreciative of what was in front of him.

he went back to leaving kisses down your body, hands moving to grab at the hem of the shirt you were wearing, yanking it over your body and tossing it aside with no warning. you gasped, arms flying to cover your chest as if you two weren't married for the greater part of a decade.

Leon scoffed at you.

"We were married. Remember?" he huffed sarcastically, hands sliding over your arms as you rolled your eyes.

"That was then." you murmured weakly, and Leon gave you a look before intertwining your hands with his, slowly peeling your arms from your chest.

his gaze roamed over you, more intimately this time — which made you feel more exposed than his devouring gaze did. he let go of your hands so his could roam the smooth expanse of your body before dipping to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

he hooked his fingers, tugging them loose before looking up at you. you nodded, giving him permission. he yanked your shorts the rest of the way, disgarding them somewhere by your shirt.

he leaned back, eyes flickering over your face, flushed with parted lips, to your chest, rising and falling quickly, before meeting the wet patch forming on your panties. for the first time tonight, he smirked.

"She missed me, huh?" Leon cooed, the rough pad of his thumb swiping over your very sensitive clit, making your hips twitch and a soft moan fall from your lips. he smirked wider—practically a grin—at how responsive you were.

pushing your panties to the side, his calloused finger swiped through your folds, collecting your wetness. you bit your lip to stifle an embarrassingly loud moan that wanted to escape.

“This all for me, baby?” he asked, leaning down to pepper kisses along your jaw, softer this time, as his fingers slowly pushed inside of you, immediately curling into the sweet spot inside he knew so well. this time you didn’t stifle it, a loud moan tumbling from your lips, sucking in a shaky gasp and nodding to what he said.

“Of course.” you breathed, head falling back as his fingers began sliding in and out of you, crooking and curling into the spot that had your back arching. something in his chest fluttered at the desperate honesty in your breathy voice, fingers curling deeper inside you.

“Yeah? Good.” His thumb pressed against your clit, twirling tight figure eights as his fingers pumped in and out of you, back arching up into his body—which wasn’t a good thing, his warmth and firm muscles only served to make you dizzier.

your arms wrapped around his neck, one hand drifting to thread through his hair and hold it at the root, giving a small tug in response to him curling his fingers. he grunted at the tug, nipping at your jaw before kissing his way back to your mouth.

he swallowed your moans as he kissed you with a sensual kind of depth, feeling you flutter around his fingers. you were close, he knew it. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yeah.” you squeaked, nodding as the coil in your abdomen wound tighter.

“Yeah?” he pecked a few more kisses on your parted lips, eyes roaming over your face with sickening amounts of adoration. he added more pressure on your clit with his thumb, which pushed you over the edge with a cry of his name, nails digging into his shoulders harshly.

he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your face as you came undone. for him, always for him.

he slowly pulled his fingers from your throbbing cunt, immediately sliding them between your lips. you held onto his wrist, tongue swirling around his digits, tasting the salt of his skin and the taste of yourself.

he groaned, his belt unbuckling with a clink.

“Let me take care of my woman, yeah? My wife.”

[xwtomiewx]

i feel that sleeping with leon would be comfortable, but maybe a little constricting.

he's hold would be strong, so getting away from him would be hard, he's also a light sleeper probably and if u tried going somewhere he would be the first to know. i also feel like he would try to get u to stay so u would need to convince him to let go, like he's definitely a clinger when he's tired.

he would also like having someone sleep on his chest to feel the warmth, that would help with his nightmares or insomnia.

as for clothes, i believe he would prefer to sleep shirtless and with some pants, so while sleeping with ur face against his chest u could have more skin to skin which is great, right? or just get to grope his amazing pecs easier, both r great.

the only downside to sleeping together is that he's most likely an early bird, he would try doing his whole routine without disturbing u, but still it's less time spent cuddling, so it's sad.

i spend way too much time fantasizing about going to bed with him it’s insane.

[rednnedy]

your request link isn’t working for me, but id love to see a fluffy story of leon being a cat dad with his gf (or wife) 😭💗

(i’m in need of something sweet before re9 comes out… i know it’ll be sad)

CAT DAD ✹ Leon Kennedy

SUMMARY: Leon decides to adopt the cat that's been wandering around the DSO headquarters for a few days without telling you anything ‼️ Slightly angsty. Pre RE9, Sherry mentioned, fluff at the end ✹ PAIRINGS: RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader ✹ WORD COUNT: 1883 ✹ Find me on AO3 ✹ Make your RESIDENT EVIL REQUESTS here (information included) ✹ My RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST 💬 Anon, I really hope you like it, and I'm sorry I couldn't post it before RE9 came out... but here you have it!💖 And friendly reminder to be nice on this app! If you don't like something, just scroll it and don't make unnecessary drama out of anything, please, ty. And also: HUGE THANKS FOR 1k 🥹

Leon doesn’t know how you’re going to react when you see him walk into your home with a cat in his arms and two bags full of food, toys, and all kinds of supplies.

Not to mention the bed and the litter box he has in his car.

He sighs.

All he hopes is that you don’t kill him no matter what.

When he steps inside, he closes the door with his foot, clearing his throat before saying anything.

“Love? I’m home!”

The cat purrs in his arms, patting his sleeve with her little paws and making eye contact with him, as if she was really trying to calm him down before she officially met you… or worse: before you officially killed him.

“I know, I know…” Leon murmurs to her. “I promise you’re going to be okay. I’m sure mom’s going to like you… or at least hope so. We had quite a few talks but…” he sighs, nervous. “Fuck: I’m sure she’s going to love you.”

You hear your husband from the kitchen. Quickly, you turn off the stove where you’ve been making dinner and quickly head toward the entrance, drying your hands with a dishcloth.

You freeze completely, in absolute shock, when you see Leon standing at the entrance with an orange cat, probably no older than two years old, in his arms… though you do feel a bit relieved when you notice how calm the animal seems. Very calm.

“Leon?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you holding a cat?”

Leon looks down at the cat as if he’s only just noticed her.

“Oh, the cat, yeah…” he laughs nervously. “Well, you know… That’s a really funny story…”

“Leon Scott Kennedy… Why did you bring a cat home?”

Your husband sighs, giving you a shy smile.

“Before you say anything—”

“You brought a cat home,” you repeat. “Leon, a cat. I thought we agreed no pets until—”

“I can explain!” he blurts out, raising his voice.

You don’t get the chance to say anything else since Leon starts walking immediately. However, you follow him when he walks into the living room, setting the bags down on the table.

The cat, apparently unwilling to be let go, kneads her paws against Leon’s arm. Against the jacket you bought him last week and that, definitely, seems to have a few scratches on it already.

You cross your arms and look up at your husband, who’s definitely completely absorbed stroking the cat.

“She followed me when I left work,” he says defensively, without taking his eyes off her. When you clear your throat, he finally looks at you. “Actually… I’ve been seeing her around the DSO headquarters for a few days now. I’ve been feeding her because she looked way too thin, and she was also really dirty, but today… Fuck… today she didn’t want to leave my side. I even had to take her into the office with me,” you widen your eyes, but you’re not surprised about Leon doing that. “Then, when I was about to head home, she followed me all the way to the car.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else, but he does:

“I couldn’t leave her alone, love...”

“Leon, what if she has an owner or—?”

“Thought about that the very first time I saw her,” he adds quickly. “I noticed she wasn’t wearing a collar, so I stopped by the vet to check if she had a microchip.”

Your eyes widen even more.

Saying you’re in shock is definitely an understatement.

“You took the cat to the vet?”

“Yeah, that’s why I arrived a bit later than usual,” he repeats. “I thought it was the right thing to do before doing anything else. Like… taking a cat and not checking if she had an owner wouldn’t be very much responsible from me.”

You notice the cat shift in his arms, purring and curling up into a little ball while Leon relaxes slightly. 

“They told me she’s about a year old. Considering the conditions I found her in, she’s pretty healthy, just a little underweight... She’s female… and she doesn’t have a microchip,” Leon explains.

“She doesn’t have a microchip, so…?”

“No, she doesn’t,” he repeats, bitting his lower lip. “So… I told them to put one in.”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Leon rubs the back of his neck and takes a small step back, a little startled by your reaction.

Maybe he should’ve asked you first, sure, but…

He’d made up his mind. He couldn’t leave the cat there. And, also, he knows how much you love cats.

“I told them to register it under your name. You know… so she can be your cat.”

That’s the final straw for you.

“What do you mean my cat? Leon… are you listening to yourself?!”

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling a bit more confidently now. “I  also did all that adoption shitty paperwork.”

“Is she…?”

Leon nods again.

“She’s officially part of the Kennedys.”

That really is the last straw for you.

You feel tears fill your eyes

Yes, you and Leon had talked about not adopting a pet for now, especially since he’s been wrapped up in that investigation with Sherry… That exact one he hasn’t told you much about…

You push those intrusive thoughts aside and quickly move toward your husband. You reach out to touch the cat, then pull your hands back, not wanting to make her uncomfortable.

“Can I hold her? If she wants to, of course…”

Leon smiles softly and gently brings the cat closer to you, just as carefully as he’s been handling her all along.

“Here… Hold her properly… She seems to really like being carried…”

To your surprise, the cat settles comfortably in your arms. You stroke her back softly with the back of your hand, trying to make her feel as safe and secure as possible.

“Oh my God, Leon. She’s so beautiful…”

You take a closer look at her as she keeps purring and brushing her nose against your chin. Her eyes are a very light green, almost bluish. Even though she’s orange, her little paws are much whiter than the rest of her body. You also notice that part of her left ear seems to be clipped, as if some other animal, probably a cat, had taken a small bite out of it.

“You’re so tiny…” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Oh, sweetheart…”

The cat snuggles closer to you.

“ So you have a favorite already, huh?” Leon says, stroking the cat’s head.

“You’re the one who rescued her,” you reply affectionately, kissing his cheek. “She definitely loves you more than me. Not that I complaining about that, of course!”

“She tolerates me. Let’s leave it there.”

You look up at him and can’t help but laugh, pressing another kiss to his cheek, one to his lips, before curling up against his chest while he wraps an arm around your waist.

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” you tell Leon softly. “It’s not that I don’t want her, of course I do, but… I thought we’d already talked about it.”

“I felt bad for her being by herself. Like, I didn’t want her leaving on the streets and eating trash… I swear really did it because I didn’t want her to keep living on the street—”

“And because you’ve always wanted a cat,” you interrupt him gently. “We’ve always wanted one. Both of us.”

“And, also… I might have taken her because I know she’s going to keep you company when I leave.”

“When you leave…?”

You repeat his words, insecurity starting to consume you.

“I have to go away for a couple of days. Maybe a few more,” he says quietly, trying not to look away from you. “There’s been a murder in Wrenwood that, well…” he swallows and sighs. Then, he looks up at you with worried, sad eyes. “Sherry’d discovered there are several cases similar to ours.”

Ours.

You know exactly what he means.

You shake your head softly, trying not to turn this into an argument because you know he doesn’t have much time left. Very little, maybe, considering how little you’ve talked about the thing that is literally draining the life out of you.

“How long have you known that for?”

“A week or so”, then, he adds: “I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

You nod, but don’t dare to say anything else.

 The last thing you want is to talk about this after he’s just surprised you by adopting a cat.

I know she’s going to keep you company when I leave.

“What’s her name?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

“Well…”

“Have you already given her one?”

“Maybe, yeah.”

“What’s it then?”

“Lucky.”

“Lucky?” you ask, slightly confused.

“I thought about that name because she’s lucky I found her,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If I hadn’t picked her up…”

“Don’t think about that anymore, Leon… Maybe we’re the lucky ones to have her. Just like you said: she’ll keep me company when you leave.”

You look at him, and when you see the bittersweet smile on his face, you regret saying that.

As always, you have to fuck up with everything.

“Yeah… sure...”

“Hi there, little Lucky…” you whisper, placing soft kisses on her head.

The cat swishes her tail and starts purring even louder the moment she hears her name, as if she already knew who she was.

“You really like the name daddy picked for you, huh?”

“I bought different kinds of food because I wasn’t sure what she’d like,” Leon says, nodding toward the bag he brought in. “I also have a litter box and a bed in the car, but I just couldn’t carry everything at once.”

“So you had this planned already, I see…”

“I think so, yeah… since the first day I saw her. I just… wasn’t sure what you’d think.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, raising your voice slightly before catching yourself. “I mean, yes, we talked about it and everything, but…” 

You shake your head, muttering under your breath.

Leon adopts a cat, something you’ve wanted to do for so long… and you react like this? It’s not fair to him, of course you know that. And it’s more than obvious that you’re overwhelmed since he told you he has to leave but, still…

“I still can’t believe you did all this…” you finally say.

Your husband simply steps in front of you and pulls you into a hug, Lucky nestled between you.

“I promise that, when I come back home, I’ll do even more things you won’t be able to believe. I’ve talked about a few with Sherry… but, for now, they’re a surprise,” he kisses your forehead, then cups your cheeks and kisses you. “And if you’re wondering… yes, maybe one of them involves adopting another cat. Or a dog…”

“So can we say Leon Kennedy’s going to be a cat dad from now on?”

“If that’s what you want… but I thought I could be another kind of dad too, if that’s what you want. Dog, girl, boy… Whatever you want, and as long as it’s with you... What about you give it a thought at that while I'm away?”